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Month: May 2004

Memories of an old boyfriend

Memories of an old boyfriend

I woke up today thinking about a boy I dated in high school.  I think about him a lot.  (It’s okay.  Clint knows I still think about him.) I went back in my mind to the day we met.  It was at a party.  I was very interested in this boy, but alas, he was off limits because he was dating a friend of mine.  But, let me tell you something right up front.  I didn’t care.  I wanted to go out with him.

So, as all teenage girls who have the flirt gene will tell you, I knew how to work it.  Oh, sure, I had that whole 80’s hair thing going against me, but then again, so did every other girl out there.  I laughed with him.  I playfully punched his arm.  I complimented him athletic ability.  (Okay, I really didn’t do that.  I actually made fun of his volleyball serve.  I mean, please, this thing went so high in the air you had time to sit down for lunch before it reached the other side of the net.)

As the party neared an end, I began to panic.  I have to get this guy’s phone number.  I don’t care if he is dating a friend of mine.  I want to go out with him.  However, luck was not on my side.  He left before I had a chance to get him number.  (Yes, I was that kind of girl who would ask a guy for him number.  You want to make something of it?  I didn’t think so.)

It turns out that without my knowledge he had asked someone at the party for my number.  He called the next day.  Yes, I freaked out.  Yes, I did that “girl squeal.” And, yes, I did get all cocky thinking I was “all that” and that my flirting worked and I charmed this boy so much he just had to go out with me. (Well, I did.  Didn’t I?)

We went out.  Two weeks after we met, we went on our first date.  Let me just say right up front, I had the world’s biggest crush on this boy.  He knew just what to say and how to treat me.  I can close my eyes and still see him the way he was that night.  So young.  So sure of himself.  So damn adorable!

That first date was 17 years ago to the day.  (Memorial Day weekend) I meant it when I told you it was a date like no other.  A date that meant more to me than any I had ever gone on before.  I admit, I was just a young teenager and really didn’t know a lot about dating.  Maybe that is why I can remember every detail of this first date.  (I confess.  I didn’t have a whole lot of first dates, so I am therefore allowed to remember the ones I had with fondness.  Clint is okay with that.)

I still see that boy sometimes.  Oh sure, he is no longer a boy.  He has aged just like I have.  He is married now.  (Ironically, to a woman that is the complete opposite of anyone he ever dated.  A complete opposite to him, actually.  But, I know his wife well and I have to admit, it is a perfect match.) He is great with his kids.  Sometimes, when I see him with them, I catch a glimpse of the boy I dated.  It makes me smile. 

I was able to talk to him today. Just the two of us.  (Granted, it was hard to try to sneak that time in when we have family obligations and time alone is not what it used to be.) We reminisced about the “good ol’ days” and how long ago it was.  We laughed at all the inside jokes that were ours “back in the day.” I swear, it almost felt like I was that teenage girl flirting with that teenage boy again.  The butterflies in the stomach.  The smile that I just couldn’t contain.  The internal debate in my head “Will he kiss me?  Won’t he?  Will he?  Won’t he?” (He did, by the way. For old times sake.)

For just a moment, just a brief moment in time, it felt like 1987 and we were on that first date 17 years ago.  I looked into his eyes and, completely forgetting about the man I married and only seeing the boy I dated, I whispered “I love you”.

He kissed me.  And said, “I love you, too.”

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Moving over to Expression Engine

Moving over to Expression Engine

I suppose a weekend is the best time to do a blog overhaul.  Seeing as there are fewer readers on the weekends.  Especially a holiday weekend.  So, you may notice some changes here this weekend.  I am going to be doing my best to make this as painless as possible.  (Oh who am I kidding!?  It is totally pain free for me! He is doing all the work!)

Nevertheless, if you notice some problems, please let me know.  I am trying not to hurt the place, but I make no promises.

Thanks for your patience!  (As always!)

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Damn spammers!

Damn spammers!

I am angry. Seeing red. Want to reach through this computer and hurt someone.

I am temporarily turning off all comments. I just got 57 spam comments in about 2 minutes. Nasty ones that really and truly will be sending that spammer straight to hell with his buddies.

Once I have things worked out or have switched over to ExpressionEngine, I will allow comments. I hate doing this, but this is ridiculous!

UPDATE: Apparently, I can only close comments on the new entries. Oh sure, like that will work. Spammers never use the new entries. I know that MT has the blacklist thingie and all, but I am probably moving away from MT anyway. I have the ExpressionEngine and Clint is running WordPress. I just hate to think that I have to deal with a new template and everything. Seeing as I am only smart enough (blogwise) to get myself into trouble, I won’t be trying to create a new template for a new platform. Not just yet. So, if you come back here and see the most boring look EVER seen here, don’t panic. I will put the bells and whistles back when I can. Besides, you come here to read my words,right? Not to marvel at my beautiful site. (Goodness, I need some Moxie in my life! But HE says I need to pay bills right now and not use the money to just make my blog pretty. Damn responsible spouse! lol)

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We live. We show. He laughed!

