If you came back to read my blog today after that horrible case of blue balls I left you with yesterday, then I am grateful and I Heart You. I would like to reiterate that my intention all along was to spill the beans about what happened on the show but as I was typing the conclusion on Monday night, there was something nagging at me; something telling me to not finish with the story. I guess it was that woman's intuition thing that somehow led me to find the producer's facebook profile page, and then it was that liquid courage thing that caused me to email him to say that I was going to be blogging about the show. I am so thankful that he responded before I actually hit "publish" on my original post, whereby releasing all the juicy details.

I want to apologize though, for stringing you all along, for a few weeks; that was not my original intention. (Isn't that what all teases say?) But in a sense, you all got to experience pretty much the same shock and awe that I felt when I realized my episode was not going to air.

It sucked.

But I promise that SOMEDAY there will be a Post Script Post to the How Wayne Brady and The Secret Consipred to Making Me a Stay At Home Mom saga, I just have no idea when. DFTL is set to air via syndication starting in September so we can all set our dvrs then, to see if my top secret episode will ever air.

Until then I will leave you with one more photo from my DFTL experience. For one day, I was kinda big time.

Mama Mary with Ricky Minor

Signed,

Mama "Gottawin" Mary

P.S. Happy St. Patrick's Day! If pinching me will make you feel better, please, be my guest!

--

When I last left off, I was quaking in my new Nordstom black heels, just about to be called on stage to sing in front of a lot of freaking people and for a lot of freaking money. But before I go any further with the main story at hand, I need to digress a little and talk about how the book The Secret plays into it all. First, I must make a confession. I love me some good self-help. From the Artist’s Way to Write it Down, Make it Happen, if it tells me how to live my best self and reach my goals, I am all over it.

And in the early part of 2007, when my little Lily was 5 months old and my precious maternity leave ended, I decided to pick up The Secret after hearing Oprah and others RAVE about it. I listened to it in the car on my commute to work and LOVED it.

The Secret, if you have not read, seen or heard it, is essentially all about the power of positive thinking and putting your goals/dreams/desires out to the universe. Though the secret is not just putting things out to the universe, the secret is then TRUSTING that it will happen and releasing control over when, where, why and how it will happen. 

I need to write an entirely separate post on how awesome I think it is, but for now, let’s just say, I embraced The Secret; whole heartedly and with jazz hands. And one evening while chatting with my hubby about our goals for the year, I talked about wanting to stay home with Lily and with The Secret in mind, I said, “Okay, I am somehow going to make X amount of dollars for our family this year." The amount was not an exorbitant amount of money, but it was considerably more than what I was making at my day job. And so there it was…out into the universe. And then, I completely forgot about that conversation.

Until 7 months later...when I was standing next to the hotness know as Wayne Brady (WB from here on out), with a mic in one hand, a pool of sweat in the other and a couple of song lyrics standing between me and a lot of freaking money.

After fumbling over my words with Wayne, wondering if that was an indication of how articulate I was going to be on stage I began to panic again, but there was no time for that because the voice of god announced, “And welcome our next contestant, Mary Burt-Goodwin.”

Even though they mispronounced my last name, I ran onto the stage with more spunk than a 15 yo Texas Cheerleader on Red Bull, doing some weird cross between the Hustle and a mobile Charlie’s Angels pose.

The adrenaline was INSANE! The lights, the live audience, and the full camera crew was almost more than I could handle. But once I saw the jumbotron sized karaoke screen with the dollar sign$ all over it, I strangely found myself in the zone. I was no longer star struck by WB, nor intimidated by the crowd or the cameras; it was just me and my lyrics. It was GAME ON.

Now this is where I need to digress again…

As fate would have it (I swear to those same gods of cheesy boy bands that this is true), just last night, in the middle of typing this post, I did a little lurking around Facebook and saw the name of the show’s producer via my segment producer’s page, the same guy that yodeled and cried with me in my audition. I thought, oh what a coincidence, I will just sent him a message to say I am blogging about my experience on the show since it was cancelled and the confidentiality contract is null & void (which was my dumb arse conclusion).

