Heartbreak City...

After days of nail-biting waiting, Meghan heard from NYU today regarding her Early Decision application. She didn't get in. A nice one-page letter about them getting a record number of early decision applications this year, blah, blah, blah... NYU doesn't do deferrals, so Meghan is out of the running. She was, to put it mildly, absolutely heartbroken. This was her No. 1 choice and in spite of our gentle cautions, she really had her heart set on it. It was hard for me to hear too -- as a parent you want to call the damn school up and say something like, 'So what's wrong with my child? I think she's brilliant and a very good investment!'

But it's not to be, I guess. All I can do is commiserate and encourage her to move on to thinking about her other schools. And there are several really great prospects, including two Early Action possibilities (Drexel in Philadelphia - which Howard and I are really rooting for; and Hofstra on Long Island). She is continuing to get her regular decision applications out, too: BU, UMass-Amherst (as a safety), Ithaca (???), American University in D.C.; Johnson & Wales (another safety school). God, is that even enough in this competitive time???

Wish us luck, you guys. I hate this already.

Too Late, Ladies of Nutrition...

Hanukkah Claus has succumbed to the request of Sibling #6. Behold the Masterbuilt Four Seasons Electric Digital Fryer ~ Steamer ~ Boiler. This device can accomplish the following (and I am NOT kidding; the amounts are exactly what it reads on the box):

(To the tune of "The 12 Days of Christmas" ... Music, maestro...)

On the 25th Day of Christmas, Hanukkah Howard gave to meeeeee...

"10 pounds of crab legs
10 pounds of chicken fingers, french fries AND fried shrimp
6 pounds of boiled shrimp
5 pounds of buffalo wings
4 cornish hens
2 whole chickens
3 mounds of vegetables
A "low-country boil" (We don't actually know what this is...) for 10 people
and a 14 pound - big, honkin' - turkey"

OK, it doesn't say "big, honkin Turkey." It just says 14 pound turkey. But everything else, including the amounts, is word-for-word on the side of the box.

Shaun is going to have a monster food climax just gazing at this thing.

Fried Green Health Experts North of Ellsworth

So... guess who wants a turkey fryer for Christmas? Sib #6. It's either that or a blooming onion maker. How's that for justification for the obesity epidemic in America? Good lord. Howard has her; I'm not sure what he'll do on this one. Her other request is for a gift certificate to A.C. Moore.

I say, send her to the craft store! Cuz sending her to the grease pit is NOT a good idea.

The good, the bad ... and the bodily noise

Ah, Italia. I know you've been waiting for the installment chronicling my travels to Tuscany with the matriarch. And even though I've talked with siblings #1 and 3 by phone, I haven't yet detailed the trip to anyone. So here goes:

The Good
There were a couple of times on this trip when I really enjoyed seeing the matriarch realize some personal "dreams." One night in Lucca (ancient walled city near the mountain farmhouse we stayed in), our Italian guide Juliana brought us to the birth home of Puccini (composer of the operas La Boheme, Madame Butterfly, etc., etc. -- and a favorite of mom's). Mom had really wanted to see his house, but Juliana pooh-poohed it, saying that Puccini really didn't like living in Lucca that much (Juliana was a fierce advocate for Lucca, vocally preferring it to all other Italian destinations).

Still, knowing that mom wanted to see it, she brought us to the square where his birth home sits on the corner. In this square, there is a large statue of Puccini seated in a chair. A photo was in order. Three of the women in our group urged mom to climb up into Puccini's lap for a Kodak moment. Mom, of course, mildly freaked out and insisted she couldn't climb up. So these women hoisted her up. It was hysterical and touching at the same time. And the people sitting at a cafe nearby no doubt thought we were all a bunch of insane, cackling women. Anyway, hence the attached pic of the matriarch sitting in the lap of a composer she declares as a "very handsome man." (Don't EVER tell her I put this up on the blog.)

Shortly after this, Juliana brought us to the studio of a well-known tailor to the rich and famous -- mainly because his studio was in an historic Italian villa. Gorgeously restored, decorated, with occasional mannequins wearing designer brands like Chanel. The tailor was a tall, charming, bald and decidedly gay man who Juliana had known for years. He was playing an opera as background music and I asked who was singing because the voice was haunting and beautiful. He named her (and I can't remember who it was), quickly assessed us all as Americans and therefore Maria Calais fans so he put some Calais on the stereo instead and led us to a back dressing room. There in the middle of the room was a mannequin wearing a Maria Calais gown that this tailor had made. He had slipped a photo of Maria into the shoulder of the gown.

This guy immediately clued into mom, who was beside herself with awe and started the predictable waterworks. It was touching. The tailor went right over to her and said, in Italian, "don't cry, don't cry..." And several women in our group started crying over the whole touching scene. Ay-yi-yi... ;)

The Bad
This trip was jam-packed with activity. If we weren't sight-seeing or shopping, we were involved in these amazing cooking lessons. I learned how to make an authentic tiramisu, by the way, and it tastes absolutely NOTHING like the stuff we make over here. It's WAY better! The last night I learned how to make homemade ravioli (stuffed wtih feta and spinach or sausage and sage). Thing is, there was always so much food, you felt like you couldn't possibly eat another bite and they'd be dishing out more. So that was kind of bad, at times.

And then there was the whole airport security thing. The Matriarch doesn't DO airport security well. She was exasperated at JFK because we had to go through so many checkpoints. And she had to take off her SHOES, for heaven's sake. ;) Furthermore, she kept trying to push me over the yellow line you have to stand behind at customs until they call you up to the window. She seriously didn't GET that you have to wait until they call you up to the window. Kept saying, "Go on, DeeDee, go on!" I finally snapped at her. I CAN'T mom!!!! Yeesh.

The Ugly
The woman makes noises. She snores (loudly). She sighs (audibly). And she talks to herself. This all occurs late at night and early in the morning. Both times of the day when anyone else would want peace, quiet and the ability to veg out. I told sibling #1 that I found myself facing the wall and rolling my eyes every time she uttered an "ahem.... hum, hum, hum..." Oh. My. God.

But still, all in all, it was a nice trip. And, as a potential bonus to you all, I believe the Matriarch may have learned the value of freshly made food (as opposed to frozen). Ciao for now!

ok... counting down

Just about 15 hours until the first leg of the trip to Italy. I'm packing at 10:50 p.m. Thursday night (knowing that mom has been fully packed for two weeks and frozen her underwear and socks so she'll be fully prepared like she is for a holiday meal). ahem...

looks like Steve and Ellen have dodged a bullet out in Southern California. The fires blew past their place and while they were worried about a predicted shift in wind direction today, it looks like they're ok so far.

Howard is on his way home from San Francisco - on a red eye. Then he'll take a nap tomorrow morning before taking me to the airport.

I'm pretty excited. We'll see how this all goes. I have a global cell phone with me and I'm having my regular cell forwarded directly to this global phone (which I've rented for the week). So you can call me super siblings if you miss your mommy.

Oh my goodness. Did I just SAY that? ;) ... Ciao!

Four days and counting...

Well... while I'm sifting through things to pack (particularly shoes), we're saying a prayer here for Howard's brother Steven and his wife Ellen. They have a beautiful home in Fallbrook, California, and Howard (who is out there on business this week) emailed some photos of wildfires basically encroaching on their house. These are scary, scary pics. Fallbrook has been evacuated but as of today, Steve and Ellen were home and playing it by ear. They live on a mountainside and while the fire is closing in, they were not yet required to evacuate - I think they're trying to just figure out what to do. It's amazing how much has burned out there. They have a beautiful ranch with a citrus orchard and these great gardens. And it's in pretty imminent danger.

Five Days ... and counting

My most sincerest apologies for not posting anything on the blog for quite some time. It's been a bit hectic here. Meghan applied to NYU early decision, which meant we had to get everything done and in before this week because - well, after Friday, I'll be IN ITALY!!!!!! Meantime, we've been dealing with the usual extra-curriculars for both girls, work hell, painting one side of the house, fielding phone calls from the wayward traveler - Howard, not me. He just got back from a trip to Monaco for heaven's sake and now he's in San Francisco.

And... well, I am astounded that neither sib #1 or sib #3 have discussed the Ellen situation. Good lord above, the woman adopts a dog from a shelter, gives it up to the family of a beauty parlor worker and then gets all hot under the collar when the shelter takes the dog back. She took her personal beef with the dog rescue people onto the air and now the rescue people are getting death threats... Now this is a scruffy little dog, mind you (not at all like Leona's Trouble). I can't post the pic because it's got a Baltimore Sun photo copyright, but head to this link to see for yourself: http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/nation/bal-te.to.pets20oct20,0,1429241.story

WHAT is this world coming to when these celebrities' doggie problems take top billing in the news?

Then again, Marie Osmond did just collapse during her samba on Dancing with the Stars, and that did make headlines this evening...

I have been taking an Audiobooks course in Italian, by the way, so that I can speak up whenever mom tries to order something toxic for dinner or pay too much for some bizarre souvenir when we're IN ITALY!!!!

Seriously, despite the fact that I'm in pretty serious denial about how it will be to spend 10 days with the matriarch... I AM pretty excited about going on this trip! Ciao!

Inconsolable

Margaret is deeply saddened by the news that Ellen will not be hosting the 2008 Oscars. As she knows Ellen is a serious animal lover, Maggie was hopeful for a cameo role in the program.

Bring Back Ellen!!!!

It is a slow news day in the shifting world of dead socialites (think Leona Helsmley, Brooke Astor...). So I'm raising the alarm bell on the first murmurs of a very disturbing announcement. Ellen has not been asked to host the Oscars in 2008. Instead, they have tapped Jon Stewart for a third trial (he hosted in 2001 and 2002, and both times were ... forgettable). I am mildly outraged that Ellen is not being considered for a second attempt. Personally, I thought she was delightful as the 2007 host. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of her monologue and subsequent quips between award categories. What could have gone wrong? Did she offend someone, unintentionally and unknowingly, from the Academy of Arts and Sciences? Did she look too masculine on stage not wearing a dress? Or is it, gasp, because viewers complained about the choice of a lesbian as host? Whatever the reason, I am dismayed. And bored in advance. Because Jon Stewart was b-o-r-i-n-g as a host.

More poop on the pooch

Dahlings ... not ONLY does Leona's brother not want her dog OR the $12 million she left the poochy, but her former housekeeper is preparing to sue the dog because it bit her once while she was working at the Queen of Mean's Manhattan apartment. Credit goes to Sibling #1 for breaking the first portion of this meaty little celeb tidbit. Further research unearthed the housekeeper angle to give you up to the minute reports. I attach the wanted poster image of said doggie, aptly named "Trouble".

Trouble obviously shops at Abercrombie and Bizarre, by the way. You can tell by the fashionable aloofness of this pic.

Abercrombie and Bizarre

Can I just say that Abercrombie and Fitch is a stupid store? Seriously. I had to take Anna there tonight to get this "have to have" shirt on clearance so that she could wear it on her first day of high school. (AAAGGGGHHHHHH!) Anyway, I don't get this store: they play terrible music at 250 decibels; they spray their clothing with this strange perfume (I'm not kidding; Tyler and Kyle can probably verify it). And they charge ridiculous prices for anything not on sale. Like $40 and up for flimsy cotton shirts and skirts that should be outlawed.

I agreed to take Anna because she really wanted this particular shirt and it wasn't outrageous in appearance. Plus it was a treat for her first day as a freshman (AAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!) Plus it was on clearance.

Anyway, we get there and get the shirt only to realize at the checkout (which is always manned by the dumbest guys - preppie, muscular and very dumb) that I don't have my credit cards with me. OK now who's dumb? Anyway I ask the guy to hold onto the shirt and we'll be back. "Um..." he says "I can hold it for like five minutes; we're really not supposed to hold anything here." (It's a shirt on clearance, for God's sake. Try holding onto your brains moron before they slip through your ear canals and get squashed on the floor).

Anna and I drive all the way back home and I grab my credit cards. We head back to Abercrombie and see the shirt tossed onto a table behind the checkout. "I'm back for that shirt behind you," I tell the same blockhead at the register. And he just looks at me like I have three heads and reaches for some tank top next to him. "Noooo... the shirt BEHIND you that you couldn't put on HOLD," I say, wondering if I've been gone so long that he really can't remember me or the shirt. He turns around, points to the shirt and actually says, "This one? You sure?"

Seriously. It's a stupid store. We bring the shirt home and Anna and Meghan make this big dramatic play of smelling it because of this spray Abercrombie puts on all its clothes. Oh, and by the way, I bought a shirt for Meghan there too. On clearance. I'm thinking she'll be ecstatic. Only once she sees it, she's thumbing her nose at it; Abercrombie is NOT on Meghan's "fashion DO" list this year.

Stupid store.

Lonesome for Leona

Buddy wishes HE had a benefactor as sweet as Leona Helmsley.

