<p>Emancipate your mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds. Have no fear for atomic energy...la la la la la la.</p>
<p>Aren't those the lyrics to Redemption Song? Where is Bob Marley when we need him! At an elitist college in the sky no doubt!</p>
<p>I happen to like God. But I've only been born once so I don't make too big a deal of it. Can I still hang out with you guys? I promise notg to judge.</p>
<p>We are all sinners and we are all saints. Just depends on the questions being asked.;)</p>
<p>And as to my advertisement for "the bar" over on one of the thirteen simultaneous elite threads, we COULD use the cash infusion to get us a new disco ball for Eighties Night. Staying Alive, Staying Alive. Ooh. Ooh. Ooh. Ooh. Staying a-liiiiive!</p>
<p>Crash, I want to stand next to you because when lightening strikes one of us sinners, you can speak to the Big Guy on our behalf. ;) I'll have what Alum's having! :D You had me at..."atomic energy...la la la la la la!"</p>
<p>Have I already given the recipe for my fave new martini?</p>
<p>best vodka you have, splash of cointreau, splash of "Hypnotique" (passionfruit) liqueur... tastes like drinking a flower. A very, very strong flower.</p>
<p>BTW I think we should all brag about our kids for a few pages... Alu, I would have told you this on the other thread but I did not have my fire extinguisher with me. My littlest S rode a bike, with no training wheels, at age 3. When she saw him, my older S's 2nd grade teacher suggested that we put the little one in the circus. :D</p>
<p>
It would have worked, too. A little bearcub suit. Or even better maybe just in the ring with the real bear. Center ring all the way.</p>
<p>But then the elitist mom has to stand in the middle of the ring waving wads of cash and whipping the child repeatedly.</p>
<p>I can't brag about my D. In 3rd grade she told us she had no friends and hated school. So bad we had the school psychologist observe. The psychologist just told us she was yanking our chains big time. Can someone be gifted in parental chain yankage?</p>
<p>La la la BTW is code for senior moment of forgetting lyrics.</p>
<p>cur: I pity the bear!</p>
<p>Alu: and not just ANY circus will do! It has to be a prestigious circus.</p>
<p>And yes, kids can be gifted in parental chain yankage; also sibling sabotage, chore avoidance, pitting one parent against the other-age, curfew extension wheedling-- all sorts of thing not tested for on the very limited Sanford Binet.</p>
<p>How about kids who are gifted in never having to pour their own glass of milk? Kids who are gifted in communicating in a sophisticated language of grunts, the most complex of which is "I dunno". Kids who are gifted in getting their parents to purchase expensive cashmere winter coats. We have those species in our house too.</p>
<p>Giftedness for stockpiling?<br>
"Can I go to the movies with my friends?" Yes, come home afterward. </p>
<p>(2 hrs later, calling from the bookstore 7 blocks away)..."Can I go to (some girl's) house, if her parents are home? They said we could come over and have pizza." *Where's her house, what's their phone number, and who is going to be there?<a href="Yadda,%20yadda,%20everything%20checks%20out.">/i</a></p>
<p>(2 hours later, from a Starbuck's)..."Can I have a ride?" Yes, where are you? "Hey, can we give (3 other guys) a ride home, too?" Where do they live? "Not too far, just off of...(some street I've never heard of)." <a href="Long%20sigh">i</a>...Sure.* :D</p>
<p>Giftedness for the face of complete innocence despite the fact that they know-- and you know-- you've been jobbed.</p>
<p>Man, I'll have one of those strong flowers! :) It's like the Cheers bar down at the County Building and Public Works department...everybody knows my name, thanks to my neighbor, Elvira Gulch, who has been extra busy flying around on her broom making a nuisance of herself. First the flying monkeys, then, the castle guards chanting, "Oh-Ee-Yah, Ee-oh-Ah!" all day and all night. What a week! :o</p>
<hr>
<p>Ah, yes, the school psychologist. When D was in Second Grade, and we were still attending Back To School Nights (before we figured out that BTSN is actually a clever way for teachers to find out if a particular student's behavior can be explained by the marriage of close relatives), her teacher grabbed us by the arms and hurried us over to look at our daughter's artwork.</p>
<p>All of the children's hand-colored pictures were hanging side by side from a twine strung across the classroom for everyone to admire. There were brightly-colored houses with rainbows and fluffy clouds, oversized flowers, and bunnies hopping around in the yards...then, there was our D's. Early shades of Salvador Dali, perhaps? H and I stood there gazing at something we weren't able to explain very easily. Was that a melting clock? How 'bout that egg with the creepy thing hatching out of it? The black house was a nice touch. :D</p>
