Now that you've been duly warned, I'll begin my town square, conversationsal style soap box rant on a topic that is very dear to me: America's failed (not failing) educational system. As a student who dealt with the gifted program for years, and struggled to get the school board to allow me to graduate two years early, I grew up recognizing the deficiencies in public school. Now that I have my own child who spent the first eight years of his educational career attending a successful, if oppressive private school, before entering the gifted program and moving on to public school, I am even more outraged by the pathetic excuse we call public education in this country.

First, let me mention something that is particularly troubling to me. It's quite popular for people on FB to become fans of causes, etc. Some of my friends have joined education causes such as "Stop Budget Cuts For LA Higher Education." So, while I personally will not get involved in my take on LA's colleges, I will say that I decided to browse a few education-oriented causes myself. The fact that after scrolling through several pages of these causes, I could not find a single group that did not have some sort of spelling or grammatical error on its information page is simply a testament to what is wrong with this country's education system. While I champion the efforts of those who want to see progress in schools, how can you spearhead a campaign for education when you don't know the correct way to use it, its and it's?

Furthermore, I think it is completely asinine to give laptops to children in third world countries, who don't even have access to clean water. Certainly, we live in a tech-savvy world, and those who want to compete need computer skills. But programs like these are as dim-witted as building a 3000 square foot home for an out of work mother, and then not understanding why she can't pay the utility bills.

Even though I made the very difficult choice, and more sacrifices than most could imagine, to send my own child to private school, I know that for many, this is simply not an option. For those who, like me, support public education, and want to see our own children grow up to become relatively intelligent, informed citizens, these are my solutions to a system that needs to be torn down and rebuilt, from the bottom up.

Let's start with pre-school. Nearly every child today attends some sort of pre-school, if only because his parents work and need somewhere to send him. The idea that pre-school should be about coloring and nap time is ridiculous. All children by the age of three should be able to recite the alphabet, recognize letters and colors, and count to 100. Period. Once these skills are mastered, they should then start learning basic reading. Storytime should be the children taking turns reading from simple books like "The Cat in the Hat." Colors should be reinforced through the arts. No, I don't mean teaching children to color in the lines, but rather to use watercolors and create their own artwork. Music should be added as well, aiding in teaching rhythm, timing, and math. By age five, children exposed to this sort of environment should be perfectly capable of completing basic addition and subtraction, even if the use of pictures or objects is required.

Once a child enters elementary school, their school day should be 8-5. Not only does this give them more time in the classroom, it also accomodates working parents who otherwise end up paying a fortune for daycare. Sure, there still needs to be recess and P.E., but children at that age need to have their minds challenged. First and second graders should be involved in science experiments to explain natural wonders like what makes rain. They should be doing advanced addition and subtraction, at the minimum, with daily timed quizzes. After all, math is learned through repetition. They should be using words from their reading assignments as both their spelling and vocabulary words, and they should be learning basic U.S. history and geography. Because memorization is the most basic study skill, and is easily mastered even by five year olds, it's not too much to ask for a second grader to be able to recite U.S. presidents.  By the time a child completes elementary school, he should know:

1. Anatomy of the human body
2. Reading, spelling and comprehension skills through the 6th grade
3. Geography of the U.S., including states and capitals, as well as the rest of the world's continents and major countries
4. U.S. history, including presidents, wars, and other important events (such as the Great Depression)
5. Math skills that include being able to balance a checkbook, make a household budget, and understand the stock market
6. Be able to read music, and be able to either sing or perform with one musical instrument
7. How to speak a foreign language
8. Have been exposed to art, and have worked with a variety of mediums
9. Be able to use a computer for research as well as creating written and visual presentations
10. Have basic woodworking and home economics skills, such as building model cars, birdhouses, etc., how to make a simple, well balanced lunch, and how to operate major household appliances (Side note: Imagine my dismay when my then 8th grade son came home and said none of his classmates knew how to operate a thermostat!)

