--

Saturday, the morning of the big Don't Forget the Lyrics audition, rolled around quickly. I met up with my friends Lisa & Honor who were already waiting in the long line full of hundreds of other karaoke-lovin' hopefuls, wearing my best cute-yet-casual black top and a funky floral skirt from Seattle (couldn't risk wearing the same thing as someone else), drinking my Venti Chai Tea Latte, hoping to God I wasn't going to shart from the nerves. 

After an hour or so of waiting in line outside the Pacific Beach bar, quizzing each other on song lyrics, we finally made it to the front of the line. We were escorted into the bar area, gagged a little on the stale stench of spilt beer from the night before, and then began Round 1 of the audition process--a written quiz on song lyrics.

The quiz covered every music genre imaginable, everything from Bon Jovi to Michael Jackson to Paul Simon. And though I knew every song on the test, it was really loud in the holding area with crowd noise and piped in bar music so I could not hear myself think. I had total brain freeze. I knew the songs but I could not think of the lyrics.

Crap!

In order to make it through to the next round we had to get at least 60% right on the written test. While we waited for them to grade our tests, we ordered drinks, pints of cider to be exact, and watched as all the people around us either hi-fived each other and got called into the next room or shook their heads in dejection saying, "oh man I was only one word off!" as they turned to head out the door. Lisa, Honor and I compared notes on what answers we wrote and I tried adding up the songs I thought I had gotten right. It didn't seem like many. Oh, and I might have also had diarrhea. I'm not sure.

As the young cute gal was grading my test, making red check mark after red check mark, I just kept thinking, I am so made for this show. I will be really bummed if these stupid questions about LYRICS prohibit me from going to the next round. Red check. Red check. Crap! Red check.

Miss Triscuit Muffin Casting Gal finally called me over, handed me my paper back, looked up and said. You made it. Barely. Congratuations. *Smile*

I had exactly 60% correct so just BARELY eeked by. But it didn't matter, I was through. I jumped up and down and squealed like a school girl. I may have even fist bumped her. Can't remember.

Round 2 entailed actual singing and I was in heaven, though still BEYOND nervous. We were put in smaller groups of 8-10 people and were tasked with stating our favorite singer and then singing one of their songs. I was 6th in line to go so I had some time to think of which artist I wanted to sing. But again, brain freeze. The ONLY singer I could think of was Madonna, which you would think would be a shoe-in, but I could not for the life of me think of one lyric to one Madonna song. Not one.

And I am a HUGE MADONNA FAN!

Seriously, not one song came into my mind. My mouth got dry and cotton-ball-ish. I started to sweat. Then I started to do a weird jig in hopes it would jog my memory. And soon it was gonna be my turn. In 3...2...1

Cute Casting Guy Nick: And what's your name?

Me: Hi I'm Mary. (Oh thank gawd my voice worked).

CCGN: Hi Mary, Who is your favorite singer?

Me: Madonna

Nick: *Eye Roll* Okay, Mary (His inner monologue: Really? You can't come up with some more original than Madonna?) sing a Madonna song for us.

Me: Pause

Nervous giggle

Pause

I made it through the wilderness

Somehow I made it through ooh ooh

Didn't know how lost I was until I found you

I went on through to the end of the first verse, complete with hip action on the uh, uh, uh part 

Like a Virgin, Touched for the very first time

What?

Out of ALL THE MADONNA songs in the WORLD I choose LIKE A VIRGIN? Are you kidding me?

And then, trying to be funny, I pulled a Mary Catherine Gallagher posed and yelled "Madonna."

Yep, I did. DORK!

After all the folks in our group sang, CCG Nick excused us from the room and said the infamous words, "Thanks for coming in...you'll be hearing from us."

I walked away banging my hand against my head like Chris Farley's How Could I Be So Stupid SNL sketches and then wondered if my cider was too warm to drink. Oh well, I figured, I tried.

Then, just as I was almost through the door I heard my name being called.

"Mary, you forgot something."

