tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5543538655392481592024-03-05T04:47:49.706-08:00Raising Max & EvieThis blog is a result of taking a liberal Detroit based punk-rock girl, throwing her into Republican rural America, and making her responsible for the upbringing of 2 small children. Raising socially conscious, free-thinking kids that still must be in bed at a decent hour and eat their vegetables? The hypocrisy, mistakes and triumphs of a punk rock mom.Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-3935082947511970732009-07-25T08:20:00.001-07:002009-07-25T08:20:59.996-07:00I'm alive.And I am okay.Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-46747181220804754032009-05-10T17:53:00.000-07:002009-05-10T18:17:48.823-07:00Mother's Day continued...Totally uneventful. A normal day. Maybe someday my kids will make a macaroni necklace, but this year they have no idea what's going on.<br /><br />I'm really excited about these shoes I got for $3 dollars at Salvation Army.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidc_niRFCYtfIQnIQji2S4B2n4Y3jAg2knWqJDsHzlEFMhZpEsYTNFhdNXYFqmVAOBUNP_Q79xQ3cYbKt7AdasZmmF9DGF02EpN8N58VmsPkRAXQLy5OrqEQy_1mBpBbpwHFaJu-OoQ5c/s1600-h/DSCF6759.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334366503463782114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidc_niRFCYtfIQnIQji2S4B2n4Y3jAg2knWqJDsHzlEFMhZpEsYTNFhdNXYFqmVAOBUNP_Q79xQ3cYbKt7AdasZmmF9DGF02EpN8N58VmsPkRAXQLy5OrqEQy_1mBpBbpwHFaJu-OoQ5c/s400/DSCF6759.JPG" border="0" /></a> If I tip my camera just right it looks like I'm in a fun house mirror, or maybe my head is that small.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09JQpWUp8FOG7ThfbbiK-VMtB2tV09KsHLiKpL_ETiiD4fXVY6EhbCgcpPSiwyY15KdCvkgUgLuGjIIkOfFTcUZSpjrziTFwgQ9KSJrbUi8CvCaJSyNjP_IW_BfQVW5Fy8SblzJT2X2c/s1600-h/DSCF6756.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334366500057096786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09JQpWUp8FOG7ThfbbiK-VMtB2tV09KsHLiKpL_ETiiD4fXVY6EhbCgcpPSiwyY15KdCvkgUgLuGjIIkOfFTcUZSpjrziTFwgQ9KSJrbUi8CvCaJSyNjP_IW_BfQVW5Fy8SblzJT2X2c/s400/DSCF6756.JPG" border="0" /></a> Me and little Max. He's trying to escape.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWHXK5z11FPKtyxpKATTltx0nTiAZbaMdeaDzj2gb_YsPqATgTE7tVyOZT2dBeBQt4zVeK7fdA602kjDWtjkaOg8Y7qNk52DkNQ7lJ994c7eGFAF5R3nYukxK6m65tMy2EfKY5gdtdSI/s1600-h/DSCF6738.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334366494897748866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWHXK5z11FPKtyxpKATTltx0nTiAZbaMdeaDzj2gb_YsPqATgTE7tVyOZT2dBeBQt4zVeK7fdA602kjDWtjkaOg8Y7qNk52DkNQ7lJ994c7eGFAF5R3nYukxK6m65tMy2EfKY5gdtdSI/s400/DSCF6738.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I painted <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">gnomes</span> for the garden with the kids today. When I wasn't looking Evie gave herself a pedicure with acrylics. Pretty good for a 2 year old!<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_u6MZ-bmW8rtlgj-9P5irw9vSPwm0A5lZFWC9yVckqQv5xPXtUsaBq_IOdJGlYHpxo67i050CmT0-apmQpcYbzicMNMkQx8HRncl4wN9EojqmuM6znZBadSMf16Ltly07XcyljAkPw0/s1600-h/DSCF6731.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334366485224680306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_u6MZ-bmW8rtlgj-9P5irw9vSPwm0A5lZFWC9yVckqQv5xPXtUsaBq_IOdJGlYHpxo67i050CmT0-apmQpcYbzicMNMkQx8HRncl4wN9EojqmuM6znZBadSMf16Ltly07XcyljAkPw0/s400/DSCF6731.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And I love my new curtains! They're the ones that have been on my wish list for over a year. I went to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ikea</span> and they were in the As-Is section, 75% off, nothing wrong with them, and they were the ONLY ones! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Yay</span>!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4QcXs478DqBmtc98HT3jFBwgYbe6ifYEQ-rstbh6vERwMxpl3jxjJ642xaqZLqL5OqWTAwloc-u0JF0Nid4Ja_nRcsb9irq4pl-WRkHPR-jV1MVq69wNc1UlgTYqrHfoiQeqn3cplBM/s1600-h/DSCF6726.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334366483004505106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4QcXs478DqBmtc98HT3jFBwgYbe6ifYEQ-rstbh6vERwMxpl3jxjJ642xaqZLqL5OqWTAwloc-u0JF0Nid4Ja_nRcsb9irq4pl-WRkHPR-jV1MVq69wNc1UlgTYqrHfoiQeqn3cplBM/s400/DSCF6726.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-10441163292510828292009-05-09T20:27:00.000-07:002009-05-09T20:40:54.008-07:00Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTTzwvfWpY6bL6L2B6l_9SVsmk260LC8XWAR4Z2plIXp4rvym-6Ez6u1zeMCpWdJlFalA3s9KrJrrKRazPNOLY_EYakmb2FavDJHD0v03g5vQFB43gEzbVuqgt4AzPUwRcgU3keqej9s/s1600-h/4248_1091750307123_1627490597_232388_163969_n.