The Good Wife and the Wilderness

It was a dark and stormy night. A group of beautiful teenage girls and their boyfriends with mullets went to camp at the river to drink and smoke pot.
"What was that noise?", said the large breasted blond.
"I'm not sure, but we should probably strip down to our underwear and check it out," said her sexy brunette friend.

Sound familiar? If you have ever watched any Friday the 13th movie, it should sound down right normal. I am a horror movie aficionado. I love the feeling of being deliciously scared and waiting to see what comes next. However, this particular genre of films is exactly where my fear of the great outdoors stems from. I realize that this is fairly irrational. Guys in hockey masks don't really patrol camp sites waiting for a young couple to come by to slaughter them. I am fully aware that guys in hockey masks generally just play hockey.

As I'm getting older, I'm trying to push past some of my more irrational fears and conquer them. So when my husband asked if I would go camping with him for Father's Day, I gladly obliged. I got him a tent (more like a house, it sleeps 8) and an air mattress. I was shockingly excited. I thought it would be fun to leave behind the make-up, styled hair, and general cleanliness that comes with being indoors. I imagined us canoeing down the peaceful river, building a fire and cooking hot dogs, snuggling in the hammock, then going in our tent and making love under the stars, then we would wake up and watch the deer drink from the river and a crane catching fish. That's not how camping works. I know that now.

Miles kind of told me late in the week that we would go camping on Saturday. We had miraculously gotten a babysitter without my knowledge and all the plans for the very private camp site were set. Excellent! Almost. Saturday morning our babysitter was MIA. Finally, when she showed up an hour late, we were able to leave. I should have known that the trip was jinxed when we were packing beer in the cooler and I dropped a case of water and broke a beer. Strike one.

After finally getting to the camp site and starting to set up the tent, we realized that we had left the stakes for the tent at home. Strike two. We convinced my mother to get the stakes and meet us halfway with them. Thanks, mom! Since we had already unpacked everything for our camp, someone had to stay to guard everything. Since I didn't know my way around the area, I was the guard. Miles leaves me alone with a cooler of beer, a tent that we can't get to stand up, and a hatchet (in case there were intruders.) Good thinking, honey. Leave the drunk girl with the hatchet. I've seen that movie. It doesn't end well. I should probably add here that I am unnaturally incapable of squatting to go pee. I'm not sure why, but it almost never ends well. This trip was no different. To spare you all the details, just keep that in mind the entire time you read this. Strike three, I should have known to just go home.

Things finally got set up at camp and it was time to canoe. It was a beautiful day and nice on the river. We were moving fast enough for a breeze, I was tanning and drinking an icy cold beer, listening to music, and talking and joking with Miles. Things were looking up. Then it hit us. When I say "it," I mean a fifteen foot tall tree that had fallen underwater. When I say "hit us," I mean the damn tree came out of nowhere and we ran into it (going at a lightening fast canoe speed), and flipped. Oh, the humanity! We had put all valuables into a dry bag, which we later found out did not live up it's name. The beer spilled, we lost ice, Miles lost his shirt, I struggled to breathe, swim, and corral our belongings into the now water filled canoe. The current was pushing me and I couldn't touch the bottom to hold on. I tried to hold the boat and our dry bag out of the water, but I was slipping! I tried to hang on to the tree that attacked us but it was slimy and covered in river weeds. Finally, we swam to safety and managed to dump the water out. We only had about half a mile to go before we were at base camp. Miles then realized that the only phone we brought with us had been soaked (in the dry bag, no less) and was no longer working. Excellent. I've also seen this movie. It does not end well either.

Back to camp! Building a fire is an interesting process. It's a mix of physics and geometry to lay the wood in a proper shape to burn to its fullest ability. I decided we should also split our logs to expose the raw inner wood to burn faster. Drunk ideas are the best! Wilderness Lacy takes the aforementioned hatchet and hammer, and impressed Miles by using the hatchet as a wedge while hitting it with the hammer. Fantastic idea, Wilderness Lacy! The massive blister that I acquired while doing this was not so fantastic, though. I also learned that bug spray doesn't so much repel the bugs as much as it just traps them in sticky goo on your body.

Now, I should say the very private camp site was lent to us by a friend of my husband's. It was on a half acre or so of nice flat land. The camp ground was a half acre. The rest of the property totalled about two-thousand acres all planted with corn. Evidently, the friend of my husband's forgot to tell anyone that we would be coming down to camp. So, they patrolled almost constantly. Without giving details of my love life, I'll just say that there was a moment that they patrolled and we were undressed outside of the tent. When I saw headlights, I ran. I truly was not aware that I could run that fast.

