Year 13

Unfortunately, my mother didn't ship me off to finishing school as a thirteen year old. I've often found myself not knowing which fork to use or how exactly one greets a person who has been knighted by the queen and regretted her oversight. Why just last night we had some friends over and I didn't know whether the proper etiquette required me to offer them a drink, or whether I could politely thank them for the wine and then refuse to open it. I'm certain that Mrs. Haberdashery would have remedied these numerous oversights in my education. Oh well.

As such, I was thirteen years old in good old CA. Referring to the pic. suddenly I went from a small boy to a young woman in the full bloom of youth. Be sure to notice the healthy flush in my cheeks that drew many suitors and fetched me a high price at the market. However, in my defense, at this time in the early nineties cool dudes had long hair. Anybody who grew up watching 90210 and Melrose Place knew that it was a good idea to grow your hair out if you wanted Courtney Thorne-Smith to like you.

I've got a theory about this year, which I expounded upon on an essay called, "How Before Sunrise Shaped My Love Life." Aside: How many people's ideas of what love was supposed be like were ruined by the spate of romantic comedy movies in the early nineties? Chances are that people who grew up watching Only You, Sleepless in Seattle, Matchmaker et al are going to have a tough time with the realities of romance.

The theory. Eighth grade was great because though I never actually spoke with them I was fairly popular with the ladies. Please always, always, refer to women as the ladies. It makes you sound awesome! Anyhow, the reason that I was popular was related to my inability to speak. The theory being that (and especially true at this age, what's the adage? "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt." So true, lord knows if I'd opened my mouth I'd have been in real trouble. However, the silent type gives girls a chance to create their ideal man. My advice to men between the ages of 14-22 is to talk as little as possible to the fairer sex. It will work wonders. Also, read a lot of books and such, so that when you finally do open your mouth at 23 you have something intelligent to say.

Really though, eighth grade was about developing friendships with guys who I am still friends with to this day. The people who you know from way back. Who remember you when. Unfortunately, none of us have gotten famous enough to have to say something like, "Remember where you're from," but we'll get there. I've got this great idea to serve beer slushies at sporting events. Wait, I've said too much.

All I remember is sitting on the wall at Bidwell and saying, "You're pretty cool Marc." And his response, "Talk to any girls lately." I like that when I see him, fifteen odd years later we can still say the same shi-.

Positives-Gloriously long hair.

Negatives-Inability to speak.

Positives-Long golden hair.

Negatives-Developing a moodiness that sort of stuck with me.


Ex:
M: I just love you a lot today.
S: Why?
M: Because I'm moody and today is a good day.

Positives-Just flowing. And sure, sure I couldn't see what I was doing when I was playing basketball because of all that hair, but, oh that hair. Cue Lucille Bluth.

Other positive-The ninth graders getting the heave ho, so that you are once again on top of the heap.

Negatives-Classes. Did I learn anything particularly interesting before the age of 19? Negative-Do I remember much of anything from before the age of 28?

Year 12

I think that the seventh grade would have been more fun if Kevin Arnold had done some voice over work for me. Fred Savage was pretty much the shi- except for that winging bit he did during the Princess Bride when we all just wanted to see more fencing and Buttercup. (Insert pop culture reference here). Anyhow, without the voice overs and Winnie and the lack of a kid being struck by a train who we could head out to find and maybe do some cool voice overs about, seventh grade kind of sucked. Seventh grade sucks for a lot of reasons.
Firstly, hypothetically of course, you might fall in love with some blond haired girl who is in your P.E. class occasionally, and maybe your friends switch groups with you so the two of you can hold hands. And you square dance, and your heart goes pitter patter. Then you find out that she's dating some dude who is sixteen years old and apparently spent the weekend in jail after helping him steal a car. That's when you suddenly realize that life is probably not going to turn out the way it does in fairy tales.
Seven grade also sucks, hypothetically of course, because Ivan Cockburn likes to beat you up during P.E class. And you kind of let him because you are good kid and moderately confused that he's irate at you for some unknown reason. And yes, if you had life to do over again one of the first things you'd do is ram the heel of your palm into his nose, but you didn't do that then. And it made that year kind of suck. On the bright side, your last name is Bertaina, which is light years better than Cockburn.
Seventh grade also sucks because you have to take algebra and algebra is confusing. Let me tell you how many times I've used algebra in my seven or so years in my nine years working at various jobs. I've used it zero times. That's right, never. However, apparently it was vital that I learn it and my inability to figure out x and y caused me to worry that I wasn't as smart as all those teachers had thought I was growing up.
And you had to take Quest class and were mildly in love also with Gail Strickland wherever the hell she is. And you got like a C- in that class, hypothetically, because the teacher had as much control over the class as you did in algebra. But some days you miss him crying out "Ubangarang" that crazy old bastard.
You are sitting at the bottom rung of what appears to be a very complex and intense social structure, and all the girls are dating guys two years older than you who can steal them cars and get them drugs and you're sort of pining for the basketball courts of your youth but trying to fit in. Bleh. Fitting in. This is the beginning of a rather precipitous downfall and gross misunderstanding of your personality, which goes on until you are able to go to college and break free of the shackles of your small town. And yes, you are picturing a lifetime movie made about your life. Only, you're not a woman, so it might be a tough sell.
What do I remember about seventh grade? Seagulls shittin- on all the benches, eating crappy school lunches on the wall, having to wear those ridiculous P.E. shirts, more UMT time. The P.E. coaches all walking out and spending at least half the period grabbing their own crotch. Needless to say, I really miss being 12.

