Sunday, February 27, 2011

On Choosing Friends

Sugar shared with me that her BFFL recently told her that a mutual friend “absolutely cannot stand” Sugar. Given the strange week I had, I’m left wondering where people get off saying hurtful things to one another?

I had the meeting with the recruiter who told me I was smart, funny but didn’t really have any marketable skills. I have a coworker that seems to enjoy telling me how much my nemesis hates me and when he gets my boss’s job, he’s going to fire me. I volunteered to help the Girl Scout Cookie Mom help pick up and sort the shipment of cookies next weekend. Another mom that volunteered sent an email and told two others that they needn’t bother picking up, she and I can do it. I thought it took great big balls for her to volunteer me like that without asking first. Also, she called me by my nickname in her email which really pissed me off. I’ve known this woman for five years as she used to have a shop in town that I shopped at a lot and sent tons of business to her. Given that she has never seen fit to acknowledge my presence or even smile at me, I’m amazed at the brass she displayed in volunteering me. I won’t even mention that she signed her email *HUGS*, causing me to gag and choke like a cat with a hairball. The final straw came on Friday when we attended the karate ceremony for Sugar’s Girl Scout troop.

Sugar has been in the same troop since first grade and we’ve gone through several different leaders and girls have come and gone. I would say that many of the girls have been together for two years, so I know them all by name and I know their parents too. Sugar was very excited to have us attend and watch her show off the self defense moves she had just learned.

We walked into a full dojo and I knew most of the people there. I’m smiled at by many, but they all quickly avert their eyes so I know further communication is not desired. I talked to one or two mothers briefly but there’s really no connection, no one wants to socialize with me and I am not sure why. They are a clique of their own and I’m not included. Given that I don’t see them that often and really don’t give a shit what they think, I don’t know why their behavior bothers me so much. I not one of the Mommy Mafia and that’s just the way it’s going to be. I hope their lack of acceptance for me doesn’t filter down to Sugar as she sees these girls regularly and I know it devastates her when she’s not included in their get togethers.

By the end of the show, I was really down on myself and in a mood. Things only got better when we got home and discovered that our power was out and wouldn’t be back on for hours. Spice went from room to room trying every switch, thinking that possibly, maybe just one would work. The cranky chicks finally brought their sleeping bags down and promptly fell asleep in front of the fireplace. I settled in with the iBook version of “Shopaholic and Her Sister.” Shopaholic books always improve my mood!

On Saturday morning, the feeling of not being good enough still hadn’t left me. EN took the girls to their skating lessons, then the girls were off for a sleepover at my parents house. I went to the gym and worked out hard, taking out my aggressions on that stupid treadmill. I knew good times were ahead, so I went home and took a nap in preparation for a fun night out with our crazy friends.   

We met Snorting Girl and Facebook Poker for dinner and a show. As always, our conversation is lively and we laugh a lot. Dinner was fantastic and we walked to another establishment for a Dueling Piano show. There are no words that can adequately describe the next several hours. Snorting Girl and I spent a better part of the evening hiding our faces and peeking at our significant others, unable to decide if we were horrified or amused. One of the piano players started calling her husband Vin Diesel and he was stuck with the name for the night. EN grabbed a tambourine and made his rounds, dancing and playing tambourine on a variety of female asses.

While their behavior was a little crazy, others in the place were even nuttier. The pianist wasn’t kidding when he called it “the evolution of a drunken shitshow.” What is it about singing along to fun songs that gets people so fired up? This is the second time I’ve seen a show like this and the behavior was insane both times.

Vin Diesel and The Tambourine Man were led out of the club well before the show was over. Snorting Girl and I were smart enough to realize early on that our designated drivers had failed us and we got into our cars and drove our boys home. It wasn’t until we got home that EN realized that he lost his cell phone.

The moral of the story is an important one: choose your friends wisely. If we had gone out with The Mommy Mafia, their phone lines would have been lit up early, discussing the bad behavior that was displayed. Snorting Girl, on the other hand, texted me this morning to say, “How’s my partner in crime today?” That’s the kind of friend I want in my life. 

Ice Princess

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Our Guilty Pleasure

Years ago, Sugar and I had a Friday night tradition. I would put Spice to bed, make popcorn and Sugar and I would sit in my bed and watch “What Not to Wear.” My sweet little Sugar became the Simon Cowell of the fashion world. She would watch with delighted disgust and just shred the people needing makeovers. Especially amusing to hear from the girl that wore toe socks and flip flops and numerous other fashion disasters.

I should note here that clothes are something I refuse to fight with my children about. So long as the important parts are covered and they are dressed appropriately for the season, they can wear what they want. I save my fights for bigger and better things… like homework. EN and I have piles of pictures we’ve taken of the girls’ outfits and they already look back and can’t believe they went out dressed like that. I can look into their eyes and say in all honesty, “You chose the outfit.” Clothing-related childhood scars can never be blamed on me.

It’s amusing to me that these walking fashion disasters are so critical of others. They think their father dresses like a dork and has hair like a chicken. They complain that I hardly ever wear anything that is not black or gray. Their complaints go on and on. They know better than to ever mention anyone else’s clothing and they would never make fun of people outside our little foursome.

Somehow, Sugar and I stopped watching “What Not to Wear.” I don’t know if they stopped airing on Friday nights, or if the Saturday morning sporting events just had me putting her to bed earlier on Friday nights.

During a recent slew of snow days, Sugar and I rediscovered “What Not to Wear.” They run several episodes during the day even. We were glued to the TV while Spice bitched endlessly about how boring the show was. She doesn’t care about badly dressed people on TV, she doesn’t love Stacy and Clinton the way Sugar and I do, she’s not excited to see the makeover at the end of the show.

Then they aired the episode about Denise, the flight attendant that loves bling. For a sneak peek of this episode, go to:

Spice was immediately drawn in and stood right in front of the TV with her mouth hanging open and her eyes glazed over. For the longest time, she didn’t move and didn’t speak. When she could finally bring herself to speak, she said, “She’s BEAUTIFUL.” Spice talked on and on about Denise’s hair, clothes, matching bows in her hair and said, “I’m going to look like that when I grow up.” Sugar and I just rolled our eyes at each other and said, “super cute” which seemed to be Denise’s favorite thing to say.