This morning, he replied. Nice to hear from you, blah, blah, blah, oh and by the way, the confidentiality contract is still in effect an because all-new episodes will be airing in syndication on FOX stations across America as well as VH1 and MyNetworkTV in primetime. So dear readers, I’m afraid there is going to be a massive revolt, but I cannot tell you anything that happened on that stage for fear the suits of Hollywood will come after me with their dizzying legal mumbo jumbo and sue me right out of my $15.99 Target shoes.

I am taking this seriously because dear readers, my episode NEVER AIRED! After the taping of my episode, I waited anxiously every Wednesday night, week after week, hoping to see my mug on the previews for the following week, and though I was featured in the show’s promo package every week, jumping up and down like I was about to spike a volleyball, they never showed my segment. So, I am still bound by that damned contract to not tell you what happened.

BUT… What I will tell you is this:

1)     It was one of the BEST experiences of my life.

2)     I did break ALL of the cardinal rules

3)     The Secret is REAL!

The good news is, there is still a chance my epsisode might still air. I will not hold my breath, but now I will have to fill up my dvr with DFTL again in hopes of catching my segment.

Thanks for taking this ride with me in these ridiculously LONG blog posts that really led nowhere, except hope.

--

Thankfully my sister Laurie was able to drive with me to LA for the 2nd round of callbacks with the DFTL producers; I desperately needed someone to distract me from my near-debilitating, nerve-wracking jitters.

Just before the audition, we stopped off at a Subway across the street from the studio to grab a bite to eat. Whenever I am traveling or in a new place, I always wonder if I am going to run into someone I know, and sure as shit, just as I was ordering my standard turkey on wheat, I spied the endearingly friendly face of Chuck, my hubby's BFF from college, who is now an actor in LA. What an unexpected treat, though, just as Locke from Lost says, "there are no coincidences," and this seemingly random occurence actually had a purpose. Running into him was just what I needed. He totally distracted me from my impending fate and imparted the wise advice to "just be myself." I was totally fired up after our encounter over deli meats and Sun Chips--I was ready to kick some serious karaoke ass.

An hour later I strutted into the audition room, after being pumped up by the casting agents including my buddy CCGNick and Triscuit Muffin, and I immediately broke out into song, a la Moulin Rouge,

"Hey Sister Soul Sister Soul Sister Soul Sister...Hi, I'm Mary.”

I am not sure what came over me; breaking into song is not something I normally do. Oh wait, yes it is. I guess I was just being me. Right out of the gate, I wanted them to know I didn't mind making a fool of myself, AND that I had more rhythm than the two brothahs that went before me put together.

As I stood on the white X, answering questions and hoping my sweat was not leaking through my blouse, I completely hammed it up for the panel of producers as well as the video camera. The two executive producers tossed questions at me left and right like “how many times have you sung karaoke?” (is gajillion a word?) and “what types of things do I do for fun?” (make rap videos with my hubby?). I busted out a little Shoop, shoop be doop  and did a lot of rolling down the river. I even yodeled like the Lonely Goatherd in Sound of Music to show my wide breadth of musical knowledge.

Then, they asked me what I would do with the money if I were to win the million dollars. At first, I spewed out a few silly, superficial things like, "go on a MAJOR shopping spree at Nordstrom" and “buy a new car."

And then, I had a moment. A Mama Mary moment, which is sort of like an A-Ha moment, but better.

An image of my little Lily, who was just a few weeks shy of 1 year old, came into my mind. I imagined her sweet little face and I thought of all the time that I had missed with her because I had gone back to work when she was 5 months old.

"I would...I would..."

 And then it happened. In good ol’ fashioned Mama Mary style, I started to cry. Okay maybe not full cry, but lump in throat/heavy pools of tears in eyes cry. I turned around from embarrassment for becoming so emotional in the middle of a silly audition, in front of people I had never met. In seconds I pulled myself together, turned back around and said, simply and honestly,

"I would stay home with my daughter."