Positive-I don't know. You're not quite the absolute jerk that you become as an eighth grader. I don't know if this is the case anymore, but for people around thirty, the eighth grade was the start of extreme alienation and generally bitchiness that continued for a solid two or two and half years.

Negative-Ivan, Nebraska football, strange older guys who hang out at the middle school even though they are in high school, Kenny wtf?, picking up all the cute girls. Social hierarchies of any kind. Math that includes variables. F the x and y axis both!!

Positives-I don't know, still having to walk to school. Being called a sevvie. Eating crappy school lunches. My advice to people who have kids is to never let them go to seventh grade. I'd suggest giving the kid up for adoption for a few years and then grabbing them back. Someone might tell you that it will screw them up, but rest assured this age is enough to screw up anyone it's best to let them do it on someone else's time.

Positive-Those gloriously short basketball shorts. More time to sport the UMT. Being taken out of class for the reading competency test and reading faster than anyone in the seventh grade. Screw you Mr. Barnum for having me in the lower reading group anyway. I could read circles around you. Who gives a damn where the Red Fern grows? I want to know that the heck is going on with Benjy in the Sound and the Fury. That's Faulkner via Shakespeare bit-c.
Other positives-Learning to let go of things like being in the second highest reading group in the third grade.


Negatives-Just about everything else.

S: Do you want to know what I listen to when you're out of the house?
M: What?
S: David Archuleta.
M: I'd hide that also.
S: I was listening to it upstairs the other day and it was awesome.
M: Shameful.

Addendum: You now realize that the kid's last name was Coburn not Cockburn. And maybe he had like a really tough home life that made him act out or something. But screw him anyway because no one ever wants to hear from the shy well-adjusted kid about how his home life ain't perfect either, but you don't see him going around harassing other kids.
Also, look at the signs of socialization. Apparently I found a comb and some hair gel in between my six and seventh grade years. Whatever happened to that smiling kid w/ crooked teeth?

Year 11

Eleven years old. In this year you play basketball every day. You keep stats like you're all headed for the NBA. This was your original dream, you only came up short by about ten inches in height and 3x in skill. It's akin to reaching for the clouds from like the second story of a row house. You're not all that close.

If you look uncomfortable in the pictures it's for two reasons. One, your shorts are a little north of the knee and pushing towards thigh. The upper male thigh is (particularly on white guys) is not regarded as the aesthetic height of beauty, and you were perhaps aware of that. The other is the presence of your brother's massive forearm on your knee. No doubt he was crushing your scrawny and already balky knees. I blame you for the knees David. If you can't blame your parents blame an older sibling.

You don't remember sixth grade very well. Your teacher, was a very strict middle-aged man who liked you and your best friend. Some days, when he was really feeling comfortable with you guys, he would have you sit on his knee. The whole thing changes if I say lap. You remember in the middle of the year, a student complaining to the principal, and your teacher saying, "I never had you guys sit on my lap," and you all nodded even though it wasn't true. You know that it wasn't like that, but we don't live in times like that anymore. Everyone is guilty before proven innocent. You now sound like you're ready to be thirty.

