Monday, December 31, 2012

My Auld Lang Syne... Thank You Mr. Clark

I’d be hard pressed to find a post-pubescent American without some memory of Dick Clark.  Luckily mine isn’t merely of seeing him on television, but of helping him make it.  I’ve written of him here before, as the mention made Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon-ing myself a sweet and simple task, but there is way more to my memory of him than that.  My connection to Mr. Clark plays a large part in my take on life.

I can’t remember a childhood New Years Eve that didn’t include watching the ball drop with my family.  The daughter of a former emergency room nurse and paramedic, holidays that involved lots of drunk driving like NYE, Halloween and the 4th of July were usually spent out of harm’s way (unless you are one to consider the television dangerous).

Many years later, my first job in Los Angeles was working alongside Dick Clark on the set of his talk show, “The Other Half”.  In the decade since, I have been lucky enough to work with everyone from Justin Bieber:

to Kermit the Frog (and maybe a few Bachelors):

but no experience has been as powerful as standing beside Mr. Clark (although putting my aging on blast like this is playing a close second).  Here’s why.

I really wish a stranger had walked into our den on an early 1980’s NYE and said “someday, you will work with that man” as the ball dropped, just to see my reaction...  Or do I?

I grew up in Connecticut.  I wanted to be a child psychologist.  I barely knew how to operate a Polaroid.  But things change.  Had someone told me then what I know now, what (if anything) would I have done differently?  Should we be as adults what we are as children?  If so, how completely?  And, for the love of God, why?!

I could never have imagined where my life would take me.  It is nothing like I ever pictured, yet still I cannot picture it any differently.

As we head into the New Year, remember that life happens for no reason other than to be lived, and hopefully, loved.  Be open to whatever it brings you, as you never know when you may end up finding “The Other Half” of what you expected- or didn’t even know you were looking for.

Wishing you 2013 blessings this year.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Here Is Light For Newtown... And For You

Charlie Brown’s reference to grief should be the only one we hear repeatedly this time of year.  Unfortunately, that's hardly the case this season, as we've all spent the last several days in mourning.

The good news is, there is light.  Granted it may be difficult to find, but with the proper tools, Newtown can find light.

It's no secret that I lost my father to cancer when I was 18.  I was 14 when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor larger than a grapefruit.  My sister was 10.

So began a lifetime of changes...  everything from regular sessions with Agnes, the elderly social worker as relatable as a duck, to my mother’s new “don’t sweat the small stuff” mentality.

But one thing never changed.  I still miss my dad everyday.  I hate that he never met my husband and cry because my kids will never experience the love of a living grandfather.  That said, I consider myself to be a (relatively) well-adjusted adult.  So I lucked out.

Indeed we lost 20 children in Newtown, but we also lost 7 adults, many of whom had children of their own.  I want those kids to know they are not alone in their darkness.  There is light.  And here is a wonderful place to find it.

My beautiful friend Julie, a 9-year volunteer at Circle of Tapawingo and creator of this video, shared the following:

“One of camp’s hardest hours is Circle Time. We come together, in a circle, to give each girl the chance to share her story -- as much or as little as she wants -- of how her parent died. For some, there is manageable sadness. For others, only sobbing and muffled words. Each time what I am struck by most is how girls so young know how and when to console so well... when to reach for the tissues, when to embrace, when to show just the right amount of comfort to say "I'm here".  Often we don't know what to do in these scenarios as adults, yet these inspiring kids know exactly what to do, with strength and wisdom beyond their years. I am there to help, teach and support them. Ironically, they have done just that for me in return.”

The Newtown victims had their voices taken away, but those they left behind still have theirs, and deserve to be heard around the world.  Places like Circle of Tapawingo can help.

You can learn more about the camp to help and support their important mission here.  

The circle is always growing.  Welcome, Newtown.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

John Walsh Saved My Holiday, And He's About To Save Yours Too

I'm gonna rain on your holiday parade.

I just stood in a post office line that extended into the parking lot in order to mail my holiday cards.  Rather, I stood in a post office line that extended into the parking lot so I could buy attractively-holiday-ish stamps to include on my holiday cards.  WTF.

