Why Jazzercise is Evil, or, Maybe I Should Quit Working Out Altogether


Blog Housekeeping or Why noreply.com gets you NO REPLY!

I love blogging, but there are a few things that frustrate me, so I'm going to tell you how to fix them in the words of two blog experts, Tami over at Hearts Make Families and Lee of Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes fame. They say it all so well that I'm not even going to bother.

Tami did a post last week and here's a brilliant excerpt:

I think I've been double taxing myself. I try to respond to every comment by email unless of course you have the no-reply blogger dot com that drives me nuts.


I hate it. I despise it. I want to respond to you all by email. I love responding by emails. I love talking to you all. I want to know about my readers. So I respond to every email I get. Until I see the hated "no reply at blogger dot com." To make it easy for you to remove it, I am going to post directions here for you:

Go to your Dashboard on Blogger.com. Hit your edit profile, right next to your picture, avatar or whatever else you have showing. Scroll down to the line that says : Show my email address and CHECK THE BOX. Hit save.

For those of you who do not want a regular email address to show, go to Gmail, Yahoo or any other number of places and get a FREE, yes FREE, email account and set it up.


I hate hate this as well. I don't know why but my eyes do not do this well at all. Or I hit save and then close. Guess what happens? You don't get my comment and sometimes I don't realize. So I might have been commenting all along. Now to turn off this awful thing and to help all of your commenters' eyes, do the following:

Go to your Dashboard at blogger.com. Click on Settings, which is under the name of your blog. Click on Comments, which is on the top of the page. Scroll down until you see this: Show word verification for comments? Click the box that says NO. Click Save settings at the bottom of the page. Please do not leave this page until you have saved settings.

I am begging you to fix these things to help me get to know each of you even better in the future.

Lee The Hotflash Queen wrote a post last October about the very same subjects:

**Disclosure. I am citing my own opinions and no other irritated bloggers encouraged or gave me sexual or monetary favors for the writing of this post. I am not responsible for any offended egos in the writing of this post.**

How I hate seeing this!! First of all, I can’t tell you how many times I have responded to comments from my email, because truly, some of the comments make me laugh so hard I snort, and then hit send only to realize that my email will be floating in never never land for eternity.

Where do these emails go?? Seriously. Where do they go??

I am not the type of gal who is going to respond to a comment in the post. I’m just not. I like to streamline. I like to hit reply on my email and then respond and hit send. Instead, I go to the respective blog to comment…which I do anyway…and then comment on the post they have written, thus not giving me an opportunity to respond to the numerous fabulous and hysterical comments I receive.

PEOPLE THIS MUST STOP! I am sure the blogger fairies are tired of trying to catch all my emails that are sent out there with no home!! So, I am going to teach you all how to change this, and I am going to do it in a way that there will be no more excuses!!
(end of excerpts/quotes)
and you can read on from there her explicit instructions....

Please please please, for the love of all that is bloggy, fix these things. It will make me more inclined to comment, reply, respond, etc.



Think Tank Momma's Gratitude With Attitude Tuesday --- First Edition!!

Think Tank Momma

Please go visit Think Tank Momma to play along! I'm so excited about this premiere---Gratitude with Attitude Tuesday --- giving thanks one sarcastic snarktastic Thank You Note at a time. Have a few words you'd like to share? Grab the code and button above and link up with the rest of us thankless Thankful folk and we'll share in the therapeutic cleansing ritual of giving thanks. Let us begin....

Dear Continental Airlines,

Thank you very much for canceling my flight home due to "inclement weather." It was especially interesting since Southwest was able to get me home without a problem. And an extra big thank you to the super folks dicking around working at the Continental counter who did absolutely nothing to try and help a frazzled young mama get home to her little ones.

Kiss My Arse,
Weary Traveler Who Will Leave a Used Barf Bag in My Seat Pocket Next Time I Have to Fly Your Friendly Skies

Dear Izzy,

Thank you very much for asking me about the lines on my forehead. Someday you'll have them too and you'll understand they are directly proportional to your children's bad behavior.

Your Wrinkled Mommy

Dear maroon Toyota Corolla traveling east in the left lane on K-10 today,

Thank you very much for sitting in the left lane boxing me in while you drove just under the speed limit. Am I the only person on the planet who was taught that THE LEFT LANE IS FOR PASSING?!!?!? WTF?

Severely Pissed Off

Dear Beloved Progeny,

Thank you very much for telling me I'm a "bad mommy." Like I don't already know this? Somehow hearing it come out of your little mouths makes it hit home that much harder.

Hugs & Kisses,
Mommie Dearest

Dear Lawrence Memorial Hospital,

Thank you very much for stocking lots of cheap toilet paper in your restrooms. There's nothing I love better after a long day in the waiting room than a red, raw bum.

Please Stock Charmin Next Time or I'll "Forget" to Flush!


When The Saints Go Marching In....

