There is some mad new love going on one row ahead—well one half of the couple is one row ahead the other is five rows forward on the other side and three hours is just too long to go without flirting.  It’s adorable the way he tapped the back of her head and then made googley eyes at her as he walked back to his seat–adorable if it weren’t so disturbing in that holy-shit-I-permanently-broke-my-imagination-by-thinking-about-these-two-mid-50-batty-professor-types-tossing-around-in- the-sheets kind of way.

And it’s not my fault.

My thoughts didn’t go there first.  They were standing in line behind me as we boarded the plane discussing the fact that no she didn’t have a subscription to Playgirl, did he think she did?  (Personally, I think Playgirl is no longer in print and I have no idea where I would have picked up that nugget of information, but you can bet I’m going to Google it as soon as I have wifi).  The minute I heard that sentence come out of her mouth I wanted to call you immediately to tell you about it, but I was standing in line by myself and it would have been really rude to share this funny story while they were still standing right behind me talking about Playgirl in oddly un-hushed tones.  Don’t think I would keep such gold to myself?!

Meanwhile at 35,000 feet somewhere over oh who knows–The South—I am now the friendly dictator of the deserted island I am going to live on with my fellow travelers once we have a safe crash landing.  It will be a tropical island.  I don’t really want to be a dictator per se, I just want them all to listen to what I say and then follow my directions.  I don’t want to be in charge though.

Consider me more your lifestyle liege.

I’m making changes mental notes on each of you as you strut, waddle, scooch and careen like drunken sailors down the aisle, past my seat to the lavatory.  (Why is it a lavatory on the plane?  I remember asking if we could go to “the lav” in elementary school, but by the time we were in middle school I’m pretty sure we were already asking for the “bathroom pass”–must be one of those vessels a-sea/a-air/a-guys make up stupid names for things including their penises for no reason that I can divine things).

Where were we?

Oh right the friendly make-over dictator who wants no responsibilities fantasy.

First I would have everyone pile their luggage together (except mine of course) and I would take inventory.  We’re going to put you in the proper clothes for your color and shape.

Seriously sir, you’d be very handsome if you weren’t sporting such a severe look.  Your jaw line is strong, but you could use a little color up around your face.  Give your leather jacket to the dude next to you who is wearing the black blazer with the grey turtleneck.  He’s far too young for that and despite the fact that a number of 80’s fashions are coming back that turtleneck is bunching up around his cheeks and making him look tubbier than he probably is.

Oh shit!

I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.  Thank god she just stood up.  I caught this flight in Charlotte, NC and we’re headed to Houston, TX.  These facts are only important because THERE IS A WOMAN WEARING SKI PANTS on our flight.  Seriously, swish, swish noise making, bib with the elastic sides snow pants!  I’m afraid none of my “coaching” will help her.

Cute pregnant girl with the awesome pregnant hair just sashayed by.  Adorable.  I’ll help deliver her baby cause you know I’ve had two and watched a lot of ER.  She and the baby can live in my hut with me and she can help me accessorize our fellow castaways.

Preparing to land.  Must turn off all portable electronic devices and restow all items removed during filight (should I tell them Word doesn’t think restow is a word?).

The other day I was went to enter my home phone number into a form and I couldn’t remember it.

The information just wasn’t there.

It was so frightening. I had to ask my 7 year-old our phone number.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving home with my whole family in the car after a night out with friends. We were talking about another neighborhood and all of the sudden I focused on the road and didn’t know where I was. For a minute, I thought I was in the other neighborhood and couldn’t figure out exactly where in it I was. I shook my head and knew where I was again. It all happened so fast, but it seemed to go on forever.

My heart was pounding. I tried to laugh it off.

Tonight I was talking about The Princess Bride with a friend. I was listing off all of the people in the movie: Peter Falk, Mandy Patankin, the kid from the Wonder Years and…not Robin Williams…his friend…he’s a big Yankees fan…he’s a comic too…”you look mah-velous!”…he’s balding…damn what is his name??

Yeah. Billy Crystal. I couldn’t remember Billy Crystal’s name!

I’m a little freaked out. Is it normal to be forgetting information like this? It’s like I go to the place where it should be in my head and it’s just blank–I may even hear a swift breeze blowing through.

The hypochondriac in me is convinced it’s early onset Alzheimer’s or a clot or some other horrific disease that will make every one feel sorry for me yet not sorry enough that they’ll come and visit me when I’m drooling on myself and muttering something about vibrators. The cynic in me says I’m just a garden-variety, batshit-crazy woman with three kids, a job, a house, a few hobbies, some volutneer commitments and low-blood sugar overreacting.

If it’s Alzheimer’s, remind me to be really pissed.

Leave it to PFunky to set me straight–and some uplifting words from Laurie to put me on a better track.*

I’ve been pissed off all day. On Twitter I was reading about all the “GREAT” and “FANTASTIC” plans people have for the new year. Everyone was so freaking chipper. Apparently I only follow the uber-achievers whose sole purpose in life is to make me feel like a big gigantic loser by comparison.

