9 A.M. Was dressed in costume
10A.M. Already had a sack full of candy from gym nursery
12P.M. Finally convinced her that she could take off costume to eat lunch and take nap
4 P.M. Dressed again to meet friends for dinner and trick or treating. Tinkerbell and Captain Hook- how cute is that!!
5-ishP.M. At Pumpkinfest for candy extravaganza
5:30 P.M. Already starting to eat candy
7:30 P.M. Candy eating continues
8:30 P.M. And continues. Add in running around in circles, chasing Grendal, and generally acting like a 3 year old hopped up on Halloween candy
9:15 P.M. Late bedtime with threats of throwing all candy away if she doesn't settle down.
Currently: Singing/reading/calling me in her room to talk while in bed. Threats continue, but I know I won't have to throw away of her candy. Justin and I will eat it all before it gets to that.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Me: Look at that airplane, out your right window.
Maddie: I don't see it.
Me: Right there. (pointing to the right)
Maddie: That's my left window.
Me: No. You know what your right and left are.
Maddie: I decided that's my left, now.
Me: Honey, you can't do that. Right is right, left is left.
Maddie: Says who?
Me: Everyone. I promise.
Maddie: Well, I don't care. I'm doing it this way. Hah.
Me: But it doesn't work that way.
Maddie: BUT I SAID SO!!!
I gave up. Left is now right and right is now left. Which will explain why I always get in the left turning lane when someone tells me to turn right.
Maddie:1 Me: 0
Monday, October 29, 2007
At the beginning of this past summer, I decided to become a vegetarian. No research was involved, and I really didn't have a reason for it. I just wanted to see if I could. So, just like that, I no longer ate meat.
The beginning was tough for me, but once I got accustomed to being the only one NOT enjoying their dinner, it was fine. No, I promise- this broccoli/cauliflower/squash thing is awesome. I love everything green!! Veggie burgers taste just like the real thing, really. And then I started believing it. And I got weird. For almost 5 months I was obsessed with being a vegetarian. I didn't trust myself around it, so I didn't want it anywhere near me, and I sure didn't want to smell it, especially bacon.
But the nights were the worse. I dreamed a lot. About bacon. And nachos bellgrande from Taco Bell. And juicy cheeseburgers. And fried chicken. And being able to eat it without feeling grossed out.
And so began my journey back to sanity. I started out eating chicken, and progressed to lean meats. But the true test was last week.
I went to Taco Bell and ordered a real nachos bellgrande. Filled with ground beef, refried beans, tomatoes, sour cream, and cheese. I felt a tingle of excitement as I ordered it. And when I got my little sack, there was an extra taco in it. Oooh, this must be God's way of telling me it's okay to eat grade D meat. And then I got to object of my dreams.
What?!?! They messed it up!! There were no tomatoes. There was no sour cream. THERE WAS NO MEAT!!!
I sure hope this wasn't a sign from God to give up meat again. Cause I'm not ready to jump on that crazy train again. And neither is my family.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
I first heard about this complaint-free bracelet from a friend. In a nutshell, you put this bracelet on and every time you complain, you switch wrists. The goal is to go 21 days complaint free and every time you switch wrists, you must start the count over. Not too hard, right? Think again.
I honestly didn't think I would have a problem, so I didn't see the need for an actual bracelet. And then I listened to myself. WOW. If it wasn't one thing, it was something else. And I'm a happy person.
At work a few nights ago, I listened. And I got pretty disgusted. People, including me, were complaining about everything under the sun. And you know what? We complained to the people who have the least control over the situation. And it wasn't pretty.
Does it help to gripe about the weather? Probably not. What about having to do a job that you really hate? My solution- stop complaining and get another job that you like. Mad at a friend? Tell that person- not me.
Don't get me wrong. I understand the need to complain. There are times that it is completely justified. And sometimes it does feel good to vent to someone else, and to get another's opinion. But the real question is- do you feel better or worse when you're done? I usually walk away feeling worse than when I started.
So, I think I'm going to get a bracelet. But probably not one of those rubber ones- I'm afraid I'll get blisters from switching arms all day long.
Anyone else up for the challenge?
