Because I love you, I have decided to give you some helpful tips of things you should do.

1. If you are having a really crappy week, because, say, you just had to put a cat to sleep for the second time in a little over a month, you should take some pictures of yourself, photoshop the everloving crap out of them, and then post them on the internet and whine about your nose. Because then people will say nice things to you and tell you that you are pretty because, hey, they feel sorry for you and who wants to kick a girl when she's down.

2. If you decide to use a lipstick that is, no lie, 10 years old and feels like rubbing your lips with sandpaper, you should get out the white lip gloss that for some unknown reason came in a pack of Bobbi Brown lipgloss that your mother-in-law gave you and put it on on top of the 10 year old lipstick. Your lips will still be sandpaper dry and scratchy underneath, but nice and shiny on top. Also, if anybody knows what's up with white lipgloss and wants to enlighten me, that would be cool.

3. Also when posting pictures of yourself on the internet, you should say that you just brushed your hair and put on lipstick when actually you straightened your hair with a flat iron and put on foundation, bronzer, blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, powder, lipstick and lip gloss, because that way you will seem less vain. Oh, and then see above about photoshopping the everloving crap out of the pictures.

4. If you have pictures of yourself that are, shall we say, compromising (not that I do, of course, but possibly you do), you should not file those pictures with your other, regular, pictures, because coming across such things unawares can be quite a shock to the system. And also it will piss you off because look how much thinner you used to be! You know, I assume anyway. Can't say I know from personal experience.

5. If you have a newspaper subscription, every time you get your bill you should call and say you want to cancel, because then they will give you another 10 weeks for $20 to keep you from cancelling and as far as I can tell they will do this forever. Do you think this makes me a bad person?

Hi. Things are still sorta shitty. Let's move on.

I need to find a picture of myself that I am willing to publish, which is difficult since I hate every picture ever taken of me. We won't go into why, just go with it. Anyway, I went through some of the pictures on our computer thinking surely I would find something suitable, but it has proven to be rather challenging. I think this one is definitely too old:

We named Pixel after the kitten in the Robert Heinlein book who walked through walls because he didn't know that he couldn't. He walked into our apartment one day 12 years ago and curled up in a chair and decided to stay, so it seemed appropriate. He was literally starving when we got him, and even on a steady diet of cat food four times a day he would still stalk and eat french fries, pizza, tortilla chips, cheese and doughnuts. At one point he tipped the scales at somewhere north of 18 pounds, but lately he was just a bit more than eight. He mellowed a bit the last few years, but you still had to watch yourself around him as he never fully got over his time as a stray and having to fight for his life and he could take a chunk out of you when the mood struck. He's the only cat I have ever known who came when you called him.

Pixel did not do well after the surgery yesterday. It seems he had a pretty nasty infection hiding in his lymphnodes along with the cancer and overnight the infection took over. This morning, we had to decide whether to keep going with treatments that might buy us a little time, might even buy us enough time to treat the likely very advanced cancer and possibly get Pixel another six months, or to just let him go. We decided to let him go. A little while ago, we sent him off to find Callie.

I want our cats back now, please.

Ok, first off, this is not the news I mentioned last week. That news is still coming, early next week at the latest. Looks like it is all going to work out and be lovely, but I am a don't count your chickens kind of person, so you will have to wait a bit longer.

The other news is not good news. I was going to wait to say anything until I knew more, but for some reason it feels weird not to tell you guys about it. Possibly I need to get out more. The thing is, our cat, Pixel, has been at the vet since Saturday. At first, they thought it was liver failure. Then, they thought it was some problem with his gallbladder. Now, after (and I wince to even type this) the ultrasound and then exploratory surgery he had this morning, they are pretty sure it is cancer. The only real question at this point is what sort of cancer, how bad it is and what we are going to do about it. The vet took biopsies and we should have the results in a couple of days and with any luck Pixel will come home tomorrow.