Where am I going? What am I going to do next? What have I accomplished so far? What do I have to show for my time on this planet? Why was it again I went away to college? And moved away from home? How the heck am I going to make the changes I really want to make in my life?

Oh yeah, and I’m going to be 40 in 2010.

It wasn’t a pretty day.

Just moments ago, I was reminded that we are putting another decade on the books (I mean I knew this, but I didn’t really THINK about it), and then I started to think about my life 10 years ago.

The roof that is over my head? Didn’t belong to me yet.

The kind people I work for now? Hadn’t met ’em yet.

The three crazy, rambunctious, big-hearted boys who make me want to both pull out all my hair and laugh hysterically every single day? One just went back home to live with his mom and the other two were a vague concept.

I may not be world-famous (yet). I may not be the hottest mommy in town (yet). I may even still have that nasty Diet Coke habit (let’s not get too hasty with our resolutions), but I do have a life I couldn’t conceive of just ten years ago.

Makes me wonder how I’ll look back ten years from now.

*I hope you know how much your words meant to me today–always.

I had the best idea for a blog post as I was lying (or is it laying–I don’t feel like Googling it) in bed last night. It occurred to me to get up and make a note about it, but it was such a perfect idea that I was sure I would remember it.

I didn’t.

I want to say it had something to do with my mom, or motherhood, or being a queen, but I could be totally off. Maybe it had to do with the importance of reading to your children or how the Yankees threw last game so they could win the Series in their new stadium. It might have been a treatise exploring the finer points of a frozen Snicker’s bar or a PSA about not drinking six Diet Cokes during the day if you plan to sleep at night.

Hell if I know.

Most of my profound thoughts really can be conveyed in less than 140 characters–not that I share all of them on Twitter, but it makes me a little hesitant to throw them out there and count them as a post.

Maybe I should start carrying around another Moleskine just for my incredible thoughts and ideas and then I can serve up a bunch at a time for your viewing pleasure. What’s one more Moleskine, right? I mean there’s the one I have for work, the one that has my older random notes and Christmas lists, the one I’m using for current journaling and then another small one that found it’s way in my bag. Shit. I have a Moleskine problem.

I guess that’s better than a mole problem–or a skin problem.

Actually I have a skin problem, but you’re probably not interested in my eczema or the latex gloves I wore at work the other day so I could apply the prescription ointment I have for said eczema so I wouldn’t rip all of the skin off my hands nor get the ointment on my keyboard. No one seemed to notice them until I began to use hand gestures during an emotional conversation with my boss at which point she stopped in her tracks which was actually a good thing because the conversation was getting way too heavy for the both of us and we needed that moment of comic relief–you know like when Olympia Dukakis offers up Shirley McLaine for Sally Fields to hit during the funeral scene in Steel Magnolias. I mean every damn time I watch that movie I’m a sloppy, snotty mess as Sally screams that it was supposed to be her in the casket and then here comes Olympia. Thank goodness straight guys had the innate sense never to watch that movie with me, because the boogers… Though that did seem to work for Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally–well at least until the uncomfortable silence when it was all over.

Hmph. Nope. That wasn’t the idea for my post either.

My desire to learn about so many things and to master (okay become proficient) a number of skills has reached epic level.

And this whole oh yeah I’m a political consultant thing can get in the way some days.

Plus? Sleeping?

How am I going to become a world famous photographer/knitter/gardener/well-read/self-actualized/uber-Mom/social media maven/baseball parent with all this work and sleep taking up my time?!

I’ve already given up the laundry, cooking and most of the cleaning (until my parents come in town or I’m hosting a real party), and still there is never enough time. This doesn’t even take into account the roots and eyebrows that constantly require maintenance.

Oh and also I should have added “organized, beautiful home-owning and fabulously fashionable” to my list above.

Shit.

Guess we’re all going to have to settle for friendly chick.

I’m hoping you sang the title of this post to the Wonder Woman theme song. Go ahead. Go back and do it. I’ll wait.

There’s a lot of introspection going down for me these days.

In addition to attending this amazing workshop, I enrolled myself in Mondo Beyondo for this month’s session.

I’ve cracked open The Artist’s Way and while I haven’t started on the morning pages yet, I’m seriously considering them. (If I tell you that the book has been sitting on my shelf for the last 15 years, the fact that I’m considering doing them will all of the sudden seem like a giant leap forward.)

Last weekend I spent time in the desert with these incredible women participating in the Brand About Town Advisory Board retreat.

The scenery brought me to tears.

We hiked.

We talked.

We laughed.

And despite this photo, we quite noticeably ignored technology without any prior agreement.