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334034410145989234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTTzwvfWpY6bL6L2B6l_9SVsmk260LC8XWAR4Z2plIXp4rvym-6Ez6u1zeMCpWdJlFalA3s9KrJrrKRazPNOLY_EYakmb2FavDJHD0v03g5vQFB43gEzbVuqgt4AzPUwRcgU3keqej9s/s400/4248_1091750307123_1627490597_232388_163969_n.jpg" border="0" /></a> 4 generations of women.<br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You are appreciated</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I was young me and my mama had beef</div><br /><div>Seventeen years old kicked out on the streets</div><br /><div>Though back at the time, I never thought I'd see her face</div><br /><div>Ain't a woman alive that could take my mama's place</div><br /><div>Suspended from school; and scared to go home, I was a fool</div><br /><div>with the big boys, breakin all the rules</div><br /><div>I shed tears with my baby sister</div><br /><div>Over the years we was poorer than the other little kids</div><br /><div>And even though we had different daddy's, the same drama</div><br /><div>When things went wrong we'd blame mama</div><br /><div>I reminice on the stress I caused, it was hell</div><br /><div>Huggin on my mama from a jail cell</div><br /><div>And who'd think in elementary?</div><br /><div>Heeey! I see the penitentiary, one day</div><br /><div>And runnin from the police, that's right</div><br /><div>Mama catch me, put a whoopin to my backside</div><br /><div>And even as a crack fiend, mama</div><br /><div>You always was a black queen, mama</div><br /><div>I finally understand</div><br /><div>for a woman it ain't easy tryin to raise a man</div><br /><div>You always was committed</div><br /><div>A poor single mother on welfare, tell me how ya did it</div><br /><div>There's no way I can pay you back</div><br /><div>But the plan is to show you that I understand</div><br /><div>You are appreciated</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Lady... Don't cha know we love ya? Sweet lady</div><br /><div>Dear mama</div><br /><div>Place no one above ya, sweet lady</div><br /><div>You are appreciated</div><br /><div>Don't cha know we love ya?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And Dear Mama,</div><br /><div>Now ain't nobody tell us it was fair</div><br /><div>No love from my daddy cause the coward wasn't there</div><br /><div>He passed away and I didn't cry, cause my anger</div><br /><div>wouldn't let me feel for a stranger</div><br /><div>They say I'm wrong and I'm heartless, but all along</div><br /><div>I was lookin for a father he was gone</div><br /><div>I hung around with the Thugs, and even though they sold drugs</div><br /><div>They showed a young brother love</div><br /><div>I moved out and started really hangin</div><br /><div>I needed money of my own so I started slangin</div><br /><div>I ain't guilty cause, even though I sell rocks</div><br /><div>It feels good puttin money in your mailbox</div><br /><div>I love payin rent when the rent's due</div><br /><div>I hope ya got the diamond necklace that I sent to you</div><br /><div>Cause when I was low you was there for me</div><br /><div>And never left me alone because you cared for me</div><br /><div>And I could see you comin home after work late</div><br /><div>You're in the kitchen tryin to fix us a hot plate</div><br /><div>Ya just workin with the scraps you was given</div><br /><div>And mama made miracles every Thanksgivin</div><br /><div>But now the road got rough, you're alone</div><br /><div>You're tryin to raise two bad kids on your own</div><br /><div>And there's no way I can pay you back</div><br /><div>But my plan is to show you that I understand</div><br /><div>You are appreciated</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Pour out some liquor and I reminsce, cause through the drama</div><br /><div>I can always depend on my mama</div><br /><div>And when it seems that I'm hopeless</div><br /><div>You say the words that can get me back in focus</div><br /><div>When I was sick as a little kid</div><br /><div>To keep me happy there's no limit to the things you did</div><br /><div>And all my childhood memories</div><br /><div>Are full of all the sweet things you did for me</div><br /><div>And even though I act craaazy</div><br /><div>I gotta thank the Lord that you made me</div><br /><div>There are no words that can express how I feel</div><br /><div>You never kept a secret, always stayed real</div><br /><div>And I appreciate, how you raised me</div><br /><div>And all the extra love that you gave me</div><br /><div>I wish I could take the pain away</div><br /><div>If you can make it through the night there's a brighter day</div><br /><div>Everything will be alright if ya hold on</div><br /><div>It's a struggle everyday, gotta roll on</div><br /><div>And there's no way I can pay you back</div><br /><div><strong>But my plan is to show you that I understand</strong></div><br /><div>You are appreciated</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- the man, the myth, the legend.. Tupac Shakur</div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-8909219375563947782009-05-09T15:24:00.000-07:002009-05-09T15:37:32.882-07:00loneliness<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">"Dear Astrid, Don't tell me how you hate your new foster home. If they're not beating you, consider yourself lucky. Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception... The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way. Moo."</span><br /></span><br /><em>white oleander, janet fitch</em>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-38862195196337621002009-05-07T21:25:00.000-07:002009-05-07T21:27:57.409-07:00Dear Everyone,<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF05NGYAJTvbkeVZshR4XTzwtwXFqRURv5Qg5K0b0Q8FTIiULYzkWLwRXHb4xTJvRjWBqTIFvha5Aj99GoENlUmrZiqWgcoS9gtSI1F8sj34iYCKT-r-KQtsHdmOuuKvXX99-s19JN36A/s1600-h/5UrwzgdtHn4ek4kayoHzFRN3o1_400.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333304839367748098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 288px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF05NGYAJTvbkeVZshR4XTzwtwXFqRURv5Qg5K0b0Q8FTIiULYzkWLwRXHb4xTJvRjWBqTIFvha5Aj99GoENlUmrZiqWgcoS9gtSI1F8sj34iYCKT-r-KQtsHdmOuuKvXX99-s19JN36A/s400/5UrwzgdtHn4ek4kayoHzFRN3o1_400.jpg" border="0" /></a> Not sure who the artist is, but I definitely need one of these hanging in my bedroom.<br /><div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-72959126224227885082009-05-05T12:54:00.000-07:002009-05-05T17:10:55.424-07:00Places Max Has Wrote His Name<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoqRvBnoKAbLapmgDQe4hUU1lkWwvww-re1UURZEkDTQwnqHS_MUh3VPSTOCdkkDwURKq45KKQq04YoPp0CtpT9gGTvxyvKTSSAn2WrIFxQNh0cX9MjGq-k9kBi-hJnJkv5EXtvpNbpU/s1600-h/DSCF6697.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332431479486882274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoqRvBnoKAbLapmgDQe4hUU1lkWwvww-re1UURZEkDTQwnqHS_MUh3VPSTOCdkkDwURKq45KKQq04YoPp0CtpT9gGTvxyvKTSSAn2WrIFxQNh0cX9MjGq-k9kBi-hJnJkv5EXtvpNbpU/s400/DSCF6697.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I'm so proud of my little boy, writing his name and drawing his self portrait, but for fuck sake he sneaks crayons and draws it on EVERYTHING.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>To name a few places: door ways, doors, walls in every room of the house, our brazilian cherry wood floors, the couch, baby gates, toys, my car, his sister, etc.</div><br /><div></div>edited to add: sliding glass door.<br /><div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-69279488335675033942009-05-03T20:07:00.000-07:002009-05-03T21:00:52.860-07:00The Secret!Today I went to my grandparents' house, the first time I have been there since my grandma passed away last Sunday. After my grandpa died in January, her health immediately went on a decline, and two days after she was placed on hospice she died. I will go into more detail later, I'm not ready to write about it yet. Anyway, grandpa always kept his tools/garage organized, I would say mildly, no majorly, OCD. His workshop has pretty much just sat dormant for the last years of his life, since his hands stopped listening to him. I thought he would appreciate it if I cleaned it out and organized it a little bit, so I did. Here's a couple shots of the OCD...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331810911572488834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLEWZRzyNyfew3_aw_pG_dM1F4ap1Ndc6SHur6he__5JQmnpsx4z1oVhTi6DCmOBw6E-tnkI6PRCDt6Lmj6dNs6of7A6NPZht93U2dcISOrHiaWosJM5Tp27WHjTO07Lmav6f3ypzUM4/s400/DSCF6620.JPG" border="0" /> This cabinet has always bothered me, the "KEEP OUT!!!" has been plaguing me for years.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331810917221243362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhSQDE148L9pOB1JZUAD_UI6waMkJy5AShKECc8g2K8TpshUTMDqhwdmYooBhzed62ljznxmFqsE3i4NI2AveyEribfMiCsI7mvYDxAL_O8VzVNPCaSNdr9e_bfEsRxw7NV0C8ynN9RI/s400/DSCF6621.JPG" border="0" />Upon closer inspection...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331810920000671346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRwPT5AgaSAQ-GrUcURW1AO4mbYoLKCtFx34_qeA75O4P-wS9QZG-w-6L7d4Sc8nfaP7M4Z7GxJmQjASADkIWUJB1ovLAb7_TriODSe2edZfqDmaVSAQG7VWyIyEOZHb3VL7mtpUkGgwM/s400/DSCF6622.JPG" border="0" />Seriously? That's the big freaking secret?! Paint brushes? No weed? No hidden cigarettes after quitting years ago? Just paint brushes?! Hell.<br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331810926840009426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjL-LJ1NbWJZjg3A3Z6dUCg1tJVRLm6EanC5_4lTM5rOQRLguhmYae_llR16jENIWbeNxyQzL9cFUVJ_9ng8cvuOawRKb82lBx8ZSd2clgCZs7frdRc6kNGdaqgFKHTa0s9oXVwoi_jWM/s400/DSCF6624.JPG" border="0" /><br />More OCD lists, he kept an inventory of EVERYTHING.