I cannot even begin to articulate how much this sucks. It is horrible that he is sick, and likely very sick, and all the worse since it was only a little over a month ago that we lost Callie. If any of you have any pull with the (highly capricious) universe, would you please prevail upon it to stop with our cats already? Because this, and I hope you will forgive me for a little whining here, is not fucking fair.

That's all for now as I need to get back to moping. Come back tomorrow when you can help me try to find a picture of myself that doesn't make me want to vomit.

People, I know this is lousy quality, but it was the best I could do. Here's how it always plays out:

Beth says: Mia! Come to Mama! Come here, Mia! Come give Mama a kiss!
Mia thinks: Hey, Mama has that camera I like to chew on, I'll head on over there. Wait a minute, Mama looks pretty distracted. I think this is my chance to go chew all the cables under the computer desk. See ya!

Mia Bean,

How can you possibly be nine months old today? It seems as if we have just met you and are just starting to get to know you, and now you have been outside my body for as long as you were inside it. These months have passed so quickly and I can't believe how quickly your babyness is melting away, but I also can't believe it has only been nine months because I feel like I have loved you forever.

You've had quite a month, little lady. You started crawling two weeks and one day ago, and then didn't do it again for three days. Two more days after that you decided you liked it after all and were off like a shot. You crawl all over the place, to chase down poor Pixel, find me if I dare to duck into the bathroom, retrieve a favorite toy or just sometimes for a change of scenery. The other day I vacuumed the upstairs and kept trying to put you in a room away from the noise but every time I did you came trucking along after me with a very determined look on your face and then broke into a huge grin when you got to where I was. I love you crawling. I love watching you do it and I love that you can go your own way.

When you aren't crawling you want to be standing up. You can't quite pull yourself up yet, so I spend a lot of time standing you up and propping you against the crib or a baby gate, a chair, the couch, my hip, the stairs, the dresser, or any other moderately stationary object. You scream and laugh and giggle with glee and look all around you, up at the ceiling, down at the floor to examine all those familiar things from your new perspective.

You have such a personality now, and such solid ideas about what you do and do not like. Tormenting Pixel, like. Having your diaper changed, dislike. Playing with electrical cords, sockets, nightlights, trash cans and empty boxes, like. Getting dressed, dislike. You are also developing a vocabulary. You say Mama and Dada but don't appear to attach any meaning to them. You also say baba and nana and vava and make all sorts of clicks and pops and raspberries with your mouth. You have also learned how to yell to express your displeasure without having to bother to actually cry. Although you have also learned that Mama doesn't always respond to yelling so you turn on the waterworks at will.

You almost always take two good naps a day now, and it has made you a much more pleasant baby in the afternoons and evenings. The last couple of days we have been trying some new ways to help you sleep at night, and at the risk of jinxing it so far we seem to be making a little progress. Last night you spent the entire night in your crib and I think it is the first time you have ever gone an entire night in your own room. I was thrilled, and admittedly a little sad. I enjoy pulling you into bed with us in the small hours of the morning and sleeping with your chubby little fingers up my nose. One of the things we have done in our new sleep campaign is set up a camera in your room so we can check on you without going in there, and I find it is hard for me to go to sleep because I would prefer to sit and watch you sleep.

I hate it when people say that babies are good babies, because I feel like babies are just babies and are themselves. But you are such a good baby. You are happy and cheerful and love to play and flirt with people. We went to a meeting yesterday where there were several other babies and you spent the whole time crawling around trying to kiss them. You like to kiss my forehead and my still flabby belly and on Easter you kissed your very surprised Aunt. Your best kisses, however, you save for the cat. How you love that cat. I think he must love you too because he puts up with your very rough little hands and doesn't scratch you to ribbons, despite great provocation.