The desert is quiet to a girl like me who lives so close to the city. I returned a bit tired, but emotionally renewed. (Christine does a very good job of explaining much of it, but I’m pretty sure I’ve also discovered some primordial Jim Morrison need for a regular peyote-induced dance in the desert.*)

This is all a long-winded way of getting around to the point that now that I’m looking all inward and thinking about doing morning pages and stuff, I’m clearly becoming more green.

Case in point. I haven’t quite reached the Diva Cup stage, but this morning I remembered to recycle an empty tampon box.

Mamma Loves the earth and the earth loves me.

*Mamma Loves, nor Brand About Town, endorse the use of peyote. Reference to peyote above does not represent actual usage of peyote, but is used solely for comic effect–unless of course you have some peyote and want to go to the desert with me to dance. Be prepared however to listen to a LOT of 70’s disco because…well…it’s just about the best music for dancing when you’re high on peyote. Not that I’ve ever done that. As far as you know.

Yeah. Not really. But I’m trying to learn.

I picked up this incredible self-striping yarn in April.

And in less than a week I had this (My model complained that it’s too hot. Perfect for cold days I say.). Nobody told me how addictive this knitting is.

For my next trick, I went online and ordered scads of bright colored cotton yarn to attempt a log cabin blanket.

I chose my youngest to be the recipient of my first blanket thinking he’d be less likely to notice any flaws. Little did I know I’d create a task master. G*d forbid I sit down and do nothing. All I hear is “Mom why aren’t you knitting? You need to be knitting my blanket.” I apologize now to his future spouse.

The end of the blanket is near and the fantastic folks over at Try Handmade hipped me to a newish fiber store not far from my office/house (remind me to call Erika when I need to be bailed out of debtors prison).

Well at Fibre Space I found this beautiful wool. I have deluded challenged myself to knit a sweater out of it.

Stop laughing. At least my goodies all came in this adorable reusable bag.

Mamma here ever prepared to keep you up to date on breaking news.

This morning we learned that a new Guinness world record has been set!

While I’m inspired by the fact that there is still time for me to challenge this record, my desire to dig deeper into the story for you, my readers, was not satisfied.

My first question, of course, was “well who holds the record for the world’s strongest pen*s?”

Before I could find that answer though, I came upon this headline.

Typical. It wasn’t the woman’s accomplishment.

Wanting to get the rest of the story, I didn’t allow myself to become distracted and went right to Google followed more leads in search of the record holder.

It seems the folks at Guinness aren’t as concerned with finding the world’s strongest pen*s (male judges can’t handle the competition, hmmm?).

The best information I could find was at least a year old and comes to us from the far East. (do not click w/small children on lap; however, if you have teen-aged boys call them over immediately and tell them this is what you’ll do to them if they have sex before they are 35.)

My journalistic blogging instincts told me not to trust that source. I was suspicious of the fact that the gentleman’s back is turned to us and that he is naked except for a strap around his waist.

I continued my search for two more minutes and found that World’s Strongest Pen*s remains a record yet to be set. A certain company claims to have “the world’s strongest pen*s enlargement formula”, but I’m fairly certain drug use would disqualify you from the the title.

So readers, what did we learn today?

You’re never too old to set a Guiness world record (Get Kegeling* girls. We can’t let the Russians beat us!). AND, guys start “lifting.” You still have a chance to be the first!

*Am I the only one who finds the irony in the name and product line of this company?

I want to write about what is taking up all of my time right now, but I can’t.

Let’s just say that one of my three sons is on a certain baseball team.

My husband hasn’t shaved in three weeks. I’ve been driving a pick-up truck instead of my normal car for three weeks. This year no CDs were created to get the team pumped up before games (they were NOT good luck). I bring the same cooler to every game. I even have a friend who texts me before every game and once during the game to get and update because he’s been doing so for each game.

There are plans to go to the beach in two weeks. There are plans for me to go to BlogHer in three. I went ahead and bought a plane ticket to Chicago because not doing so would be a slap in the face to the “gods of the diamond.”

You just can’t mess with things.

I can reveal that I have developed zits on my cheeks for the first time in 25 years. There are approximately 17 lbs of infield dirt in my car. And yes…

I am a baseball mom.

Now keep your fingers crossed or do whatever lucky things you need to do.

I’m not joking. Get to it!

Facebook has tried to keep the fact under wraps since early 2008, but today fabulously famous blogger MammaLoves (aka Amie Adams) revealed the truth.

“I was ignoring my family. I was wearing dirty clothes. I couldn’t get enough. My life was falling apart! It wasn’t until my dog licked the computer screen showing Facebook and I noticed her madly dash in circles chasing her tail did I realize drugs were involved.”

Ms. Adams accuses Facebook of including games like Bejeweled Blitz and Pathwords on its site as a cover to emit crack fumes therefore rendering users unable to click off of the site.

Facebook sources refuse to comment on Ms. Adams’ accusations, but say Facebook works hard to promote a clean and healthy environment for its users as evidenced by their diligent effort to prevent photos of mothers nursing babies from soiling their pages.

The dog was quoted as saying, “dude.”