Feeling Distracted

Yes, my latest full manuscript request from a literary agent has resulted in, "I managed about 60 pages and realized I felt distracted."

Distracted? By what?

I admit to being distracted often. For example, when I was cooking lunch yesterday and heard my son yelling, "Mommy! I goin' to the baffroom in my bed!" well, that was certainly a distraction. Lunch was abandoned. Water boiled over and noodles were burned as I tried to stop my son mid-urination. I've been told by many people that boys often miss the toilet, but come on. He missed the whole bathroom!

While trying to dislodge a Barbie from the utensil container in my dishwasher, I was distracted when I heard the squeaking from the brakes of the school bus as it stopped in front of my house. Again, another household task was abandoned as a mad dash out to the driveway to retrieve my daughter.

Last week, while reading a book, I was distracted by the television when my husband was watching Good Will Hunting for the billionth time. I tried to focus, but I couldn't help it. I had to watch Matt Damon ask the Harvard smartass "how do you like them apples?!" And I certainly would never miss Chuckie telling Morgan about his cheeseburger on layaway.

See, I'm distracted, or maybe I lose my focus from time to time, even while I'm reading. But I usually blame it on the distraction itself, not the book.

IF I didn't really want this whole publishing thing to happen, and IF I had issues with rejection, I would continue to pout and wonder what in the heck the agent meant. But, since I do want this to work, and since I'm developing a pretty thick skin when it comes to being told to hit the highway, I'm going to try and make the most out of the "distracted" rejection.

After all, it is a personal note, and it does offer me something. Not much, but something. My guess is that she meant it just didn't keep her attention or that she just wasn't pulled in by the story. Of course I wish it weren't a rejection, but I'm still happy and appreciative for the request, and her quick review of the manuscript is also impressive.

In any event, I'll continue working and evaluating the manuscript while submitting to other agents, and to quote the Brady kids, I'll just keep on keep on keep on keep on dancin' until I get it right.

Something exciting that happened today: I found the recipe for Applebee's Blondie with Maple Walnut Butter Sauce! Yum yum. I've given up chocolate for Lent, and I feel it's only appropriate to replace this sweet with something else. After all, I've lasted five days. Surely I deserve a reward. Granted, having the blondie recipe isn't going to help with the whole "butt growing larger than the state of Texas" issue, but, um, whatever. I need the sweets. Besides, I can't very well conquer the chocolate problem if I'm stressed, and not having something sugary makes me stressed. See, the blondie will be like therapy. Obviously it's necessary.

Before I sign off today, I have a request: if anyone watched 24 last night, can you provide a recap of the last 10 minutes? I fell asleep at the end and missed it. What happened?

Oscar Talk

1) Best Dressed Female: Reese Witherspoon
If your husband allegedly cheats on you, and then you get a divorce ... find some way to show up at a televised event broadcast in 65 countries looking as hot as she did at the Oscars. Reese was awesome at the Golden Globes and looked even better last night. I love the bangs with the long hair, and whatever workout she is currently doing is certainly working. That girl is smokin'!

2) Best Dressed Male: Mark Wahlberg

3) The dancers? At first, I thought they were going to be annoying, but then, they grew on me. My favorite was the shoe for The Devil Wears Prada.

4) I loved Ellen. She was funny and kept a lighthearted tone throughout the night. My two favorite moments: handing Martin Scorcese a script and asking Clint Eastwood for a picture to post on MySpace.

5) Worst Dressed: Kirsten Dunst
Clearly, when looking at my daily apparel, I'm more in favor of a classic, elegant look. (Stop laughing, Friends. Velour sweatsuits are very elegant. Right?) The gaudy, flashy, sequined look just doesn't do it for me, so it's no surprise that I just didn't get Kirsten's dress. That was the only dress that prompted me to ask "what was she thinking?"

I saw on Yahoo this morning that Gwyneth Paltrow was on the Worst Dressed list, and I don't agree with that. Contrary to what my sister may believe, I am not obsessed with Gwyneth. I am a big fan, and yes, I do think she's a great actress, but that doesn't sway my opinion of her dress last night. It was certainly different, but I thought the color stood out, and it was very flattering to her figure. The hair and makeup were also nice, and I noticed that her lipstick seemed to match the color of the dress.

6) Movie I'm most excited about seeing the next time I visit Blockbuster: Pan's Labyrinth.