Yesterday your father took you out all on his own for the first time. I don't know how it had never happened before, but it hadn't. He was a little scared, but he overcame his fears and took you to Best Buy. When you got back, both of you were grinning from ear to ear, just so pleased with yourselves and your adventure. Other than the time in my car driving to the grocery store or the gym or wherever else I have gone, that was the first time in nine months that I have been alone. I reveled in the first 10 minutes and then started wondering when you and Daddy would be back. I like that we are able to be a little more independent of each other these days, but the fact is that I am happiest when I have you on my hip, giggling and pulling my hair.

Mia Bean, you are a silly little monkey, and I love, love, love you with every last bit of my heart.

Love,
Mom

Happy Friday, Sportsfans. Let's do an old numbered post, shall we?

1. No new news on the news I didn't tell you yesterday. I am a worst case scenario person so have decided the lack of news means it is going to fall through and am considering a mild pre-emptive depression so that I have a head start if it does fall through. May just eat lots of cookies instead.

2. I love you guys. No, really, I mean that and I'm not even drunk. It was so much fun reading all the words you picked to describe me and you were all so sweet to pick mostly nice ones instead of "whiny" and "petulant" and "self-absorbed." I don't usually do this, especially since some of us don't know each other all that well, but, well... how about a group hug? Really. Oh come on, it will be nice. No? Ok, I guess I can see your point. Just a little hug maybe? Ok, ok. I suppose that means you don't want to kiss either. Darn.

3. One of my best qualities is how freely and humbly I admit to being wrong when I'm, you know, wrong. Ha! I'm lying! I never admit to being wrong! It helps, of course, that I never am wrong and therefore never have anything to admit. However, I will admit that in the last couple days I seem to have become more right on a subject so in the interest of full disclosure I figured I should fill you in on my improved understanding of the matter.

We are still having a lot of trouble getting Mia to go to and stay in bed (although napping has improved roughly nine million percent). One of the big problems we have is that she will fall asleep nursing/rocking (I'm not stopping, don't bother telling me I shouldn't do it) and then wake up and scream the second I try to put her in her crib. Now, as she is my precious wittle angel monkey and cannot be permitted to endure the smallest moment of distress, I have been snatching her from her crib the second she makes a peep and rocking her back to sleep, just to do the exact same thing again, over and over, ad infinitum. Except that yesterday, I decided to instead put her in her crib and just walk out and shut the door. And every time I have done it, she has gone back to sleep. Quickly. And last night she not only went to sleep, she then proceeded to sleep 5 hours straight, which is not that impressive for a nine month old child but is huge for us Cactus-Fishes.

So anyway, it's nice to have become so much more brilliantly correct in my child sleep theories. We are trying some other things too and I will let you know if they work. If they don't work I will never mention them - see above about how I am always right.

4. That's it for now. Mia and I are going to another Boob Posse meeting this morning so I need to go dig out my Birkenstocks and dress Mia in all-natural, un-dyed hemp-fiber, fair trade, cloth diapers. She's already wearing her hippie shirt.

But I'm doing it anyway.

My sister in law sent me one of those FW: FW: Fwd: FW: FW: emails yesterday that I hate, but I adore my SIL so I always read them. This one said, in the typical Oh! My! God! high-energy, this is the most fun you will ever have tone, that I was to reply to my SIL with one word that described her, and then forward the email to all my friends and have the best time ever seeing what they said about me.

I did it, because as I mentioned I adore my SIL, and now I am passing it on to all my friends. (Um, is it really pitiful that you guys are all my friends? I mean, not ALL my friends, I do have others that do not live in this little box on my desk, but that you guys were the ones I thought of when I read "all my friends?" Yeah, I thought it was, just a little.) So humor me, ok, and give me one word to describe me. Try not to use "bitch" though because that is just too obvious and you don't want to pick the same word as everyone else.

What? You say I haven't had anything resembling content in a week? Well see, the child? She crawls. And I mean she CRAWLS and can cross the entire house in under a minute and I am having a hard time adjusting to that. Also, I have news that I really want to tell you because it is super duper exciting, but I am still working out the details and I am starting to get scared the details might not work out and then it will be super duper depressing instead and you will all need to console me and send me wine and chocolate. But cross your fingers that is stays super duper exciting instead and I will fill you in as soon as I can. Pinky swear.