"Huh?"

I walked back to where CCGNick and his cronies were sitting and they said, "Congratulations, You made it to the next round. Can you come to a call back tomorrow?"

"Um, YES!"

Inner Monologue: Guess Like a Virgin wasn't a bad choice of song after all.

The next day, after throwing a baby shower for one of my best friends, I put the SAME outfit back on that I had auditioned in the day before and headed to the new casting location in Mission Valley.

(BTW, it can be a smart idea to wear the same thing to the call back because they obviously liked you, hence the call back, and you will seem more familiar to the casting folks if you look the same).

When I walked in to the room, I was the LAST person they were going to see. CCGNick was there and another young, cute guy named Jada. One of them said, "Look, we've been here all day and we're tired and bored. We need you to wake us up."

It's on!

I have no idea what I did or said except that I busted out my old karaoke favorites, Salt N' Peppa's Shoop, Proud Mary and Bobby McGee and them all dancing along. I told them my theory that I felt like I was auditioning for the role of Mary Burt-Godwin. I went on to say that the show and I were MFOE. Yes, I really said, MFOE, Made For Each Other.

Two days later I was headed to LA for a third call back.

To Be Continued...

Stay tuned til next week when I talk about the LA audition, how I made the producer cry and who I ran into at the Subway in Hollyweird. Oh, I may or may not get to the Wayne Brady/The Secret part. You'll have to wait and see.

In honor of the Oscars tomorrow night, one of my most highly anticipated nights all year, I'm sharing with you a few of my favorite movie scenes of all time.

An Affair to Remember - One of the final scenes when Cary Grant is visiting Deborah Kerr's house and sees the painting in the other room and realizes she is paralyzed which is why she never reconnected with him. BLUBBER FEST! 

An Affair to Remember was nominated for (4) Oscars in 1958, but didn't win any.

Side Note: Another favorite movie scene is in Sleepless in Seattle when Rita Hank's character is recapping this movie to Tom Hanks and her on-screen husband and she starts to blubber. That scene cracks me up because I cannot recount this scene without crying either.

The Mama Mary Award: Best Old School Romantic Movie Ever

Goodbye Girl - The final scene when Richard Dreyfuss' character calls Marsha Mason from a phone booth in the pouring rain to tell her he loves her. And then the clincher, when she realizes he's gonna come back to her because, "He left his guitar!"

Richard Dreyfuss won the Oscar for Best Actor in 1978 and the movie was nominated in (4) other categories.

The Mama Mary Award: Best Romantic Comedy Ever

Silkwood - Meryl Streep singing Amazing Grace in the car the night her true-life character gets in a mysterious car crash.

This movie was up for (5) Oscars in 1984 but did not win any.

Don't have an award for this movie, but it is an exceptionally brilliant, haunting movie!

Thelma & Louise - The final scene when Susan Sarandon & Geena Davis are driving off into the sky blue abyss together, hand-in-hand. Now THAT is serious friendship. 

Thelma & Louise won the Oscar for Best Screenplay in 1992 (Callie Khouri).

The Mama Mary Award: Best Chick Flick Road Movie Ever!

Magnolia - Tom Cruise's doochebag character fighting back the tears when saying hello and good bye to his doochebag dying father.

Magnolia was up for 3 Oscars, including Tom Cruise for Best Supporting Actor, but didn't win any. HIGHWAY ROBBERY!

The Mama Mary Award: Best Ensemble Movie Ever. Actually, this movie is one of my top 5 ALL-TIME FAVORITE movies!

--

In looking back over the list, I realize they are all kind of chick-flickish, but they are all awesome movies, so if you're looking for a good rental tonight, check one of these out (does anyone rent anymore, besides me?).

What are some of you favorites? Do Tell.

Oh, and if you're a big movie goer -- or a mom who never goes anymore but always says she needs to go see more movies -- check out this awesome deal with BuyWithMe.com.