It’s been several weeks since we saw the episode and I thought the girls had forgotten about it. As we were driving home from the funeral on Saturday one of the girls said “super cute.” That got us laughing about the show and it became apparent that Spice had only one take-away from the episode… Denise had named her boobs and Spice was apparently quite taken with the idea. From the back seat we hear her say, “Which one are you? Sprinkles or Twinkles?” To date, there’s been no decision as to which is which, but the topic does provide for endless debate. 

Ice Princess

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Sometimes You Can't Suck It In!

There is sweat on my brow. My underarms are damp. My eyes are filled with tears of humiliation and frustration. I am panicked, I am grunting and almost hyperventilating. This is a brief description of two separate events that happened to me in the last 24 hours.

First, I went to the mall yesterday. I had a meeting with a recruiter this morning and needed some nicer “interview clothes.” Even though I’ve been working out hard, I’m still in a very bad size and it doesn’t make me happy to buy expensive clothes. I tried on a suit, but decided that even though I’m almost 40, I still look like a kid wearing her mother’s stuff. There were lots of President’s Day Sales, and after running back and forth between two stores and trying on things three different times, I came up with a few outfits. I’m unhappy with the sizing, the fitting room mirrors and the two bitches that were in Macy’s yesterday discussing whether a size 4 or 6 looked better. Shut the hell up ladies.

The second event occurred this morning. We know I am not a morning person. I have my routine down to a science and stay in bed until the very last minute. Today’s routine should not have been much different. I didn’t take the pantyhose into consideration. I hate pantyhose and never wear them. I think they are uncomfortable and don’t fit right. I thought I battled this evil properly by going to Macy’s and getting a pair yesterday. I thought that a nicer brand with a bigger price tag would do the trick. I even followed the stupid chart on the back and bought the correct size.

Initially, I was impressed when I took them out of the package. They were properly made and shaped like feet at the bottom. The cheap ones from Walmart don’t have feet, or a tag, so you get to guess front or back before starting battle. For a description of how this battle went, refer back to the first paragraph of this post. It didn’t help matters any to have Sugar and Spice alternating at the bathroom door, knocking and wondering aloud what was going on in there! Step away from the mad, sweating, hissing, drooling mama.

And now, I’m late. I throw on the boots and rush down the stairs and what happens? The fucking pantyhose start sliding down my belly. By the time I got to the kitchen, the hose have settled halfway down my ass. I don’t have time, nor do I have another pair, so I classily hitch ‘em up and do a few lunges. Yeah, that’ll help. I used private time in the parking garage, elevator and bathroom to readjust myself three times before the damn interview.

There’s not a lot to be said about the interview. I didn’t want to go and I don’t have good stories as to why I’m looking for a new job. “Seeking employment with growth potential” is scurvy at an interview. You’re basically saying to the person interviewing, “Yeah, I’m here for the shitty job you are advertising to fill, but someday I’ll be sitting in your office.” Anyway, she was only a recruiter and didn’t leave me with much hope. I make too much money have haven’t done anything really marketable for the last eight years. Go me!

I arrived at work only an hour late and Fancypants could hardly contain his excitement at seeing me in interview clothes. It’s obvious where I’ve been. He’s dying to know how it went, etc. Maybe he’s being kind and honestly wants me to find a new, better opportunity or maybe he just wants to see my fat ass leave this place for the last time.

Here it is, mid afternoon and I’m still sporting these pantyhose. They’ve settled nicely halfway down my ass. I told Snorting Girl of my wardrobe malfunction and she suggested masking tape. Who knew? I don’t have any, so I’m off to the ladies room with a stapler. Wish me luck.

Ice Princess 

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Busy Saturday

Yesterday we attended the funeral for Tiny Mike’s mom. The funeral was held at the funeral home and the room was full, standing room only. It was great to see so many come out to pay their respects and support Tiny Mike.

We sat near the back of the room, both girls on my lap. Tiny Mike waved Spice over to sit with him but she was suddenly shy. My niece came to get Spice and put her on Tiny Mike’s lap. Everyone who knows Spice seemed to collectively suck in their breath, waiting to see what Spice would do. “Nothing good will come of this” was the thought clanging in my head. Surprisingly, Spice didn’t say a word and hardly even wiggled.

It was the first time that I had attended a funeral and liked what a priest had to say. He talked for a while about Maureen’s Irish heritage and her role as a mother. He mixed in humor but was sensitive at the same time. He repeatedly mentioned Maureen’s deceased son and said, “I know the first thing she heard when she got to heaven. Paul walked towards her and said, ‘Mom!’” That line stayed with me through the rest of the service. He told us that he thought Maureen was probably having a nice conversation with the Virgin Mother, “because, let’s face it, they’re really the only two mothers that know.” I thought the service was touching and sweet and perfect to help Tiny Mike start to heal.

Spice stayed with Tiny Mike and my sister through the entire service, while the rest of the room seemed to still be waiting for something awful to happen. She jiggled her feet a bit, then starting making faces. She didn’t laugh or smile, but did bug her eyes out a few times, then she started stretching her lips into fish kisses. Her lips stretched and stretched until they about jumped right off her face. At the end of the service my dad leaned towards me and said, “Mike really needed Spice with him.” I think that’s probably the most gentle and introspective thing I’ve ever heard the man say.

Since there would be no burial at this time, everyone was invited to take a flower or two from the arrangements. Sugar and Spice convinced their uncle to pick a bouquet for each of them. Poor Sugar ended up getting quite emotional, which got my sister going and they sat hugging for a while.

Afterwards, we attended the reception at a relative of Mike’s. We didn’t stay long as Spice was getting antsy. I could almost see the “bad” convulsing inside her to escape. A good mother always knows when it’s time to leave.

On our way home, I received a text from Snorting Girl. She and her husband were out for lunch and wondered what we were up to. We decided to join them for a bit. A visit with the funniest people in the world was a perfect follow-up to a sad morning. The place that we met at was quiet and roomy, so the girls were able to be a little rambunctious without annoying anyone. Plus the place had a bathroom with WRITING on the walls. There’s nothing better than an interesting bathroom so the girls made sure to visit multiple times.

I was glad to spend time with these friends with the girls. We've become friendly fairly recently and they don’t have young children of their own. I’ve wanted to invite them over as it is sometimes difficult for us to find a sitter. I worry that they aren’t “kid people” and will end up annoyed with the fighting sisters or Spice’s antics. I never should have worried. Snorting Girl stepped right up and indulged in a little potty talk, introduced Spice to Angry Birds and even tried to high-five Sugar when she shystered her sister. Facebook Poker joined right in on the fun and told a bunch of knock-knock jokes. He even laughed at the made up jokes that make no sense that he was told in return.

