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I've been at a conference all week - you can find me here

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Healthy Choices

So, my gal over at Raisin-A-Ruckus has been carrying on about some cleansing diet she tried.  Something about eating only fresh fruits and vegetables and that kind of crap.  Don't get me wrong - I enjoy a healthy eating life-style also.  I just go about it a little differently.  I don't try fad diets, or cleansing diets, or any of that other lose weight fast crap.  Instead, I try to think about what I put in my mouth and ask myself "Is this nourishing my body?  Or just adding non-nourishing calories?"  And because I ask myself that question - I'm able to at least stop and think it over before I make the decision to proceed.

It's rather tricky - but let me show you a few examples so you can see how easy this approach can actually be:

 Is this a good choice?  Whiskey & Diet Coke.  What is the nutritional value in this selection?  OR - is this a better choice:

Vodka with Cran-Pomegranate Juice.   I think the latter is the better choice when considering nutritional value.  I think Cranberries AND Pomegranates are good for you and contain a lot of antioxidants.  So Option B is better in this case.  (Although from the looks of the small amount left in the booze bottle in Option A, I think it's clearly obvious which one I more frequently run to.  - BUT it's DIET coke - so it doesn't have any calories.  Just aspertame which will cause neurosis - which is no big deal because I already have that, so what's a little more going to hurt, right?)

Moving along.  Should I put this in my mouth?

Likely so.  Unlike those other American-made cigarettes that cause heart disease, lung cancer and small birth weights or still-born babies, these cigarettes just contain carbon monoxide.  This is a healthy choice, and besides that - for breakfast I ate this:

Which offsets the carbon monoxide I think.  So it's all good.  And don't those oats looking fucking delicious?  YUM!!!

Another example.  Which cheese should you pick?

No dumbass.  NOT the one on the left.  Jesus. That shit has so many fucking preservatives in it that I don't even think it's real food anymore.  You can leave that shit out on the counter for eleventy nine hundred days and it will never spoil.  Select the one on the right.  It's FRESH.

Raisin-A-Ruckus also brags blogs about eating prunes.  So, I figured, what the hell!  I'll give them a try.  I hear they're really really good for you.  And one serving is only 7 prunes - which is like 7 plums, right?  And who the fuck has time to sit around and eat 7 plums.  NOT.ME.  So these prunes are the answer.  Every night I force myself to eat 7 of these slimy-assed things:

Go getcha some!  If I can gag them down - so can you.

I guess the point is - don't join the diet-of-the-month club.  Just stop before you put the food/drink in your mouth and ask yourself:  IS THIS THE BEST CHOICE TO NOURISH MY BODY?  That gives you a second to reconsider your selection and possibly move to something healthier.

I'm sure I'll be contacted by a publisher and asked to write a book on healthy life-styles any day now.  So please don't be upset if I discontinue my free advice.  You can buy the book.

Garage Saling It

Last week we had a garage sale.  I hate a garage sale.  I really do.  BUT the crap I'd set out to get rid of was just "too good" to immediately donate so I wanted to give it a whirl and see what I could make off the crap before I decided to just run it over to the local charity store.  And after 24 hours of effort, a near divorce and being jewed down more times than I can count - I walked away with $280!!!  WOO HOO!!!! All worth it in the end!

Well - the brunette and I had gotten our hairs did - so that garage sale money paid for that!  And it paid for the new shelves we built in the now cleaned out basement.  And then we decided to buy a new TV for our bedroom - so I just kept spending that money over and over and over!  Until, it appears I'll need to have ANOTHER garage sale next week to pay for all the shit I bought with this $280.   Oh well.  Such is life.

But here's the really funny part - I haven't deposited the money into my account yet - I still have the tin of cash hidden.  So REALLY?   I haven't even yet TOUCHED that money so in reality - I still have the $280 to spend.  I'm thinking new shoes?  Maybe a new coat?  Or a purse?  What do you think I should buy with that money?  Maybe a birthday present for the husband?  I mean, I was sort of nasty to him during the garage sale.  But that wasn't really MY fault.  The first day of nastiness was HIS fault - he was NOT being helpful - at.all.  He cleaned up the garage, and hauled all the boxes up from the basement.  But then, he just kept wandering aimlessly behind me re-organizing the treasures and it was confusing me because I couldn't "see" how much of one type of thing I had to figure out how to best display it all.  And then the blonde was reclaiming the treasures as soon as I was putting them on the table.  And I really thought I might have a nervous breakdown.

