I did win twenty dollars once at a racetrack with my mom. I bet on a horse named Stacy's Socks. That was fun. I also had a pretty good run at the roulette wheel in Vegas betting my birthday and red fourteen. (I have a deep emotional attachment to the number fourteen.) But, I gambled it all away again. There's only so many times that the wheel is going to land on red fourteen.
I'm not likely to win the lottery in this lifetime, is what I'm trying to tell you. Not that I play because I think it's a dumb waste of chai tea money and because I never win anything. Matt plays, but he has some complicated system of higher math for knowing when is the time to buy a ticket. It involves odds and the payoff to cost ratio and absurd words like that. Words that would never factor into my lottery ticket purchasing decisions. I would buy based on whether it was the fourteenth day of the month and whether a bird chirped or pooped outside my window that morning, how the store front looked. Much like I pick wine, according to the pretty label factor. All of this could explain why I don't win things much. Then again, Matt hasn't won the lottery yet either, last I checked.
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This is where you're probably expecting me to switch gears and tell you that in the lottery that counts, the lottery of life, I'm a winner. I have an incredible husband, three beautiful, healthy children and that is all that matters, but no, I'm going to tell you about HAM.
I do not like ham, Sam-I-Am. Perhaps its's my hidden Jewish roots. Maybe it stems from my mother, a convert to Judaism at marriage who exhibited subversive Christian tendancies thoughout my childhood. She loves Christmas and ham. She served ham often. Every single time my middle sister would puke. Turns out she was allegic to iodine. (Used to cure ham, that's your mini-lesson of the day.)
Ham always reminds me of a community Seder dinner my family attended when my sisters and I were little. My youngest sister attended a Christian school at the time. Mid-Seder, after about the third ritual sip of wine, she stood up on her chair and announced to the room full of one hundred or so Jewish(ish) people, "I get it, this is the blood and body of Christ." Which was hilarious enough, but then the little boy across from her complained loudly and often that he wanted ham for dinner. (In case you are lost, pig is not a kosher animal and pork is forbidden for many orthodox Jews. It would never be served at a Passover Seder.)
Which brings me to last night in the kitchen. It's late. The lights are dim. The Olympics filter in from the TV in the living room. Matt stands at the kitchen island, eating ham slices directly from the package. I bustle around, finishing the nightly clean up, occasionally stopping to watch him in horror.
SPLAT!! A large, wet ham cold cut slice lands on the clean floor.
Me: I just spent forty-five minutes cleaning this kitchen.
Him: Good. Then it won't be gross when I do this.
He retrieves the ham slice and stuffs it, whole, into his mouth. It's still gross. For many reasons. Which is apropos of nothing except perhaps that I haven't so much won the life lottery as exhibited astonishing patience and fortitude in the face of overwhelming provocation for untold years.
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Back to winning, and my lack thereof. In the blog world, an amazing thing has occurred. It seems my bloggy cosmic karma is on track because in blogworld, I AM A WINNER, I'M WINNING, I WIN! (Movie? Actor? Go! For five points and a place on that sweet list of fame over there ->.) A receiver of sweet and thoughtful awards. TWO of them. (Actually, SIX of them, because I received one award five different times.)
First, there's this one. I am cosmically fond of it because it says 'ass.' Bestowed on my by That Girl at Hey You! Remember Me? I'm honored because she's fabulous and I adore her. I am supposed to increase karma by passing it on. So, without further ado, I do, to Meghan at AMomTwoBoys for her awesome success with All Mediocre. She is kicking ass and taking names all over the blogosphere.
This shiny bauble came my way not once, not twice, but five times! From these lovely ladies, Renee at But Why Mommy, Jennifer at Thursday Drive, Wfbdoglover, Kmommy at Poopie Patrol and Down-to-Earth Mama. (Amazing and probably due to my incredible slowness and rudeness for not posting these thank yous promptly. Forgive me.) There are rules, but I am poor at following rules. They specify seven recipients, which would be like 35 blogs. Then, they would have to multiply by seven, requiring higher math and resulting in a number in the hundreds. I'm going to stop the madness and play a game.The dinner party game. In this game, I pick ten bloggers that I would invite to a dinner party. Again with the rules. I throw off these shackles. I'm going to pick bloggers that I would invite over to my living room for a long evening of wine drinking and talking. I want to meet them and hear the intimate details of their lives until the wee hours of the morning. I want to sit in a circle on the floor as they tell all of their stories. There will be cheese and chocolate cupcakes, but mostly wine.
I would invite all six ladies mentioned already. I would invite, Michelle (Honest and Truly!), Shannon (Overflowing), Meghan and her sister Quart, my sister Dee, iMommy, Robin, Amy in Ohio, MamaGingerTree, Marinka, Insta-mom, MoreThanaMinivanMom, Awake and Tracey (JustAnotherMommyBlog), Z, Jen (Coconut Belly) and Maura (OnePingOnly). And SusieO. And Pam. And DysFUNctionalMom. Wait, that's like thirty. It's a full blown bash. Come on over! We are trashed. We are dancing in my living room. We have taken off our shirts (I don't know why, but that's what women do when they get crazy) and moved on to tequila shots.
We are dancing out the door. We are dancing in the street. Jealous daddy bloggers everywhere are begging for an evite. They can't have one. My husband wouldn't like it. I'm in my bra. It's ladies only and it rocks. It's brilliante.
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