It’s good to know good people. People that leave you feeling light-hearted and good, after a morning filled with sadness. 

Ice Princess

Friday, February 18, 2011

The Wake

I’m totally breaking my “one blog post per day” rule today. It’s my blog and I can do what I want! I also realize that much of what I write in this post is inappropriate and I probably shouldn't talk about "me" at all, but if I think too much about Tiny Mike and his family, I'll melt into a puddle of sadness. 

Tonight we attended the wake for Tiny Mike’s mom. As EN works in the evening, it was all me. I attempted to drop the girls off at my parents on the way, but Sugar was adamant that she wanted to attend. I didn’t go to my first wake until I was an adult, so I wasn’t entirely comfortable with her attending. However, I couldn’t come up with a reason for her to stay behind that she wouldn’t argue with, so she came along. I assumed that the set up would be similar to other wakes that I had attended, so I could have her sit in the back and she wouldn’t have a close-up view of anything that might upset her. The room was very small and she we were very near the open casket. She stared and stared, but held it together and didn’t ask any questions while we were there.

The whole concept of a wake is a bit beyond my comprehension. They obviously aren’t intended to be fun-filled events, but saying goodbye to a body without a soul doesn’t work with my grieving process. The deceased doesn’t look much like you remember them and they are always dressed in something fussy and conservative. I’ll say it now: when I die, I want nothing like that. I respectfully request that the following rules be followed:

The Outfit: I would like lots of color. Something purple, red or fuchsia, starting with a proper push-up bra and thong set. I don’t wear these things now, but it’s not like I’ll be walking around pulling it out my ass so dress me for my last hurrah in one. The bra and panties should be a nicely matched set and will hopefully coordinate with the outfit. The shoes should be a killer pair of CFM pumps or my red cowboy boots.

The Face: Tramp me up, baby. I want lipstick, blush, even false eyelashes. My real ones suck, I want some biggies glued on to my lids. I’m even ok with sparkly ones. I’m dead! I don’t care who thinks I’m tacky.

The Casket: Do they make brightly colored ones? I want something fancy! This should also coordinate with my outfit. Very matchy matchy. It makes me happy. Also, for the wake, the casket will be closed. EN and the girls can have a final look at me, but I don’t want anyone trying to steal my cool eyelashes.

The Atmosphere: Play music, lots of good music. I request everything from The Pina Colada Song to Kid Rock to my country favorites. Maybe I should make a play list on my iPod, just to ensure that all my favorites are played. I would hope that there would be lots of flowers. I would like food and beverages served at the party wake. Everyone should eat, drink and be merry. Tell your worst stories about me. Laugh, whoop it up and have a blast of a good time. And since the casket is closed, I’m totally ok with people putting their drinks down on it, but please use a coaster. I don’t want any rings left behind.

The Eulogy: This will probably be written by Kate and she is aware of this. In a way, I hope I have some advance warning of my impeding death, only so I can proofread the sappy bullshit she comes up with. The eulogy will be read the next day at the funeral. I hope the funeral is a quiet, somber event, not due to sadness, but it’s my hope that everyone is terribly hungover from the party the night before. There will be a service, followed by my casket being placed in some mausoleum somewhere. Do not cremate or bury me. Worms and dirt creep me out. There will be no get together after the service. You will all need to go home and sleep off your hangovers.

EN will largely be in charge of the details, but I will need to appoint an overseer to make sure he follows my rules to the letter. If he fails in any way, you have my permission to shoot his ass off.

Obviously, I’m deflecting with humor and not focusing on what is important here: the sadness that one of my greatest peeps is feeling. It was so hard to see this incredibly funny and personable guy radiating such sadness. We did speak for a long while and laughed a little even, but I think it will be a while before his laughter reaches his eyes again. My heart aches for the pain that he, my sister and their kids are going through right now.

When Sugar and I left, she was quiet for a very long time. Then she mentioned how sad her uncle Mike seemed. She noticed that he had “lots of bags” under his eyes and I told her that he hadn’t been sleeping well. She asked what he’d been doing instead of sleeping and I said, “Missing his mama.” After a while she said, “Is it ok if I cry because Uncle Mike looked so sad?”

And that, my friends, is why we call her Sugar.

R.I.P Maureen, you were funny as shit sometimes!

Ice Princess


Though I love my dogs, I’m not overly enamored with some of their disgusting habits. The do and eat such gross things that my stomach rebels at the mere thought. They roll in things that smell gross, they lick themselves silly, but the grossest habit of all is their love for poop. Poop, the caviar of canines.

Brigette and Dusty indulged in this nasty little habit and I could see them looking at the cat box as I look at a tuxedoed waiter holding a sterling silver platter of shrimp. They would nibble at these little delicacies any time they thought they could get away with it. How lovely it was that these treats were conveniently dusted with cat litter, an extra crunch like sprinkles on an ice cream cone. There was a constant battle in our house: where to put the cat box so the cats had access but the dogs did not. We were never able to convince them to stay away from the hors de oeuvres bar.

Indiana also tries to sneak in for a snack whenever he can and has even tried to nap in the cat box. He’s not nearly as smart as Brigette and Dusty and gets caught every time. He’ll emerge from the bathroom with a mouthful, or with cat litter decorating his nose. I’ll give chase and try to steal his snack from him, but it’s a half-hearted attempt on my part.  Cat poop covered in dog spit is even grosser than plain old cat poop. He has eaten so much that he’s made himself sick, conveniently all over me, my pillow and my bed. By far the grossest thing that ever happened to me.

Bella is even worse and will go into the yard and eat whatever hasn’t been scooped up. This snack is even more delightful this time of year when simple poops turn into Poopsicles. There is nothing worse than looking out in the yard on a frigid windy night and seeing her with her ears flapping in the breeze with a frozen poop sticking out of her mouth.

Last Friday as I sat at my computer, Bella kept whining to go out. I assumed that she wanted to sniff around the yard to see if there’d been any recent visits from cats or porcupines. She finally came in and settled in her crate, I thought all was well. Suddenly I hear a retching sound and smell the aroma of… poop. She sat there looking at me from her cage, covered in thrown-up defrosted poopsicles. I hustled her out of there and cleaned everything up, not daring to breathe. While I cleaned she wandered around and finished throwing up the rest of her disgusting snack.