Once students enter middle school, they should start working toward one of two graduation paths. One of the biggest mistakes our society has made in the last thirty years is having the false notion that all students are college material. Some are simply incapable, and some are just as disinclined. That's why at this age, students should start taking aptitude tests, and working very closely with counselors to determine their interests and strengths. At this stage there should be a lot of exposure to career day type events, so that students get an accurate idea of earning potential, job duties, and educational requirements for possible careers. In addition, there should still be basic curricula that includes:

1. Reading, spelling, and comprehension skills through what is now considered the 12th grade
2. Complete grammar skills, and the ability to write a well-defined research paper
3. Computer skills that include using peripherals such as digital cameras, designing and editing photos, video and sound, setting up a network, and understanding basic computer terminology
4. World history, to include a basic knowledge of all major civilizations
5. Continued science experiments in the areas of chemistry, physics, genetics, botany, and zoology
6. Math skills to include bookkeeping, basic algebra, and geometry
7. Continued exposure to the arts, with options available in music, speech, dance, art, communications, and language
8. More intensive home economics requirements to include general meal planning and preparation, and childcare
9. More intensive exposure to skilled trades, with training in household repairs and vehicle maintenance
10. A comprehensive course on puberty, peer pressure, sex education, drug awareness, and social problems

High schools should be converted into more specialized training academies. Since most communities already bus students for alleged racial equality, continuing to bus students to schools outside their immediate neighborhoods would not be too much of an additional strain for districts. Some possible academies would include:

1. A science center, where students will study in-depth topics like anatomy and physiology, biology, neurobiology, chemistry, and medicine, with labs that also include crime lab techniques
2. A media center, where students will study journalism and communications, radio, tv, photography, and film, and develop a working knowledge of the web
3. An arts center, where students can study language, music, performing and visual arts
4. A technical center, where students will learn construction, welding, electrical and plumbing, auto repair, and general mechanical skills
5. A social sciences center, designed for future educators, counselors, psychologists, social workers, etc.
6. A defense center, where students learn military and tactical training, as well as defense and combat, and weapons training, in preparation for military, police, and other security-related fields

Sure, some may call this plan socialism, but the truth is our students are a pathetic representation of a country that should be one of the top performers. Some blame this on drugs, and discipline, and general laziness of students today, but the truth is all students want to learn something, and want praise. Many times the "problem" students are those who have either been overlooked by teachers and need more intensive teaching, or are so far advanced from their peers that they are simply bored! By focusing on more lab time and hands-on learning, students are likely to take more interest in what they're learning, and be less problematic for teachers.

The other goal is to ensure that teachers are teaching subjects they know and love. If their expertise is English, they should not be teaching Physics, as this is just a waste of time for them and their students. Likewise, if teachers don't have a passion and skill for what they're teaching, they shouldn't teach. Accountability shouldn't be just about test scores, but also based upon intensive classroom observations. And finally, coaches who spend their entire class period working up offensive plays and talking on the phone with friends and other coaches, should be out on the field coaching, rather than allegedly teaching.

Ok, I'm about to share way too much information here, but I just have to share my story as an example of how our allegedly American retail industry (and customer service in general) has reached new levels of stupidity.

Recently I ordered a bra online.  For those of you already wondering, let me explain.  I am not one of those people who can just walk into Victoria's Secret and purchase a bra.  Mainly because Vicky doesn't manufacture bras to fit my abundant God-given assets.  No, there is not a single store in a two hour radius of me where I can purchase such incidentals.  Therefore I rely on the wonderful world wide web when I need such things, and unfortunately pay what the average person pays for a concert ticket. 

So, getting back to my story... I recently ordered a brassiere, and when it arrived about a week later, I discovered that it was not sized properly, and so I had to return said brassiere.  Deciding that it was the style of the bra that caused the problem, I requested an exchange for one identical to some I have purchased in the past.  So, other than the 3-4 week wait the company usually takes to process exchanges, I was then happy because I would be getting a bra that 1) would fit and 2)would be comfortable, as I was already familiar with said bra.  Right?

Wrong!!  Finally today, which wasn't actually 3 or 4 weeks, but was still plenty long enough when you've run out of bras that fit properly, my new package arrives in the mail.  Well, let me just say I'm not even going to waste my time in contacting customer service via phone to complain, because they obviously don't speak any English!!! 

If they did, they would recognize the difference between a "B" and a "G"!!!  And I must say, even if the person completing the exchange had trouble deciphering my handwriting (the exchange form that I mailed in was handwritten), anyone with an ounce of common sense would realize that there is quite a significant difference between a "B" and a "G".  I mean, come on.  Just hold up the bra and freakin look at it!  A "B" is what tweens with mosquito bites wear.  A "G" is what a Penthouse model wears.  (Not that I profess to be a Penthouse model, but you get my point.)  Besides, if I wore a "B", why would I spend $40 on an ugly ass bra when I could just buy a cheap $5 thing at Wal Mart???  I promise you, for $40, I could buy a rhinestone bejeweled "B", complete with hand-stitched lace and inflatable padding. 

