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“WITCH!” the little girl screamed while pointing at me.
“What?” I asked her, totally confused. I mean, I was just standing in a department store, looking at some bracelets and minding my own business, and all of a sudden I found myself in an Arthur Miller scene. I bent down to the girl. “I’m not a witch, sweetie,” I told her in my most soothing tone.
“You ARE a witch!” she retorted.
Before I could become totally invested in an “AM NOT!”/”ARE TOO!” argument, her mother walked up.
“She a witch!” the girl told her. The embarrassed mother turned to me and explained, “It’s your dress.” Then they walked away but within minutes I could hear her telling the story to someone in the fine jewelry section. “It was her dress,” she told the person.
I’m not sure if the comment about my dress was meant to make me feel better. It was one of those long cotton dresses that, according to GAP, is in fashion. That’s the first time I ever wore it, and maybe my last. I don’t want to give little suburban kids nightmares. [pause] Or on second thought, maybe I do. I think I’ll wear some long fake fingernails and maybe a big hat the next time I go out in my maxi-dress. I rather like the idea of being the star of a new urban legend.

The kids will be out next week for Spring Break and coincidentally (wink, wink), April is National Alcohol Awareness Month. When we were in high school, we were pretty smart about drinking. Except for the small inconvenience of our parties being regularly busted by the cops, we had fun and looked out for one another. For example, lesson number one is to always keep up with your friends. Don’t leave them behind, don’t let them walk away with boys you don’t know (or some you do), don’t let them do stupid stuff like get on the roof or go swimming or driving, don’t let them drink waaay too much, and – for God’s sake – ROLL THEM ON THEIR STOMACHS IF THEY PASS OUT! We didn’t do drugs (unless you count pot), but I suppose I should mention that you shouldn’t combine drink & drug. Also, nowadays everybody has a camera phone and your picture could show up on the worldwide web tomorrow, so try not to do anything that will keep you from being able to run for public office later in life.
All of this will probably slip your mind within minutes, but here’s something that will haunt your memory forever. I like to call it “One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila, Floor!”

This was the hottest girl at our high school. Okay, fine, I lied about that. This is actually me, after my first taste of tequila. (I’m pretty sure I’m not running for public office, so it’s okay.) I thought I could hang with the boys, but my friends started giving me shots of water and I didn’t even notice, so obviously I was mistaken. I’m not passed out in this picture, just taking a break from puking. It would be almost 20 years before I could even stand the aroma of tequila again, and then only if it was in a margarita. No more sucking the lime, licking the salt for me. I recommend, if you want your kids to stop drinking, you give them a few shots of that nasty poison. Or give them a LOT of champagne. I only had that acid once in college, and I will never have it again due to the worst hangover known to man.
So there. I feel like I’ve done my April duty of making everyone aware of alcohol. Happy Spring Break!

It’s a good thing I’m not the kind of person who says, “I told you so”, because those people can be very irritating. But if I were that type of person (which I definitely am not), I would refer you to my recent post on cheating husbands, the one where I said “rehab for sex addiction on standby.” In case you were trapped under a rock yesterday, Jesse James – husband of Sandra Bullock – has checked himself in to a rehab clinic in AZ. Who could have predicted something as crazy as that???
I’m guessing we’re going to see a choked-up interview in about 4 weeks on Entertainment Tonight or The Insider where Jesse apologizes, says he felt entitled, he was arrogant, loves Sandy, wants his family back together, yadda yadda.
I read something the other day where entertainment reporter Ted Casablanca said that it will ruin Sandy’s career if she goes back to her husband after this because her female audience won’t stand for it. BOO, HISS, Ted Casablanca! Although I’d be seriously pissed – make that SERIOUSLY PISSED – if M did something like that to me, I’d still have a difficult choice to make since there is a child involved. When we were dating and then got married, I made it very clear that he would be out on his ass if he ever cheated on me. But while we were still in the hospital after Daughter G was born, I told him that he could never leave, no matter what. I grew up a child of divorced parents and that’s not the life I want for my child. (Of course, there are certain circumstances where it’s better to leave than to stay together, but we’re not in one of those situations.) (Yet.) (I kid.) So all I’m saying is to let the woman make her own decisions. I used to work with this older black woman who always said, “No one knows what’s in the pot but the one stirring it.” So true. I think people telling Sandy she has to choose between her family and her career are ridiculous. How could we judge her decisions when we really have no idea what’s going on with them? Besides, I don’t see how standing by her man has affected Hillary Clinton’s career, and she’s one tough broad.
On a good note, I’ll be at the Master’s practice next week when Tiger comes back. My goal is to be thrown out for heckling. I will not be taken down easily; I may be small, but I’m scrappy.

The good news is that I survived the stomach bug from hell. What a nightmare. I think I may have offended M when I said I may have food poisoning, since he’s the one who cooked the evil burritos from the previous night. I am not sorry I said it, as it just makes us even from Sunday, when he asked me in all seriousness if I remembered how to work the treadmill. Like I would ask him if I didn’t. I would sooner Google the shit out of it until I found the answer. But really, pressing “Power”, “Start”, and “Stop” isn’t really that difficult to figure out.
So last night he told me my stomach illness was most likely due to the fact that I “eat like crap” and it finally caught up with me. Good God. He’s watched one episode of Jamie Oliver’s “Food Revolution” and all of a sudden he’s a nutritionist. (Although I do have some recollection of a certain New Year’s resolution…)
I would say that his reaction is similar to my own, when I’ve self-diagnosed every symptom I’ve ever had. If I had half the conditions I’ve declared myself to suffer from, I’d have been dead years ago. I’ve been to the doctor for gall bladder problems, Parkinson’s disease, cancer tumors, etc. to the point where my doctor asks me what I have before he looks into the problem. (I’ve never been correct – damn the internet.) But I’m not nearly as annoying as a person who tells others they eat like crap. The nerve! I thank God every day that I’m not afflicted with this Know-It-All condition, as those who have that problem are really irritating to those of us who pretty much already know everything.

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