I’m not sure why dogs do this but there seems to be no good way to get them to stop, other than making sure the yard and cat box are kept poop-free at all times. I guess it’s kind of like humans and alcohol. We know if we over-indulge, we’ll pay the price, yet the consequences rarely convince us not to partake.

As for Bella, I’m considering a muzzle. Meanwhile, no doggie kisses for this girl! 

Ice Princess

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Tuna Casserole

Spice takes random words and makes them her own. They are repeated frequently for shock value or entertainment purposes. She never really tires of her naughty words, she just keeps adding more to her repertoire. “Buttcrack” still causes delighted laughter, especially, when she’s smacking her bum while saying it. “Penis” is usually only said to annoy her sister and she’s good at bringing the word into seemingly unrelated topics. Last Friday we were watching the Charlie Brown Valentine special and they said Linus’s name. Spice cocked her head and said, “His name is Linus? Doesn’t that sound like penis?” Of course she laughs, and her sister is disgusted… mission accomplished!

She has a new word and I’m not sure how it made her short list, but it’s there. It’s “tuna casserole.” This is a dish that we have for dinner on a regular basis. Sugar loves it and requests it at least once a week. Haute cuisine it is not, but if the girls eat it, I will cook it. I’m not sure when she started saying it but it’s taken on a whole new meaning. Why this caught her attention is beyond me. She just started using those words instead of others in random sentences, “Has anyone seen my tuna casserole?” when she was looking for her toys. Just random use like that. But now we’ve taken a bad turn… the other day the dog sniffed Spice’s nether regions and she shouted out, “Stop sniffing my tuna casserole.” Of course I reacted, how could I not? Now instead of using a polite or proper term, her girl parts are referred to as tuna casserole.

And Sugar recently came up with a  few doozies herself. First, she informed EN and I that the snow banks in her school playground are all "butt blasters." When we asked what that meant, she had some explanation about sliding down the banks, catching air and blasting onto the blacktop on your butt. Butt blasts can be pretty painful. 

With Sugar, I have to take some of the blame as I often teach her random rhymes that I remember from my own childhood. None of them are politically correct, so I don’t want to put them on the blog for fear of offending someone. One of her friends’ mothers does the same and I’ve learned some new ones myself. If Sugar is in a good mood and the ditty is naughty, she will spend endless time teaching her little sister the poetry, knowing that Spice is likely to repeat these naughty sayings at inappropriate times. During bath time the other night I overheard Sugar teaching Spice the following:

Being Barbie is pretty fantastic,
Even though my boobs are made of plastic

It will be a long time before that one is out of my head.

Ice Princess 

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

A Bit of Sadness

Tiny Mike’s mom died today. She had spent quite a bit of time in the hospital recently and was on oxygen. She might not have been overly healthy, but her death is shocking to me. Tiny Mike has been married to my sister for ten years, so I've spent time with his mother on quite a few occasions. She was always kind to me and everyone in my family. She was a fantastic baker and cook and I loved to exchange recipes with her. The last time I saw her I teased her about having a bake-off, but she never took me up on that offer. The fact that she shared her secret recipe for Meat Stuffing (French-Canadian recipe) means a lot more today than it ever did. I’ll think of her every year on Christmas Eve when I make this dish for her Tiny Mike.

My favorite memory of her is from several summers ago. We were all together, having a barbeque at my sister’s house and someone must have called her son “Tiny Mike.” She laughed a little and asked where the nickname came from. We told her that Spice had made it up, but we weren’t sure why or how. She laughed and laughed and simply said, “Well, I used to change his diapers.” Then she laughed some more.

While she was full of laughter and feeling social that day, I believe she experienced darker times and preferred to be alone when those times hit. Tiny Mike always invited his mother to family functions and she would always accept. We all understood that while she accepted, she would likely change her mind the day of the event. As the years went on, this habit of not attending events became more frequent. But no matter the event, a summer bbq or a holiday dinner, Tiny Mike always fixed up a plate and left the party to deliver a meal to his mother. Even though she didn’t want to be a part of things, Tiny Mike did his part to make her feel included.   

During these times, I know Tiny Mike was torn. One part of him wanted to be at the party and he wanted his mother there too, she was invited after all. Yet the other part of him wanted to be with her so she wasn’t alone. When I heard the news today, I knew that he would be questioning whether or not he was a good son to his mother. I tried to reassure him repeatedly today that he was fantastic to his mother. He answered her every call, he ran her errands, he did everything he possibly could to help her.

It’s eerie to me that my sister and I have both married men with mothers that behave similarly. First one that says boys marry women like their mothers gets a smack! Both EN and Tiny Mike are on the short list of Nicest Men in the World. Either one of them would do anything for family and friends. I have seen both of these men bend over backwards to do their mothers bidding, run her errands, etc, etc. It saddens me to see these grown men running in circles, not ever feeling that they are good enough or that they try hard enough. I wish they could see what the rest of the world sees: they try their best and they are great men that put their families first.

Tiny Mike, you were a wonderful son to your mom and I’m willing to bet that if you had ever posed that question to her, that’s the answer she would have given you.

Ice Princess 

Monday, February 14, 2011

Another Reason Why I Suck

I’m here to tell you that it’s true, most husbands shop for their wives at the very last minute. How do I know this? Because I’m the gal that shops for her husband the same way-very last minute. I’m used to going to the mall or into Hallmark stores and being the lone woman in a sea of men.

What’s interesting is that these men bond with each other, standing in the “Wife” section of Hallmark. Some stand there so long I wait for them to start passing cards to each other. One would think that I, the Lone Woman Ranger, would become part of this club. I’m sad to report that this is not true. The men look at me with horrified expressions and are probably thinking to themselves, “Glad I’m not married to that broad! My Betty Crocker is probably home making my four-course dinner wearing a thong and push-up bra.”

I have been so pressed for time that I even bought an anniversary card in a gas station once. Last year, I was so late that I had to buy him a smoochy, kissy card and we always buy the raunchy cards. EN opened the card, read it and looked so touched. Then reality struck him and he said, “You feeling all right, babe?” I had to confess that I went the mushy route because that was the only Valentine left in the husband section. But those are not the worst examples of my behavior. This Valentine’s Day takes the cake. We had an extremely busy weekend and even though I left work early to get a few cute things for the girls on Friday, I ran out of time before today’s Love Extravaganza.