You remember the room always being quiet and whispering to your best friend. The teacher's always let you get away with stuff when they like you. You remember going to your teacher's house at the end of the school year, looking at all the exotic items he had collected with his wife over years of travel. He was probably a really interesting guy, probably pissed to be teaching sixth graders. Who knows? You don't know anything about your teachers at that age. They aren't really people. You imagine teaching some day yourself, being just one more thing in a classroom full of things to a student. No better than a piece of chalk or the dry erase board. No wonder so many teachers take to drinking.

You remember forgetting your homework for the first time in your life and standing on the wall during recess as punishment. You remember watching all the other kids, throw bouncy balls against the wall, or shooting hoops and feeling really and truly alone.

Here's the thing. You remember playing basketball and one more thing. You remember not ever talking to girls. You remember that you started desiring them starting in sixth grade in a way that could be described as something less pleasant than a stroll in the park hand in hand. But you don't every talk to them. They might as well be on another planet.

And maybe that's why you remember this one other thing from that year. You won student of the month, and the prize was to go to Chuck E. Cheese. You remember walking around for a bit and then ending up starting to play all the games with the other sixth grader there, a girl. Someone who you thought was cute, in the way that a sixth grader can. The two of you didn't say much, just wandered from game to game, with the voice of Chuck E. coming from the main room. You don't remember if you let her win at the games or what. You probably weren't that smart yet. Years later you will take at least two other girls to Chuck E. Cheese on dates. You've said, "it always works" without ever really remembering this day, your first date in a way.

The day ended and you went back to school and back to your separate classrooms. That night you were lying awake in bed, thinking of the way that her hair curled just a little. The word started to make sense in a new way. The two of you never really talked again that year, nor did you start striking up a bunch of convos. with other girls. You just remember that day at Chuck E. Cheese so clearly that you can almost still hear the air hockey puck slamming off the walls.

Positives-I don't know. You're not quite a teen, but the angst is beginning. I suppose on the bright side you're not quite thrust whole heartedly into the underbelly of middle school.

Negatives-You're headed for a very dark place and you just don't know it yet. You can't drive yet. Nobody's quite sure what's going on with you, least of all yourself.

Positives-Back in my day (good start) the real math hadn't stared yet. One of the positives of eleven was not sitting and starting blankly at an equation, thinking, "What the hell is that?" So, plus, school is still easy. Other positives: You are at the top of the school food chain. It only happens every three years, and it's nice to be at the top, a thing to treasure.

Negatives-You are about to head back down to the bottom of the food chain and be called a Sevvie. Sevvie (sp) a derogatory term from the early nineteen nineties used to deride a person who was entering middle school. A seventh grader.

Positives-It's your last year to enjoy elementary school. You kind of think you're ready to leave because you don't realize how good you've got it. They give you recess! Recess Mfer's!! When you're 30 the closest you can get to having recess would be to take up smoking so you get the breaks.

Positives-People still like you. Hell, you still kind of like you. You're starting to feel a bit of that teenage pull, but you still kind of trust yourself. Sure you can't do any pull-ups on the Presidential Fitness test, but you'll make up for that by spending hours in the gym later in life. Enjoy your youth!

Special Note: As I was logging out the ad on my blog was, "How to treat meniscus pain." Awesome.
Second Editorial Note: The housewarming party is set for March 13. I expect to see all of you there. If you attend, I'll give you an autographed copy of my blog and a picture of a monkey.

Year 10

Year 10. S says she that I make that exact same face as an adult as I do in this picture. I think that I want to wipe that smug smile right off that punk's face. But that's just how I roll. Strangely, I remember a lot about this picture. They tell you that sports are good for kids, that you learn camaraderie et al. Everybody tells you it's about playing the game not the winning and the losing. We were 14 and 2 that year, five games better than anyone else in our league. But we had to win a playoff game against one of those lowly teams. Me and this other kid had combined to throw a shutout in the previous playoff game, and now our best kid was throwing. Somehow, he didn't have it and we lost. And I remember standing around with the schedule of the games we were supposed to play bawling my eyes out. We we all crying. We knew that we'd lost something that we'd never be able to get back. I was ten, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. Be careful about whether you let your kids play t-ball.

This year I discovered basketball. On the first day me and this tall fourth grade kid won a game of 2 on 12 and became fast friends. In this year you got skipped up to a special math group and copied off your friend, who is now an accountant, because fractions and x and y are a language that you don't speak. You might as well have been being asked to translate Chinese. Most days though are about playing basketball. You hit the courts early, when the temp is still below forty degrees and play until the bell rings. You throw your lunch down after five minutes, so you can get a in a full forty minute game. You still remember the day that it snowed in Chico, and your team scored 100 points. We kept insane stats for no good reason. You remember running down court, the snow, falling softly, the whole scene surreal, and your team scoring 100.