So, we forgot blankets and pillows. Outstanding. I tried to sleep on our duffel bag and that was about as comfortable as sleeping on bricks covered in porcupines. I also kept hearing noises. I was very tempted to strip down to my underwear and investigate, but I restrained myself somehow. It was quite unnerving that our only means of communication to the outside world was not working. I dozed on and off but I wasn't resting well. Perhaps, it was due to the fact that I was freezing since there was no blanket. Around three in the morning, I went to the car to turn on the heat and try to sleep there. Unfortunately, I was unaware that our car had been taken over by a colony of flies and it was obviously time for them to fight and fly uncontrollably. I tried to shoo them out but they pretty much looked at me and laughed. I talked trash to them and berated them, telling them they would never be anything except a stupid fly. Harsh words.

By this time, it was sunrise and I still hadn't slept. I got out of the car and went to the hammock. I thought surely that since the sun was out the area would warm up. No. No, it did not. Well, I'm obviously awake now and there is no hope for sleeping so I went to pee. As I was relieving myself, I saw a crane at the river and was watching the weird big-ass bird when, from the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Someone was canoeing at sunrise and I was peeing for all the group to see. Good morning fellow outdoorsmen!

Miles wakes up and we pack up camp. I have a migraine at this point. Partially from lack of sleep and partially because marital relations often end up very violent on an air mattress. I'm sticky, sweaty, smelly, nauseated, and flat-out exhausted. I'm ready to go.

Did I have a good time? Actually, yes. Maybe it's a little masochistic, but it was fun stepping out of my normal routine. I feel a lot closer to Miles now. He saw me in a way that not even I have seen. Completely natural, and he still thought I was beautiful.

Will I do it again? Well, there were no guys in hockey masks terrorizing us or large breasted females screaming, so that was a plus. I learned a lot of things and had many new experiences. As I sit here typing, I'm exhausted, bruised, blistered, bandaged, sore, filthy from my head to my toes...and happy. Yes, I can't wait to go again.

Happy Father's Day, Miles!!

Lessons from a Drag Queen

I used to be insanely awkward. Bless my little past self, I was cute but didn't know what to do with it. I needed someone to take me by the hand and show me how to be a kick-ass woman. One night, at a club with some friends, a drag queen named Angel took me under her sequined wing. Apparently, she could smell my awkwardness from across the room. I didn't dance, I was just glued to the bar. I felt safe because nobody was looking at me there.

She looked me up and down and grinned, "I know what we need to do! You need to learn to OWN IT!"
What can you say to that? "Ok"

Angel was the most beautiful drag queen I have ever met. Her hair was voluminous and curly, her eyes so perfectly smoky, and her lips were so glossy they may as well have been a glazed doughnut.

She took me to the bathroom and started to work teaching me about make-up. I was wearing make-up before this occurred but apparently it was sub standard. Within five minutes, my make-up was so perfect that I could have gone on Oprah. I went and bought the same colors and tools and have been using them flawlessly ever since.

Angel and I hung out the rest of the night talking and laughing. It was so awesome to be able to have advice from a guy who, at that time, was better at being a woman that I was. I have forgotten several pieces of drag queen wisdom, but I have held on to a few.

Don't be afraid to put yourself out there and try new things even if you fail a couple times. "I've got my shaft taped and I'm wearing five inch heels. Do you think this was easy the first time?"

If you feel like it's going to be a bad day, do the perfect smoky eye and glossy lip combo. Just because your day is a wreck doesn't mean you have to be. "You can't cry with that amount of make-up on. Unless you feel like lookin a damn fool."

Don't ask how you look unless you know you look hot. If you don't feel hot, then you don't exude the confidence to be hot. Hot is a character trait. "Don't fidget. Is your shirt too low? Own it. Are your pants too tight? Poke your booty out further."

Don't let a man walk all over you. If you realize that a man is walking on you, remember to get your stilettos out and strut all over him. "Sweetie, they say don't sink to his level and do the same things he did. But you won't be on his level, cuz your heels make you taller than him."

Always let your true self shine through. Not everybody has to like it or agree with it, and that's ok. I don't have to like or agree with everyone either. "My sister won't speak to me anymore. She tells our mother, "I had a brother, not a sister" I think she's jealous cuz I'm prettier."

After that, I was fired up. I finally unleased my inner self. It brought out a lot of honesty in me. Thanks, Angel.

Sometimes, when we are down, we just need to pull ourselves back up by the stilettos and own it. Take today and file it Just remember that tomorrow, with the smoky eye and glossy lip combo, you will be unstoppable.

When I grow up.....

Every so often, a moment will take place in which you will ask yourself, "What the hell am I doing with my life?" After said moment is over and the ice cream is eaten to comfort that moment of failure, it makes me question so much. How do you figure out what your passion is?

If you are one of those people who know what your passion is, stop reading this immediately and go do yoga or something. I, unfortunately, didn't have the luxury of parents who forced me to try things like dance, gymnastics, or little league sports. Thanks guys. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was just a load off their chest to see me graduate without being pregnant or having any drug or alcohol addiction. So again, thanks, your lack of support in the normal childhood activites fucked me right over in many ways. Not only do I have fears of trying new things, but I'm also a total spaz when I finally overcome aforementioned fear and try things. Yeah, I'm blaming my parents, do you have a problem with that?

That being said, I'm not really good at anything that counts. I'm good at sex, but I doubt that means I should become a high-class call girl. I'm decent at painting, but artists are more famous post-mortem. I just don't have that kind of time. I like to eat so I couldn't really do the whole "starving artist" thing. Even if I became good at it, I have a 2 year old who has more energy than a Coke bottle that has been shaken for the last twenty minutes.

When I was younger, I used to want to write edgy books for the tween crowd. Now that I look back on some pieces I wrote, it seems that I would be catering to the gay and lesbian teens who are still struggling to accept themselves. (Which actually may not be a bad idea) I'm straight, but everyone could use another gay advocate!

One time I heard a comedian say that we should all just be whatever we wanted to be when we were 3. The world would be full of ballerinas, fireman, presidents, ninjas, and astronauts. Besides putting a rather hilarious image in my head, it actually may be a good point. What if our first idea about our future is our best idea?

I've decided that I'm not getting younger and if I want to be truly happy everyday that I must find out what I truly love to do. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I hope I figure out my passion and I also hope it pays well.

You, ma'am, are a salad.

I do not like every single person in the world. I also don't like olives in my salad. This occurred to me the other day when I became the victim of selective exclusion, or as it is more widely known, being left out. Everyone in the world is like a salad ingredient.

Thank goodness I had the wonder that is Facebook to thank for alerting me that I was being excluded from another person's salad. I must say first that if you are friends on Facebook with the person you are excluding from aforementioned activity, you should probably not post anything about aforementioned activity. In doing this, you have just reminded me that I am the olive in your salad.

Often, I will make a salad and not even inform the olives that I have made one. They usually find out, though. They see the dirty salad bowl in the sink and maybe they see me sneaking the salad dressing back in the fridge, but they know. Those olives aren't dumb. They just have more class than to confront me or to just brazenly hop into my salad. They know better. I would just push them to the side and make them feel unwelcome. The tomatoes would whisper to me, "Who brought Olive?" To which I would reply, "I have no idea how she knew, she's always been a little dramatic."

That's ok that I'm the olive in someone's salad. Not everyone has to like me, I don't have to like everyone. If I'm going to be an olive, I'm going to be one of those expensive blue cheese and caviar stuffed olives. Now I don't belong in your salad, I'm best just eaten alone with a good red wine.

Why did Hollywood attack the books?

I just wanted to post this to let everyone know that my childhood memories are crushed. Completely obliterated. I recently had the misfortune of viewing "Where the Wild Things Are."
I have been stoked about seeing the movie because I loved the book when I was little. It was so magical and wonderful. I just knew that with all our wonderful new technology and camera and computer tricks that the movie would kick ass. Oh, but I was WRONG!
About twenty minutes into the movie I realized that the movie producers and I did not read the same version of the book. Either that, or perhaps they had smoked a ton of pot and this is what they saw after reading the book and passing out. Miles and I were both confused and disappointed through the entire movie. It hints at addiction and someone needing help so much that I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't the latest episode of Celebrity Rehab. If you insist on watching it, be aware that it will damage your childhood memories of playing make-believe while thinking of this book.
I'm all for the children's stories that we all loved and grew up with being made over to appeal to the twenties and thirties crowd. Trust me, I love the new Alice in Wonderland. I think they should give all Disney movies a darker makeover and put them in 3-D. Yes, I'll pay to watch every single one.
It was like watching someone come up and attack my childhood memories, slap them around a bit, and anally rape them while I watched.
I just think they should do a better job with future movie projects than they did with "Where the Wild Things Are, " or as I now call it "What the Hell Did They Do To My Favorite Children's Book." I don't think anyone should view this movie. Ever.

