<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049</id><updated>2011-12-03T05:15:14.679-06:00</updated><category term='moving'/><category term='Brian Wilson'/><category term='rock star'/><category term='ex'/><category term='McCain'/><category term='relationship'/><category term='wedding'/><category term='cack'/><category term='Real Estate'/><category term='Universe'/><category term='marriage'/><category term='destruction'/><category term='Aunt Helen'/><category term='twins'/><category term='wine'/><category term='functions'/><category term='youtube'/><category term='lice'/><category term='Lavagirl'/><category term='Astros'/><category term='Beach Boys'/><category term='fate'/><category term='Hurricane D'/><category term='Anita'/><category term='IUD'/><category term='drinky'/><category term='sex'/><category term='shark girl'/><category term='dying'/><category term='girls'/><category term='Halloween'/><category term='Coach'/><category term='mom'/><category term='sorry'/><category term='Obama'/><category term='Cherry'/><category term='mother'/><category term='J'/><category term='friend'/><category term='Kevin Rudolf'/><category term='engaged'/><category term='friends'/><category term='engagement'/><category term='gala'/><category term='children'/><category term='message board'/><category term='birthday'/><category term='annoyed'/><category term='Virginia'/><category term='divorce'/><category term='Christmas'/><category term='random'/><category term='son'/><category term='economy'/><category term='gym'/><category term='the Boy'/><category term='bitch'/><category term='happy'/><category term='Lola Starr'/><category term='Mom Jeans'/><category term='blog'/><category term='pizza'/><category term='period'/><category term='angry'/><category term='nataliedee'/><category term='Nordstrom&apos;s Rack'/><category term='babysitter'/><category term='Texas'/><category term='miserable'/><category term='sign'/><category term='Up Chucks'/><category term='vegetarian'/><category term='maid'/><category term='balls'/><category term='Hippymom'/><category term='love'/><category term='Candyland'/><category term='weight'/><title type='text'>Kiss your sassafrass</title><subtitle type='html'>My life is insane and I am insane because of it.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>308</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8927164991085398183</id><published>2011-03-27T12:06:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-27T12:36:40.215-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahem.</title><content type='html'>Now that I have your attention, listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen very, very closely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you hear me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I HAVE GONE OFFICIALLY MAD!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, really, I haven't driven off the deep end of reality, but I did do something I never thought I'd ever do in five million years....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you want to know what it is???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will tell you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, last night J &amp; I went out to a club in DC. It's our new favorite spot. And, every Saturday night there is a theme. Last week it was St Patrick's Day night &amp; I wore a Catholic school girl outfit. This week it was Spring Fever &amp; bathing suits were optional. Now, I left the house is jeans &amp; a really cute backless shirt. I stuffed my teeny bikini in my purse thinking MAYBE I would wear it, but probably not. Well, a few drinks in to the night &amp; a request from a new friend, I changed in the ladies room &amp; put on my teeny bikini.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I wore a bikini in public.&lt;/em&gt;  And, even though I have worn it to the beach to get a tan, I wore a mom suit to the public indoor pool earlier in the day.  Because, well, wearing a teeny bikini while playing with your children in the indoor pool where there is absolutely NO SUN seems ridiculous to me. And, considering who I seem to run in to at the indoor pool, I am glad I didn't try to pull that off...  It was sufficiently strange enough without having to worry about things popping out.  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, yeah, I put on the teeny bikini, coupled it with my killer heels &amp; strutted around the club with a small onset of lookers...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I? Who have I become? What has come over me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what? After YEARS of struggling with my body image, I am finally comfortable with what I have.  I instruct aerobics for fuck's sake (yeah, we aren't all stick figures, I swear) &amp; I did get quite a few compliments last night in my teeny bikini.  Hell, I've birthed twins &amp; I am &lt;strong&gt;PROUD&lt;/strong&gt; to be able to wear a bikini in public &lt;strong&gt;PROUDLY&lt;/strong&gt;. Did I mention the word of the day is &lt;strong&gt;PROUD&lt;/strong&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please do not confuse this with me thinking I still can't stand to lose a few or tone up a bit, because let's face it, that's always an option.  But, it feels good to just let go of your inhibitions &amp; &lt;strong&gt;DO THE DAMN THING!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8927164991085398183?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8927164991085398183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8927164991085398183' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8927164991085398183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8927164991085398183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2011/03/ahem.html' title='Ahem.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3482076054734642411</id><published>2011-03-20T15:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T15:58:01.055-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mooo fucking moo</title><content type='html'>Mooooooooooooooo...........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try really hard to not pass judgement on people.  But, now I'm passing judgement on those who pass judgement on others.  It's a little bit of an oxymoron, but well, this is my blog &amp; I can say whatever I want.  Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pasture is green over here on my side of the fence &amp; I would like to keep it that way.  I hate to get all fired up over people who don't really matter to me, but what can I say?  I'm a human, not a cow.  And, when a person matters to someone that matters to me, I would rather stay on my pasture, but sometimes I need to walk right over to the other side of the fence &amp; say "HEY, YOU SUCK!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, go mooooooooo somewhere else.  Don't be such an all-knowing bitch.  Don't bend the truth to suit your needs.  And stop dishing out advice that you don't even take yourself.  Because, you're nothing but a judgemental cow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Put that in your milk &amp; drink it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mooo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3482076054734642411?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3482076054734642411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3482076054734642411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3482076054734642411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3482076054734642411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2011/03/mooo-fucking-moo.html' title='Mooo fucking moo'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3940632110991975064</id><published>2011-03-01T21:35:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-03-01T22:39:13.747-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I do have it all &amp; I am happy.  Oh yeah!</title><content type='html'>There. I said it. My life IS actually like a fairy tale. Now, I'm not saying it's a Disney fairy tale, but it's more like a Grimm Brothers. (Hansel &amp; Gretel, anyone) But, still... I ALWAYS get my happy ending. Snort. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just spent three days with an amazing person. Momjeans &amp; I have had an almost seven year friendship with plenty of UPS &amp; quite a few DOWNS. When we get together over some drinks not only do we talk about our future (commune in a camper, anyone?), but we also re-live some of our past. Yesterday, part of our past just kinda snuck up on us &amp; hilarity ensued. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've blogged about my past troubles with Internet message boards. Yes, it's no surprise that I don't always play well with others on boards claiming to be supportive. But, ya know, I seem to do okay with legitimately supportive boards?!?! About six years ago I had a huge falling out with a ton of members from a twin message board (www.twinshock.net for those who are nosy). Free publicity from my 70 followers :) Anyways, I don't really remember much about the fight except it started with Momjeans accidentally posting as her name under my account while staying at my house &amp; ended up with my being banned for forgetting to log out of my account - leaving the entire site in danger because Momjeans had access to private forums! Oooh. How dumb of me?!!! However, during the time I was supposed to be banned, some idiot admin on the site accidentally gave me permission to each &amp; every private forum on the site. Coincidence, much? I ended up reading a ton of their stupid shit stabbing at this supposedly "support" forum &amp; copying &amp; pasting it for all to read. I really did earn my new nickname, Cum Dumpster, for sure! However, I was really upset about losing what I thought were all of my friends &amp; back then it was the end of the world. (back of my hand pressed drastically against my forehead &amp; a big, dramatic sigh goes here) Needless to say, my life absolutely did go on &amp; I hadn't really thought about that really lame incident in quite some time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yesterday, Momjeans attended a Zumba class with me. I was instructing &amp; she put on her Zigs &amp; braved the whole scene with me to show her support towards my new career path! That was pretty freaking awesome of her. Hearts! She posted on her facebook that she was going to class to show her support &amp; while she received a lot of "likes" &amp; well wishes, someone obviously wasn't feeling the love &amp; that was a person from about six years ago who probably dubbed me Cum Dumpster. (that's still my favorite term of endearment EVAH!) Instead of posting to Momjean's facebook, the girl posted on her own facebook wall something like this - Please tell Lola that I still think she is a twatface cunt. Don't quote me on that, but it went something like that.... the lovely words twat &amp; cunt were there somewhere. I don't suppose she has learned in the past six years how to insult anyone without using parts of the female anatomy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed when Momjeans asked me if there was something I had done recently to this said person that would inspire her to openly express her unrequited adoration for me on her facebook page. Seriously, after six years wouldn't it be appropriate to let go of the hatred towards someone you had never even met in real life &amp; know absolutely nothing about?! The drama six year prior is certainly at this point laughable, but the obvious hatred towards me as a person many years is a bit cuckoo!!! Now, I'm not sure, but this may be even funnier than the fact that I am banned from www.twinstuff.com until the year 2014. Double snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhh, the good ol' days when all I had was infant twins &amp; front row seats to all of the most entertaining Internet drama that a sleep deprived twin mom could ask! OMG, did I put my commas in the correct place?!?!?!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, it is fabulous that I could snap my fingers &amp; come up with something entertaining to write about in my lately otherwise BORING blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3940632110991975064?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3940632110991975064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3940632110991975064' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3940632110991975064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3940632110991975064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2011/03/i-do-have-it-all-i-am-happy-oh-yeah.html' title='I do have it all &amp; I am happy.  Oh yeah!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5452261104353157814</id><published>2011-02-21T09:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-21T09:25:23.664-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been a while................</title><content type='html'>It really has been a while.  A long while.  And, I finally have 70 followers instead of 69.  That's exciting, especially since I haven't even written anything other than notes to the kid's teachers in ages. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is changing.  But, it's all really good stuff.  I am now a certified Zumba instructor &amp; I am opening my OWN dance fitness studio.  (well, I do have a business partner)  Lola Starr, business owner, fitness instructor, girl on fire!  Who am I these days???????  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I enjoy being a stay at home mother, but it's never been the only hat I wanted to wear.  I am so over being a real estate agent it isn't even funny.  And, I think I found something I am not only really good at doing, but that I enjoy tremendously.   So, if anyone is looking for a party workout, let me know.  I hope to have the studio up &amp; running by end of Spring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My relationship is going well.  We had some really great weeks &amp; some really off weeks, but things are coming together.  I did manage to kick a hole in my bathroom wall the size of Texas, but angry Lola has passed.  I hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My girls are turning seven this week &amp; the ex &amp; I are doing a joint party.  That's a big step for us &amp; I'm glad that we continue to be really good friends.  It does make things in a divorced situation that much easier.  I wish I could say the same for J's ex, but after the past horrible events I blogged about with her, things seem to be on an even keel for now.  She's in a serious relationship &amp; when she isn't taking exotic trips all over the world without so much as telling her children she is out of town, she is actually being NICE, again.  So, that's a good thing.  I try not to dwell on it much because I don't really care about it that much.... or do I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;JM &amp; I had a very interesting Friday night.  We were in DC, met a really nice couple from Reston, but encountered some really weird shit along the way.  I don't think it's something I want to blog about, but maybe one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The drama with my own family is still presenting itself.  Now, there is just more shit to add to the fan.  I can't really blog about that either since I know a lot of information I am not yet supposed to know.  We'll talk about that next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, since I'm skating around things I don't want to blog about, I will tell you all something I do want to blog about...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister is about to kill her plumber.  She just informed me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carry on &amp; have a great week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5452261104353157814?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5452261104353157814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5452261104353157814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5452261104353157814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5452261104353157814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2011/02/its-been-while.html' title='It&apos;s been a while................'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1485687965155933104</id><published>2010-12-10T13:19:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-10T13:28:14.240-06:00</updated><title type='text'>So, yeah.</title><content type='html'>I'm in a blah place in life.  All of my friends have noticed.  I've not returned phone calls, been on dates &amp; hell, I have a problem returning emails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I'm getting better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been feeling stuck in a rut for quite some time.  It's a combination of many, many things.  But, mostly with the death of my Grandmother.  Yesterday was her 80th birthday &amp; she wasn't here to celebrate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been trying to get J off the couch for hours to go get me a freaking bagel.  Why is he home?  He has been ignoring me all day long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the help of my sister's creative mind I contemplating a business venture.  I know, most businesses end if failure.  Just ask J how his is doing.  JUST KIDDING!  We still have a roof over our head &amp; food in our bellies.  Anyways, it's no surprise I inherited a small fortune.  I just want to put the small fortune to good use.  Mix that with my love of exercise (zumba specifically) &amp; you get the idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No more talking.  I have a bagel to fetch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1485687965155933104?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1485687965155933104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1485687965155933104' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1485687965155933104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1485687965155933104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/12/so-yeah.html' title='So, yeah.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6897652419396486496</id><published>2010-11-11T12:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T12:26:46.241-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Song of the week.</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/29qa3Pt50Uc?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/29qa3Pt50Uc?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bless your heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6897652419396486496?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6897652419396486496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6897652419396486496' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6897652419396486496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6897652419396486496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/11/song-of-week.html' title='Song of the week.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8336431161583337107</id><published>2010-11-05T11:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T11:56:10.432-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I peed on myself.</title><content type='html'>That's right.  I did.  It was hilarious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture this if you will.  Lola is running late on her way to Fairfax to a gym where she doesn't belong or had never been.  Her bestie, Hottie #2 is teacher a step class &amp; Lola wants to join her for step &amp; dinner aftewards.  She is driving frantically because, well, she is late.  That's nothing new.  Lola has horrible night vision &amp; now that it gets dark before 6pm, she should be banned from going anywhere, but by the forces of nature, she is not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am lost.  The address will not pull up on my GPS.  (I know, I went from 3rd person to 1st person.  It's ok. It's mah blawg)  So, I decide to turn around thinking I had driven past this so-called gym that exists.  I hit a curb.  I blow out my tire.  I even ruin my rim.  I'm in the middle of nowhere Fairfax.  I park the car in a neighborhood &amp; I am surrounded by nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to pee.  I walk up the street &amp; notice a gas station a few blocks away.  It is pitch black.  I am in the middle of nowhere &amp; this gas station is the only end in sight for me.  I take the trail.  I hear a noise in the bushes.  And, then I SEE the bushes move.  I go back to my car.  Epic fail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could pee in the woods, but I see a few joggers out &amp; the thrill of being caught with my pants down does not appeal to me.  I could knock on the door to some random townhouse hoping some nice neighbor will take pity on me on this horribly cold evening &amp; let me use their bathroom.  Yeah, no.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I have an idea.  I have a cup in the car &amp; I'm gonna pee in it!  J is 1/2 an hour away &amp; I just don't want to hold it for that long.  I lock the doors, jump in the backseat &amp; pull my pants down.  I can't see what I am doing.  Did I mention it was PITCH FUCKING BLACK?  I turn on the light in the backseat &amp; squat.  I miss the cup.  Pee is running down my leg, on to my leather seat &amp; I stop peeing.  I readjust myself over the cup &amp; let it flow.  The cup fills.  I am not done with the peeing process.  I stop, open the car door &amp; let the pee out.  Pee, you are free!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, take twenty.  I continue to pee &amp; this time I overfill the cup &amp; pee gets everywhere, again.  Fuck.  I am trying to clean up pee, hold a cup full of pee without spilling any more of it &amp; my ass is hanging out.  All of a sudden, a jogger runs by &amp; I am caught, well, with my pants down &amp; my big, white ass pressed against my backseat window.  Oh yeah, the light is still ON!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm.  I am now in a bit of a jam.  Flat tire in dark neighborhood at 8pm, not a problem.  Fuck, I'm not in a jam, I have a situation.  I let the jogger go by wishing he didn't see what I think he saw.  And if he saw what I think he saw I hope he doesn't have nightmares about my big, white ass for the rest of his life.  I open the car door, dump the pee &amp; put the cup in a plastic bag.  I grab my sweat towel that I won't be needing since I will never make step class.  I clean up the seat, the console, my ass, my legs, my crotch &amp; I finally pull my pants back up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm wet.  It's cold.  And, to make matters worse I had only emptied HALF of my bladder.  Fuck it, I'm waiting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What seemed like the longest wait ever, J arrives.  He is in the backseat trying to find the jack to my car when he puts his hand in something wet.  He wipes his hand dry on his jeans &amp; says, "What the hell is all over the seat?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Double snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8336431161583337107?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8336431161583337107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8336431161583337107' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8336431161583337107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8336431161583337107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-peed-on-myself.html' title='I peed on myself.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6578213876343065621</id><published>2010-10-19T11:09:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-10T13:31:41.058-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Fall is here &amp; I'm back to blogging again.</title><content type='html'>It's fall.  And, things are changing &amp; I don't just mean the leaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just returned from Texas.  Oh, the great state of Texas!  It started as a birthday trip for J &amp; it turned in to I get to go to Texas to help go through Nana's house &amp; emotionally divide up her life between me, my sister, my cousin, my aunt &amp; my uncle.  Fun, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good news is that I am inheriting a beautiful oriental rug &amp; Nana's Grandfather clock.  The bad news is that I am not getting the mink.  And, although I have never been one for animal fur, I could really pull off that look.  However, another family member decided she needs the mink that doesn't fit over her boobs because South Texas gets so cold that I guess she needs it for warmth.  Having big boobs does not keep you warm in those bitter cold Texas winters &amp; so, I'll just buy my own set of big boobs, I guess. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I refuse to be petty, so instead of trying to reason with her, I'm just going to put it in my blog.  Ha. Not petty.  No way.  Me, never?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did enjoy hanging out with my cousins &amp; going to the local watering hole for a fun, drunken night.  I truly do have some of the best cousins EVAH!  I also had some quality time with my sister &amp; my nephew.  I also made up with my brother-in-law after the rich &amp; snobby nonsense that we both took a little too far after my wedding.  Some people break bread when they forgive each other.  We went to CHED &amp; smoked a peace pipe.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Settling my Grandmother's estate is hard &amp; has been a very emotional experience.  I am truly blessed to have been left with more money than I will probably ever have in my lifetime, but I would gladly give that back &amp; my right arm to have both of Grandparents alive &amp; healthy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Double sigh.  It's going to be a rough winter.  And, I don't mean because I am minus one mink coat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6578213876343065621?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6578213876343065621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6578213876343065621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6578213876343065621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6578213876343065621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/10/fall-is-here-im-back-to-blogging-again.html' title='Fall is here &amp; I&apos;m back to blogging again.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3922707004950123797</id><published>2010-10-11T12:16:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T12:21:32.811-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wishful Monday</title><content type='html'>Today is a day of wishes.  Why?  Because I said so.  This is my blog &amp; I'll do whatever I want. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I wish I had a million dollars.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I wish I knew what I was going to do with a bushel &amp; a half of apples.  Apple picking yesterday went quite well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  I wish I could get 70 followers on this blog.  I've had 69 for 2 months now!  C'mon.  Someone hit the FOLLOW THIS BLOG button for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I wish I lived closer to my family.  I miss them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  I wish hummus had no calories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  I wish my tailbone didn't hurt or feel like it was out of place.  My butt is lumpy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  I wish my children did not throw tantrums like they did when they were 2.  These tantrums are worse, actually.  I'm sure I will be drinking a lot of wine tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's Monday, so we'll see how many wishes come true for me this week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a wonderful week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3922707004950123797?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3922707004950123797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3922707004950123797' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3922707004950123797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3922707004950123797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/10/wishful-monday.html' title='Wishful Monday'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1892563880083768669</id><published>2010-10-04T09:13:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-04T09:33:08.429-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Get off of my property, Lola, or I'll call the cops on you.</title><content type='html'>Yep. The crazy ex-wife actually said that to me on Friday evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;White trash, much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long story short, Friday night Ex called J because the Boy's skateboard got "stolen" off of her front door step. She was already angry &amp; taking it out on the Boy. For some reason it was his fault. And, she was outwardly blaming his two friends who were there helping J &amp; I look for the board around the neighborhood while she stood on the front porch, arms crossed, cussing the world...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's yelling at the Boy, his two friends &amp; then she starts yelling at J. She's causing a scene in front of her home. The Boy wants to go home with us. We want to take him. She accuses J of stealing her son &amp; she threatens to call the police if we leave with him. She goes inside &amp; slams the door, locking him out. He gets in our car &amp; of course, we are afraid to leave with him for fear she will call the cops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell the Boy that perhaps he should go tell his mom he wants to leave with us, so it doesn't appear that we are, well, you know, stealing him. What kind of behavior is this anyways?!?!?!? Who does this in front of their children?!?!?!?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is upstairs yapping on the phone to someone lying about the events that have just taken place.. in her mind. She is telling someone that we are yelling at her &amp; at this point, I've not even opened my mouth. I am staying in the car to avoid a scene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She locks the Boy out &amp; won't open the door. When she finally does she is screaming at J &amp; the Boy. J starts yelling back. (how could you not?) It's a train wreck, so I jump out to attempt to keep some semblance of peace. Epic fail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I can even open my mouth, she says.. (and I quote)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Lola, get off my property before I call the cops on you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the fuck? I simply tell her they are all acting ridiculous &amp; she should think of HER SON who is crying, has been embarrassed in front of his friends &amp; wants to leave her home for fear of what she'll do next. Of course, I don't say all of that because my jaw is still on the ground, literally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just say that sometimes she think about her kids first. And, she goes off on me, the Boy &amp; J. J tells the Boy to go inside &amp; that we'll come back to get him. Meanwhile, we go home &amp; call the police ourselves to inquire the consequences, if any, of actually letting him come home. They were helpful &amp; stated that unless he didn't want to go to our house, they wouldn't remove him. They would, however, come out to hear both sides &amp; make an informed decision as to where he would best be cared for at that moment. Well, we know it would be with us, but we want to avoid putting him in that situation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We call him 20 minutes later &amp; his mom has let him out of the house, back over to the two friends that supposedly stole his skateboard &amp; all is right for now. She even texted J saying that we won &amp; she apologized to the two kids she wrongfully accused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know where the skateboard was? We found it, laying in front of the gutter. It had rolled off of her front porch &amp; landed on the curb in front of the gutter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mark my words. We are going to court to get custody of these children. I will not allow her to scar them like this. I have too many visions of my own childhood filled with yelling, fighting, cops &amp; more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1892563880083768669?