Good morning lovely readers,

This morning I am sharing a guest post my younger brother, Mark, wrote for me back in November. In light of the Saints' win last night and the fact that they are going to the Superbowl, I am re-running this. As many of you know, I am from New Orleans. Mark still lives there. On the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina last August, I blogged about my family's losses. You can view those posts here and here. Mark's photos from his home are here. I have to say I think he's written a really wonderful post, and I'm not even a football fan. But this is about so much more than football. Please read on.

There are a lot of places where the local sports team hasn’t “won the big one.” And in a lot of those places, fans still love their team, still cheer for them year in and year out, and they remain optimistic about “next year.” They want to feel what it’s like to win THE big game; to scream at the top of their lungs; to be filled with overwhelming happiness and euphoria, and to proudly raise their index fingers in the air while chanting their fight song or catch phrase. They don’t know what it’s like. They’ve seen it happen to other teams, but they can’t really understand. New Orleans Saints fans are the exception to the rule. See, even though the Saints have never won the Super Bowl, we know what all of those things feel like.

Hurricane Katrina did a number on the Superdome. It took about a year to repair the water damage from the storm and the destruction caused by the panicked crowd who stayed within the Dome without electricity or plumbing. I imagine it took a long time to remove the putrid smell of raw sewage and death. The Saints spent over a year without playing at home in the Dome.

On September 25, 2006, the Dome was finally reopened. That Monday night, the Saints took on the Atlanta Falcons as all of America watched (you DID watch didn’t you?). I’m sure your average out-of-towner thought, “Wow, I’ll bet the crowd will be excited.” They had no idea.

Picture losing everything. EVERYTHING. Your house destroyed. Your photo albums ruined. Your car totaled. Your job gone. Your friends and family scattered…or worse. Picture YOUR neighborhood, YOUR street, YOUR block…a post-apocalyptic nightmare.

Picture your voice cracking, “What?” as you are told that your insurance company won’t be covering your losses.
Picture hugging your best friend for the last time before she moves away…permanently.

Picture yourself attempting to comfort your child: “It’s going to be okay, honey. We’re going to get a NEW house, and you’ll have a NEW bed and NEW toys and NEW friends, and things will be better than ever.” Picture yourself doubting those words as they come out.
Picture trying to rebuild your home with your own two hands.

Picture the contractor you hired skipping town with your Road Home money.

Picture yourself sitting on a plastic storage container filled with the moldy, rotting remains of your life. Picture yourself crying uncontrollably.

Picture yourself emotionally exhausted. Picture yourself actually forgetting what it’s like to smile.

Imagine feeling those emotions…for a year.

(Don’t read the remainder of this until you’ve actually tried to picture these things.)

Now picture yourself finally getting some good news. Picture yourself hearing that your city’s team looks pretty good and they’re going to be able to play AT HOME for the first time in what feels like forever. You don’t even remember what it was like to tailgate or to have a party at your house. You can’t for the life of you even remember the last time you high-fived someone.

Picture yourself returning to the scene of so much pain, so much violence, so much uncertainty. When you walk through the turnstiles all you can hear is people say, “Wow, it looks like nothing happened here!” When you smell the hot dogs and popcorn, you think of MRE’s. You instinctively check the roof to make sure it’s fixed. When you walk to your seat you think, people died here.

You don’t quite understand it when the National Anthem plays and you can’t hold back the tears. You turn to the stranger next to you who is also wiping tears away, and you both laugh a little, take a deep breath and sigh.

The roar always starts near the Saints’ tunnel because the fans there can see the team when they line up before they take the field. But tonight, the sound is different…louder…more desperate. When the Saints make their first big play, you know you’re going to pump your fists and yell. That’s the conditioned fan response. It’s expected. It’s normal. You’re ready for some normalcy.

The Saints block a punt and return it for a touchdown.

You didn’t know it was going to feel like being born again. You weren’t prepared. No one else is either. The screams of 72,002 other people in the Dome feel like they could break levees. The tears could flood the streets. Every big play is like this. Every touchdown, every sack. You’ve known the definition of “catharsis” since 7th grade English class. You never knew its meaning until now.
Just when you think you have nothing left to give, it’s halftime and U2 and Green Day play a live rendition of “The Saints are Coming.” After the first line, “There is a house in New Orleans; they call it the Superdome,” you well up again. A minute later, Bono sings, “Living like birds in the Magnolia trees; child on a rooftop, mother on her knees; her sign reads ‘Please, I am an Americaaaaaaaaan!”

You weren’t prepared for that. The words ring in your head. The freeze-frame memories from a year ago come flooding back. You don’t hear the rest of the song.

You can’t decide whether what you’re feeling is sadness or happiness. You know no one around you knows the answer either.

After another half of complete euphoria, New Orleanians would be heard for miles, chanting “WHO DAT,” screaming at the top of their lungs, index fingers in the air. Sportswriters, coaches, and players would later say that there was no team, NO TEAM, ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD that could have beaten the Saints that night.

I want another night like that. I hope this is our year.

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