Girls didn't even matter at ten. You remember this girl walking around saying, "Your socks don't match." And then, when they reached you, she gasped when she realized that your socks didn't actually match and pointed it out to the whole class. Screw you Georgie Dalton, I didn't start matching my socks until I was in my late twenties. You've got a memory like an elephant. But really, it's strange what things stick.

You remember your teacher reading the line "chinks in the roof" during the book Dragon Wings, and how you laughed at the racial slur that no one else seemed to get. It struck you as preposterous.

You remember performing a play on that same book, having to do a big part of it by yourself. You remember hamming it up a little, the kids laughing. Maybe the first time you enjoyed being in front of a group.

You remember your friend Tommy getting stabbed in the butt by a pencil and the teacher asking you two to go the bathroom and you to take a look at it. You walked to the bathroom and mutually decided that it was probably all right and a closer look wasn't needed.

You remember that teacher telling all the girls in the class that they should marry people like you and Tommy because you were smart and nice. You got an MFA in creative writing. How wrong was she?

Positives-Well, today I spent the evening with two ice packs on my knees and at work, I went to a meeting about how to get more out of other meetings. Then I went to another meeting. I don't think much more needs to be said. Hell, being ten, you just worry about whether your stroke is pure or not, nothing about whether you are taking proper notes on the agenda.

Scenario: We were given the advice in the meeting to "parking lot" some ideas. Ie table them until a later date to move on with the meeting. However, let me tell you, by the time I get to the parking lot if someone wants to talk to me about something to do with work, I want to shoot them in the f-ing head. No parking lots for me.

Negatives-Losing that baseball game. You probably won't forget it until vascular dementia kicks in.

Positive-Not even knowing the term vascular dementia.

Positive-Getting to play basketball every day without worrying about knee pain, or shoulder pain or whatever old man ailment plagues you on a particular week.

Year 9

This picture is subtitled, "In praise of American Dentistry." Or "Thank goodness for dental insurance."
Strangely, I remember thinking in the ninth grade when I got braces that I probably didn't need them. Hindsight is 2010. Wise choice. The thing is, if I was British I would have just been left to cope with my sideways teeth. I probably would have developed a dry sense of humor and floppy hair. I would have been the sort of fellow that everyone wanted to be around at a party because he could offer scathing remarks about people around him in a charming way. Quite frankly, I really should have kept the teeth as they were and moved to England. I blame my mother (mainly because it's fair to blame your parents for everything, like traffic jams and snow storms) for not letting me be cast in the movie "Sideways, a tooth story."

Great moment of the work day. ILL Request for the book "The art of seduction." Status of the book: Lost. No comment.

Other voices in the same room. Rebecca Prosky's joke: Toyota, moving forward....because we can't stop.

A cartoon from my Aunt Janet that pretty much mirrors the idea that this blog was founded upon: buying a house. A wife suggests a remodel of the home to her husband. His answer: (And dammit don't I wish it was mine) We put restroom signs on every bathroom so when a guest asks to use them we say,"Sorry, those are for customers only." Then we demand they buy something or get out.

From S: I love animals followed by an insane amount of blubbering. Apparently the squirrel guy thinks we've almost certainly got a nest up there. He then went on to describe to S that the babies were little and pink and couldn't move. And we're going to kill them. At which point she started crying and claiming she couldn't be there during the termination. This, after insisting that we get it done when I volunteered to do it myself.
M: In response. "Stop being crazy."
S: Blubbers. "I don't kill animals. I like squirrels."
M: "You're acting like one of the kids at my day care. You need to go find a place to sit and think about what you're doing.
S: Crying on the floor.

That's compassion in action my friends.

Later:
M: You know what this lasagna could use? Baby squirrel meat.
S: Face crumbles. Tears ensue.

I love squirrels as much as the next fellow, but you've got to be realistic about this sort of thing. We can't have them chewing through the wiring in our attic and setting the house on fire. So, either they go or we do, and we paid considerably more for the house. However, we rescheduled the appointment, so they have one week to vacate the premises. I'll post an eviction notice soon.

Nine. In this year you change schools. You remember that other kids who changed schools seemed to become instantly popular. They could shed off whoever they'd been and just be new. This does not happen for you. In this year you discover that you are amazing at memorizing the times tables. The other students stand in awe of you. Your teachers confuse this ability to memorize with an affinity for numbers, which causes you tragic (grade wise) consequences down the road.