I managed, over the weekend, to buy things for the girls, take care of a couple of personal appointments (ok, so I made time for a hair and nail appointment first, SUE ME!), two hard workouts at the gym, a surprise party for a friend, cupcakes for the girls and other prep-work for Spice’s party. But in my race against time, I never did anything for EN.

Given that he’s always the last one to do anything, you’d think that he would be worse than me. Sadly, that is not the case. This year he outdid himself by buying me something from a store that sells their merchandise in little blue boxes. If you know where I live, you know that he *really* had to plan in advance as their nearest store is more than an hour away. He had to order something from them online and leave enough time for shipping.  

Now, EN gets excited to give me gifts and gave me this beautiful necklace last night. And what does his schmuck of a wife have to give him in return? Nothing. Zero, zip, zilch. Not even a raunchy card! How humiliating and awful is that? I am so incredibly embarrassed by my behavior!

I attempted to redeem myself by telling him to buy himself some stuff to brew a new batch of beer (how freakin’ grand of me!). Today I spent my lunch at a local Hallmark store and found a suitable card.

Tell me ladies, when do the raunchy-card-buying wives hit Hallmark? I really need to be better about shopping in advance.  

EN: I know you are reading this and you know I love ya! Hopefully my card buying buffoonery doesn't make you want to head for the hills. :o)

Happy Valentine's Day to all!

Ice Princess

Friday, February 11, 2011

The Original Spice Girl

The girls know that they are frequently referred to as Sugar and Spice on Facebook. Sugar loves to torment her sister with this, but what she doesn’t seem to remember is that she used to be quite the Spice Girl herself. Sugar was an only child for four and a half years and her behavior was quite similar to how Spice currently behaves. She’s often disgusted with the way her sister acts, so I’ve recently started sharing stories of her own bad behavior just so she knows she wasn’t always the perfect child.

Sugar is often embarrassed at the outfits that Spice puts together for herself. She obviously doesn’t remember her own fashion faux pas. She doesn’t remember being mad for the color orange and piling on every orange piece of clothing she owned and calling that an outfit. She doesn’t remember wearing a striped sweater with heart-patterned leggings and thinking that looked great because there were similar colors in them. She rolls her eyes at Spice wearing a tiara when we go to dinner, but doesn’t recall that she wore one to school as a first grader on Hat Day. I also have pictures to prove that Sugar once wore toe socks (rolled down because they were knee socks) with flip flops to the mall.

Sugar complains about Spice’s love of “private talk,” the word “penis” delights her tremendously. Sugar doesn't remember the time she drew a slew of people on a birthday card, each one with two boobs and a belly button. Of course the card was for the child of a very religious family in the neighborhood. I had to find stickers to put over the boobs so my neighbor wouldn’t be too horrified.

Sugar cringes when Spice has a ridiculous public tantrum, not remembering the time she laid in the middle of our street and refused to walk home. I had to carry her up our hill and was infuriated by the time we reached our house.

Sugar was mortified at Disney when her sister refused to leave the Dumbo ride. How could she have forgotten that her tantrum a few years earlier was even worse and the ride operator had to come over to us and say, “Excuse me, your turn is over!”

Sugar giggles like mad when Spice does something that makes my left eyeball explode right out of my face, but she used to do things that had the same impact. There was the time that we made dozens of gingerbread cookies, each one with hand-piped frosting. I let the frosting harden, then carefully placed them in large baggies. Sugar seemed to think they were really cute, and perhaps needed to mingle. I’ll be damned if that kid didn’t pick up the baggie of cookies and shake the life out of it. You guessed it: arms, legs and heads everywhere. I called EN at work and told him there was a good chance that his child would be home alone when he arrived. To this day, gingerbread cookies have not reappeared on the list of Christmas cookies we make.

Spice’s laissez-faire attitude towards The Wrath of Mama mystifies Sugar as well. She’ll shriek at her sister, “Mama’s mad! Don’t you care?!” Interesting to hear that come from the same child that once wrote on her bedroom door, “Sugar’s Dor.” When I questioned her about it, she stood back, admired her handiwork and said, “Well, did I spell door right?” No, damn it, you didn’t.

When I gave birth to Spice and she was so little and sick and so meek, my mother-in-law said, “I’m not surprised she’s so mellow seeing as the other one is so feisty.” I think what will happen though the years is that they will swap titles back and forth. We are on the cusp of Sugar entering middle school and every once in a while, I can see a glimmer of that old spiciness shining though. I just hope they remember to swap attitudes evenly. I don’t think I could deal with two Spicy Chicks… and two Sugars? That would just be surreal in this crazy house. 

Ice Princess

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Open Mouth, Insert Foot!!!

Again, I make a comment without thinking and don’t realize the consequences the comment may have. The phrase is “engage brain, open mouth.” I need to repeat that mantra over and over in my silly little head…

I still hadn’t decided about that mediation course, so I sent an email to the facility offering the training on Monday afternoon. I’m a little (ok, a lot) bit of a stickler about responding to texts and emails. If you contact me, I try to get back to you ASAP and I expect the same in return. Since this email was sent to a business, I surely expected to hear from them-by the end of Tuesday at the very least. By yesterday afternoon I still hadn’t heard anything back. More than angry at the lack of contact, my feelings get hurt and I think these people don’t like me and that’s why I don’t hear from them. Yes, that’s stupid and makes no sense, they’ve never even met me. As I left work yesterday, I used my nicest phone voice and left a voice mail for them, ensuring that they got my email.

By late morning today, I was getting mad that no one had returned my email or phone call, I had pretty much written the idea off. The deadline for signing up for the discounted rate is tomorrow. The training is expensive, so saving $200 is worth signing up early. Just as I was bitching them out in my head, my cell phone rang, which scared me. My cell  phone doesn’t ring, it sends and receives texts, but no one ever calls me. The number was unfamiliar to me and I answered… It was one of the women who teach the training.

She starts the phone call with an apology for taking so long to respond. She had seen my email, then got my voice mail but was traveling this week so her time was somewhat limited. I thanked her for calling me and said, “And I’m a bit of a stalker anyway.” My stalking abilities are somewhat impressive, but really not hilarious. That woman laughed like I just said the funniest thing in the world to her. We chatted quite a bit and I found that I really liked her. She’s knowledgeable and passionate about what she does for a living. It helped that she complimented me by saying she liked my humor and thinks humor is a good tool in this field.

Then she said something that took me by surprise. She laughed and said, “I think I may use your quote. If I remember, you said you were stalking us?” She laughed really hard and shared with me that she’s attending a “Violence Against Women” conference in Atlanta. Um, really?! I immediately apologized for being inappropriate with my stalker comment, and she laughed again and said it wasn’t inappropriate, it was funny. I guess I am used to people in this sort of field being sticklers for "political correctness." If my inappropriateness is construed as comic relief in this field, this might just be the place for me.

Ice Princess 

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

And It Ends with a Smile

This day hit the toilet first thing this morning. Every day, I hop on the scale to monitor progress. I don’t think there are words to describe the feelings I had when I saw today’s number. My weight is higher than it’s ever been. How can that be? I’ve been doing cardio 4-5 times a week for weeks now. I was sad, embarrassed, enraged. Something isn’t working right and I just don’t know what. I know that website said my caloric intake was low, but that doesn’t really explain weight gain to me. It makes a bit of sense that I wouldn’t lose quickly, but to be up over a pound? WTF?!

As I was gathering up things I needed for my day and packing up for Sugar, I reminded EN to give me the Girl Scout Cookie Order Form that he has had for months. He said that he didn’t sell much, but I was stunned when I saw the form. 12 freakin’ boxes. We’ve gone from the family that sold more than the rest of the troop combined, to the under achievers. I wanted the form so I could pass it around my office today, knowing that everything needs to be turned in tomorrow. My goal was to sell 50 boxes by the end of the day.

We get to the bus stop and there I am stuck behind that stupid bitch again. Did I mention that last week she was in such a rush to be first that she cleared a teensy spot on her windshield, drove to the bus stop, then cleared her car while she was waiting? Anyway, the bus comes, we all leave, I hit the shortcut and get stuck behind someone else. I pull back onto the main road and who is in front of me? I’m destined to be behind that shrew for the rest of my days.

While waiting at the bus stop, I’m looking at Sugar and something just doesn’t seem right. She’s got a hat, gloves, back pack. Oh, that’s what’s missing! The second part of her two-piece coat, because it’s normal for a kid to forget her coat in these frigid temperatures in the beginning of February. I call EN to tell him to deliver Sugar’s coat to her school and he says, “How could she forget her coat?!” I don’t know dear, ask her. She’s your clone to the core of her being!

My work day was not bad. It started off quite slowly, actually. I had the chance to email a few people to see if they wanted to place cookie orders and even posted a little something on Facebook. I was overwhelmed with orders. Even Tiny Mike emailed his office and came through with orders for more than 50 boxes. By day’s end, Sugar had earned her patch for selling 150 boxes. While that may not be a ton for some (Michelle!), it’s a long way from the two boxes I’ve seen other girls in her troop sell. AND I didn’t have months of stressful selling. I did all that in one day. I guess I must have felt the fire!!!

My nemesis gave me a few tasks, but he was a little different today. He gave me stuff to do and when I asked questions (because I am stupid and not qualified to make decisions) he said he trusted my judgment. That might be considered kissing my ass, but hey, I did what he asked and he thanked me afterwards. Can’t all of our interactions be this nice?

Spice was not ready to leave school today when I picked her up. I think she’s really enjoying being a big kid and hanging out in the “big kid room.” As we drove to get Sugar, Spice told me that her old teacher would be coming over, maybe tonight, maybe Saturday. Apparently, they are going to play Barbies. I wonder if her teacher knows?

Sugar was quite happy to see us. She has a big lunch date next week with Ms. S, her best teacher EVER… So the day started off badly for us all, but we all found a little bit of happy and brought it home with us.

We put our happy to good use and I started doing the more difficult things on Sugar’s Valentine box for school. The lid and box needed to be wrapped separately in hot pink wrapping paper. That way, she can open the box up without ripping the paper. Then I used an old scrapbooking machine to cut out “HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY” for her to glue on. She also has glittery stickers and things to decorate it with. I’m sure it will be overdone, dripping with glitter, hearts and stickers, but she’ll love the process of making it and will likely keep it forever… right next to last year’s model.

The day started off badly but in the end I’m reminded that I have a lot of good people in my life that make me smile. :o)

Ice Princess

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Stupid Bowl

I’m not a huge sports fan and almost never watch sports on TV. I will whine through a hockey game with EN, reminding him all the while that his team sucks. If given the opportunity to attend a live game though, I will go. There’s nothing like being in a huge stadium watching the action. I’ve been to professional hockey, football and baseball games. I had a blast at all of them except the baseball game. I’d rather watch grass grow. Is there anything more boring in the world? Yeah, maybe watching golf on TV.

Tonight is the Super Bowl and I will admit that I’m the gal who tunes in to see the commercials. I heard from EN that Anheuser-Busch had nothing good, so I didn’t have a whole lot of interest in this game. EN chose to work tonight and they all brought in appetizers to share. The game was probably on in the break room. Yet another party I cook for that I’m not allowed to attend.

The girls and I had dinner and tuned in to catch the National Anthem. Without a doubt, Christina Aguilera delivered the worst rendition of the Anthem ever. She was a complete disgrace. If you’re gonna sing it, know it. If you don’t know it, get your skeezy ass off the field. But what disturbed me more than her assish version of the Anthem, was the blatant disregard for the song shown by one of the Green Bay Packers. The cameras caught him acting like a jerk and that just pissed me off. Where else on this earth will you earn millions of dollars playing a few ball games a year? Perhaps he was reacting to Christina’s terrible version, I’m not sure. In that case, he should have ran his fat ass over to the mic and helped the girl out. He infuriated me. Then again, I’m the girl that has never been able to hear the National Anthem without choking up. When you hear the song, stop for a moment and thank God that you live in this country and are able to take advantage of the opportunities given to you.

After that the girls and I hunkered down to watch the Puppy Bowl on the Animal Planet. Quite possibly, the cutest thing we had ever seen. Spice about peed herself over the chicken cheerleaders. Sugar loved the little pups taking drinks from the water bowl. The three of us are in agreement that two dogs aren’t enough for one household.

The girls had a bath and we tuned in to the halftime show. Sugar and Spice did their very own white-girl-dance version to “Boom Boom Pow.” In comparison to Christina’s performance, the halftime show (including the white girls dancing in my house) was pretty decent. At least the girls got a huge kick out of it.