The second day of nastiness wasn't my fault either.  It was my hair's fault.  I'd gone and gots my hairs did and had it perked up with red highlights.  Red hair is feisty.  And sassy.  And doesn't take shit from anyone.  So my hairs were making me say nasty shit to the husband and causing me to be bold and mouthy. 

But the third day - he was trying to tell me my hairs were still making  me feisty - but he is clueless.  It was him again.  Being UNhelpful.  Putting shit in the "free" bin that wasn't supposed to be free.  Selling shit that I had marked $15 for $1 because the "lady really needed it and you should have seen her - she didn't have any money and NEEDED THAT PHONE."  How the fuck she pay for a phone service if she's that damned broke?  Funny -an hour before that a couple was arguing over buying that phone for the marked price of $15 and the unhelpful one pipes up, "It just doesn't really work that great - but it's brand new - but it doesn't get good reception and we can't hear out of it."  NOT HELPFUL. 

Hey!  Where's that bike that was for sale?  Oh  - he let some kid have it.  He needed it and didn't have any money on him.  There's a special place in heaven for people like my husband and it's called Pauperville.  He's a helluva guy and an amazing jack of all trades.  Highly talented.  But does not possess one lick of business sense.  Not one.  Because running a garage sale is JUST like running a small business and because I cannot do anything halfway and because I'm high strung and anal and OCD - I wanted $15 for that damned phone and because I'm a control freak - only I can decide when to mark shit down.  Shit I was otherwise going to donate.  It's not free until I say it's free, dammit.

And that's how we almost ended up in a divorce over this garage sale.  Oh.  THAT and the fact that HE did not have one single item that was his in the sale.  NOT ONE.  But now that all my shit is cleared out - I think next spring we'll go through all of his and unload buckets of stuff and since it's all tools and shit like that - we will make a fortune!  I've already got the money earmarked for a new shower!  And a new floor!  And a trip to Disney Land!  And....

Cripes.  I suck at earmarking money.  But at least I got new hairs AND a new TV!!!

Don't Forget!!!

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Fashion Advice can now be located here

If I'm not the most interesting person around, then I don't know who is.

Yesterday I had to go in for my annual crotch well-woman visit.  Having already gotten my tits in a wringer in June, this was the last stop on the preventative care train for the year.  It's complicated.  Going to the doctor.  There's a lot of planning and preparation that has to go into it.  The painting of the toe nails, the shaving of the legs, cracked-heel cream application, clothing that can be easily and quickly stripped and then put back on.  Wait.A.Fucking.Minute.  Is this a check up with a professional?  Or a fucking date? 

You see why the anticipation of it haunts me each year.

Appointment was at 3:00.  I arrived at 2:50 to be polite and fill out any necessary paperwork.  At 3:05, after patiently standing at the receptionist desk (I was the only person in line) - I was finally greeted.  The phones were ringing off the hook and the two receptionists were both answering phones AND dealing with the patients as they checked in.  Total inefficiency if you ask me.  It seems to me one should do one thing and the other, the other.  But maybe that's how the day started and then the gal dealing with patients got bored and answered the phone to help the other gal out and then all hell broke loose because they could never find their separate rhythms again?  I'm not sure - but it was definitely a cluster fuck.

At 3:10 I sat down and started filling out my paperwork.  At 3:20 I was called back.  WOO HOO!!!  This is going quick!  I was VERY pleasantly surprised.  The nurse informed me they had "gone live" on a new computer system just that morning (glory for me!) and asked for my patience while she attempted to use it and order up the proper labs and such.  At 3:30, she instructed me to change into that god-foresaken gown (although it WAS cloth and had ties so I was VERY appreciative of that because I H.A.T.E. the otherwise paper gowns that leave you fairly well exposed no matter how you twist them and your body to form a shield).  Then she left the room.

I had my iPhone with me - so I checked all my email, sent off a few responses to people at work.  Checked Facebook.  Three times.  Played 3 games of Scramble.  Then decided to take a nap.  At 4:15 I was greeted by the doctor.  She asked me if I had gotten in a nap?  NO - the god damned light in here is too bright.  Those were my exact words.  You know what she said to me?  "You should have fucking turned it off"  Those were her exact words. 

