So, I was feeling pretty good yesterday. No morning sickness and I was able to hold my head erect for the whole entire day, so I started to think about the "Ocean's Thirteen" premiere. I think I actually had convinced myself that I would go.

I could see the whole scenario float by in my mind...I would interview George Clooney with one of those water mic's and he would call me a "fucking prick" (because I don't see the words "jerk" spewing forth out of Clooney's mouth in anger. He seems like a filthy little boy.) Don Cheadle would laugh at Clooney because he secretly is tired of living in his shadow and wants him dead, while Ellen Barken demonstrates how to perform oral sex on someone's mic, and my little Matt Damon? just sitting there with his cute little boyish grin on his face looking innocent.

Yes, Matt Damon is my favorite celebrity. I wouldn't mind stalking him...if I had the time... not to mention the cost associated with stalking a Matt Damon. Nothing like a Brad Pitt, mind you...traveling to Africa, Mongolia, the Sudan, etc...but, the costs are heavy nonetheless.

There's

a)the endless emails

b)vacations scheduled around premieres

c)airfare

d)gas

e)rental cars

f)telescopic lenses

g)trying to hack into my Dish to display satellite pictures of his house on my television

h)numerous spy and tracking equipment

i)lawyers fees

j)bond money

k)my own personal restraining order on file

l)and finally, a sternly worded letter to Matt about how he let a good thing go...

energy, folks, that I do not have.

Peter is just rolling his eyes at me right now...

Now, I don't want to turn this into some girly-owwww-I-just-got-knocked-up-let-me-tell-you-about-the-size-of-my-fundus blog. I know...you'll thank me later.

What I have decided, though, is that I will focus instead on more of my irrational behavior and extreme bitchiness to which Peter is starting to get accustomed to with some lamentations about cigarrettes and alcohol....which is mostly to blame for my current predicament.

So, since I have been told by upper management at work that I am only allowed one rant a day, I believe it only apprope that I include that as a loverly feature of my blog.....ONE BITCH A DAY....

Let's see, today would be the poll...what the hell exactly do you mean by a mixer, because I'm a girl? Real women do not drink "mixers" or anything with an umbrella in it. AND they don't hang out with girls that shout across the bar..."Owww! That is such a cute drink...what is it?" Real women will drink beer...in the bottle. Why? Easy.

A)The label holds WAY too much amusement for those lonely poor souls that are either abandoned by their friends or waiting for them. Can you get the entire label off without ripping or tearing it? That my friend is called...being at one with your beer. (More commonly known as condensation has released the adhesive from the back of the paper).

B)If you order me a beer, I can easily down it and leave your silly ass behind or the beer behind...if need be. I suppose you could down a Cosmo pretty fast, but a Marquiritta or Daquiri? Hell no! That's precious rum in there, baby! It's not going anywhere...fast...but up. Besides, you've never heard of anyone doing a Rum Bong, and there is a reason for that.

C)Okay...I heart beer.

okay...that was a poor excuse for a rant, but I seem to be having a pretty rational day...I'm sure the Stevenson will piss me off tomorrow or the car will implode or someone at McDonald's will speak to me in a condescending tone and I'll want to rip through the speakers and kill them...it's only a matter of 48 hours and estrogen, folks.

Oh yeah...here's a great shot of a shotgun wedding folks! Try and guess why!

Let's see...everything is booked, so you are going to have to do it yourself. And by that I mean, a nice outdoor wedding at the local parks department or forest preserve, or a semi-private Moose/Elks Club. In the interest of trying not to subject your guest to last night's fish fry...outdoors it is!

Okay...you find a cozy little picnic spot...make sure it has a shelter. There is no reason to think that your wedding day will be perfect, Cinderella. It may rain...and if it does rain...it will probably pour...or there will be some sort of tornado involved. So, get the shelter and a tent...just in case.

Okay, someone's going to have to cook and it would be in your best interest to find a friend that just so happens to do that for a living. Tell them they can create any glorious masterpiece that they want... you will supply the food...grill...utensils...all they need to do is bring their creative genius... oh, and their chef's hat. You might need to get an actual job in a restaurant to pull this off...If not, just call the caterer to bring the chicken and pasta salad...

Now, because you want your family to drive an hour and a half for you, you had better have something for the nieces and nephews to do. My recommendation...the moonwalk! You cannot go wrong and the parent's will thank you later for the disappearing act you performed on their children for six hours.

Photographer....Please! We were lucky that Peter's father has an absolute passion for his digital camera. He was more than happy to put his skills to work at our special occassion.

DJ...Okay, this was complete luck here, but my father just semi-retired and has been collecting DJ equipment for the last few months and has burned more cd's and collected more music than any man should have access to. (I suppose it is wierd when your father knows all the Justin Timberlake songs on his newest album while you are rolling your eyes as your son begs for you to "turn that up....PLEASE!!") If you have no such father or relative...bring your Ipod, stereo, cd player, band, etc. Burn some cd's, download some bad mp3's...it's all in the name of love.

