<p>Happy Birthday to You!
Happy Birthday to You!
Happy Birthday, Dear Mootie
Happy Birthday To Youuuuuuuu!
And, a spank to grow on!
And, Many More!</p>
<p>:) 
:eek: :rolleyes: 
;)</p>
<p>^^^^ Now, THAT’S a f***ing miracle! Got it right the first time. :p</p>
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<p>LOL. That alone would make for a great birthday present. :D</p>
<p>HAPPY BIRTHDAY</p>
<p>I am back in the Bay Area after six --yeah, six-- days in Boulder City, Nevada. My IQ is slowly returning to normal, which isn’t saying a helluva lot. I seem to have come back with a case of Crotchity Nevada Mouth, otherwise known as uncontollable excessive swearing. I did not say, “sweating.” Sometimes, when I’m in Southern Nevada, I come down with a dual case of excessive s-WEAR-ing and excessive s-WEAT-ing, but it was cold and rainy this time, so it’s just the uncontrollable swearing. </p>
<p>Btw, I missed my chance to get a free drink at the local saloon which is called, The Back Door, or something ambiguously suggestive like that. They serve free drinks on any day that the sun doesn’t shine (another ass reference, right?). </p>
<p>When I was a teenager in Boulder City, the saloon was called, The Saloon. Business names aren’t real inventive in my home town. It’s a tradition to name your business something completely unimaginative and practical. This relieves passersby…uh, passerbyers (f***!)…people walking by on their way to buy a carton of cigarettes of the brainpower required to translate the meanings of these things. Next to The Saloon was a place that sold clothes only to men, and it was called, The Men’s Store. No, really. They sold 501 jeans, belts, and long-sleeved plaid shirts. </p>
<p>The two coolest girls in my high school decided to go in there one day and buy some jeans, because in 1973, genuinely cool girls wanted the ERA to pass, so they decided to invade the inner sanctum of The Men’s Store and go buy some jeans. This, of course, got them instantly labeled as lesbians, which was kind of like being labeled as an outlaw --a really cool outlaw who was way ahead of the rest of the town in terms of self-identity --but an outlaw, nevertheless. They entered The Men’s Store as girls who were light years ahead of the fashion curve by wearing men’s jockey shorts sticking out of the top of their jeans, and they came out, as rumor had it, as “lezzies.” The thing is, they weren’t actually lesbians, but everybody said they were because they bought two pairs of 501s at The Men’s Store. I got tagged as a lesbian, too, after my best friend and I accidentally wore the same dress to school one day. Then, I solidified that impression when I turned down an invitation to attend Homecoming with a ginormous jackass who drove an orange Pacer. </p>
<p>Technically, I was in Teen Hell because my parents moved us back to Southern Nevada from Omaha where I had just finished my sophomore year at a highly-regarded college prep high school. After a summer of mowing lawns and clinical depression, I resigned myself to start my junior year at a high school that was physically connected to the junior high and the elementary school. They were all connected, and I guess, this was so that the elementary kids could walk home for lunch with the rest of the town and start learning how to smoke during their breaks.</p>
<p>Faced with the prospect of going to Homecoming with Rick the jackass Pacer guy, I jumped at the chance to babysit for my neighbor and his wife. He was a teacher, and they were chaperoning the dance, and for some reason, they were under the mistaken impression that I knew how to change a newborn’s diaper. I mowed lawns and hung out with lesbians, apparently. But, being a girl, they figured I automatically knew how to take care of a newborn. This is the level of childcare one can expect in Boulder City. Even now, you don’t have to know how to take care of kids in order to babysit. Preventing them from running into traffic is more than adequate. Besides, my mom was right next door, and she could come over if I needed help, which she did.</p>
<p>Okay, I’m not sure what my point was. Anyway, I missed my chance to get a free drink at The Back Door. I noticed that the place doesn’t have any windows, and I wondered about that when I walked by with my egg plate from The Antique Store 'cause I wanted to see who among my graduating class had turned into the town drunkards. Missed my chance. :D</p>
<p>::stamping, whistling::</p>
<p>Yay!! sluggbugg, you don’t have to have a point; we just like the RIFFING!!!</p>
<p>Happy b’day mootmom! Keep the TV turned off and enjoy yourself.</p>
<p>Sluggbugg—loved your vivid pictures. When back in my hometown in the middle of nowhere in the midwest at Christmastime, we went out to breakfast at the new place in town to go. I can’t remember the name, but it’s connected to a convenience store/gas station 3 miles outside of town at a crossroads of 2 highways. Imagine–being able to buy a breakfast of bacon and eggs for $3.49, a 6-pack of Bud, a tankful of gas AND live bait, all at the same cash register.</p>
<p>When the waitress addressed me by name, it was quite unnerving. It took me a while (and required getting my H to peek over her shoulder and see her first name on her order pad) for me to figure out who she was. Considering I graduated with roughly the same 100 kids I started kindergarten with, I did remember who she was and was able to recover and be pleasant. Wow—a picture of what could have been…(theme from Twilight Zone plays…)</p>