The deal is for (2) adult movie tickets & $14.00 in concessions at any UltraStar Movie Theatre for only $15.00. It's more than 50% savings. Booyah! I'm all over this deal. I so need to go see Avatar.

--

Photo hijacked from somewhere in the webiverse.

Yesterday morning I took the kids to LEGOLAND, our favorite local kids' spot, where I almost got in a mombrawl with another mom who didn't reprimand her son after he bullied Lily and then kneed her in the back, with full force, causing her to go careening down the slide. Though I was mad as hell at the little boy, I was insanely livid with his mom who was nowhere to be found at first and then once she learned of the situation from another mom, did nothing about it. She didn't even apologize for him.

In those situations I really wish I was quick on my feet with something brilliant and biting, like "Is that really the lesson you want to be teaching your kids?" (I got that one from Ooph)

But instead I clam up because my words get all tangled in my flusterediness and the only words that come easy are those of the four letter kind that would not be appropriate or mature, so I just say nothing. But I do shoot wicked daggers with me eyes; that I am good at.

Then during the kids' naps, my usual blog writing time, I was busy doing this video, proving to the world that I am the LAMEST DORK BIGGEST GLEEK.

Then I went to "book club" and learned way more about the art of performing paps and rectal exams from my PA/NP friends than I ever needed to know. Apparently foot funk can be almost as bad as the odor down under, so their advice (besides be sure to bathe--you'd be surprised): wear socks next time your saddling up in those stirrups.

I also learned that Pluto is no longer a planet and that drinking epson salts will make you poop for days. We may not read books but we talk about highly intellectual topics.

My favorite quote of the night..."For Valentine's day, my husband took me to the Gun Show."

At first I laughed thinking she was using the term "gun show" as in the Urban Dictionary definition, meaning he showed off his biceps and flexed for her in a provocative, sexy sort of way. But nope, they actually went to a real NRA sponsored gun show. Our collective next questions were, "who holds a gun show on Valentine's Day?" and then "who GOES to a Gun Show on Valentine's Day?" But there was no judging, I mean many people certainly wonder who choses to make a rap video on Valentine's day. To each his own. When we learned that she had walked away from the ammo-rific event with a stun gun and a camo skirt we all threw some high fives and said, "well played girl, well played."

Then this morning came around, WAY too quickly, and after rushing Lily to school in the mismatched outfit she picked out and her hair all disheveled, I stopped dead in my tracks when reading the ENORMOUS reminder on the school's front door -- TODAY IS PICTURE DAY. Oh Crap! I exclaimed, forgetting to sensor myself. So we ran home, grabbed the adorable matching rompers that I just bought at Target for $5.00 each and ran back to school. After changing them and brushing their hair, they looked ridiculously cute. I let the photographer take them to the cheezy park photo backdrop to work her professional photographer magic and I sat back thinking about the precious pix I was going to be able to frame for my family.

And then, Lexi, my 1.75 yo, had a melt down of epic proportions. "No, I don't wanna sit down," she yelled at the photographer, after throwing the fake fuschia flowers at her face.

Enter crisis management mommy:

"Here Lexi, here's a teddy bear, look at the cute teddy."

"No!  I don't want to!"

"Lexi, look at your cute outfit. You and Lily are matching, can you sit with Lily?"

"No!  I don't want to!"

"Do you want a lollipop Lexi? I'll give you a lollipop."

"No!  I don't want to!"

Then, as I threw my hands up in frustration and bent down to pick up Lexi, my slightly cloudy, PMSing brain made me say, "Oh Mothah!"

I though it was under my breath. But it wasn't. It was loud. Loud enough for the photographer, both my kids, the Center Director and 4 other kids to hear. Nice work Mama Mary!

That was a really LONG way to tell you that Part II of my favorite story of all time will have to wait for another day. Happy Friday!

Oh, and if you haven't already, would you be so kind as to vote for me HERE. The Mama Mary Show has been nominated for Best in Lifestyle at influenceSD (which should be best mom ever as apparent by this post). Just click the gray arrow by my avatar and watch it turn green. Only one vote per person, though you can also vote for others in the same category. There are some awesome other mamas that are up too, so be sure to check them out as well. Or just vote for me, whatever.