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1892563880083768669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1892563880083768669' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1892563880083768669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1892563880083768669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/10/get-off-of-my-property-lola-or-ill-call.html' title='Get off of my property, Lola, or I&apos;ll call the cops on you.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3295495075023574529</id><published>2010-09-29T12:46:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-29T12:56:58.757-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bow chicka bow bow</title><content type='html'>Sunday morning, I grabbed my laptop charger out of my briefcase &amp; opened my computer.  The first thing I see is a huge nut sack courtesy pornhub.  I laugh.  Outloud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night before the Boy had called me asking where my charger was to my laptop &amp; I couldn't remember what I had done with it, so I told him just to use the other laptop.  Now, I see the urgency in the request.  The laptop had apparently died mid video.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went inside, laptop in hand, &amp; directed my question at the two teenage boys on my couch.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Which one of you was looking at porn last night?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fully knew it was the Boy.  His friend was babysitting the night before &amp; was not here.  The Boy was embarrassed.  And, I just laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I called J to report the news, he was shocked.  Not that his son had been watching porn, but that I had called him out in front of his friend.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not stupid.  I know they've seen porn together on MY laptop.  How do I know this?  I check the history &amp; although they delete from the tool bar, my cache is dirty with cock &amp; balls.  I look at porn on occasion, but I know to delete EVERYTHING.  Snort.  Plus, I prefer girl/girl so no cock &amp; balls necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What does a parent do in this situation?  My sister said it best.  You have to teach your child that sex leads to viruses &amp; virtual sex leads to viruses.  So, either way you will infect something with an STD.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's time to buy him a Playboy magazine or something.  I'm all about promoting self "love".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3295495075023574529?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3295495075023574529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3295495075023574529' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3295495075023574529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3295495075023574529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/bow-chicka-bow-bow.html' title='Bow chicka bow bow'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3271719675297702379</id><published>2010-09-20T08:59:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-20T09:08:44.049-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's random, I promise.</title><content type='html'>Is it sad that my biggest debate this morning is whether or not I want to take an Adderall because I only slept 2 hours last night.  No wonder my friend who gave them to me also is prescribed Ambien. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night a Redskins coach bought Hottie #2 &amp; I a drink.  I was wearing a Cowboys t-shirt.  So, did he think I was a MILF or did he just feel sorry for me? (Cowboys, 0-2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to go to Walmart today.  I was just introduced to &lt;a href="http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/"&gt;http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/&lt;/a&gt;.  Perhaps I'll dress up like Madonna circa the "Like a Virgin" era &amp; see what happens.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's 10:00am, do you know where my dog is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great Monday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3271719675297702379?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3271719675297702379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3271719675297702379' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3271719675297702379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3271719675297702379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/its-random-i-promise.html' title='It&apos;s random, I promise.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3470375867818563863</id><published>2010-09-20T01:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-20T01:51:13.649-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Go to bed, Lola.</title><content type='html'>It's a typical kid-free weekend in the hizzle &amp; come Sunday, I am wiped out.  Hang on Friday night with neighbors around a bonfire on my new patio. (J worked really hard on it this week &amp; is very proud)  Saturday we call for reinforcements &amp; hit up the Irish Pub complete with Irish car bombs, DJ, ice luge, one Deleware friend celebrating her birthday, Hottie #2 &amp; company &amp; decided it was smart to just call the cab on the way there &amp; the way home.  Why bother with having to go get your car the next day?  It was that kinda night.  I should blog about it &amp; I will.  You know, you know, you've read it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I have more spare time.  I still haven't told ya'll all the fabulous wedding details.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing at&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; a time.  Blogs are like accidents.  They just happen when you weren't expecting it.  And, tonight it's all about this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a typical lazy, kid-free, hungover type day.  Except, Hottie #2 had invited me to hang out to watch the football game &amp; let our dogs play. (they are besties, too.  It's cute) J doesn't want to go because he is tired &amp; we've just left a one year old's birthday party.  I took one for the team &amp; just went.  It's 8pm &amp; bed sounds great.  Well, now it's 2:30am &amp; bed is great, but I have a blog to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's about relationships, friendships  &amp; assholes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hottie #2 is what I typically call my "ultimate single girlfriend".  Which, after tonight, I will revise.  It isn't because she's unavailable, because she is still single.  But, I realized tonight that perhaps not everyone takes glory in the fact they are single.  Hottie #2 basically &amp; for lack of better words got dumped last week by a guy she had been dating happily for 3 months.  I know, what you're thinking...  how bad could it be after only 3 months.  She'll get over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, she will.  But, it basically was one of those, "It's not you, it's me" type situations.  And, she really doesn't know how, why or what the fuck just happened there.  Over the years I've met quite a few of the guys she has dated &amp; when I met him, he just struck me as THE ONE.  Not the one she'll necessarily marry, but the one who isn't going to dick her over.  I've never really seen one girl get screwed over by as many guys as she has.  Everyone she meets is too needy, too clingy, stupid (sorry Troy), thinks they are too cool, just wants to fuck... blah blah blah.  You name it, I've seen it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if you are going to say if a girl with a Masters degree, no extra baggage (and by that I mean ex-husbands/kids), sweet, beautiful, amazing listener, fun &amp; just the perfect candidate for a suitable, non psychotic mate can't hold a boyfriend that it just must be her, you are wrong. (her banging body doesn't hurt, either) At one point, I possibly thought maybe she was just too picky with guys, but after this latest douche, I realized something.  That is not the case.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, tonight was not really about football in case you were wondering.  I wore my Cowboys tshirt &amp; she wore her Redskins.  She cheered for Peyton Manning &amp; I for Eli.  BUT, for the most part we sat, drank &amp; played Photo Hunt in awe of the high score &amp; how if we put enough money in the machine, sure we could beat that score!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We never did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A guy bought us drinks, we ended up socializing to the nearly closing bar after 3 hours of Photo Hunt &amp; after the "I'm only having one drink" night escaladed to the shots lovingly called a Blonde Headed Sluts, we were having a party.  Just like we always do.  Just as we had done the night before, in fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I followed her home to retrieve my dog &amp; we started the girl talk.  I mean, we ignored reality for hours so it was over due.  The topic of the douche that dumped her came up &amp; how she happened to see him at the mall this week with another girl.  Then I start reading his blow off emails to her &amp; it clicks.  The guy is either fucking another girl or he's totally afraid of comittment.  He pussied out.  Hottie #2, like most women, is insecure &amp; he knew that.  So instead of just being honest about what went wrong, he pulled that old card about how she deserves better, blah blah, lie, blah, lie, asshole.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you are still following this equation, Hottie #2 thinks it was HER, because he never really explained why, how or what the fuck just happened here.  Yes, of course, the girl he was with could have just been his friend, but.  but.  but.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She deserves a decent guy &amp; a functional relationship.  And, I really hope she gets it, sooner rather than later.  I can't think of anyone who deserves that more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she can put up with me being a Cowboys fan, she can do anything!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3470375867818563863?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3470375867818563863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3470375867818563863' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3470375867818563863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3470375867818563863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/go-to-bed-lola.html' title='Go to bed, Lola.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3390957767472847902</id><published>2010-09-17T10:59:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-17T11:35:33.451-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Introducing the missus, Texas style!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOYJl6s55I/AAAAAAAAAR0/Ts9MBRzqBS8/s1600/IMG_3110.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOYJl6s55I/AAAAAAAAAR0/Ts9MBRzqBS8/s320/IMG_3110.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517921259023558546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOXdyGNUiI/AAAAAAAAARs/fG6boXWQF64/s1600/IMG_3105.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOXdyGNUiI/AAAAAAAAARs/fG6boXWQF64/s320/IMG_3105.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517920506378801698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOW810NYzI/AAAAAAAAARk/3PLHcSHLHiM/s1600/IMG_3091.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOW810NYzI/AAAAAAAAARk/3PLHcSHLHiM/s320/IMG_3091.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517919940441367346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOVj29wzXI/AAAAAAAAARc/9XMQeOvETUI/s1600/IMG_3083.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOVj29wzXI/AAAAAAAAARc/9XMQeOvETUI/s320/IMG_3083.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517918411741515122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J planned our first dance in super spy, top secret fashion.  We bantered back &amp; forth on songs, but ultimately he wanted it to be his decision.  I was only somewhat nervous.  And, while I had some frightening images of us break dancing to "Baby Got Back" or "Can't Touch This", I somehow knew he'd make the right selection. The only thing I asked him was did we have to two-step for our dance.  I can two-step for days aross the great state of Texas, but J has only recently learned &amp; although I love him for trying, he hasn't really mastered it, yet.  (he tends to step on my toes A LOT!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He came through &amp; made the right choice.  We ended up slow dancing to "Free" by Zac Brown Band.  It's a song we both enjoy &amp; although, I was pleased, I wasn't surprised.  Little did I know he had something far less predictable up his sleeve. Halfway through the dance the song cut out &amp; the DJ announced he was having technical difficulties.  I announced that it was time to start break dancing.  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, J is running to the DJ booth, grabbing our cowboy boots from under it &amp; we are changing our shoes!  "Whatever It Is" by Zac Brown Band starts playing &amp; we sure as shit, two-stepped.  It was like the night we got drunk &amp; played that song over &amp; over from the good old iPod docking station while dancing across our bedroom floor.  The music in our bedroom was so loud that night that we woke our next door neighbor up at 3am!  Oops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Texas family was in cahoots &amp; everyone else was cheering him on as he twirled me around the dance floor.  J honored my Southern roots &amp; it was simply perfect.  Right then I knew that I had married the right person &amp; that I would endure all in which he has to offer me for the rest of my life.  Snort.  And, I will absolutely try to do this with a smile on my face &amp; dinner on the table by 6pm sharp every night.  Maybe I'll even bake him a pie or two.  (Nana did that for Papa in the first years of their marriage &amp; it worked for them!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love this man.  He has tamed the wild beast that Lola once was...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, without further ado, I present the first wedding pictures to grace my blog.  And, of course, my song of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yBfcBVt6Etk?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yBfcBVt6Etk?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3390957767472847902?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3390957767472847902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3390957767472847902' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3390957767472847902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3390957767472847902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/introducing-missus-texas-style.html' title='Introducing the missus, Texas style!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TJOYJl6s55I/AAAAAAAAAR0/Ts9MBRzqBS8/s72-c/IMG_3110.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8497094854997729614</id><published>2010-09-14T12:26:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T12:45:20.111-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Once a cheater, always a cheater?</title><content type='html'>My sister just told me that all cheaters are douchebags.  I did cheat on my ex-husband.  I cheated on him with my bestfriend.  That was very douchey. I admit that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I have changed.  Or better yet, I have found my perfect match in a mate.  I am married to someone who supports me emotionally, physically, sexually &amp; everything in between.  We are open with each other.  I have everything in him that I didn't have in anyone else I've ever been with.  He's a total package for me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, I am, for him.  A total package and then some extra suitcases...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as changing, I have learned my lesson that cheating just really ruins your life &amp; everyone else's life, too.  And, J cheated on his ex-wife, too.  We've both been there, done that, got the t-shirt &amp; bore the scarlet letter "A".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neither one of us is any different now, but we both just understand what it takes to make each other happy &amp; we're okay with that.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yes, sister - cheating is douchey, but not all cheaters are douchebags.  Some of us have overcome our pasts &amp; decided to make wiser decisions as we gain age &amp; experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love you! &lt;3&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8497094854997729614?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8497094854997729614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8497094854997729614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8497094854997729614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8497094854997729614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/once-cheater-always-cheater.html' title='Once a cheater, always a cheater?'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-249533183234839442</id><published>2010-09-13T11:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T11:42:51.509-05:00</updated><title type='text'>All in all it was a bad trip.</title><content type='html'>I am seriously going to blog about this.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night J &amp; I were having a bit of action.  Action = wacky tobacky.  We partake from time to time.  It is a great stress relief, it cures all of my aches &amp; pains &amp; well, I just enjoy it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I did enjoy it.  Until Saturday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were out in the backyard having a few hits before bed when all of a sudden I had one hit too many.  I mean, really, I only had 3, but this stuff was potent.  And, by the time I went inside I could hardly stand.  Great role model for my sleeping children, btw.  Luckily, they were seriously sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got upstairs &amp; started panicking.  My heart was racing.  My mind was spinning.  And, I told J to call 911.  Para.  Which, thankfully he did not do.  I seriously thought I was dying &amp; now that I'm in a sober state of mind, I cringe to think that I almost made an ass of myself by going to the hospital on a pot overdose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J held me for an hour with his hand on my chest.  No, he wasn't molesting me.  He was making me feel comfortable by keeping track of my heart rate.  That is love, baby.  I ended up nodding in &amp; out &amp; at one point I jumped in my sleep.  This started the panic attack all over again.  I fought sleep thinking if I closed my eyes I wouldn't wake up.  I was praying.  I was asking for forgiveness of all of my sins &amp; boy, that took at least an hour!  If not more...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember telling J that it was laced with something, but yet, he was fine.  Finally, I snoozed &amp; in the morning I felt completely fine, except for a headache from not getting enough sleep. And, I'm pretty sure my action days are over.  For now.  I don't need to ever feel like I'm dying again, unless I really am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-249533183234839442?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/249533183234839442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=249533183234839442' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/249533183234839442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/249533183234839442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/all-in-all-it-was-bad-trip.html' title='All in all it was a bad trip.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2053106779060292025</id><published>2010-09-10T15:33:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-10T16:05:01.874-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Step in to the light...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TIqdX2fCS1I/AAAAAAAAARU/hlAMSItKNbg/s1600/dark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TIqdX2fCS1I/AAAAAAAAARU/hlAMSItKNbg/s320/dark.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515393726756834130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I the only who can see that you are just trying too hard?  It makes me cringe to see that you want something back that you fucked up so many moons ago.  The harder you try to get it back for you, the more I feel sorry for you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do yourself a favor &amp; just move on. I'm just an outsider, but I can't even imagine being in this equation. Eeek.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2053106779060292025?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2053106779060292025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2053106779060292025' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2053106779060292025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2053106779060292025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/step-in-to-light.html' title='Step in to the light...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/TIqdX2fCS1I/AAAAAAAAARU/hlAMSItKNbg/s72-c/dark.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8219702841856819329</id><published>2010-09-08T08:11:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-08T08:57:37.322-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Suddenly Wednesday</title><content type='html'>Wednesday.  For many reasons it used to be my favorite day of the week.  These days, it's just another day in the life of a married lady with a million kids.  I remember when my blog was about a single mom with twin daughters.  Boy, how things change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughters started first grade yesterday.  I'm feeling nostalgic.  And, a bit melodramatic.  With a touch of sarcastic flair...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Against everyone's advice, I put the girls in the same first grade class.  Most counties have a rule that they separate twins and my children have been separated since they started public school two years ago.  In preschool, they were always together, but when they went to pre-K they were in difference classes.  Kindergarten, they each had their own class.  This year, I wanted to try something different, so I requested to have them together.  It's only day two, but so far so good.  And this way I only have to be room mother for ONE class.  Insert paranoid face here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Boy started middle school.  For some reason, our county doesn't start middle school until 7th grade.  And, today as I'm chatting with an old friend of mine on facebook from West Memorial Junior High in Katy, TX, I made the remark to her about how my stepson just started middle school &amp; since we were besties in middle school, this is making me feel REALLY, REALLY OLD!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on yahoo with my sister right now discussing old friends from high school &amp; I just asked if she was feeling old, too.  And, she is.  On another note, my sister &amp; I just went on another month's hiatus &amp; we've finally made up.  It happens about once a year where we visit each other, get in a fight and go for an extended amount of time without speaking.  This time I even took her off of my facebook.  Snicker.   It's part of our somewhat, tumultous relationship.  Life's too short for this petty shit.  I'm glad we moved past it, because I really missed wasting my time with her on yahoo every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you imagine being 29 years old, still living at home, not working in two years &amp; having your parents still paying your bills??  That's a random thought.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my big Wednesday plans are going to go something like this-  Right now, I'm yahooing with my sister &amp; discussing random people from high school &amp; how sucky their lives are.  Then, I'm going to shower &amp; get ready to have lunch with my dear friend, Ladyhawk.  I don't see her often enough &amp; so, I'm looking forward to catching up.  Then, I'm going to finish girl scout troop planning, clean the main level of the house &amp; wait for the kiddos to come home from school.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister &amp; I have moved to on to discussing people on facebook who don't have cute babies.  We are going to hell.  But, at least we'll be together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Wednesday to all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8219702841856819329?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8219702841856819329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8219702841856819329' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8219702841856819329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8219702841856819329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/suddenly-wednesday.html' title='Suddenly Wednesday'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3856378837620534551</id><published>2010-09-07T13:44:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-08T08:11:46.297-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A letter from the past.</title><content type='html'>My sister &amp; my aunts were going through my Grandmother's office this weekend.  My sister found this letter my Nana wrote the donor family from my Mom's liver transplant 3 months after my Mom passed away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Warning - it's sad, but beautiful letter.  Get the tissues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear ones,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This a very difficult letter for me to write as i do not know to whom i am writing. And there are times such as these when a thank you cannot and is not sufficient.  As a mother, for me to try to convey to someone that I do not know and will probably never be given the opportunity to thank personaly how deeply grateful my family and I are to you, so unselfishly gave the greatest of gifts your loved ones organ for transplant.  The gift of a liver was the gift that could save my child's life and our gratitude is beyond words.  Our family has thought of you so often, we have prayed for you and continue to hope that God's richest blessings will be yours.  We know that your lives have been filled with pain and that there is any empty void that cannot be filled by the loss of the one you loved.  We also know that you have to be a wonderful family, as in your darkest hours of grief you would think of someone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gift of a liver transplant meant that our 45 year old daughter would have the opportunity for life, and to have a better quality of life.  Unfortunatlty, for us God must have had a better plan, our daugher came through the 12 hours surgery, and even had to have a second minor surgery to repair a leaking bile duct two days later.  After seven days she was moved from ICU to a room. That evening she was able to walk down the hall. The next morning they took her for what was to be a routine test, a chest x-ray and lab work, and although we did not know it, a liver biopsy.  Later we where told that the reason for the biopsy was that this was the only way they could determine if her body was rejecting the transplant, and if so, they could change her anti-rejection drug.  It was not.  In a liver bioposy one patient in 1,000 would bleed, one in 10,000 would hemmorage.  Our daugheter hemmoraged and suffered cardiac arrest.  They where able to restart her heart after a period of time, and then do another necessary surgery.  This left our daugher in a coma and fifteen days later we lost her without her ever regaining conciousness.  She had suffered severe brain damage from the cardiac arrest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that perhaps I should not have told you about our daugher's death, but I feel that you want to know as I am sure that everyday you wonder about who had the organs of your loved one, and how they where getting along.  Our daugher was a wonderful, wonderful child, mischevious, a great sense of humor, and who loved life and her family.  She was a single parent and left two daughers, 19 and 21.  She had a very good job, and was very good at her job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want you and all your family to know that you will always hold a very high and special place in our hearts. We know your pain and your sorrow.  My husband and I will be married 51 years.  We are the parents of three other children and have nine grandchildren.  We lost our first grandchild in a car wreck when she was 16. Our daugher that we lost was our 2nd child, and just like you and your family, will never get over the loss, but we are learning to live with it, and we wish that life could have been different for you all and for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. I can only hope that this letter reaches you someday, and if you should wish to correspond with us, i would be so happy to hear from you. Even if i never do, please know that in this this great big world, there is a family that will ever be in your debt. A debt that can never be repaid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In grateful appreciation, DSK&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3856378837620534551?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3856378837620534551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3856378837620534551' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3856378837620534551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3856378837620534551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/09/letter-from-past.html' title='A letter from the past.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1784560374244285014</id><published>2010-08-29T11:15:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T08:34:54.567-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Outer Banks</title><content type='html'>I am so off on blogging, but it's all because of my wedding.  And, that's over.  I realize I need to blog about that, too, but first things first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just returned from a one week stay in Nagshead, NC.  J &amp; I &amp; our adorable (I mean annoying) kids....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plus -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His oldest sister, her estranged husband, their two nieces from NY &amp; their son.&lt;br /&gt;His younger brother, his wife &amp; their baby that I want to steal.&lt;br /&gt;His younger sister, her husband &amp; their two babies - one toddler &amp; one infant.&lt;br /&gt;His youngest brother &amp; his girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;And his mom.  And her husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh. the. drama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll start from the bottom &amp; work my way up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom is crazy, lazy &amp; spacey.  Her husband is supportive of this type of behavior.  The Grandmother complained about her grandkids, having to watch any of them &amp; I felt incredibly guilty about having asked her to watch Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2 for 25 whole minutes so I could take a quick run.  (J &amp; his kids came 2 days after me)  She looked right at me &amp; said, "It's not you!"  Take another percocet, Granny, and give me one, too.  Snort. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fireman &amp; Lawyer are single with no kids.  Fireman is a hot specimen of brother &amp; Lawyer is great until she starts complaining about all the kids.  Again, with the kids.  Everyone knew who was coming ahead of time.  I don't want to hear it about the annoying kids.  Half of them are mine, bitch.  They got in to a huge, pour your drink in your face, type fight one night during a routine game of Asshole.  It didn't end so well. J &amp; favorite Brother chased Fireman in the dark towards the beach following wet footprints as he stumbled around town drunk.  Gertrude &amp; I tried to calm her down by tell her all of our horror stories with our men.  I mean they are all brothers &amp; pretty much all have the asshole gene.  We tried teaching her that sometimes you just have to deal with it instead of resorting to wasting good alcohol! I'm still wondering if they are headed towards splitsville.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The parents with two under two...  Ariel parents the two year old by saying "NO".  There is nothing worse than telling your child no all the time.  He's a boy, he's 2 &amp; he really is cute.  Give him a chance to do something, will ya?  Then maybe you won't be so stressed out.  Her husband just looks at her &amp; says things like, "Number 2(the baby) needs you &amp; since I can't make her happy will you stop whatever it is you could be possibly doing &amp; take care of her.  Oh &amp; fix me another drink will ya?"  Sigh.  Sometimes having a douchebag husband who doesn't help out sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite Brother, his wife, Gertrude &amp; their baby are well, my favorites.  Aside from having the burden of a 9 month old, they are still fun &amp; with it.  They are not assholes, but they did get on each other's nerves.  Especially when he lost the car keys &amp; she blamed him for losing them because he drinks too much.  It was all fun &amp; games until Big Sis found the keys in baby's diaper bag where Gertrude had left them.  This was long after we stopped digging through the garbage bags to look for them.  Ooops.  Conclusion:  Thank goodness the keys were no where to be found so no one could drink &amp; drive!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Big Sister with all of her issues.  She actually rode down with me &amp; the twins because she hates her husband.  She's in love with another man who happens to be in rehab.  Of course, it's not his fault.  Nor hers.  But, dammit, divorce the husband &amp; stop bringing him on "family" vacations where he feels like a dumbass for even being there.  They slept in separate rooms &amp; she spent her entire days &amp; nights with her Droid on her ear talking to the guy she tells everyone else she is just friends with.  Dude, I heard you in the car on the phone with him for 10 plus hours.  You love him.  Or something.  And, since I have all of this affair &amp; being in love with someone else bullshit under my belt already, I was a good source of companionship &amp; wisdom.  She now has the name of my divorce attorney &amp; I hope it works out for her.  She deserves happiness.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it was a great time.  The Boy learned to skim board &amp; subsequently, I learned to do it as well.  It is NOT easy.  I also body surfed in 8 foot waves which I had never done. (hurricane activity in the Atlantic...)  I am still unpacking &amp; recovering &amp; school starts next week.  I also rocked a bikini for the first time in 20 years.  What? What?  I'm tan in places I haven't been in a long time &amp; it feels good to show off the body you never had, even after having twins.  Oh &amp; in our game of Asshole, somehow I got the nickname Big Sloppy Pussy or bsp for short.  Snort. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm back &amp; I'm ready to blog.  Amen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1784560374244285014?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1784560374244285014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1784560374244285014' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1784560374244285014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1784560374244285014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/08/outer-banks.html' title='The Outer Banks'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6013747366615298453</id><published>2010-08-01T21:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-01T21:52:46.984-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes, I am still alive.  Fuck you very much.</title><content type='html'>The wedding is in one week.&lt;br /&gt;The wedding is in one week.&lt;br /&gt;MY WEDDING IS IN ONE WEEK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never had a wedding.  I am very, very excited. It's been a busy summer.  The kids are driving me nuts, Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2 are still fighting, Lavagirl is still whiney &amp; the Boy is still needy.  And, I've had TK (my 17 year old cousin from TX) living with me for the summer.  So, our full house is fuller.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now I am writing my wedding ceremony.  My cousin is singing a romantic version of Heaven by Bryan Adams as I walk down the aisle.  (or deck, as we're getting hitched pool side)  Almost my entire family is coming!  With the exception of my Uncle...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister will be here in two days with my nephew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the family will file in starting Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am fucking elated, but somewhat nervous about getting married in front of 80 people.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughters are walking me down the deck/aisle. Hearts. Hearts. Hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a 10,000 dollar wedding of my step mother in law's dreams, but fuck it.  It's going to be OSUM. (that's how Thing 2 spells awesome)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Bachelorette party is Thursday night.  Watch out!  We are going to ride a mechanical bull &amp; ride in a fancy, schmancy limo.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gotta get back to my ceremony.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6013747366615298453?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6013747366615298453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6013747366615298453' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6013747366615298453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6013747366615298453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/08/yes-i-am-still-alive-fuck-you-very-much.html' title='Yes, I am still alive.  Fuck you very much.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2199326201929178768</id><published>2010-06-18T08:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T08:59:49.087-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Last year's wishes, are this year's apologies...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahem.  I don't know what that was about, but I'm drowning in a sea of wedding plans &amp; I hate every minute of it.  Although, I know I am about to marry up &amp; take one hell of a ride.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have an interesting blog this week, really.  I'm tired, I'm cranky &amp; I'm ready to spend my days lounging at the pool.  School's out in a week &amp; if my kids don't start getting along I'm going to start whacking them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great weekend.  I know I will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fLo0jEp67pE&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fLo0jEp67pE&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carry on!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2199326201929178768?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2199326201929178768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2199326201929178768' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2199326201929178768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2199326201929178768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/06/last-years-wishes-are-this-years.html' title=''/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7058235854678486680</id><published>2010-06-14T07:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T08:01:51.969-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Now I lay me down, in front of a Lifetime movie.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was glorious.  I did almost absolutely nothing.  J &amp; I went out Saturday night with Hottie #2 &amp; ended up spending yesterday hungover.  Yes, we are getting old.  And, no, this blog isn't about Saturday night, although, it was wild.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to pause from this blog to share a laugh with you.  I'm watching (don't laugh) Saved by the Bell this morning &amp; I'm completely outraged by Zack Morris' shirt.  It's denim, has a tribal print on the back &amp; completely matches his jeans.  Not to mention, he is wearing white tennis shoes.  I may be laughing all week about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, Sunday, as I was not getting up off of the couch for anything, I was watching this Lifetime movie that hit really close to home.  It was about a high school girl whose friends turned against her &amp; started bullying her.  I know, it was just a movie, but she even tries to overdose on her mom's sleeping pills.  It really hit too close to home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not many people know it, but I went through something very similar when I was in 7th grade.  I don't remember why, but my clique of friends turned against me &amp; a few of the "bigger" girls started harrassing me in the hallway.  I was getting teased, pushed &amp; I was frightened to go to school every.single.day.  To complicate matters, my mom was in rehab &amp; I was living with my less-than-understanding Grandparents.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started cutting myself.  I would use my compass to take the plastic off of my disposable razor &amp; I'd use the razor to cut myself.  I also contemplated suicide &amp; even wrote a suicide letter.  When my mom got home, she went through my room &amp; found everything.  I ended up in a hospital where I finished 7th grade while getting the psychiatric help I needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that it was just a movie, but it really sparked up a lot of memories I have about what happened to me.  After I completed my 90 days in the hospital while finishing up 7th grade, I spent the rest of my summer in an outpatient treatment.  I learned to stand up for myself &amp; when I started 8th grade, needless to say, I did not have the same issues.  I do feel for those who went through something similar, because no child should ever be afraid to go to school.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7058235854678486680?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7058235854678486680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7058235854678486680' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7058235854678486680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7058235854678486680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/06/now-i-lay-me-down-in-front-of-lifetime.html' title='Now I lay me down, in front of a Lifetime movie.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8217359948916421990</id><published>2010-06-09T21:18:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T21:49:36.220-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What do you do when your vagina needs a quick sprucing up?</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VR4O68kUj5c&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VR4O68kUj5c&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clitter, anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big &lt;strong&gt;THANK YOU&lt;/strong&gt; to MJ.  Not only did you convince to me to go out on a date with J when I wasn't so sure he was my type (you realize this makes you solely responsible for this damn wedding, right?), but you also turned me on to Clitter. I mean, now that I'm getting married I may need a little something something extra to make sure he sticks around! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For clitter or worse!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's worse than clitter?  I do not know.  Fabulous looking herpes?  A sparkle baby?  Maybe I should conduct a poll.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8217359948916421990?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8217359948916421990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8217359948916421990' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8217359948916421990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8217359948916421990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-do-you-do-when-your-vagina-isnt.html' title='What do you do when your vagina needs a quick sprucing up?'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3285510393518859980</id><published>2010-06-06T21:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-06T21:25:29.113-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh MJ, how I love thee, let me count the ways.</title><content type='html'>1.  You drove to Northern VA to see me.  Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  It was like old times.  Drink too much alcohol, stay up way too late, lazy as shit Saturday mornings &amp; I still pick up after the kids, immediately.  OCD, much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  You tell stories like I blog.  You are funny.  You are awesome.  And, had you wanted two hashbrowns I would have sprung for them, but instead we shared oatmeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  SHOTGUN! Snicker, snicker, snicker, snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  The 15 year old boy that slept over loves you, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  Douche bag, anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  For once, we did not run out of beer nor did we need to make a beer run at 11:35pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  I am now addicted to Basketball Wives.  Thank you for turning me on to something new.  That isn't the first time that has happened.  Insert paranoid face here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  You give great head.  I mean therapy.  Yeah, therapy.  I feel very theraputic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  I have a blast when I am with you even if I chase after you with a bottle of windex in one hand &amp; a broom in the other.  Please come back to visit soon.  I heart you 5 million.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For you, my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dXiFuU7X_Fo&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dXiFuU7X_Fo&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3285510393518859980?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3285510393518859980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3285510393518859980' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3285510393518859980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3285510393518859980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/06/oh-mj-how-i-love-thee-let-me-count-ways.html' title='Oh MJ, how I love thee, let me count the ways.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4858783617796100482</id><published>2010-06-03T08:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-03T09:03:39.181-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random songs pop up &amp; I got a place to put `em.</title><content type='html'>Songs from my past.  And, then I just get giddy with excitement &amp; post them!  On my blog!  Wahoo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DUKcitcWkBQ&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DUKcitcWkBQ&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love youtube.  Here's another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/81TcnYYHLH0&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/81TcnYYHLH0&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And last, but not least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BUsVOyIoby0&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BUsVOyIoby0&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Totally fucking random.  Enjoy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4858783617796100482?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4858783617796100482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4858783617796100482' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4858783617796100482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4858783617796100482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/06/random-songs-pop-up-i-got-place-to-put.html' title='Random songs pop up &amp; I got a place to put `em.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4600377663747734646</id><published>2010-06-01T09:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T09:09:07.008-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A break from reality, or house cleaning!</title><content type='html'>Yes, people, I have a life.  I have to clean this house - top to bottom - in an hour.  Then get ready to volunteer at the school.  (Oh why isn't school out, yet?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I am having lunch with my male neighbor &amp; we are taking a drive to Arlington to get swim suits for my twins.  They start swim team today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I have drama &amp; it needs to be blogged, but I have to do these things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Duty calls.  Or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Q536JTSe40M&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Q536JTSe40M&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4600377663747734646?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4600377663747734646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4600377663747734646' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4600377663747734646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4600377663747734646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/06/break-from-reality-or-house-cleaning.html' title='A break from reality, or house cleaning!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7969851322071463109</id><published>2010-05-31T09:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T10:08:30.795-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Memorial Day Weekend randomness</title><content type='html'>I love long weekends... especially kid free weekends. ha. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I was out with my girlfriends on Friday night &amp; my friend, Hottie #2, asked me to stop writing depressing blogs &amp; try to think of something fun to write about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like old times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did have quite a few cocktails on Friday &amp; a shot of tequila prior to going to the movies on Friday night, We went &amp; saw Sex and the City 2 &amp; it was phenomenal. I would love to be Carrie Bradshaw.  I have quite the obsession with expensive shoes although I do not own a single pair of Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahniks.  One day, Lola, one day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday, J &amp; I slept in &amp; then in the late afternoon we went to his dad's house for wedding planning with the step mom &amp; swimming in the heated pool. I was really worried about wearing a bikini in front of J's dad. He is a pervert, albeit, I find him strangely sexy. He's in his mid 50's &amp; I will be honest with you... if J looks half that good at that age, I will be one lucky lady! It's not just dad's looks, but his personality makes him very, very attractive. No worries though, I already tried my luck at home wrecking &amp; it didn't work out so well for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J is going to die when he reads this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, J's dad &amp; step mom continue to try run my wedding show &amp; insisting that we get married at 10am. What the fuck? I have no intention of having a morning wedding, I don't care if they are helping us pay for it.  It's just not in my vision.  And, I'm the bride, dammit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, swimming was fun. J's dad only brushed up against me lightly, once.  What fun! (insert paranoid face) What can I say? Sometimes I do fantasize about being his 4th wife. Every time he marries he goes for a younger bride &amp; I certainly fit that bill! Plus, I could own three pairs of Manolo Blahniks, a shit load of Tori Burch purses AND spend my days redecorating my already gorgeous home! And, if I get tired of that, I'm going to lay out at the pool every day cocktail in hand. It's good to have dreams...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along comes Sunday. Hottie #2 asked me to have a cookout, so we obliged. We invited J's family, his kids came up from their mom's house, some of J's work friends, Hottie #2 &amp; her friend Hottie #3 plus her fiance. Wow, full fucking house. We drank, ate &amp; drank some more. Well, I didn't really drink that much. I couldn't get in to the wine. Occasionally, that happens. I'm afraid Hottie #2 was disappointed in me because I more worried about the crumbs on my floors rather than pouring myself a drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When everyone had left, it was me, J &amp; the Boy. He is boycotting his mother's home &amp; that's another blog for another day...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get an invite to go a few streets away to hang out with a couple that J has been friends with for a while. They have a son that is in school with the Boy &amp; so, at 10:30pm we leave the house to go hang out. When we arrive, we run in to a couple that had previously been to our party &amp; a handful of late 30 something, attractive people. The kids all went inside to watch Transformers &amp; the adults were sitting on the back patio with drinks in hand &amp; many, many empty wine bottles. Although it is somewhat annoying to surround yourself with drinky people when all you are drinking is a diet coke out of a red, solo cup, it was fun to have some adult conversation.  Drinky people are entertaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the strangest thing happened. (no we did not get naked) The man of the house, J's friend, went upstairs &amp; then resurfaced with some "action". (that's my code for herbal refreshment) And, as I listen to this very attractive soccer mom that probably moonlights as a barbie doll talk about smoking a bowl at night after her kids go to sleep &amp; then indulging in Hershey Kisses that she keeps stashed in her nightstand drawer next to her sex toys, I knew I had just met some really fucking cool parents.  And, I immediately knew I was to write a blog about my experience. These people had this down to a science. The patio was dark with the exception of a few citronella candles AND the lady of the house lit an incense cone to hide the evidence. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to think, these are PTA parents!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, I become the ultimate party pooper! Out of nowhere (snort) I felt this raging migraine from hell coming on &amp; we had to exit the party immediately as when I get a migraine I am known to vomit. That put a huge damper on my buzz, but I knew that I had something interesting to put in my blog other than death &amp; taxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's on my Monday agenda? Golf with the boy &amp; J. Yes, I am finally going to put my pink clubs to use...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7969851322071463109?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7969851322071463109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7969851322071463109' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7969851322071463109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7969851322071463109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/memorial-day-weekend-randomness.html' title='Memorial Day Weekend randomness'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3820381731461217985</id><published>2010-05-25T14:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T14:12:46.228-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheez-its</title><content type='html'>are my favorite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am insanely in love with them.  And, I have been for quite some time.  I don't know how they pack so much buttery, cheesy, salty goodness in one little cracker, but the snack gods are smiling down on me today.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is nothing like a box of cheez-its, a diet DP &amp; an australian shepherd to share them.  Throw in a love triangle episode of Dr. Phil &amp; you have the perfect snack time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/L9PKcRWu9KY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/L9PKcRWu9KY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3820381731461217985?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3820381731461217985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3820381731461217985' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3820381731461217985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3820381731461217985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/cheez-its.html' title='Cheez-its'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3621812829519994011</id><published>2010-05-24T07:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T07:52:22.006-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lola has lost it.</title><content type='html'>I can't sleep.  I have this new sudden fear that by going to sleep I put myself in danger of not waking up.  And, now I have a phobia of dying.  I'm pretty sure it's because I don't know if I believe in the after life, which I sometimes feel people make up to comfort themselves because they, too, have a fear of dying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long story short.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm fucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the fuck?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear, I have lost it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3621812829519994011?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3621812829519994011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3621812829519994011' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3621812829519994011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3621812829519994011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/lola-has-lost-it.html' title='Lola has lost it.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2236364791370757245</id><published>2010-05-21T12:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-23T14:54:03.356-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Save the drama for your mama!</title><content type='html'>As my Nana was passing away, my family was falling to pieces. Everyone was moody, upset, emotional &amp; really bitchy. I suppose that is to be expected. However, I think family members should really lean on each other in times of need, not shit on each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dramatic moment happened the night Nana passed away. I had been staying with my one aunt, because she was upset that the last time I was home I stayed with my other aunt. (that's where my sister was staying and it was closer to the hospital.. and it doesn't hurt that she has a pool in her backyard &amp; her house is clean) Anyways. Aunt K had her feelings hurt so like a good niece I was sleeping at her house. Nana had just passed away &amp; we were all at Aunt D's house going through pictures &amp; making funeral arrangements. And eating ham. Ham is the world's worst funeral food, yet, if someone dies, you get a big, fat ham!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few months ago my Nana had told me that after she died I would need to stay a few days later for the reading of her will. Okay. We were all planning &amp; so on &amp; I happened to ask the question about that issue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Big mistake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Aunt K went ape shit. She rolled her eyes at me, went outside &amp; told Aunt D that we hadn't even buried Nana yet &amp; I was already wondering about the will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not so fast, lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My question to the executor of Nana's estate was simply inquiring about the reading of the will &amp; would she happen to know when it would take place. I needed to get my return flight home &amp; was trying to figure out what day I was going to leave. I do have four kids &amp; I had been out of town for quite some time already plus I had been gone every other week for about 2 months. It was a simple question. Non evasive. A practical answer would have been fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got attitude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never been so hurt in my life as hearing it later from Aunt D that Aunt K thought that my biggest concern was what was in that will. Well, fuck. I already knew what I was being left. Nana had talked to me about it over the years. She owns a ranch in Blanco County, TX that was to be divided four ways. However, because I am no longer a Texas resident she had asked me if I wanted to be bought out because of that. And, when I was home for Christmas she had another talk with me about my inheritance. After my mom passed away I blew through thousands of dollars &amp; have nothing to show for it except probably a battered liver. I pissed it away on bar tabs &amp; drugs. I was 22 years old &amp; an idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alot has changed in 10 years. So, I'd like to think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long story short - I was honestly just looking to see when I could fly home. The contents of the will were not on my mind at the time, but getting home to my family was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I borrowed Aunt D's car &amp; went to pack up my shit. There was no way in hell I was staying in her filthy ass house one more night. Was that shitty of me? Probably. But, I was hurt. When I returned I sat on the front curb chain smoking &amp; talking to J on the phone. Well, crying to J on the phone. Aunt K left without so much as a goodbye to me &amp; I just lost my shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize she was stressed. Her mom had just died. She was in jeopardy of losing her job due to being out for so long. And, it was really just a bad time. However, treating me like shit was not something I was prepared for nor did I handle it very well. I'm not used to being the black sheep of the family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took a few days, but she finally came around. I actually apologized to HER for HER misunderstanding my question &amp; she went back to her normal self. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Save the drama for your mama, baby!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2236364791370757245?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2236364791370757245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2236364791370757245' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2236364791370757245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2236364791370757245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/save-drama-for-your-mama.html' title='Save the drama for your mama!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-160364504596038192</id><published>2010-05-20T08:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-20T08:36:40.409-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Laying Nana to rest...</title><content type='html'>If you read my blog, you know that my Nana has been very sick. After traveling back &amp; forth to Texas for the past two months, she finally passed away last Thursday while I was home for my cousin's college graduation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I flew in on Tuesday evening. Wednesday morning we got the call to rush up to the hospital because it was "time". We waited &amp; she kept right on living. Wednesday evening my cousins &amp; I went out to celebrate Graduates last final exam &amp; while out, we got the call that it was, again, "time."  We gave our lemon drop shots away, paid the bar tab &amp; rushed out of there arriving at the hospital suprisingly sober! We all stayed by her side until 4am. Again, she just kept on living...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday morning we got the call, yet again. After a morning of praying with her, singing to her &amp; letting her know that it was okay to go, she finally took her last breath. I had kept telling her to not worry about our agenda &amp; to just worry about her own &amp; she finally listened.  Her final days were rough. She sounded like she was drowning &amp; she was absolutely miserable as her lungs filled up with fluid. I prayed daily for God to take her, because she certainly didn't deserve to suffer this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had happened to be in Target when she passed away. We really didn't think she was in a rush to go after the few "false" alarms. I took my cousin &amp; sister to Target &amp; we got the call. Graduate cousin was there, as well as the rest of my family. She said it was the most peaceful thing, ever. I did get back there &amp; spent the next few hours with her until they took her.  It was easy to see that she was &lt;em&gt;finally&lt;/em&gt; at peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next few days were whirlwind of activity &amp; emotional outbursts. My family basically fell apart for a few days &amp; we all took it out on each other. At one point, I packed my stuff from one aunt's house &amp; moved it to another aunt's house because of the drama. I'm not proud of how we all handled it at first, but we all ended up uniting &amp; getting our shit together! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The graduation was a wonderful distraction. And, we went ahead with our plans for a graduation party the following day. Nana was really big on education &amp; a college graduation would have been one of her favorite events to celebrate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my cousin's graduation we had to get on with reality. We buried my Nana in her family's cemetery in Round Mountain, TX (population 111) on Monday. Nana's six granddaughters each wrote a paragraph about her that my sister &amp; Texas Kate read at the funeral. I was still writing an hour before the service due to the worst case of writer's block I ever had! (not to mention the panic attack I had the night before while writing!) I will post mine here in the next few days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we buried Nana we left the Texas hill country &amp; came back to Corpus Christi, TX... the place she had called home for the past 30 years. We had a lovely memorial service for her on Tuesday. By Wednesday, I was ready to fly home.  And, luckily J was able to get me on his return fight.  We arrived home at 1am last night! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has not fully sunk in, yet, but I know the next few weeks will be rough for me. I've said it before, but my Nana was one amazing lady &amp; she will be missed by many, but especially by me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sure do wish I could get kolaches in Virginia!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-160364504596038192?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/160364504596038192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=160364504596038192' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/160364504596038192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/160364504596038192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/laying-nana-to-rest.html' title='Laying Nana to rest...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5986358015855780944</id><published>2010-05-05T20:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T21:09:14.853-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ooooh, my baby's got a secret.</title><content type='html'>How open are you about your past?  I mean, we've all done things in which we aren't exactly proud.  How much of your shit are you allowed to actually keep stuffed inside your own closet?  Are you obligated, for any reason, to share the sordid details of your past life to people with whom you have a relationship?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My answer is this:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;If it directly affects your relationship, then yes, by all means spill the dirt.  But if part of your past never touches anything you lay your future hands then, well, what is the point?  If there is a chapter in your life that you want to rewrite then by all means, publish it!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Wednesday night thoughts, for a random Wednesday evening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5986358015855780944?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5986358015855780944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5986358015855780944' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5986358015855780944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5986358015855780944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/ooooh-my-babys-got-secret.html' title='Ooooh, my baby&apos;s got a secret.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1030116312527747267</id><published>2010-05-04T09:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T09:13:34.286-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It is with deepest regret I post</title><content type='html'>that my Nana has not passed, yet.  Instead, she lays in a hospital bed suffering.  Really?  This is beyond not fair.  I did as instructed &amp; spoke to her on the phone.  I told her it was okay go go be with -&lt;em&gt;insert names of dead people here&lt;/em&gt;-.  If she hangs on until next week I can tell her in person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize there is a point in which you have hope for your loved one &amp; do not want them to die, but we are way past that point.  Now, it's just insane how much you want a person to let go so you don't have to watch them suffer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, I feel selfish.  I guess we'll just see what happens.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WLgLfD3wElQ&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WLgLfD3wElQ&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1030116312527747267?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1030116312527747267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1030116312527747267' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1030116312527747267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1030116312527747267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/it-is-with-deepest-regret-i-post.html' title='It is with deepest regret I post'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3699246798643609144</id><published>2010-05-02T12:21:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-02T12:47:53.383-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A good time, brought to you by me.</title><content type='html'>It's Friday night. J &amp; I decide to head up to Carpools. There is a scene that we dig up there &amp; so we are going with it. Unfortunately, J lost his ID &amp; last time we couldn't get in because they card at the door after a certain time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No biggie. We decide to get up there ASS early, before they start carding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We pick our spot at the bar in front of the game machine. No laughing. I really enjoy playing those games. We order our obligatory red bulls &amp; vodka. When J &amp; I are tired we go out &amp; drink those because honestly, it gives us wings. And, at some point in the night, brass balls. So, we're hanging &amp; eating our greasy cheeseburgers. Aunt Helen's brother happens to be there. Aunt Helen is J's ex girlfriend. She's the girl that dumped J three months prior to us meeting. Basically, I was the "rebound" girl there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years later...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J &amp; surfer boy ex-girlfriend's brother are catching up &amp; I find it incredibly creepy. What if Aunt Helen shows up? Ick. Luckily, she doesn't. And, we keep drinking. We're looking for someone in the bar to play with &amp; it just so happens we are two of fifteen people there that night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have a shot. Or two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, two cute girls come sit down next to us at the bar. You know how I heart me some cuties. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another shot, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls go outside on the patio &amp; I tell J we should split up. J &amp; I have game. Oh yes, we are professionals at this game. I tell him to go outside &amp; spark up a conversation with them while I finish my luck at the game. (I wasn't going to let 10 credits go to waste, or to the big guy sitting next to me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About twenty minutes go by &amp; I am out of credits. My interest has moved to bigger &amp; better things. I sashay my hot looking ass (new, tight jeans) outside &amp; I crack a smile. J is sitting down with the ladies &amp; they are all having a great time. I sit down with my huge grin &amp; one of the gals immediately says, "You must be HER!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J has a good habit of meeting cute girls at bars &amp; telling them all about ME! It's really cute. We pair off. My interest is towards the petite blond who I end up talking to for the next two hours. We have everything in common. And, I knew we were to be insta-friends. J is juggling chubby brunette with amazing dimples &amp; surfer boy ex-girlfriend's brother. The drinks are flowing. The air is warm. And, I am enjoying my new friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, around midnight, J claims it is time to go. When he is done, he is done. So, I exchange numbers with blondie &amp; invite her out for dinner the next night. I had already planned a girl's night out with two of my girlfriends. She accepts &amp; J &amp; I exit bar plotting our midnight snack. I normally do not partake in post alcohol induced snacking because I'm constantly watching my figure. He drives through Wendy's. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we get home J parks the car &amp; we sing to each other for about 20 minutes. Doing ridiculous things like this reminds me of why we are so great for each other. We have this uncanny ability to release our stress &amp; troubles in our every day life by doing simple things together like blasting the radio, dancing &amp; singing, like teenagers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stumble inside happily greeted by our beautiful puppy. And, for a moment, all is right in my world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning I am greeted vigorously by a relentless hangover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ahhhhh, Lola Starr, this is your life!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3699246798643609144?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3699246798643609144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3699246798643609144' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3699246798643609144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3699246798643609144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/05/good-time-brought-to-you-by-me.html' title='A good time, brought to you by me.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5518229166291639617</id><published>2010-04-30T17:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-30T17:11:40.471-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday Randomness</title><content type='html'>1. Hottie #1 &amp; Weiner just cancelled on us. Apparently they can't get along long enough to go hang out with us. Boo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. J has no ID. That pretty much limits what we do all weekend. Grrr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. When in Nordstrom Rack, watch out for the Tart buying the sequin tube top! Cha-ching!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. When in Nordstrom Rack, be cool. Be very, very cool. Everyone is staring at you. And, they are all better dressed than you are!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I wrote my paragraph today for my Nana's funeral &amp; she has not passed away yet. I figure it'll take me months to revise it &amp; it's always better to plan ahead. Is this wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I miss my sister. Nini, I love you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I have a sudden craving for Luby's Cafeteria. I want the fish, mac &amp; cheese &amp; chocolate ice box pie. Sadly, there is no Luby's in Northern VA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. I am taking myself to see the remake of Clash of the Titans next week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. I need to put on my makeup so we can go out. I'm starving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Why do I need a 10 when I have two 4's?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5518229166291639617?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5518229166291639617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5518229166291639617' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5518229166291639617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5518229166291639617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/friday-randomness.html' title='Friday Randomness'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6302174869618004355</id><published>2010-04-30T08:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-30T08:41:30.128-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not another depressing blog.</title><content type='html'>Really, I'm sick of being sick.  I've spent the past two days in bed, sleeping.  I am sick.  Or am I?  I went to the doctor &amp; it's "viral", but I think my sleeping 21 out of 24 hours is more than that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That fog has cleared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today is Friday.  My mother came to me in my dream last night &amp; told me, again, that my sister &amp; I had to tell Nana it was okay to go home.  My sister is going this weekend to complete that task.  I will not be flying. (I'm sick, duh!)  But, she will allow me to do my part on the phone.  It's sad &amp; depressing, but this is not another depressing blog.  I don't care what I've typed thus far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good news is that J has done an amazing job caring for the children while I've been on my own private "death" bed.  All things considered, him &amp; I have had a good week.  I appreciated him this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up with my lymph node in my neck swollen so badly, but J gave me a happy pill &amp; the pain has subsided.  I'm going to the mall.  I have never felt skinny in my life, but I'm starting to look thin-ish.  At the doctor yesterday I was down to 142, which is almost insane for my body type.  Needless to say, I am swimming in my clothes right now.  Swollen neck or not, J &amp; I are going out tonight with our besties, Hottie #1 &amp; Weiner, &amp; I am not wearing a moo moo.  I'm going to enjoy this size 6 body for a minute &amp; find something extremely flattering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because it will make me forget about all the other shit in my life, even if only for one night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, while things aren't peachy keen, jelly bean, they are calm for the moment.  Even if I am typing under the influence of prescription pain medicine, I am content.  For now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy the weekend.  Hold the ones you love close.  And, may everyone who reads this find peace... even if it comes in a bottle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There.  I gave you a snort.  Go on!  Have some fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6302174869618004355?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6302174869618004355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6302174869618004355' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6302174869618004355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6302174869618004355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/not-another-depressing-blog.html' title='Not another depressing blog.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5162414958952522913</id><published>2010-04-27T08:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T08:46:17.130-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another blah blog on another blah day.</title><content type='html'>Struggle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's where I am right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Nana is dying.  My relationship is taking some serious hits.  And, my children are testing my patience.  All, in a day's work, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need some clarity.  Some focus.  Some food. (I've lost about 5 more lbs in the past few weeks without even trying!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did have a dear friend, Ladyhawk, come visit me on Friday &amp; she made me a to-do list.  I am proud to announce to her (she reads my blog) that I have finally returned my library books!  And, more.  I have actually made a dent in the list &amp; it feels good.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's nice to have someone's help, even with the little things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I will continue to pound away on my list &amp; maybe in the process find some clarity in all of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Lost&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5162414958952522913?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5162414958952522913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5162414958952522913' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5162414958952522913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5162414958952522913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/another-blah-blog-on-another-blah-day.html' title='Another blah blog on another blah day.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1347839860458660718</id><published>2010-04-20T13:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T13:18:26.488-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I could pour my heart out here</title><content type='html'>or I could just tell you that my life is falling to pieces &amp; leave it at that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are times in your life when you just want to crawl in the bed, pull the covers up over you &amp; not wake up for 100 years.  Well, my time for that is now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My body aches, my stomach is in knots &amp; I can't sleep.  I am stressed to the max.  I just spent six of the longest days of my life advocating loudly for the most amazing woman I've ever known.  I get home last night &amp; every time I turn a corner there is a slap in my face.  The ex purposely didn't invite my daughters to Lavagirl's birthday party.  My girls are devestated.  We owe Reston Association 1700 dollars &amp; can't even park in our spots.  My house is a mess.  J &amp; I are fighting about all of the above because I cannot be calm about anything now.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to scream.   Or cry.  Or both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have so many funny things to blog about, but I just am not motivated today.  Maybe tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1347839860458660718?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1347839860458660718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1347839860458660718' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1347839860458660718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1347839860458660718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-could-pour-my-heart-out-here.html' title='I could pour my heart out here'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6926054256860316455</id><published>2010-04-15T21:19:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T21:43:41.675-05:00</updated><title type='text'>German Shephards,  Taco Soup, Feeding Tubes, Sleep Deprivation &amp; Sexting</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;all things happening in texas at this moment in time!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi, It is Lola's sister! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Ive pretty much been awake since Tuesday Morning at 6:30 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I miss my son and my husband&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. My Nana just got back from recovery, and now is the proud owner of a feeding tube. Lets hope this helps!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. My nana is shivering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. My Nana cussed me out all night. Do people who are the sweetest people eva get mean when they may or may not be dying. Im voting yes at this moment in time, but i still love her like a fat kid loves cake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. My sister is sexting with a drunk fiance. He may or may not be sleeping on the front porch. This sounds like a another blog in the making.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. We bought vodka in honor of reading chelsea handlers book are you there vodka its me chelsea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Only in Katy texas can you go to a liquor store where they also rent uhauls to find behind the counter a german shephard baring teeth and barking at customers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Just had the best taco soup in the world. Lola made it and it was the best!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. We are gonna play slap jack b/c I am to tired to think of how to play spades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PEACE OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BEEYOTCHES!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ps. my aunt is charging her phone in the bathroom, and she is talking to someone she so thinks we cant hear maybe but she so just farted and didnt skip a beat in her convo on the phone&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6926054256860316455?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6926054256860316455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6926054256860316455' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6926054256860316455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6926054256860316455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/german-shephards-taco-soup-feeding.html' title='German Shephards,  Taco Soup, Feeding Tubes, Sleep Deprivation &amp; Sexting'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4565156024923210972</id><published>2010-04-15T13:46:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T14:00:53.876-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging while my sister is laying next to me in a hosptial room in Katy, TX on a rainy Thursday afternoon.</title><content type='html'>What really happens when we die? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I sit here in my Nana's hospital room listening to her plan her funeral (what that really means is I am listening to her ramble about canceling a meal &amp; who is going to open the cemetary gates) I am pondering this morbid topic, again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there a heaven?  And, how do we get in line for it?  J &amp; I had this conversation on the way to the airport yesterday.  He told me he was afraid of dying because he wasn't really sure he believed in heaven.  Is heaven just a place someone dreamed up so we don't have to be afraid to die?  I don't know about you, but the thought of rotting in the ground is not appealing to me by any means.  But, I'm a realist.  I don't necessarily think we will bounce from cloud to cloud with the angels, either.  It's one of those things I try not to think about because the outcome of my thoughts leaves me a bit sad, but as I watch the life leave my Nana I can't help but wonder about it all over again.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can admit it.  I am also afraid fo dying.  I'm nowhere near ready to leave this Earth, but I know from experience that I could go at any given second on any given day.  And, that sucks.  I really hope there is a nice place we all go when we depart because I confess: &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;the thought of that brings me comfort, too&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I just conform?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, this blog sucks &amp; I am tired of thinking about death.  I will sit here &amp; watch my sister sleep.  She has been up for two nights with Nana &amp; she has earned herself a nice nap.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4565156024923210972?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4565156024923210972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4565156024923210972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4565156024923210972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4565156024923210972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/blogging-while-my-sister-is-laying-next.html' title='Blogging while my sister is laying next to me in a hosptial room in Katy, TX on a rainy Thursday afternoon.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7611253932061647008</id><published>2010-04-14T15:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T15:37:05.261-05:00</updated><title type='text'>This blog brought to you by vodka at 30,000 feet.</title><content type='html'>I am flying to Houston as I type &amp; I'm online.  How crazy is that? I did not know airlines had wi fi, but I am very excited that it only cost me 10 bucks.  The vodka I am drinking cost me 6 bucks.  The flight attendant gave me a buy one mini bottle of Finlandia get one free.  So, happy Lola is getting buzzed before visiting her dying Nana.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm fucked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, seriously, I am at peace with this.  Nana told my sister this morning that our mother told her she cannot die until I get there. After speaking to my long lost friend, MJ, I am convinced Nana is straddling two worlds.  The real world &amp; the after life.  It is so crazy, but I don't think it's dementia.  I will write more when I actually get there &amp; lay eyes on her.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, what day of mine wouldn't be ruined without a little ex-wife drama.  The fucking cunt is refusing to invite the twins to Lavagirl's birthday party.  Madison invited the twins &amp; now we get to tell all three girls that Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2 cannot attend because ex-wife is a whoreface bitchfucker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is too short to be angry, so my vodka is cleansing my anger away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love flying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7611253932061647008?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7611253932061647008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7611253932061647008' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7611253932061647008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7611253932061647008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-blog-brought-to-you-by-vodka-at.html' title='This blog brought to you by vodka at 30,000 feet.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-9141020212534520750</id><published>2010-04-13T12:29:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T12:59:45.922-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving on a jet plane, again.</title><content type='html'>Texas calls &amp; I answer. I'm packing my bag, again, and heading down to the great state that I call home. Boy, this traveling is getting expensive!