I was so excited about writing two blogs in a row that I didn't even title the one from the other day. Silly me. It can just go down in history as my un-titled blog. My white album. (Sidebar: The other day, when thumbing through my ipod, Wesley stopped at the Beatle's Rubber Soul album cover and -brace yourself - said 'Hey Mom! Look. The Jonas Brothers'. Sigh...) Anyway, I'm sure there's some high-tech way to go back in and throw something up there, but I'm a tad lazy and, to be frank, the lack of a title doesn't matter so much to me. Not nearly as much as - say - writing this new one. Or napping. I like to nap.

Who am I kidding? I don't nap. I'd like to find a mom of young children who doesn't have a nanny and naps on a regular basis. Oh, what's that? She has a reliable husband. Oh. Well, never mind then. Reliable husband is a bit of an oxymoron. Like blind sightseer. Oooo, or conservative prostitute. Conservative Prostitute would be a good name for a band.

Sometimes I see prostitutes in my neighborhood, ya know. Don't judge me - it's better than drive-by shootings. Although, I'm sure we've had our share of them as well. It's funny because when I first moved here, I was so naive, I had no idea they were anything other than pedestrians in skanky clothing. Really, no joke. I assumed they were really skinny, shakey girls going out to a club. I mean, yeah - ok - it was 11am. But what do I know? Jamie filled me in... he's so worldly in his knowledge of the criminal mind. LOL. I think that's probably the first time I've used "Jamie", "worldy" and "knowledge" ever in the same sentence. Let's make a note of that in my first-time-for-everything journal that I keep on my bedside table. I'll place it right next to the blurb about admitting aloud I was wrong about something that I wrote in there a few months ago. Oooo, I can also add 'fitting into size small scrub pants'. I mean, sure - they look like 1980's work-out leggings. But they fit.

I don't really have a book like that, ya know. Although, it's probably not a bad idea. When I worked at Springfield, I wanted to start a notebook of all the names I'd been referred to by patients. And I don't mean "Jennifer", which (for the record) doesn't even remotely sound like Jessica, in my opinion, but seems to be the go-to white-girl name that starts with a J and consequently, is what I'm CONSTANTLY being called by the loonies at my workplace. I digress. This book would be all the foul names I was ever called. I mean, I only worked there a half a year and I'm sure I was called every blasphemous female part paired with an expletive, paired with some sort of satanic reference. Sometimes it was almost laughable. Once a patient told me I should "go be a lesbian already". Which is really more of a lifestyle suggestion than an insult and one I've considered myself on a few occasions. Sigh. You know, if I were - indeed - a lesbian. Which, unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who's reading this - I'm talking to you, Mom) isn't the case. Way to point out the obvious, crazy schitzo patient. How about you mention I have no ass too. Or that I'm white. Or Caucasian. Or non-black. Whatever the PC term is for my skin these days.

See, this is what happens with these blogs, I have an introduction that runs away from me and before you know it, I'm a few paragraphs in with no real agenda. It's a metaphor for my entire existence. I'm all intro, no substance. That could be my band's slogan. Ooooo, or an album name, even. The Conservative Prostitutes: All Intro, No Substance. Now, I just need to learn how to read music, play an instrument and not sound like Gilbert Gottfried on helium when I sing a capella. Oh, and I'd have to acquire some half-naked back up singers so people will pay gobs of money to come to my shows. And also, I'd need a monkey. Just because monkeys are cool and if I'm dreaming up my rockstar persona, I'd have a pet monkey. You're jealous, I can tell.

I've been stressing over what to do about all these catholic schools closing, including Wesley's. I wasn't really all that stressed about it - until I dropped him off at school the other day to a crowd of panicking moms who were all pressing me about where I'd called to take him for the fall and what I was going to do. Seriously? I didn't think it was that big of a deal. Then I started calling around and realized that not only is it, indeed, a big deal, but that every kindergarten spot in the tri-state area has been filled (no doubt by one of these super-mom's children), registered & paid for already and here I am, sitting back, twiddling my working-Mom thumbs. Lovely, no? I really just wish I had the ability to move to a better school district where I could send my kids somewhere for free and not have to shell out thousands a year on tuition. Which leads me to my other stress dilemma - what do I do with these kids for the summer? Surely it had to occur to me when I graduated nursing school that I would have to pay for childcare in the summer for my two children. You'd think. I guess I just thought something magic would happen. I call that - the Jamie solution. If you don't think about it, act on it, or mention it - the problem will most certainly magically disappear. Like herpes. Not herpes. You know, one of those other non-permanent STDs. I should really stop picking on him. It's not fair to my readers who know us both. (Bwahahahha. I love referring to my readers, like there are droves of you out there. It's probably just some random guy in Kentucky and my mother).

And seriously, probably not my mother. She doesn't even know how to check her email.

So if any of you smart folk have an idea about where I can send my children for the summer (short of some concentration camp making sweaters for Martha Stewart), I'm all ears. Right now I pay about a grand a month in childcare/tuition, and I'd sure like to keep it around that. Sigh. I hope I can anyway....

Let me wrap up this blog by doing a shout out to my friend Kristi, with whom I had the pleasure of spending a small, but fulfilling, amount of time with this afternoon. I feel like in life you have three sorts of friends - those that come and go (for the best, or for the unknown), those that you're stuck with (also known as the love-hate friends, or family members might fall into this category too), and those that you don't know how you ever lived without. She's in that last group. And she's not too hard on the eyes, either. It was nice to see her and her lovely Paul, even if it was for just a few hours and I had to drive in the crappy rain-filled I-70 corridor over an hour each way in order to do it. I'll say the same thing I said when I lunged over that large brawny security guard to cop a feel of Jordan Knight's bare chest at the last NKOTB concert & almost lost an eye: totally worth it.

And that, my friends, wraps this up. Do yourself a favor and go out for awhile... you shouldn't spend all your free time staring at my written words, wishing you were as clever and witty as I. It's really not healthy and it's starting to creep me out a little.