Can you tell how bored I am????

I am on my way to work this morning and I turn on the local college radio station. What do I hear? One of my absolute favorite songs ever being butchered by Greenday. Honestly, I hear Working Class Hero, a beautiful, passionate song, being sung (terribly) by none other than Billie Joe Armstrong. When I hear John Lennon sing the song I can't help but be overcome with emotion. I can't help but think of his struggles as a child orphan. I can't help but think of how hard it could have been for him to sit down and actually write Working Class Hero. When I hear Billy Joe Armstrong sing the song, all I can think about is how shitty his eyeliner looks.
I am totally turning into, no, actually I am a music snob. I think there are a few rules that need to be followed by the American Idiots of today.

1. Don't cover The Beatles &/or a Beatle.
2. Please don't think your John Lennon. Just because your producer wrote you some pseudo political punk pop song doesn't mean you are even close to being the artist or the man John Lennon was.
3. Don't forget your roots. Your first album was called Dookie, remember????
4. Last but not least, stop selling out. I hate that term but it fits Greenday so well. Hell isn't it the definition of Greenday?

In closing, I offer you the song Working Class Hero. By the real Working Class Hero, Mr. John Lennon. If you want to hear the Crapday version, look it up yourself on YouTube.

Cheers.

As the ultimate celebration of motherhood approaches, I find myself revelling in the fact that I am actually a mother. It is hard for me to believe that the princess of all things party, the backstage butterfly, the self professed gypsy is actually parenting (a doing a damn fine job if I might say so myself) a spirited two year old boy.
Raised by my father while I smoked weed with my mother, I never aspired to be a mom. I never wanted that. My mother had done some things that completely turned me off of the idea. I think our relationship eventually frightened me into believing that if I ever had a child I would treat him or her the same way she treated me. I could not imagine that.
When I found I was expecting the future love of my life, I was scared and selfish. I was having a blast in NYC. I stayed out all night, I ate for free (thanks, Chef), I hung out with c list celebrities (hi jimmy) and rockstars. I didn't want a baby, hell I didn't even know if I wanted a boyfriend. But when it came down to it, something or someone (gma) encouraged my path to change. The road to motherhood would be my next journey.
After an excruciating 48 hours of labor, I knew I had become a completely different woman. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on my son that my purpose in this life was to be a mother. My life had chad changed in that split second and would never be the same again. I had (and still do) an air of confidence that was almost immediately instilled into my soul. I knew from day one that I was a fabulous mother. That may sound cocky or bold but I knew it as true, in fact I still do. The job description molded me into who I am now. I am a woman. I am a wife. I am a goddess. I am a lover. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a mother.
Something inside of me had grown and developed into this instinctual know how. It was like as Catcher grew inside me, the manual of motherhood was memorized into my brain. I felt the part. I wasn't nervous, well maybe a little, but for the most part I knew that I was doing fine. Better than fine.
Today, while Catcher actually naps, I sit and I look back on how I have done as a mother. How do I judge myself? Do I relish in the fact that my son eats vegetables and drinks milk every day, brushes his own teeth and adores Cat Stevens? Should I give myself a pat on the back for this? More often than not, I don't. I skip the celebration of my motherhood because I don't have the time. I am a prego mother of a toddler boy. I don't sit down. I dance. And I love it. I can't wait to do it all over again.

The hubster and I saw the movie 'The Fountain' last night at the big grand opening of the supersize movie theatre in S-ville. We had been wanting to see it ever since it hit the big screen but had never gotten a chance to rent it. It was worth the wait. Directed by Darren Arnofsky (3.14, Requiem for a Dream), The Fountain has to be the most visually appealing movie I have ever seen. It was so trippy that the hubs and I commented on how stoned we felt (we weren't) and how if we actually were high we would be freaking out. It also has to be one of the most heartbreaking movies I have ever seen. The general theme of the movie is rebirth and life which ultimately comes from death. At one point, I thought I might hyperventilate from crying so hard. The Chef even looked like he was on the verge of breaking down. Like all of Darren Arnofsky movies, the soundtrack was beautiful and made me feel like I was in a completely different world. This movie was very very different. If you do not like 'out of the box' thinking you will hate this movie. I loved it.

Happy Birthday Husband!!!!
MDH,
You rock. I love you. Times have been tough recently but I know we will make it through them. I am so proud to call myself your wife. Yaaaay Sawyer!!!
Hope you like your presents....

Love,
Chef's Widow