As I waited, furiously checking my phone for responses to an article on the Today Show website in which I am quoted alongside Brad Pitt (for reals), a non-Christian, middle-aged mom stormed toward the end of the line screaming, “Are you kidding me?  A line at the post office?  What could be happening in the world that there is a line at the post office?”

(Please don't ask how I know she was non-Christian)
In all honesty, I expected the peeps from SNL (or at least Funny Or Die) to pop out with cameras, casting directors, or Andy Samburg at best.  But nothing.  Her actions were truer than anything on Storage Wars.  Bah Humbug.

While the holidays bring out the best in many of us, they can also bring out the worst.  You likely need proof of this like you need to see more Elf on The Shelf photos, but bear with me.  I am pushing an important end message here.

On two separate occasions this weekend I heard crying children head to the front of a store to ask for help after losing track of their parent or guardian.  I am still torn as to whether my reaction was more of anger or sadness.  Either way, there was empathy for both mother and child, and an appreciation for John Walsh.

Yes, John Walsh.  Everyone has seen an episode or 600 of America’s Most Wanted, created and hosted by Walsh, who became an advocate for victims' rights after the murder of his son in 1981.

Adam Walsh
I still have memory of that summer, when 6 year old Adam was abducted from the toy section of a Sears department store.  My mother used news of the then only missing boy to teach me a lesson about wandering off.  Then, when the 1983 made for TV movie “Adam” aired, she had me watch it.  Unfortunately, the ending of the film was as tragic as reality.  16 days after his disappearance, Adam’s head was discovered 120 miles from his home.  Nothing else was ever found.  (His murderer was convicted and later died in prison.)

I was 7 years old when “Adam” aired, but remember it to this day.  I am thankful to my mother, as unconventional as her ways may have seemed, for providing the reason why my girls doing this still scares the crap out of me.

There is so much to think about as the holidays approach… travel, shopping, expenses, stressful family visits, and coming up with innovative ideas for your Elf on the Shelf.

But more importantly, the holidays are about giving- giving joy, giving hope, giving thanks, and giving love.

Don’t lose sight of your love, literally or figuratively.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Things Got Pretty Naughty In My House After That Victoria's Secret Fashion Show

Last night after I put the kids to sleep I caught Kiddo, our Elf on the Shelf, chilling on the couch watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.  Not that I can blame him...  I mean, reporting back to Santa on all the naughty and nice that happens in my house is no easy task.  But then, he just disappeared.

This is where I found him.

Then he ducked out for a smoke.

I figured he didn't want the girls to smell it on him because I saw him here next:

But then I realized the Victoria's Secret stuff had really taken things in a different direction than I had first suspected...

Unfortunately for Kiddo, that didn't work out.  This is where I found him last.

I just thank God that I saw him before my daughters did, as this would be a really tough one to explain.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Why I'm Likely To Hate Your Christmas, Hanukkah or Festivus Card

I’m not one to give spoilers, but this photo will be one of a few on my holiday card.

I'm using it as a form of rebellion, illustrated perfectly in the “get that damn camera out of my face” expression on little Isla’s face.  But more importantly, I'm including it because it is real.

Believe me, I am all about photos, cards, and anything crafty I can buy at Michael’s without being spotted by someone I know, but I have many a pet peeve when it comes to this tradition.

I hate your holiday card if…

·      It's a boring, generic, unpersonalized card and you simply sign your name.  I mean, at least make the message worth what you are spending on the postage.

·      You put make-up on young children.  Even lip gloss is totally unacceptable.  Unless, if course, it's on Courtney Stodden.

Courtney Stodden: Christmas 2010
·      You use uber-posed, obvi-uncomfortable professional shots.  You know, the head-tilt ones.

·      You don matching parent/child outfits.  If you shop for Eddie Bauer coordinates, it better be for comedic value only.

·      You include a family resume.  I care about my family and friends lives, just as I hope you care about mine, and I do appreciate hearing a tidbit or two about ballet or guitar lessons.  But I do not need to know every time you add a “student of the week” bumper sticker to your ugly minivan.