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 9:05 PM
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
On the day of our 5th anniversary, we spent the day touring Washington D.C. My mom kept Maddie for the entire weekend, so it was like we were newlyweds again. We laughed at each other's stupid jokes, we ran through the rain trying to both fit under an umbrella, we made fun of other tourists, we absolutely exhausted ourselves. After all that, I was ready for some romance.
Let me set the scene. It had just turned dark. We went to the second floor of a quaint Italian restaurant, sat at an intimate table for two, right beside an open window while the rain slowed to a drizzle. The candles were lit, the wine was nice, the conversation was better.
And then, coming from the table close by we hear the dreaded sound of, you guessed it, kids. Loud kids. Kids that don't know the meaning of romance. Kids that ask very interesting questions.
"Dad, do you have any brothers or sisters?" the boy asked. "No, I'm an only child," responded the dad. "Can you just make your body have a child?" he wanted to know. "No. You can't. Who do you want to win the baseball game tomorrow?" He tried. "I don't know. Um, Dad, if you can't make your body have a child, can you make your body not have a baby?"
And he really tried to explain about the little pill a woman can take. To a 7 year old. And he explained, very patiently, how great the questions were, just inappropriate at the dinner table.
Meanwhile, I wipe the wine that I had just shot out of my nose off my chin, Justin picks himself off the floor from laughing, and we agree that hearing that was the highlight of our trip.
Until it hit us. HOLY. CRAP. Maddie will probably ask us something like that. But it better not be for a really long time. We need time to prepare.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Last week was fire prevention week at Maddie's school, which coincided with learning about the letter "F". Her best friend's dad came to talk to her class since he is a firefighter, and to a 3 year old, that's just about the coolest thing for a dad to be. Except a policeman, apparently.
When we picked Maddie up from school, she started talking about her friends's daddy and then we hear this: "I told my friends that my daddy is a policeman."
"But your daddy is not a policeman"
"Yes, he is. I told everybody he is."
"Why do you think your daddy is a policeman?"
"God told me he is, so he is." There was no reasoning with her. She almost convinced me that he really was a policeman.
At least when they get to the letter "P" for policeman, Halloween costumes should be pretty cheap.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
So, I ran into a lady that I used to work with a few years ago. We talked and caught up with everything that had happened since she quit a few years ago. Blah, blah, blah.
Of course, we started talking about our kids. More blah, blah, blah. She told me that when she picked her son up from his first day of Kindergarten she told him how much she had missed him.
"Oh. Well I was having so much fun, I forgot I had a mommy," was his response.
I really didn't need to hear that right before I leave Maddie with my parents while Justin and I go on a mini-vacation. I packed a picture of me in her suitcase. Just in case.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 1:32 PM
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 10:06 PM
Monday, October 15, 2007
When Maddie was a baby, she hated wearing clothes. No big deal, right? Tennessee summers get excrutiatingly hot, after all. And when she was about two years old, it was so much easier for me to let her eat/finger paint without her clothes on. No stains to worry about.
Fast forward a little bit. I've had to chase my child through the store after she took off her shorts and threw them at me. If she spills something on her shirt, it comes off before I have a chance to stop her. No matter where we are. Her friend came over and as soon as his mom left, he stripped down to his underwear because that's all Maddie was wearing and paint was involved. Good times, right?
Now let's add another factor into my non-clothes wearing daughter situation. She loves to dance. On poles. But only in public. If we are waiting for a table at a restaurant and there is a fence post, a flag pole, or a banister, Maddie is sure to be dancing on it. Wrapping her leg around it and holding with one arm and spinning around and around. And drawing quite a crowd. Friends laugh uncomfortably when they see her performance. I know exactly what they are thinking, There goes Maddie again. I wonder where she learned those moves. Hah. I know it's not from Dora or Diego. This is so terrible to laugh at, but at the same time, so dang funny. At least it's not my child.
And I know exactly how this happened. You see, after a friend of a friend told us what she was naming her daughter, Justin and I laughed. Hard. We said that she was destined to be a stripper. We wondered at what age we should buy the kid a pole to practice on.
I'm just afraid that Maddie is going to ask Santa for her very own pole. And offer to pay with a lap dance when she turns 18.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
"Mommy, I've got a great plan. I'm gonna stand on the top of the couch and jump. If I don't hit my head, you clap your hands. If I hit my head, you don't clap. Ok?"