(I am NOT pregnant. Guess again.)

Here we go, the truth:

1. Lie. I do not wear men's boxers, although I vaguely recall a fashion trend from high school-ish where girls wore boxers as shorts and at that time I owned two pairs of boxers but never wore them. I don't understand how you guys wear them anyway seeing as they are so baggy and must get all bunched up under your pants. I am a little disappointed in everyone who guessed this one was true since boxers obviously don't go with smokin' assness and you should have known I was a thong girl all the way. Was that too much information?

2. True. I will not read any book with a picture from a movie on the cover. Although, if this is weird it seems like a whole lot of you are weird with me.

3. Lie. I have no particular affection for Abe Lincoln, and no way was he a hotty. However, as I was lying in bed last night trying to go to sleep I got the brilliant idea of my Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend Clive Owen as Abe Lincoln which I can kind of picture and then, yes, he would be totally hot. Until then though, not so much.

4. Lie. I have no fear of puppets. My irrational fears are horses, termites and any dog smaller than my cat. As irrational fears go I think this is a pretty good list, especially considering that two out of three are things I can just squish.

5. True. I don't think I want to comment on this one. It's true, nuf said.

6. True. I've gotten a lot of questions about this one. I'm talking about a fan vent, not a heating vent, where there are large holes in the sides perfect for towel-stuffing. You reach the vent by standing on the toilet or sink or tub or, if need be, by sending your husband out to get ice and dragging a piece of furniture into the bathroom to stand on. You do this only while you are in there and remove it when you leave so that aforementioned husband doesn't see it and think that you are weird.

On to the winners! Only three people guessed correctly (I think, if you were right and I missed you please let me know) so each will be receiving a fabulous and thrilling Rude Cactus mix cd just as soon as Chris gets around to making it (which may be a while - I love the guy but he isn't exactly the king of follow-through). And the winners are:

Julie, mom to the adorable Raisin and a draft pick to be named later. (She's pregnant, get it?)

Ann, world's hottest grandma to three amazing little ladies.

and

Aurelia, who either does not have or just has not admitted to having a blog, but who loves men with chicken legs.

I was tagged for this meme by Sarcomical and CosmoGRRL and Corinne, so I guess there is no getting out of it. Chris was tagged too, so we decided to switch it up a little bit.

First, Chris wrote my list of weirdnesses and I wrote his list.

Second, only half of the following things are true, the other half we had a lot of fun making up last night. First person to correctly identify which are true and which are false wins their very own Rude Cactus mix cd (likely to feature "Ripple"). Same deal goes over at the hubby's so play early and often.

Here's what Chris said about me and why I am weird, although it was difficult since I am such a normal, rational, regular kinda girl:

1. Beth wears men's boxers. Not mine, because that would, according to her, be unsanitary. But she has her own collection of fine men's boxers. No, I've never borrowed them.

2. When a book is made into a movie, the publisher will often reprint the book with new cover art, usually a shot from the movie. In Beth's words, "that's just wrong." Even if it is the most interesting, well-reviewed book on the face of this good earth, Beth won't buy it. Instead, she'll dig around for an older copy or will simply refuse to buy a copy at all.

3. Beth is unusually obsessed with Abraham Lincoln. It's unclear where her fascination with Honest Abe began but he is, apparently, a historical hottie and quite interesting to boot.

4. Whereas most of us fear spiders or snakes, Beth is terrified of puppets. I can't get my head around it but even the Muppets are forbidden within these four walls. We're going to have to get her into aversion therapy before all the puppet-driven kid shows become popular around here.

5. Beth makes a habit, during what little idle time she has, of drafting important speeches and conversations covering issues with which she will, most likely, never deal. Such as Mid-East peace. She has an extensive range of topics already covered should you ever find yourself negotiating aformentioned peace deals, discussing humanitarian missions with the UN Secretary General or addressing the Queen of England.

