August 30th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I am not writing a Soap Opera Sunday this weekend because . . . see, my sister Meagan and her husband Lucas live in New Orleans.  The city that has barely started recovering from Katrina and is now bracing for Gustav, which, at the moment is a CATEGORY 5 HURRICANE.  Katrina was a Category 3.  Yeah.  And here’s the kicker . . . they’re not leaving.  They can’t leave.  They work at the hospital and had to sign a contract that they would be available to work during natural disasters.  Just for the record, I think my sister, her husband and all the people who have stayed behind to care for and protect the city the best they can, are heroes.  I’d have been on a plane a week ago.

Despite how scary this sounds, they are lucky.  The hospital is the safest place to be during a hurricane.  It will most likely not lose power.  There will be plenty of food.  It will be heavily guarded.  During Katrina this particular hospital sustianed no major damage.  It’s a veritable fortress.  They will be physically safe.

However, they will still be in the city for what might be a worse storm than Katrina.  They will see the horror first-hand as they care for the sick and injured.    If the storm keeps it’s current path, their home may not make it.  Their physical belongings may not survive.  None of it is going to be easy for them or for the city.

I know Megs and Luke will be safe and no harm will come to them.  My faith in that statement is stronger than I can describe — but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared.  I’m scared for the future of New Orleans, a city I fell madly in love with on my first visit in January.  I’m scared for the people who won’t be protected within the walls of the hospital.  I’m scared of many things.

During a week where the blogging world has shown just how supportive they can all be (I am seriously blown away by the support being shown for Stephanie and Christian Nielson ) I just ask for your prayers for New Orleans.  The storm is a couple of days out and it may diffuse itself, but if not, it could be worse than Katrina.  I firmly believe our prayers will help, even if in unseen ways.  I know my sister will feel them and be grateful.

** ETA: My sister?  She’s hilarious . . . and looking at the bright side.  Check her out her post about the upside of being stuck in a level 5 hurricane here.  There are pictures with captions.  Funny captions.  Beware the grammar, oh beware. But prepare to laugh.

August 29th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Woah.  This week flew by so fast I didn’t realize it was Friday until right this minute.  Then I realized I hadn’t updated this here blog since Sunday.  Um . . . oops?

I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but work was sooooo slowwww for such a long time I almost forgot what it was like to be busy. And now that I’m super busy I’m trying to figure out how people survive being this busy all the time. Laundry is undone, the house is a mess and I haven’t made my bed all week. I have been late picking Matt up from work (have you heard? We are going green – more like saving green – by carpooling to work.) almost every day. I feel like a bad Mom who’s late picking up her kids from school. One day he was sitting on the bench outside . . . just waiting. It’s terrible! I’m getting nothing done except work!!

Not that I’m complaining. I’d rather be busy at work then bored and feeling guilty every time I deposit my paycheck. It’s just hard getting readjusted to life as a crazy busy person.

And let’s not even talk about blogging. Or the gym.

So, teh internets . . . help me. How do you guys balance your crazy busy lives? I can’t even fathom trying to do this with kids and some of you pull it off with amazing grace. Then those of you in school?!?! Oh man, I’m in awe. This is why I beg for help.

I would offer homemade treats, but I couldn’t find time to buy any, let alone cook.

August 24th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I would like to introduce you to Matt, age 4 months:

Could you DIE? Look at that little face and the button nose!!

Now, meet Matt at 1 year:

Stopit he’s so cute.

How about 2 years old? Wanna meet him then?

What a little gentleman, no?

Let’s see . . . is he still cute at 3?

Not just cute, he’s a SUPERPERSON!

Look at that protective older brother face!!!

And that SMILE!?

At four, I swear he’s the twin of my baby brother Patrick. While that is a little creepy, it’s also SO dang cute.

He just looks so sweet!

His fashion sense at five is awe inspiring!

Hello, my name is Mr. Dapper!

First grade . . . just starting school.

Makes my heart melt.

That’s not surprising though . . . he still does

Meee-ow

Today my sweetheart had a birthday. He got lots of junk food and his own fridge to keep it in, Mario Cart and a gluttonous dinner at Claim Jumper. During down time today, I kept asking him what he wanted to do, and, on his own birthday, he was concerned about what I wanted to do. That is the kind of man I married. He’d rather have me happy that do something he wants to do. (Don’t worry though, I forced him to pick what he wanted to do.) Thanks Janna and Steve for raising such an amazing person. I married way out of my league and I thank God every day sending this man into my life.