"Um, I'm trying to look at something on the computer, but okay- go for it."
She jumps. She doesn't hit her head, so I clap. Satisfied that she won't seriously hurt herself by jumping, I go back to doing my thing. She jumps again. I don't hear crying so I clap. And again- she jumps, no crying, I clap my hands. And then, "Ow,ow,ow!!! My foot. sob. Mommy, my foot. sob, scream, sob
I jetted over to her as fast as I could. How could I be so stupid? Who lets a 3 year old jump off a couch? And clap when she doesn't hit her head? Oh, man. I hope she doesn't tell her teacher tomorrow, or her Gram or Granny. I'm. A. Terrible. Mommy.
I look at her foot. There's a little swelling. I ask her to move her toes- she holds up her fingers and shakes them. Oh, no. Did she hit her head and now has a concussion? "What about your foot? Move your foot. Come one, you can do it." She moves it a little.
She stops crying and looks at me like I'm a crazy woman. Mommy, I think my foot is okay. I'll try it again. And THIS time, clap when I don't hit my head."
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 9:40 PM
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Gatlinburg. Pancake houses on every corner, Hillbilly Golf, Smoky Mountains, and all things southern. I'm going this weekend with my mom and Maddie. After hearing the stories of my mom's last trip, I'm not sure I can keep up with her.
The first major trip I took with my mom was to Europe after graduating from high school. She tried really hard to curb my trips to the bars. I was 18 and in Europe- what did she expect?
I've gone on a few other trips with my mom since then, and while that first trip will always be my favorite, I've come to this conclusion. She only gets better with age. And if we stop at the store and she buys jello for some shooters, I'll be sure Maddie doesn't get any.
What happens is Gatlinburg, stays in Gatlinburg- unless I deem it blog worthy.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Bad habit #1: Rolling my eyes at just about everything
Bad habit #2: Letting Maddie see me roll my eyes at just about everything.
Bad habit #3: Wanting to scream at Maddie when she rolls her eyes.
Bad habit #4: Rolling my eyes right before telling Maddie she shouldn't roll her eyes at me.
Bad habit #5: Blaming Justin for teaching Maddie how to roll her eyes.
Got any bad habits you wanna share?
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
"I'm rich. I have more than enough." Those were the words our preacher had us repeat after him in church on Sunday. I had a hard time saying those words. By all of my standards, I am most definitely NOT rich. I have enough, but not necessarily more than enough. And I don't like to lie in church.
We have one vehicle. It's needed a new engine since last December. We live in a relatively small apartment, not a house. We don't take elaborate trips, and we check our bank account every day. Nope, not rich. And, if I'm honest with myself, I look at what others have, and I want it. Bad. I want us to be able to drive our friends when we go out and not worry about our car breaking down. I want to have people over for dinner without worrying about space. I want to be able to take friends and family out and pay for it and not worry about the cost.
I've been thinking about this since Sunday. And I've been doing some additional research. Some staggering statistics are out there. I was blown away. Did you know that 3 billion people live on less than 2 dollars a day? Approximately 790 million people in the developing world are chronically undernourished. Millions of women around the world spend several hours a day collecting water.
I have some nerve, you know. I get angry when a table only leaves a 2 dollar tip. My cupboards may be bare, but that's just because I haven't made it to the store- not because I couldn't afford it. We were without water last weekend for 1 1/2 days. I couldn't imagine not having it at all, or worse- having to go get it myself, and I don't mean by going to the store.
I have a wonderful family and some awesome friends. I live in the best country on planet Earth (possibly the best city). I've never had to go to bed hungry and neither has my daughter. Each day brings a new opportunity and with it- hope.
I really am rich and I really do have more than enough.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 1:32 PM
Monday, October 8, 2007
Maddie goes to a twice a week preshool program. She absolutely loves it. I love it. Her dad loves it. All for different reasons.
When we get home on those days, we go through her school bag to see what she worked on. Hmmm. We have a cotton ball covered sheep, letter tracing, rainbows, cheerio covered letters, paper kites, finger paintings, the list goes on and on. And this is just in one day. This does not include the other papers that show how well she behaved. This does not include the lunch menu. This does not include the phone list or monthly calender.
I'm proud of her, I really am. And I do like listening to her tell me what she learned that day. I'm just so sick of the papers. What do I do with them all? Right now, they are scattered throughout my apartment. I try to get rid of them little by little, but if she knew I was throwing them in the trash. . . Well, it would not be pretty.
So, my suggestion is this. DA, won't you please go green? At least one day a week? Or start a recycling program. Just pretend to glue on the cotton balls- oops they fell off- now run along Mary. Here you go Jimmy, why don't you try one- just look at you learning. . . Don't write names on any of the papers or projects and reuse them next year- let the next child add a little bit, and do it all over again. Just tell them there are some papers that have to stay in the classroom. If they question whether it's really their work, just give them some M&Ms. They're 3- they won't know. Really. And I don't think any parent would mind. Trust me.
We all need to do our part. For the children.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 10:17 PM
Dear Juan Valdez ,
You are on my mind first thing in the morning. I can't make it through the day without you. I love you. My friends and family may like you, but I love you.
I began to love you when I was a child. Heavily creamed and sugared. Now, my love for you has grown. I do not need any supplements to improve upon your greatness.
When I meet friends at a coffee shop, I order some fancy-schmancy imposter. I feel like I'm cheating on you. Please understand that it's not you, it's them. If I knew they hand-picked their coffee beans, you might have something to worry about. My loyalty is with you, I promise.
I have only one question for you, and I'm mortified to bring it up. And if I need to see someone about this, just say the word. I'll make the appointment tomorrow.
Why does my pee smell like coffee? Is this normal?
Love you forever and ever. CB
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 10:03 PM
The night after we bought our super expensive pumpkins, I pretty much got over it. I mean, really, we've wasted our money on lots of things, why stop with fall produce. In fact, I was almost proud of us. We had just supported a local farmer. I understand the importance of buying local. I don't do it much, but I understand it.
And what if these are special pumpkins? What if they are really filled with jewels, winning lottery tickets, or keys to a new car? I could barely stand it. We needed to get started carving it right away.
So, we set up a table outside. Maddie began painting hers and I hoped against all hope that something magical was about to happen. I started taking the top off. Dang, this is hard. Must be really something good in there. Justin finally came to my rescue and finished sawing it. After a few struggles, we got the lid off. I couldn't wait to see what grand prize we had been awarded.
Disappointment abounded. Ooey, gooey, pumpkin junk. With more seeds than I ever thought possible.
But I threw some seeds in the grass. Maybe tomorrow there will be a really tall vine and I can go get the golden goose eggs.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Every October, sometime before Halloween, we get Maddie a pumpkin and let her paint it. Since we are going to be out of town for the next 2 weekends, yesterday was the only day we could do it as a family. We had seen a little place to buy fall items and decided to try it out.
Maddie hops out of the truck and can hardly wait to pick one out. While she and Justin try to find the perfect pumpkin, I go to the stand to ask about prices. The only sign says, "Due to drought, prices are higher this year." That should have been my first clue. The lady with plastic spider earrings told me they start at $8. I thought that was a little high, but there was no way Maddie would let us leave without a pumpkin.
She finds one. Then we find another one to carve while she paints hers. We take our 2 mid-sized pumpkins to the checkout. "That's $24.04" WHAT!?!? And we were stuck. We couldn't tell Maddie that the pumpkins were too expensive and we couldn't buy them. She would have been heartbroken. And truthfully, I really didn't want to deal with a tantrum at that moment.
So we loaded up our precious cargo and Maddie and left. We decided to stop at the store so we could get some carving utensils. Right in front of the door, like a slap in the face, I see a sign.
"Large Pumpkins $4.99"
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Every change of the season, I find myself buying some type of potted plant. I always look for one that looks sturdy and easy to care for. I usually buy it a new pot and fertilizer. I read the recommendations on how to care for it. I follow these instructions to the tee.
And then it dies. I don't know what happens. I'm sure it was just the plant. It's not my fault. I make grand proclamations on which store/nursery I'm boycotting because of inferior products.
My husband calls me the "Grim Reaper of Botany."
My aloe vera plant just died. I think he may be right.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 10:42 PM
Friday, October 5, 2007
I just got home from a not-so-great night at work. I worked way too hard for the amount of money I made. Let me give an example of just one of my great tables:
Mr. Moneybags: I don't want a salad, I want soup.
