So Sunday was the big USA birthday: July 4^th. I was, as usual, my firecracker self. But it was a hot one—a really, really infernal doozy. Mrs. Doubtfire once said, “I’m melting like a snowcone in Phoenix.” That’s about accurate. My better half and I had the pleasure of attending a lovely little soiree at a friend’s house.  Everything was going patriotically smooth until, I, with my mystery libation in hand, decided to sit down on a bench to gossip. Note, the gossip intention—well, God struck me and my big mouth down because I cracked the bench. Proving once again, my ass is the size of Texas, I now feel I owe my friend a new bench. No one really laughed at me—but I was mortified. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe that’s why one of my friends told my husband: “I can’t believe you let her quit bootcamp.” Ouch.

This weekend was also the time to discuss the many faces of the new Al Gore sex scandal. What a crock of uncertainty at best, a tangled/mangled web of lies at worst. Really? Reports suggest that it’s been over four years since the “incident” happened and that there is some purported stain.  To complicate matters, there’s a 67-page police report fraught with name-calling such as “lummox” and “sex-crazed poodle.” Note: these were all applicable to the tree hugger Gore. I never really thought of the former veep as having any repressed, raging sexuality. I should have known better when he tonsil-wrestled Tipper on stage…..

Aside from all these festivities, I also found time to waste uncovering photos from my past.

Partly as a means of cathartic therapy for my upcoming birthday and partly in an effort to recapture my youth, I ravaged my mother’s photo collection. Everything from the baby version of me replete with baby-blue leopard leggings to my first day of school: horrific and yet deliciously fun. One thing was for certain, I was a poser and a little bit hysterical about everything from the moment I entered this earth. Sometimes I wonder if my mother could sense there was trouble growing inside of her for 9 LONG months. Looking back at my life, I think she had her hands full with me. In addition to the cuteness of me as a baby, there are the most embarrassing photos of my high school days. Still with flaming-red hair and still trying to be the center of attention, it’s clear that I could never really be a wall-flower.  I’ve included these images for your viewing pleasure.  I’m sure all of us have photos like these.

It’s always quite fun to reminisce about the “old” times. I just shudder to think that in ten years, this present version of me will be something I will be poking fun at!