Queen of the Evil Arched Eyebrow in the Great Beyond

Wahoo! This has GOT to be my favorite story of the summer. Leona Helmsley dead as a doornail and WHO gets $12 million from her to keep on keepin' on? Her d-o-g. Little Maltese named Trouble. What the hell is a Maltese going to do with $12 million? He's gonna keep it away from two of Helmsley's grandchildren, who apparently don't deserve a penny from Grammy Dearest. This is TOO good.

Brooke in the Great Beyond

I assume you all know this by now. Brooke Astor died today at age 105. Howard sent me a tip at work about the CNN headline on it -- with the email subject line: "So, is her house available now?"

Perhaps the three super siblings should put our pennies together and get that house in Northeast Harbor (if it's still available). Complete with any maid, butler or cooking service that comes with it. THAT would be one hell of a great private escape whenever needed. ;)

Ode to Red Hot Dogs

Down here in the Bay State, we adore red, snappy skin hot dogs. They are the epitome of processed, triple-pink-dyed deliciousness. And they snap when you bite into them.

Paris, of course, is not a hot dog fan. She much prefers Taco Bell as shown in this accompanying photo. But we are willing to convert her. We're going to send Super Sibling # 1 and 3 several cases of red snappy skins, and we'll divert a box to Paris as well. Lindsay Lohan, alas, will not receive a case until she straightens up her act.

Let us discuss Lindsay Lohan ... or we could talk about Paris some more

Lindsay Lohan is a girl in trouble. A girl with a serious problem. A girl nowhere near as good and pure as Paris. Paris is my new moral celebrity hero. She just bought a new dog. And a papparazi photog had to save one of her other little canines from wandering out into the street in front of her house. She's recording a new album. And she's telling people not to drink and drive. She is a dear, dear girl.

She needs to save Lindsay, though. An intervention is in order.

I need a v-a-c-a-t-i-o-n

I've got a serious dilemma. A work dilemma. A guy I work with declaring he's a transsexual. Changing his name. Starting soon, I have to stop calling this guy by his guy name and start calling him by his new girl name (which is nothing like his guy name. At all). I am dead serious.

Fortunately, I don't work with this guy in my office. I talk to him over the phone several times a week sometimes. And maybe I see him once or twice a year. And now I have to call him a different name. While he gets used to being a girl.

I'm serious. And I seriously need a vacation. I need to come to Maine, where all you deal with are people who address envelopes with "down back of Reny's." It's that simple. No one goes around changing the name of Reny's.

I'm a liberal, for heaven's sake. A card-carrying, outspoken, open minded liberal. And this is a serious dilemma. I seriously need a vacation.

A Picture is Worth ...

OK, I need to whine. I do not take a good photo. I realize Mom always says that about herself. And that she deliberately sets out to look like the spawn of an ice queen whenever a camera lens turns her way. But I do not. I try to look cute and thin and not a day over 35. And it doesn't work. It hasn't worked ever, really. I always look kind of goofy, big in the face, and lopsided. Honestly, just once I'd like to see a photo of myself that I actually liked.

Unfortunately, because my Boston editor has left the job and I've been handed her duties along with my own for a few months, I have to have a photo on the Editor's Note page of the Parents' Paper. So I scout around and find one and I look like some just-back-from-the-groomer, swollen-faced Irish setter. But I'm stuck. I need a pic for this Editor's Note page and this one is the most palatable. I don't get it. Just once I'd like to take a decent photo.

I have some Paris news for you. She's working on a new album. Perfect. Jailbird to songbird. Maybe it'll feature some inspirational gospel about changing her ways. I'll let you know, Kimmie, when Paris has to order eye glasses. It'll happen. Mark my words.

Freeing FiFi

Darlings, Paris is a free woman. Released from jail at 12:15 a.m. today. My birthday. I am beside myself with irritation. Who the hell gets released from a jail cell at 12:15 a.m.? Celebrated heads of state and 'specially great communicators. And Paris.

I wasn't even going to write about Paris (now that she's got her Get Out of Jail Free card, I'm waiting for her first God-fearing sign of being a changed woman...), but I figured it might give Super Sibling #1 a chuckle after all the stuff Jennifer is going through.