Me: I have to charge an additional $1.80. Is that okay?
Mr. Moneybags: If I didn't have the money, I wouldn't be here.
Me: No problem.
I get him his chowder, refill their drinks about 8 times, make sure the entire family of 5 has everything they could possibly want.
He gives me a $5 tip on a tab that's $99.78
Maybe I shouldn't have charged him the $1.80
Thank you, Mr. Moneybags, thank you.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 10:45 PM
Today I took Maddie, my own little Swim Monkey to the pool at the gym. I watched her swim, splash, and go down the frog slide for about 30 minutes. Everything was perfect. She was having fun, I was relaxing. And from behind me, I hear this: "It's about time for you to have another one, isn't it?"
What?!? Surely he's not talking to me. I turn around. Yep, he's talking to me- I'm the only one around. This is wrong on SO many levels.
- I don't know him. I've never talked to this hairy-armed bald guy.
- Please don't suggest to me that you know my situation better than I do and that I should have another child before I'm ready, Mr. I'm going to inspire her to make more babies tonight guy.
- How does he know I'm not trying to have another and can't? I'm not, but he doesn't know that and that remark could really hurt someone if they were.
- I DON"T KNOW HIM!!
This list goes on and on. I turn back around to see if he's actually still there, waiting for an answer. He is. And as I prepare myself to blast him, I turn around with a smile on my face.
"No, it's not" And I go back to enjoying my day with my child.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 12:06 PM
Thursday, October 4, 2007
When I go to the gym, one of the biggest things that I notice are the different groups. We have the PTA moms. "Are you going to be able to help next Friday? You know it's the Fall Festival, and we really need all the help we can get. . . " There are the cardio queens, taking up the machines for hours at a time. "Can't. . Talk. . Need. . Water.." Young, muscled meatheads, mixing up dangerous concoctions of protein drinks and Red Bull. "Dude, I like just benched like so much more than you ever could, man" The loners- well, it's just me.
And I've never wanted to fit into any of these groups. The only one I'm interested in joining positively reeks of exclusivity. You can spot them at any given time sitting around the coffee station.
They smile at everyone, even if you are not quite ready to join their group. Most, but certainly not all, come with their spouses. And when the time comes, they walk to the exercise room together. That's right, they have their own class. Throughout the gym, they have signs on the trips they plan on taking. Recipes are posted for anyone to take. Potlucks happen about once a month.
Dangit, I WANT IN!!
I'm active. I'll be 30 in January, so we know I'm aging. Can I please join the Silver Sneakers?
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Ahh. October. Quite possibly the best month of the year. Time for nice days and cool nights. Time for trees changing colors and those annoying mosquitos to go away. Time for pumpkins and apple cider. Time for those annoying Halloween inserts to fall out of the paper every freakin' time I want to read what's going on in the world.
And today, I looked at it. Not because Maddie needed a costume (she's going as Tinkerbell and her best friend is Captain Hook), but because I was curious. I mean, what are the other kids wearing? The first few pages for girls were typical- pumpkins, lady bugs, puppies, princesses, etc. For boys, there were policemen, sheriffs, football players, skeletons, etc. You know- cute little kid stuff. And then I turned the page.
Is this really a front for a Fredericks' magazine? No- those are 9 or 10 year old models. Let's see. We have: Pirate Grrl, Sweetheart Bat, Major Flirt, Devil Grrl, and Gothic Geisha, to name a few. And what's scarier is this is not even the teen page. I'm not even going there.
Now, I will admit, some of the other costumes are cute. Disco Dolly, Nifty Fifties, and even the USA Cheerleader costumes are some that I would let Maddie wear. But the others? Not a chance. Ever.
And then I started thinking about what my sisters and I wore. I can only remember going trick or treating with my younger sister, I guess because my older two had already outgrown it. But our costumes usually involved 2 really itchy scarecrow costumes, some old dance costumes, and a wonder woman mask. When I was in second grade my mom dressed me in a gold one piece cat suit with black fringe on the side, stuffed my front an obscene amount, curled my hair, applied bright blue eyeshadow with pink blush. I thought I was a dancer. When we got to the party, she called me Dolly Parton. I didn't have a clue.