Matt, I love you more and more every day. Thank you for being so incredibly amazing. Happy Birthday!!!

August 16th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I’m going to attempt, once again, to write two Soap Operas this weekend.  I have to finish the Richard saga ONE of these days, so I might as well add another chapter, and I have too many hilarious kissing stories to miss out on “First Kiss” month!  My lovely Brillig is hosting for the entire month of August, so head on over to her place to check out other kissing stories.  We had SO many good ones last week, I’m chomping at the bit for this week’s stories.  If you have been living under a rock (kidding) and don’t know what Soap Opera Sunday is, check out this post right here for details.  Also, don’t forget that we have an Anonymous Soap Opera Blog for those of you who might be a bit shy. 

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The title of my post comes from a phrase I saw on a t-shirt tonight at Johnny Rockets.  I almost spit out my Diet Coke, wondering where that phrase was when I needed it back in the day.  Feelings are Boring.  Kissing is Awesome.  HAHAHAH

I may have mentioned I was a kissing slut.  I’ve kissed a lot of boys.  Like, 50 a lot.  I started young, during the summer I was 13, and I started the right way, with a real boyfriend and all of that . . . but shortly after that, things got a little, well, wonky.  I spent the better part of 10 years kissing boys mostly BEFORE we’d even had a date, and then wondering what I’d done to deserve their hatred as they never called again.  Just ask Brillig.  It’s hilarious how . . . gooey I was.  I’d go gaga over any guy who would look my way.  I was mocked endlessly for this, because, by definition, a kissing slut shouldn’t care about her kisses.  My girlfriends would tell me that I just needed to either NOT kiss boys so soon or EXPECT them to not care about me if I did.  I worked hard on this . . . sometimes.

I distinctly remember the first guy I kissed where I didn’t have gooey feelings.   It’s a long story . . . and very tied to my best girl Brillig.  See, Brillig is a few years older than me, therefore she started college when I was still in high school.  So she knew college boys.  And naturally she’d introduce them to me.   At BYU, where Brillig attended,  they have an abnormal amount of people who speak foreign languages fluently, thanks much in part to the LDS Church’s missionary program.  So, to encourage the ongoing study of the many languages, they created Language Housing, where students “auditioned” in their specific language to live in that “house” where they ONLY spoke said language.  So Brillig lived in the Italian House, and there were many other “houses.”  Arabic, German, Russian and, the most popular . . . The Spanish House.  The Spanish House was most popular for two reasons.  First, it was the largest, due to the large number of fluent Spanish speakers.  Second, it had the hottest guys.

One night she took me to a church function in the Spanish House and she pointed out the heart throb of the house, Allen, and told me she had a bit of a crush on him.  I took one look at him and immediately shared her crush, but didn’t think much of it.

Cut to several weeks later, and Thanksgiving Break.  I was out of school and had a car.  Brillig was alone at the Italian House because all her roommates had gone home and her parents were far, far away in Argentina running a mission there . . . and BYU, for the most part was like an empty tomb, but there were a few stragglers here and there.  Two particularly interesting stragglers.  Allen, the hot Spanish House guy, and the hot guy from the Russian house who’s name I CANNOT remember for the life of me, but let’s call him Dan, because I don’t use real names here anyway.

After Thanksgiving dinner, my dear buddy Hannah and I decided to head over to Brillig’s place because, let’s be honest, it was WAY more fun at her place than at home.  Brillig’s good friend Matt joined us too.  I don’t remember how on earth it happened, but SOMEHOW we all ended up watching movies in the men’s Russian house with Dan . . . and Allen. Now, it must be said that THREE very interesting Soap Opera’s occurred that night, if I’m not mistaken.  I might be wrong about one of them, but  Brillig and Dan had one of their own, as did Hannah and Matt(I think) . . . but those are not my stories to tell.  Mine is all about Allen and myself.

Did I mention Allen was hot?  He was super duper ohmagosh hot.   His parents were both Mexican but he had been raised in the US and somehow had ended up looking more Italian than Mexican, if you ask me.  Curly dark hair.  Chiseled features.  HOT body.  He was sweet and soft spoken and laughed easily.