Summer is officially here down in the flatlands, where they don't let children out of school until the month of June is nearly over. Anna turned 14 a week or so ago and now needs to have her social fete. This means 12 teenagers, including three boys, over for a cookout, swimming in the pool and generally tearing apart the house in a 14-year-old way. Anna doesn't have friends - she has a possé. A huge group of kids that have shifted from house to house for post-eighth-grade graduation parties since late last week. I think there's even another one today. Anna's birthday party isn't until this Sunday, though, which I expect will be the last of these roving festivities for some time to come. Time to serious, adolescents - high school is just around the corner. ;)

Popular ... They Know About Popular

Paris Hilton has very unfriendly neighbors. They are worried about her return home after being released from jail (five days and counting...) All those paparazzi who will come home with her make a lot of noise hanging out in front of her LA home. Poor Paris. Here she is thinking she's now going to make a difference in the world.

She needs to be popular. Someone should remind her about:

Celebrated heads of state or specially great communicators
Did they have brains or knowledge?
Don't make me laugh!
They were popular! Please -
It's all about popular!
It's not about aptitude
It's how you're viewed
So it's very shrewd to be
Very very popular
Like me!

Well, maybe not like me. But like Britney or Lindsay at least. ;)

Glue Butt

So today, Meghan has no school (she's in the midst of finals but doesn't have an exam today). She does, however, have to finish a final paper. So she's at home typing the paper, putting the finished pages on the floor next to her. One of the pages has glue spread over it so that she can paste something she's in the process of typing.

She's typing. Not paying attention to her surroundings. And she hears "smoogch." Turns out Maggie (a.k.a. psycho kitty) has planted her butt on the paper with the glue on it. I get this call while at work about midday today: "MOOOOMMMMMMM!!!! Maggie has glue on her butt and I've got fur on my paper!!!!"

I couldn't stop laughing on the phone for, like, 10 minutes. So now I'm calling the cat "Glue Butt." G.B. for short. It suits her. The photo depicts G.B. continuing her delusion that she is actually a dog. Perhaps if she drinks enough of Buddy's Water, she'll have enough pee to dilute the glue stuck to her butt. :)

OK, this is how you post a photo on your blog: When you create a "new post," you'll see these icons on the top of the posting window. One of them is a photo. click on that and you'll be asked to "browse" your computer for your photos. You select the photo you want and click "upload." Do it either before you type in your blog or afterwards. At first, the uploaded photo will appear as gobbledygook on your posting screen. But once you post your entry, the photo will appear on your blog.

Barbara Wa-Wa is considering having Paris as a guest host on The View after she gets out of jail. I see a knock-down, drag out between Paris and Oprah coming. This man had high hopes of being the first male host on The View. He is not amused by this news.

Just one more...

I am salivating ... Paris has just been moved from the medical ward of a maximum security prison back to that horrid isolation cell (translate, single room!) because she has been found mentally and medically stable. Pray for her. She is a fragile thing.

Meantime, the LA Times has concluded that Paris has already spent more time behind bars than anyone else with a similar conviction. I never liked that newspaper.

And finally, it has come to my attention that Paris is expected to be released on June 25, one day before my 46th birthday. I have contacted her father about doing a joint birthday/get out of jail party. You are all invited. ;)

Sorry, Gretchen. I couldn't resist.

Finding God and ... not driving

OK, so Paris has found God now. She is going to use her 45 days in jail to think about her life and do good things. she will no longer "act dumb ... I've tried that before and it isn't cute." Lord Jesus, Paris has been saved.

Meantime, her father Rick - the one who owns all those Hilton hotels and who we haven't heard word one from in all this jailhouse rock - has decided to throw his daughter a "getting out of jail" party when she's done her time. In Vegas. And she'll get paid big bucks just to show up.

Only one little problem. A few party hot spots in Vegas have already refused to be the venue for this celebration: it wouldn't be good for their image, they say. Translate: Paris Hilton is not even good enough for Vegas. George Hamilton must be in h-e-a-v-e-n.

I'm having a bad life at work these days. We're looking for a full-time publisher so I can move into national editing work full-time. Then my calendar editor throws in the towel and this week my editor puts in her notice. What. Is there something in the water? So now I'm interviewing big ole publisher candidates, calendar editors candidates and soon editor candidates. I am getting NOTHING done except interviews.

Yesterday I interviewed a beaut for the calendar editor post. A willowy blonde from the Back Bay. High-pitched Caroline-does-Audrey voice, complete with giggle. I'm explaining the position to her and she lets it fly that 1.) she doesn't have kids, but she reads the magazine regularly (huh?); 2.) she doesn't have a car; and 3.) she doesn't drive. I get the lack of a car in the city thing. But she doesn't drive? How then does she expect to get to, say, Plimoth Plantation on occasion to keep up with the attractions and events there as calendar editor?
"Oh, I usually take the T when I need transportation... hee, hee, hee..." To PLYMOUTH??? What an eskimo pie head. NEXT!!!