Even in my old age, I love me some good quiet color time, particularly when it's a fresh pack.

But on the flip side, there are not many more things, besides unicorns and slow-draining drains, that bug me more than broken and/or unwrapped crayons.

A damaged crayon is dead to me.

Once it is stepped on or disrobed, though theoretically is can still serve its purpose, it's goin' in the trash can. STAT!

I think it's the early onset of arthritis that I've inherited from my mom that makes me unable to grip an inch long crayon properly, which gets me frustrated, hence creating this disdain. And I think it's the creepy cold, dead fish feeling of a naked crayon that makes me cringe every time I see an unwrapped Crayola.

And now that I have children, guess what I have scattered in every corner of my home? Broken, unwrapped crayons! Everywhere.

*Ugh, gag, puke, shiver, curl up in ball and cry myself to sleep*

But last weekend, my girlfriend Hayley introduced me to something that would forever change my life.

TWISTABLE CRAYONS!

BOOYAH!

Regardless of whether or not you have kids, you NEED to have a pack of this lusciousness around your the house.

Though they don't have the same sexy look, smell or feel of the original, they do LAST A LONG TIME.

Longetivity is key.

They don't break when stepped on or snap when gripped too hard. And there is no unwrapping involved. When the tip gets low, you just twist that bad boy up and voila, a brand-newish tip. Plus, the plastic shell around the crayon prevents kiddos from eating them, unless of course they twist them too high, but don't quote me on that one.

Oh and there is also something about the way they feel when connecting with the paper. The act of coloring actually feels different than with the typcial crayon. I don't know what it is, but I want to marry it, whatever it is.

This morning, somewhere between inserting my coffee IV drip and explaining for the fourth time that the yummy raisin bread is all gone, Lily asked me, "Mom, where are those crayons that are awesome?'

I rest my case.

WARNING: I don't think they make washable versions of the twistable crayons so keep them away from your white pants and white walls. But buy them, seriously.

--

Disclosure: This is an unsolicited, unpaid product review. I just really love, love, love them, joyologist style.

--

In the fall of 1989, I was a senior at a very small high school here in San Diego, where I was one of 56 soon-to-be graduating students. Many of us, a majority of us, had been going to the same school since we were six years old, or even younger. We were a tight knit group, and thanks to Facebook, many of us still are. Just so happens that this year is our 20 year high school reunion; oh man how time flies. And I'm probably going to regret posting this as many of them will heckle me for it. But I'm here for you dear readers; I am here to bare my soul so you can get a good laugh.

One blustery Santa Ana fall day, way back in '89, twenty years and two months after the melodious and sexy Summer of '69, I vividly remember the day that the distinguished Homecoming Court was to be announced. Well maybe not vividly, you know the mom thing and the party days of the '90's make many memories blurry, but nevertheless, I remember it well-ish.

As I was taking a pee break from my beloved English class, I bumped into another classmate of mine who happened to be on Homecoming Court Vote Counting Committee, a very prestigious committee indeed. She smiled when she saw me, motioned for me to come closer so she could whisper a secret, and told me that I had been nominated for the Homecoming Court.

I died.

Yes, I did. I died. I got all giddy and excited and nervous.

Lame sauce? Yes, totally. But I was (am still) very needy of approval and praise and kudos. Explains why I love curtain calls so much. And Balloonagrams. I loved Balloonagrams.

"They like me, they really like me," was playing over and over in my head as I strutted back to class in my acid wash jean skirt and matching jean jacket. I bit my lip, fighting back the urge to not blurt out the big news to anyone who would listen and I somehow kept my heart from beating straight out of my chest and onto my Mead notebook. There I sat, cross legged (jean skirt and all), trying to figure out how I was going to look surprised and humbled when the news was officially delivered. Good thing I was a thespian, I was thinking in the back of my big head.