6. You know those vents and fans in bathroom ceilings? Beth's convinced there are cameras hidden in those, regardless of the type of establishment hotels, movie theaters, churches, even home. And if there aren't cameras hidden inside, there are bugs. So, whenever we stay in a hotel, she covers them up with towels.

That big noise you heard on Saturday? Was the universe collapsing from the weight of cuteness being generated by my daughter. Sorry about that.

One 64-inch baby gate: $140.

Two 42-inch baby gates for $25 and a little creative thinking: fucking priceless.

Blah-di-blah-blah. This is boring. You were warned.

Thank you all for giving me links to some of your favoritest blogs to check out. I don't really know what I was thinking, because between your recommendations and some of your sites that I haven't made it to yet I have about 100 new blogs to check out. What really amazed me is that at least 90% of the recommendations were people I had never heard of or had heard of but never read, so that was actually sort of exciting. I was a little afraid that you were all going to recommend Dooce or that Star Trek guy, so thanks for being a little creative.

Also, I accidentally deleted some of the comments from that post. Well ok, to be honest, I deleted them on purpose because I accidentally screwed them up so badly that they were no longer readable and so then I deleted them on purpose to hide the mess I made. I had this fabulous idea that I would go through the comments and make all the links into actual links so that anybody who wanted to could just click and check out all the new sites, but it didn't work the way it works when I post and the changes I made somehow just deleted the links entirely so that comments said "You should check out she's totally great!" which is not really informative and then I tried to go back and fix them and it didn't work and then I just got pissy and deleted them and hoped nobody would notice. But now I'm telling you about. I just can't keep a secret. I do have all the emails though so will check out everybody's recommendations and I'm sorry if I deleted your comment.

Moving on. The panties were mine, although I realized after posting that they are silk and not satin, so I can see how that might have thrown you off. The electric hedge trimmers are right next to the dryer (ah, the joys of townhouse living) so I'm assuming that they and the sock landed there during an ill-fated trip from the washer to the dryer. I do admire your self-restraint in not making more jokes about trimming the bushes, which honestly I didn't think of until after I posted it. I am very naive. Yesterday I was talking about choking a (stuffed) chicken and had to ask Chris whether that meant what I thought it meant, which apparently it does and I have since named the (stuffed) chicken Chuck. Chuck the Chicken. Well, it made me laugh.

Earlier today I found a pair of panties (purple, satin) and a single sock (black, Chris's) on top of the electric hedge clippers.

That's really all I have to say about that.

Me: Were you groping my boobs in the middle of the night last night, or did I dream it?
Him: Probably.
Me: Probably?
Him: Probably I was groping your boobs.
Me: What do you mean, probably?
Him: I mean, I was alseep, but I probably did it. It sounds like something I would do.
Me: Something you would do while asleep.
Him: Yes.
Me: Because all the other women you are sleeping with have told you that you do this? So you can say it sounds like something you would do?
Him: No, I just mean it was probably a misguided attempt to cuddle.
Me: Ah.
Him: See?
Me: Yup, although you ought to be careful with that. You would hate to be in a business meeting and grab someone's crotch in a misguided attempt to shake hands.

A couple of weeks ago, during one of those nights when Mia just would not go to sleep and instead spent several hours clamped onto my boob and giggling, Chris sent me links to the best sites he was reading that I was not. Don't you wish I would tell you what links he sent me? Nope, not gonna do it, so just assume that your site was one of them because you? Are awesome.

Anyway, I found some great new people that I now love madly and want to make out with and it got me to thinking (I do that sometimes) that you are probably reading really good sites that I am not reading too.