So now, I once again have to pay (I'm really mad about that part) to ship back another bra that does not properly "enhance my assets," and wait another indeterminable amount of time to be granted the wish of a brassiere that fits.  The worst part?  I can't even complain to anyone at aforementioned company, because if they get nasty and decide not to grace me with their product, I will have to find some other online retailer and pay closer to $100 for an over the shoulder boulder holder.  Ugh, the perils of being blessed with big bosoms

Have y'all seen the article about the 17 year old boy in PA (I think) who shot both his parents, killing his mom, allegedly because they took away his Halo 3?  The media of course is blaming it on the video game, and I'm sure this morning's news channels will bring in experts who claim that the violence in video games causes kids to do stupid things like this because they "can't distinguish between fantasy and reality." 

I say BS.  You wanna know why this kid shot his parents?  Because he was 17 and they were still trying to regulate what kind of games he played!  I mean, come on, are you really going to tell a kid one year away from being able to go off to Iraq or somewhere and get himself killed that he can't play a game 12 yr olds across the world are playing?  Trust me, at 17, all you can really do is hope you've had enough influence in their lives that they'll use protection when they have sex, and select a designated driver when they go to a party.

Now, in defense of Halo (which I can't believe I'm doing since this game has become the bane of my existence and has caused my son to totally ignore me for the last year), let me say that while yes, it is a violent game, it is not going to cause someone who is otherwise mentally stable to go off the deep end and start thinking their parents are on the red team.  It may cause them to use a little language when some annoying newb keeps slamming them with grenades, but all in all it's not a bad game.  And in its own twisted way, video gaming in general has become the new form of socializing. 

XBox Live is like the Myspace for gamers.  Take for instance the fact that my son made some new friends when he started high school this year, and since he's sort of introverted like his dear old mom, I suggested to him that he invite them over to the house.  His response?  "Why do I need to do that when I can just talk to them on Live?"  Seriously.  But it's not all antisocial.  One night recently, I braved my son's wrath (you know that whole "Why are you in my room, what do you want" thing), to check and see why he was up so late.  He was on XBox Live helping some kid in CT with his algebra homework.  (Although I'm hoping the kid got a tutor or something because bless his heart, my son isn't much better with math than his mom.)

My point is that while what this kid did was terrible, and probably something he will need therapy for all his life, it shouldn't be blamed on a video game.  At 17, he definitely knew the difference between fantasy and reality.  And I don't buy this theory that games (at least alone) cause violence in kids.  My own kid has been playing Mortal Kombat since he was like 5, and the most violent thing he's ever done is hit his cousin with a wooden sword (which his cousin probably deserved.) 

While I am a firm believer that violence begets violence (that means I'm not totally opposed to spanking, but I'm smart enough to know that knocking your kid around is a pretty good way to turn him into a wife beater), I think one of the biggest reasons our kids (boys, mostly) are doing dumb ass things like shooting parents and classmates is because they never get any kind of outlet for their normal testosterone-fueled frustration.  There's no such thing as a healthy school yard fight anymore, and boys aren't even allowed to just plain be boys. 

Here's a news flash: males are biologically aggressive, warlike creatures.  They're supposed to knock around a few skulls, hunt a few wild animals, duel with wooden swords.  They're not supposed to "use their words" when some bully takes their lunch money.  Shoot, if somebody walks up to me and tries to snatch my purse and take my lunch money, I'm not using words... I'm punching him in his damn face!

Here's one final thought to ponder: why are we spending so much time trying to turn our little boys into pansies and our little girls into barracudas?  It seems to me nature had gender roles worked out a long time ago, and we should quit trying to screw them up.

I don't know what it is about Christmas that makes it so magical.  Maybe it's the idea of an elusive fat guy in a suit dropping presents down a chimney, and maybe it's the birth of a baby to a woman we all learned was a virgin.  Regardless of the fables and beliefs, every child grows up waiting for that one day out of the year when all is truly well with the world.

We all have special Christmas memories that give us that warm fuzzy feeling, or maybe make us laugh at something that outsiders just wouldn't get, or maybe even that changed our lives.  Many times they're very personal and insignificant in the whole big scheme of our lives, but they are at the center of who we are, who we become, and they stick with us no matter how old we get.

The first big memory I have of Christmas comes from when I was five.  We were still living in Indiana then, where we really did have white Christmases.  I came from a typical, middle class family, with a stay at home mom who baked cookies (yes, I guess that's where I get my domesticity).  Back then I was a pretty typical little girl, who loved Barbies and stuffed animals, and who thought my parents were the greatest people in the world. 

