Oh, Happy Day

Yesterday, I got a completely unexpected present. It was like my birthday. No, it was better than my birthday. It was like Christmas. Except, wait. It was even better. It was better than Christmas and my birthday – both at the same time.

What happened, you ask? (Well, you don’t ask if you read SRH’s blog, he’s all into stealing my thunder). But if you were to ask I would tell you that…

Zane’s peanut allergy is getting “significantly” better!!!!!!!!

What? Shut up. Can that even happen?

Well, apparently it can.

The doctor said that not only is Zane’s peanut allergy improving, he may be one of the “lucky 10%” who actually outgrow their allergy.

Huh? Shut up. That cannot happen. I’m quite sure of it. People who have peanut allergies have it for their entire lives. They have to be hyper-vigilant because peanut is the most common food allergy causing anaphylaxis and death. And it never goes away.

Or so I thought. But according to this and this and this, it is possible for a child to outgrow a peanut allergy -especially if the child has outgrown other allergies.

Did I mention that the doctor said that Zane’s dairy and egg allergies are also improving?

I know. I am in food allergic mama heaven. Just the thought of decreasing (let alone getting grid of) any of Zane’s life-threatening food allergies is enough to send me into bliss.

Also, what the doctor was most pleased about was that Zane hasn’t developed any new allergies. Which, sure, I’m happy about that. But did you hear that his peanut allergy is actually improving?

Somebody pinch me now.

Anyway, as the doctor is dictating the letter to Zane’s pediatrician, he says into the microphone, “No new allergies shown for Zane. He continues to test positive for allergies to dairy, egg, cats, grass, peanuts, and tree nuts – including almonds, walnuts, and hazelnuts. Blah, blah, blah”

I will admit that my brow wrinkled slightly at that. Prior to yesterday, I had no idea that Zane was allergic to grass, and the hazelnuts thing was totally out of left field.

Whatever. The delight I experienced upon learning that there may be some light at the end of this food allergy tunnel was akin to getting free Dairy Queen for a year.

Ee gads, it’s a good day to be Zane’s mama.

Edit: I can't help myself, I have to add the video that Riley linked in her comment on this post. It just cracks me up.

Mistakes Were Made

Now that I have a son that has survived to the ripe old age of almost 4, I tend to read parenting magazines less. I figure that I’ve gotten him through the vulnerable years, there’s no need for me to read expert opinions on what needs to happen for him now. I’ve launched him into preschool age fairly successfully, and no one can tell me any different.

But there was a time. Oh yes, there was a time. A time when I read anything and everything about getting your child to sleep through the night in 4 easy steps, and I knew the latest and greatest ways to introduce new foods to my youngster. I could do a (food-allergy modified) Fun Bunny Easter snack, and I knew just what to say to a playground bully. (Do you want me to rip your head off, child who is bothering my angel? Cause I’ll do it, and I’ll blame it on the chocolate which is apparently aggravating my PMS.)

But then the years of sleep deprivation caught up with me, life got overwhelming, and I gave up my subscription to Parents and every other ubiquitous parenting magazine that had subscribed to.

But before I figured out that my parenting style was Winging It, I read many magazines with pages entitled “Scientist Simon Says” and “Latest Research on Kids’ Health”. You know the kind - the pages with 100-word articles that give the quick and dirty version of research done by highly esteemed scientists that let you know things like if your child doesn’t eat a crate of broccoli a day, they might not ever do well in math or that for every hour after 6pm a parent works, a child’s IQ plummets by 900 points.

Most of the time, I took this information in stride. I realized that I do want Zane to eat broccoli and that I don’t particularly like working after 6pm. The conflicting studies didn’t bother me, and I made adjustments where I could. But there was one article that stuck with me. One that I couldn’t let go of. One that promised doom and lifetime consequences for my child if I didn’t get my act together.

It was an article on strollers. The ins and outs. The pros and cons. The best and brightest models. But it also featured a small piece of naysaying information. It said that manufacturers are making strollers bigger as children are riding in them at later ages. As 5 and 6 year olds are expecting rides while parents go about their business, they want roomier, more luxurious accommodations, and (cue the dramatic music here) this is one of the causes of increasing childhood obesity. More riding in strollers combined with rampant fast food fraternizing was leading to a crisis.

And what can I say? My brain was flooded with nursing hormones, and I lost my ability to withstand hype and hyperbole. I made the sincere suggestion to SRH that perhaps we should avoid getting the stroller monkey on our back in the first place. If we never got Zane used to strollers, we wouldn’t have to fight the Strollers as Crack Epidemic that was sweeping our nation. That, I reasoned, was the best way to avoid complete dependence.

So this was our plan: we would only use the stroller when absolutely necessary. After all, we weren’t giving up our trips to Burger King so we needed to make some concessions to exercise and good living.

So…we slinged. We carried him. We used this. Then when Zane got bigger, we switched to this.

Oh sure, we had a cheap umbrella stroller that we used occasionally when going to community events or the like. But here’s the thing. If you rarely or never make your kid get into a stroller, pretty soon they are completely unwilling to do so.

They’re all, Look at me mama, I like to walk. See, I can walk forward, and I can walk backward. Ooh, ooh, I can even walk sideways. I like to walk in circles, and I can walk with my eyes closed, too. And when you take your eyes off me for a second, I will even run. And, see, I don’t ever have to get even.one.inch.closer to our destination while I’m doing it.

Mistakes were made.

And this mistake – that of avoiding strollers – is still hurting us. Oh, we outgrew the whole “staying with him until he falls asleep” mistake, and I can laugh at the “giving his pacifier to Santa in exchange for trains” debacle, but this particular mistake has had a more lasting impact.

Yesterday, I took Zane to the zoo and cursed myself for the 7,000^th time that I had no conveyance for my precious 34-lb bundle. Sweaty and back aching after a morning of fun at one of the nation’s largest zoos, I came home and told SRH, “We’re fixing this problem, doggone it. I mean it. Tonight we go buy a new wagon.”*

(And yes, they have strollers and wagons at the zoo, but if you think that my kid is going to get in some strange wheeled contraption that doesn’t belong to him, then you clearly don’t get sensory integration disorder. Or at least my child’s version of it.)

I was desperate. I was determined. I knew a stroller wouldn’t work, and I knew that this would be a tough nut to crack. And then…a moment of inspiration. I remembered that Zane used to be willing to ride in a wagon, but that I’d chucked it (into our garage) because the darn thing was so loud as we wheeled it through the neighborhood that people would come out of their houses and stare at us.

But I should certainly be able to find a wagon that didn’t squeak and rumble too loudly, shouldn’t I? Yes, I should.

And I did. Last night, I went to the store and bought a new-fangled plastic Little Tikes wagon with “extra silent” wheels. This morning, Zane and I assembled the approximately 250 pieces through a simple 19-step process.

Volia!

Zane and I – on the road to fixing one of my monumental parenting mistakes.

*See how tough I talk when I’m riled up?

Pink Pajamas

So…what the hell have I been doing, anyway?
I don’t blog. I don’t write (okay, so that’s redundant). I rarely call, and I leave you with only a post about breasts.

I am, indeed, trying to alienate everyone. It’s true.

In my defense, I asked SRH to let you folks know that I was on a mountainside in Massachusetts without access to internet or cell phone. And he did let you know…it’s just that he embedded the information between several mention of boobies, so you might not have noticed.

So, I was off in the mountains with a group of people from all over the world talking about realizing our highest possible future. It was divine. It was delightful, and I will post about it later.

In the meantime, here are a few other things that have been happening since last I slung the ink.

1. In the four nights I was absent from my home, my child was on an emotional roller coaster of raw emotion. He went from the wee small hills of sadness that he couldn’t get mama cuddles every morning to huge loop-de-loops of glee that he got four whole days of papa time.

I might feel hurt if I weren’t so relieved that he did so well while I was away.

2. Zingerzapper’s cancer has spread to her lymph nodes. So yeah, that sucks.

3. Zane bought me some hoochie pajamas for Mother’s Day. Apparently when SRH took him shopping, Zane insisted that I needed a pair of pink pajamas and quickly found a pair of Apple Bottom PJ’s for me. Not familiar with Apple Bottoms? Well, neither was I. Turns out, Apple Bottoms is a clothing company conceived by this guy. That’s right, it’s a clothing line by Nelly, he of the famed, “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes.”

Zane is so thrilled when I wear these pajamas that I don’t have the heart to burn them. I cannot, however, step onto my porch in them. I might get arrested for public indecency.