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to leave me one and only one link to a fabulous blog that I should read, and if you are so inclined, tell me why. If you want to, you can click through to my blogroll over on the right there to make sure the site you want to tell me about isn't there, but since I do all my blog reading via feed my blogroll is hopelessly outdated and I read lots of sites that aren't listed, and therefore you may skip that step at your discretion. You may also leave the link to your own site as the latest fabulous blog that I simply must read, but don't you think that is a little egotistic? I mean, chances are that if you leave a comment I will read your site anyway, if I'm not already, so you can probably afford to share the love a little bit.

Since I don't like to get and not give (I'm lying, I love to do that, but I suppose it is rude) here are just a couple of my absolute favorites that you should totally check out.

Belgianwaffle is clever, witty, and posts pictures of her beautiful children. Is obviously smarter than me, but I do not hold that against her.

Sarcomical is always good for a giggle and is also frequently good for making liquid squirt our your nose. Is obviously prettier than me, but I do not hold that against her.

William at Poop and Boogies is representin' for the men and reminds me a bit of my husband due to his habit of saying outrageous and hilarious things in inappropriate situations. Is obviously male-er than me, but I do not hold that against him.

Come on baby, give it to me. You know you want to.

Those of you who have been playing along at home will know that I don't think much of fashion. I'm all for looking nice and changing out of the baby puke stained sweater before you head out for dinner at the Ritz, but as far as caring who made your t-shirt, I think it is ridiculous. Do you like the t-shirt? Then wear the t-shirt and who cares. (You know what really cracks me up? Designer track suits. I mean hello? It's a track suit for pete's sake! Hilarious.)

So anyway, you must realize that if I am stooping to giving fashion advice it must be very serious, and I assure you that it is. Now, I am sure that none of you lovely people need this particular nugget of wisdom, (have you lost weight? Your ass looks fabulous in those pants.) but I mention it as a reminder of that which you already know so that you can help those less fortunate than yourselves to stop looking like idiots.

You know how sometimes skirts and coats have a kick pleat or a slit in the back? And you know how sometimes when you buy the skirt or coat that pleat or slit is held closed with a single stitch? Well, and I know this may come as a shock to some people, you are supposed to remove that stitch before wearing the garment. Seriously. You are not required to take mincing little steps with your skirt bunching up around your legs. Even my husband, who I think it is fair to say is even less fashion-savvy than I am, understands that this is a fashion faux pas. I am frankly amazed how often I see people walking around with the stitch still in, especially considering how little I get out these days.

Share the love, people. Friends don't let friends walk around with an un-unstitched kick pleat.

My work here is done.

I can't believe it took me so long to think of it, but I don't know how I can ask you to diagnose my alien-trapped-in-my-stomach c-section scar pain without a diagram of the offending scar. So here you go:

It feels better today, so I guess the alien has decided to stay in there a while longer.

Um.... something more interesting later, maybe, but I am tired and it is rainy so I wouldn't put money on it or anything.

Y'all (I never say y'all in real life, only on the internet, because my mother would kill me. Same with ain't.) is it bad that my c-section incision hurts eight months after the fact? Probably this is caused by Mia kicking me in the stomach all the live-long day, but I am becoming slightly concerned that maybe something is going to pop out of it a la that scene from Alien that emotionally damaged me for life when my grandparents let me rent it when I was eight. (They also let me buy cereal based entirely on the prize in the box and then throw it all away when I hated it. Grandparents rock.)

So what do you think? Normal reaction to regular abuse from 22 pound monster child (monster in that she is huge, not in that she behaves like a monster) or previously unknown life-form poised to spring from the area just north of my naughty bits and ruin any (very small) hope I had of ever wearing a bikini again?

You can tell me, I can take it.

Mia screamed all night last night. I am not exaggerating. She took an occasional 30 minute break to doze off, but otherwise it was screaming, screaming and more screaming. Why should she bother getting teeth? Can't she just eat pureed avocado until she is old enough to self-medicate with a nice bottle of wine? Ok, perhaps not.