That was the first year of the Barbie Dream House.  It was this molded plastic mansion, complete with flower boxes and french doors, and a cutout roof so you could  walk Barbie around her house.  It had an extravagant price tag at $100, which to a 5 yr old in the early 80's might as well have been $1000.  (These were the days before $400 game systems).  All winter long, every time I went to the store with my mom, I would gaze at this house in wonder, hoping against hope that Santa would put it under the tree for me, though I knew I hadn't exactly been that good, so my chances were slim (too many times of getting into my sister's makeup and staying up past bedtime to read or watch some R rated movie on HBO).  My parents had stressed with me how expensive it was, and so I knew there was no way they would be getting it for me.  I truly was like Ralphie in A Christmas Story - with the same obsession and passion for that one perfect Christmas gift. 

Well, come Christmas morning, sure enough, there the dream house sat in my living room.  After telling myself for weeks that I wouldn't get it, I was in shock, and even speechless (hard to believe, I know.)  All I could do was just stand there in amazement, as the tears rolled down my cheeks, and my sister, the big grown up teenager, looked at me like I was some mutant, asking "what's wrong with her?"  But I can honestly say that to this day, that is still the best Christmas gift I've ever received, because no other gift has ever been so unexpected and truly undeserved.   

Fast forward a few years to 1987, when I was 11 going on 17.  My world at that time revolved around music.  It was my obsession, nearly as vital to my existence as food.  School was simply that prison I had to endure until 3 pm, when I could come home and flip on MTV, back when they really showed music videos.  These were the days of the Video Countdown and Headbangers Ball, my two favorite tv shows.  It was Christmas break, a couple days before the big holiday, and so of course I'm cross-legged on the living room floor (I can't explain why I spent my teen years sitting on the floor when we had a room full of perfectly good furniture) watching MTV.  Suddenly there's breaking news that Nikki Sixx, my favorite member of my favorite band, has died. 

I don't think I could have been more distraught if someone had told me my grandmother had died.  That's the kind of obsession kids had back then for their favorite rock stars, and that's definitely how obsessed I was with Nikki.  (All the other girls oohed and ahhed over Vince, but even then I was anti-blonde.  For me, it's always been about Nikki.)  I remember just sitting there in shock, too amazed to even feel sad, my mouth hanging open, thinking they must have gotten it wrong.  Then it sort of began to sink in, and I truly felt like the world was going to end.  (The most ironic part of this story truly, though, is the fact that because I was part of a typical middle class suburbia family, I didn't even know he was an addict.  I mean sure, you knew they were the "bad boys of rock n roll", but to me, that just meant they got drunk and had lots of sex.  Oh, the naivety of sheltered youth!) 

I stayed glued to the tv the rest of the night, waiting for them to "take it back", my mind unwilling to acknowledge or accept the loss of one of music's greatest assets.  Finally came the news that Nikki was indeed alive, that he had been successfully revived.  It was truly a Christmas miracle, and one that greatly impacted my decisions later in life.  Twisted I know, but I firmly believe Nikki's overdose, not the preachings of parents or the fried egg commercials, is what opened my eyes to the real dangers of drugs (back in a time when it was commonplace to do cocaine, and truly quite provincial not to), and what prevented me from going down a path that otherwise I feel quite sure I would have traveled. 

Finally, there was the last Christmas that was actually about me.  I was at home on break from college, utterly exhausted from finals and too many frat parties.  I was glad to be back home with my family, because by then I was old enough and mature enough to actually like them most of the time, but I missed my boyfriend, (and hated the thought of two whole weeks without sex, which of course seems like torture when you're newly initiated),  and I really just wanted to sleep for two weeks.  That's just how tired I was. 

In fact, I was so tired that my father began wondering if they should take me to the doctor, fearing that I had developed diabetes or something (I still don't quite get that, but I guess it's because we have a history of it on his side of the family).  Then I got a call from my boyfriend, telling me that he was coming to see me.  Suddenly all was right with the world again, but by the time he got there I was so tired I couldn't even get excited about showing him around my hometown or taking him to show off to my friends.  (Yes, girls have trophies too, and mine came in the spiked black leather jacket, tattoos and combat boots variety).  I still to this day don't know how he knew, but after just a few short minutes with me, my boyfriend sat me down and told me I was pregnant.  He just had a feeling, he said, and my out of character largesse just reinforced his suspicions. 