It was then that I realized why I was there. Aside from wanting to showcase my mediocre-at-best karaoke skills on prime-time tv while doing a little innocent rubbin’ up on Wayne Brady, I was really there for an opportunity to change my life and become a stay at home mom. From the first day I had gone back to work after maternity leave just six months prior, I would spend a great majority of my time thinking that I needed to find a way to stay home with Lily. My new post-baby job duties were not fulfilling enough to make commuting and sitting at a desk all day worth it to be away from my daughter, especially when my take home after daycare was not a worthwhile sum of money.

And it occurred to me, in that moment, that winning money could possibly help me achieve my goal of staying home.

I caught eyes with the head producer and I swear to the gods of cheesy boy bands, he was choked up. He looked at CCGNick and said, "Anyone who can make me yodel and cry in one audition is in.”

He dubbed me Mary “Gottawin” (play on Godwin) and right then I knew I had landed my spot on the show.

The next day I was on an airplane headed back east for a family reunion with my hubby's family, during which I spent THE ENTIRE WEEK on-line studying lyrics of Billboard songs from the past 50 years and making various family members crazy quizzing me. There was not one waking moment that I was not listening to music and trying to absorb every last la, la, la, la from Billy Joel to every honky tonk drawl of Billy Ray Cyrus; you name it, I was learnin' it.

In the process of studying lyrics, I realized one important thing. I didn’t know SHIT for lyrics. I know A LOT of music, and a wide variety of music, but lyrics were really not my strong suit. I started to panic. What had I gotten myself into?” I tossed and turned at night, overcome with anxiety. But thankfully there was really not that much time to worry because time flew and two weeks later I was on the CBS lot, next to the legendary Price is Right sound stage, meeting my fellow contestants and wondering if the camera was going to pick up wrinkles laugh lines. Holy Crap!

I had selected my friend Lisa, who was at the original audition with me, and who knows lyrics WAAAAY better than I do, and my sister Laurie who is my backbone, as my two “back-ups” on the show. Back-ups are similar to “life-lines” on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and they were actually able to be on stage with me during the taping so I could call on one of them to help me answer one of the questions (which I will get to later).

Before any filming began, the producers gathered all the contestants and their back-ups together around a conference table and had the Fox lawyer talk us through a mammoth contract filled with dizzying legal mumbo jumbo. The three main take-aways from the contract:

1. We must not tell ANYONE what happens on the show. Or else they will come after us for $1 million dollars.
2. If we win, we do not get paid until after the show airs.
3. If they do not air our episode for whatever reason, we do not get paid, even if we win.

I shrugged my shoulders, said, “alright, alright, alright,” signed on the dotted line not paying much attention and got ready to rock that mic, hard. “Let’s do this!”

After 2 days of waiting around, in a dark, dank window-less conference room, listening to everyone around me sing Celine Dion and Mariah Carey songs ad nauseum, my segment producer FINALLY came in and said, “Mary, you’re up next.”

HOLY SHART! "Do I have time to run to the bathroom?"

An intense rush of adrenaline accompanied by an explosion of sweat in places I never knew I could sweat hit me and off we squealed and sauntered down the hallway of my destiny.

We sat in a room just off from the sound stage and my segment producers got me fired up. We rehearsed my sounds bites and then they reviewed the three cardinal sins of what NOT TO DO (and I paraphrase):

1)     DO NOT ask Wayne for help, he can’t help you and won't help you.

2)     DO NOT refer to your back-ups as “life-lines” this is not Millionaire.

3)     Don’t be funnier than Wayne.

Next they escorted me backstage, to mic me and touch up my lip gloss. I could hear the crowd warm-up guy talking to the LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE, getting them fired up and I began to lose all sense of feeling in my body.

And then, I saw Wayne Brady.

My producer said, “Mary meet Wayne. Wayne, Mary.”

 “Good to how are funny you are love me you.”

WHAT???

I lost all control of my tongue too and thought I was going to collapse right there into his bright white sportscoat. But then I regained composure and said,

“I’m so excited to meet you. I’m gonna need your help out there.”