Holiday cards should be a celebration of what your life is really like, not a prim and proper, fake representation of what you think it should be.  Do I think you should include a copy of your script for antidepressants and second notice of an overdue cell phone bill?  Certainly not (although that would be my favorite card EVER).  Instead, I just encourage you to be you.  You are definitely better at it than anyone.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Halle Berry Is The One Who Needs A Smack, For Realz

I am absolutely guilty of pulling an illegal u-turn in the middle of a busy city street to get a glimpse of who a mob of paparazzi is following.  I’ve even been known to snap and share my own shots of big stars.

Tom Cruise literally asked for it.  A paparazzi told me that he had received a call directly from TomKat’s press team letting him know where and when Tom would be for his son’s baseball game.  Total home run.

Angelina was at a busy farmers market.  As I have shared here before, she, her children and their albeit small entourage stuck out like a sore thumb.  Did I feel a pang of guilt snapping a photo with a couple of her androgynous children?  Yes, though I did try to frame out his (or her) face.

I told myself, she’s asking for it too.  But unfortunately, her brood is not.

And neither is Nahla Aubry.

I love, but even more fascinating than their brilliantly trashy news is their comment section.  Not since Jerry Springer have I encountered such an entertaining group of uneducated assholes all on one platform.  This is democracy at its finest, though no one present can actually define democracy (myself excluded).

Last night I scrolled hundreds of comments about the tragic domestic dispute between the world’s sexiest threesome: Halle Berry, Olivier Martinez and Gabriel Aubry.

So many questions were posed regarding fault, injuries and the unclear fate of Aubry's impeccable face. Team Olivier or Team Gabriel?  There was a great divide.  But what upset me most was why no one asked the most obvious question of all.  Who is Team Nahla?

I certainly am.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

I Just Saved Your Thanksgiving... And Your Green Bean Casserole

My mother once hosted a sit-down Christmas dinner for 44.  She was a basket case for a week leading up to the big day, so much so that I felt it was affecting her ability to enjoy the holiday.  When I asked her about it, she told me (for the millionth time), “Christmas is for kids”.  Now a mother myself, I totally get it, but want to amend the statement.  Christmas is for kids, and for millionaires.

Really.  Why are the holidays so damn expensive?  Halloween set me back a pretty penny.  I have yet to do my Thanksgiving grocery shopping, but it’s gonna get ugly.  And Christmas?  Just my cards alone, though ridiculously cute, cost more than the last box of Twinkies on Ebay.

Then, just when I was about to be completely bah humbugged out, this happened.

I was speaking with the mother of two daughters in their early 20’s.  Mom had just celebrated her birthday, and hadn’t wanted her girls to spend what little money they have on a gift for her.  Instead, she asked for one text message a day for a year.

Any time of day, as short or long as they choose, photo or no photo.  Just once a day, every day, let me know you are thinking of me.

Now, if the mom were really to keep mega-track of the text records and ground them for a slip up, I might want to get Ice-T involved.

But the idea behind this is really beautiful, free, and worth more than any millionaire could spend.

So is my free holiday tip to you…  Green bean casserole is always better with a splash (or few) of soy sauce.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Kudos Lisa Kudrow! (And Shame On You, Winnie the Pooh...)

I just watched the film “The Other Woman” with Natalie Portman and Lisa Kudrow.  I had no idea that Phoebe from “Friends” could be such a raging bitch.  I was totally intrigued by her painfully difficult relationship with her son’s step-monster, well-played by Portman.  But shortly after that storyline wrangled me in like the Octomom herding her pack, the film took a dark turn.  I balled my eyes out not only for the duration of the movie, but for at least an hour afterwards, until a xanax and a hot shower were self-prescribed.

I’m not one to push spoilers, but seeing as the movie came out two years ago, whatever...  Someone dies.

(here's Pheebs as she learns what really happens at the end of 'Old Yeller')

I have dealt with a lot of loss, as most of us have.  But who's to say one experience is worse than the other?  I remember an old friend that would reference a day being “the worst of her life” when she had to dedicate more than a few hours to studying after arguing with her boyfriend.  To me, comparing this to my worst day made hers look like a walk through a Louis Vuitton full of freebies.  Thankfully I realize now that each of us has our own gauge for processing loss, and however difficult, we shouldn’t judge because of it.

Which brings me to totally judging this quote from Winnie the Pooh…

It has always really bothered me, and here’s why.