We live. We show. He laughed!

They didn’t take over.
I am not in the Bahamas with him.
But they are still here.

And we have a house showing anytime now. As in we will be diving out windows and doors on a moments notice to rid the house of it’s pesky homeowners so that the picky house hunters won’t be offended by the fact that someone actually lives here.

The realtor called at 9:00am and ever so sweetly said, “We have a showing set up at your home at 9:30am this morning. Is that okay?”

To which I replied, “#!%*!” At least that is what I thought. I think my actual reply was something like, “Oh I SO don’t think so. I have four 8 yr old boys passed out in my living room, a 10 year old who really needs his sleep sacked out in bed and a toddler that I am not about to wake up yet. Can we possibly move this to noon or so?”

After trying to stifle a laugh, he replied, “You have my sympathy. No showings until after noon. Have a nice day.”

I swear I heard that man laugh at me as he was hanging up.

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Recipie for disaster aka: Breakdown on a biscuit

Recipie for disaster aka: Breakdown on a biscuit

-Take one exhausted Mom.
-Add an overly stressed, and slightly worn out Dad.
-Throw in 4 extrememly hyper 8 year old boys.
-Stir briskly with a bossy 10 year old brother.
-Sprinkle with a cranky 3 year old potty training toddler.

Mix well on high speed. (Beware: After aggitation, contents are highly explosive. Use extreme care.)

~~~~~

Holy crap on a crispy cracker it is insane here tonight! Kidlet Jr. is having 3 of his friends spend the night. Sort of a “last blast before we move” thing. (We are SO not going to even talk about the fact that we no longer have any idea when we are moving or what we are doing anymore.)

I mean, seriously, is it asking to much to just want hear myself shout over the noise? I am not asking for quiet, but for the love of Pete, can I please at least hear myself when I yell at you people?

I would ask Clint how he feels about it, but something tells me that the fact that he is sitting under his desk, rocking back and forth mumbling to himself is just not a good sign.

If I don’t blog tomorrow, send help. It means THEY took over and I am locked up somewhere. Either that or Clint and I took off for the Bahamas and could care less what they do to the house!

Oh no! I just heard a crash. Seriously, can I come stay with one of you?? ANYONE????

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Mooooom! You are so immature!

Mooooom! You are so immature!

Okay, I admit it. I have an immature side. No. I really do. Let’s just take an incident this weekend as an example.

I am with the kidlets (all 3 of them) at a Chain Bookstore that doesn’t sell Starbucks but does sell coffee. (Yes, okay, I was at Borders.) So anyway, I let Kidlet Jr. take the Little Diva to the children’s reading area to look at some books. Kidlet Sr. takes off towards whatever it is that preteen boys like to read that won’t give their mother a heart attack in shock. I wander just 2 aisles over towards the computer section. (Yes, I was in the computer section. It’s all for you, people. I sacrificed my time in a bookstore to look at computer books in order to make this place a bit better for you. As you can see, I didn’t stay there long.) So anyway, Kidlet Jr. comes over to me looking a bit upset. This is the conversation that took place.

(Perhaps here would be a good place to warn you that if you do not find elementary school bathroom-crude type humor funny, you really won’t enjoy this story. You should probably just move along and come back later.)

Kidlet Jr.: “Mom. I have a problem.”
Me: (without looking up) “What’s up, dude?”
Kidlet Jr.: “Well, I was playing with my balls and one of them slipped out of my hand and it bounced up on top of a shelf and I can’t get it now.”
Me: “Well, maybe you should just keep your balls in your shorts and that wouldn’t happen.” *giggle giggle snort*
Kidlet Jr. “Moooooommmm! I mean it. I need you to see if you can find my balls.”
Me: *laughing too hard to respond*
Kidlet Jr.: “Mom. I am serious. Stop laughing I don’t mean those balls. Now come help me before someone steals my balls.”
Me: “Dude, really. You really shouldn’t be playing with them in the store anyway.”
Kidlet Jr.: *stare*

So, I get my immature self up off of the floor to go rescue my son’s balls when I glance over at a man sitting at the end of the aisle in a big comfy chair. He is laughing so hard he is holding his side.

I just nod all mature like….

… then burst out into a fresh fit of giggles.

I swear. You just can’t take me anywhere.

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