And that is why I love that doctor and tolerate her shoddily run office.  I was no longer irritated I'd been there for 75 minutes - 45 of which were being held hostage in a skimpy cloth gown in a tiny, brightly lit room.  We ran through my very long list of perceived medical issues.  Although they are real - symptoms - of something.  Menopause, maybe?  I don't know.  That's what I want her to tell me.  And when I got done running down the list.  She looked me square in the eye and said, "So really you have about 1 week a month where you can lead a quality life?" 

Well, now that made it all seem so..... P.A.T.H.E.T.I.C.  So I back-peddled, and explained that the issues are just more annoying and nagging than they are debilitating and really my quality of life isn't that bad because I am a survivor and I just plow through - there is no rest for the weary in my world.  She wasn't buying it.  And went into this long lecture about sleeping and various surgical options and hormonal therapies and this, that and the other.  And my head was spinning and I was regretting I'd told her my problems because clearly she did not "get" me and wasn't aware that I believe in self-healing and herbal therapy and am petrified of medical procedures and that I may well just be a tad crazy.  And then, she caught my attention and brought me back into her world.

"You know - they should have a flusher on the female body - so when we're done with having babies and no longer need those parts - we just push the flusher and it rids our bodies of all those parts - because all they do is cause us grief when we're no longer using them."  DAMN STRAIGHT!!!  So, she did get me!!  A woman after my own heart.  I've been saying that for years.  Of course, I said that prior to getting pregnant with the blonde and had I pushed that flusher after the brunette, I wouldn't have the blonde - and wow.  My life would be pretty incomplete having never known the blonde.  But anyway - now that I'm somewhere in my 40's - I'm seriously done with these parts and she's right.  They're a real pain in the ass.  And when I look at it from her perspective - I guess I do only have 1 week a month when I feel normal.  And sleep well.  And don't experience all these other bizarre symptoms.  And I'm pleasant to be around. 

I mentioned that I'd had Typhoid Fever last week and that the husband had also had it but he had it far worse than I.  She laughed and said she already knew he was more sick than me and I didn't have to bring that to her attention.  I told her that I had suggested he just go on to the hospital or maybe even the funeral home.  She started laughing, then stood up and started emulating a scene from Monty Python's "The Holy Grail" and chanting - BRING OUTCHER DEAD!!!  BRING OUTCHER DEAD!!!"  I really thought I might just pee my pants from laughing - right there.  On the exam table.  In the doctor's office. 

So I agreed to have some follow-up blood work done to rule out anything serious.  And although I'm opposed to pharmaceuticals (EXCEPT Xanax) - I agreed to take a script for some hormone therapy home with me in the event I can come to terms with actually filling the damned thing and ingesting the drugs.  They're actually just low hormone birth control pills - which concerned me since I smoke.  But when I asked her about this concern - she basically told me that those warnings are for dipshits that don't recognize the signs of clotting and get help early - and that there are just as many non-smokers on birth control that have problems as there are smokers and that they're just targeting the smokers with their warnings. AHA!  She's on the same conspiracy theory band wagon as I am!  YAY!!!  She's the type of gal I want to hang out on the deck with and drink beers!  I might invite her over the next time I see her! 

Bottom line -

I shaved my knees for nothing  - because they put a drape over them during the exam and NEVER commented on my uber smooth knee caps. 

She did NOT ask me out on a date as I feared she might - so all that preparation was likely unnecessary.

She did not immediately check me in to a hospital for my stated symptoms - not even the nut-house.  So I must be fairly normal.

I was out of there by 5 p.m. - Just 2 short hours - that's a record!

It appears I'm not going to die.  At least not immediately.

By Shitters I think I've figured it out!!!

So the blonde just got home from her first overnight Girl Scout camping trip.  The one to which I was NOT invited.  Which is fine.  I didn't really want to go anyway.  I mean, seriously.  Umpteen young girls, in the wild, no coffee, no smokes, no booze.  Sounds like fucking punishment to me.  Glad there are other mothers out there that will step up to the plate and take the obligatory beating on my behalf.

Here's how she looked when she got home:

HOW CUTE IS SHE WITH HER LITTLE AUNT JEMIMA BANDANA ON?!!

I asked her to tell me ALL about it.  And so she did.  They had no running water.  (Jesus can you imagine the hassle that would be?)  They got to learn about how to be safe around a fire.  Then they got to learn how to use matches (got any handy mama?  I can show you how to use one properly)  They made their own food.  They washed their own dishes.  They learned how to use knives.  They did some sewing and some tracking.  And made a game - out of STICKS and YARN.  And I thought I was the pioneer in the family?  Obviously I am ashamed to have ever even considered myself in the same category as this rugged child I've borne. 