And either in that class or maybe the next period, the official news was delivered via Shakespearean Messenger (or another classmate, can't remember):

FWP 1989 Homecoming Court:

Senior Girls:

Cindy Williams.  Inner Monologue: Good, great, love her, dear friend

Jen Channick. Inner Monologue: Good, great, love her, dear friend

Mary Shrader. Inner Monologue: WHAT THE F#$%?

Inner Monologue continued...Wait one friggin minute. What? But my name is Mary Burt, not Mary Shrader. Mary Shrader is the really cute cheerleader that everyone likes. But still, there must be a mistake. I want a re-count!

My heart sank. I was like an air mattress after a busy night;

DE-FLATED.

Or like those students who received a false email from UCSD saying they had been accepted;

DE-NIED.

Or like Conan O'Brian is now;

DE-PRESSED.

After picking my jaw and ego up off the floor and putting on my best "I'm happy for you" look, I went about my Mary way. And I've gone about my Mary way for the past 20 years, but honestly, I don't think I've ever gotten over this.

Yep, pretty sure, I am not over this. But I am telling you this frightfully embarrassing story in confindence, dear readers, because seriously, I am embarrassed that I even care.

But I do. Oh how I do.

And the reason I am telling this frightfully embarrassing story is because I just found out that I am up (my blog is up) for an award called Best in Lifestyle over at influencesd.com. So I am going to show you my inner child, my naive, narcissistic inner child, and ask/beg/plead on my hands & knees for votes.

If voted Best in Lifestyle Blog for influenceSD.com I promise to lobby for:

• Jamba & Starbucks in the vending machines
• Bikini/BoxerBrief Pep Rallies
• Longer Lunch breaks with a DJ in the quad
• Taco Tuesdays, from Robertos
• Lifting the ban on PDA
• Mandatory Senior Ditch Day, every other week, with no ramifications

I know, pretty great, huh?

And here's where you come in: You can help me squash my inner demons and gain my self-esteem back in one of two ways:

1) Voting for me HERE (click the gray arrow one time only -- it won't tell you that your vote was successful, just click).

AND/OR

2) Help me come up with a campaign slogan. Like:

• Vote for Mama Mary cause she dances better than Napolean Dynamite
• The Mammary Show -- It Does a Body Good.
• For the Love of All that is Holy, Vote for Mama Mary

The Winner of best slogan will receive a Roberto's gift card and a 4 pack of Bartles & James.

--

Now that I am a mom I have a weak stomach when it comes to true life crime stories, particularly when they involve children. Growing up, I used to have a gory fascination with non-fiction criminal cases; I read Fatal Attraction and Helter Skelter like 10 times each in high school. But now, I simply cannot stomach hearing, reading or watching the details of the horrific things that go on everyday. And I definitely don't want to hear, read, or watch information on a sexual predator who may have raped and killed a beautiful young girl here in San Diego.

But the other night, the lure of various tweets about 17 year old Chelsea King and the man suspected of harming her led me to click on various articles, all containing this monster's photo and sex offending rap sheet (it's hard to even write about this subject without wanting to throw up). I just wonder how on earth this man is out, and free to roam the streets?

It also makes me wonder how safe my girls are in our cozy little corner of the suburbs, especially when I know there is a man who lives IN MY COMPLEX, my safe, some-what secluded complex, who is a registered sex offender, for the same crimes that the aforementioned suspect had been convicted-- sexual crimes against girls under 14.

Oh man, I can barely type any longer.

Another mom in my neighborhood told me one day that she had checked one of the on-line sites containing information and maps on exactly where sex offenders live and voila, she found a man who lives here, only a few doors down from her unit. She has a 12 year old daughter.

Every once in awhile I see this man by the mailboxes or by the pool, and I want to run. Just grab my kids and run. I think to myself, as I'm heading in the other direction, of course he's not going to do anything to us, but how do I know? His track record would tell me differently.