The plan for the evening, again, if I remember right, was for BRILLIG to hook up with Allen and me to not really hook up with anyone.  Brillig had the crush . . . I was a wee not-quite-16-year old high school girl.  (Ok I just remembered I totally stole the car and drove over there illegally.  HAHAHA.)   Somehow, things got turned upside down when I ended up on the couch with Allen.  Holding hands.  At that point, I totally knew I was getting some.  And I knew, for the first time, I was having a NCMO (Non-Committal Make-Out) and wouldn’t care if I ever saw this guy again.

I remember it was snowing that night . . . the gorgeous glittery icy snow that makes the world feel magical.  We were in and out of the apartment all night, laughing and playing in the snow, but finally settled in around 3 am to watch a movie.  (Any of you who are familiar with BYU know we were all TOTALLY breaking rules here.  No members of the opposite sex in your apartment after midnight.  Yeah, oops.)  Only we didn’t really watch a movie.

Our first kiss was good.  It wasn’t magical or anything, but he obviously knew what he was doing and was very tender and sweet about it.  I remember that he had very soft lips and smelled mildly of chocolate.  Once we started, we didn’t stop kissing for several hours.  Nothing passionate or out of control, just a great, old fashioned make-out session . . . the kind that leaves you with swollen lips.  We kissed and kissed and kissed, barely taking time to notice the other FOUR PEOPLE in the room.  (I cannot tell you how many times myself or my girlfriends have kissed a guy with another one of our friends, or two, or three, or four . . . in the room.)  We kissed until the sun rose and then fell asleep in each others arms, on the very uncomfortable dorm issued couch.

We woke up around 8:00 in the morning.  I remember looking at the clock and adding up the two hours of sleep I had just  had.  I stretched and rolled over to face Allen and kissed his nose.  I’ll never ever forget the next moment as long as I live.  He squeezed me tight, sighed softly, kissed me on the lips and said

“What was your name was again?”

I left that morning laughing hysterically and never planning on seeing him again.  I asked Brillig a couple of times if he’d asked about me, but he hadn’t.  Fine by me.  Within a week or two I had a serious boyfriend anyway.  I was proud that I had successfully kissed a boy without becoming obsessed and not being sad that I’d never look at him again.

As luck would have it, less than a year later, his parents decided to move to Provo, where Brillig and I had grown up, and they moved into the boundaries of my ward (church congregation).  Don’t worry, Allen moved in with them.  Imagine my surprise when I showed up at church on Sunday to find not only Allen, but his ENTIRE FAMILY sitting in the pew in front of me.  I was a little shocked, but figured it would never be an issue, because like he was going to tell his parents about the random girl he made out with one night.

Apparently I was the more wrong.  He told his entire family.  Including his mother, who just happened to be the leader of my girl’s youth group.  And she made no bones about the fact that she didn’t like me one bit.  The situation was awkward.

It became more awkward when I was asked to speak in church . . . on the same Sunday their entire family was speaking.*  As in, I was the only other person besides Allen-family speaking that day.

I spoke on forgiving and forgetting.

*Those of you familiar with the LDS Church know that we have a one hour meeting, usually at the beginning of church where members of the congregation are asked to prepare and present a talk on an assigned gospel topic.  It’s tradition that a missionary and his/her family speak both before their mission and after they return.**

**Allen’s family went to church with mine for a very long time.  The day I spoke with them was the week before Allem  left to serve his two year mission.  Although I was in college when he returned after two years in the mission field, I happened to be in church with my family the day he and his family spoke again.  Allen gave what has gone down in  history as the strangest talk EVER.  He was allotted 15 minutes to speak and when he came to the pulpit, he just . . . stood there.  Not saying a word.  For 14 minutes.  The leaders kept coming up to ask him if everything was OK and he’d shoo them away, indicating that everything was fine.  After the most uncomfortable 14 minutes of my life, he finally spoke up and made some random point about what’s it’s like for those not baptized (which I didn’t really understand) and sat down.  THAT WAS ALL HE SAID.  To this day, I am still flabbergasted.  

August 14th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

From the moment I roared into this world, I was social. A talker. Interested. Engaged with those around me.

Stories of me as a toddler always include me becoming fast friends with the family next to us at dinner. Stories of me screaming “hello” to passing shopping carts and becoming very irritated if no response was given. Walking up to complete strangers and asking them about their respective private parts.