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331810931054841666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwz0FLXgwCCEmGU_H5M4X3wChZszCljmoLtNF-tAsV3IbEfAEoCmlzgboZtbdsoF-bpGAHp_4dynm0fkyd2-QCByaAPkbpAZ06oivpV-fjVSHj60BD4OzQ6CEDFOApD-orUhsPvawsr10/s400/DSCF6628.JPG" border="0" />Max took the camera and told Evie to pose, she started doing this weird, zombie, thriller dance. I tried to copy, but she is far superior.<br /><br /><div><div><div> </div></div></div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-70707235236626200132009-05-03T20:02:00.000-07:002009-05-03T20:04:50.842-07:00Elaborate Lives<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHWuDEvzSYUc0qVDxbSLocNPNPqMfe1BJldhoAXwe5eDGS-RDGvKmboYhC-G5ECMQ98nlh-Al27ZVTYHF3KpXXLBdaE8I92mOH3MwyLn2EicAZhWAFQI1lVZXceYu-AlvqnZMbFePCvs/s1600-h/PxfvoCVWumxf72alts2cOJYfo1_400.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHWuDEvzSYUc0qVDxbSLocNPNPqMfe1BJldhoAXwe5eDGS-RDGvKmboYhC-G5ECMQ98nlh-Al27ZVTYHF3KpXXLBdaE8I92mOH3MwyLn2EicAZhWAFQI1lVZXceYu-AlvqnZMbFePCvs/s400/PxfvoCVWumxf72alts2cOJYfo1_400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331799334160292370" /></a><br /><br /><br />We all lead such elaborate lives <br />wild ambitions in our sights <br />How an affair of the heart survives <br />days apart and hurried nights <br />Seems quite unbelievable to me <br />I don’t want to live like that <br />seems quite unbelievable to me <br />I don’t want to love like that <br />I just want our time to be <br />slower and gentler, wiser, free <br /><br />We all live in extravagant times <br />playing games we can’t all win <br />Unintended emotional crimes <br />Take some out, take others in <br /><br />I’m so tired of all were going through <br />I don’t want to live like that <br />I’m so tired of all were going through <br />I don’t want to love like that <br />I just want to be with you <br />Now and forever , peaceful, true <br />This may not be the moment <br />to tell you face to face <br />But I could wait forever <br />for the perfect time and place <br /><br />We all lead such elaborate lives <br />We don’t know whose words are true <br />Strangers, lovers, husbands, wives <br />Hard to know who’s loving who <br /><br />Too many choices tear us apart <br />I don’t want to live like that <br />Too many choices tear us apart <br />I don’t want to love like that <br />I just want to touch your heart <br />May this confession <br />Be the startMaggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-82223422523858028822009-04-29T17:14:00.000-07:002009-04-29T17:21:59.372-07:00Perpetual Anxiety<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGIzr8PvPEzy19WNSqIlxxW6L5qzgeFBhiH7bi5XEdhCN9J-RJ_OkQqvins9xqalvn_IPohiPN0jupyHzPajV6fOB9naZTwm6sRvOCV7-BMtjzHcl0XOIfSjKzkGcLweaYwpOlXwHGbo/s1600-h/GeC8Uq3jqlwiiupdsZA9lLojo1_500.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGIzr8PvPEzy19WNSqIlxxW6L5qzgeFBhiH7bi5XEdhCN9J-RJ_OkQqvins9xqalvn_IPohiPN0jupyHzPajV6fOB9naZTwm6sRvOCV7-BMtjzHcl0XOIfSjKzkGcLweaYwpOlXwHGbo/s400/GeC8Uq3jqlwiiupdsZA9lLojo1_500.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330271506219690434" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>I don't know whether I am coming or going. The uncertainty of things seems to be worse than the possible outcomes. It seems I am packing up and then unpacking my emotional baggage daily. I want so badly to just be at peace with the horrible choices I have made, but when it relies on someone else it becomes a waiting game. At what point should I decide to take the reigns of my life and cut my losses?</strong><br /><br><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoUf0KEycmbIrfIsCdlhfP5xQxvQ2KGu-uEdnODASTAQv8ehDdpFO3Nw0nf8X45F7bAtN5AGg9vw9WxL5QURjrw0HDM0nD-tWVUHTzl6RQONhYzKNm6B_PtM2vkjdY4vkiLrDmio8D3g/s1600-h/7TfPXc7uwmu5m9loiEem3Zfqo1_400.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoUf0KEycmbIrfIsCdlhfP5xQxvQ2KGu-uEdnODASTAQv8ehDdpFO3Nw0nf8X45F7bAtN5AGg9vw9WxL5QURjrw0HDM0nD-tWVUHTzl6RQONhYzKNm6B_PtM2vkjdY4vkiLrDmio8D3g/s400/7TfPXc7uwmu5m9loiEem3Zfqo1_400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330272924302392066" /></a><br>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-7006571972641345302009-04-28T21:05:00.000-07:002009-04-28T21:23:05.464-07:00On Love<a href="http://13.media.tumblr.com/76hccSxe8m2etv3imxVr0IF8o1_500.