And another thing ...

OK. I am incensed - INCENSED - that Paris Hilton is walking out of jail after only five days because of "medical issues." Pul-eeze. What kind of a message does that send to anyone else who likes to drive while inebriated? What kind of message does it send to teenagers? That chick is a loser and so is her mom.

Normally I don't really care about Paris, Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and the like. But I have two teenage daughters who pay attention to this stuff, so I have to - just to keep up. It's appalling what's happening to young ladies in the limelight in this country.

They ALL need to take a road trip up to the county. ;)

How to talk to a Boston cop

Today, I had to drop off items for our table at the annual Scooper Bowl in City Hall Plaza in Boston. This is like chowderfest, Kimmie, only with samples of ice cream. We had a great booth by the exit where we could bring in some entertainers (clown, face painter, storyteller, etc.) and hand out our magazines. Anyway... you guys know how I drive. Basically, I DON'T. At least not well. I pull up to the plaza and this cute officer of the law approaches my car and says, "I don't wanna bust your chops honey, but you're parked in a fire lane and Mayor Menino gets awfully mad when people do that." Mayor MENINO does??? I don't even want to think about the tickets that guy gets written off every day. So I say, rather demurely, "Oh dear. I just want to drop a few things off for the Scooper Bowl..." And I flash a little smile. And he says, "Well, why don't you just drive right into the Plaza. Here, I'll open the gate for you."

How very nice. I just have to teach Meghan this method. Because a week ago, there was a news story down here about a teenager with a junior operator's license who got a speeding ticket (42 in a 30mph zone), paid the $130 fine and then gets a letter from the state telling her she's lost her license for 90 days and will have to pay $500 to get it reinstated once the three months are up. First offense. Yeesh. How many of us have driven 42 in a 30? If nothing else, it makes me sound like less of a nag when I tell her to drive the speed limit.

Si...

Ooh, I haven't been keeping up with this blog. Apologies. Here's my story from Mexico. Every Mexican hotel maintenance guy wears a Yankee's cap. What is up with that? One morning, I walk from our hotel to a deli to get some bagels for breakfast and I see this maintenance guy gardening. So I stop, say hello and then comment, "Yankees, huh?" And he says, "Si."
And I say, "I'm from Boston. We like the Red Sox."
"Si."
"You know the Red Sox?"
"Si."
"So... is there a Mexican on the Yankees or somethin'?"
"Si."
"Oh."
"Si."

And then as I'm walking away, baffled cuz I'm not sure he understands a word of what I'm saying, he says: "Boston. Those are nice people up there."

So, of course, I say, "Si."

Puerta Vallarta, by the way, is gorgeous. I highly recommend it if you want to see a part of Mexico that's not built up specifically for Americans the way Cancun is. It's all mountains, ocean, houses built into cliffs. Really nice, nice people who are very proud of their city. It was lovely.
And then we come back home to weather on Monday with temps of 85 degrees. 75 degrees Tuesday and 60s today. Finally spring. I'm feeling very, very spoiled. Si...

"Things to do before you die"

I had to help a friend and freelancer come up with these for a piece he's doing for Men's Health. You know... the typical "see the seven natural wonders of the world," "go skydiving," " live in a foreign city for a year"...
We came up with quite a few. And then I brought the whole question home to the dinner table and got the best answer from Meghan:

"Be a Walmart Greeter for a day."

Seriously. We all should do that before we die. ;) Megs turned 17 Monday night. 17. Wow.

It's Called Work for a Reason

I lost a friend from work today, a guy who recently sent me a book entitled "It's Called Work for a Reason." Go figure. A guy who'd been at the same company I've been at for years. Who got promoted right out of his comfort zone. And whose position was eliminated today because the powers that be decided that he wasn't the right guy for the job. It's really sad. He flew into Dallas to meet with our VP - probably thought it was just a regular touching base kind of meeting. But instead he learns his job is being eliminated. And today is his last day. Just "your position no longer exists, sorry. oh and today is your last day." He wasn't very good at this job he was wedged into - not enough management training, way too much responsibility. But that doesn't make his termination fair. It's really sad -- he's a hard worker and a nice guy.