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing you have to understand is that my family is very close. We have been through a lot through the years. I had a cousin die at 16 in a car accident. Allison &amp; I were very close. I was only 15 when she passed away &amp; I remember my mother waking me up very early one morning to tell me Allie had been killed. It was a nightmare for me at 15. But, with the strength of our family, we all made it through that tragedy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five years later my mother passed away. She had gone through a liver transplant that was successful! Right before she was scheduled to leave the hospital they performed a routine needle biopsy &amp; punctured the main artery in her liver causing her to hemorrhage. She died on the operating room table as they tried to stop the bleeding &amp; there were able to revive her, but she was ultimately brain dead. We left her on the machines for 13 long days praying to God for a miracle. He didn't grant us one. I was 22 years old when I had to sign the paper to take her off of life support. My sister was 19. We were "orphans". But, we made it through that horrible experience with the help of my Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles &amp; cousins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three years ago we lost the most wonderful man to a stroke. Papa had been a cancer survivor &amp; was battling Alzheimer's at the time when he had a stroke. He fell out of bed one night &amp; the next few days were brutal. At this time I lived up here in Virginia so I could not be with them. I remember asking when I should come &amp; I didn't end up going until after he passed away. I still kick myself for not going with my gut &amp; getting on that plane right when I got the call that he was in the hospital. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Grandparents had been married for 53 years &amp; Papa's death took a huge toll on Nana. But, she survived with the help of her 3 living children &amp; grandchildren.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last September, I was sitting in the elementary school cafeteria when I got the call that my Aunt Karen has died in her sleep the night before. I was heartbroken. She was an amazing person &amp; I admired her greatly. My mother used to tell me that I was a lot like my Aunt Karen &amp; I took great pride in knowing that that meant my Mom thought I was just as amazing as she had been. I left immediately for home to be with my seemingly shrinking family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, my Nana is fighting for her life. Or, not fighting. I know she's ready to move on to the next chapter, but selfishly, I am not ready to lose her. It's tough living 1300 miles away from your family because I know they need me. The ones that can take turns sitting with her at the hospital, but the ones that can are very few. We all have our own lives. We have families, jobs, commitments, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So. I'm rambling. The point is, once again I am faced with do I hop on the plane &amp; go down there or do I wait? Is Nana going to gain some strength &amp; her memory back to have a "better" visit? Everyone in my family tells me something different. Don't come now because she may be better next week. Come now because next time you come she may not know who you are. It's confusing. And, I know the choice is mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family will survive the five days I am gone. Yes, it'll be hard on them, but I know when I am needed. And, that time is now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-9141020212534520750?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/9141020212534520750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=9141020212534520750' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/9141020212534520750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/9141020212534520750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/should-i-stay-or-should-i-go.html' title='Leaving on a jet plane, again.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-449865562643303679</id><published>2010-04-12T12:04:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T12:10:41.564-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Talk about a bad day.</title><content type='html'>Not today.  Today is a good day.  Today is a great day!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Thursday, however, was not a great day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2 for their 6 year old check up &amp; the doctor told me that my children are obese.  I just blogged about this topic last month.  Sigh.  Do I think they are obese?  Fuck no.  They are tall &amp; they are big, but obese?  So, I have to monitor what they eat &amp; tell them no when they ask for things I am not supposed to give them.  Sigh.  They are not supposed to gain any significant weight for 2 years.  What the fuck.  Mother is not happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lavagirl got in trouble for scratching a kid at school.  She has never put her hands on anyone at school, although she does use physical force with the twins.  She has hit, pushed &amp; kicked both of them.  It infuriates me, but that's another blog for another day.  The bottom line is that she cannot express her emotions with her words so she uses her hands.  Not good.  Not good at all.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Boy forged his mother's signature on his progress report.  Sigh.  He is 12 &amp; I know this is just the beginning of him experimenting with trouble, but I hope this is the last of it.  He is grounded.  Grounded is not a word in his vocabulary.  All weekend long he wanted to do this &amp; that &amp; the other.  J finally broke down &amp; let his girlfriend come over for dinner last night.  I was not happy.  But, who am I?  Just the make believe mom.... hahaha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How ironic it was that we had issues with all four children in one day?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What did J &amp; I do about it?  We went out for margaritas.  Snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-449865562643303679?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/449865562643303679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=449865562643303679' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/449865562643303679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/449865562643303679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/talk-about-bad-day.html' title='Talk about a bad day.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8058539215652476851</id><published>2010-04-07T13:32:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T14:15:19.584-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing with the Queen of Tarts</title><content type='html'>Queen of Tarts - "What did you do to your hair?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lola - "I sweated" (I HAD just left the gym!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tucked my tail between my legs &amp; fled Target as fast I could.  I forgot my juice pouches.  Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, there is always next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0o7JIE46OGM&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0o7JIE46OGM&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Glee is back on next Tuesday, btw!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8058539215652476851?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8058539215652476851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8058539215652476851' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8058539215652476851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8058539215652476851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/playing-with-queen-of-tarts.html' title='Playing with the Queen of Tarts'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8123602198900763003</id><published>2010-04-07T07:23:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T07:30:08.419-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Signs, signs, everywhere are signs...</title><content type='html'>Four months until the wedding &amp; I have no caterer, no officiant, no decorations, no flowers, no cake &amp; no DJ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have nothing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have tried to join those wedding websites.  The Knot, The Wedding Channel, you know?  But, I just can't get motivated.  J hasn't even picked groomsmen.  I think he's even less prepared than I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this a sign?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8123602198900763003?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8123602198900763003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8123602198900763003' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8123602198900763003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8123602198900763003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/signs-signs-everywhere-are-signs.html' title='Signs, signs, everywhere are signs...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-102990686059694902</id><published>2010-04-04T22:46:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-04T22:58:38.185-05:00</updated><title type='text'>She's baaaaaaaaaaaack.</title><content type='html'>I'll update you in list format.  My favorite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I love Texas.  I love cowboy boots, bluebonnets, Sonic happy hour, my family, Mo's Place, horse back riding, baby ducks &amp; delicious Mexican food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I've been up since 4am.  It is almost midnight.  I should sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  Today is Easter &amp; I have eaten a TON of chocolate candy.  Fat day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I am looking forward to hitting the gym tomorrow for the first time in 2 weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  My Nana is not doing well.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  I had sex today!  And, it was amazing.  I think J may have missed me while I was gone.  The Easter bunny bought new lingerie!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  I just ate more chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  My dad did show up to lunch &amp; brought my younger brothers.  I wish they were really a part of my life, but I know they never will be.  It is incredibly sad.  My dad, that is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  I have cable television for the first time in over a year.  What should I watch first?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  My divorce is finally final. (Ladyhawk, we should go celebrate by having lunch this week!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm exhausted - physically &amp; mentally.  I do have faith that this week I will resume my "normal" life &amp; not lay around in bed all week.  My goal is to work out four times this week.  I also want to have sex four times this week.  Fuck it, I may do everything times four this week just so I have something fun to blog about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-102990686059694902?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/102990686059694902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=102990686059694902' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/102990686059694902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/102990686059694902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/04/shes-baaaaaaaaaaaack.html' title='She&apos;s baaaaaaaaaaaack.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8710292681546752302</id><published>2010-03-25T10:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-25T10:21:58.886-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Grandmother has cancer.</title><content type='html'>So, yeah.  It's been a rough week.  I've managed to sleep past 10 every.day.this.week.  And, I have four kids.  That is nearly impossible to do unless you have an enabler. (thank you, J)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am depressed.  (either that or pregnant, and if you read my blog you know I'm not having sex so we can cross that off the list of things wrong with me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leave on Tuesday for Texas with Thing 1 &amp; 2.  Naturally, J's ex wouldn't let me take his kids &amp; J actually isn't coming because of work.  I guess we'll see if he can survive 6 days without me!  I'm sure he can &amp; then he'll figure out he doesn't really need me afterall &amp; we will can the entire wedding thing even though I purchased my dress yesterday.  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really not doing well.  I try not to let anyone know, but then I write a blog about it &amp; well, now 33 strangers who follow my blog know that I'm a basket case.  Friends, please pass it along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I may be scarce for a while when I am gone.  Or, I may be back to blog about the cousin chronicles.  I mean, how can I go to Texas without going honky tonkin' with my cousins?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8710292681546752302?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8710292681546752302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8710292681546752302' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8710292681546752302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8710292681546752302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-grandmother-has-cancer.html' title='My Grandmother has cancer.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8821073003649853455</id><published>2010-03-23T18:42:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T18:57:51.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes you just have to drown your sorrows in a bowl of ice cream.</title><content type='html'>And, as OCD as I am about my weight, things must be pretty damn bad for me to pop the top off of some Ben &amp; Jerry's.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you guys are sick of reading about J's ex-wife.  I'm sick of writing about it.  I'm embarrassed to admit I cannot get over the facebook incident.  Not only, was I not over it before, but then she actually made the Boy log in to his facebook &amp; delete me as his parent.  Against his wishes...  Rub the salt in my wounds, bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know my concerns should be with him &amp; how unfair it was to him to make him to something he didn't want to do.  (did I use him, enough in that sentence?)  And, I am concerned.  But, I also feel that she just took a big dump on me.  She &amp; Grandwhore have made a complete mockery of me.  &lt;strong&gt;Me.&lt;/strong&gt;  The woman who helps raise her children when she's off galavanting around not raising them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight was the Science Fair at the school.  Ex called J to remind him to bring the Boy as her father was going to be there to see his project.  Well, why couldn't she bring him?  It's her dad.  J said she had to work.  Fine.  I almost went, but by the saving grace of a box of Stouffer's mac &amp; cheese that takes an hour to bake, I was saved.  But, J did take the kids.  All of them.  Including mine.  And guess what?  She was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, not only was I uncomfortable going when I thought it was just her dad going to be there, but I freaked when I found out she was there.  And, my kids were there.  Yes, I know I sound crazy, but I don't want them near her.  I can't be near her.  She is the one who should be ashamed of her behavior and yet, I feel like the walking idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to top it all off... J is about as unsupportive as a bra without underwire.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This all just sucks so bad that I am eating a bowl of ice cream &amp; saying "FUCK YOU" to the world.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For once, I am defeated.  And, I have the calories to prove it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8821073003649853455?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8821073003649853455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8821073003649853455' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8821073003649853455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8821073003649853455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/sometimes-you-just-have-to-drown-your.html' title='Sometimes you just have to drown your sorrows in a bowl of ice cream.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5057296670884516958</id><published>2010-03-22T10:56:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T11:11:15.281-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life</title><content type='html'>Hilarious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simply hilarious.  It's like Tucker Max for chics!  (if you don't know who Tucker Max is google him NOW)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My book club (which consists of me &amp; my hot friends) picked this book for our first ever meeting.  While my friends were off partying it up in VA Beach (I mean, running a half marathon) I actually read the assignment.  It's an easy, fun read &amp; I even found myself reading parts to J - who in turn was laughing hysterically.  It's a book about her collection of one night stands.  Each chapter is a different one night stand &amp; you honestly won't believe half the shit she gets herself into... she is my IDOL!  I want to be HER! LOL!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How does one girl get a date with her Ecstasy toting Gyno &amp; end up watching him have sex with another man?  It's almost hard to believe some of the stuff she's done, but then I think about the stuff I've done &amp; I  believe that some crazy shit can happen to good people.  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My blog is my place to creatively write.  Some days are better than others.  My goal is to take the funniest blogs &amp; publish them into a novel.  I have a few more years worth of writing until I can start on that project.  I guess I better get myself into some trouble SOON so I have something to write about!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I got nothing.  I have gas pains, a zit the size of Texas, my Grandmother finds out her test results (cancer or not) &amp; my hardwood floors look a mess!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well.  Maybe tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5057296670884516958?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5057296670884516958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5057296670884516958' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5057296670884516958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5057296670884516958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/chelsea-handlers-my-horizontal-life.html' title='Chelsea Handler&apos;s My Horizontal Life'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4723586554996763187</id><published>2010-03-19T15:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T15:55:00.245-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So, I'm going to do it...</title><content type='html'>I'm going to let my children meet my father.  This is a huge deal.  My father has never played a role in my life.  I have blogged about this before.  As usual, I have writer's block so I'm revisiting old topics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to Houston in two weeks for the twins' Spring Break.  My Grandmother isn't doing well &amp; she's been at my Uncle's house since she left the hospital.  Her health inspired me to take an impromptu trip home.  And, since we're going to be there I emailed my father.  It's about time he met his six year old grand daughters.  When he didn't respond to my email I text messaged him &amp; he assured me that he would not travel that week so that he could visit with us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll see how it goes.  He isn't known for his follow through.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4723586554996763187?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4723586554996763187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4723586554996763187' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4723586554996763187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4723586554996763187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/so-im-going-to-do-it.html' title='So, I&apos;m going to do it...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5746032598564515443</id><published>2010-03-18T12:20:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T12:45:13.660-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An ode to my besties...</title><content type='html'>I haven't blogged about them in a while. Hottie #1 &amp; Hottie #2 are my besties. We are a threesome force to be reckoned with! Seriously. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every girl needs a bestfriend (or two). These are the girls you can count on for &lt;strong&gt;ANYTHING&lt;/strong&gt;. These are the girls who stand by your side through thick &amp; thin. These are the girls who will tell you that the wedding dress hangs on you like a sack &amp; does nothing for your amazing figure you've been working hard on for the past year. These are the girls you can make out with when you are drunk &amp; it not be weird the next day. (they are both great kissers! LOL) These are the girls who don't care if you fart in front of them even when it smells. These are the girls you wake up to meet at 6am for a jog ON A WEEKEND. These are the same girls who jog slowly because they know your pace is far slower. These are the girls you trust with everything &amp; expect nothing in return. These are the girls who will stand by your side when you get married this summer. These are the girls you can't live without &amp; when you haven't seen each other in 2 weeks it really sucks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though we are all so different, we complement each other. Hottie #1 is 39, been married a few times, two children, one teenage boy &amp; preschool daughter. She is going through a divorce &amp; just moved in with her boyfriend, Weiner. (who is J's best friend) She is hot! I mean, traffic stopping gorgeous. If you go anywhere with her you see men wiping their drool in to their napkins. Hell, women drool over her, too. She gets hit on more than anyone I've ever met! She is blond, thin, fake boobs &amp; great ass. And even though she is barbie beautiful she is not stuck up. She has the most bubbly personality &amp; she may be too sweet sometimes. ha! Hottie #2 is only 26, beautiful, no kids, no plans on having any, great career, well educated &amp; can't keep a boyfriend for longer than a month. She is very, very picky &amp; sometimes uses men for sex. Snort. She has long, dark hair, an amazing curvaceous body &amp; loves her dog like most people love their children. She is the wild child in the group &amp; going out with her is guaranteed to the night of your life!&lt;br /&gt;I am now done being mushy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are having a much needed Girl's Night In at Hottie #2's house this evening. No kids, no men, no drama... just us, wholly guacamole &amp; few bottles of wine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lJYzABHRsNQ&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lJYzABHRsNQ&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5746032598564515443?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5746032598564515443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5746032598564515443' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5746032598564515443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5746032598564515443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/ode-to-my-besties.html' title='An ode to my besties...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2881226993159606902</id><published>2010-03-17T13:09:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T13:34:24.486-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Childhood obesity</title><content type='html'>And, I'm not just talking about the kids you see on Maury who are 2 &amp; weigh 100lbs because sometimes I think those shows are fake.  There is no way in hell a mother actually feeds her 2 year old a gallon of milk, 20 pancakes &amp; a pound of bacon for breakfast.  Is there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know a child who is 9, 5'1 &amp; weighs 160lbs.  That is more than I weigh.  He has low self esteem, his parents don't get along, his father picks on him &amp; calls him names &amp; he is now failing 4th grade.  Basically, his life sucks.  And, I'm not sure being obese is his biggest problem...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were out to dinner a few weeks ago with him &amp; his family.  He wanted to order off the adult menu &amp; I tried to convince him to order off the child's menu, but he shook his head, crossed his arms &amp; said, "NO!".  His parents let him order off the adult menu &amp; his plate was piled so high with Mexican yummyness.  He ate the entire meal &amp; left not even a morsel.  He helped J finish his meal! By the time he was done, his stomach was obviously full &amp; bloated, but he still managed to eat dessert. (and finish my dessert, too) Why his parents allow this, I don't know.  I've tried to tread lightly on the subject, but it's family.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always watched what my children eat &amp; monitor closely their exercise.  They are not overweight, but they are big girls.  And, obesity runs in both my side &amp; their father's side that I know I will always have to monitor this...  That's my job...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, why is it this poor, overweight child isn't better taken care of?  Sometimes you just have to stop buying the candy, chips &amp; donuts.  It is hard to say no to your child, but it's going to be alot harder to deal with all of the issues that come with being morbidly obese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't what I can do to help without seeming like a jerk.  Becuase, I know I'm a dick sometimes, but I try to wear a halo around family.  Paranoid look here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2881226993159606902?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2881226993159606902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2881226993159606902' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2881226993159606902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2881226993159606902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/childhood-obesity.html' title='Childhood obesity'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8312116453107679649</id><published>2010-03-16T07:18:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T07:29:59.798-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You know what happens when you assume, right?</title><content type='html'>I find it terribly frustrating that my former internet "friends" couldn't just email me to ask me for an explanation of yesterday's blog.  Instead, some people flew off the handle at others &amp; created a lot of drama that was absolutely hurtful to some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, with that being said, I am posting my response written on this blog to a member of a website that thought my blog was about them.  Since you weren't capable of asking ME about this matter instead of assuming it was &amp; decided to post about it on my blog, I will post right back to you so everyone can see.  I have nothing to hide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for bringing this drama to my blog.  I have three more followers today then I had yeterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Scarlet,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My blog is semi-fictitious (please don't tell my readers) &amp; this entry is not based on one single internet site or gathering. I would probably not go around telling people this blog was about your site unless you want to ensue unnecessary drama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been on my fair share of message boards &amp; written similar vents on this exact same topic on this very blog! Feel free to search them out &amp; again, those are not about any one site in particular. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sorry for any confusion,&lt;br /&gt;Lola&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8312116453107679649?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8312116453107679649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8312116453107679649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8312116453107679649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8312116453107679649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/you-know-what-happens-when-you-assume.html' title='You know what happens when you assume, right?'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1596781632197083071</id><published>2010-03-15T07:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T07:51:58.617-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Internet people can be dicks.</title><content type='html'>If you are reading my blog, chances are you are an "internet people". And, according to my title, you can be a dick. haha. I don't really mean &lt;strong&gt;YOU&lt;/strong&gt;. I promise I wouldn't offend all 26 of my readers in such a fashion!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I had a guest over a few weeks ago that I met from the internet. We met for the first time a few years ago &amp; have seen each other occasionally since. We aren't BFFs, but we get along really well. We respect each other mutually &amp; she's been there for me through some tough internet times. She's a pretty groovy chick even though we are completely opposite in almost every, single way imaginable. /end mush&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She happens to belong to a internet group where they are totally clique-ish. Think Mean Girls. Snort. If you aren't on the inside, you are on the outside. And, well, it sucks for the Janice Ians of the world no matter what they do they will never get their cool pass for the secret forums or inside jokes. Some could say, "It's just the internet, get over it!", however, it is usually more personal than you think. Sometimes internet people throw special gatherings &amp; invite their cliques &amp; special friends aka Army of Skanks. They might claim it is an open invite for all of their internet homies until an outsider or two shows up. The Army of Skanks waste no time swinging their balls around seeing who can be the biggest dick. I guess they figure if they keep being crapweasles that the outsiders will eventually stop attending these "open to all, family friendly, peace, love &amp; crabs" events. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It annoys me. It annoys me to the point that I want brand these so-called "dicks" with a scarlet H, for hypocrite.  So I say, take your Army of Skanks &amp; fuck off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1596781632197083071?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1596781632197083071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1596781632197083071' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1596781632197083071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1596781632197083071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/internet-people-can-be-dicks.html' title='Internet people can be dicks.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8291294641339930765</id><published>2010-03-14T19:09:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-14T19:13:04.827-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday, it's a wrap!