4. Today was Zane’s last day of preschool for the year. He was sorta sad. I cried.

5. I was approached to be on the board of a local agency today. I’m torn. I feel like it would be in my career best interests to join the board. I like the person who asked me, and I certainly appreciate that she is trying to connect me with the community muckety-mucks.

On the other hand, I don’t know if I’m a “board” kind of person. (And there I illuminate several stereotypes I’m holding. Whatever.) I also do not have the $500 they ask for from each board member personally, and I certainly don’t have the contacts to bring in the additional $500 they ask you to solicit from your circle. I do understand that this is actually a relatively small amount for board members to pay compared to other boards in my community, but I gotta tell you, I’m struggling to feel like this is something I need to give my energy (and money) to right now.

6. Drug-selling neighbors are lying low, but I haven’t forgotten them.

7. Zane has (re)discovered his most favorite private body part. And while I’m completely supportive of body pride and pleasure, I did have to set some ground rules this morning. For example, although it is preferable to lay at an incline whilst discovering oneself, you have to sit up straight during a breathing treatment. You may lay down and diddle when the breathy is done.

I am a stellar parent.

How have you guys been?

The Wisdom of Youth

Disclaimer: The following post will be about breasts and undergarments. If either of these topics offend your delicate sensibilities, please come back in a week and I may have posted something else. Of course, I may not have posted anything else – my posting is a bit sparse these days. You may want to come back in two weeks.

Disclaimer 2: If discussions of breasts or undergarments make you feel all funny (like you’re sliding down a rope in gym class), please also leave now and come back in two weeks.

Not surprisingly, I have been thinking a lot about breasts these days. Mine and others’. Mostly, of course, due to best friend’s breast cancer and impending surgery. But also because as part of last weekend’s “celebration” of best friend’s breasts, we were all invited to wear our most daringly cleavage-baring shirts and show our stuff. And, well, it became clear just how relatively small my breast-related “stuff” really is.

It also became abundantly clear that I cannot handle my alcohol, but that’s another embarrassing story.

But this post is not going to be about best friend’s breasts. That’s her story to tell, and I’m merely a supportive bystander in that particular saga.

No, dear reader, in the tradition of many fine bloggers, I’m going to take a difficult situation that someone else is experiencing and make it all about me. Me, me, me, me, me.

So…my breasts.

I’ve had a long and not always appreciative relationship with my mammary glands since I first got breast buds around age 11. (Do you remember how tender those little bumps were?! Ouch!)

For most of my adolescent years, my girls were quite small. In fact, I used to wear a button on my stone-washed jean jacket that said, They may be little, but they’re all mine.

I’m not sure I even knew what that meant.

Whatever. I was clear that it was a body-celebrating button, and I wore it proudly.

And then something magical happened, I got a breast “growth spurt” around the age of 19. I hadn’t grown in height since the 6^th grade. My weight hadn’t changed, and I still wore the same clothing size, but all of a sudden I had boobies. I was a C-cup!

In my mind, C stood for curvy, comely, and captivating, and please believe that I went out and bought multiple bra and underwear sets to celebrate the girls’ new status. (Of course, this was when I only had summer jobs and most of my disposable income went to clothes, makeup, and music since my mom still provided for my basic survival needs.)

Anyway, me and my C’s went along fine for several years, and then I started doing yoga. And lo and behold, yoga will not only make your mind calm and your body strong, but it will also shrink your boobies.

Down to a B cup I went.

And that was fine. I didn’t replace any of my bras because, well, they were only a size too big and by that time I was good and cheap.

And then - even though I was undergarment negligent - SRH and I managed to do the deed occasionally, and I became pregnant. I had a baby and nursed him for 15 months, causing multiple breast size fluctuations.

After I was done nursing, I went back to the same old bras. I had finally figured out that breasts are ever-changing body parts, and I figured it was safer to use the too big bras in case I ever grew back into them. After all, bras that are too big just leave you with a bit of a breezy feeling, but too small is just uncomfortable.

But, of course, as with many women my girls actually got smaller after I was stopped nursing. Yes, smaller than a B cup. But as they were still larger than an A, I didn’t replace my old bras. (I feel like I should mention here that I had probably 25 bras to begin with, so there really were plenty to last me all those years.)

Anyway, fast forward three and a half years and give me a liver tumor.

