Baby got crack.

<---- Queen B's Dream House.

"Why didn't I stay in real estate?" That was the question I muttered under my breath to my pal Jason last week when our crazy client had me in the midst of yet another fire drill on a Friday afternoon. My mind was already on weekend decompress - and I was forced to crunch out a project within a couple hours that afternoon. My ever-so wise pal responded to me with "Because advertising is like crack. You should write about that in your blog."

A-HA! How profound was that? He's always saying profound things that make the light bulb go off in the fog that is my brain. I thought that I didn't have an addictive personality. But now that he mentioned it ... I am a glutton for stressful and demanding jobs working for clients with unrealistic expectations. Hence the brief stint in real estate. And the same reason I can't break away from advertising, I guess. Advertising is my first love though. When I'm allowed to be part of a team engaged in a truly strategic initiative, devising the best way to reach the audience - there is nothing else like it. I'm in my element. I become obsessed. And it's truly addictive.

<--Baby Brother's Next Home in Phoenix. I just know it!

So here's my latest addiction. Even though I'm not in real estate anymore, my brother's move to Phoneix - along with all the new home purchases going on amongst my co-workers - has sucked me seductively back onto realtor.com. I just keep pouring over all the listings. And getting really frustrated because it doesn't have all the super-juicy details I used to get on the MLS as a licensed realtor. But I've really been searching through the Phoenix area, hoping I'll be able to help my baby bro' find his dream house. What a hoot! I've never even been to Phoneix - but, by gosh I will find it for him! He's there this weekend house-hunting with a realtor - but I keep calling him with properties I've found online so he'll make sure to check out my picks too!

I can't stop .............

Help me, please!

H is for HOME

WILD CARD WEDNESDAY. This seems a little corny, but the only thing I could think of for H. House. Home. Home is where the heart is. This HOME happens to be one that belonged to Former President Dwight D. Eisenhower and his wife Mamie. It's located in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Yes, THE Gettysburg, PA where one of the greatest battles of the Civil War took place. Turns out that in Eisenhower's early military career as an officer, there was still an active U.S. Army post there - and he was stationed there training troops. The family was a typical military family and moved often, always looking for a way to feel at HOME in each new location. When Eisenhower faced retirement from military service, the family decided to settle back around Gettysburg - and were lucky enough to find a small farm right on the edge of the battlefields where Eishenhower had studied and meditated for inspiration in his younger career. When he became president, it was ideal that they owned the place. Because it's less than an hour and a half from D.C. We visited the HOME last year during our jaunt back East. The property itself is beautiful and interesting. But the house itself is sooooo dated - and they've obviously kept it that way to preserve as a museum. But after the first renovation merging/adding on to the old farmhouse, don't think Mamie made any other updates for decades. A lot of memorabilia and collectibles. Fun to visit the area and take it all in. Really pretty countryside, putting green (Ike was an avid golfer), gardens. But a rather HOMELY house on the inside if you ask me. To each his own. I'm sure it was lovely for 1950 America. Or not. At least I've done my part in imparting a little useless U.S. trivia your way. (That's the eldest Jr. B standing out front, facing away from the camera. She's a goof.)

Own the lot.

Speaking of V-dubs. This is what our work parking lot looks like on any common day of the week. Take your pick. "Mun-day. Twos-day. Weds-day. Fry-day." (To quote The Godfather.) We are affectionately known by the rest of the building as "The VW People." It looks like a color-coded dealership - or like we have a designated fleet. Not only are they all V-dubs from about the same year (hint: similar body style across models), but they are all silver. Although we might not want to admit it (we couldn't have intentionally been so clever to have designed it out this well), we didn't plan this. All employees of the same company, but all hired at different times. And all owned the vehicle when we started. Fortja's is the Passat in the middle. And if you couldn't tell the difference, that's Woody's twin P on the right. My Jetta on the left again. Okay. No, those aren't the EXACT car pics. But you get the effect it creates when they are all parked side-by-side. We've freaked out more than one fellow building-dweller. The funny thing is that there are also a couple of navy Jettas of approximately the same model year owned by other people in the lot and another silver Passat of approximately the same model year in the lot to the right. They are all within viewing distance of one another. I haven't seen this many VWs randomly in such short vicinity of each other since my last Orlando trip. I don't know what it is about VWs and Florida. But they got 'em there as thick as the mosquitos. Maybe they ship the Jettas across the Gulf from Mexico real cheap-like. Needless to say, we dominate the lot. It's a pretty picture. Makes me feel all brand-loyal and whatnot.