Your teacher is one of those older women who always smells like smoke and who still colors her hair. You remember mostly, the kid in class who could dance like Michael Jackson, and the day that he threw up. You remember looking out the small rectangular cubical window, to the other boring classrooms beyond. For some reason this is the year that you begin to grow up. You find yourself, for the first time, occasionally bored in school. Not eager to please the teacher but eager for the subject matter to please you. You do well, but what you mostly remember is beating Contra every day after school with Blake. Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, B, A, start.
You should probably investigate this year more. What made it so boring and yet significant. In this year, you start to lose touch with your old friends, your teacher doesn't love you, and school is sometimes boring. You do not yet have a passion to pursue. You are between things. All you can remember is that large rectangular window, the slate sidewalk you trudged up in blinding heat, and feeling alone, alienated from the people around you for the first time that you can remember. You weren't unhappy, you were just kind of simulating the life of an adult.

Positives-You can get away with crooked teeth.

Negative-You're old enough that people start to give you chores like taking out the trash or washing the dishes.

Positives-You can still play all recess long, sweat, and have no repercussions. You don't know any words like Trans Fats or High Fructose Corn syrup. You just know that you love spreading that cheese with the little plastic red stick onto your crackers. You love Gummi bears and the fact that you can come home and watch the Disney Afternoon. The original line-up, none of this Darkwing Duck crap, though you disliked the Rescue Rangers, even then, a sure sign that the squirrels in your attic were in trouble.

Negative-You are on the long slow journey towards becoming a teenager. Alienation, here we come!

Year 8

Today after work I drove over to CVS and bought 2 knee supports and some Ibuprofen. It's great to be heading downhill towards 30. It's going to be the time of my life. A time in my life where my body breaks down, and I become less sharp mentally, but I compensate for it by claiming that I am much "wiser" than I was in my twenties, not so given to fancy flights of the mind. Read: Becoming rigid in all thoughts, opinions etc.

Eight years old-One of the great things about being eight years old is that you can have a flat top. If you have a flat top as an adult people pretty much know you're military. However, you can sport the flat top without repercussions.

In this year you take a vacation to Oklahoma. You stand in the four corners, witness a violent storm at the rim of the Grand Canyon. You explore caves, and hike in Colorado with the sound of coyotes accompanying you on the ridge top. You meet parts of your family that you never see again. You spend hours at your fake aunt's house playing Mike Tyson's Punch Out. You pass the controller to cousins and siblings for hours and hours without any of you ever getting close to beating him. None of you even now what about the winking jabs that begin in the second round. You realize, looking back now, that you can say something like "They don't make them like they used to." That game was hard.


When you are eight you perfect the long bomb pass with Nate. No matter how many times you complete a deep pass over the other kids heads they always cover you tight at the line and get beet deep. It seems like every day you are running and waiting for the football to drop, watching it spiral against the lapis lazuli dome of the sky, the occasional tree branch in your peripheral vision. And then you remember catching it, and racing for the large iron gate that marked off the end zone. It was a good year.

In this year you get in the one and only fist fight of your life. You still have to use it as a reference point. The troubled kid in class punches you in the face in the middle of recess for a reason that you were never able to discern and you took the palm of your hand and rammed it into the bridge of his nose. He bled and cried. You got off without any punishment and he was sent home. It pays to be the good kid.

In this year you move from the second highest reading group to the highest reading group mid-year. The teacher expects you to read the in-between reader over the course of a few weeks to catch up, and you read it over the weekend. You still wonder what the hell you were doing in the second highest reading group. In seventh grade you read faster than anyone. Years later, your teacher's will know that you read so quickly because you didn't even bother to notice the punctuation. But you are young, and read quickly.

In this year you come in second place in the spelling bee. Every round your heart is beating rapidly. You hate being in front of groups, but you also hate displeasing people. You lose on the word encyclopedia. You will remember how to spell this word forever.

In this year a girl tells you that she loves you for the first time. She hands you a sheet of white drawing paper with a sun in the center, green grass, and two stick figures walking hand in hand. At the top, mid-center of the picture it says, "I Love You." You shove the picture into your desk hurriedly and turn bright red. The kid next to you notices the note and makes fun of the girl. You aren't old enough yet to know that it's a good thing when girls like you. This will take years.

