Ho f**king ho

How and when did Eric and Julie change from the above into this:



Please excuse me. I get all sentimental around the holidays and while the second photograph is from the Rock School premiere in late May of 2005 out in LA, the first photo I guess is from around 1993 or 1994 when all I had to worry about was having poster boards in the house for elementary school projects and making sure no one from the outside world told my kids that Santa wasn't real. (I managed to perpetuate that myth until Julie was in 6th grade and Eric in 5th grade and I don't care what they might say to the contrary, that is the TRUTH. And Eric was the one who told Julie!)

In that first pic, we were on vacation and we'd just come down the water slide. That was the first and only time I'd ever committed that act of terror, and after making several deals with God once I got to the top of the slide, yeah, yeah, I did it. Even my getting to the top of the slide in itself was no small feat because as normal people who enjoy that sort of thing (and who the hell are you?) are aware, you have to climb and climb and climb many stairs with throngs of over-active kids clutching huge tubes...and oh, have I mentioned in addition to being a lousy swimmer I also hate heights and tend to get claustrophobic when teenagers are pushing and shoving each other while next to me and we're fifty miles up in the air and a fall over the railing would result in certain death? So why I allowed the kids to even talk me into that debacle in the first place I have no idea...must have been during my Xanax period.

Kidding, kidding.

Anyway, I did in fact sit in the tube and allow myself to be pushed by a sixteen year old, gum cracking lifeguard into the chamber of terror where I screamed my bloody head off the entire time as I scraped my elbows and shins all the way down on whatever that thing is constructed of -- it's like freaking sandpaper and it also took the nail polish right off my fingers and toes, by the way. And if that experience alone wasn't gruesome enough, the grand finale resulted in my catapulting ten feet in the air into a pool of gross water way over my head.

So that explains my hair in that photo.

In other news, you would think that now that I'm no longer in nine to five world, I'd have Christmas all under control this year, but it's just the opposite. I have exactly two presents bought, and while the tree is up, it's half-assed because I swear I'm missing an entire box of ornaments and it's a box of the good ones - handcrafted gifts from friends, ones I made myself during my oh look at me I'm so crafty phase, and even a complete set of both the Three Stooges and The Beatles. The family of course thinks I'm crazy and tells me nothing is missing, but how could they not remember Moe, Curly and Larry? Or John, Paul, George, and Ringo? I would not dream I had these ornaments!

Or would I? Oh god, I feel so crazy anymore, I'm not sure if I dream half the shit that happens around here. Stupid female hormones. Grrr...

No, we have those ornaments. I just remembered the clincher. We have two angels - a pink Julie and a blue Eric, who sleep on clouds, that their grandmother bought for us when they were babies. Aha! Now the family will believe me when I tell them this box is missing!!!

Unless of course I dreamt about the angels, too, and the idea of Julie and Eric ever being angelic is just wishful thinking...

Har har.

Anyway, continuing on with this zoo of a house, as anyone who has visited knows, I still have all of my vinyl, and it's a pretty extensive collection spanning every decade (ha - I even have 78s and an old Edison crank up to play them on), requiring six huge built in shelves which take up a substantial portion of my living room wall. Last time I counted, and yes, once I was crazy enough to do stuff like that...before I had kids, I guess...I had over 5,000 records. Of course when Julie was born in 1986, that's kind of right when I started buying CDs, so maybe the 5,000 figure is still correct. To make a long story short, we were in the kitchen baking Christmas cookies Saturday night when we heard a huge rumble and then a crash. All six shelves collapsed, record albums spilled out everywhere; the complete stereo/tape/CD system went a-falling, too, and well, oh bitchcakes. Besides the fact that we had to hang new shelves -- not easy when you have exposed brick walls as your "wallpaper" -- I then had to put 5,000 albums back in alphabetical order.

I'm still not finished. I'm up to "L". But luckily it appears that everything still works, even the...snort...turntable. And thank God, not one album sustained even a scratch. I know because I checked. Hey, I have some serious collector's stuff here, like, original Beatle records only sent to members of their fan club in the sixties and tons of bootlegs plus stuff I bought in Germany and the UK that you just can't get here.

Okay, enough about my freaking record collection.

You can always tell when I have more major Julie or Eric music news that I'm sitting on and can't spill because my posts are inane bullshit like today's.

Sooo...if it's gossip you're wanting from me, you'll have to wait a few more days.

In the meantime, I'm off to play some more with my new fountain pen. I still haven't found out the best paper to use; I've been investigating journals on line and found some gorgeous ones but nowhere does it say "works well with fountain pens". Ha ha, I can't imagine why. So. If anyone reading this can fill me in on the best journal to buy for writing with pen and ink, please let me know. A link would be most appreciated. Especially a link to a journal that not only has superior paper but a pretty cover, too.

Hey, I told you I was hormonal.

Ho fucking ho.