Many years ago, my parents strolled a beautiful cemetery in order to purchase a family plot, knowing that my father would make use of it long before anyone else.  My dad suggested checking out the mausoleum, to which my mother replied, “I don’t want to be in a mausoleum because I want you to be able to plant daffodils when you visit me”.

My father was dying of brain and bone cancer.  They both knew full well she would be the one visiting him, but even just for a moment, she didn’t want him to look at it that way.

I wasn’t there when the conversation happened but have always remembered the story as one of my mother’s most loving and selfless moments.

None of us want to think about the ones we love leaving us, but to put the burden of dealing with that loss upon ourselves, to hope that they leave us before we leave them, that is an ultimate act of love.

Granted, we have little control over whether we live to be one hundred, or one hundred minus one day, but I believe that if you truly love someone, you want to be the one who lasts the extra few hours.

Friday, November 9, 2012

My Life: According To My Media Card (Installment 3)

I have a million photos on my phone.  Some are (a little) cool, like this:

Me & Ciara
But the vast majority are of silly things that catch my attention, like this:

A Report From Pre-School
I've learned, though, that the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, as my daughter LOVES to take photos with my phone.  Here's a small sampling from her portfolio:

(yup, the singing one)

(Big Bucks If You Can Name This Scene...)

Then there are the portraits:


But as they get older, I may need to figure out a way to prevent these:

Like the "My Life: According To My Media Card" posts?  Check out the other ones here and here.

And, have a great weekend.  Remember to take some great photos!

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Wait... Am I Giving My Kids Their Own Death Sentence?!

I inherited my father’s funny walk, good skin and firm handshake.

My mother passed along her creative ability, skill when it comes to assembling any piece of crap from Ikea and slightly above average sense of direction.

So does that mean my girls will have my cotton ball phobia, hate (hate, hate) cilantro and need braces to fix a Lauren Hutton-esque gap between their two front teeth?

(On 2nd thought, maybe I should have kept it?)
Each of us has filled out numerous seemingly useless medical history reports at the doctor’s office.  For over 30 years, or at least those during which I endured this annoying task myself, I answered the questions as any honest skeptic would.  Yes my Dad died of cancer, but that doesn’t mean that I will as well... Or does it?

I have an enormous appreciation of and sensitivity toward nostalgia.  But now that I am older, reminiscing as a child of the 80’s isn’t just the fun and games you read about in chain emails.  For me, with that comes the realization (and fear) that my children may inherit not just the good, but the bad that I paid little attention to while using my Easy Bake oven.
(My Doppleganger!!!)
It’s hard to assess the consequence of our weaknesses before adulthood.  Then whether activated by our need to pay rent at the top of the month or fear of not properly providing for our kids, we grow up.  We realize that our tendency to sit too close to the television isn’t the only poor habit we may pass along.  Our genes become more important than our jeans.

So here’s my question.  Do you want to know now what will happen with your health, or the health of your children in the future?  What if there is nothing you can do to change it, either way?

WebMD terrifies me more than the prospect of my baby girls hitting puberty, and the idea of an elective full body diagnostic scan scares me (ironically) to death…  I just need to figure out where ignorance- and innocence- fall into that equation.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Who Wishes They Struggled More With Sexual Orientation? I Do.

There isn’t a person in the world without a few things they wish they had done differently, but the list is definitely top-heavy with mothers.

Courtney Love, Demi Moore, Agnes Carpenter, Joan Crawford, and hopefully, Deena Lohan.

But here's another example just as applicable as any of those listed above.

(yours truly)
Surely I don’t see myself on the Mommie Dearest scale, but I’ve got time on my side.  Only four and a half years of parenting under my belt, and my list is growing.

Mistake number one was made pre-conception, so I started off strong.  Once my husband and I discussed growing our family further than our big dog, I was desperate to become a homeowner.  The thought of bringing my child into a rental “with character” felt unsettling not because an owner-occupied spot proves any more safe, but because I was na├»ve, and put undue stress on us because of it.  Unfortunately most parents don’t learn until after having a child that you will never, ever be 100% ready to have one.  If you say you are, you are lying (and I’ll save you a spot on the list).