Double-dipping.

I just discovered a new, secret passion this weekend. Wow. Who would have thought? Edy's Limited Edition Girl Scouts Thin Mint ice cream. For those who pine for Thin Mints in about June when those hidden away in the icebox have suddenly disappeared until the following January, this is like an answer to a desparate prayer! We found a few half-gallons hidden in our local grocer's freezer - so gave it a whirl. And weren't disappointed. It doesn't quite top my ultimate fanatic pick, Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. But B&J's is a classic that can't often be rivaled.

I live for moments like this.

Talk about your Kodak moment. In the land of You-know-where, we have a big festival every May. The end of the week+-long event always ends in a twilight pops concert accompanying a gigantic fireworks extravaganza. This year, my family joined a private party that included work friends and families. The party included balcony seats from a prime building location in the heart of the event. Fortunator took this photo (disclaimer, disclaimer, disclaimer he declared: "With my camera PHONE) of his son and mine peering over the balcony to watch the fireworks. Camera phone or not, it was a great shot. They are both in the same grade at school - and I think both are as mischievous as the day is long. Which is typical of boys this age. But they are captured here in a very sweet moment in time. I just love it.

Props to J x 2

I can't believe it's been almost a week since I last blogged! It's been a little busy at the ol' ad shop. But I'm feeling really inspired by the last few weeks. Almost two years ago, I lost my job at a larger agency due to a layoff - and took a job at a newer start-up. I went from a supervisory-level position to the role of an entry-level ad girl. I had to make a lot of compromises to survive the transition and culture shock. It's been a rough road.

But within the last month - and more recently over the last few weeks - some changes have been in the works that are allowing me to regain some of what I lost. Including the addition of some really smart people whom I'm proud to call my peers and teammates. It's amazing what a few changes - in role, culture and smart people surrounding you - can do to make you happier in such a short time. My persepctive is really different than it was at the beginning of 07.

So here's a shout-out to friends who have recently made my life a little sweeter: Fortunator and Badway. It's a pleasure!

Age to age and flashbacks.

There have been so many things of late that remind me how fleeting our days are - how our lives pass in seasons or "ages." I don't mean just age as in the number of years old you may be. But the season or periods of our lives that are wrapped around or designed for development or growth or a rite of passage. It is not always evident that we have slipped mysteriously from one age to another either - until a new event or moment unearths the discovery.

For a decade, I was a young 20-something, graduating from college, finding my niche in the work-a-day world and developing a career, meeting my beau who would become my husband and father of my children. I was set and on my way. Next came the late 20s and early 30s and starting a family. My career was a little more established and I was feeling pretty good about my place in life. I LOVED having infants and toddlers. It was exhausting and eye-opening, but life was fresh and new and so many opportunities lie ahead. I liked being a young mother. Then somehow my babies turned into grade school children and we entered a whole new "age" and life existence. New "friends" (parents of kids in our kids' classes), teachers and principals, organized athletics and activities, programs and concerts, practices and games. Whew! It was an adjustment. Not sure I have it well managed yet. And I was still exhausted.

Now our kids are all in grade school (my baby is in 2nd) and middle school, preparing for high school. The tide has shifed again. We are starting to think about insuring them to drive and what vehicle we will intrust to them. Do we like their friends and should we let them go on out-of-town trips without us? What college will they attend and why? Will there be enough money to support their endeavours? Each age brings a whole new mindset and all new questions and answers. We become different people as we move through these ages of time, continually adapting and changing to fit our new position or place. (And there's that exhaustion thing again.)