I’m not eating. I’m losing weight – especially in the chestal region. I finally break down and buy a few bras that are “nearly B’s”. And I’ll admit: it hurt a bit - buying bras that fit. I really had to admit that I was never going to have the nice, full ta-tas that I had in the past.

But as a hedge, I only bought them at outlet malls or T.J. Maxx. I was done buying nice bras at nice stores. My little mosquito bites didn’t need the support of a good bra – and I didn’t feel like spending the money.

But then, you know what? My best friend got breast cancer, and I got some perspective. I started doing breast self-exams and looking at the girls with new eyes.

I will always have small breasts, and that’s totally okay. I’m not a big person. And while it might be nice to have a bit out front to balance my line-backer shoulders, the girls are quite nice and did a really beautiful job feeding my child. Which is, yes, what they are here for.

So tonight, I went to an actual lingerie store, and bought for real, good quality bras and underwear. And it was delightful. It was fun and pampering, and as I told SRH, “You know, I can totally get with this small breast thing. It’s much harder for ittie bitties to sag. I mean, where are they going to go?”

And so to the crux of it, which I somehow knew as a teenager but had to recently rediscover: They may be little, but they’re all mine.

Meme- licious

Thea and Sue both tagged me for this particular meme* – a chance to share 7 random facts about myself. I’m going to dig deep here and NOT mention my food idiosyncrasies, tumors of myself or my friends, or food allergies/asthma.

7 Random Things About Me:

1. I rarely (if ever) read non-fiction books. And if I do happen to start reading a book full of truth and not fantasy, I don’t finish it. I want to read about current and historical people and events. I do – in theory. In practice, I just can’t seem to make myself care enough to actually do it.

2. I’m 5’ 2 ½”.

3. The people who moved in three doors down are most certainly selling drugs, which means that I have determined that they must leave my neighborhood. I haven’t yet decided what will be my method of eviction, but they must go by the end of the summer.

4. When wearing yellow, I resemble a banana. Sometimes light-skinned Black folks are called “high yellow”. Sometimes, it fits. Sometimes people should shut up.

5. I’m the only child of a single parent.

6. If you call my house and don’t identify who you are within 4 seconds, I will hang up. Every time. I hate the game of “guess who this is”. I don’t want to guess. Therefore, my friend B (whose voice I know quite well) starts every phone call with me, “Hey, it’s B.” I can almost hear her mutter under her breath, “So don’t hang up, okay?”

7. I rub my feet against each other every night to fall asleep. We call it “feeting”. Zane does it, too.

Will seven of you please consider yourselves tagged? That’s how this is supposed to work, I think. Well, actually I’m supposed to tag 7 of you, but that seems like a lot to impose on people, so I’ll let you nominate yourselves. (I’m looking at you Nancy and Zulhai).

*On another note, both Thea and Sue also gave me a Thinking Blogger Award a while back; and I…uh…sorta forgot about it. Well, I didn’t forget about it immediately. At first, I felt all squeamish and undeserving – and I wasn’t sure what to do. Then, I felt a little faint from hunger. And then, I forgot. And now it just seems weird to post about it, but then I’m left feeling all ungrateful. So, Thea and Sue, here is my official thank you. I can’t imagine what you’re “thinking” when you read my blog, but I appreciate it all the same.

Dreaming My Dreams

I am prone to nightmares. I have them quite regularly. Well, not as regularly as I used to, but they do pop up for me now and again. They seem to be my mind’s way of coping with stress and/or anxiety. I get through the day just fine, and then my psyche “works it all out” at night, so to speak.

Before having Zane, I might have several nightmares a week. Not every week, but enough that it was a fairly regular occurrence, and I had developed a bag of tricks to get back to sleep.

Also before I had Zane, I had recurrent insomnia. Now, not so much. I sleep hard these days, and even if I have nightmares, they’re not enough to wake me up, and I don’t remember them.

But they do occasionally come back – in enough force to cut through my sleep-deprived haze and wake me up sweating. Such was the past week.

Now, I know you’re thinking…what does this chick have to be stressed out and anxious about? I know. But let me tell you the things that are affecting my life right now: Paris Hilton is going to jail, there are only three new episodes of Heroes left, the ugliest bathroom in America is upstairs and no closer to being remodeled than it was 3 months ago, and I keep forgetting to pick up my dry cleaning.