My Mom often tells one story about losing me in a mall for two hours when I was three years old. She was running through the mall, sobbing hysterically, sure I had been kidnapped. She eventually found me sitting on a bench, in a deep conversation with a woman in her forties. The woman felt awful as she explained to my Mom that she was so engaged in the conversation we were having, it never occurred to her that I had been separated from a parent. I WAS THREE.

Told you I was social.

I was never one to understand why anyone would be shy. Why people want to be reserved?? Quiet? Huh? I’ve struggled to understand these concepts my whole life. I always sort of thought shy people were . . . well, boring. I come from a completely Irish background. Loud, boisterous, stereotypical Irish. Quiet isn’t a word we understand. Reserved means that table is taken and you can’t sit there. My younger brother was publicly shy, in a way, but at home he was anything BUT. He was the clown, the one sitting at the dinner table pulling his cheeks as far off his teeth as possible and barking and mooning us from behind our Mom. His shy he grew out of it by about third grade so I’d never been around someone who was shy and quiet all the time. It was completely foreign to me

Enter my husband.

Shortly after we met, a friend of ours finagled a phone call between us, fibbing to both of us that the other asked for the phone call. Matt was the lucky one doing the calling. It was supposed to be a short phone call, inviting me to go on a trip with a group of people, but I turned it into an hour long conversation about everything from family to favorite movies. I hung up the phone excited to have a new friend. My girlfriend (the finagler) called me to report that Matt had simply said to her that I was “quite a talker.” I was insulted! I decided then and there that he didn’t like me and nothing would ever happen, so therefore I probably didn’t like him either.

Little did I know at the time that he was just shy and quiet. Pretty much all the time. And he’s not much of a “talker.” Obviously he’s not “shy” around me anymore, but he’s definitely quiet most of the time. Reserved. Cautious with his words. All things I personally have a hard time comprehending, but that I love about him.

Now I’m doing what I never thought possible. I’m learning from his example. Learning to be more reserved. To share less and listen more. To filter my thoughts. All qualities I never thought I needed or wanted but which I understand the value of more and more every day. I may not be doing a great job at it, but I can see it making a big difference in my life.

I think Matt is also learning from me. Learning to be LESS shy. To be more comfortable around people. It’s hard for me to see him so visibly uncomfortable in social situations. To wish that I could take all his anxiety away and help him relax and be himself around strangers. And I think he’s doing a bang up job. He’ll never be loud and boisterous like me, but he’s sure doing well at the whole “social” thing.

Through all of this, I’m learning ways to help others be less visibly uncomfortable in social situations. To be the kind of person that makes them more comfortable and relaxed. To give them the time to form their thoughts and share them with me. And it’s really nice. The people I always thought were boring are far from that. And I’m ashamed I ever thought that way.

I will never be shy or reserved or even remotely quiet, but as continue to I grow up, I’m finding a balance between my world and Matt’s. Between the loud and the quiet, the filtered and the open – and I’m finding that balance is good.

August 12th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I’m the featured blogger at Blogger’s Annex again today.  It’s another repeat, but they were looking for humor . . . and I figured humiliating myself (again)(for the third time) is a sacrifice I’m willing to make as long as at least one person laughs.

I laughed.  Totally worth it.  Ha!

August 9th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I hadn’t been kissed in a long time. Like a looooong time (well for me. The Mormon kissing slut). I think it had been almost a year (if I could find my journal I would tell you the exact amount of time . . . but alas . . . it’s still in a box somewhere.)

A good friend took pity on me and set me up with a guy in one of her classes. The only day we could get together was the night before I was leaving for study abroad in London. My last chance to get a kiss before I was off to Europe to kiss hot European guys. Excellent.

His name was Adam (not really. I change my names ’round here.). He was cute and sweet. Everything you’d imagine in a returned missionary attending Brigham Young University in 1999. Blonde hair, blue eyes, nice physique, quiet disposition . . . the perfect kind of guy. The kind of guy I should have always dated.

I don’t remember much about our date. We had a good time. We went hot tubbing. We held hands. We laughed. And then it was time to go home. It started raining on our way down the hill to my house. It was a gorgeous May evening and the rain just made it that much better.

We pulled up to my house and quickly ran to the cover of the porch, giggling. I realized in that moment that I’d never had the normal first kiss on the doorstep. All my previous kisses had happened during movies on the couch or in a park or other (semi) odd places. THIS was how it was supposed to happen. I mentally prepared myself for the perfect first kiss.

We stood on the porch for a few awkward minutes talking about what a good time we had, swaying back and forth awkwardly, looking at our feet. The electricity in the air was noticeable. The sound of the rain on the pavement and the glowing sidewalk just added to the palpable tension. We’d both glance up at each other occaisonally, but never at the same moment . . . until suddenly, we did.

He moved in gently, first taking my arms and pulling me closer and then tenderly cupping my face. He smiled gently and pulled me to his face, kissing me softly.

It was the perfect kiss, with the seemingly perfect guy, at the perfect moment.

I felt NOTHING.

Literally nothing. It was like kissing a wall. No spark, no electricity, no butterflies in my stomach. I couldn’t believe it! I’d never had a kiss that did NOTHING for me before. I loved kissing! I loved everything about it!

I pulled away and then kissed him again immediately, assuming it was just a fluke.

Nichts. Nada. Niets.

I timidly said goodnight and that I hoped I see him again when I got back from Europe and let myself inside, saddened by the realization that my perfect guy . . . well . . . wasn’t.

August 9th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

So I’ve made a semi-crazy decision here this week. I’m writing TWO Soap Opera Sunday posts. The reason for this? Well, first of all, I’ve left you guys hanging for WAY too long with regards to the Richard story. Most of you may not care, but some of you have made it clear that I need to finish STAT. That will be the first post.

The second post will follow our monthly theme of “First Kisses.” I couldn’t NOT play along. I have way too many first kiss stories I am dying to share.

Check out Brillig’s site for other Soap Operas. We’ve got a lot of fun first kiss stories already! I’m loving it!

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SO, first things first . . . Richard. When I left off FOREVER ago, I had been trying to date other people and it just hadn’t worked out. So I was actively persuing him in any way possible. I let all my pride go and just jumped in with everything I had. And it got ugly. Well for me, at least. His life was about to get much easier.

I was doing anything and everything for him to prove that I would be the best.wife.ever. My credit card bill got bigger and bigger as I bought him every cool thing he saw or thought about out loud. I was his nurse when he pulled various muscles and tendons playing baseketball/soccer. I’d drive from Provo to Salt Lake at a moments notice to go on a date or bring him dinner or go to a family party. (I LOVED his family and they loved me.)

The Ex (who’s name we no longer speak) was engaged by now, so she wasn’t in the picture any longer, but I had lots of other “competition” . . . as in, every other girl he met. He was out clubbing with friends whenever he wasn’t with me, so i was always worried about the girls he met. I’d grill him endlessly and make it known that I wasn’t happy. He’d get mad every once in a while, but overall, he benefited from my presence, so he’d try hard not to piss me off.

I did a lot of things for Richard that I’m not particularly proud of now. He liked dark hair . . . so I died my hair black. He liked certain clothes, so I’d wear those. I’d watch endless hours of Sports Center and rub whatever muscle was aching that day and then sit there helpless when he’d fall asleep, weighing on me heavy as a rock. I’d give up anything for a second with him.

I put the “fun” in “dysfunctional relationship,” no?

Then there was one particularly dark night. It’s a night that is very hard to think about, let alone write about, so I’m sparing you and myself the details. Lines were crossed and horrible things were said and done and I thought my heart would never heal. It became very clear that night exactly what Richard thought of me. I was like a play thing. A toy that he could toss away at will. He was embarrassed of me, worried about who would see us together and what they would think. He wanted freedom from me and from everyone, but he wanted the things his loved ones provided, so he used us all.

I drove home from his house that day sobbing uncontrollably. I called my Dad and told him I was moving back east. I knew I had to get as far away from Richard as humanly possible. I stayed in bed crying the next day until Hannah felt like swinging by and discovered me, broken. She stayed and talked to me and helped me calm down a bit. She was my saving grace that day.

But I was still very, very broken. And the depression found me again.

August 8th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Yesterday was really fun.  Matt and I, in a fit of spontaneity, decided we were going to go to the Linkin Park concert.  At an outdoor amphitheatre.  In August.  In Phoenix.

. . .

Yeah.  It was hot.  And SO fun.  I felt like a kid again.  Chris Cornell (of Soundgarden and Audioslave) was the only opening act we caught (the show had been going since 2 pm.  In 110 degree weather.  YIKES!) and, while I was never a big Soundgarden OR Audioslave fan, I must admit that I like me some Chris Cornell.  Good stuff.