</title><content type='html'>I'm over this day that I can't think of anything witty or fun to write about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm not going to blog.  I'm going to get my PJs on &amp; get in my bed.  I'm angry, annoyed, lonely &amp; the only person I like right now is my dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8291294641339930765?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8291294641339930765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8291294641339930765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8291294641339930765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8291294641339930765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/sunday-its-wrap.html' title='Sunday, it&apos;s a wrap!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5979742019228008730</id><published>2010-03-10T07:13:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T08:13:20.829-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I called for back up &amp; all I got was this stupid Grandwhore.</title><content type='html'>Two weeks ago, the Boy &amp; I were sitting down at my laptop hanging out like we normally do.  We were on my facebook looking at something when he asked me why I didn't list him &amp; Lavagirl as my "children" on my facebook page.  I had only listed Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I listed them.  And, I tagged the link to his page because he has his own facebook account.  No big deal.  I am his soon to be stepmom &amp; he has been calling me his stepmom for over a year.  I could spend all day justifying this, but we have our own special bond &amp; I'm not even sure if "stepmom" does it any justice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life goes on as normal &amp; a few weeks go by.  Then I get an email from the EX.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have received some messages from my family members about you listed as the Boy’s parent on his facebook and stating that he is your son. Could you please remove that? Thank you for your understanding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was stunned.  Really?  I am fuming now because I didn't state he was my "son", but, yes, it does say on his page that I am his parent.  I guess she should friend her son on facebook instead of telling him she doesn't want to be his friend &amp; perhaps he would tag her, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Boy asked me to do it last week. There was no option for step child. I don't see the big deal as he wanted to be listed as one of my children and he is as far as I am concerned, step or whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some things you are just going to have to get over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you understand that this is one of them. It is facebook, not real life. We all know you are his mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lola &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*******************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little bitchy?  Yes.  But, I'm tired of taking it in the ass by her.  If you've read my blog for any amount of time you can probably find some of her thrusting behaviors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*******************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You aren’t married so technically you aren’t even his step-mother yet but I can see you won’t respect my request so I will handle it with the Boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't have to be legally married to be an extra parent to someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It amazes me how you are so juvenile when there really is no reason to act this way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know where I stand in your children's lives and changing a facebook status will not change that, legally married or what not. And, there doesn't have to be this tension surrounding it, but you continue to create it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regards,&lt;br /&gt;Lola&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ps - he has to remove it from his page for the tag to remove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously.  Do I need a license to be a practicing step mom?  I have done more for those children in two years then she's probably done in 12.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the Boy comes home &amp; his mom calls him.  Then his dad calls him.  I wasn't present for either conversation, but we were in the kitchen when he said, "I don't know what to do about this facebook situation."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told him that his mother was upset, but that I wasn't changing my facebook. If he needs to change his, I would help him.  He told me his dad told him he didn't have to change it.  And then he said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"I want to leave it the way it is."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I get this email from the EX'S MOTHER, WHO I HAVE NEVER MET.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To whom it may concern:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As parents (birth, adopted, step, real, make-believe, …etc)  we have an obligation to teach our children morals and values.  One of these is to respect other people – their opinions and feelings.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As adults, we also sometimes need to hold back and be a better person by not attacking others if/when we don’t agree with what they say or do.   This is what differentiates adults from children, who don’t know better.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, as ‘parents’, we sometimes have to do things that may not be what our children want or ask us to do.   I am one of the people who were taken back by seeing who was listed as the Boy’s mother.  If this was a request by the Boy, then it may have to be one of those situations where the adult makes the decision not to comply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stupid daughter’s request was simply “Could you please remove?”.   Based on reactions of her family members, she has feelings and was simply asking for you to respect them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am hurt by the response to her to “Get over it” ; for being “so Juvenile”; and for creating tension surrounding it.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J, as a parent, I would hope that you would only let into your children’s life, someone who is going to love and care for your children as they would their own. The person should respect the fact that their mother IS AND WILL BE their mother always and forever,  AND she deserves more respect than is being given.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for your consideration and respect of my feelings,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandwhore's name here&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Grandwhore,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who the fuck cares about your feelings? &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe I am qualified enough to be listed as the Boy's parent on facebook.  Since I've known him, I am the one who has helped him with his homework at night.  I am the one he asks to play Rock Band.  I am the one he confides in when his girlfriend breaks up with him.  I am the one who helps him plot on how to win her back.  I am the one he asks to accompany him on his 6th grade field trip.  I am the one who climbs 3 stories &amp; walks across a tight rope in a harness because his friends tell him he has a cool "stepmom" while on this said field trip. (Mind you, I am afraid of heights)  I am the one he climbs next to in bed &amp; tickles.  I am the one who has had him sitting on my lap at the tender age of 12.  I am the one he hugs when he comes home every day &amp; I even get extra hugs when I haven't seen him a few days.  I am the one he invites to eat lunch with his 6th grade friends.  I am the one who eats lunch with him at school when he invites me.  I am the one who stays up with him until midnight to finish a science fair project TWICE when his own mother refuses to help. I am the one who taught him how to fold laundry &amp; unload a dishwasher.  I am the one who has been mothering him since I met him because he wanted to be mothered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And more importantly, I am the one he asked to list him as my child on facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope to teach my children, biological &amp; make-believe, that respect is something that is earned, and that we just don't respect people because of one of their title's in life.  I have done anything &amp; everything for your daughter when it comes to helping her with the children.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh &amp; now I see where your daughter gets her juvenile behavior.  It became very clear right after I opened this email from YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That last email I only wrote for you guys.  Snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5979742019228008730?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5979742019228008730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5979742019228008730' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5979742019228008730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5979742019228008730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-realize-that-i-can-be-bitchy-but-when.html' title='I called for back up &amp; all I got was this stupid Grandwhore.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1642462602210186113</id><published>2010-03-08T06:55:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T08:04:14.682-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's talk about sex, baby.</title><content type='html'>Or lack of sex, baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J &amp; I have been fighting about this for months now.  He keeps telling me sex doesn't equal love.  Duh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sex = sex.  And, that's a perfectly good equation, to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this isn't the first time I've blogged about this.  And, it probably won't be the last, unfortunately.  J's sexual issues stem from a few things.  On the top of his list of excuses why we can't make love are -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) "I'm stressed out."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Normally, he uses this one as a last resort &amp; quite often it'll be the first time I've heard about him being stressed out &amp; it is almost always work related.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) "I'm tired."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well aren't we all?  We both work full time (albeit, I work more inside the home than out) &amp; we are raising four children.  Of course we are BOTH tired.  But, that is still not a great excuse.  Sex can take as little as 10 minutes out of your day if necessary.  Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) "The more you complain about our lack of sex, the more I don't want to have sex."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one is my favorite.  It makes no sense.  Of course I am going to complain.  And, if he complained every day about how I didn't do the dishes, don't you think I'd get tired of hearing it &amp; do the damn dishes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, break out the wine &amp; cheese &amp; violins... it's a pity party of one.  I'm tired of sex taking a back burner.  This is what is wrong with so many relationships these days.  If you constantly put each other's needs on the back burner then you may as well turn the burner off &amp; let the fire burn out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sex doesn't equate love to me &amp; I know J will tell me he shows me other ways that he loves me.  And, he does.  But, that's not enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl who just wants her man to want her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1642462602210186113?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1642462602210186113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1642462602210186113' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1642462602210186113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1642462602210186113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/lets-talk-about-sex-baby.html' title='Let&apos;s talk about sex, baby.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8847087013753063417</id><published>2010-03-07T12:08:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T12:12:05.775-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I gained 4lbs in a week.</title><content type='html'>I don't know how.  I mean, I don't always watch everything I eat, but I'm pretty good about food choices.  I work out 4-5x a week.  I am training for a half marathon.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stepped on the scale &amp; it put me 4lbs heavier than last week.  I'm in panic attack mode, seriously.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this week my goal is to lose those 4lbs.  If I can gain them in a week, I can lose them in a week, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pray for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This could get ugly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8847087013753063417?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8847087013753063417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8847087013753063417' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8847087013753063417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8847087013753063417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-gained-4lbs-in-week.html' title='I gained 4lbs in a week.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6550287709020063773</id><published>2010-03-06T13:03:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T13:08:32.779-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Have you seen Julie &amp; Julia?</title><content type='html'>You know, that movie where that chick starts a blog about Julia Childs?  She cooks every recipe out of her infamous cookbook &amp; blogs about each creation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember the part where she got her first comment that wasn't from her mother or husband?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like her right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have readers who aren't related to me or known me personally for years.  It's fantastic.  And, it isn't that I don't heart my friends &amp; family, because you know I do, it's just kinda cool to know my word vomit is being read by others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, thank you new readers!  You have made my Saturday afternoon!  (which was otherwise uneventful with a house to clean, a shower to take &amp; a sleeping dog &amp; fiance by my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may even get back in to blogging more, because my life is still full of crazy drama.  I just feel bad when J has to read my feelings on my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Double snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6550287709020063773?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6550287709020063773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6550287709020063773' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6550287709020063773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6550287709020063773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/have-you-seen-julie-julia.html' title='Have you seen Julie &amp; Julia?'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1999139788898915719</id><published>2010-03-01T10:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T10:22:25.754-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This message brought to you by restraints.</title><content type='html'>My black hole got deeper today.  Can anyone help me from falling in?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh &amp; please send me a maid so I can enjoy something other than domestic bliss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1999139788898915719?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1999139788898915719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1999139788898915719' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1999139788898915719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1999139788898915719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-message-brought-to-you-by.html' title='This message brought to you by restraints.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4017094610353227136</id><published>2010-02-26T16:28:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-26T17:02:09.993-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I will blog when I am good &amp; ready to blog, dammit.</title><content type='html'>I'm ready.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you want to hear about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How we've had two blizzards this winter in the DC Metro?  It's ridiculous.  Ricockulous even.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How Thing 2 is having a fit RIGHT NOW AT THE AGE OF SIX on the stairs because I put her in time out?  "Mommy, you don't like me, but I like you."  "Mommy, don't tell John!"  Wugh.  Just take your time out &amp; shut it.  I'm such a mean mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How it's the end of February &amp; I haven't really made one concrete wedding plan?  Am I afraid of comittment or something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I owe the IRS thousands of dollars?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I am writing a novel, but have yet to write anything down?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I was suckered back into Real Estate on a part time basis?  And by part time, I mean, when I have the time to work which is like NEVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I can't stand J's ex-wife &amp; her bullshit?  It's like playing ping pong.  One minute the ball is in your little court &amp; the next minute it's not.  Only, I'm playing ping pong with her &amp; when the ball is in my court her children, who have lacked a full time mother for a while, are happy in our household &amp; we are doing a wonderful job in raising them.  And then I knock it back to her &amp; she goes bat shit crazy because I am stepping all over her toes trying to be their mother.  Needless to say, we play our ping pong in silence because we don't speak to each other unless absolutely necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I finally filed for divorce &amp; it will be final in a few weeks?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I reconnected with someone from my recent past that I never thought I'd speak to again &amp; how nice it feels to have escaped Cupid's chokehold?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I'm hosting a birthday party &amp; having 20 children in my house tomorrow for 2 1/2 hours &amp; I'm not freaking out like always?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4017094610353227136?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4017094610353227136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4017094610353227136' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4017094610353227136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4017094610353227136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-will-blog-when-i-am-good-ready-to.html' title='I will blog when I am good &amp; ready to blog, dammit.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3258094622351490616</id><published>2010-02-24T11:45:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T11:48:25.148-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a few things...</title><content type='html'>Today is Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2's 6th birthday.  At this time six years ago I had just given birth to my miracle babies.  And, that makes me feel good.  I always get emotional on their birthday because I fought so hard to have them &amp; keep them safe.  Looking at them now, you'd never know they were 8 weeks early.  Watching them grow is my greatest pleasure &amp; they are my greatest accomplish.  So.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random thought &amp; I hate to pair this with my mushiness, but I'm going to do just that.  Lately when I'm at the gym (which is always... wedding in six months) I happen to run in to naked ladies with pubic hair 20 feet long.  If you're gonna show it off, trim your bush.  Please.  It's awkward to me... not that they asked me.  How's that for a mental picture?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, my song for the month, because it truly says it best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GPCYjj-tGcY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GPCYjj-tGcY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3258094622351490616?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3258094622351490616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3258094622351490616' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3258094622351490616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3258094622351490616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/02/just-few-things.html' title='Just a few things...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8146834451977352408</id><published>2010-01-26T12:16:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T12:19:27.182-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's the little things...</title><content type='html'>I had a moment today.  A good one.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you know me right now, you know that I spent many hours volunteering at the elementary school.  It's my job.  And, I love it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I went in for usual Tuesday activities which include art class with Thing 1, lunch with all 3 girls &amp; then art class with Thing 2.  I must have received about 25 hugs from kiddos in all three classes &amp; a half a dozen "thank yous" from the kids.  And I realized that my time there not only benefits my own children, but what I am doing actually benefits their peers.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Lola was happy...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8146834451977352408?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8146834451977352408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8146834451977352408' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8146834451977352408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8146834451977352408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-little-things.html' title='It&apos;s the little things...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8606983888236668195</id><published>2010-01-20T12:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T12:19:24.411-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday thoughts about lack of water...</title><content type='html'>I'm trying not to completely abandon my blog that for a while was hilariously fun &amp; showed just how dramatic &amp; interesting my life USED to be.  Now, the most drama I get is the fact that the water company shut off our water due to a leaky toilet causing a $700 water bill that we really don't owe.  All J had to do was fix the toilet &amp; send in the receipt to the water company showing it was fixed &amp; they would adjust the bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He never did it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I have no water.  And I just left the fucking gym.  I'm a gross, sweaty mess with no place to shower.  I am, rightfully so, very, very upset with him right now.  I am sure once the water is turned back on &amp; I'm clean I will forgive him.  &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Maybe&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did finally set a wedding date of August 7, 2010.  That will put us engaged for nearly 2 years &amp; in that time I should have already learned what I'm getting myself in to.  Insert paranoid look here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how when you sweat &amp; then don't shower/change you start getting cold?  Well, I'm way passed that to the point of freezing.  Hurry water people, hurry! Turn us back on!  I want to resume my day as bridezilla &amp; not as the freezing, smelly girl who needs a shower.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8606983888236668195?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8606983888236668195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8606983888236668195' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8606983888236668195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8606983888236668195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2010/01/wednesday-thoughts-about-lack-of-water.html' title='Wednesday thoughts about lack of water...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3041798436290953666</id><published>2009-12-27T18:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T11:33:34.742-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Pretty good year...</title><content type='html'>Happy 2nd day after Christmas.  Yes, I'm done with this holiday &amp; ready to move on to January.  But, before I do I must write my list of accomplishments this year.  That's another blog for another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This blog is about our holiday.  Not only did I get a Christmas cold &amp; a cold sore to go with it, but I got diamond earrings, new work out shoes &amp; clothes, a new (used) car, a bunch of happy children, drinky at a hockey game &amp; a trip to Texas!  And J's 1,000 dollars in cash from his rich Grandparents will be our spending money.  Woot!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sitting on this couch feeling like crap &amp; I have a house to clean, six people to pack for &amp; a plane to catch on Tuesday where I will spend 7 glorious days in a warm climate.  The only sad part is we are not taking our puppy, Sybil, &amp; she will be rooming with a friend &amp; her dog.  And, I'm okay with that because she just farted &amp; man does it smell!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So instead of doing anything productive I'm going to cheer on the Cowboys in an hour while they take on the Redskins.  Should be fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3041798436290953666?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3041798436290953666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3041798436290953666' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3041798436290953666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3041798436290953666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/12/pretty-good-year.html' title='Pretty good year...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8434810115937039189</id><published>2009-12-18T11:08:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T11:34:39.237-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why did I stop blogging?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/Syu9CHcSR6I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/Wu7AQV5oWeM/s1600-h/meaganscard2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/Syu9CHcSR6I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/Wu7AQV5oWeM/s320/meaganscard2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416630820898228130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really.  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I'm lazy.  I have been so busy doing real life things that I usually spend about an hour online a day.  That's a far cry from the 19 hours a day I used to spend surfing the web.  So, here I am.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's new in the world?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy is now 12 &amp; turning in to a teenager in front of my eyes.  Mood swings, included.  He yelled at me yesterday &amp; my feelings were really hurt.  I should just learn that there will be a lot more of that to come.  Sigh.  But, he is still the apple of my eye &amp; he still shows me I'm important to him in his own ways.  His new nickname for me is CT.  (camel toe)  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lavagirl is doing great in school &amp; she enjoys that I spent a lot of time in her classroom volunteering.  Last night she told me she was not a fan of Charnay wine!  I'm not sure where she got that from, but she makes me laugh.  She does really appreciate one on one time with me &amp; even though I don't get to do that often, we have a great time when we do.  Last night the twins were at their dad's so Lavagirl &amp; I reenacted Bolt.  I was mom, she was Penny &amp; Sybil was Boltie!  And then we sang Christmas carols at the top of our lungs while she took a shower.  Good times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2 are great.  Thing 1 got glasses &amp; she looks beautiful in them.  I am so grateful for my beautiful, smart little girls.  They are growing up way too fast &amp; their 6th birthday is just around the corner.  And, even when they drive me batshit crazy I just look at them &amp; remind myself how lucky I am. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J &amp; I still have some issues, but we're both trying.  More often then not we let the stress of every day life get in the way of our relationship.  Today he asked me if I would consider seeing a counselor with him &amp; I agree that we probably need that.  I need to stop being so angry &amp; he needs to stop taking his stress out on me.  We'll get there.  I hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, apparently, last night J went to his Grandfather's house to fix his TV &amp; his Grandfather started talking about how much he likes me.  He's going to give me his wife's Mercedes when he buys her a new one next year.  I'm not holding my breath, but damn, that'd be sweet.  Rich people are funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last but not least here is our holiday card this year.  I will get them in the mail today to my family so at least they'll get them by New Years.  Until next time...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8434810115937039189?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8434810115937039189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8434810115937039189' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8434810115937039189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8434810115937039189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/12/why-did-i-stop-blogging.html' title='Why did I stop blogging?'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/Syu9CHcSR6I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/Wu7AQV5oWeM/s72-c/meaganscard2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-860053192569265085</id><published>2009-11-25T07:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T07:46:00.917-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A day in the life...</title><content type='html'>Woke up, peed.  J wakes up &amp; takes the d.o.g. outside.  