Sandra just awarded me a Sephora giftcard just for giving her ideas to write about. If it were that easy I’d have been writing about ideas like that long ago because that eyeshadow isn’t going to purchase itself! She’s writing over at Damsels In Success and here is a sampling of her work.

It appears that there are lots of birthdays this month as I wander aimlessly throughout the internet (it only took 45 minutes, too, that easy internet slut) and since my parents were getting jiggy with it during the summer of 1970, I am here to celebrate entering the world with a new list of Things I’d Have If I Had A Million Dollars.

This is from the over-priced but always exquisite Horchow site. I figure I will dream big. It’s bright and cheery and ON SALE. To be fair, they do have “Furniture. Accessories. Dreams.” right there on their site. DREAMS, people. They are free, but this bad boy will set you back at the low, low sale price of $480.

So let’s dream smaller. After all, I’m only going to be…EEK. IS THAT A RAT?

Pardon me. Where was I?

Smaller dreams. Aaahh yes. This Flip Video should be a real crowd pleaser in my bithday stocking this year.

It’s small, not too pricey, and pink. The most important part is that it’s pink and will record live video. I’m a slut for pink things lately.

This wouldn’t be a proper post unless I showed some outrageously high-heeled death traps that are whispering in my ear.

They are whispering, “Come. Break your neck with me. But look F-A-B doing it. I will let you sniff my goodness first and then make you long for some cushiony Dr. Scholl’s help. Remember the F-A-B. It will help you forgive me later.”

Gorgeous, no? Made by (caution: click on this link and listen to sexy shoe wearing music) Martinez Valera and named “Camila” (I would even call her by her name if she were to find her way into my closet) they are available from Piperlime for $129 and I would squeeze my size 11’s into that 10 right before I sent them back and whispered sweet nothings into Camila’s ears.

Let’s get real, though. I’ll probably only spring the 20 bucks in my pocket for this cute green tank top from Mission Playground.

Eco-conscious and adorable. I’m all over that. Mission Playground’s website reads “May we all be aware and respectful of our playground.” and that reminds me that I keep telling you that I’ll write about going green but I have to get my notes together on an interview I did.

For now, I’ll probably save my green (my money! or lack thereof!) for a little birthday dinner later this week. No birthday wishes just yet, please. I don’t want to jinx the birthday letter I’m hoping to get from that tease over at Fluid Pudding for the April NaBloPoMo theme of letter writing…

When I was about 5 years old my mother took me to the Jewish Community Center (yay for multiculturalism, folks!) to see about putting me in their after school program following my indoctrination from the Catholic School I was attending. If that’s not enough for some future therapy people, I don’t know what is. I tell you this because while they were monitoring my “play” to see how I would adapt I went over to the Living Room Area and started doing what I presumed to be “play” though I’m sure that fixing martinis and looking for my long cigarette holder weren’t part of that. Still, I grew up wanting those things.

So I’m playing and playing and having a grand old time and then my mother looks mortified - mortified I tell you - that one of the things I’ve been playing with is the potential Jewish teacher’s purse (she was for sure Jewish, but we didn’t know if she’d be my teacher yet). Apparently, I was removing all the items and lining them up and doodling all over her checkbook.

Since then, I’ve decided not to mess with other women’s purses. The Jewish Community Center thing worked out just fine but I was slightly traumatized that they kept a kosher kitchen and I cringe just a little to think that we couldn’t have cheese on our tacos. That’s probably because I also attended a bi-lingual nursery school with many Hispanic muchachos y muchachas.

Seriously. I’m either very well represented or in need of a bong.

So! I say this because yesterday my post about my TYPICAL WHITE MOTHER just got eaten up by my server and it’s still in the process of looking for it so I cleaned out my purse. Which reminded me of the Jewish Community Center purse story and I realized, hey! I haven’t shared that story online yet! so there you have it.

Ok, so I’m going to write about Going Green which obviously the ENTIRE WORLD IS READY TO DO. Have you watched television lately and seen all the Green commercials? The Green products? Wow. I’m proud of you, Earthlings. You’re doing your part. But I have to admit that I am carrying around my camera in the car lately because I long to be featured on the FUH2 website whereupon you flip the bird to those blowholes with the nerve to even own such monstrosities.

In an effort to see if this is really working, I’m committed to checking this site every 30 minutes or so to see if comments are working.

If you came here and just read this and are clicking off, DON’T. I need you. Every single one of you. Leave the comment and back slowly away. You can even link here and read about the woman who went in for a leg operation and got a new anus instead. The second comment on the page will make you piddle in your pants. Grab a tissue first.

Or else no tacos with meat AND CHEESE. You don’t want to mess with my Judeo-Christian-Hispanic alter egos.

Primero… it concerns me that birth control pill commercials are using Twisted Sister music in the background. Sure, “We’re Not Gonna Take It” is the chant I use myself during my monthly cramping. I sing myself to sweet with it’s deeply haunting lullaby whilst pressing a heating pad so far into my gut that my lower back has a temperature.

Segundo… on a regular basis some random song is stuck into the cobwebs of my brain. For three straight weeks it’s been a song by Gilbert and Sullivan. I am the very model of a modern general. Why, God? I honestly wish I could make up some clever lyrics to it and change it. All I could come up with was the very un-iambic pentameterish I am the very model of a modern mocha momma-ma. It’s got all the beats when I sing it, that’s for sure.

Tercero… this goes without saying and I’m certain it’s not the first time I’ve ever mentioned it, but after the week I’ve had I would like to publicly state: NOT FOR ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD WOULD I WANT TO BE A 15 YEAR OLD GIRL AGAIN.