Early Bird Dinner Special for Two, Please

More and more lately, I'm beginning to realize that I may be exhibiting some signs of slipping slowly into old age. I now look for coupons for items I use often (75 cents off toothpaste!), we're eating dinner earlier (this is because a 2 year old gets hungry early), and we go to bed at an extraordinarily early hour (no excuse for this), and I have been known to use the phrase "Damn kids."

For Valentine's Day, my husband arranged for our daughter to spend the night at her grandma's house and we were going to have a night of fun. Dinner, drinks, a bar with a band, staying out late. I was so excited and I looked so hot! At the restaurant, we were informed that it would be two hours before we would be seated, so we took this opportunity to drink at the bar and complain about the drink prices (if only we had a coupon!) Our drinks ran us about $40 and we weren't even drunk. Excellent. I think we possibly had the laziest server at the restaurant (damn kids) but at least the food was good, even though we ate way past our usual five in the afternoon.

When we headed to the bar which was just a short walk away, we got comfortable and ordered drinks and settled in to watch probably the worst band I have ever experienced. Can someone please shut that woman up? She sounds in pain. This was the night that the Olympic opening ceremonies were going on and they had some of the TVs on that channel but on mute (of course it was muted, our ears were currently being raped by the tragic sounds of Dying Woman on stage.) I was secretly watching the opening ceremony wishing we could actually hear what was going on. My sweet husband looks at me and says, "I wish we could hear the opening ceremony. Is it bad that I kinda wish we were at home so we could watch this in peace?" Oh yes, this is why we got married.

I used to go out every night, all night. Apparently, after a certain stage in life, you realize that it's not so wonderful. I still enjoy going out and having a good time, but now I also enjoy being grown up (and coupons!) It's strange to think about, but I know at one time I was also a "damn kid," but now I also know that the new "damn kids" will be at the stage I'm at in a couple years. But for now, they can scan my coupons.

Did Jillian call for me?

I love ice cream. I love a bowl full of ice cream, covered in chocolate syrup, toasted pecans, chocolate chips, and maybe just a dash of flaked coconut. Oh yes, I love ice cream. What do I do while eating said ice cream? Why, I watch trashy movies about abusive husbands on Lifetime, of course! I was enjoying aforementioned ice cream and trashy movie when Jillian Michaels popped on the screen. Damn you, Jillian!

Why at this particular moment, when I am indulging in the most perfect bowl of heavenly dairy delights, must you lecture me on changing my life? Of course, everyone feels fat this time of year. I'm fat, you're fat, we're all fat. It's always our New Year's resolution to lose five hundred pounds by August. We will diet for a whole week before caving in and going to that ridiculously greasy (meaning delicious) burger place.
"Yes, I'll have the double-cheese-everything burger with a side of shame please."

Damn you, Jillian. Do you know what I would give to have Jillian Michaels work out with my fat ass for a month? I've seriously tried to convince my husband to dedicate our tax refund to this purpose. So far, it's not going well. She makes it look so effortless, with her perfect abs, go-getter attitude, and nutrition knowledge. Damn you, Jillian.

I'm really trying to get healthier and all that good stuff, but it's so hard and requires work. So far, my workouts consist of Toddler Squats. Hold your toddler in a horizontal position, squat, and LIFT your toddler in the air. Works butt, quads, arms, forearms, abs, shoulders, and hurts your back. For the more advanced Toddler Squatter, try tickling said toddler while airborne. This will cause screaming, which will add a headache to your already pulsating back problems.

My meal plan is simple to follow. Plan on getting up earlier than normal to cook a healthy veggie-egg scramble thing with some turkey bacon. Pack a light salad with some soup for lunch. At work, resist all the snacking going on (chips, crackers, cereal, did I mention there was Girl Scout cookies at work today?) Now at lunch, resist the urge to order the double burger with shame. It sounds good right now, but think about how the zipper popping off your pants sounds. That does not sound good. Since the toddler will need fuel for his or her Toddler Squats later, feed the toddler a grilled cheese and fruit. They will inevitably decide they want your salad as well. So no dinner means less calories.

I also have a real problem working out at home to a DVD when there are people around. Unless you're working out with me, then go away. Seriously, when doing yoga my mini-muffin top hangs over doing the Downward Dog, and I'd rather keep this private. I have no problem with the gym. My husband does though. "Why pay for the membership when you could work out at home or we could run." Yeah, I'm not being chased so I'm not running, and I just covered the whole working out at home thing.