I get up &amp; enjoy the fact that it's already 7:36 &amp; the twins slept at their dad's house so I don't have to wake them or dress them.  They walk in the house 4 minutes later &amp; I give them each a donut. (bad mom, I know, but J bought them as a surprise)  They eat, potty, we re-do their hair &amp; I look up &amp; it's almost 8.  I run downstairs, step in dog poop with my bare foot (thanks Sybil) &amp; call out for help.  J runs downstairs to help me get some of it off of the bottom of my foot so that I can walk upstairs to clean the rest in the bathtub.  Just as I finish up I see it's after 8 &amp; we gotta go!  The girls &amp; I run to the bus stop &amp; the bus is pulling up to the stop.  They get on the bus &amp; I contemplate blowing off my morning at the school.  I get home &amp; make some toast in the oven which burns while I'm out back coaxing Sybil to come back inside after her great escape to the neighbor's yard.  I toss that toast out &amp; start over as I open my laptop &amp; email Mrs. Teacher &amp; tell her I'm feeling "under the weather".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sit down, eat my toast, drink my OJ &amp; enjoy my peace &amp; quiet.  Now, I think I'm going to nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Thanksgiving!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-860053192569265085?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/860053192569265085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=860053192569265085' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/860053192569265085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/860053192569265085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-in-life.html' title='A day in the life...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-9163352305376882892</id><published>2009-11-10T09:10:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T09:22:25.209-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy bee stops to blog.</title><content type='html'>Seriously.  Where does the time go?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sybil is doing well.  She's our new Aussie puppy &amp; we're so glad we've added her to our crazy family.  She runs with me every morning &amp; sleeps in my bed at night.  She has fleas &amp; worms... both of which we are trying to remedy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids are great.  Thing 2 won an award at school &amp; she will have a huge cheering section on Thursday as J, ex, me &amp; my cousin visiting from Texas will be attending her assembly.  I'm so proud of her.  Thing 1 has a horrible attitude problem lately &amp; some days I want to slap her, but I have refrained.  Lavagirl is has been a bit emotional, but she is doing great in school &amp; I'm very proud of her achievements this year so far!  The boy is turning 12 in a few weeks &amp; we're having a boy/girl party at the house.  Lord, help me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am still busy at the school these days.  Last week I went on a field trip with the Boy to Hemlock Overlook Park.  I climbed 60 feet up in the air, walked a wire &amp; then ziplined to my death.  I mean, what I thought was going to be my death... I really didn't die, obviously.  I hate heights, but dammit I was the cool mom on that trip!  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran my first 5K on Saturday.  Not only did I finish in 31:45, but I ran the entire thing &amp; it was mostly uphill.  Ouch.  GO ME! GO ME! GO ME!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been working out still.  I run with Sybil in the mornings &amp; then hit the gym, so it's now double work outs.  I have lost 5-6 lbs &amp; am at a weight I've not been since high school.  Hells yeah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And aside from just now finding time to update my iPod &amp; blog, I am going to have a busy few days with my cousin visiting, kids school &amp; getting shit done around this house.  Oh &amp; partying with my cousin.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/B56UjiLuWkk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/B56UjiLuWkk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-9163352305376882892?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/9163352305376882892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=9163352305376882892' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/9163352305376882892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/9163352305376882892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/11/busy-bee-stops-to-blog.html' title='Busy bee stops to blog.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5811851804180174244</id><published>2009-10-22T07:35:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T07:40:27.266-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Swine Flu update</title><content type='html'>Both girls have been fever free for 12 hours.  Knock on wood, but they may be beating this shit.  I hope so, because I'm tired of not being able to love on them &amp; they are tired of watching movies &amp; coloring in their room.  I just want to cuddle with them in my bed, but with this being so contagious I've had to keep my distance.  Because let's be honest, if I got sick who is going to take care of this house?  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far, I'm still healthy.  J is fine &amp; so are the Boy &amp; Lavagirl.   I hope it stays that way!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had very little sleep, though.  I'm up every 2 hours checking temps &amp; giving out meds.  The night before last I got 2 hours of sleep.  So, since the girls are still sleeping I am going to go rest. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leave you with this -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tbt_PuVAVTU&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tbt_PuVAVTU&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5811851804180174244?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5811851804180174244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5811851804180174244' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5811851804180174244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5811851804180174244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/our-swine-flu-update.html' title='Our Swine Flu update'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6318115539643331212</id><published>2009-10-19T10:14:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T10:23:54.782-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fear of the Pig</title><content type='html'>This morning as I was explaining to J that Type A could be H1N1 I found myself spouting out a wealth of useless knowledge on the subject.  And then, I started forming opinions... uh oh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I now have it figured out.  They don't test you specifically for H1N1 because they don't want to have reported cases of people who survive the swine flu.  They like to wait until someone gets sick &amp; hospitalized to test them for H1N1.  This way they can publicize it all over the media how serious the swine flu can be.  And, if they report all the people (like my 5 year old daughters) who probably do have it &amp; are going to survive it just fine they won't be putting the &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;FEAR OF THE PIG&lt;/span&gt; in to the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it pisses me off.  Yesterday I was so scared shitless that my kids were going to get so sick from the swine flu.  Yes, they are sick.  And no, we aren't taking lightly.  But, they are in their room eating chips &amp; watching a movie.  Thing 2 has been fever free since 1am.  But, I fully expect it to come back around, again.  That's the sickness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And guess what people?  I'm probably going to get it.  I have worn my mask, washed my hands, taken airborne, popped vitamins, sprayed the doorknobs with Lysol &amp; dried my hands out with hand sanitizer.  I have 4 more days to wait until I know for sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tick tock.  Tick tock.  Tick tock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6318115539643331212?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6318115539643331212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6318115539643331212' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6318115539643331212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6318115539643331212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/fear-of-pig.html' title='Fear of the Pig'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3383953532244904443</id><published>2009-10-19T07:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T10:23:05.378-05:00</updated><title type='text'>H1N1, really.... TAKE 2</title><content type='html'>Thing 1 is now on her way to Urgent Care with the ex.  Probable cause - Type A flu.  Which means it is likely the swine flu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the joys.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3383953532244904443?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3383953532244904443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3383953532244904443' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3383953532244904443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3383953532244904443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/h1n1-really-take-2.html' title='H1N1, really.... TAKE 2'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1388476361879834132</id><published>2009-10-18T20:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T20:12:27.258-05:00</updated><title type='text'>H1N1,  really.</title><content type='html'>Thing 2 tested positive for Type A flu today at the hospital.  It's not definitely swine flu, but more than likely, yes.  Apparently unless you are admitted they do not run a specific test.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk about being scared shitless.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1388476361879834132?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1388476361879834132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1388476361879834132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1388476361879834132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1388476361879834132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/h1n1-really.html' title='H1N1,  really.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7293618697321621715</id><published>2009-10-15T14:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T14:41:31.980-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnancy &amp; Infant Loss Remembrance Day</title><content type='html'>If everyone lights a candle tonight at 7pm and keeps it burning for at least one hour, there will be a continuous wave of light over the entire world on Oct 15th, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  In loving memory of Kiara Isabelle who was born to heaven on January 31, 2003.  And, love &amp; light to every mother who has suffered a loss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Pjh9LLy4nf8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Pjh9LLy4nf8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7293618697321621715?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7293618697321621715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7293618697321621715' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7293618697321621715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7293618697321621715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/pregnancy-infant-loss-remembrance-day.html' title='Pregnancy &amp; Infant Loss Remembrance Day'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2170655593237753491</id><published>2009-10-14T07:23:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T14:41:06.028-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So mad I forgot to title.</title><content type='html'>I am so upset right now.  And, I'm angry at J.  He's accusing me of turning things in to a competition, but he's the one who does it.  If I mention ANYTHING about his ex-wife he goes apeshit.  But, I'm sorry.  After this morning's incident I had to come home &amp; say something to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're all at the bus stop when EX-WIFE pulls up with the kids.  The boy jumps out &amp; Lavagirl does not.  I go open the door &amp; she's still eating breakfast.  Her hair's a mess &amp; her outfit is crumpled.  Obviously, she just woke up.  Unless you've been living under a rock you know that Lavagirl does not function well after just waking up.  It takes her at least 1/2 hour to an hour to ditch the crabby attitude.  Nothing wrong with that... it's just her.  She will be very clingy in this time &amp; this morning was no different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She threw herself on the ground, stomped her feet &amp; screamed for her mother who was trying to leave.  EX-WIFE got out, hugged her &amp; tried to leave again.  It got worse &amp; by this time the bus was waiting for Lavagirl to get on it.  (Kindergarteners on first!)  I looked at EX-WIFE as Lavagirl is screaming &amp; said, "She can't get on the bus like this!"  To which she responds, "She's fine!"  &amp; she puts her on the bus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No child deserves to go to school upset.  It's not fair.  Do I know what is wrong with Lavagirl?  I think so.  She doesn't spend enough time with her mother.  That &amp; they don't wake up in enough time.  Why is it so hard to get up at 7am??  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J thinks I compare my ex's house to his ex's house &amp; honestly, there is no competition.  I do expect J to say something to his ex-wife about today's incident.  If I do it I will lose my fucking cool because I would NEVER put my baby on a bus when they were that upset.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER WOMAN!  You have your kids every other week.  Suck it up, go to bed earlier &amp; set your fucking alarm so they don't look like ragamuffins when they leave your fucking house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/end rant&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's my day to volunteer in Lavagirl's class this morning.  Hopefully she'll be in better spirits!  Love, love, love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2170655593237753491?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2170655593237753491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2170655593237753491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2170655593237753491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2170655593237753491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-am-so-upset-right-now.html' title='So mad I forgot to title.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3860693573571171786</id><published>2009-10-09T13:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T13:26:07.196-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you please come in...</title><content type='html'>at 10:45 next Friday for paper mache pumpkins?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry for the short notice, but can you come in today at noon for PT Art? (it's 10:46am)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We need a computer lab volunteer.  Can you do every Friday in October from 1-1:30?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our class needs an art helper every Tuesday from 11:45-12:30.  Are you available?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started our centers.  Can you be the Wednesday volunteer?  It's every week from 9:30-10:30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The elementary should just give me an office &amp; a paycheck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3860693573571171786?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3860693573571171786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3860693573571171786' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3860693573571171786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3860693573571171786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/can-you-please-come-in.html' title='Can you please come in...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-5503520933513789899</id><published>2009-10-07T07:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T07:59:21.303-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Decision</title><content type='html'>So, every week while the girls are in dance class I stroll down to the pet store in the same shopping plaza as the dance studio.  A few weeks ago they got a litter of Australian Shepards.  And I fell in love with them.  I would come by once a week &amp; pet them.  Last week all 8 were still there &amp; yesterday they were down to just 2!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy in the pet store asked me if I wanted to hold one.  Of course I did!  So, I put the little girl in my arms &amp; we cuddled for 15 minutes... long enough to develop an attachment.  Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've already named her.  Double sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took J about an hour to be convinced that a dog would be fine, but now I'm still convincing myself.   I love dogs.  I'd love to have one.  I have time for a dog right now with my schedule.  The kids would love a dog.  Our house is only 2400 sq feet, but that's okay, right?  Our backyard is not fenced, but we back to woods, have plenty of paths &amp; sidewalks &amp; I could use the exercise.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happens if J &amp; I broke up?  Who would get the dog?  What happens if the dog is untrainable like the two Boxer puppies J had when I met him?  (those dogs were horrible!)  What if J's cat hates the dog?  What if the dog hates the cat? What do we do with her when we go out of town? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if we just brought her home &amp; she fit in perfectly with our family?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Decisions, decisions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-5503520933513789899?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/5503520933513789899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=5503520933513789899' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5503520933513789899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/5503520933513789899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/big-decision.html' title='The Big Decision'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7057299833281452208</id><published>2009-10-06T09:01:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T09:13:04.428-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tuesday, but it feels like Monday.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/SstQauzADLI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/BFumn2HHbXw/s1600-h/badinfluence.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/SstQauzADLI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/BFumn2HHbXw/s320/badinfluence.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389489799247695026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of big deals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After meeting with a pulmonary specialist yesterday, cancer has been ruled out!  WAAAAAAAAAAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  J isn't going to die.  Frolic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The though of cancer maybe ruined our romantic weekend in Ocean City, MD.  Add drinky to stressed &amp; the romance just wasn't there.  But, we had fun anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've finally been to Seacrets.  And, now I know what all of the fuss is about.  J picked up a pair of lovely 20-something year old sisters.  I had a guy introduce J &amp; I to his friends as the "coolest couple I've ever met!"  We are pretty damn cool.  And to the guy with the bra around your neck... YOU GO!  The band actually played Toes.  My sister would be so proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're off to Philly in two weeks to hang out with some awesome twin moms.  Should be fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7057299833281452208?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7057299833281452208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7057299833281452208' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7057299833281452208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7057299833281452208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/tuesday-but-it-feels-like-monday.html' title='Tuesday, but it feels like Monday.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/SstQauzADLI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/BFumn2HHbXw/s72-c/badinfluence.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4977033719806174422</id><published>2009-10-02T09:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T09:47:30.470-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another edition of Friday's random thoughts</title><content type='html'>1.  I had a spinach/cheddar scone from Whole Foods.  It was delish!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I can't get in to my yahoo email.  Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  J &amp; I are still half sick &amp; going to attempt our romantic getaway to Ocean City, MD this evening.  We'll see who coughs first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I am thinking of taking a nap.  Snicker, snicker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  My next door neighbors have kissed &amp; made up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  J &amp; I still can't figure out who Jenette was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  Have a great weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/L5QPzgbQ-cE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/L5QPzgbQ-cE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4977033719806174422?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4977033719806174422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4977033719806174422' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4977033719806174422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4977033719806174422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/10/another-edition-of-fridays-random.html' title='Another edition of Friday&apos;s random thoughts'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1599243740794333607</id><published>2009-09-30T09:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T09:58:40.167-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I need a re-do of this entire week.</title><content type='html'>This week has been horrible, thus far.  And today's incident takes the cake.  Speaking of cake, HAPPY BIRTHDAY J!  Today he is 34.  Love you! (he does read this blog from time to time)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in order to provide J with a birthday thrill, I took a no-no picture on my phone.  Come on, haven't we all done this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT I sent it to the wrong person on accident.  And I have no clue who Jenette is on my phone, but she received it &amp; texted back, "I think you sent this to the wrong person".  No shit, eh?  I have no clue who you are.  Then I spent the next half hour wracking my brain making sure it's not a PTA mother or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a fucking idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1599243740794333607?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1599243740794333607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1599243740794333607' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1599243740794333607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1599243740794333607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-need-re-do-of-this-entire-week.html' title='I need a re-do of this entire week.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2582350554146506788</id><published>2009-09-27T21:57:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T22:08:03.275-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A neighborhood divided.</title><content type='html'>If a complete stranger sent you an email claiming your significant other had cheated on you would you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a) give your partner the benefit of the doubt after their explanation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;b) believe the complete stranger with absolutely no solid proof?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the drama J &amp; I dealt with this weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, no, it isn't something that happened to me, but to our next door neighbors.  Now, J &amp; I are caught in the middle because wife is my friend &amp; husband is his.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Believe it or not, we live in a semi-normal neighborhood.  Snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2582350554146506788?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2582350554146506788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2582350554146506788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2582350554146506788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2582350554146506788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/neighborhood-divided.html' title='A neighborhood divided.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1643111972128860337</id><published>2009-09-25T14:13:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T14:18:59.300-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday random thoughts</title><content type='html'>1.  Back when my life was full of drama, my blogs were funnier.  Now, they are lame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  My shoulder hurts from lifting weights yesterday.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  My personal trainer is a killer.  See #2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  A few nights ago I had to most vivid nightmare where I drove my car into the ocean accidentally &amp; couldn't get out in time.  I woke up right before I drowned.  Sigh.  I hate these types of dreams because I tend to obsess about their meanings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  The babysitter is coming tonight so J &amp; I can have a hot date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  I love pastrami.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  Thing 1 has been seriously back-talking.  I'm at a loss.  She says things like no, so what &amp; I don't care frequently.  Cry.  I washed her mouth out with soap last night for telling J no (while he was talking to her about telling me no) &amp; she crossed her arms &amp; said, "That doesn't taste like anything."  Sigh, again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  I have polka dot toes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  J's birthday is next Wednesday so next weekend I'm taking him to Ocean City, MD for a nice, romantic weekend ALONE.  And it also happens to be winefest on the beach! Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  If you made it through this list, have a great weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1643111972128860337?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1643111972128860337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1643111972128860337' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1643111972128860337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1643111972128860337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/friday-random-thoughts.html' title='Friday random thoughts'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7563539093609703794</id><published>2009-09-22T09:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T09:12:10.812-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Three is the lonliest number.</title><content type='html'>Today's topic - threesomes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate things in threes.  Mo, Curly, &amp; Larry.  Jack, Chrissy (Terri) &amp; Janet.  The Jonas Brothers.  God, especially the Jonas Brothers.  Snort. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Threesomes are complicated.  Someone always gets left out.  Feelings get hurt.  There is way too much effort in trying to keep things "fair" that you forget to just have some fun.  And then what happens?  People fight, get angry, get upset &amp; throw Martian Matter all over each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you thought this post was about sex, didn't you?  Nah.  Been there done that.  This post is about Thing 1, Thing 2 &amp; Lavagirl.  Sigh.  If you take one away the other two play blissfully.  When you add the 3rd in to the mix all hell breaks loose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any suggestions?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7563539093609703794?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7563539093609703794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7563539093609703794' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7563539093609703794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7563539093609703794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/three-is-lonliest-number.html' title='Three is the lonliest number.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6576548071927576113</id><published>2009-09-21T15:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T15:46:18.766-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm busier now than ever.</title><content type='html'>Today, I was so busy being a domestic Goddess that I didn't sit down for the first time until 3:30pm.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stayed in Texas too long...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cd6ANFKQGGw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cd6ANFKQGGw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6576548071927576113?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6576548071927576113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6576548071927576113' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6576548071927576113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6576548071927576113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-busier-now-than-ever.html' title='I&apos;m busier now than ever.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-8521501496717544876</id><published>2009-09-20T22:49:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T22:53:22.765-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Expect the unexpected.</title><content type='html'>It's been a while since I wrote anything, but I've been busy.  Last week I was at the school when I got a dreaded call.  My Aunt Karen had passed away in her sleep the night before at the young age of 57.  I left immediately for Texas for the next 6 days.  It was not all sad times.  I spent time with my cousins, sister, nephew, grandmother &amp; enjoyed the beach &amp; the bars.  It was a trip of mixed emotions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I get home to mass chaos, a messy house, my wonderful fiance, 4 amazing children &amp; a week's worth of Kindergarten homework.  The weekend has passed &amp; all I managed to do today was recover from last night's good time with our friends, Hottie #1 &amp; Weiner.  We are crazy!  