Kiddo posted this excerpt from a 1955 Good Housekeeping article.

I'm sure that all of my feminist friends will have plenty to say, but I am going to go out on a limb here (and risk my own life) by saying that there may be a little truth to this outdated piece.

Once again, no I have not been turned into a Stepford Wife.

The reality is that most women work outside the home. Then they turn around and work inside the home. It's so fucking overwhelming that there are times I just sit and cry.

I don't care what the hell the women's magazines say; it's impossible to have it all. You can't be superwife, supermom and a super employee at the same time. No matter how hard you try someone always get the short end of the stick.

But the thought of coming home after a long day at work to a peaceful, clean, house and having nothing to do but relax seems like bliss to me. I can't imagine how happy I would be if there was dinner on the table, a nice cozy fire (or a few well placed candles), my slippers by the door, a cocktail waiting on the side table and H3 in high-heels and pearls, (well maybe that’s a stretch.)

In his defense H3 always tells me to just sit back and relax. The problem is that I can't when things are in chaos.

When I come home to a house in disaster, after a long day were I've only finished half of my to-do list and I've had 10 meetings where everyone needs something from me, well for me it's melt-down time.

I don't know why having things in clean and orderly makes me feel at peace, it just does. It one of those things I can't change.

So call me a traitor, but I think everyone deserves a good wife (male or female) who can help make things a little easier.

I have a new favorite reality show. If you have not seen Gene Simmons Family Jewels you are missing out.

I never really liked Simmons. In fact, when he did the tounge thing it grossed me out. I was more of a Ace fan. But the Gene Simmons you see on this A&E series is awesome. He has the most normal kids and he is the funniest Dad since Cosby.

Love it, Love it , Love it!

I was thinking about Twinkie and her anticipation, mixed with fear, over Bebop starting kindergarten. While I tease her all the time about her little girl growing up; the reality is, things do change too fast.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember when Megmonster was so tiny and I would spend the entire day holding her because I was afraid to let go.

Or who could have imagined that my premature and fragile little noodle would one day be the biggest kid in his class.

But this is reality. Kids grow up and life changes.

Get all the hugs you can Twink. It’s going to go fast.

Yesterday I took some pictures of a few things I need to sell on Ebay. Even though I have this new high-end digital SLR camera the image looked terrible.

That's when I was forced to admit that maybe things would work better if I would read the instruction book that came with camera. As soon as I started reading it was obvious that this camera is over my head.

I love art photography. When I go to a gallery or Museum I am always drawn to photo exhibits. I am envious of anyone who can capture the beautiful or unique images. I signed up for a photography class when I was in college, but dropped it after few weeks. I just couldn't grasp the calculations needed to get the perfect shot.

Being impatient is one of my worst personality flaws. I don’t want to think about taking a picture; I just want to do it. That would explain why my pictures always look bad.

So, I have decided to try something new. I’m actually going to read the camera manual. But wait, that's not all. I’m going to get a few digital photography books from the library and try (for once) to triumph over my tendency to cut corners. For once I want to go beyond just getting by, I want to master something. Wish me luck.

I recently bought a very expensive new Digital SLR camera. Of course I don't have a clue how to really use it. My 7-year-old asked if he could have my old 2-pixel Olympus so I told him yes.

Last night he went around the house taking pictures. When I downloaded them to my laptop I was amazed at how well he did. Even more amazing was how he staged some of the shots.

Here's the sad thing -- His pictures are better than any I take.

The other day we stopped at Wal-hell to pick up H3’s (new) favorite ice cream. For those of you in the ‘ville, H3 claims it tastes just like the original Erhler’s vanilla. So even though we have sworn to never shop at Wal-Mart (at least 100 times) they suck you in with items you can't get anywhere else.

As we were leaving the store, H3 walked over to the outside lawn & garden area as I went back to the car. When I turned around, a man had walked up to H3 and started patting him on the back. I was intrigued, trying to figure whom this man was. As I continued to watch, the man and H3 shook hands. I couldn't see H3's face, and I was not sure what was going on. As the man proceeded to pat and rub H3's back, the intimacy of the situation led me to believe that H3 must know this man very well.

When H3 finally turned to leave, the man was smiling as he watched H3 walk my way. That's when I realized (by the look on his face) that H3 was not a happy camper. When he opened the car door I asked, "What was all that about?"

It seems that the man (a total stranger) walked up and asked H3 if he was going to build something. Surprised, H3 responded with, "Maybe." Then the man asked H3 if he worked in the area and proceeded to pat H3's back again.