I want to believe that all people are innately good and that they can change their ways. But when it comes to something like this, I just can't take the risk of assuming this man is inherently good and that he's changed his ways. I couldn't risk being wrong when it comes to the safety and innocence of a little girl. Especially when it is my little girls.

This news of Chelsea's disappearance and the assumptions surrounding it have made me think seriously about how to introduce the topic of stranger danger to my kids. It is real. And it is beyond scary. Do any of you experienced moms have tips on how I can talk to my girls about it?

I am praying for Chelsea and her family. And I am holding my kids extra tight today.

On a side notes, today is my sister Laurie's birthday. I know she reads my blog religiously so I want to give her a proper shout out. She has been my mentor for as long as I can remember. I admire her and love her dearly. And I want her friggin size 2 body! Love you Lala!

And one more side note, my mom's brother, my Uncle Ray, passed away today. So my prayers are with his family and my mom today. Not the best way to start off a non-jiggy birthday month. But at least he is now pain free and drinking some celestial booze along side my dad and the love of his life, Joyce, who preceeded him many years ago. Love you Uncle Ray!

I love March. It is my favorite month of the year.

Birds chirping the song of spring, hillsides bursting with colorful wild flowers, and family jaunts to the park after dinner thanks to Daylight Savings.

It's the month the hubby and I took our vows.

And, it's the month I was born.

I was born on March 21st, the first day of spring, thirty eight years ago; fifteen years after my half brother and seven years after my brother in law (weird huh?).

I have always been one of "those people" who looks forward to celebrating her special day. Actually, I like to celebrate all month long.

I like it to be all about me. There I said it. No surprises here.

I tell strangers, waiters, store clerks, anyone who will listen, that it's my birthday, week or month, and I totally ask for free shit from strangers, waiters, store clerks, and anyone who will listen, with a high success rate, I might add.

But being the bi-polarish type that I am, there is also a dark side to the otherwise sunny month of my birth. I always get a little jiggy with it it around my birthday (for you faithful readers who have been with me for awhile, you may recall THIS POST where I discussed this exact issue, posted on March 9th of last year, in which I misspelled jiggy, by the way).

The word jiggy, in this context, does not refer to the shoulder poppin', booty-shakin' boogie made popular by the handsome and loveable Will Smith, though I do like to boogie. Bur rather, jiggy in this context means somthing more like anxious, bitchy and/or totally friggin nutso. This moody jigginess just sort of lingers beneath the surface of my day-to-day routine and only rears its ugly head when triggered by a snoring, nail-biting husband, whining children or dumb ass drivers. But it always seems to be there.

My own personal March Madness.

So this year, I'm going to conquer the jigginess. I am making a promise to not blog this month about how I lost my marbles or about how everything is bugging me, though lots of things do bug me. I am instead going to have a KICK ASS BIRTHDAY MONTH. I am going to celebrate something good every day. No more jiggies.

Today, on this first day of my birthday month, I am going to celebrate the fact that my hubby is finally home from a few back to back trips. And by celebrate I mean get my feet and back rubbed. And maybe make him work for his moniker G$.

I was inspired to write this post via one of my new blogging BFFs, Stephanie at Ooph.com.She and I share the same propensity for bitchiness, among other things, and for that, I love her. She just had a birthday yesterday and had a great post reflecting on what she has learned over the past few hundred years. Go on, check her out, she's a funny little thing (whatever you do, don't tell her that her blog name reminds you of a fart, she might not appreiciate it). And in the meantime, I am going to embrace my jigginess and go on with my old bad self.

--

OH, and by the way, there is a new Monday Momsense in the righthand sidebar. You can leave comments for the vlog HERE. Enjoy!

Though the meat of the story took place a few years ago, there is a whole lotta back story that must be relayed first in order to do the story justice.

Let me warn you, it's a long story. But it's a good one.

So I'm going to break it up into parts so as to not inundate with too much info at one time (our collective societal ADD brain can only process small spurts of info these days) and also to keep you comin' back fo' mo'.