Now I sit and blog with the game going in the background. I remember the Steelers from my childhood, everyone loved Terry Bradshaw. I would like to see them win for that reason and a few others… I dislike Green Bay for several reasons:

  1. Green is my least favorite color. They wear it and it’s in their name. Yuck.
  2. They are “cheeseheads.” I hate cheese.
  3. The dude displaying awful behavior during the Anthem is a Packer. I hope he got stomped on.
Again, I’m a girl and these reasons make perfect sense to me. If you’d like to argue my point, start talking and I’ll ignore you until you stop. A surefire way to win any argument… at least in my own head.

Argue my logic, I dare you! Last year I rooted for the Saints because I thought any man that had to play a game in gold pants deserved a nice ring to round out the outfit. Need I say more? 

Ice Princess

I finished this post as the Steelers lost... BOO!

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Today's Workout Partner

I was going to be a nice wife and not post anything about this, but I can’t help myself. I’m a little giggly thinking of it hours later! My niece took the girls to Disney on Ice today, so EN and I found ourselves with a free afternoon. I had every intention of going to the gym, especially since I didn’t get to go last Sunday, so I have to go both days this weekend.

We drove home from the girls’ ice skating lessons and I suggested that EN come with me. He asked why and I told him, “Cuz you fat.” Suddenly he’s got a thousand and one excuses as to why he absolutely cannot go to the gym. The best excuse was, “I have nothing to wear.” Oh yeah, the slob that insists his holey Harley shirts look just fine said he had nothing to wear. His workout clothes are at work for some reason. Several mysteries here: why would he bring his workout clothes to work? God knows he doesn’t use the gym there either. Also, when the hell did he get work out clothes? He did everything to try to get out of going, but I was having none of his titsy excuses. Off to the gym.

After whining, nagging and bitching, he finally changed into a workout outfit. Of course the sweatpants were the outdated kind with elastic on the ankles (tee hee!). I assured him that I had seen men working out with orange crocs on and that he would totally fit in. I reminded him that this gym is a judgment-free zone, so no one would point and laugh!

I took on the treadmill and he got on an elliptical. There was a hockey game on, so it kept his attention and he behaved nicely. When I was done on the treadmill, I jumped on the elliptical next to him and lasted ten whole minutes! Double last week’s time! Yay!

I believe there were several reasons that I lasted so long on that contraption of torture today. EN was there so I couldn’t look like a total wuss. I tried talking to him about something (the point of working out together is to have someone to talk to, right?) As graceful and coordinated as I am, I should have known better. I spoke about three words and tried to take the headphones off and nearly toppled of the damn machine. Instead of lurching forward to help me, my kind husband looked away like, “Who is this nutjob on the machine next to me?!” Then EN decides he’s really sweating and should take his sweatshirt off. I’m sure I made a face when I gasped and said, “You are wearing a t-shirt underneath, right?” Off comes the sweatshirt and there, working out next to me, is my studly husband, wearing a black t-shirt tucked into his elastic waistband (let’s not forget the elastic around the ankles as well!) sweatpants. Dear God, untuck your freakin’ shirt you dork!!! Judgment-free zone my ass!! Now it’s my turn to pretend I had no idea who that fool was.

I wrapped up my time on the elliptical and limped over to the nautilus equipment while EN kept on going. Amazing the energy he has when he’s allowed to watch a hockey game without his girls all over his shit. EN finally joined me when I hit the ab machines and we did those together.

What is tremendously frustrating is that he spent sixty minutes on that damn elliptical. Sixty freakin’ minutes. If I actually liked the guy, I might have found a spot in my cold heart to be impressed. Instead I just wondered who invited that freak along anyway.

Ice Princess

Thursday, February 3, 2011

My Love of Facebook

I’ve mentioned before and I’ll say it again, I am a Facebook fanatic and have it up on my computer nearly all the time. It’s not even that I’m looking at it, but it’s there as “background noise.” I can pop on and see what’s new, play a game of Bejeweled, whatever. Since I started this blog, I don’t post nearly as much as I used to. I also came to the realization that animals on Farmville could be sold and I finally quit that stupid game after way too long. My heart felt good knowing I didn’t just abandon all those animals. Yes, I know they weren’t real animals, but I can’t even abandon fake ones. I’m a sucker for animals, what can I say?

Given that I’ve lived in a few different parts of the world, Facebook has allowed me to get back in touch with people I hadn’t spoken to in years. These aren’t people I “kind of” like or even “kind of” know, they are people that I enjoyed when we were friends. Anyone will tell you it’s hard to keep in touch with people when you move halfway across the country at 15. I have not friended anyone whose name is vaguely familiar because they sat behind me in Geometry in 10th grade… There’s none of that for me. The people on my friend list are mostly people I care about and want to see what they’re doing on a day-to-day basis.

I have also gotten to make new friends on Facebook. EN became reacquainted with some old high school pals. One girl in particular struck me as really funny. She said something rotten to EN when he was whining and I sent her a private message and told her I thought she was hysterical, she sent me a friend request and the rest is history. We’ve gotten together many times since then. She is a huge supporter of my Christmas shipments to Iraq, Afghanistan, etc. and even reads this blog. I could also mention that today is her 29th (snort!!!) birthday and that she is totally the girl version of Fabulous Hair. Happy Birthday Michelle!!! xoxo

EN started receiving private emails from an old girlfriend from when he was in the Air Force. He got all goofy about it and I told him to just answer her already! Here again, this is a funny chick, though I think she may have gone for a few too many rides on the CRAZY train… I commented back on something she said a post of his and before long added another friend to my list.

I’ve gotten to know people that touch my life daily, but wouldn’t normally have the time to make a real connection. Sugar’s second and third grade teachers are my friends, as is the woman that watches her in after-school care. Spice’s preschool teacher is on the list too (turns out some of these chicks even know each other!). I’ve become quite friendly with some truly wonderful people who may not have stayed in my life nearly as long if we didn’t have Facebook!

I love being back in touch with so many and seeing pictures and hearing about their day-to-day activities. Sometimes a bit too much and there’s a level of TMI that I don’t like (like the coworker talking about breast feeding and her VBAC delivery). For the most part, I enjoy Facebook tremendously.