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 190px;" src="http://13.media.tumblr.com/76hccSxe8m2etv3imxVr0IF8o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><blockquote>"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." - Robert A. Heinlein</blockquote><br /><blockquote>"A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.” — Elbert Hubbard </blockquote>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-88226697610349382382009-04-27T14:50:00.000-07:002009-04-27T15:01:42.183-07:00Ode to Sadness<a href="http://23.media.tumblr.com/2PgR6tTVpmrvtlm3Rw3I1Uwio1_400.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 395px;" src="http://23.media.tumblr.com/2PgR6tTVpmrvtlm3Rw3I1Uwio1_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br />Sadness, scarab<br />with seven crippled feet,<br />spiderweb egg,<br />scramble-brained rat,<br />bitch’s skeleton:<br />No entry here.<br />Don’t come in.<br />Go away.<br />Go back<br />south with your umbrella,<br />go back<br />north with your serpent’s teeth.<br />A poet lives here.<br />No sadness may<br />cross this threshold.<br />Through these windows<br />comes the breath of the world,<br />fresh red roses,<br />flags embroidered with<br />the victories of the people.<br />No.<br />No entry.<br />Flap<br />your bat’s wings,<br />I will trample the feathers<br />that fall from your mantle,<br />I will sweep the bits and pieces<br />of your carcass to<br />the four corners of the wind,<br />I will wring your neck,<br />I will stitch your eyelids shut,<br />I will sew your shroud,<br />sadness, and bury your rodent bones<br />beneath the springtime of an apple tree.<br /><br />-<em>Pablo Neruda</em><br /><br />“We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.<br />— <em>Chuck Klosterman</em>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-61581024175945203312009-04-26T18:17:00.000-07:002009-04-26T18:31:23.552-07:008 things memeMy blog friend Angela tagged me, and I am having a hard time filling this out right now, I thought I could be more self centered! I will go back and fill more in when I'm feeling better.<br /><br />8 Things I'm looking forward to:<br /><br />1. Seeing The Business on the 8th<br />2. Memorial weekend<br />3. Getting over this hump<br />4. Buying a new bathing suit and going to the beach<br />5. My mom coming back in town<br />6. Making more money<br />7. <br />8. <br /><br /><br />8 things I did yesterday:<br /><br />1. Saw my grandma for the last time, she died this morning<br />2. Watched my son ride a big boy bike with training wheels for the first time<br />3. Had my power go out<br />4. Cried<br />5. Did a whole house full of dirty dishes for Paul<br />6. Slept<br />7. Died a little bit<br /><br /><br />8 things I wish I could do:<br /><br />1. Be "normal"<br />2. Cure cancer<br />3. and diabetes<br />4. and world hunger<br />5. <br />6. <br />7. <br />8. <br /><br /><br />8 shows I watch:<br />1. Big Brother<br />2. Project Runway<br />3. Top Chef<br />4. Rock of Love<br />5. <br />6. <br />7. <br />8. I don't really watch more than 8 shows anymore... <br /><br /><br />I tag the Pope, and Castro. Wait, what do you mean they don't read my blog?Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-18701112911563706332009-04-23T11:43:00.001-07:002009-04-23T11:44:28.209-07:00Where You Can Find Me On The Weekdays<a href="http://dsharp.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54eeecc2f883401156f4fb817970c-pi"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 330px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 497px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://dsharp.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54eeecc2f883401156f4fb817970c-pi" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-8857769494655899682009-04-23T11:07:00.000-07:002009-04-23T11:19:06.400-07:00Today's Bar Stool Romantic…We would look out over the immense sea, full of white-flecked and green reflections, the two of us leaning side by side on the railing, each of us far away, flying in his own aircraft to the stratospheric regions of his own dreams. There we understood that our vocation, our true vocation, was to move for eternity along the roads and seas of the world. Always curious, looking into everything that came before our eyes, sniffing out each corner but only ever faintly - not setting down roots in any land or staying long enough to see the substratum of things; the outer limits would suffice.<br /><br /><strong>Ernesto Che Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries.</strong>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-78174763854110200692009-04-22T16:11:00.000-07:002009-04-22T16:15:37.956-07:00My Lover; my killer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlfGjebMt-ryA4yg7gQTS-uILfGDc4EtJdb_N03jd4voFb18Sn-n_9LzYEFTxZkl73PrOE0QpzmU2rXVTCRujFej0P-dtCeddxWouv1NvbHT1EqbK9w6gNxKuSMiyrl-PZLo9On5G1yc/s1600-h/3357904758_f17d8c1fe7_o.