At that point a stunned H3 asked, "Do I know you from somewhere?" The man introduced himself (hence the handshake) and asked H3 his name. H3 responded with first name only and again asked if the man knew him from somewhere. That's when this event took a twisted turn.

The man smiled (sweetly) at H3 and said, "I might. Do you know Jesus?" Not knowing what to say H3 muttered "yes" -- as in, yes I know who he is.

Then the man (once again patting and rubbing H3's back) responded "But do you know Jesus as your personal savior?"

My wonderful husband responded "I know I am going to womp your ass if you touch me again" and walked off. It took H3 the entire ride home to calm down. During the ride he ranted about the unspoken "guy rule" that you don't touch another man unsolicited without risk of an ass kicking. That's when noodle chimed in (wanting to make sure he was being compliant) with "unless it's your son, right Dad?"

It's a good thing that H3 did not notice the man's creepy smile as he watched H3 walk away. He might have opened up can of South-Louisville whoop-ass in the parking lot of the Mayberry Wal-Mart.

I know it's in bad taste to talk about what you paid for something but great deals make me so excited I want to scream.

I stopped into Lowes tonight to get some repair items and they had just put a bunch of lamps on a table marked 75% off lowest price.

Looking back I should have bought a few more but I have no space in my house.

The ones I did get are so cute and I only paid a few dollars each.

This one is for Megmonster. I found it listed online for $48 but I paid about 10% of that cost.

I even got two cute lamp shades for the living room and they were .35 cents each.

I love great bargains.

Maybe I am missing the bigger picture here, but I’m not sure why an inmate creating and selling artwork is such a problem.

I know Donny Johnson is a convicted killer and he should pay his debt to society and not be on the streets, but why is it against the rules for him to paint and then sell his art to raise money for charity.

Isn’t the purpose of prison to rehabilitate the criminal? If an inmate has found a peaceful form of expression and the form of expression raises money for a charity, what’s the big deal?

I also don’t understand why prisoners can’t have art supplies. They can have weight rooms to pump up and be strong but let’s not give them some paint and paper. That could be too dangerous. Have prison offials never heard of art therapy?

Sometimes I think I must oversimplify things because I just don’t get it.

Art I get. When I look at art, good or bad, I try to understnd what was in the artist's mind at that time. I have always heard that there is a fine line between madness and genius and I think that is true.

I think some brains are so creative, so intense, that those of us who are just average (me) have a hard time understanding the brilliance.

Case in point is my first-born’s BFA thesis exhibit. The amount of time and deep thought that goes into an exhibit like this is so far over my head. I am in awe of him and his ability to take everyday images and look beyond what everyone else sees and to think on a level that some consider the edge of madness.

My Space is a scary world. I'm always amazed at parents who claim that they want to know what their child is doing, but they never go on My Space to find out. Do you really want to know what your little angel is up to? Just type their name into a My Space search and you can probably find out. Just make sure you have a few drinks first.

One of the scariest things about My Space is the strangers who try to contact you. Tonight I got this e-mail (I'm not kidding) from some weirdo in Istanbul.

---- Hi, I am ETIN, I am 35 years old. I Live Turkey in Istanbul, you are very beatiful and you are sexy I have a camera and I want to chat you because you are wanderful girl, I have messenger my yahoo avazelal7171@yahoo.com ,
hotmail messenger adress: avazelal7171@hotmail.com have you msn or yahoo I wait you bye. I KISS YOU ----

What a freak. He even looks like some psychopathic cannibal murderer.

It reminds me of Halloween 1996. My friend Sarah and I went to a bar called Cafe Kilamanjaro. for some good food and Salsa dancing. The crowd was very mixed which added to the charm. That night a recent Cuban transplant name Jorge decided he was in love with me. In fact, he told me this about 30 times.

If I remember right his exact words were "I love you, you teach me English?" He also repeated several times that he had a cell phone. It seems funny now, but we actually had to sneak out the side door and leave because he would not go away.

Not long after that episode I started hanging out at Redneck bars. At redneck bars the toothless drunks I attract seem harmless.

One night, I was playing DJ at Harold's and this trucker invited me out to the parking lot to see his “Big Rig.” I respectfully declined. The good thing about a drunken redneck is that he normally walks away when you turn him down.

Of course there was the drunken midget that fell off his bar stool (in slow motion) as he tried to sneak a feel of Twinkie when she wasn't looking. Now he was funny scary.