I admit that I was thinking this morning that the bloom was off the rose a bit with this mothering thing, and then she crawled. It was only two "steps" and then she got bored and went back to chewing things, but it was definitely crawling and I was utterly gobsmacked. This thing we made, this infant who so recently resembled nothing so much as a half-baked loaf of bread, can crawl. I am amazed by her, stunned, in awe, and when she laughs I have never been happier.

But oh man, I wish she would sleep.

Does it seem to anybody else that all I do lately is complain about being tired? Well, there's a reason for that. I am so tired. I don't mean to complain about it, I'm just mentioning it for posterity and also as a public service so that if any teenaged girls are reading my site (which hey, go get a hobby instead, ok?) and thinking how much fun it would be to have a baby then first you should consider the fact that I haven't slept longer than three hours at a stretch since my second trimester. It isn't all cuteness and giggles you know, it is also poop and vomit and so, so tired.

Anyway, Mia can get from her butt to her hands and knees and from her hands and knees back to her butt and from her tummy to her back and her back to her tummy and from her tummy to her hands and knees. I mention this only to highlight that she has mastered all the components of sitting herself up from any position, but it isn't fun so she doesn't do it. She likes to get herself down on her tummy and then scream until I either roll her over or sit her up. This? Is becoming slightly annoying.

Now, since I am tired and having some fairly serious trouble connecting words into sentences, I have decided it is somehow a good idea to tell you the most embarassing thing I can think of about myself. I think showing you all a diagram of my boob has destroyed any remaining inihibitions I may have had about humiliating myself on the internet for your edification and enjoyment. I was going to tell you about when I was 11 or 12 and my best friend and I played this game the entire point of which was to pretend that we were riding around in the A Team van and making out with various cast members. Sometimes they would jump out of the van to fight crime and we would just wait for them to get back and them make out with them some more. Why weren't we out pretending to fight crime ourselves? Because we were too busy applying powder blue eyeshadow to each other. Welcome to 1985. However, I decided not to tell you about that after all because a) I think I may have mentioned it before, and b) I can think of much more embarassing things.

The most embarassing thing I can think of, at the moment at least, is actually somewhat similar and of roughly the same vintage, although I think I may have been only 10 or so. At 10, I was still forced by my draconian parents to go to bed at 8:00 every night, which invariably led to my lying awake for hours trying to amuse myself until I got tired. Amusing myself frequently took the form of developing these very elaborate, well, I suppose you would have to call them sexual fantasies of a sort, although I was a fairly sheltered 10 year old so they were exceedingly tame. Anyway, I would lie there and plot out these scenarios where I (gasp) went on a date with someone and then (egad) kissed him. Occaionally it would escalate and I would come up with a situation where some critical item accidentally fell down my shirt and whoever it was was forced to retrieve it, which is especially laughable since we all know I've never had any boobs to speak of.

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking this is not so bad. You are probably even thinking that you did very similar things as a child and I should go back to talking about walking around churches when I have forgotten to put my boob away. (You are also probably thinking that I talk about my boobs really alot which, I know, what the heck is up with that?) But hold your horses, internet, as I have not gotten to the embarassing part yet.

You see, these little pre-teen fantasies to which I dedicated so many hours of my young life invariably starred...

... you know, now that I'm here, I'm not so sure I want to admit this...

... ok, fine, you really want to know? I mean, you've read through the whole story and it's time to get to the punch line already...

... so here goes...

... deep breath...

... these little pre-teen fantasies invariably starred the cast (or parts of it anyway) of the Love Boat.

Oh shut up. Shut up! If you are going to laugh at me like that, I'm not going to tell you things anymore. What, like you don't have anything embarassing in your past? Sure you do, you just aren't as tired as I am so you don't write about it on the internet.

I have been scrambling (scrambling, I say!) to come up with a Mia Monday for today. Mia in a bunny costume? I don't have a bunny costume. Mia in a pile of puppies? Darn, loaned the puppies to the neighbor. Mia in a cute little dress tap dancing? Child can't even crawl yet, I don't think I can get her tap dancing in one day.

It's no use. I give up.

I just can't compete with this.