Part 1 of How Wayne Brady and The Secret Conspired to Make Me a Stay At Home Mom 

THE BACKSTORY:

According to Burt Family Legend, I emerged from the womb snapping my fingers.

I danced in diapers, anywhere my toddler legs would take me.

I wanted to be a Mousekateer. Bad.

I hearted musical soundtracks like Grease, A Chorus Line and Fame. Hard.

I sang in hairbrushes and acted a fool. A lot.

I am a lyrics whore. The first thing I do when I like a song is STUDY the lyrics.

I love being on stage, even though it makes me have diarrhea and sweaty arm pits.

The day I discovered Karoake was one of the best days of my life. And one of the drunkest.

After that day I became legendary at the local Karoake bar, The Lamplighter, in so much as they had my picture, three in fact, in the photo collage out front, and the keeper of the karoake would play "my songs" without me having to place them in his glass jar (though I think we all tipped him a lot. Again, it's all blurry).

In case you're wondering, my songs are Shoop by Salt N Peppa (G$ joins me in the end for the guy part, it's good stuff), Proud Mary and Me and Bobby McGee.

Mama Mary on the mic at the Pensacola Wrap Party Circa 1999

So, all the aforementioned things considered, you might be able to guess how I reacted the night I saw a TV PRIME TIME GAME SHOW based on KAROAKE.

Yep. I flipped out! FLIPPED. OUT.

And the rest all happened very quickly.

The time, August of 2007. The place, my monthly drink/book club gathering with the gals. While in the middle of an intense discussion as to which celebrities were on "our lists", you know the list of celebrities that your spouse would have to grant a "hall pass" for if/when they come knockin (JT, you're on the top of my list, call me), a lifelong friend of mine, Lisa, who also hearts karaoke, asked me, "Mary, do you know how we could win a million dollars?

"How?" I asked.

"We need to go on 'Don't Forget the Lyrics,' the new game show with Wayne Brady."

A light bulb went off in my head.

OMG, Yes!

We spent the rest of the night singing songs and trying to quiz each other on lyrics to obscure songs.

Later that night, I was sitting on the couch with hubby and he pulled up Don't Forget the Lyrics (DFTL) on the dvr.

I began singing along with every song and knew every lyric that came in question. Every one.

I said, out loud, "I could TOTALLY do this!"

Steve meanwhile was searching on his lap top for more info on the show. He looked up at me and said, "What are you doing this weekend? DFTL is going to be auditioning for their next season this Saturday at a bar in San Diego."

"No way! I'm there!"

I immediately called Lisa to rope her in too and then promptly went straight to my closet to figure out what to wear.

What does one wear to an audition for the role of herself?

TO BE CONTINUED...

Tune in next week to find out what I wore to the audition, how I did and how The Secret ties it all together.

However, after the subsequent ten times of hearing her say it, it dawned on me that she was not using it in the right context and that she really had no idea what she was saying.

For example, if I handed Lexi the doll that Lily wanted, Lily would grab it and then yell "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit." In her three year old mind she was translating it to mean, "I get what I want and I won't throw a fit".

So I quoted The Princess Bride, "I do not think that means what you think it means."

Not really, but I wanted to.

Instead, I tried to explain to her what it really does means.

Me: "You see Lily, you're going to get whatever mom gives you and you're gonna like it."

Lil: "Yah, you get what you get and you don't throw a fit."

Me: "Right, you're going to get what I give you and you're not gonna throw a fit"

Lil: "But mom...you get what you get and you don't throw a fit."

I wanted to thow a fit. But instead I just said,

Me: Okay Buttercup, just give your sister the doll back. And never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line. 

Quoting movies can be much more fun than rationalizing with a child.

It's the cast of Yo Gabba Gabba, naturally.

From left to right: Muno, DJ Lance, Toodee, Plex, Foofa, and Brobee.

Even though we weren't watching tv, it was still front of mind.

Now if you'll excuse me, there's a party in my tummy I must tend to.