<p>In my suburban home town we more had the faux cute “shoppes.” I think the count was more or less:</p>
<p>2 gas stations
3 markets
3 banks
3 liquor stores
2 hair salons
2 dentists
1 pediatrician
12 Dr Feelgoods
4 swim clubs
6 antiques shoppes
1 auto-repair
2 travel agents
1 movie theatre
1 drug store
1 ice cream parlor
9 clothing shoppes
1 book shoppe
2 stationery shoppes
20 restaurants, cafes, etc.</p>
<p>NO LESBIANS! ;)</p>
<p>It was the sort of town where a woman who would wear nylons under her tennis dress could temporarily forestall a complete psychotic breakdown by shoppe-ing all day long for new clothing, gin, antiques, and stationery-- with maybe one hair appointment, tennis lesson, or round of golf? Then, exhausted, she’d pick up her prescription diet pills and a trashy novel at the drug store before swinging by Ye Olde Swim Club to fetch her wet, shivering progeny at (or slightly after) nightfall. In the evening, after a nice martini she could macrame a few plant holders or attempt a Julia Child recipe.</p>
<p>We kids would spent 12% of our time beating up on each other, 20% of our time watching TV, and 68% of our time figuring out how to get our hands on more Tang and Ding Dongs.</p>
<p>I think it must be hipper there now, because slugg is actually in that 'hood!</p>
<p>astrophysicsmom–the contrast between your screen name and the waitress from your HS is…thought-provoking.</p>
<p>sluggy–great writing as always.</p>
<p>Whenever I go home to my forsaken hometown I am grateful for the fates that enabled me to escape it. I was recently trying to remember what the heck I did every summer. There was no summer camp, and no organized sports for girls. I remember playing the piano a LOT, going to the pool some (not that any of the cool kids there noticed me), and reading stacks of National Geographics from the kindly grade-school teacher next door. One blessed summer (pre-senior year) I got to go to a 6 week Camp for the Arts at a real college campus. Eye-opening summer. :)</p>
<p>Oh, and I got recordings from the local library. My mother didn’t mind my forays into various types of music until I brought home the Ravi Shankar! She probably thought I was about to join a commune or something. It was seriously cool music.</p>
<p>So waddya think mootie is doing to celebrate her b’day thonight? I hope it involves a massage, hot oils, and bon bons. No pizza.</p>
<p>I have no home town. Sometimes I wish I did. I’ve lived where I do now for 17 years, but I’ll never ever be a native.</p>
<p>^^^ were you a military brat?</p>
<p>:) Thanks for the colorful good wishes, all! The highlight of yesterday was winning the annual Earth Day “Poker Walk” around the outside of the office. (A full house, 3s full of 2s. And that <em>won</em>.) At least we get to go back to the Aquarium for free this summer as my prize.</p>
<p>Oh yeah, that and the best sole meuniere I think I’ve ever had. Preceeded by an honest to goodness lemon drop. </p>
<p>No pizza.</p>
<p>Hey moot - I’m glad you had a good day. You deserved it. :)</p>
<p>“No pizza” Well done!</p>
<p>Hahahaha, great home town stories! Gawd, you’re right, SB. I DO live in the 'hood. I saw some graffiti sprayed on the retaining wall next to the bike path on the way down to Nordstrom’s. There’s a cutsey name for our 'hood, like the Creek, or Nut Town, or something like that. Add 5 gourmet coffee shops, 3 overpriced grocery stores, 3 kitchen places that teach people how to improve their social lives with silicon spatulas, 7 price-fixing gas stations run by guys who wear big gold and turquoise rings, and 12 furniture stores all within a few blocks of one another, and that’s where I live now. Oh, and a couple of hundred jaywalking Kaiser patients who avoid overexercising by waddling across four lanes of traffic every day instead of walking an extra twenty yards to get to the crosswalk.</p>
<p>There is also a fairly steady stream of parents stampeding to local oral surgeons’ offices to get their kids’ wisdom teeth removed so they can legally get their hands on some Vike. :D</p>
<p>Oooh…sluggbugg, you raise some interesting ideas. Maybe I should return my silicon spatula and that new silicon basting brush…they didn’t come with any social live improvement. Oh, and I hadn’t even thought of that angle on D’s upcoming wisdom teeth extraction process Something to look forward to!</p>
<p>A belated Happy Birthday, Mootmom! Let’s keep the celebration going!</p>
<p>Sluggie,</p>
<p>Are the silicon spatulas much more pronounced than the regular spatulas?</p>
<p>Happy Birthday Mootie. Where’d’ya get the sole? It’s one of my big food favorites. I usually eat it in the Stanford Shopping Center, if you can believe it, at Bravo Fono.</p>
<p><em>from one local to another</em></p>
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<p>Close. Foreign service brat. Which at least means you get Washington DC as somewhat of a home base. I was there for jr. high and part of high school. However none of my friends from those days still live there, so it doesn’t feel like home the way a place where more people stay put might.</p>