<p>The teacher proceeded to tell us that we'd better get our daughter into counseling, like...NOW. Or, by the time she was in Eighth Grade, her best friends would be squirrels and chipmunks. So, we acted adequately concerned and walked out of there worried as Hell.</p>
<p>She grew up just fine, and she still likes Salvador Dali. Says she wants a lip sofa and a high-heel chair in her new, off-campus apartment. Some things never change. We love our weird D! ;)</p>
<p>This is the same little girl who at the age of four looked at a Canadian penny and exclaimed, "Look, Mommy! It's Mr. Lincoln's mother!" Yup. :)</p>
<p>Mudge - If we do an 80's night with travolta frugging in Polyester, can we sneak in Lionel Ritchie doing his rendition of Brick House...?</p>
<p>Anyone got a High Schooler rowing on a crew team heading to the Philly regatta next weekend? Want to meet for a cup of coffee - or, ahem, (in this crowd) a beer or martini?! I'll be there probably in foul weather gear standing Riverside for hours watching the worst spectator sport in the world (next to marathons...)</p>
<p>No rowers! River dry until January.</p>
<p>Just back from Greek Wedding...champagne, little dry powder sugared cakes. My grocer's daughter who lives in Australia is now locally married and going home soon. You give the bride money and they will make a list and when my son is married he'll get the money back...it is like an insurance policy! Then stopped off at a Polynesian bar for a chat and now home. I live in a strange town: polynesian bars, greek weddings. Going to bed!</p>
<p>
crash, I believe that would be a given. We'll put it on right after the Donna Summer/Gloria Gaynor Meltdown Fusion Medley.</p>
<p>Hey, are you guys talking about the Seventies? The Commodores, John Travolta...Oo-ooo, Love to Love You, Baby (Donna Summer)? I don't remember a doggone thing after I had kids. Last thing I remember was going to work in a Jones of New York suit, and after that, a baby was barfing into my shoe. I'm pretty sure I remember my high school and college years, though ('72-'80). :D Just don't ask me what happened after 1984.</p>
<p>Well I remember an awful lot from the very late sixties thanks to Lay, Lady, Lay and My Lady of the Island (good ol' Dylan and Crosby Still and Nash) ....thank God for memories, they do keep you going during dry spells. Music from that particular era wasn't so hot for dancing but it was great for demonstrations, zoning out, and ahem, other things...</p>
<p>Good morning, sluggbuddies! I had to move the sluggmobile before sunup to make room for the landscaping guys, so my faithful pooch and I took a nice walk on the way back home. I got a love note from Elvira Gulch last Friday. It came in a standard, white business envelope with my last name carved on the front with her claws. Not my first name with a puffy heart next to it. Not, "Happy Halloween, Neighbor!" with a jack-o-lantern sticker on the flap. Just, S-L-U-G-G-B-U-G-G. I figured whatever it was, it couldn't be nice (and, I was right). :) </p>
<p>When it comes to nastygrams, I file them under "S," for shredder. Along with my shop vac and my Grasshog weedeater, I really love my shredder. It was a perfectly natural thing for a Klingon warrior chick to do, but Vulcanish H couldn't stand the suspense, so I drank two Coronas and pieced the whole darn thing back together, line by line, which turned out to be kind of fun! </p>
<p>There were times when I caught myself laughing outloud. Being the cognizant, self-aware NoCal slugg that I am, it dawned on me that my laughter was sounding a little like the Phantom of the Opera...Mwa-hah-ha-aha-ha-ha! Good sound effects for this time of year, but I had to turn down the volume. :p</p>
<p>Grasshopper, what have we learned? We've learned that nastygrams aren't that effective if the author of the love note didn't read the County building ordinances. Mwa-hah-ha-ha-ha! ;)</p>
<p>"best vodka you have, splash of cointreau, splash of "Hypnotique" (passionfruit) liqueur... tastes like drinking a flower. A very, very strong flower."</p>
<p>I don't know what's going on in most of this thread...and I think I may be too young to remember most of the songs or to understand the references....but I understand Martinis.</p>
<p>When the Sinner's Alley Pub serves Chocolate Martinis for happy hour, invite me! </p>
<p>(P.S. I clicked ramdomly thorugh the pages on the this thread and read some things I'm sure I shound't have. People, I am shocked at all of you! It's like seeing a nun in a bathing suit!!! You should really have a password for entry into this thread ;) I will never look at some of you the same way again. I won't repeat what I've read. (shaking head violently with eyes tightly closed in attempt to remove images)</p>