After Chris, there was a half hour break while Linkin Park set up.  I ran and bought a $5 Diet Coke (!?!?!? how do people afford to get drunk at these things when just the Diet Coke costs $5?) and ran to the restroom.  Just as I made it back under the roof of the amphitheatre, it started raining.  No, that doesn’t cover it.  It started POURING.  It was a full on monsoon with lightening, thunder and torrential rain.  And it was SO cool.  People were coming back to their seats looking like they had been drowned.  The boiling hot crowd out on the lawn were cheering with joy and screaming for more.  The people under the roof were getting misted when the gusts of wind blew the rain sideways.  And that’s about the time Linkin Park came on stage.

The show would have been amazing by itself, but coupled with the rain, thunder and lightening, it was incredible.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that.  The band played for an hour and a half and Matt and I kept looking at each other and laughing because EVERY song was fantastic and one that we loved and they are GOOD live.  Not a big mess like most acts seem to be.  They sounded so much like their albums.

When the rain stopped and the crowd became a hot, muggy, sweaty, pulsating  mass of humans.  I was completely enveloped in the experience.

We got home at midnight, ears ringing, and went right to bed.

Today, I think I have a hangover.  Splitting headache.  Ringing ears.  Tired body . . . yikes.  I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I had actually been drinking!

I’m too old for this stuff . . . but I still love it.

August 7th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I think the thing that tied my girlfriends and I together more than almost anything else when we were younger (read: in high school) was our love of kissing. If you read Brillig you already know this, from her post today. She hit the nail on the head. We were obsessed. There were always squeals of joy when Buttercup and Wesley kissed in Princess Bride.  I think we all got “wigglies”during the kiss in the rain in The Notebook (still swooning, seriously).  How about Gone With the Wind . . . the staircase scene??  Ha cha.  Spiderman?  You know the one of which I speak.  Room With A View, anyone??  Ahhh there were so many.

The movie kisses were all well and good, but the stories that inspired the “wigglies” more than any others were our own.  We’d come home from a date (or a night out on the town or whatever) and all pile in a bed and re-hash EVERY DETAIL of the first kiss we’d just had.   There would be ooing and aaahing and squealing and shouts of “SHUT UP!” We’d stay up all night drowning in the joy of those electrifying, hormone filled moments.  There was nothing like a first kiss.

We once came up with a “dare” within the group . . . the next girl to get a first kiss had to pull away, look the guy deeply in the eyes and say “Um, can we do that again, please?”  I believe Jewels holds the honor of being the only one with the rocks to actually DO it.   Good form, Jewels,  Good form.

Brillig may have mentioned a kissing list in a journal she has.  And she may have mentioned that I have one too.  She also may have mentioned how much longer my list was then hers.  So, here it is, for all of you who are wondering just how long my list is.  FIFTY.  I have fifty names. There I said it.  I was a kissing skank.  But that also means that I got FIFTY first kisses.  Ah the fun.  And how great is it that my GREATEST kiss happened on such a great number?  (let me say great just a FEW more times!)  Matt holds the privilege of being lucky number 50.

So, why do I even bring all of this up?

Because Brillig is a genius.

Soap Opera Sunday has been slowly dying.  We needed something to liven it up and Brill had the greatest idea.  A monthly theme — something to get the creative juices flowing and inspire some of you.  Now let it be noted that you don’t HAVE to write within the parameters of the theme.  Some of us (who, me?) have unfinished business to write about.  Others may not want to share their stories that apply to that particular theme.  That is all OK.  This is just like . . . a little creative shove.

As I’m sure you’ve guessed (or read already over at Brillig’s pad), the theme this month is First Kisses!!!  ANY first kiss.  Your first ever.  Your first BAD kiss (oh gosh do I have some of those!).  Your first kiss with your husband.  Your favorite first kiss.  The first kiss that shouldn’t have been.  Your first kiss as a mother or wife . . . WHATEVER!   Write away and then check out Brillig’s site on Saturday for the auto-link so we can all revel in the gloriousness of your first kisses.  Because who doesn’t love a good kissing story?

Or fifty???

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Wondering what the crap Soap Opera Sunday is?  Want the rules?  Want to post something anonymously?  Click away for all the info!!