Probably most 17 yr olds would have taken the news with fear, anger, maybe even denial.  And sure there was some fear in figuring out how to tell my parents, but from that point on there was so much excitement I could hardly contain myself.  I spent that Christmas morning watching my parents, seeing them in a new light, realizing that this was my last year as "the baby", and that come next year, like them, I would be the one whose main goal come Christmas morning was to make someone else smile.  The most amazing part about that Christmas though, was that for the first time in my life I actually understood what it meant to feel selfless, and thankfully at least a little bit of that stayed with me over the years. 

Maybe that's the moral of the story: some experiences, whether they be at holidays or not, can transform a conceited, self-indulgent, dangerously rebellious and pampered youth and transform her into something and someone better.  Sometimes it just takes a little miracle. 

Ok no, I'm not going to burst out in song (though I did in my head, I admit), but for some reason every year around the holidays I get reminiscent of years past, and of family and friends and whatnot.  Does anybody else get that?  Well anyway, since I admit that I'm a terrible friend (I never call, I rarely email, and just generally let friendships go a really long time with no contact), I decided this would be a good time to express to all of you (and particularly those of you who are personal friends near and dear to my heart) my gratitude for putting up with me all these years.  I know it hasn't been easy!  So anyway, I'd like to share with you some of my favorite memories of times we've had, and hope that those of you who haven't heard these stories enjoy the ride!  (And guys, I promise I'm not about to expose any skeletons, so you can quit holding your breath).

Ok, let's start with Shel.  Beyond our numerous conversations about sexy fictional vampires, and who we would cast if they ever made an Anita Blake movie, I will always remember the first time we ever really met.  You commented on my cat o' nine keychain, and I think at that moment we both realized that in a way we were kindred spirits.  I know, it was something so small and insignificant, and yet that beats all the hours of Judy bashing and movie quotes.

Then of course there's Dane.  Well, I don't think any of us will ever forget Antonio's b-day party at Bennigan's, when he started eating blue cheese dressing with a fork, or the hamburger eating contest (thanks for the new pic, btw).  And who can forget your birthday, when you exhibited such grace, standing outside Portico talking with Johnnie and me, casually holding a blow-up doll, as a barrage of couples over 50 walked past, the women giving all of us dirty looks and the men snickering.  But I think my favorite time was my birthday party at Outback (before I puked, of course), and we actually had our first real conversation about your family, etc.  Seeing as how you're like even more private than me, it meant a lot.

And there's Lisa, my favorite punk rock chick.  Guys, most of you probably don't know that I have Lisa to thank for introducing me to my ex husband.  (But don't worry girl, I totally forgive you!)  Some of my favorite times with you were cruising around downtown Shreveport in the land yacht (hey, what ever happened to that thing?), and smoking clove cigarettes until we were both hacking up our lungs.  You always could make me laugh, and despite your tough girl image, I can honestly say you are one of the most generous, kindhearted people I've ever known. 

And oh my, Jess.  The things we've done that we'll never tell our kids about.  Thanks for all the nights of letting me sleep on your floor to avoid my roommate from hell.  But most of all, thanks for taking care of me after all the TKE parties.  Let me just say only a true friend will strip you down and shower you when you are falling down drunk and have vomit everywhere from your hair to your shoes.  And of course there's always that surreal night we spent in Chris' dorm room.  But, I promised not to unearth any dead bodies, so that's all I'm going to say about that.

Then there's my girl Heather, the poet whose words are inspired by muses.  I'll never forget the New Year's party at your house, where we all danced around a bonfire like fairies, and taught Shaleta how to Texas two-step.  I'll also never forget the Halloween party where you dressed up as a zombie, with your slit throat and pancake makeup.  (Speaking of, I came across those pictures just the other day).  You've always had an artist's flare, and we've both come a long way since the days of he who will not be named.

Josh, you were hands down, my favorite roommate ever.  You made being dragged through the grocery store at 11 pm to find the makings of the perfect dinner, well, tolerable at least.  And I've never been able to look at a bath scrunchie quite the same way!  Though I will say your alleged sharing of the bath scrunchie paled in comparison I think to my son's painting of the 3-legged cat!  Thanks for all those late-night Arby's and Quick Trip runs that helped me keep my sanity.