So at the table, the brunette informs the blonde that she used to be in Girl Scouts too - but only made it to Daisy level then dropped out.  When the blonde asked why, the brunette stated it pretty bluntly:  "DUH!  There is no running water.  While you were out playing in the dirt - I was out shopping at the mall and getting my nails done."

Which was true.  But then the whole conversation reminded me - I used to be in Campfire Girls.  And I, too, went real-roughing it style camping.  No running water.  No shelter other than your tent.  Cooking over the open campfire because DUH!  We were CAMPFIRE girls.  I can also remember hunting and picking berries to make cobbler.  And it occurred to me - I do not recall EVER going to the bathroom the ENTIRE time I was ever on one of those camping trips.  I don't even think there were bathrooms.  And chances are I never went.  I don't recall ever going anyway and we stayed out there for like eleventy nine hundred nights in a row.  Weird.  I'd never really thought of it before. 

But likely explains my fear of staying overnight somewhere other than my own home for fear of not being able to take a shit.  I knew this shitting stage fright constipationaphobia had SOMETHING to do with my childhood.  And NOW I've figured it out!

Blog Blog Blog

I need more to do.  Seriously.  I do.  NOT.  But in the keeping in the spirit of being an over-achiever - I've taken on yet another BLOG!!!  For those of you who tolerate my periodic bullshit ramblings about nothing already love me and love my blogging, and want to learn more about how to be fashionable, yet comfortable and on the go -- you can now do so!!  Thanks to me and my co-blogger - you can now find a real-life blog about how to look great and feel great - all at a very frugal price!  Just follow us here:  http://fashion-on-the-go.blogspot.com/.

Enjoy!

Got Corn?

So.  There we were.  Eating dinner.  Me, the husband, the brunette and her friend Taylor Swift, and the blonde.  When all of a sudden the doorbell rang.  The blonde jumped up and started to run to the door.  HALT!  YOU SIT!  And like a good pet, she did.  But when the husband answered the door, I didn't hear an adult voice, instead it was a child's voice - asking for the blonde.  Next thing I know, the husband's walking back to the table, with a small boy behind him.  Titan.  That was his name.  He didn't look like a Titan.  He didn't seem to be clashing with anyone or anything.  He looked more like this:

I know.  I've got some mad drawing skills, right?  Don't be a hater.  I'm sure you've got hidden talents too.  Don't be afraid to show them off!  I'm not! 

Anyway - Titan plops down at the table next to the blonde and she's gushing like a 15 year old and I'm staring at him, wondering how he got here, the husband's trying to get him a plate of food and the brunette and Taylor Swift are curiously interested in their food all of a sudden.  What is so fascinating about this wee one that showed up on our doorstep?  Well.  He can't just sit there and watch us eat - so I decided to engage him in a conversation - see what he's really made of, ya know? 

Me:  How'd you get here anyway?

Titan:  Rode my bike.

Me:  Oh?  Where do you live?

Titan:  Just up the street.*

Me:  Oh, I see.  Did you eat supper?

Titan:  No. 

Me:  Why?

Titan:  Because I tricked my mom.

Me:  Oh?  How did you trick your mom?

Brunette:  My left nose is stuffed up.

Me:  My left nose is always stuffed up - I was thinking it is a deviated septum and I could get surgery and they could fix this hump on my nose at the same time?

Blonde:  I think your nose looks like a witch nose.

Me:  Wow.  Thanks.

Brunette:  JESUS CHRIST blonde - you are SO RUDE.

Titan:  Well, I was with my sister and then my mom got home and so then she told me to come down here.

Me:  Oh.  I see.  So she made you come to my house?

Titan:  Sort of.

Me:  Okay.  How old is your sister?

Titan:  She's in 6th grade.

Me:  So she's getting up there in age, eh?  Does she drive the car?

Titan:  Only to school... sometimes.  Other times she rides the bus.

Blonde:  We stood a broom up in our kitchen and it stood there all by itself without any strings.

Titan:  How'd you do that?

Me:  I parked it there.

Titan:  Huh?

Blonde:  What?  You did not.

Me:  Yes.  I did.  After I rode it in that night - I parked it in the middle of the kitchen.  Anyway - Titan - Who do you want to win the game? KU or K-State?

Titan:  NEITHER - ICK!

Me:  Oh.  So you're a HUSKER fan?

Titan:  HOW DID YOU KNOW?!  HOW DID YOU KNOW?