What I'm Reading: Ten Days in the Hills by Jane Smiley
What's on Deck: The Devil in the Junior League

Holding Hands

My 6-year-old daughter likes a boy at school. She's assured me repeatedly that she likes him just as her friend and is fully aware that she isn't allowed to like boys until she's 15-years-old (we've told her this countless times). Apparently, the little boy who is her "boy friend because he's a boy not because he's her boyfriend" is quite the stud in the afternoon kindergarten class. According to my daughter, girls are lining up to sit by him during story time and to play with him at recess.

This morning, she said, "Mom, I think you need to have a talk with Allie's mom." I asked her if she wanted me to call her because she wanted to have Allie over to play. She said that would be fine, but that I really needed to talk to Allie's mom about Allie's boy "problem."

"What exactly is Allie's 'boy problem'" I asked.

She put her hands on her hips and said, "Well, she likes him as her boyfriend. And not only that, Allie also holds his hand while we're singing songs. Except he doesn't even know it."

Two things that shocked me:
1) Why is the kindergartner holding a boy's hand?
And 2) How doesn't he know it?

I didn't say much about Allie's public displays of affection, but I did seize the moment and explain that touching boys wasn't cool. AT ALL. She can like them when she's 15. The touching can wait another 10 years.

Other thoughts: Kurt Cobain would have turned 40 on February 20. This news makes me feel old. How many Friday nights in college did I spend jumping around a mosh pit in the basement of some random fraternity house yelling, "I feel stupid and contagious! Here we are now ... entertain us!" Nirvana busted on to the music scene my senior year in high school, which of course seems like yesterday. Knowing that Kurt Cobain (sadly) isn't but could be 40-years-old ... yep, I'm feeling ancient.

Still reading and loving I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. I expect to finish it tonight, and I can't wait to see how it ends. Will Cassandra realizes she loves Stephen? One can only hope.

Yesterday, I picked up Ten Days in the Hills by Jane Smiley. It starts the morning after the 2003 Oscars with a director in bed with his girlfriend Elena. They are discussing the Iraq war and his latest film idea. I could try to summarize the rest of the plot but wouldn't be able to do it justice. Amazon, and of course the book jacket, does a much better job of that. Anyway, I can't wait to officially start it. I read the first 20 pages last night and was hooked. Beautiful, vivid writing. And the cover might just be one of the most beautiful covers I've seen in years.

The Oscars are in a few days, and unlike past years, I haven't seen hardly any of the films. Perhaps I can squeeze a few in over the weekend. If everything goes as predicted, there won't be many surprises Sunday night. I would love an upset though. How great would it be to see Ryan Gosling win?

Oh, and apparently I'm giving up chocolate for Lent. This will be the hardest Lent sacrifice I've ever attempted. One day down. 39 more to go!

The Fuzzball

Husband returned from his annual snowmobiling trip yesterday wearing the same clothes he was wearing when he left days ago. After being mauled affectionately by the kids and the dog for about five minutes, it was my turn for a hug.

After hugging me and telling me he missed me (three times!), our embrace was interrupted by our daughter as she danced in a circle around us singing, "Mommy and Daddy sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-P-N-R-T." He laughed and picked her up, hugging her again. While he was holding her, she reached in his pocket and pulled out his toothbrush.

"See," he said, smiling proudly. "I kept my toothbrush right here all the time. Just like last year. " Then he pulled off his hat and laughed. "Do you like my hair?"

"Um, not so much."

I gently prodded him toward the shower, urging him to pry the clothes off his body and bathe. I sat on the bed as he regaled me with tall tales from his trip to the woods and his travels on his "snow machine." While standing in his boxers and flexing his muscles for a moment in front of the mirror, he paused and scratched his stomach. This is when the Fuzzball appeared.

"Hmm," he said, inspecting the foreign object he had extracted from his belly button. "Look at this lint and fuzz. Can you believe that came from my stomach?"

I wanted to scream, "Yes! You haven't showered in four days!" Instead, I said nothing while watching him inspect and admire his treasure.

I'm not a prissy girl. I can get ready in 30 minutes flat, and that includes getting dressed, putting on makeup, and styling my hair. I've been known to wash my hair in the lake and shave my legs off the back of my boat. But who doesn't shower for several days? I mean, this is a guy who normally showers twice a day, and he didn't even remove his clothing for four days. I'm surprised he could get his clothes off without a chisel.

Finally, I said, "So, does anyone shower on this trip?"

"Nah. We don't have time for that."

I jumped off the bed, turned on the shower, and handed him a towel. "Okay, um, perhaps you can make time for it now."