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327657878449304066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlfGjebMt-ryA4yg7gQTS-uILfGDc4EtJdb_N03jd4voFb18Sn-n_9LzYEFTxZkl73PrOE0QpzmU2rXVTCRujFej0P-dtCeddxWouv1NvbHT1EqbK9w6gNxKuSMiyrl-PZLo9On5G1yc/s400/3357904758_f17d8c1fe7_o.jpg" border="0" /></a> I'm not sure where this one is from, but it's hot.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hEJF6BokiTQ/Se-kKMTkgRI/AAAAAAAABIo/z4Wf_HKuXSY/s1600-h/Vincente_5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327657379211542802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hEJF6BokiTQ/Se-kKMTkgRI/AAAAAAAABIo/z4Wf_HKuXSY/s400/Vincente_5.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://fernandovicenteblog.blogspot.com/">Fernando Vicente</a> </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-39977203938351789172009-04-21T18:50:00.000-07:002009-04-21T18:52:47.190-07:00Dear crappy Michigan hail,<a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2096/2486102955_03d2ec125e.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 500px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 364px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2096/2486102955_03d2ec125e.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I want to trade you in for a tulip field, which I look at from a hot air balloon ride in Holland!</div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-67855750215931415452009-04-20T18:27:00.000-07:002009-04-20T18:28:42.492-07:00Thierry Mugler Hotfit<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3467/3377903392_7c91d3678c_o.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 650px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 486px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3467/3377903392_7c91d3678c_o.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I would totally wear the outfit on the left to the Woodward Dream Cruise.<br /><div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-17083720113021636012009-04-20T11:57:00.000-07:002009-04-20T14:02:44.689-07:00Things That Make Me Happy, Part 1Always the cynic, I started making a list when I was in a bad mood yesterday of thing that make me miserable. After I started writing I decided I will<em> try </em>to be positive and make a list of things that make me happy. Here's what I can think of so far. <div><div><div><div><br /><br /><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 309px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqYiWQ6Km5kuJl7xwVDBBgPwxfdpsVObu-eXWf7Lb4yn9_iWqoV-0-MpsYtSjAtgYI4gdYz9p1K0crDl7BTVMkmqAtiTXiMCa2v2l-4_P5vz-kfKZrOpnAHZoONIk4laKP2jEQTPQE_Ky/s320/grapefruit-with-juice_HEN.jpg" border="0" /><br />GRAPEFRUIT</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Probably my favorite drink ever is a fresh squeezed grapefruit in a full glass of water. No sugar. SO good. I like to have one each morning, if I don't have any grapefruit I groan and use lemon instead.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 322px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 663px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.wcquilts.com/Some%20Amy%20Butler%20fabrics.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>SEWING/VISUALLY APPEALING TEXTILES</div><br /><br /><div>I love to sew, especially wee little dresses for my tot. Whenever I see a bright, fantastic textile I become inspired, and that makes me happy.</div><br /><br /><div>BEING FRUGAL<br /><br /></div><div>You would think that spending money would make me happy, but the rush I get is from where I save. I never buy clothing over ten dollars, everything is from the clearance rack. I seriously love walking out of the store, getting in my car, and looking at the discount on the receipt. Especially with grocery shopping, where the "money saved" is on there. It gives me an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">adrenaline</span> rush (weird, right?) </div><br /><div>TATTOOS<br /><br /></div><div>As a cutter who has never cut, tattoos are to me what <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Listerine</span> is to an alcoholic. It's allowed, but it's still getting an otherwise frowned on fix. I love the way they look, but especially the way they feel, it it very arousing to me to get the actual tattoo, but the burn that follows 2 weeks afterward is absolutely heavenly.<br /><br /><br /></div><div>CLEAN HOUSE/HOME DECOR</div><br /><div>I am a true believer that is your surroundings are cluttered, your inner self will be cluttered. I like to practice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">feng</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">shui</span>, and keep my house very clean. When I get into a made bed, I sleep better, when I eat in a clean kitchen, the food tastes better. I don't take no mess. I am also a minimalist when it comes to "things" and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">knick</span> knacks. </div><br /><br /><div>BONFIRES</div><br /><br /><div>The smell of a bonfire is one of the best smells. I was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pyro</span> when I was younger, I just love to watch things burn. Bottom line.