Monday, August 10, 2009

Proof, Loyal Readers

...that your BloomingtonGirl was indeed a Cheerleader for Pop Warner football. Yeah, that's me down in the right corner, doing the pretty crummy split. Obviously, I was not cheerleader material. I believe that this photo is of me on my second year on the "B" team. I made the "A" team in eighth grade but probably only because my friend Chrissy's mother was one of the judges. Chrissy, of course, made the "A" team when she was in seventh grade. Ah, nepotism.

In any event, I gave up on cheer leading after it became clear that it wouldn't make me gorgeous or thin or popular; I gave into reality and went where I had more talent. Marching band. I'll see if I can dig out a photo of that endeavor for your viewing pleasure.

As I write, I am cooking fresh peppers from our garden, steaming fresh beet greens from our garden and marinating fresh tomatoes from our garden, broiling fresh eggplant from our garden....are you getting the picture yet?

Dinner tonight was pizza again. One with thinly sliced tomatoes, mozz & basil and the other with eggplant, mushrooms, tomatoes, feta, mozz and basil. They were excellent. And look! The tomato pizza is almost round! Go BloomingtonGirl, Go!

We might even have pizza again tomorrow night. I know, it's pretty wild here in Bloomington. Could be a whole pizza week. What's next? Orgies? Opium dens? Who knows? Clearly, anything goes.

In other news, Oh Loyal Ones, I took Jack and his very very quiet friend out to lunch and to an arcade today. I requested two tables at lunch, acting as if the little guys just LOVED acting all grown up and having their own table. But we know the truth, don't we? I just wanted to have lunch by myself and work on my play. That's the kind of mother I am. A 1950's mother. Well, not entirely. I didn't order a martini after all.

In other other news, I am working away on my play, determined to finish it before the end of September. Broadway is standing by, after all.


Anonymous said...

I'll be including eggplant on my next pizza!

Anna said...

The best 1950's mother stories I know of come from a dance critic and book author, who proudly brags of brushing ashes off her son's head, dropped while reaching for the martini during bottle feeding.... You have a ways to go yet, I figure.

I'm so glad Bloomingtongirl is back.