There. I feel better. Still humming, though…

During the holiday season my grandmother took a nasty spill and hurt her knee something awful. It was swollen and purple and pretty scary looking. Battle axe that she is, she was quite feisty in the emergency room telling everyone that she was NOT going to stay here and did they used to live in South Dakota. Like all the women in my line, she tends to get along better with men than women and she was given a male nurse. Sometimes she squints at me and wonders who I am and the first three times I say, “Gramma. I‘m one of Patty’s girls.” it doesn’t really register. After that, she is the spitfire I know, love, and will probably emulate someday.

So long as I don’t emulate some of her roomates at her assisted living center.

Actually, she hasn’t been back to that place since the spill and it’s difficult to admit, but she’ll be in the long term care much longer. She’s been there ever since and my mom knows she’s got to arrange to get it cleaned out and deal with her mother’s things. It’s been a struggle for her and I know I don’t support her as much as I should. But yesterday she asked for help in moving things out and she, Morgan and I loaded up two cars full of stuff to take to my mom’s house so she could begin sorting through it. It’s nasty necessary work and we were all business.

Some of the people who live there tend to hang out in the lobby wondering if guests are there for them and can talk your ear off. Amusing little people, for sure. Once, for example, when mom was wheeling out a cart an older gentleman in a wheelchair (not really a wheelchair, but those motorized carts of terror that make me think they’re not going to make that turn..oh, no…you’re not gonna…oh! whew! you made it!) pretended like she ran over his foot.

“Ouch! OH! AAAARRGGGHH!”

“I didn’t get you. You’re teasing me.” mom called his bluff and we all laughed.

After moving several loads out to the car we saw another lady sitting in a cart of terror at the end of the long hallway to my gramma’s room and mom broke some of the tension of the day by whispering to me.

“See that lady in the cart right there? Earlier when I came up and unlocked the door she was in her room as I walked by and she didn’t have any pants on. Nothin’, and I mean NOTHIN’, on her nether regions.”

We laughed perhaps a little uncontrollably before reality hit me and I groaned, “So that’s what we have to look forward to, is it? Someday I’ll be sitting in my room at a home like this and a total stranger will see my lower half exposed and tell their friends about the naked 90-year old and they’ll giggle about it. Great.”

“That’ll be kind of fun, won’t it?”

“Actually, yes.”

Wherever you are, future person I will flash, I hope you are as amused by it as I currently am.

Some extra special moments in education this week…

A very MacGyverish situation with some paper clips and masking tape that produced a makeshift bra latch and feeling too stupid to even share it with anyone. Except you. Right now.

A very icky-ish situation where I called back a parent who left me a voicemail and she sounded terrible. “Oh, I’m sorry! I can call you back later. Do you have the flu or a bad cold or something?” Why I even bothered to ask that is beyond me because the answer I got was, “It’s my head. And my butt.” There’s a line there, people! It’s invisible, but IT IS THERE SO RESPECT IT. Jesus God Almighty, why does this happen to me?

Some personal inventory-ish stuff happening with me and my role in life (Hello, Life? During this portion of the stage act I would prefer not to have any unseemly zits. It’s not the vanity in me, no way. It’s that I work with teenagers who aren’t afraid to ask, “You still get zits? At YOUR age?” and then I want to pinch their eyelids shut and that goes against the sort of Hypocratic Oath I’ve taken to care for kids. That’s all. I’ll get back to you with more stuff later.) I guess that’s it. I’m just doing inventory. Thought I’d tell you that.

So, not so much education-ish, but my mom asked if I’d ever seen The Vagina Monologues to which I replied, “Sure I have. Why?” and then she proceeded to tell me that she is in a stage version of it to play here at the local community college. She was heading off to her rehearsal and trying to get off the phone with me. Now, I’m certainly nonplussed by this woman so it was nothing for me to say, “Ok. See you later. Good lu…err…break a hymen.” She was nonplussed to hear it from me.

Gossipy-ish on the education front: everyone is still fretting about new appointments and new principals and new jobs created and I realized that people were actually talking about me. I’m so far out of the loop it’s not funny, but people are talking. I’m going to let them and I won’t believe one. single. thing until school starts again in August.

Mallory, my mom and I went shopping in St. Louis last weekend and this dress called my name. No lie. It spoke directly to me and said, “You ain’t foolin’ nobody, honey. I know you think you’re hiding things in that outfit, but your ass is J-Lo-ish. Beyonce-ish. Come here. Try me on. I will accentuate you beautifully.” I’m not one to talk back to a $20 dress so I got it and wore it to work this week with a black blazer over it because it’s cold. During my freshman lunch shift I’m required to monitor and there’s this table of girls who constantly critique my outfits, jewelry, boots, etc.. and one said, “Take off that jacket. I want to see the dress.” I’m not one to talk back to a loud mouth freshman teenager so I obliged. “Oooohh. You’re skinnier with it off. Don’t wear that tired old jacket. I ain’t playin’.” I love the little children who aren’t afraid to tell me exactly what they think.

During some of my hallway duties I tend to walk around and speak to students (and yes! I finally know them all by name and use them when I say hello to them!) and I’ve noticed my speech mirroring theirs.

“Mrs. Mocha, ain’t you gonna change my classes yet?”

“Umm, ain’t you gonna pass that Biology class, girl?”

“Hey, Mrs. Mocha! I need a dolla!”

“You ain’t my child! I don’t need to feed you! Plus, I seen you with them Fritos this morning so don’t act like you hungry.”

I don’t know what’s come over me. Somehow, I’m not really all that worried. Because that dress was talking all slang when it called me out anyway.