A co-worker of mine just had a baby last week. I saw pictures for the first time last night! Boy, there is nothing like pictures of a first-week newborn to take you back to a different age in time! It really was not that long ago when I was the late 20-something having my first baby. I can still smell the sweet smells (along with the not-so-sweet), feel the soft skin and tiny fingernails of both my baby boys. The flashbacks make me weepy. Now I have passed the baton to a "new" first-time mom. She is the one who is craddling and swaddling the precious new babe and learning to anticipate and distinguish each and every whimper and cry. It's a truly precious time. But she is also the one up two, three, four times during the wee hours for nightly feedings. And mixing formula. And changing diapers. Figuring out how the carrier fits into the base of the car seat. Packing up the whole house just to run to the grocery store for a few little necessities.

Okay. So maybe we painstakingly "earn" our way out of each age. And maybe we wouldn't trade going back for anything in the world. It was fun and time well spent - but better to push on to the next exciting age around the next bend in the road. I'm ready to grab the baton.

Dorothy, Toto and The Big Well

So it's springtime in Kansas again. Torrential rains, thunderstorms and twisters are the name of the game. Almost every year, Nature does her best to get the best of the God-fearing inhabitants of this state. And all inhabitants are God-fearing because we live in Kansas. With the twisters. And the thunderstorms. And their sister floods. And the ensuing droughts which then follow in July and August. You definitely can't let Nature or fear get the best of you to survive here.

Last week, a F5 tornado took out 95% of Greensburg, Kansas - a little town of 1,200 or 1,400 or 1,600 or 1,800 people (pick a number, the media seem to be randomly guessing so you should too) - about an hour-and-a-half west of Wichita. Most of the major facilities that small communities are built upon - like the post office, all the schools, government buildings - were totally destroyed. All the utilities were completely sacked. From the media photos, it looks worse than a war zone. And I can relate to your hometown and all you've known being devastated by such a disaster because my hometown of Andover, Kansas was ravaged by a tornado in 1991. Many of the important landmarks and history you've come to know as your own are no longer standing. Lives are lost - which is of course the thing that can't be replaced. But we were lucky. This tornado cut through the southern part of town - a residential strip, leaving most of the historical and necessary community buildings. But Greensburg was just totally wiped out. I don't know how they'll rebuild their town and community. But I'm sure they will. That's how we Kansans are. Hearty people from the heartland. Don't know why we seem so insistent to make our homes on the plains. Maybe because we're here. And there is a lot of room to build a home and life out here. Even when Nature knocks you down and makes you start over again.

But Greensburg had a little luck too. The deepest hand-dug well - this little town's big claim to fame - is still there. The giftshop and rest of the attraction's facilities were plowed. But the well is still there. Because of course, it's under the ground. How lucky is that? So if a town can wrap it's spirit around a big hole in the ground, they ought to be capable of anything.

President Bush visited there today. He too was impressed with the big ole' hole in the ground that's still there when the whole town is gone.

Actually, I don't know that President Bush even knew about the well. But we sure all knew about his trip to Greensburg. And Air Force One flying into Wichita for the Blackhawks to take W out to Greensburg impressed us Kansans who are so incredibly bright we choose to build houses in tornado alley.

Seriously now. Our hearts truly do go out to our fellow Kansans who lost homes and lives in this latest weather-related tragedy. And it is an inspiration to see Kansans pull together to help our fellow statesmen in need. Godspeed for a healthy recovery and new life ahead.

Reality check.

Are women allowed to have a midlife crisis? I've been wondering that a lot this last year. I suffered through a 20-year, high-school reunion in October. It wasn't that bad as it turned out, I guess. There were plenty of gals and guys who aged a lot less gracefully than myself. But then there were those Barbie dolls who are even more of a Barbie than 20 years ago who make you feel really inferior and, well, old. I swear that one of my gal pals from back then is even more attractive than she was before. And not only does she look like a marathon athlete, tanned, blonde and gorgeous - she IS a marathoner. As well as a successful doctor. With three beautiful children, including a set of twins - boy and girl. Ugh. If I didn't like her so much, I would have thrown up on her right then and there. But worse than feeling uptight about my own aging, I felt more than a little anxiety for the boys who had turned into men (not the BOYS we said goodbye to in '86) by shooting up a couple more inches, growing shoulders and filling out in a few more places than just the pecs. There were more than a few beer-belly paunches and bald heads. I recognized ALL the girls, but there were several guys I would not have recognized if I'd literally bumped into them at the mall in their old letter jackets. At least it was reassuring to know that my peers had aged right along with me.