</div><br /><br /><div>SHOES</div><br /><br /><div>I love shoes, I love the way they smell new, the way the look, especially a tall, platform heel.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 314px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://indierocket.com/farmer3.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><div>GARDENING/GRASS/LEAVES</div><br /><br /><div>I love any <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">yard work</span>, being out in my vegetable garden, raking and burning the leaves, or mowing the lawn are instant anxiety relievers for me.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 315px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://wanttobe.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/elvis_costello.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>MUSIC<br /><br /></div><div>Music has saved my life. Daily. Every memory I have I associate with some album, band, or song. One day I will own every CD to complete my life soundtrack, and it's going to be huge. It will be in a library. Expertly organized.</div><br /><br /><div>COOKING</div><br /><div>Something I'm actually good at, cooking. I love cooking for other people especially.</div><br /><br /><div>to be continued...<br /></div><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-74394614036365594882009-04-19T18:58:00.000-07:002009-04-19T18:59:37.548-07:00Jack Speaks My MindI have eaten beef stew with silent, shabby men in cheap eateries and fingered the last two pennies in my pocket with anger and irony … I have dined most sumptuously in a spacious Park Avenue home, duck brought forth in silver dishes by a butler … I have seen $.10 movies on Times Square, seated in the first row of the balcony in shirtsleeves, smoking and laughing … under a lashing rain and gale, I have gazed at the angry mid-Atlantic for a moment, pausing in my labours … I have stood on a Liverpool street corner in the middle of a drowsy afternoon and cursed the cobbles because the pubs had closed … I have made love to women in Canada, Washington, D.C., Nova Scotia, England, Greenland, New York City, Maryland and New England … I have lain drunk in the gutter of a street … I climbed a mountain in Greenland and gazed down on the slim ribbon of Ikatek Fjord … I have toiled in the sun on construction jobs from Portsmouth, New Hampshire to Alexandria, Virginia … I have attended cocktail parties in New York City penthouses … I have worked in mills … I have worked in garages … I have sold door to door … I have worked as a reporter on a newspaper … I have starved in a cheap urine-smelling room in Hartford, CT … I have dated actresses, models and social workers … I have brawled in streets, in bar entrances and in cafeterias … I have heard great symphonies and been transported … I have walked the streets, a lonely U.S. Navy gob and sought women … I have languished in hospitals and shuffled cards in melancholy abstraction … I have written reams and reams of writings … and through it all, I have always been restless, unhappy and seeking new horizons. What shall I do?<br /><br />The Romanticist Jack Kerouac, September 1943.Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-81253015390217686982009-04-17T18:22:00.000-07:002009-04-17T19:04:36.704-07:00My Awesome Dress FindMy favorite clothes are post apocalyptic looking, have pockets, have hoods, are dresses, and are under ten dollars. Hard find, right? Hell yeah it is. Well, I found a dress with all of my requirements at Target the other day! For just $8!! Nobody likes it except me, but that's what matters, right? Max took some pictures of me today (he loves taking pics). He cut my head off in the first one...<br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hwGVuytMDfyVbsCKOv7b8BkzRUB2DDBCPI2TgThjOnyVsS0XCuKpvCLxwcKKTz9rRoYlieCpDNyBxXsWyp1TfXNGJBlsnWU_0a1Esg858hT8F-_coVMdTryuSfP-GgrjlX7C9b1LJGQ/s1600-h/DSCF6516.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325837341445431970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hwGVuytMDfyVbsCKOv7b8BkzRUB2DDBCPI2TgThjOnyVsS0XCuKpvCLxwcKKTz9rRoYlieCpDNyBxXsWyp1TfXNGJBlsnWU_0a1Esg858hT8F-_coVMdTryuSfP-GgrjlX7C9b1LJGQ/s400/DSCF6516.JPG" border="0" /></a> yes, I AM Casper the friendly ghost. I refuse sunlight, spf 60 for me. I am horribly afraid of skin cancer. The collar is the best, it unbuttons into a water proof hood.