Shit! I just broke the first Cardinal Rule—Wayne can’t help you, don’t ask for his help. What I meant to say was that I would need his good, positive energy and pearly white smile to help me get through it emotionally, but it came out ALL WRONG.

“Uh, I can’t help you girl.” And off he went onto the stage. Things were not off to a good start.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Sorry, don’t kill me, but I just cannot make this post any longer. Tune in tomorrow for PART 4 to find out how many cardinal rules I broke and if I won the million dollars.

Last night, as I was putting the girls to bed, I picked up a dolly off the ground and handed it to Lexi. She cuddled it immediately and gave the plastic, bald headed dolly a few loving strokes. I could see Lily eyeballing the love fest from across the room.

Lily: Mom, I think that's my dolly.

Me: Oh man, I can never keep your dollies straight. Sorry Lil.

Lily: That's okay. But mom, I think you need to put your brains in.

Me: Great idea! If you can find them for me, I'll get right on that.

She looked over to the nightstand and spotted her favorite Brobee figurine.

Lily: I think Brobee has them.

She grabbed miniature Brobee, made a few sound effects with concurrent hand gestures as if she was performing robotic surgery on the green figurine and then deliberately walked back to me, drilled an imaginary hole in my head and returned the brains I have been missing since getting knocked up in 2005.

Many thanks to my little Lily and to the glow-stick-carrying-ravers creators of Yo Gabba Gabba for bringing back my brains. I have seriously been missing them for a long time.

We'll know if it worked if I can remember to get the clothes out of the drier or to shave my legs before my date night.

Somehow I doubt it.

SD Mommy Bloggers at the Fox 5 Studio

The taping went fairly smoothly, but watching the segment back makes me want to cringe, like when I'm watching The Office or Curb Your Enthusiasm, AND it made me want to go get that Botox I was wanting for Xmas that I never got. Maybe for my birthday present?

If you're so inclined to watch the Fox 5 Segment, CLICK HERE. (It's in two parts so you'll have to click another link once the first one is finished).

The Biggest GLEEK posing at the Fox 5 Studio

And in more FOX talk, since Idol is getting down to the top 10, it's time for an IDOL recap to see if I can drum up some interest for a pool.

Side note: Betting on sports and reality tv shows is the thing I miss the most about the corporate world. That and the birthday lunches. I used to run and/or participate in a pool for everything from NFL and March Madness to Survivor and Idol. I am having MAJOR withdrawls so I'd like to start one with my readers--who's in??? (though I'm not sure if this is legal? Can someone please advise?)

• My biggest and boldest prediction is that Big Mike and Crystal will be duking it out in the finals. His rendition of This Woman's Work was spellbinding (after the breast cancer dance from STYCD I can't hear that song without crying) and she just needs to make a record tomorrow.
• I love Didi and Lilly, though I think Lilly needs to come out of her shell and give us a little more Oomph (not to be confused with ooph).
• Tim Urban might become the WonderBread version of Sanjaya. He'll keep comin' back for more each week cause he'll have the tween vote. And the creepy old man who pose as tweens on-line vote.
• And I think Katelyn got her idea for the keyboard from our JAY-Z/Alicia Keys parody. Mama Mary made keyboards cool again!
• Andrew Garcia had me at Straight Up in the early auditions but has not lived up to his initial impression. I liked his Genie in a Bottle rendition last night but he really needs to BRING IT!
• I'm a big Lee D. fan. Big. Fan.
• Casey James does not do it for me, like he does for Kara, but he does have a great voice. Just needs a little more personality. The wilted daffodils on my table have more personality that he does.
• The rest are not yet mention worthy by this FOX-Y mommy blogger yet.

A few last questions before I wrap it up:

• Who's in for the pool?
• Is a pool even legal?
• Who are your faves?
• Why does Kara rub up against Simon all night long?
• How are Ellen's eyes so blue?
• And what is up with her neck???
• And why oh why does anyone sing THE MOST PAINFUL SONG IN THE WORLD, ironically called, Smile?

--

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.

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.

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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.