I now have a daughter in middle school who decided to go out for volleyball this year. Of course, I had to prove my old state volleyball team status by "helping her practice." Oh, yeah. I was the clutch server and backrow digger back in 86. If the coach wanted to target weak defense on the opposite side of the net, I was recruited to expertly smash her face in with a strategically placed, lethal overhand serve. We had a few all-state players on my team, and we competed for the state title my senior year (see the pic - guess which is me). It's not just men who think they are invincible and still have the athlete's ego they did in their glory days. For weeks, I was out in the sideyard volleyball "court" my husband set up for our daughter to practice, serving to her for hours at a time. I can only remember being really sore one day the first week. But I STILL HAD IT! And I was getting a lot of joy in showing my girl that ol' mom was better than her at something since all teenagers think their parents are the biggest idiots that ever walked the planet. Well, later that month, I reached behind my back to hand my youngest son some silly little thing he thought he needed in the car. And WHAM, BAM%$#*&$%!!! My third-decade glory days were over. Something popped, pulled and sent a sharp stabbing pain from my shoulder clear down my arm. I literally doubled over in pain. It was a good thing I wasn't actually driving or we would have been bouncing off the curb or in a ditch off the interstate. Well, here it is 6 months later and I'm still in physical therapy. I have tendonitis and "frozen shoulder," meaning I have really limited range of motion in that arm - and can't even reach behind me to hook a bra strap, let alone overhand serve a volleyball.

On top of all this, I have to wear "granny" magnifying glasses about 50 percent of the time at the agency, where I do a lot of proofing and copy editing. My new physical therapist just happens to have turned 40 this year herself. I told her that I just don't understand why I shouldn't be able to do the same stunts I did 20 - now 21 - years ago. How did this happen? She wondered the same thing when she did an overhand stroke in the pool last summer and felt that same pop and pull. Well, at least I'm not in that pool by myself. And don't think I'll be running out to buy myself a little red Corvette to prove that I've still got it either. It's obvious I've already lost it. Because that's the other thing that's getting a little rusty - my memory.

Nappy-headed ... huh??

Let me first say that I am not a racist. And I totally support and celebrate minorities and those that fought diversity issues and rose up from a underprivileged life. Even so I will still probably take a lot of ribbing for this, but I cannot believe this thing over Don Imus.

Yeah, he said something really inappropriate. And offensive. No question about that. But did this incident deserve all this publicity? Did he deserve to be fired? He's a shock jock. He's made a career out of being offensive and pushing the envelope. And people eat it up. And the media outlets make a ton of money. Until advertisers start raising flags and pulling support and then the outlets decide to turn tail and cower.

And the African American or black (which is PC nowdays anyhow? - I've lost track) community actually perpetuate this type of inappropriate language by introducing it and proliferating it to begin with. It seems okay as part of the everyday, urban-ethnic lingo. I've heard those same words in popular box-office moneymakers - as well as worse from black music artists. But just wait for a white, 50-something, redneck-type male to slip and use some of those whizzers and it creates a total culture shock and he loses his job.

What about the Rutgers athletes? I'd be offended too, no doubt. But would I be "scarred for life?" Gimme a break. These black women student-athletes have fought diversity and minority issues all their lives and have met the challenges and excel. You'd think they'd have thicker skins than to be "scarred for life" by an insignificant white male whom they've never met and is known for his outlandish offensiveness, designed to create buzz.

AND ... the media just exploits this and perpetuates it further. Bringing it more to light so that people are aware of this type of language. And when you hear it over and again, it becomes part of your own vocabulary toolbox. Sitting in folders in the filing cabinet of your mind just waiting for a random opportunity for it to fly out of your own mouth in an inappropriate way. We don't typically use words we haven't heard before.