It’s no secret I love this man. But tonight, he forced that love to a whole new level.

You have to check out this post!!

Sorry my fellow Strumpets (ala St. Jude), we had new twins born in the “family” and I was with them today. As wonderful and beautiful as they are, it is nice to know I am home now with an actual chance of a good night’s sleep.

So without further ado…

As a distinguished member of The Sporadic Gasbag Roundtable (okay I asked and they said I could join), today is my turn to throw up the caution flags and wave off all unsuspecting consumers of a really stinking book movie or TV show.

I’ve considered my subject all week long, and honestly until just now had thought all media was up for grabs and had planned to steer you clear of last week’s Newsweek cover story, because frankly…is that news? No. And dear editors: Are daughters are NOT that stupid…they see a trainwreck for what it is.

But I have to choose from books, movies and TV, so here it is…

The selection for Mamma’s bookclub last month (I don’t own it I just belong…again I had to beg) was universally voted the least favorite of the year. Please if you will, do not bother with Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind by Ann B. Ross (as opposed to Ann B. Davis).

The story is of said Miss Julia a sixty-something widow in a small southern town who all of the sudden is confronted with her husband’s young boy after he is unceremoniously deposited on her front porch. It follows her “trauma” of trying to figure out how she will face her home town under such embarrassing circumstances, trying to find the boy’s mother, the reappearance of the mother and a custody situation dealing with shifty relatives of the boy’s mom.

Nevermind that out of 117 reviews on Amazon.com it receives four and half stars. There wasn’t a character in the book save the poor little boy who was remotely interesting or sympathetic. Ms. Ross played on every cliche of small southern towns and their inhabitants and traditional and tongue-speaking religious congregations, and then neatly tied it all up with a happy ending in 288 pages. The only thing I can say in its defense is that it was a quick read.

So there you have it. Don’t waste your time. And if this was your favorite book of all time, I’m sorry I disagree. Please feel free to let me know what you loved about it.

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If you’d like to join the Gasbags, sign up here!

We’re getting to the end of our first review rotation, so now would be a good time to join us!

Previous reviews this season:
The Eleventh
Looking Beyond the Cracked Window
A Droll Way to Look at Things
Miss Keeks
Sven’s Personal Memos
My Beautiful Life
Sweet Perdition
Cheaper Than Therapy
Enema Portal For Groan-ups
Basement Epiphanies
Tom’s Hideaway
A Tykes Progress

I found this fun widget through Slacker-Moms-R-Us. Looked sort of fun and since it’s the season and all.

Only a few days to go before the florists’ all-nighter. Are you prepared? Did you get a card for your mom? Hurry, you better get going!

Oh, and feel free to send a little love my way, cause hey, Mamma Loves Love!!

And don’t tell anyone, but she’s really hoping JJ might get wind of this and send her one!!

Get your own valentinr

Thirty-seven is right around the corner and I can’t tell you how surprising that is to me. I thought that at thirty-seven I’d have arrived. I thought I’d know a few things. I thought I’d feel like an adult.

But at thirty-six and eleven twelfths, I don’t.

Sure career (check), married (check), kids (check), house (check), book club (check), some grey hairs (check). It certainly looks like thirty-seven doesn’t it.

But on the inside, it’s a whole other story!

On the best of days I’m still shocked that I have been entrusted with children. At work as a consultant, I still giggle at the idea that people pay ME to tell them what to do. On the not so best of days, I’m not so sure where I am is where I want to be and I worry that this is not at all what I had in mind but I might just be stuck with it…and then I panic.

Is this what it’s going to be forever? Is it too late to change? But I didn’t know then what I know now. It might have made some different decisions. But I didn’t! What do I do?!

And then all of the sudden it feels like I’m twenty-two again without any idea of what to do iwth my life. More accurately probably it feels a bit like seventeen, except that at seventeen I thought I knew everything!

When will I feel like the confident grown-up? When? Because just now it finally feels like I have enough information to decide where to go. But I’ve already gotten pretty far down the road.

I’d like to thank the handsome Jay for bringing me up to date on the latest breaking news. I was too busy reading all of your blogs to notice.

Anna Nicole Smith has died.

Was there anything left of her that was organic anyway?

When I was younger I loved midnight. Midnight was when the party started. Midnight meant excitement. Midnight made my blood boil. When I was younger, I embraced midnight with all the energy I had and basked in its electricity and rhythm on a thumping dance floor. When I was younger midnight was mine!

But now I’m older. Now I stare at midnight as I lie in bed, and I dread what it holds. Now that I’m older, staring at midnight reminds of responsibilities–responsibilities that await in the morning. Now that I’m older, the world doesn’t make it easy to enjoy midnight and take care of those responsibilities too. Every once in a while, I might forget and experience the briefest memory of the potential that midnight used to hold, but all too soon I am shaken from that daze as reality comes flying in and smacks me in the face.

Had I know this then, I think I might have permanently set my watch to midnight. But I didn’t, and time has marched on.

This is what I have to say to you today.

Today sucked. It sucked like one of Mr. Oreck’s vacs picking up a bowling ball. It sucked like Mark Foley dreaming of a Congressional page. Anyway, you get the point. Today sucked.

But there was one bright spot and I want to acknowledge it. There was one thing, one thought that brought a sparkle to my eye. And for that I want to say a huge THANK YOU!!!!

And for all the shit that made me feel like crap today all I have to say is fuck you.

How’s that for sharing on this blog what I really feel?

Three years ago tonight I was laying on a plastic covered matress readying my nipples for a couple weeks of trauma, my boobs for a long trip south, my brain for a year (actually 18 months) of no sleep, my hormones for a roller coaster ride, my thick shiney hair for a mass exodus and my mood for a bit of a dark period.

But I didn’t care about all of that, because three years ago tonight I had a brand new baby boy.

Well and because three years ago tonight, I had drugs.

Ah the sweet sweet ignorance of a drug-induced haze!

Happy Birthday Mr. 3.

The powers that be that put on the Super Bowl need to offer Prince whatever he wants to perform at the halftime show FOREVER!!

Despite not being a Minnesoooootan, I’m a big fan! And he did not disappoint tonight!

Billy who?

The little man rocked!!

Did you catch the part with the big white sheet and the silhouette? It’s probably the tallest Prince has ever been. Shakey wondered aloud if the same trick would work to make one’s penis look bigger. Just as he uttered it, Prince turned sideways and proved the hypothesis true–oh wait that was his guitar.

It’s the Sporadic Gasbag Roundtable, coming to us this week from our friend Kate.