Thankfully, he is back to his usual groomed, attractive, clean-smelling self. He has taken control of the thermostat again, so the house (which was warm and toasty in his absence) is now in its usual chilly state. The kids and the dog have their Daddy Alert System in full effect and eagerly await his return from work so they can play hide and seek and wrestle. And I'm relaxed again, just knowing he's here. We all missed him when he was gone, and we're all thrilled he's home ... and bathed.

Other thoughts ... Lent is approaching, and I have yet to decide what to give up this year. Last year it was Pull and Peel Twizzlers. This year, it's a toss between chocolate chip cookies and Ritz Bitz Smores Snack Crackers. Unfortunately, I'm fully aware that I can consume record amounts of either treat while writing, watching TV, doing laundry, emailing friends ...

Prison Break is back on tonight, which is a good thing. I missed Wentworth Miller last week.

Still reading I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. 17-year-old Cassandra narrates the story as she writes from the barn, kitchen sink, or the bathtub. She's very charming, and I enjoy hearing about the writing process in the eyes of a teenager who has nothing to do but sit around and write all day. She also alludes to Pride and Prejudice often, and any mention of the Bennett sisters or my Mr. Darcy is a sure way to win with me.

Ronald? Donald?

McDreamy was certainly dreamy last night.

In fact, I'm not sure it's possible for Patrick Dempsey to not be dreamy. Whether he's a senator's son proposing to Reese Witherspoon (Sweet Home Alabama), the first to die from the Ebola virus (Outbreak), fixing brains (Grey's Anatomy), or mowing lawns in Can't Buy Me love ... the guy is definitely dreamy.

With his hair and new Grey's fame, Dempsey is now on the list of Hollywood's hottest men. High school girls everywhere love him, but I'm proud to say that he's been on my list for a long time. I'm not a Bandwagon fan when it comes to Patrick Dempsey and admit to spending way too many Friday nights in the 80s wanting Ronald/Donald to mow my lawn.

Is there anyone else out there who watched Can't Buy Me Love too many times to count?

Casting Call

I finished Home to Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani last night. I was sad when it was over and am considering reading the first three books in the series again. It's been a few years since I read the Big Stone Gap series, but on the first page of the latest novel, I instantly remembered why I love the series and all of Trigiani's books. Whether the story takes place in Virginia, Italy, or New York, you connect with the characters and want to be a part of their lives. I'm always sad when I'm finished and eagerly await her next novel. Apparently she's working on a new series about a family that takes place in Greenwich Village. A tentative release date is Spring 2008.

In the meantime, Ms. Trigiani is working on the film version of Big Stone Gap. She has written the screenplay and will direct the film. This is impressive because, unlike so many other authors, she has not sold the film rights and will obviously be very involved in the creative process while translating the novel from the page to the screen. As a reader, there's nothing worse than seeing a beautiful book destroyed on film (ie. the upcoming Bridge to Terabithia. I haven't seen the movie, so I really shouldn't comment. However, the previews don't even closely resemble the beloved children's book. I'm just one of many teachers I've spoken to who have vowed never to see the film.) It's exciting and admirable that Trigiani values the integrity of her story enough to keep control of the film.

I'm just wondering who will be cast as Ave Maria, the main charater in the series. On her website, Trigiani comments on an actress that she has always had in mind for the character. She doesn't give any names, but oh how I would love to know who it is!

My suggestion: Minnie Driver. I've pictured her as Ave Maria since the first moment I met the character. I just can't imagine anyone else.

My question for today is: what are some of your favorite literary characters that were cast well in films? Who are your favorites? Who is the worst?

Something else to think of, and this always comes up when I discuss Janet Evanovich and her popular Stephanie Plum series: when is the movie for One for the Money coming out, and who will play Stephanie Plum? According to Janet's website, the film rights were sold years ago. As for a date or any pre-production details, I haven't found anything. As for who will play Stephanie Plum, well, there is somebody that is allegedly attached to the film. I won't offer my thoughts on the matter until I hear your suggestions for who could portray our favorite bounty hunter. Any thoughts?

Mommy, what's a ...

Several odd things have happened today.

Little Man apparently has a little intestinal bug growing inside him. He has hit, and unfortunately, missed the toilet a few times today. The cleanup is disgusting, yet I can't avoid laughing at his commentary while I'm on my hands and knees with a wet towel and a bottle of Resolve, scrubbing away at his mess. It's hard not to laugh and sympathize with a person who says, "Mommy, I stink bad bad bad." Fun times indeed.