It will happen this year. I'm losing fifty pounds by June. By the way, we are switching the October and June on the calendar. So if anyone sees or talks to Jillian Michaels, tell her to get in touch with me.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, yes, I finished the ice cream with the nuts, syrup, and coconut. It was delicious.

No wonder our children are rotting...

Today there was a school shooting in Huntsville, AL, which is about 40 minutes from my house. A ninth (yes ninth!)grader took it upon himself to bring a gun to school and open fire on another ninth (yes ninth!) grader. I'm not sure how old the shooter is, but I would guess 14 or 15. The injured boy is 14. He is currently listed in super ultra critical condition (that's is absolutely a medical term).
I am currently listed in a state of utter disbelief. It seems the drugs, sex, violence, and dumbassery (yeah, my word)are starting earlier and earlier. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, but what can we expect with the crap that kids are pounded with everyday. What could have been so bad that this kid needed a gun? I don't get it. I watched a A&E special about young kids huffing to get high. One kid was 10! Really?
I just tucked my little girl into bed. As I looked at her sweet little face looking back at me smiling, all I could think about was protecting her from the world. I know there are crazy people in the world and that won't ever change. But when did these young, young kids start acting like this? Society is making them grow up too fast.
I know this is kind of random and I'm rambling, but I'm so confused about this. What will be happening when my babies are teenagers?

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta...

I wish we could skip Mondays. I just feel the need to share my day.
While my husband is working second shift, I'm trying not to be the sleep hog I normally am. On a normal day, I snooze the alarm clock about 8 times, and then wake up swearing because I'm running late. Oh no, not today... I woke up on the first alarm! I did this for two reasons, a) I didn't want the alarm to bother him, and b) I was hoping to get up earlier so it wouldn't be such a power struggle to dress my daughter. Oh, was I wrong...
About 15 minutes after I had done my zombie stagger to the coffee pot, Sophie woke up, and she was PISSED. (Lesson learned: Sometimes your defense will never be better than their offense) No matter, it's cool. I got her Fruit Loops and juice and she comes with me to fix my hair and make-up. So, as she knocks over her cereal, she screams, "Damn!" Excellent, my two year old just used a swear word in the correct context. Thank you, I will accept the mother of the year award. Whatever, let's just get dressed.
After surgically removing her binky from her mouth, I set off to find her blankets to send to daycare. Ok, we're dressed (and I look mighty sexy, if I do say so myself, perfect make-up, cascading curly hair, I'm a fox today) and ready to walk out the door. Wait, what's that lodged in her mouth? Another binky? Where did it come from?? That's when I found her secret stash of binkys in her room. Crafty little booger hid them in toys so that when I wouldn't give her one she could just self-service. (Lesson learned: Sometimes your offense will never be better than their defense.)
While handing her blankets over to the daycare teacher, i notice something black and lacy on her blanket. What is that? Oh no... is that my panties? Why, yes it is. I'm the dumb ass who forgot to put in the anti static dryer sheet. Wow. Sometimes my domestic prowess amazes even me.
At this point I realize I have not had enough coffee yet, so I pull into Sonic to get an overpriced sub-par latte.
"Yes, I'd like a caramel latte please."
"I'm sorry ma'am, we don't have hot lattes anymore. We only have them iced."
Really?
"Ok, then can I have an iced latte without ice?"
Why the hell would you have one latte and not the other? Coffee is made hot and you add ice to cool it, right? Whatever!
I need some hardcore rap music about this time. I don't look like your typical rap-loving girl, but I'm a rapper at heart. So I put in some old school Master P. Make 'em say UH na na na na. I'm burning up from my morning through hell, so my window is down and the music so loud and I'm rapping with P. Of course I would pull up to some elderly people at the red light, and of course they go to church with my grandmother.
Hell, it's been a long day already and I haven't even made it work.
Do you ever have days at work where you honestly believe that the life is just being sucked out of you?
"Hey, could you check by the fax machine? I think I may have left my soul sitting out there. Thanks"
It was just a day when I couldn't concentrate. Of course, the fatigue and lack of concentration could be attributed to mercury poisoning from all the tuna I'm eating. Setting goals to lose weight is great, but it's kind of a bitch, too.
I'm not participating in Monday next week, just so we're clear. I did learn a lot today:

Sometimes, no matter who makes the plays, Offense or Defense, your team will lose and your two year old's team will be better.
Sometimes you should double check to make sure you put in the anti static sheet.
You should always edit yourself in front of toddlers. (Later in the day, she also repeated "shit" and "retard" as I was having road rage.)
Sometimes you get embarrassed at red lights.
But something to always remember...
Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

Recommended dosage of children

Warning: The following will contain my opinions and thoughts. I'm simply stating what most parents truly feel but are too ashamed to say. I love my daughter with all my heart and am most thankful for her. If you're easily offended at somewhat sarcastic parental humor, then please take this opportunity to navigate away from this page.