Me:  Uh - the "GOT CORN?" shirt pretty well gave it away for me, dude.

Titan:  Hmmmph.  I'm going outside to play.

And he got up and let himself out to the front yard to play while we finished dinner.  But we were all totally intrigued by this 8 year old - who rode his bike  - alone - to our house.  At night.  And I don't know him.  I've never seen him.  I have no clue who is parents are or where they actually live.  I don't let the blonde ride her bike in the driveway past the 2nd tree.  Pretty soon, we ask him what time he needs to be home.  7 p.m.  Oh - so he even has a curfew?  And he's aware of it?  And he knows how to follow it?  Christ.  I can't even get my teenagers to do that.  I must meet his mother.  This amazing woman who just orders her children to go play elsewhere, throws them the keys to the car and then skips around her house in peace and silence.  I've never heard of such a thing.  But I find the child totally fascinating and hope he comes back soon so I can drill him with more profound life questions!  And his stopping by certainly made the blonde happy!  Not to mention - I totally love to make shit up when I talk to 8 year olds.  They're so gullible. 

*The husband walked him home because it's nearly dark at 7 p.m.  He does NOT live right up the street - he lives closer to 1.25 miles away - and has to cross a fairly well-traveled (by teenage drivers) road in order to reach his house. ?????

Taking Inventory

I work primarily from home these days.  I prefer it that way.  I can work the first few hours of the dawn in my jammies.  I can take a walk whenever I want.  And I can fart if I need to without worrying about who's around.  It's the little things that matter.

Today, between calls, I decided to walk around and take inventory of this place.  My new office.  I needed to know just exactly what is going on around me whilst I sit in front of my computer all day.  I did find the most interesting things and I'd like to share them with you.

First, these two cats - under a bush in my front yard:

It's difficult to see the one on the left - but hopefully my perfectly drawn arrows will provide some assistance.  Those two.  Yesterday I caught them enveloped in each other's arms, making out.  I suggested they get a room.  I guess this is their room now.

So that made me wonder where the 3rd cat was hiding, so I went in search of him.  He was likely out hunting, or chasing squirrels or maybe even fending off a racoon somewhere.  He's a tough Tom like that.  But after a few minutes of calling for him to come hither from the surrounding forest of trees (to no avail), I found him here:

In a lawn chair.  In the garage.  Sleeping under bushes isn't his style.  He's far more human-like than that.  My God but these animals are lazy.  I was certain my ol' hound was busy chasing off snakes.  Or standing guard of my house.  Certainly he must be in the driveway - like a sentry - protecting me while I was in the house working:

Lazy.  There he was - just lying in the front yard - next to his "bone".  He can't have real bones because he pukes them up on my bedroom floor, so he's relegated to just retrieving old logs from the forest and chewing on those.  I'm sure it's great for his digestive tract.

But what.the.fuck is this?

A drunk penguin.  Lying in my yard.  That fucking penguin.  I knew when we brought him home from my dad's a few weeks ago this would NOT end well.  I thought the dog might tear him to pieces.  Or the husband might kick his ass to the curb.  But no.  His ultimate demise was the booze.  I knew it would be the night we brought him home and he sat in my garage, donning my hat and hogging the husband's whiskey. 

Penguins are a pain in the ass.

As I continued my inventory around the front yard - I was SHOCKED! to find that someone had already decorated the house for Halloween!  The blonde will be delighted!!! 

YAY!!!!  Halloween Decorations!!!

When I went back inside to return to my desk, I was somewhat taken aback by this:

The drapes.  In my now office.  NOT EVENLY HUNG. 

Lived here for over 5 years and I've never noticed that.  Now it's driving me NUTS.  Fortunately my back faces that window most of the day so I don't have to see their unevenness.  But I added it to the list of shit the husband needs to fix anyway.  And I made a note- to not let drunk penguins hang your drapes. 

They just end up passed out in your front yard anyway.  No wonder the neighbors won't wave at me.  The husband thinks it's because I scowl at them and give them that look of "who the fuck are you and why are you waving" when they drive by.  HA!  Fuck that.  It's HIS drunken penguins lying around the yard, along with the slew of snoozing animals AND our Halloween decorations that are likely the off-putting features of this house.  NOT me.





Too Much?