Meanwhile, as Little Man and I were tending to the carpet, Daughter was in the kitchen perusing Mommy's bookshelves. She moved the kitchen chairs to surround a shelf and covered them with a blanket, making a little tent for herself. After spraying myself with Lysol, scrubbing my hands with antibacterial soap, and sticking the newly disinfected Little Man in his room with a basket of cars to play with, I returned to the macaroni and cheese I was cooking. Just as I'm pouring the macaroni into the strainer, Daughter says, "Mommy, what does P-E-L-V-I-S spell? Does it spell pelvis? Because I think it spells pelvis, and I don't know what a pelvis is."

I said, "What are you doing over there in your little tent?"

"I'm reading your books," she says. "And I want to know what a," and this part she recites again in true spelling bee form, "P-E-L-V-I-S. Pelvis. What's a pelvis?"

So here's the question of the day? Why is it, that when I hear the word pelvis, my mind automatically heads to the gutter? A reference to a pelvis could include a wide variety of things, such as someone breaking a pelvis. Or maybe someone was born with the rare genetic condition of not having a pelvis. It could be anything, yet I hear the word pelvis, and I think of hips and thrusting and all sorts of X rated things. What does this say about me?!

I think the answer has to be that I taught middle school too long. There are many words that still cause me to giggle when I shouldn't, but when you spend your days with 13-year-old boys, you learn that words such as rod, stick, wood, hard, rack, and yes, pelvis, are terms one cannot say without laughing. Trust me; this type of immaturity can rub off on a person. Yikes. I just said 'rub off' and am laughing again.

On to other things.

Currently reading Back to Big Stone Gap by the wonderful Adriana Trigiani. This is the fourth novel in a great series. I've read all of Trigiani's books and have loved them all. Her characters are real people you can relate to, and she always infuses her stories with interesting Italian stories, recipes, and family drama. Returning to Ave Maria MacChesney, her husband Jack Mac, Iva Lou, and the rest of the crew from Big Stone Gap is a treat. After this I'll move on to our book club choice: I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.

Read the Border's Shortlist email today and am now very interested in the new novel by Joe Hill called Heart-Shaped Box. Apparently, Hill is Stephen King's son, and that alone makes me want to read his first novel which sounds weird, strange, and frightening, making me want to read it even more. I admit to loving King's work but haven't read much only because I get the bejeezus scared out of myself and have to sleep with all the lights on. His latest though, Lisey's Story, was incredible. I laughed, I cried, and yes, there were many moments where I scooted closer to Husband while he was snoring beside me in bed. Lots of unanswered questions and things that don't make sense, but for me, that's just Stephen King. You can't try to figure it out or answer all the questions. You just have to go with it.

Speaking of not asking questions, if anyone is questioning Lost more and more as the weeks go on, you aren't alone. As I watch the show, I'm always confused, but I'm still amazed. It's not surprising to me that the creators of the show are huge King fans. I know that Jack's stuck with the Others and that Kate and Sawyer are on their way back to the island, but everything else, at least for me anyway, is up in the air. Except for Desmond!

How could I forget about Desmond? Once again, Desmond paraded around the island topless, and as a faithful viewer, I have to say thanks to the producers. I've always considered myself a Jack kind of girl when it comes to Lost, but with Mr. Abs "I can see into the future" Desmond walking around, I could be swayed. It's also worth noting that the guy is certainly reliable. Let us not forget that he did sit in that hatch and press that button for three years straight. A rockin' body, dependability, and he's got a great accent ... what's not to love?

What I won't love is Charlie not living to see the end of season three. Hot Desmond's prediction of Charlie's impending death is disturbing to me. Go ahead and kill off the Others. Not Charlie.

Tonight, I will watch Survivor and Grey's. We'll see if McDreamy can save the day and pull Meredith out of the water. Other than that, it's all about disinfecting the house, hanging out with Daughter, and keeping Stinky Man clean. Husband is out of town on a "guy" trip. Poor guy is missing out on all the fun around here. :)

Calling All Men!

Rumor has it that the snow is about to hit in a few hours here in the Midwest. Whether it comes or not is irrelevant when it comes to Valentine's Day. The holiday has been on the calendar for 364 days, so Men, if you are planning to grab something for your wife or girlfriend tomorrow (or God forbid on your way home from work Wednesday night), think again.

Yes, Men, today is your day. I know many of you dread this day, but don't. It's easy. Women (or at least my friends anyway) don't expect much. Just a little something special. A little acknowledgement. And yes, maybe just a bit of romance.

First, find a nice card and write a little sentiment. Something sincere is best. Something along the lines of "Have a Nice Day" ... not so good. My husband tried that once, and I promptly handed it back and asked him to try again. On his second attempt, he managed to scribble something along the lines of "I love you so much" and "I'm glad you're my wife." It wasn't Shakespeare, but I know that he was sincere.That's all I needed.

Second, buy her something. If you live in fear of shopping malls, don't worry. Target exists for a reason. I don't know a single woman who doesn't love, love, love Target. Why? Because Target has all the things we love. Try a Cd, a movie, or a book. Maybe even a copy of the latest In Style and a bag of her favorite candy. A gift card would even be great. Even better yet ... attach a note to the gift card that promises her a trip to Target ALONE so she can shop without the kids and find something she really likes.

Finally, remember the kids. Most of you will receive valentines from your children, and I'm guessing your toddler didn't hop in the car and buy the valentine himself. Nope. Your wife did it. She picked out the card, and she held his hand and helped him write his name just for you. Do the same for her. Pick out a valentine for the kids to give to your wife. She'll be flattered. And it's also not a bad idea to pick out a valentine for the kids from Daddy too.

Why should you do all of this? Well, it's your duty as a husband or boyfriend. She's going to go out of her way for you, so you should do something for her. You don't have to do something big. Just do something. Put out some effort, and chances are, you'll get lucky! Put out zero effort at all, and, well, she won't be putting out either.

Just stop at Target, pick up a card, gift, and her favorite bottle of wine. Trust me, you'll both be happy. It's not rocket science. It's just a holiday. Good Luck!

We'll Always Have Paris

Once again, I watched Casablanca the other night, and I admit to swooning for 100 minutes straight. The American Film Institute named Humphrey Bogart the Greatest Male Star of All Time, and I agree. The man is a stud. Plain and simple. He's got the walk, the talk, and a scowl mixed with pain and anger that makes me melt. And boy, does that man know how to wear a suit.

Last night, I watched bits and pieces of the Grammy's, and yes, Christina Aguilera can sing. Yes, Justin Timberlake can look ... hot. And yes, Chris Brown can dance. But the best part of the Grammys has to be the five awards the Chicks received last night. I was also happy to see Mary J. Blige win three awards as well. In fact, anyone over the age of 30 gets my vote. Why?

My sister pointed out to me the other day that yes, we are too old to try out for American Idol. Do we want to try out for American Idol? No. But, the fact that we can't, simply because we are in our 30s is frustrating. I resent the fact that the producers of American Idol think someone over the age of 28 doesn't have the talent, looks, or persona needed to appeal to the masses and be a pop star. The list of winners from last night's Grammy Awards show proves otherwise. Call them the Grannys if you want. I'm just happy that the recording industry rewards talent regardless of age.

On the agenda for today: Library Time! It's the Winter Reading program, and the kids and I are hoping to hit the 600 point mark so we can win the big award (free admission to the local bowling alley). After that, it's school and dance class, and then it's time for the snow, convicts, and a little Jack Bauer. Apparently we might get up to eight inches tonight, but I'll be too busy watching Prison Break and 24 to notice. I'll check out the accumulation during commercial breaks while scanning the bottom of the tv screen for school updates. For my daughter and teaching friends out there ... No School Tomorrow! WAHOO!

Save a Horse! Ride a Cowboy!

Or if you live in Indiana where cowboys don't exist, just read about them.

While trying to decrease the size of my ever-growing butt by running on my treadmill this morning, I spent much of my time thinking about how much I love the Lonesome Dove series. Or really, how much I love Larry McMurtry. Along with Neil Gaiman, he's one of my new favorite authors. This is obvious by the fact that I've read three McMurtry novels in the last three weeks.

Before Lonesome Dove, I had never read a Western. If you haven't, start with Gus, Call and crew on their cattle drive to Montana. I laughed. I cried. I pouted when it was finished. I spent eight hours watching the miniseries, and I laughed, cried, and pouted some more. I advise everyone to read it. It truly is too good to miss.

Husband thinks I'm weird, since I recently asked him to purchase a tight pair of Wranglers, ride a horse, and rope me a steer. Seeing as he's parked in front of the television tipping back a cold one while rooting for the Hoosiers ... well, I'm thinking that's not going to happen any time soon. In the meantime, I'll finish Dead Man's Walk (the first in the series), and then I'm ready for Comanche Moon.

Other treadmill thoughts: why is Meredith Grey so unlucky? Every character on Grey's Anatomy has had a bit of good fortune here and there, but not poor Meredith. It's bad enough that her mother has no clue who she is and her father abandoned her as a child, but the writers keep putting her in mortal danger. Last year she got blown up (sort of), and this year, she gets knocked into the river while trying to save a man's life. She's the Charlie Brown of the show. All she gets on Halloween are rocks while the other kids get the good stuff, but oh wait ... she does have that gorgeaus McDreamy to snuggle, and snore with, every night. That does it. No more pity party for Meredith.

And now I'm off to join my friends for a special viewing of Casablanca at a local theater. My family eagerly awaits my departure as they are tired of listening to me spout off random quotes from the film. Until next time, we'll always have Paris ...

Setting the Deck???

My daughter has me hooked on Uno. I hadn't played the game in years, but with the help of my 6-year-old, I'm now an addict. In the beginning, I was Nice Mommy and dutifully let her win many games, but now that she's a little card shark, our games have become quite competitive. We've both been known to slam down a card and say, "Draw 4, Baby!" But being accused of cheating wasn't something I was expecting to hear.

Today, I was shuffling the deck when Daughter said, "Mom, you're looking at the cards. I see you." I tried to explain to her that I was looking at the cards, but only to rearrange them since they had gotten all mixed up. To my surprise, she got frustrated and said again, "But Mom, I saw you. You looked, and you know all the cards. You know your cards and my cards and what's in the deck and the pile and what card will get turned up next. I know what you were doing. You were setting the deck."

Setting the deck? Hmm. As I explained to Daughter, the correct term is "stacking" the deck, which of course Mommy would never do.

"Honey, that's like cheating, and cheating is like telling a lie. You know Mommy would never do that. Where did you hear about stacking a deck of cards anyway?"

"From Grandma," she replied nonchalantly.

Ah yes. Family card games. If stacking a deck of cards is all she learned while watching our family play cards, I consider myself lucky. We're a tight family. We get along well and enjoy the time we get to spend together, but when we play cards, obscenities are known to fly. If I hear Daughter call me a "shitbird" the next time we play a game, I won't be surprised.

As for stacking the deck, I was finally able to convince Daughter that I did not cheat, but it wasn't my honest nature that convinced her.

"Even if I wanted to cheat, which I don't by the way, I wouldn't," I said. "You see, Mommy isn't quite ... smart enough to set the deck, Honey. Only your uncle can do that."

"And Grandma?" she asked.

I laughed. "Yes. Definitely Grandma."

Hot Abs and Shower Gel

I'm blessed with a husband who loves running errands. We often refer to him as the nomad because he's always out running around to various places picking up household cleaners (for his obsessive cleaning issues), Hostess cupcakes (for my sporadic chocolate cravings), and batteries (for my son's battery eating train). Last night, he went out to purchase sweeper bags and asked if I needed anything, so I sent him out with a small list of items, which included shower gel.

I didn't think much of the list until this morning when I found a 64 ounce bottle labeled "MAN'S BODY WASH" in my shower. The large red bottle is the size of my bathroom trash can and weighs more than our cat. I'm sure it was cheaper to purchase this jumbo bottle, but I think the size and weight exist to prove a point. This is big, manly stuff. Refreshing and clean and macho and tough and brawny.

I'm not a picky woman and don't ever pick a specific scent or brand of soap, but while indulging my skin with this high performance gel with it's "fresh, powerful, invigorating" scent, I had to ask myself: where are the water-activated moisturizers? Natural extracts? Smoothing agents? Pore cleansers? Oh well. I have to say, I'm clean, even if I do smell just a bit like Right Guard deodorant. Besides, Husband has walked out of our bathroom smelling like flowers, milk and honey, vanilla, and raspberries. Prior to "MAN'S BODY WASH," he was using Love Spell Body Wash by Victoria's Secret which does leave your skin feeling slightly luxurious and soft with its garden scents which are fabulous for ... a woman.

Therefore, my thought of the day is: MAN'S BODY WASH rocks! Not to mention husbands that drive around in the freezing cold snow while I sit on the couch in my sweats with a head cold. They definitely rock.

Speaking of sitting on my couch in my sweats ... did anyone watch Lost last night? I admit to not usually paying much attention to Desmond, the wacky guy who obsessively pressed "the button" while living in the hatch for three years . But last night, there was a brief shot of Desmond's abs, and I have to say, they are worth nothing. And why talk about abs at all? Well, as a good friend of mine says, it is "highly important to discuss the external obliques of various gentleman we know and love from Hollywood."