My second notch on the boo-boo bedpost was of the boob kind.  It’s something I have explored here before, but will likely think about forever.  Bottom line, I wasn’t able to breastfeed because of a self-inflicted medical thingy.  So I blame myself for every cough, sniffle and hangnail my daughters have to suffer through.  But the crazy thing is that my mistake was not my inability to breastfeed or the teenage insecurities that resulted in my lack of ability to do so.  My error was in punishing myself for it.

Having quickly realized that my kids are still the bomb, I lightened up a bit, so the mistakes that followed weren’t as heavy.  (Holla.)  Here are a few quickies…

I wish I had an experience with a loved one who struggled with their sexuality so that should any of my children question or struggle with theirs as they grow, I may be more likely to come from the most understanding place possible.  I hope for that in any situation, really. 

I wish I had taken sunscreen more seriously before turning 25.  I just had skin cancer removed from the left side of my neck, and learned that our left sides are way more susceptible to damage because of our driver’s window.  I’ll likely never have another issue, but still have had a cancer that likely could have been prevented.  Epic fail.

On a lighter note, I wish I had researched the meaning of the word “hiney” before introducing it to my daughter as slang for vagina because it actually refers to the butt and she corrects me all the time.

The list can goes on, but I am surprisingly thankful for that.  Boo boos heal.  The scars they leave behind, however painful, make us who we are- a stronger, more unique self.  I can't think of a better thing to strive for.  Can you?

Friday, October 26, 2012

My Favorite Lists, Including A Stellar Suggestion For "F*ck, Marry, Kill"

It was below 90 degrees in Los Angeles today, which is a sign that the holidays are right around the corner.  Unfortunately, this also means that we are about to be inundated with lists of people’s “Favorite Things”.  (Damn you, Oprah…)

So in an effort to be less annoying, I decided to beat everyone else to the punch and share mine first.  I debated pulling together the best items in my closet or the most useful items in my house, but then realized I am not Rachel Ray.  Then came ideas for my “Favorite Things I Wish Someone Would Buy Me For Christmas, But No One Will”.  I nixed that as well. 

So instead, without further ado, here is a list of my “Favorite Things To List”.

* Household Chores (That Will Never Get Done)
(for example: Clean the Baseboards)

* New Ways I Am Going To Lose That Last 5 Pounds
(for example: ask Facebook friends for their fave workout jam, then make a “Get Skinny” playlist)

* Age Inappropriate Things My Kids Say
(for example: they scream “My cuca! My cuca!” in reference to a crib, which in Spanish is cuna.  Unfortunately, cuca is slang for vagina)

* Ideas For The Next Big Self Help Book
                        (such as “A Meme Made Me Do It”)

Funny Photos Of Strangers That I Risked My Life To Take & Now Have No Clue What To Do With
                        (tied at the top of the list are these two beauties…)

Facebook Posts Worse Than Photos of a Dog About to be Executed
                        (strangely, this list is always blank)

Perfectly Challenging Trios For a Game of “F*ck, Marry, Kill”
 (for example: Larry David, Garry Shandling & Kevin James, pre "Here Comes The Boom")


We make all sorts of lists… to do lists, guest lists, priority lists and wish lists, to list just a few.  For some, they are a collection of dreams or desires.  For others, they are challenges.  But remember… We are determined not by the lists we make, but the steps we actually take.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

No One Puts Baby In A Binder (Or In The Express Lane With Too Many Items)

I am rarely a candidate for the express lane at the grocery store, so when given the opportunity, I take it quite seriously.  Apparently, I’m not alone.

I was just in an express lane paying for a single item.  There was one man in line behind me with a hand basket of Old Spice deodorant, butter, iceberg lettuce, wet cat food and canned soup.  I remember the items so well because I counted them, as did the clerk, although her reaction was markedly different from mine.

If words could kill, she used a sharp “10 things or less” as if it were Chinese water torture.

I didn’t want to turn and watch their awkward interaction, just like no one wants to turn and look at a nasty car accident.  Meaning, I looked anyway, silent with dropped jaw.  I heard Dora the Explorer’s voice counting in my head, like all mothers of toddlers do, as she sang “… ocho, nueve, diez”!

Then, the moment of truth.  I was straggling (or being nosey) as he placed an eleventh item on the belt.  My stomach turned as the Dora in my head mumbled, “… once”.

What happened next was almost theatrical, and reminiscent of a famous 80’s movie scene where the bully flips a geek’s lunch tray and the room goes freakishly still.