What is too much?  Who defines that, anyway?  I cuss too much.  I drink too much.  I smoke too much.  I bitch too much.  I sleep too much.  I drink too much caffeine.  And along the way, I nag myself - "you're doing too much of these things blondie - get it together."  So today, I'm not feeling 100%.  The blonde and the brunette have been hacking and barking around here for the last week like little typhoid Mary's and now it seems they've passed their little bug on to me.  Which pissese me off to no end.  I do NOT have time to be sick.  So... I'm self-medicating myself back to health. 

So far today:

1. I've taken a very hot shower to clear my sinuses and throat.
2. Snorted some saline solution until I gagged myself.
3. Taken 4,000 IU of D3
4. Ingested 500 mg of Zinc
5. Ingested a Garlic pill
6. Ingested 2 Ibuprofen
7. Drank 8 oz of Echinecea tea
8. Gargled 7 times with a Cider Vinegar/Water solution
9. Drank 8 oz of De-Tox Herbal Tea (figured I could at least pee myself out of this illness)
10. And I slathered my neck with Vicks and then donned a scarf.  So I'm dressed like this:

Is that too much?  It's not even noon yet.  I don't really know if I feel better or not.  My neck is rather stiff - but I think it's more from this giant scarf wrapped around it than the actual illness.  Although my eyes are kind of watering and I might be shaking from having not eaten anything yet today.  Better have some chicken soup!!  I hear that is a cure all!  But really, is it too much?!

On a similar note, the husband is also ailing.  His version of this inconvenience is FAR worse than mine though.  But of course, you likely already knew that.  As he stood, bent over in the kitchen, holding his side and barking out one small cough this morning, he was able to muster enough strength to inform me, "I think this is already bronchitis."  Likely so.  Probably pneumonia.  Better head on up to the hospital.  I'll be up with some flowers later sweetie.  After I clean the floors, fumigate the house from the germs that are obviously in here, do some actual work so we can afford to pay our bills and cook dinner for our family.  Meanwhile he stomped off to work without saying good bye but proclaiming he NEVER gets sick.  I think that is too much.

UPDATE:  I just remembered - I also had 1 tsp of Elderberry Juice Concentrate.  And 24 oz of water.  Now, maybe THAT is too much?

Fires... Bomb Threats and other fascinating things

Last night the blonde came home with "homework" for "us."  I hate this.  I have already been through the public school system - I don't need any more homework, butthankyouverymuchanyway.

So, I begrudgingly looked at the homework assignment.  Count the number of smoke detectors in the house.  Easy enough.  7.  Now check them.  HUH?  All of them?  We do that when the time changes - that is our schedule.  And they were throwing me all of schedule.  So we checked one.  It worked fine and we called the assignment "done."

Later, as I lie in bed, I heard the tell-tell (tell-tale, tale-tell, tail-tail??) beeps of a detector with a going-dead-but-not-quite-yet battery.  ARGH!!!  And wouldn't you know it - it was the one in the blonde's room.  Of course I did what any responsible parent would do - I quickly changed the battery because I keep a supply of 9 volt batteries sitting on alert for just these matters  ran to her room before she could hear it, pulled it off the ceiling and hid it so she wouldn't go back to school and tell her teacher what a complete fuck up I am.

Tonight, I threw some cauliflower in the oven to roast it and then went to light the grill.  When I came back in - the blonde was sitting in the living room hypnotized by the watching TV and smoke was whirling around her.  I ran to the oven and there was a huge flame coming up from something left on the bottom.  I quickly grabbed the baking soda and extinguished the blaze and the blonde never even looked up.  That fire safety lesson plan needs some tweaking, I'd say.

On a more positive fucked up note, her school had a bomb threat today and had to evacuate.  I never got the call from their emergency alert system so I had no clue that it had happened until I read about it in the paper online later in the afternoon.  Poor thing.  She must have been terrified.  It just broke my heart thinking about it.  So when she got home from school, I was certain to sufficiently quiz her on ther matter:

Me:  How was your day?

Blonde:  Boring

Me:  Boring? Didn't anything exciting happen?

Blonde:  Not really.  Oh I guess we had a REAL fire drill.  There was a small fire, about "this" big in the kitchen and so we had to go outside for like 4 hours and move from one spot to another.  There was a fire truck and a TON of police people. 

Me:  Four hours?  Outside?  Are you sure?

Blonde:  Maybe 3.  And it was in the middle of my lunch so I never got any lunch so can I have a snack?

And off she went into the house - - totally oblivious to the fear and concern I had.  And what had happened at her school today.  And how fucked up their fire safety lesson plan is. I wish I was 8 again.