You know, the typical middle-class angst stuff here.

But actually, it turns out that I’m stressed about a few other things as well. The whole best friend with breast cancer thing, Zane’s asthma is flaring so we’re back on the dreaded Orapred, I still have a liver tumor – which is only stressful in the way of I still can’t eat a whole lot, I was out of town several days last week and Zane didn’t do so well, and I will be leaving again next week for a longer period of time. And, seriously, I keep forgetting to pick up my dry cleaning.

So it is with no surprise that the nightmares have been coming back.

I have found in my late night ruminations about my dreaded dreams that my nightmares – the bad ones, not the make-me-a-little-anxious-but-I-can-fall-back-to-sleep-easily ones – have three recurrent themes.

1. Snakes. Most of the nightmares I have where I’m just plain out terrified involve any number of legless reptiles. Their little slithering bodies freak me out in my waking hours, but at night they come in multitudes and hordes and slide into my dreams and wreak havoc on my sleep-itude. It is such a deep-rooted fear that if I even happen to see a snake during the day (say for instance, on some nature show, I will almost certainly have a nightmare about snakes that night – unless I stop for a few moments and watch the show and have a little conversation with myself. The conversation goes something like this: Self, don’t dream about snakes tonight. I know you just saw one on TV, but that’s no reason to let them into your dreams tonight. Some days, Self actually listens, and the wee beasties don’t invade. Other days, I’m not so lucky.

2. SRH cheating on me. So crazy, this one. In these nightmares, I find out that SRH has cheated on me, and he’s NOT.SORRY.AT.ALL. In fact, he’s done with me, and he can’t imagine what he ever saw in me. This completely hearkens back to the days when I couldn’t find a faithful boyfriend to save my life. I always went for the hot guys who knew they were hot. And I knew they were hot. And, of course, other women knew they were hot. And pretty soon, I was cheated on.

This, however, is not SRH’s “in real life” M.O. He’s hot, sure. But he’s a faithful kind of hot, and let’s also not forget that he’s a wee bit lazy. So he probably wouldn’t ever make the effort to cheat because, well, it involves effort.

But in my dreams, man, he looks at me like I am filth from the bottom of his shoe. Like I am less than nothing. And I feel awful. Like the teen-agey, this is the worst thing in the world, I may never recover kind of awful.

I’m always kind of mad at him when I wakeup from those ones.

3. I cheat on SRH. While this one sounds like a little more fun on the face of it, I never actually get to enjoy the cheating on SRH. The dream always begins after the fact, so I’m left feeling all the guilt that a cheating partner would, but I don’t get the glorious moments of illicit consummation. So, I enter the dream at the point where I’m trying to figure out how I could do such an awful thing to such a wonderful person. Cue the self-loathing. And then I have to decide whether I’m going to tell SRH that I’m a horrible person who doesn’t deserve him but if he’ll just give me one more chance I will try my hardest not to be the low down dirty tramp that we both know that I am. But even if I don’t tell him, I know that I have messed up the best thing to ever happen to me…

I think these dreams might be worse than the ones where he cheats on me. Ugh!

And while the snakes are clearly just a manifestation of my primal fears, I think it may be time to pull out my “used to be a therapist” credentials for some deep dream analysis of the other two scenarios. (Never mind that I wasn’t a Jungian therapist, and that I’ve never had any type of training in dream interpretation.)

I’m hypothesizing that my cheating/cheated on dreams reflect my deep fears that, um, my life may be careening wildly out of control right now. It isn’t really, of course. Sometimes it just feels that way – what with all the tumors/cancers/health concerns that are going on in my vicinity. And when you’re world is being rocked (as mine is right now), your biggest fear is that the rug will be pulled out from under you. And SRH – our relationship – is my rug.

But let’s not to get too deep, folks. They are just dreams. They don’t say anything about the state of my relationship. They simply reflect my irrational fear of impending doom.

And this is why I hate the whole sharing of self-insights kind of talk. It just makes everyone think there are deep, twisted things happening in my psyche.*

Okay. Moving on. As a complete attempt to get away from any seriousness talk, I wanted to thank everyone for the birthday wishes. Today is my 33^rd birthday, and since three is one of my lucky numbers, I am hopeful that this will be a very good year.

Now, if I could only get a good night’s sleep!