I admit that I have spent an abnormally long time thinking about this moment, but with good cause.  Election Day is right around the corner, and social media has become overrun with rude and angry people trying to force their position, their ethical code and their ability to click “like” on a pointless meme designed not to inform but entertain.  To me, this is nothing but a misguided waste of energy.

There was no one in line behind the man with eleven items.  He wasn’t holding anyone up nor doing any harm.  Maybe he truly miscounted his items.  Maybe he was in a rush to tend to his sick cat (I’m assuming he was single, due to the aforementioned cat food).  Maybe it was ignorance, or even deliberate defiance that brought him to the express lane that day.  But either way, who gives a shit?

As I exited the store, I wished I had grabbed the eleventh item and paid for it myself.  I’m tired of seeing people on the attack.  I’m tired of seeing people berate instead of educate others.  We need to get back to a team mentality.  This picture sums it up perfectly for me… 

My advice?  Don't get caught in the a-hole.  We needn’t agree with everything others feel passionately about, but need to respect their passions, and willingness to be open about them.  Imagine how boring the word would be without that... or Mel Gibson.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

I Hated Kim Kardashian's Wedding Headdress & Other Reasons I Don't Mind Helping My Daughter Wipe Her Bum

This is the first Gerber Baby, as sketched by Dorothy Hope Smith in 1928.

This is a photo of Monroe Cannon, daughter of Nick and Mariah Carey, styled by an absolute crazy person in 2011.

I haven’t been able to get that image out of my head since it first graced the sacred pages of my Bible,  

Unfortunately though, my fascination with it has nothing to do with the pure miracle of its subject.  Instead I want to snatch the pearls from her neckline, partly because no infant should look like a Stepford Wife, but more so because they are a choking hazard.

Then I feel the need to tweet Kim Kardashian and let her know I found her wedding headdress, as I am sure it has tons of sentimental value for her.

Having read carefully, you are likely asking yourself a very reasonable question.  If I care so much, why did it take 18 months for me to spit this out?  Well, things just got personal.

My 4.5 year old has asked me to pierce her ears twice within two weeks.  Now, she has also asked if she can be a waitress when she grows up, if she can take xylophone lessons and if she can go back to her old preschool because the new one doesn’t have naptime, but I didn’t take any of those inquiries seriously, as she asked only once.  I have learned from experience that once she asks twice, I will have an easier time refusing an intravenous Diet Coke drip than I will her requests.

So far, I have evaded her, but I can’t run forever.  Eventually she will ask again, and I will have to be the grown-up.  I’ll have to give her an answer… I just can’t decide what it should be. 

I don’t blame Mariah for any of this.  Honestly, I don’t even think Monroe’s ears are pierced, or at least I couldn’t find solid proof of it.  But it's the idea of making our babies grow up faster than they need to that makes me uncomfortable.  Joking that your baby has diva tendencies is one thing… forcing them upon her is another.

To pierce or not to pierce?  Either way, I feel her slipping away already.  Thank God she’ll need me to help wipe her bum later this afternoon… That’s always a decent reminder that we’ve got a looong way to go.

Friday, October 12, 2012

My Girls Hangin' with Zoey Deschanel & Mindy Kaling (Sort Of)

I love HelloGiggles for so many reasons, and this is definitely one of them:

I'm not gonna lie.  Seeing my daughter's curly fros on the same webpage as Zoey Deschanel & Mindy Kaling was quite a thrill for me.  Here is a preview of my post that they included on their site last weekend, and a link to get to all the goods.
I’m pretty sure you peaked at age three. Eating, sleeping, playing and making it to the potty on time were your only goals, which you completed on your own schedule. You didn’t care how much you weighed, how hip your wardrobe was or how much money you had in the bank. Everything was new, beautiful and (remotely) innocent. At the risk of being a tad controversial, I’ll go so far as to say that you learned your greatest lesson in the very same year. That is, of course, if three is the age you were first introduced to the classic children’s story “The Little Engine That Could”.
I first heard the tale as a toddler, but was reminded of it in the 3rd grade. Shockingly, this had little to do with scoring my first Benetton rugby and training bra combo...

Love it so far, huh?  Click here to read (like & share!) the full post.