I was shopping with my cutie daughter the other day when I found myself in the cereal aisle with a young couple. *Just a side note, I have no idea why I'm so approachable and random strangers tell me everything, but it happens*

"Aww.. How precious! How old is she?"

"She will be two in May. She's a handful, but she cracks me up."

"We're thinking of having children. Do you recommend it?"

Ok, What? First of all, you're asking me, a complete stranger, if I "recommend" having a baby. Second, do we recommend babies like doctors recommend antibiotics? Really?

"Oh, Dr. My life is unfulfilled"

"Well, ma'am take two babies and call me in the morning."

Stop this nonsense right now.

I told the woman yes, I would "recommend" children, but I walked away confused. As I was getting milk, I had the extreme urge to run up to that poor, unsuspecting woman that I had just sentenced to a life of Spongebob Squarepants, potty training, and stretch marks and tell her I lied! No, I don't "recommend" it! Keep your petite figure, keep your own schedule and social life, and for God's sakes you don't have to watch Nickelodeon!

Let's be honest, social life is pretty much over for a few years after a child. We all pretend it's not, but it is! Not too many friends want to hang out with you and the babies. Sure, we could have someone else watch our kids every weekend while we go out and do things, but I talk shit about those kinds of moms all the time. I miss getting dressed up with some slutty heels and going out. I miss drinking at a bar. I want a date with my husband and not feel guilty!

Stretch marks? Honey, I have no idea. I'm thinking about just getting a full body tattoo of a sexy body to cover those bitches up. Don't even get me started on how much different my ass looks now.

Bottom line, I love my daughter with everything in my soul. What should I have said to the couple in the grocery store? Do I "recommend" children? Absolutely, take mine and call me in the morning.

*Side note, No, I would not actually give my child to strangers in the grocery store. So put down the phone, no need to call DCS.*

Changes in T minus 10, 9, 8...

Last Wednesday was just warm enough to ride with the windows down and not freeze to death. Aerosmith's "Crazy" was on the radio. I love this song and I always have. Since this song came out, I have always stopped to sing along when it comes on. So it made me wonder, do we change or do we just go through different motions?

Yeah, we make life changes all the time, but how much do we really change? How much of the changes we do are just because it's something we know we should do? I know I should exercise, but I don't like to. I know I should take vitamins, but I'm too lazy. And we all know that doughnuts taste better than broccoli. But no matter what, even at my lowest rock-bottom points, I still loved Aerosmith.

When people would comment and say "You've changed. You're not the same person." Really? Have I changed or am I just going thorough different motions? I didn't think I had changed. My whole life I have always had the same opinions on key issues, always liked the same kind of jelly, always liked the same types of people. Every morning when I put on make-up, I turn on music and lip-sync to the mirror while I imagine a music video starring myself. I've done this since I was 15. So did I "change" or just go off the beaten path? I think that when people say, "You've changed" what they mean to say is, "You're not the cat lady I envisioned you to be."

People say having a baby changes you. True. Mostly. Do I finally love someone more than myself. Yes. Will it change the way people on the street see me? No. It does change the way I see toys. That's not a baton with sparkly tassels, that's a beating stick with sparkly shit that she will try to swallow. That's not an educational talking alphabet board, that's an obnoxiously loud, battery hungry brick that will be dropped on my toes. So yeah, a baby changes things.

But besides being a parent and going to war, do we ever really change? Marriage is borderline, in my opinion. When we are single we go out and do things that we're supposed to do when we're single. But why are we supposed to date everyone we see, go to clubs, and generally make an ass out of ourselves when we're single? I don't think you change when you get married, I think you wipe the sweat from your brow and breathe a sigh of relief that single life is over and you can finally start living with some dignity.

So what, in essence is a catalyst for real change? I'm talking a change from the core. I've been through a lot and made a lot of "changes" but I'm still the same person. I still love Aerosmith, making music videos, and I have a funny feeling I will always prefer a doughnut over broccoli.