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325837345154380434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhji0R18jkS7ti7OiU4qd3t-vxza6yy9bH1rN033XC578AG8ueAL7KQ0JOKuTIbmzD_zIw_kqUIvRfR77s0tfkIkpYyZwJwOd7TKXEWKb5EvhP1f2bMAPBPCH9_N4R5heOhQXBGZIJMI/s400/DSCF6533.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>And here's one with my photographer.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325838412632556626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO07rbqOA2oSjw8DSlBv_mP2ahLMU-mUwh3_T_eUrMX89PTyWapTVSoI8tMV_8PQgN6wCC2-Fc-RbSjzHHuGI01K0ZuEmLQWTYGKUACixcFbLkGMn0QGSIeo2Nkg1V6dNuPDJkhyTqqX4/s400/DSCF6535.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-65293581593976196512009-04-08T12:48:00.000-07:002009-04-08T12:51:30.615-07:00Max and The Little MermaidAfter sitting in complete silence, with the exception of Max hushing me when I would sing, the only thing he has to say after The Little Mermaid is, "Can they even have babies?" I responded with, "I don't know, would they have fins or legs?" Max then became completely insulted that I would even ask him such a ridiculous "stupid" question. But he still wouldn't answer it.Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-72737801990243509732009-04-01T14:52:00.000-07:002009-04-01T14:54:56.250-07:00Total Turn-off<a href="http://www.music.com/artist-images/artist/P%20%20%20923332/FloRidaBio.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 518px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 485px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.music.com/artist-images/artist/P%20%20%20923332/FloRidaBio.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Perfectly groomed facial hair on a man = gross. Flo Rida, you suck.</div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-64516562840084634332009-03-30T09:38:00.000-07:002009-03-30T09:41:21.518-07:00Why Max loves me...<a href="http://l.yimg.com/img.movies.yahoo.com/ymv/us/img/hv/photo/movie_pix/twentieth_century_fox/star_wars__episode_iii__revenge_of_the_sith/natalie_portman/wars.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 360px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 299px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://l.yimg.com/img.movies.yahoo.com/ymv/us/img/hv/photo/movie_pix/twentieth_century_fox/star_wars__episode_iii__revenge_of_the_sith/natalie_portman/wars.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>After a weekend long Star Wars trilogy binge at his dad's, Max and I were talking about clones this morning when he told me the reason he loves me. "Momma, I love you cause you make breakfast and you look like the girl from Star Wars, even though she doesn't have a light saber." What utter bullshit, but I will take it. Sweet little boy.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-32876006227461201652009-03-24T10:13:00.000-07:002009-03-24T10:18:04.209-07:00Max hates China, loves sushiIt's been 2 years since the lead incident infuriated me and I made a passing remark about cheap, made in China toys, and Max still hates China. Today he was in the bath and looked on the bottom of his maroon rubber duck, there he saw one of the only sentences he knows how to read, "Made in China". "CHINA!" he shouted, "I HATE CHINA, THEY MAKE BAD TOYS!" a few seconds goes by, "but they have great sushi!". <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WTF</span>, this kid has never ate sushi in his life. Had to explain that sushi is Japanese, which made him feel much better, and now I have to make him some sushi.Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-554353865539248159.post-22612640909788138662009-03-23T09:01:00.000-07:002009-03-23T09:10:04.421-07:00Sugar, Spice, and Human Sacrificedown the hall with the broken <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fluorescents</span><br />the deaths tench is fantastic<br />in the cold room with the floral <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">wallcoverings</span><br />that's where you'll pierce my leather skin<br />I bleed. is that what you were looking for?<br />it's thick, it's black, it's tar.<br />is that what you wanted to see?<br /><br />do i make you nervous?<br />am i an anxiety attack in a skirt?<br />I am <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">paxil</span> and anti-depressants and sedatives and alcohol and cherry <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">chapstick</span><br />a fucking mess.<br />your own personal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sweatfest</span><br /><br />call me a cunt, as long as you're calling me<br />I am a masochist, I dig it.<br />should i have married you, or buried you?<br />same shit, isn't it?Maggiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07243121897523527786noreply@blogger.com0