As I got a little older, it became really hard for me to find a costume that I liked. I remember specifically my 5th grade year. I know I was really too old to dress up, but if I didn't dress up, no one would want to give me the candy. And that's what it's all about. My mom wasn't going to be there that night, so she let me oldest sister help me get ready.
I'm sure I was sulking and not wanting to wear the scarecrow costume again, so I asked her boyfriend what I should be. He told me he would help me come up with one that "no one has seen around here." He picked out some jeans that I had outgrown 2 years before. Paired it with a shirt that belonged to my younger sister. Had me put on high heels that I had never even attempted to wear. When I asked what I was supposed to be, he called me a "high class fashion model." I let him put garish makeup on me- double the amount I had ever seen on any one person and helped me perfect the art of pouting. He taught me how to work the runway- even if it was really going to be a gravel driveway.
I walked the walk. I talked the talk. I got buckets of candy. I was in high school when I realized what I really was that fifth grade halloween. A PROSTITUTE. I was a freakin' hooker for halloween.
Devilicious doesn't sound so bad, now. Does it??
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
I really don't like to clean. Most specifically the bathroom. No, wait- dusting. No, folding laundry. No, I think I hate vaccuuming most of all. Oh, screw it. I hate it all. I don't get that warm, fuzzy feeling from a clean house. All I can think when I see it is that in about an hour it will be back dirty and I'll have to clean all over again.
One Saturday morning, I had half- heartedly cleaned some of the rooms. All I really had left was the kitchen. Scrubbing countertops, cleaning out the fridge, and the floor. Maddie came to the kitchen and wanted to watch a movie. She was on a Cinderella kick and loved anything to do with her. And I swear, my very own fairy godmother put a thought in my head.
"I have a better idea. Let's play Cinderella." "Okay," she said "I'll put on a princess gown and you can be the prince."
Well, that didn't work. Let's try something else.
"How about I'll be the evil stepmother and you can be Cinderella before she got bibbity-bobbity-boo'd? Now, Cinderella- GET TO WORK!!"
She ate it up. I fixed her a mop bucket with sudsy water, gave her a scrub brush and let her go. She even started singing the sing sweet mockingbird song that 'rella sings in the movie.
It took her a little while, but my floors looked great. I have to admit, we play this game as often as I can convince her to. After all, practice makes perfect. It works for dusting, scrubbing the sink, sweeping (swiffering). I haven't found any tapestries for her to clean, but I have hopes.
I hate to think of what I would be cleaning today if my fairy godmother hadn't been on my side.
Monday, October 1, 2007
I'm a gym junkie. I usually work out 4 or 5 days of the week. I honestly think it makes me a better mom. I have my hour or so to get all those endorphins pumping and when I leave, I'm in a better mood and ready to face the day and the endless questions of a 3 year old.
I'm not a private person, by any means. I can usually find a way to start a conversation with anyone. However, at the gym that I've been going to for over 2 years, I know less than 10 people. And most of them work in the nursery where I leave Maddie. I simply like the time by myself. I go, get on the elliptical/treadmill/bike, plug in my headphones and hope no one talks to me. And while the other gym rats recognize me, and I them, they really know nothing about me. But here comes my secret- I know all about them. You see, I don't turn the volume on. I eavesdrop on every conversation I can.
Yes, that's right. I simply can't help myself. It all began innocently enough. I got on the treadmill, the 2 women beside me all but stop talking. Ignoring them, I plug in my headphones. What's wrong with this stupid thing? Isn't America's Next Top Model marathon on? I can't hear anything. Grr. The volume is broken. I don't take the headphones out b/c that's just asking for conversation. And I wasn't having that. Just as I was about to find a different machine, I heard this-"Well, I can't go on Thursday or Friday. I'm having my boobs done on Wednesday. Maybe next week?"
So I stayed on that machine (and found out who paid for those boobies)and the bad habit was born. I know whose son was caught with drugs and whois raising her granddaugher as her own. I also know who really, really likes her trainer.
Not all of what I find out is gossip. Some of it could prove to be quite useful. I know when and where the best yard sales are. I know which are the best preschools in the area. I even know who to call for the best bargain botox you can get.
But I can't tell you. It's classified information.