Even weirder, my editing boss, Bill, is on his way to Dallas to meet with the VP. Fortunately, his job is intact, and mine is too. All of this is happening because we've got some new exec VP from our parent company looking at our division with hawk eyes and making some radical moves among more senior managers. Get me OUT of the role of publisher and back into a full-time editing position. I really hate business. I always have.

I need to go pants shopping for the premenstrual one. Again. Every two months, it seems, she grows an inch and her pants no longer hit the tongues of her sneakers. Meghan continues to level out at something like 5'2", a fact of life she hasn't yet been able to gracefully accept. ;)

Four more weeks until Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. That's where we're heading on Delta Sky Miles and Marriott points this year. Probably the last big family vacation we'll take before the educational after life (Meghan goes to college). I'm really looking forward to this - it's supposed to be a stunning place.

Frickin' sharks with laser beams

The teenage mutant females from hell are onto me (hence the Austin Powers reference in the title to this installment). Meghan, for one, is determined to figure out what the url to this blog is. Actually, she has less to worry about than Anna. This would be because Anna is driving me up, down and around a wall - or two or three. How long do you think teenage females are unbearable before they actually get their periods? Because SHE is definitely in the zone. If I get one more sarcastic response to a basic question, or one more fit of hysterical crying and door slamming, I may have to move into my Toyota Highlander.

Anna has a boyfriend, a gentle soul for whom I stopped at 'Tar-JAY' this evening to pick up a copy of the 5th season of the TV series "Friends." Friday is his birthday and this is what Anna is giving him - the 5th season of "Friends." He is apparently a "Friends" frenzied fan. Which may tell you a bit about this boy. He's not your typical boy, OK. Of course, I have no idea how this relationship is going because Anna doesn't TALK to me. Mainly, she says things like "Mo--om..." and rolls her eyes or gets up and leaves the room if I ask innocent questions like, 'So, was Jeff at the dance?' or 'So, did you want Jeff to maybe come over and visit this weekend? Cuz that would be OK...'

Apparently I'm not supposed to ask those kinds of questions. Maybe they are ANNOYING questions. But apparently I'm not supposed to ask things like "How was school today" either.

Meghan, typically, is working this whole hormonal influx thing to her own personal enjoyment, re: she tortures Anna with comments and 20-question inquiries whenever she feels like it. Which usually results in more door slamming and acute use of the words "shut UP, Meghan!"

And then there is Howard -- peacefully tucked away in some Marriott hotel on a business trip. Unsuspectingly calling home to check in with his loving family. Poor guy. ;)

Uh oh...

So... are you both giving your kids access to your blogs? Cuz I don't necessarily want my kids to know about some of my postings. Besides, I have good kid-type gossip that they shouldn't know about anyway... let me know on this one, OK?

Pursued by Bear

Welcome to the first installment of my blog. This creation completes the perfect trifecta of Super Siblings #1, 2 and 3. I'm sorry it took so long to finally make it onto the "big screen." Blogs are not as enamored with Mac computers as they truly should be.

I spent this weekend working at the American BABY Faire, an annual draw for formula, stroller, baby monitor and clothing companies appealing to the pregnant public of Boston. The Boston Parents' Paper, of course, has a booth at this event. We were handing out magazines and raffle tickets (for a double stroller or one of four cute infant-themed gift baskets) to three people deep. We actually ran OUT of magazines, which is pretty unbelievable (and embarrassing). So I had to drive back into the city on Sunday to drop off more magazines (which I had to pilfer from our numerous street boxes sprinkled from Beverly into Boston.

Meghan was a great help to me this weekend; she may have a real career in marketing and PR, having worked our booth, done a little spying on our competition and generally offered the upbeat, can-do attitude of an almost 17-year-old. What is it about teenagers - they're intolerable at 13, over the hormone hump at 16 and damn near mature and pleasant by 17. Never mind - I'll get back to the 13-year-old in a future installment.

I titled this blog "Pursued by Bear" because I heard the phrase used for a future new line of fine wines being produced by one of the stars of Desperate Housewives. I liked it. Lately I feel like I'm being pursued by bear at work, something I'm trying to correct. I'm trying to ease out of my publisher title and get back to strictly writing and editing, although still at a national level. The publisher gig is simply too much work and stress.

Anyway, happy spring ladies. It was 52 degrees down here today and we're hearing it may hit 70 before the end of the week. About damn time.