Bliss

I'm usually the kind of gal that doesn't branch out gastronomically. If I'm eating at the Olive Garden, I get the Tuscan soup and a hazelnut cream Italian soda. If it's Taco Bell, it's the 7 layer burrito with nachos belgrande; my favorite Mexican restaurant, Roberto's Tacos (where all the Mexican's eat- Taco Bell doesn't count as Mexican) has the best chili relleno washed down with icy horchata. Unless it's a burger and fries, that is the extent of my dining comfort zone.
I had a hot lunch date today, we ate here. I was a little nervous at first, but I went with the flow. I've been on an 'Office' kick, and last night Ryan mentioned Pad Thai, so I took a leap and ordered it.
Oh.
My.
Bliss.
It hurts my heart to not have known that it existed before. I will never be the same. It was tangy, limey, with peanutty crunchy goodness and a hint of cilantro.
So we sat, ate with chopsticks, and made googly eyes at each other. We did have to switch spots when Liam got spaghetti sauce on Lewis' dress shirt, but other than that, it was romantic.

LOSERFACE- My new nickname

What would you do?

I opened my email this morning and found an e-vite for a trunk sale from a man who is a slight business acquaintance. The note was addressed to Melissa LOSERFACE. Apparently, he had saved my name that way in his contacts. Oops! How embarrassing for him.

I spent a while this morning analyzing our few contacts. He organized an event where I was one of the speakers. He emailed, me as part of a group, the program. (That must have been the point where I was saved in his contacts with that delightful moniker.) I replied that his plans sounded great, that I was sure his event would be fantastic. The only time we've ever been face to face was a brief handshake- nice to meet you- conversation backstage before the event. Both were cordial and professional. So why the LOSERFACE? In all caps, even.

It's a mystery, my friends.

I'm thinking that I must have some mysterious power to repel total strangers.

This could be very useful when I'm in long lines at Disneyland.

I replied to his e-vite, but I'm curious, how would you handle this?

*An explanation- OR IS IT?

I got another email from the guy, and it was again, addressed to Melissa LOSERFACE. He was so flustered and apologetic. He couldn't find that adorable name anywhere in his contact list. He sent a different test email, it was still there. He insists he has no clue how it got there. I'm inclined to believe him. We spoke, and he was all apologies. I mean, come on. Does anyone over the age of 18 save a professional contact with the name LOSERFACE? I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

this is what happens when you dont sign out!

you see mom it isn't very smart to walk off without signing out. think of all the embarrassing stories i could post about you, that you haven't posted about yet. dang blogging is harder than it looks, i cant think of anything to say.

Shame

"It wasn't my kid, was it?" I asked, searching the faces of my fellow Cub Committee members. A few cast sidelong glances at each other.

"Do you really want to know?" Kristy could look me in the eye, her kid stories could top mine any day.

We were discussing the Spaceship Derby a couple of weeks before. It was a loud, overstimulating affair. There were so many little children running around screaming, it was the perfect birth control ad. I'd spent a few precious minutes of quiet helping in the kitchen. Apparently, I'd missed out on some action. Some punk kid (cough) called 911 and hung up. Of course the police came. They always come. The Bishop rounded up all the kids and tried to discover the culprit. No one came forward. He didn't want to humiliate anyone, so he asked that whoever did it come to him privately.

As I heard what had happened, my heart clenched. My pupils dilated. My nostrils flared. I expect all kinds of hi jinx from my boys, but some things cross the line. Mouthing off, being disrespectful, or lying to an adult that is not your parent carries a heavy punishment. I had a vague memory of some kid coming to me to tattle that Dainon was the one on the phone. He's almost 14, so the idea of him being on the phone wasn't particularly disturbing. I asked him about it, and he gave me an explanation so mundane that I completely forgot about it. Until that moment at the table.

I stewed.

Was my child on a path riddled with crime and disrespect to elders?

Could he, in fact, withstand the "please just confess in secret" line from a loving Bishop?

Hell in a hand basket, my friends. In a hand basket.

I stewed some more.

The more I thought about it, the less it sounded like him. It would have been pure idiocy to involve the police in your doings with your father in the next room.

As soon as he breezed in from school, we had a little chat.

"Um, Dain, I was at a meeting today, talking about the space derby. They said someone called 911 and the police came. Did you call 911?"

"Sure." He said, "But don't worry. I dialed it, but I didn't press send."

"Babe, it's not a cell phone. All you have to do is press the numbers. You did dial the police. They came."

"They came?" He asked in surprise. "I never saw them, I was outside." He missed the whole thing with the Bishop too, and was only too happy to explain to him how it had all gone down.

Whew!

Not so shameful after all. It was actually pretty funny.