This is also the year that you develop your first crush on a girl. It's hard to remember that this little person, a third-grader, could have a crush on someone. Your best friend tells you to feign a stomach ache because the little girl will notice and feel empathetic pain for you. You fake a stomach ache, and it works. This is a great and strange day. You realize how appropriate this start was, how we lie to one another in the courting phase, even when we're eight.

Well, off to my bed and headed towards thirty. My knees are aching, the clock in the guest bedroom is ticking loudly. At least I can beat Mike Tyson now in Punch Out.

Seven

Seven. Not only a great movie, but also a pretty solid age. Did I get the movie reference right this time? Anyhow, the coolest part about this picture is the background. That's right, it's Jane Austen time. I'm wearing my mountain man shirt and just chilling on the fence, very naturally, with some sunlit trees in the background. Made up nature is so much more refreshing than real nature. I think for our next vacation we'll just head in to Olan Mills and have them take some candid shots of us in front of a bunch of cool stuff. Think of all the money we'll save, and how jealous everyone will be that we had such an awesome time on vacation in so many places. Then we can take the money that we saved and take a real vacation without taking any pictures at all, just enjoying the scenery and culture without having to take a picture of every damn thing!
Interpolation:
M: Don't make shi- up.
S: I didn't. I read it somewhere.
M: Sounds like a reliable source.

You are seven years old. In this year you will write your name on the board for the one and only time in your life. It starts with a pinch from the kid who used to make fun of you in kindergarten. You are seven, and you know that this is wrong, so you take your fingers and pinch him back. The two of you are pinching one another in a progressively harder manner. One of you, you don't think it was you, begins to cry. Your teacher, Mrs. Wallace is in her first year and slightly overwhelmed. Thinking back, you can't imagine she lasted for more than a few years after that. She didn't really like kids. Or maybe she loved them, but they drove her up the wall. You remember that she was uncertain. Or maybe you don't. Maybe it is a think your mother told you on that day when you made the long walk to the white board and scrawled your name on the board. And for the rest of the day your face was tinged with red, and as you tried to focus on addition and subtraction, your eyes kept wandering to that little corner of the board where you had written your name. Your shame, etched in dry erase marker.

You don't remember much else about this year. Just this tense young woman trying to go about the business of teaching and flubbing it. You are sure that you got some more friends and scored some goals for the soccer team. You played tether ball against the boys and a girl who wound up becoming a professional tennis player. She was good, but you don't ever remember losing to her. You probably did. But you are too young to remember the failures like you will do later in life. At that age, you remember the success. The things you did well. Your penmanship is still atrocious. The playground is slightly smaller, and you look forward to being a third grader. The big guys at recess.

Negatives-Mrs. Wallace.

Negatives-Writing your name on the board. Even you kind of thought you were a perfect kid after first grade. It probably happened to other kids weekly, perhaps it is the indelible mark that it left on you that makes you such a teacher's favorite.

Positives-The expectations are still pretty low. You can wear a mountain man t-shirt without anyone noticing. Hygiene is still an optional thing. You can shave your side burns off and people think it's kind of cool.

Negatives-When you are seven you are standing on the cusp of childhood. For the first time you really know that the world is composed of hierarchies. The mere fact that you envy the the kids in third grade is probably a bad sign. An introduction into the worst parts of human nature. When you see yourself as falling short of the other.

Positives-You can still wear themed underwear without it being even remotely problematic. The Thunder Cats are still on television. G.I. Joe and Transformers are probably on only on Saturday's, but they live in your mind in the time in between. What the hell happened to cartoons anyway? In your teens shows like Power Rangers are on. The Transformers would have shot the hell out of those weirdos. Everybody knew that Captain Planet was strange, you only watched it to see how these weird kids would summon the short shorted dude. Cartoons, definitively.

Other Positives-Your knees don't hurt and slide around as if something is torn. If you fall, you are allowed to cry. You are allowed still to wail a bit. You don't cry often.

Other facts-The squirrels will be going the way of the gravestone starting Thursday. Apparently the human folks aren't humane enough to e-mail me back. The three feet of snow is off our roof, but it's snowing again. Oh, and house across the street is for sale if anyone in DC is looking to buy. I promise we'd be good neighbors. Note: We wouldn't dig you out of the snow or anything, but we'd commiserate with you about how much it sucks because that's what good neighbors do.
http://www.redfin.com/DC/Washington/713-Oneida-Pl-NW-20011/home/10052538