*And everyone becomes just a bit clearer on why I am a former therapist.

---Ologies

Nancy tagged me for this meme, and since I have been writing ad nauseum about cancer and tumors recently, this should be a nice change of pace for folks.

Enjoy!

FOODOLOGY
Q. What is your salad dressing of choice?
A. I like a good ranch dressing. The kind you get in restaurants as a side with onion rings and fried mushrooms. I haven’t ever found anything quite the same in a bottle.

Q. What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
A. McDonalds – the fries are like crack.

Q. What is your favorite sit-down restaurant?
A. Fujiyama – a Japanese Steak House. I am not classy.

Q. On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
A. 20%

Q. What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of?
A. pizza and/or my faux Maggie Moo’s Strawberry Fields Smoothie

Q. What is your favorite type of gum?
A. Grape Hubba Bubba

TECHNOLOGY
Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A.

Q. How many televisions are in your house?
A. two – and two computer screens

BIOLOGY
Q. What’s your best feature?
A. My eyes – they’re really dark brown and sparkly

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
A. I had a skin tag removed from my nipple when I was pregnant. It got so big they figured it would interfere with nursing! (yikes!)

Q. Which of your five senses do you think is keenest?
A. smell

Q. When was the last time you had a cavity?
A. I have several right now. For the first time in my life – I am duly disappointed in myself.

Q. What is the heaviest item you lifted last?
A. ¼ of a Rainbow Play System tower. It weighed A LOT.

Q. Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
A. nope

BULLSHITOLOGY
Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
A. no, no, a thousand times no

Q. Is love for real?
A. Absolutely. Everyday.

Q. If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
A. I don’t think I would change it. It’s weird, but it’s me.

Q. What color do you think looks best on you?
A. Red – but I don’t wear it much.

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
A. Bugs – ugh, I hate that!

Q. Have you ever saved someone’s life?
A. Nope. I am inherently selfish and squeamish. Both at the same time.

Q. Has someone ever saved yours?
A. Besides doctors? No.

DAREOLOGY
Q. Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
A. Yes, I would. I could do a lot with $100,000.

Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
A. No, I’m married. If not married, I think I could be persuaded to do so - especially if she had an accent.

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
A. No. I am quite attached to all my bits and pieces.

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000?
A. Done and done.

Q. Would you pose nude in a magazine for $250,000?
A. No. Well, not if it was a pornographic magazine. I had a photographer friend who tried to persuade me to pose nude once, and he showed me the other “nudes” he had done. They were beautiful. I kind of wish I had done it.

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
A. Nope. I hate one drop of hot sauce, and I don’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. (Name that arrogant model quote, if you can.)

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
A. No. I’m just categorically opposed to it. Unless that human life is hurting my child. Then you wouldn’t have to pay me anything.

Q. Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
A. Sure.

Q. Give up MySpace forever for $30,000?
A. Easily. I don’t really get the whole MySpace phenomena.

DUMBOLOGY
Q: What is in your left pocket?
A. No pockets on this skirt.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
A. Never saw it. SRH did – he said it was okay.

Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
A. All hardwood. Can’t have any carpet because of Zane’s asthma.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
A. Well, I stand silly. Unless I’ve just given birth. Then I sit on a makeshift stool/bucket.

Q: Could you live with roommates?
A. I’ve never lived on my own, so I imagine that I could if I had to.

Q: How many pairs of flip-flops do you own?
A. One. I’m not a huge fan.

Q: Last time you had a run-in with the cops?
A. I don’t believe that I’ve ever had a “run-in” with the cops. I have been stopped in the rich suburbs for DWB, but they didn’t really give me any trouble when they found out I was just passing through.

Q: What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. Independently wealthy

LASTOLOGY
Q: Friend you talked to?
A. SRH – he’s my best friend. Awww…

Q: Last person you called?
A. SRH – I really do like him, you guys.

RANDOMOLOGY
Q: First place you went this morning?
A. Yoga class

Q: What can you not wait to do?
A. Go out for a “celebration of life” with Zingerzapper and the girls this evening.

Q: What’s the last movie you saw?
A. Dreamgirls – loved it!

Q: Are you a friendly person?
A. Depends on the day. I am always friendly to my friends. Strangers have to work a bit harder.

So, that was fun! I am now tagging Sue and Thea and (what the heck!) SRH.