But we all know I just can’t be completely happy with anything. I dislike the obligatory friend request. Oh yes, we all have “those people” on our list. I got on Facebook a long time ago and enjoyed myself for months, then came a friend request from EN’s oldest sister, then one from his mother. I don’t consider these people my friends, so I ignored their requests. I didn’t officially click ignore and not accept the requests, I just pretended like I didn’t see them sitting there. Then came the phone call. Oh yes, his mother called to follow up on her request. Why didn’t I accept her invitation and can I please go on Facebook immediately and accept? I’ll admit it, I’m a pansy and did her bidding. I really wanted to say “You are not my friend and therefore not my friend on Facebook!!”  

I found both the mother’s and sister’s posts to be annoying so I did the greatest passive-aggressive thing in the history of the world: I blocked their posts from showing up on my wall! Is that not the most tremendous thing you can do? So, they got their way and I am their friend, however, I don’t have to read the stupid shit they feel like posting.

Then there’s the whole unfriending/defriending madness that goes on. Someone needs to tell me which term is proper. I’ve heard both so I’m not sure. I have never defriended anyone because it just strikes me as mean. I’ve been defriended by a number of people and it hurts my feelings every single time. I’ve never been defriended by anyone after a fight or nastiness, so I’m not sure what leads them to write me off. I can’t think about that too long or I’ll need therapy.

And now today, another Facebook annoyance. EN's mother is a pain in the ass and she calls and texts him with a frequency that would make even the greatest stalker stand back in awe. He's become annoyed with it, so now he blows her off on a regular basis. This leaves her to take drastic measures. Sometimes she will call me which means I then have to text EN to "CALL YOUR FUCKING MOTHER NOW." If a text from me to EN has The F Word in it, it's either very, very good or very, very bad, but an immediate reaction is guaranteed. And today she used Facebook to attempt to show her mighty powers. He posted something about the snow and she said: "I have been trying to reach you. Please call me OR have Ice Princess have Sugar call me later." Oh yes, lets show the world how hard we work at our relationship with our son and his family! Ugh. 

Ice Princess

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

A Long Snow Day

Today this house was a cage for two professional fighters. The entire day was dedicated to their Texas Death Cage Match. Mother Nature felt the need to dump feet of snow on top of the shitload we already had and we knew school was canceled last night. I made the mistake of letting them stay up a little late and I paid for it all day today.

There was nothing these girls didn’t fight about today: who got to play with every toy, who got to sit in a specific chair to watch TV, who got to sit next to Mama while we watched our favorite show this afternoon, who was sitting in which seat for dinner. The war went on and on. Unfortunately, Sugar has a bad cough and I wasn’t comfortable sending her outside to play in the snow and Spice won’t go anywhere without her. So they were stuck inside to torment each other.

They played with their play-doh and fought the whole time. They did a craft with pipe cleaners and pompoms, and fought over who used too many pompoms… there was no break. I thought it would give them something to focus on if we made banana bread together. Instead, it gave them something else to fight about: who gets to hold the hand mixer, who gets to mash the bananas. STOP THE INSANITY!!! I shooed the girls out of the kitchen and did it all myself. Much aggression was worked out by mashing those bananas.

The break finally came when Sugar asked if she could take my iPad upstairs and play with it while Spice “hogged the family room.” The house was tranquil and I made dinner. I attempted to sit down with both of them but it became pretty clear that we couldn’t even sit at the same table together. Sugar ate, then left the table and Spice sat down.

I think they finally wore themselves out and we worked on some homework tonight that isn’t due until Friday. I just needed to give them something to do that was separate, but similar… so no one could argue about who was getting more attention.

The night was quiet, no one drowned a sister in the tub and the bedtime routine was fairly peaceful. Given how quickly they both fell asleep, I’d say that staying up late last night and sparring all day exhausted them. If there’s no school tomorrow, I’m sending them anyway. 

Ice Princess

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

A Bright Idea... Maybe?

A few years ago a friend of mine got divorced and used a mediator. Then last year a coworker got divorced and went the same route. I briefly looked into how to become a mediator, but dropped it when I realized that one needed a bachelor’s degree to even take the training course. At that point, the degree seemed so far away.

I don’t know what made the idea pop into my head last night, but it did and I reminded myself to look into it after putting the girls to bed… I got so excited about spending time on that exercise bike, I simply forgot (the trash TV I’m discovering didn’t help matters either!) Oh, oh, oh, SHINY OBJECT ALERT… back to the topic at hand.

I drove into work this morning after being surprised it wasn’t a Snow Day for the kids. The idea popped into my head again while I was driving, this time I swore I would look into it when I got to the office.

I found a ton of information. A Family Mediator deals with prenuptial agreements, divorce, custody battles, parenting, probate and family business issues, etc. The process for becoming a Family Mediator is fairly simple: a candidate needs to have a bachelor’s, take 48 hours of training, complete a 20 hour internship, then submit an application to the state to become certified. There’s no mention of a test or anything, so I assume that if you follow those steps, you get certified.

I found a list of upcoming training offered and the only thing listed so far is a class in March. I called the place offering the training and spoke with a very nice, helpful woman who gave me a better description of what it means to be a mediator. It sounds like one goes into private practice and/or registers with various family courts. When a mediator is on the roster of the court, they aren’t necessarily guaranteed any cases, but anyone choosing to work with a mediator pays $300/5 hours. If the mediator works more than five hours on their case, fees work on a sliding scale. Mediators working outside of the court system charge between $150-200/hour.

In many ways, this could be a great career path. I would be done with the training portion by the middle of April and could probably do the internship pretty quickly after that. Every day would be new and interesting and the income potential means that I wouldn’t even have to work full-time if I didn’t want to. Further, the school I attended offers an MBA in Workplace Conflict Management, so I could always continue my education and work with businesses and unions as well.

The downside is that the training is a little pricey and the schedule is weird. I would have to do a lot of juggling work hours and get a sitter for some Wednesday and Friday evenings in March/April. Then there’s the fear of not having a job with a guaranteed paycheck. Being on a court roster is not a guarantee of cases, so I’m not sure what the probability is that I would actually get work on any given day. I did a bit of research and found that there are 53 mediators registered with the courts in this state. I’m pretty sure that not all 53 are signed up with every single family court in the state every single day… but I’m still not clear how competitive it actually is.

Then we get into the business of listening to people fight and whine all day, every day. Do I really want to do that?

Thoughts anyone?

Ice Princess