My first kiss

The Retropolitan has me thinking about kissing. Like that's anything new. But I digress.

My first kiss was in the apartment of the boy I was madly in crush with. I was 13, he was scandalously younger (12). My mother was banging on the front door because, damn it, it was time for me to go. I grabbed him, drug him into the hall, laid one on him, hopped in the car and blushed the entire 45 minute trip home from North Philly to Delaware. It was to be our only kiss for a long, long time.

His name was Jason M. We used to go roller skating and watch Monty Python and listen to The Cure and The Smiths and The Happy Mondays together. Oh, how I still swoon for that boy.

My next kiss came my sophomore year of high school. I was maybe 15? My (dangerously cute) friend Craig with skin like chocolate milk and eyes you could fall into if you weren't careful found out that I had only ever once kissed a boy and that my one kiss, though backed with much gusto, was actually the sort of kiss one gives their grandma at Christmas after she's bought you your 50th sweater vest. He dared me to meet him in the school bus yard during lunch and I, not being one to ever turn down a dare (much to my own detriment), was there at the designated time and spent a dreary, rainy, cold lunch hour in the back of a bus neither dreary, nor rainy, and certainly not cold.

My third kiss was in 1993, putting me at 18, I think. I went back to Philly for a visit and my friend Chris took me to the shore. Wildwood, I think. I brought some friends: my childhood best friend, Nicole, and her devastatingly cute twin brother, Jason M. Yep, that Jason. Nicole and Chris sort of hit it off and they left Jason and I on the beach during the most beautiful sunset in the history of all sunsets while they took a walk. Jason and I laughed and giggled at our secret childhood romance. We went skinny dipping. We caught up on the 5 years we hadn't seen each other. We talked about god and politics and comic books, and it was one of the best nights of my entire childhood. His sister and my friend eventually resurfaced, and we all headed back to the car to head home. Let's just say that we made it all the way to the Jersey turnpike and then Chris and Nicole had to turn the radio up. And the defroster.

I never saw him again. I doubt I ever will.

And now it is your job to click the title of this post and in my inblognito comments section, you are to tell me about your first kiss. Because, honestly, I'm dying to know....

We left Canada on what was to be the kids' first day of school.

Today, almost nine months later, they celebrated their last day of school.

The ten point review of their school year:

Zero...perfect attendance awards
One...school that feels like home

Two...thousand, five hundred thirty three miles
Three...times zones
Four...addresses
Five...best friends ( and a whole gang of really, really good ones)

Six...Shakespeare performances
Seven...weeks of DI practice
Eight...teachers
Nine...hours of sleep a night
Ten...weeks until the first day of school again

It's been a blast. My kids are now 4th and 2nd graders. Yikes.

PSA

Children? Do you know what happens if you have a crazy afro that you positively refuse to wash or allow your sweet mother to brush and put up in cute little pig-tails*? I'll tell you what. Your darling mother will cruelly take advantage of the fact that you have an attention span rivaling that of a cheap door knob and use the moments after your bath while you are brushing your teeth (with her toothbrush) to take you from this....


to this...


Yes, children, beware the painfully cute 50's bob.


Yes, children. Your mother hates you and wants you to be miserable.

*No, it does not count if you let your Auntie Nicole do all sorts of fabulous things to your hair. You have to throw your momma an occasional bone, too.

Best Day Ever

Happy Memorial Day to you! What were you up to? Beer? Barbecue? Public ridicule? Hooray for holidays on Monday! We spent the day with the Notorious MollyG at the Boulder Creek Arts Festival getting in touch with our hemp-wearing, pot smoking, Dead listening, unshaven sides*.

Gonna ride across the river deep and wide
Ride across the river to the other side...


I'm just a singer in a rock & roll band...

Kiss? Bunch of sissy boy Posers. Watch out world, here comes Rock Star Scare**!

(I mean, really? What holiday would be complete without a bunch of crap all over your face?)



I'm high as a kite; I just might stop and check you out....

For some reason we decided it was a good idea to tie our sweet little children to rubber bands and fling them upward. They agreed this was a fabulous idea.
(Look super close at 2of3's and The Kid's faces. They're awesome.)

And so castles made of sand fall in the sea, eventually...


No witty random song-lyric caption for this one; I just think it's lovely...


Molly and I played a game called duelling cameras. Same vantage point, same subject. Best picture wins. I think I have this one in the bag...


I have been told that I don't have enough pictures of myself on this thing, and I intend to remedy that, right here and now.

What do you mean, that doesn't count? FINE. Here's a few more.





*We, in fact, did not do any of the above. Well, I can't attest to the shaving bit. I did, but I totally forgot to do a pit check on Molly.

**If you click no other link for the rest of your life, click that one, if only to compare pictures. I got the better 3of3 pic, but Molly sooo got the better Rock Star Scare shot. For sures.