Tomorrow I have 1,000 things to do before the kids get off the bus &amp; Monday is their early day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a calendar, a bulletin board, an assistant &amp; groceries.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will write soon.  If I don't, please send the PTA to look for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-8521501496717544876?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/8521501496717544876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=8521501496717544876' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8521501496717544876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/8521501496717544876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/expect-unexpected.html' title='Expect the unexpected.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-716394817236638232</id><published>2009-09-09T10:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T10:39:05.381-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I want the body of my dreams.</title><content type='html'>I really do.  I'm not even fat, I know this.  I have been fat, yes.  I used to weigh almost 200lbs - at two points in my life.  I weigh between 158-162 which given the fact that I'm very muscular is pretty good.  I'm a perfect size 8.  And, honestly, I grew up in 14s &amp; 12s, so Lola is quite content with her perfect size 8.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lola is not content with a few sections of her body.  Okay, I'll quit using 3rd person.  I have strong abs, but I've had twins, remember?  So, my mid section sucks.  (no stretch marks, just mushy)  Here is where I critique my entire body to you, my internet blog audience.  I hate my stomach.  I hate the flab under my arms where my triceps should be...  I hate the back of my thighs.  And I hate back fat, which I have very little of, but hate what little I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been working out for years.  In 2003 I started running.  I lost 30lbs, quickly.  I ran for days, mile after mile.  I fucked up my knees.  Thank you very much.  I quit running when I was pregnant the first time.  I gained 15lbs &amp; after I lost the baby I decided not to try to lose weight because we were going to try again.  Bam, twins!  Then after I had the twins I was up to 194lbs shortly after delivery.  I know, I know, what can you expect after a 42lbs weight gain??  I was nursing &amp; exercise caused Mastitis.  (google it if you don't know what that is)  I was eating like a cow anyways.  Long story short I was chubby.  And, after we bought our house I joined a gym.  And, for a year I was very religious.  I did tone up &amp; dropped to about 175lbs.  Once the separation came I lost another 15lbs &amp; now I'm at this weight.  Which I am comfortable with, but want to work on those troubled spots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, since you can't have that toned body without some type of weight loss I have realistic goals.  Ten lbs.  And I hired a personal trainer last week.  So, in four weeks I want 10lbs gone &amp; I want to see some muscle definition.  I know I am strong &amp; I know I have some really nice definition in certain areas.  But I want the body of my dreams.  And, so, wish me luck.  I don't have to look like Vin Diesel (and really, I hope I never do), but everyone should be happy with what they see.  And if they aren't, only YOU can change it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another blog brought to by my stupid control issues.  Snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-716394817236638232?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/716394817236638232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=716394817236638232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/716394817236638232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/716394817236638232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-want-body-of-my-dreams.html' title='I want the body of my dreams.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-7783376151381372368</id><published>2009-09-08T10:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T10:05:18.434-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Enjoy the Silence</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/SqZymOApK9I/AAAAAAAAAQk/yhIDfHtJL3Q/s1600-h/busstop.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/SqZymOApK9I/AAAAAAAAAQk/yhIDfHtJL3Q/s320/busstop.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379112805862026194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Freeeeeeeeeeeeeedom!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All four kids are in school.  I'm so lucky our school has full day Kindergarten.  So, I won't have any company until 3:30pm.  I just went to the gym in peace.  And now I'm having my mid-morning snack contemplating which room I'm gonna clean first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh &amp; here is a picture of my darlings waiting for the bus, which I promptly followed to the school.  Hearts everywhere...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-7783376151381372368?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/7783376151381372368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=7783376151381372368' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7783376151381372368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/7783376151381372368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/enjoy-silence.html' title='Enjoy the Silence'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_kZurZAXIU/SqZymOApK9I/AAAAAAAAAQk/yhIDfHtJL3Q/s72-c/busstop.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4941735452468986842</id><published>2009-09-05T09:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T10:34:29.832-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby, things change.</title><content type='html'>I have used this song as a reference &lt;a href="http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2008/11/little-wonders.html"&gt;before&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, here we go again with change.  My blogs are few &amp; far between lately &amp; it isn't because I don't have time.  I do.  It's because when your life is as peaceful as mine is right now, there really isn't anything dramatic enough to write about.  Finally, after what feels like an eternity in an uncertain place in life, I am starting to figure out where I am, why I am here &amp; where I am going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in a secure relationship with J simply because I love him &amp; all of his imperfections. And he loves me &amp; all of mine. We have made such big strides in our relationship over the past few months realizing that we both want the same things &amp; we have been experiencing them together.  I have never been happier with "us" than I am right now.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "why" factor is harder.  Obviously, I am here because of love, but love isn't the super glue of relationships. It isn't enough to hold two people together, unfortunately.  And, that's a lesson I've learned time &amp; time again.  So, obviously, I'm now figuring out that you have to give more than love to make a relationship  work. Ding, ding, ding! &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Love should never be hard to give, either.&lt;/span&gt;  It's the patience, acceptance &amp; compromises that are hard to give.  Love is easy, peasy, lemon squeezy! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As to where I am going, well it cannot be answered that simply.  I still have a few missing pieces.  Since I took a leave of absence from work in June I have not been working.  And, in turn, I have had more time for the kids, the house &amp; for J.  I'm happy with it, but still trying to figure out if this decision is permanent.  J has expressed that he would like for me to stay home, but I have always had this constant &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;NEED&lt;/span&gt; to be this independent woman.  It's because I always have been.  However, I feel like home is where I &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;NEED&lt;/span&gt; to be even more strongly than my &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;NEED&lt;/span&gt; to be the independent woman.  In the meantime, the world is my oyster.  I can substitute teach.  I can get a work from home job.  I can take pottery classes.  I can be a room mother in the children's classes.  Fuck, I could be PTA president.   (This paragraph brought to you by the word NEED!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4941735452468986842?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4941735452468986842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4941735452468986842' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4941735452468986842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4941735452468986842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/baby-things-change.html' title='Baby, things change.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2814711214321534560</id><published>2009-09-03T11:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T11:11:14.557-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Out of the mouths of babes.</title><content type='html'>Thing 1 &amp; Thing 2 are upstairs with Toothless. (boy next door)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hear this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thing 2 - "When you get older you get hair on your butt."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toothless - "My Uncle Chris has hair on his butt."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2814711214321534560?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2814711214321534560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2814711214321534560' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2814711214321534560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2814711214321534560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/out-of-mouths-of-babes.html' title='Out of the mouths of babes.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-38867322879614552</id><published>2009-08-31T15:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T16:13:48.252-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Honey, I'm home.</title><content type='html'>Yep, after a week of traveling we have made it back to Northern, VA.  We left last Monday at 11:30am.  We were supposed to leave at 9am.  Needless to say I was pissy.  At J.  For having to work.  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eleven hours later we end up in Lexington, KY at a resort that is actually quite nice. We eat dinner at midnight.  Then crash.  My Nana was very glad to see us &amp; in fact, I slept in her room. (Because J &amp; I aren't married...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day we woke up late &amp; lounged by the pool.  J &amp; I drank frosty beverages at the bar &amp; just relaxed.  Then we took Nana to dinner at the Olive Garden (her favorite) &amp; put the kids to bed for a CRAZY night at the hotel bar.  Bourbon flights, included.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hungover like shit we get up &amp; drive to Nashville, TN with our children.  That was only a 4 hour trip.  We get there in time for drinks &amp; then Uncle B &amp; Aunt N take us to putt putt golf/go cart racing.  Then on to an awesome Mexican dinner complete with Sangria.  A couple bottles of wine later we hit the hay... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we drive 2 more hours the next day to PARADISE.  They have a lake house in Waverly, TN.  It's up on a mountain that overlooks the amazing scenery.  We were in heaven!  We did fishing, tubing, 4 wheelings, shot guns, swam &amp; drank our asses off... I've never been more exhausted OR had a better trip.  The kids were great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We left on Saturday &amp; headed back to VA.  Saturday night we stopped in Morristown, TN.  We slept &amp; then finished our drive at 8 hours back to Reston.  We got home last night around 8pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say we are still exhausted, but in a good "warm fuzzy" kind of way.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to go back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-38867322879614552?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/38867322879614552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=38867322879614552' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/38867322879614552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/38867322879614552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/honey-im-home.html' title='Honey, I&apos;m home.'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3746842827037711394</id><published>2009-08-23T20:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T20:07:07.463-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random daily thought</title><content type='html'>First of all, I had way too much fun last night.  A hotel, two interesting cab rides, two lounges &amp; two clubs, way too much liquor &amp; I'm surprised I'm still alive.  By the way, my friends think I'm more fun on liquor.  No wine for me last night.  Well, until the VERY end of the night.  Snort snort!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, we were out with some friends who happen to be another couple.  We were talking about facebook.  I am absolutely addicted &amp; even look at it from my Blackberry.  All.the.time.  Interestingly enough, they made a pact to not use facebook. (or myspace, etc)  Evidently there is a statistic that states it is the cause of a lot of break ups in relationships.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm going to look that up.  And then, I may have to delete my facebook account.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What on Earth will I do next?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3746842827037711394?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3746842827037711394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3746842827037711394' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3746842827037711394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3746842827037711394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/random-daily-thought.html' title='Random daily thought'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-252945524702585200</id><published>2009-08-20T09:10:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T09:18:10.329-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I want to blog...</title><content type='html'>And, I've tried a few times to start something, but the three screaming girls upstairs distract me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I have to get to the grocery store for fruit to go in my Trashcan punch that I am serving up at J's sister's wedding tomorrow.  We're leaving today for La Plata, MD for 2 days, then J &amp; I are meeting some friends up in Annapolis Sat/Sunday &amp; then Monday we're leaving for Kentucky &amp; Tennessee.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll blog soon.  Promise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-252945524702585200?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/252945524702585200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=252945524702585200' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/252945524702585200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/252945524702585200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-want-to-blog.html' title='I want to blog...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-3368257172266050295</id><published>2009-08-17T12:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T12:41:43.977-05:00</updated><title type='text'>FINALLY!</title><content type='html'>I strapped on a set &amp; mentioned the word "dissolution" to the ex.  In VA you have to be separated for a year when you have children.  We've been separated for a year &amp; a half now &amp; living separately for over a year.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has to be done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodbye health benefits &amp; hello real world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-3368257172266050295?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/3368257172266050295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=3368257172266050295' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3368257172266050295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/3368257172266050295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/finally.html' title='FINALLY!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-6830868033940045410</id><published>2009-08-11T22:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T22:40:03.567-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Important lessons learned so far this month...</title><content type='html'>1.  Don't flip out when your child cuts her own hair.  Even if she does it at her dad's house &amp; no one notices for 2 days.  It's just hair.  And, the child wanted bangs.  She now think she looks like Dora.  Thing 1 &amp; 2 no longer have the same hair cut &amp; it will be okay.  When Thing 2 asked tonight if they were still sisters I laughed...  Give them some space to become their own people, but never leave scissors in reach of a couple of precocious 5 1/2 year olds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  Eat a donut from time to time.  Or a slice of cheesecake.  I avoid these two foods like the plague.  I eat maybe one donut a year, if that.  And cheesecake is an annual event &amp; most usually is consumed only on my birthday.  If it's a glazed Krispy Kreme you want, indulge.  Just don't over do it...  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  Tying in to #2, don't always count every calorie you consume or every calorie you burn.  It's exhausting &amp; dammit, I do it way too often.  I went downstairs for a handful of cheeze-its &amp; the Boy asked, "Do you really count out your crackers?"  Yes, I do.  I am that girl.  Para.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  Learn to let go.  Having insane control issues only gives you a headache.  There is no need to control EVERY.SINGLE.THING.  Sometimes this lesson is far easier to type than to learn.  Seriously.  I am a control freak people!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  Expect the worst &amp; hope for the best.  It's all you can really do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  Cherish your adult time.  I say this as a newly (again) Stay at Home Mom.  I don't get much adult interaction on a daily basis &amp; I find that it is becoming a huge issue for me.  Find ways to get out.  I am faithful to my gym because I'm grateful for the sea of sweating adults I find inside.  I am also enjoying the grocery store, pool &amp; sometimes the mall.  Spark up a conversation with a complete stranger &amp; may he be cute.  Ha ha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  Don't be such a bitch.  Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  Make time for your friends.  There truly are people who want to spend time with you.  Sometimes you just have to drive farther than 10 minutes to see them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  Getting a pedicure instantly makes you feel prettier.  If you don't believe me, try it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  Don't ever shave your bikini area with a dull razor.  Yes, I know this isn't exactly a "new" lesson, but those bumps hurt.  And are a tad unsightly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August isn't even halfway over, yet!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-6830868033940045410?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/6830868033940045410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=6830868033940045410' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6830868033940045410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/6830868033940045410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/important-lessons-learned-so-far-this.html' title='Important lessons learned so far this month...'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-2811384255349680232</id><published>2009-08-07T14:37:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T14:45:26.101-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Friday thoughts</title><content type='html'>1.  I went out to lunch today &amp; left the house with two candles burning &amp; the iron on. (iron was from J)  My house didn't burn down.  Whew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  TGIF.  Seriously.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  I went to the gym 4 times this week.  I'm proud of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I am finally a Blackberry person.  Snort.  I love it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  J referred to me as a Stay at Home Mom to someone.  It was strangely weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  Wedding date has been set.  Finally.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  I need highlights.  Badly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  The maid is back!  I guess that means the economy is better.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  I cut my foot in Target the other day on glass when a jar of Ragu jumped out of my cart.  Three of my four kids started crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  If you can't be good, be good at it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-2811384255349680232?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/2811384255349680232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=2811384255349680232' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2811384255349680232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/2811384255349680232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/random-friday-thoughts.html' title='Random Friday thoughts'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1016471639188161218</id><published>2009-08-04T10:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T10:22:40.456-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Song of the day</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EQigp-vleos&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EQigp-vleos&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1016471639188161218?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1016471639188161218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1016471639188161218' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1016471639188161218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1016471639188161218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/08/song-of-day.html' title='Song of the day'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4600181909754379160</id><published>2009-07-28T12:51:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T13:09:34.499-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baaaaaaa baaaaaaa baaaaaa I'm a sheep!</title><content type='html'>Last night we went out to dinner for J's brother's birthday.  It was me, J, brother, his wife &amp; our next door neighbors.  We went to eat at Texas de Brazil which is a South American steakhouse type place. (think all you can eat meat)  For 44 dollars a person you can eat until you puke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's actually quite good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, J &amp; I were drinking wine.  What's a birthday celebration without a bottle of wine &amp; some creme brulee?  &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Comment cards.&lt;/span&gt;  They complete any fabulous birthday dinner.  Snort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our server was fabulous &amp; charged us an 18 percent gratuity.  He made bank that night! Anyways, he passed out these comment cards to us to fill out at the end of the meal &amp; since we had all been drinking we obliged.  Naturally, I was feeling spontaneously quirky so I wrote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NORM MAYNARD IS MY DAD on my comment card.  And actually, he is my dad.  And, he is a construction manager for this restaurant chain.  And, I thought I was being funny.  He doesn't even live in Northern VA.  He lives in Texas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was all snickers &amp; snorts until I got an email from my dad this morning.  The general manager of the restaurant scanned my comment card &amp; sent my dad an email saying he didn't know I was coming in, but wanted him to know that I was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad forwarded this to me saying next time I got there to call this GM of the restaurant &amp; he'll take care of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;Insert sheepish grin here&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4600181909754379160?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4600181909754379160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4600181909754379160' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4600181909754379160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4600181909754379160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-so-proud-of-my-father.html' title='Baaaaaaa baaaaaaa baaaaaa I&apos;m a sheep!'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-4846498022626851180</id><published>2009-07-27T12:49:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T12:51:13.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Say hello to my little friend</title><content type='html'>Almost 9 months later, I got my &lt;a href="http://www.carrymeplease.com/Coach-Hampton-Pebbled-Leather-Carryall-13087-p/coach13087whiteham0709.htm"&gt;Coach&lt;/a&gt; purse.  And I love it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as a consolation prize, I got the matching wallet, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Obama Day to me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-4846498022626851180?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/4846498022626851180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=4846498022626851180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4846498022626851180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/4846498022626851180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/07/say-hello-to-my-little-friend.html' title='Say hello to my little friend'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-720926074591328573</id><published>2009-07-23T10:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T10:13:05.513-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>I often dream J is cheating on me.  Often = at least once a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To dream that your mate, spouse, or significant other is cheating on you, indicates your fears of being abandoned. You may feel a lack of attention in the relationship. Alternatively, you may feel that you are not measuring up to the expectations of others. This notion may stem from issues of trust or self-esteem. The dream could also indicate that you are unconsciously picking up hints and cues that your significant other is not being completely truth or is not fully committed in the relationship. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From dreammoods.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;What triggers the cheating spouse dreams?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. There might be something playing in your subconscious mind regarding your relationship with your partner, which you are consciously not ready to acknowledge.&lt;br /&gt;2. Sometimes a sudden change in accessories that your partner uses like perfume, clothing, his / her interest in keeping themselves fit can also trigger a doubt.&lt;br /&gt;3. A kind of insecurity or a guilt feeling regarding any aspect of your life.&lt;br /&gt;4. Anxiousness about your own self, your appearance, your looks your future with your partner.&lt;br /&gt;5. If you have cheated on any of your relationships.&lt;br /&gt;6. If you have been dishonest with someone.&lt;br /&gt;7. Fear of failure in a particular assignment or project or a test.&lt;br /&gt;8. If you have been abandoned or mistreated by someone during your childhood.&lt;br /&gt;9. IF your partner is spending too much time on other things like work, friends etc. and you feel lonely and jealous.&lt;br /&gt;10. If you find yourself cheating on your partner in your dream, then there may be something that you have done that is making you feel guilty. This would perhaps mean that you are not giving your spouse the necessary attention.&lt;/blockquote&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From dreaminterpretations.us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Essentially, I have trust issues.  No.fucking.shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-720926074591328573?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/720926074591328573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=720926074591328573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/720926074591328573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/720926074591328573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/07/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189372361896727049.post-1325603123312785320</id><published>2009-07-22T20:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T20:34:58.132-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's 9:28pm.   Do you know where your kids are?</title><content type='html'>Happy Birthday Toothless!  He's 7, today.  He is awesomely sweet &amp; lives next door.  In true celebratory fashion he wanted a sleep-over &amp; tonight, he gets it.  At my house...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thing 1, Thing 2 &amp; Lavagirl are beside themselves.  They are all upstairs watching Shrek as I sip my glass of wine &amp; smoke my cigarette out on the front steps.  J'Michael is feeling rough so he's asleep.  The Boy is next door with Ka-leeb hanging out until he gets kicked out.  And, even though Lavagirl has to brave the bus at 7:30am for her summer school studies I am still not veto-ing a sleep-over.  In fact, she's supposed to be at her mom's tonight, but you know what?  Summer only comes once a damn year.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Call me a bad mom or call me the best, but my kids are happy.  And even if I have to chaperone this one solo, I'm okay.  These children have earned their night of fun... even though they drove me batshit crazy in Target earlier today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love.my.life dot com.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/189372361896727049-1325603123312785320?l=kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/feeds/1325603123312785320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=189372361896727049&amp;postID=1325603123312785320' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1325603123312785320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/189372361896727049/posts/default/1325603123312785320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kissyoursassafrass.blogspot.com/2009/07/its-928pm-do-you-know-where-your-kids.html' title='It&apos;s 9:28pm.   Do you know where your kids are?'/><author><name>Lola Starr</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00986241545814600536</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4PLAQOmg3PE/TWKF-H6kEGI/AAAAAAAAAS0/7wgABiwgYNk/s220/me2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