Greg.  Where to begin.  You've been there for the long haul, through the not so pretty times, and the diva times (though which one of us was more of a diva is probably still debatable).  I loved all of our photo shoots, though I still say my favorite was the black & white in Antique Alley.  And I can never pay you back for the awesome portrait, which I still have thank you very much.  From the days of working studiously on the school newspaper, to nights of watching the gyrations of Candi Cane, to hours of reciting lines from Designing Women and The Pirate Movie, we've shared a heck of a lot.  I still giggle when I think about the time we played Truth or Dare with Jennifer at your house, and I was bartender (of course), mixing up buttery nipples and schnapp's until we were all on a sugar high.  I bet that's the only time you ever exposed the crown jewels to a lesbian and your best female friend, huh?  For all the reputations we've ruined, minds we've corrupted, sex shops we've invaded, and activities bordering on legal in which we've participated, let me say I can't imagine another person I'd  rather have been with. 

I've decided I'm going to move to South America.  Maybe be a coffee farmer.  After all, I love coffee, though I'm partial to Arabian blends.  But I don't think the middle east would make a good retirement spot. 

I'm sitting here this fall morning thinking "it's a good thing people don't just drop in on me, because I look a mess!"  That's because it's 27 freakin' degrees outside!!  27!!  In Louisiana - the tropical rainforest of the continental U.S.!!! 

So, here I am in my burgundy sweatpants with a rip in the butt (I think a zipper snagged them in the wash), my royal blue Tommy Hilfiger fleece (note to Greg: this thing is so old I got it back when Miss Crider worked at McRae's and let us use his employee discount), my lime sherbet colored fleece bathrobe, my paint-spattered black crocs, my $7 Wal Mart plastic framed cheater glasses and my Lucky Charms beanie with a shamrock on the front.  The hat is my favorite part, because it also is a Wal Mart bargain, and was probably made in China, so the hat is actually too tall and makes me look like a Conehead. But hey, it's warm.  And you know, they claim that 80% or so of your body heat gets lost out of your head. 

And the worst part is that I'm wearing all this inside my house!  Sure, I could take it all off since it's relatively warm here at my desk, but I know that just as sure as I do, I'll want a cigarette and then have to bundle all up again to brave the elements outside.  You know, that's how you know you're a diehard smoker.  When you're willing to brave arctic temperatures to light up.  But, at least I'm considerate enough not to smoke in the house, though it would be so much more pleasant and I wouldn't freeze my ass off on the iron chair out on the porch.  Though I think I heard somewhere that sitting on cold things like that can give you hemorrhoids, so I usually stand instead, and rock back and forth like some autistic child to try to keep my body parts warm. 

Let me just say I do not know how girls in the north stay cute.  How can you be cute when you're bundled up in so many layers of clothes you look like the abominable snowman?  And I don't know about you, but when the temp hits 50 or below, I start craving hot chocolate, which I'm sure has something to do with my added fluffiness around the holidays.  (I'm sure it has nothing to do with the pumpkin pie, snickerdoodles, sweet potato casserole and eggnog).  Note to self: get some eggnog.  I forgot to pick that up when I went turkey day shopping, and it's not Thanksgiving without the eggnog!

Of course along with Thanksgiving comes the Black Friday shopping.  Men, I know you don't understand this, but we women love Black Friday, even if there isn't something we're just dying to get.  I've already added the Black Friday website to my favorites, and have been checking every day to get updates and map out my plan.  Now I'm just hoping that it's not 27 degrees Friday morning at 4 am, which is when I plan to be at Penney's.  Because we've already established that I am not cute when it's 27 degrees, and yet Black Friday I have learned is not a time that you can "come as you are."  I made that mistake one year when I fought the mobs at Wally World for some video game or something my son just had to have, and wouldn't you know I ran into probably 30 co-workers.  And not the ones who were close enough friends to see me sans makeup.  Trust me, I am no Liz Taylor without my makeup.  Rosie O'Donnell maybe. 

Ok, so the bustle of the holiday hits me today.  Today I have to cook for my family's church (nope, not even mine) for their Thanksgiving dinner they're having tomorrow.  Then I think I have tomorrow off, before I have to start in on baking.  Pumpkin, pecan and french silk pies top our menu.  Then of course there's the two types of dressing (cornbread and yankee, cause you know, I'm really from IN [shhhhh]), and all the other typical fare.  Is it any wonder I've been cooking in my sleep?  Seriously. 

So, does anyone know if I need any shots to go to South America?  Cause I'm not sure Calgon is strong enough for this.  Oh, and in case you doubt the seriousness of my less than fashionable attire, my son just rolled out of bed and informed me that I look kind of funny.  This coming from the white boy with an afro who refuses to shave those long curly black hairs coming in on his face.  And that's all I'm going to say about that because it wouldn't be nice to tell my beloved son what his facial hair really looks like.