Invites...very simple. Michaels. They have 50 invites that you can print yourself. I know what you are thinking...Beth, you work for a printer, why for did they not do your invites? Because they are busy producing jobs that actually make us money. I have enough problems with last minute rushes from my customer's... If you don't like Michael's, you can always look online and I'm sure there are tons of do-it-yourself kits for invitations.

Last but not least, preacher. Okay, now's the time to pretend that since you moved away, you have been faithfully going to church(Eventhough you haven't), and the man standing next to you hasn't been sleeping in your bed for the last two years (eventhough we have and I have the indent marks in my mattress to prove it), and you would love to make a hearty donation to the Episcopal church (and you will!). Our first instinct was to get a Baptist minister, you know the stereotypical kind from the south that sweats, hems and haws, scawls, and praises Jesus in song every two seconds, but that just constituted actually going to church, so we opted out on that.

Lastly, fireworks and transvestites...Never forget the fireworks and tranvestites.

He's Panamanian and there is some sort of Latin macho gene that takes over whenever he here those words. He thinks its wierd that a bunch of grown men and boys go out into the woods together...alone.

Which isn't the case, since most outings are with parents and most parents are Den leaders.

He says things like that to me mostly to get a rise out of me.

So, this weekend we had to go on a campout. I took Steven since his dad was going to be working. We slept in a tent outside and went hiking, learned how to tie a knot, did some Earth day cleanup, visited the police station, played kickball, soccer, baseball, and had the traditional campfire at night with songs and skits....I can see Peter shaking his head right now and saying, "Gay!" while he laughs at me to get me riled up.

So, because I was weathering the elements, I asked him to go get me a Chai Tea Latte at Starbucks (I know...I know..but they are SO addictive!)

He meets me at our tent and smiles and hands me my coffee.

A couple of minutes go by and he is still smiling.

Still smiling...

Finally, I can't take it anymore and ask him what he is smiling about..."Look under the sleeve," he says.

So, I look under the cardboard sleeve that is suppose to help protect you from the scorching hot coffee and this is what I find...

Just had to add one more dig with Canteen boy!

He's lucky I love him!

I ask him, merely curiousity...if he knows why we celebrate Good Friday. Knowing that he knows about Jesus from my blasphemous bedtime stories that I like to tell...you know, the one where Jesus goes to a birthday party and the host didn't have enough cake or pop, so he...you got it! Makes more by turning the paper plates into cake and turning water into pop...so, having such a mother as I and a skewed version of religion, I prepared myself for the worst.

"Because that is the day that my dad comes to pick me up."

Okay, his dad was coming to pick him up and it was Good Friday, but, as a mother, it was up to me to keep him up to speed and instill some sort of religious truths and values into his little mind.

"No, dear. That was the day that Jesus died on the Cross."

He slaps his head to pronounce his stupidity and say, "Oh...yeah...right." Always the drama king.

"Do you know why we celebrate Easter."

Not willing to risk another wrong answer, he safely just shakes his head "no."

"Because that is the day that Jesus rose from the dead....three days after Good Friday."

Thinking that there is no room for elaboration and I have just fulfilled my televangelism duties for the year, I anticipate a silent head nod in understanding...not so much...

"Oh! So, that's the day that Jesus rose from the dead and tortured everyone!"

Okay...technically, the kid has something there. Because I am Episcopalian, and that is about as close as you can get to being Roman Catholic. That said...yes, the Church goes all out for Easter...the incense...the candles burning...the ten hour long litergy...the kneeling...the standing...the Latin...the singing...it goes on forever.

So, yes...it is torture. But, I can't have a six year-old have the upper hand and did the best thing that I could do and confuse and befuddle him with religious facts and tried to throw the holy ghost in there while he just stared at me with a confused look on his face, cut me off mid-sentence and said," Mom! I'm going to be late for school!"

Safe again for one more year!

Remember how Cate Blanchett blessed us with a remarkable characterization of Elizabeth...a woman who was strong, almost invincible in the face of consternation. A woman who stood for what she believed in and actually participated in the era that she was suppose to be living in...

No, with this pile of pertentious crap, I am suppose to believe that the cold, heartless Queen of France was just some simpleton fop who had the mistake of being so naive that she forgot, at times, that she was the Queen and was getting drunk on her front lawn on her birthday with a group of her white trash friends to see the sun come up....right! And all the was missing was a car on cement blocks conveniently located on the lawn of Versailles.

I should have known when I read the credits and saw the name of Sofia Coppola that only daddy would fund such a pile of dung. It was like he said to her, "Here, I will give you Kristin Dunst and some great costume designers...go have fun! Get out of my hair!"

I would really like to see how the people of France would have reacted to a viewing of this movie.

I'm sorry, the cold-hearted bitch that turned her back on France and her country when they were the poorest was really just a regular old party girl that had no idea her country was in such bad shape...and didn't do all those cold-hearted bitchy things that was written in history books...she was just...oblivious?

Kristin Dumbass should be ashamed at even looking at one word of this script...one word...Go back to playing cute little vampires, you stupid one dimensional idiot...and leave the acting to Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise...