Yes… It’s prom season!

(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

My daughter comes back from her second prom last night, two o’clock in the morning.

It’s tough when you look freaking amazing.

 

And, she had a fabulous time.

It reminds me of when I was back in high school, although I did not go to my senior prom. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, and figured that he was not worth spending an entire night with, much less a bunch of money on, just to go to prom.

No biggie.

Hmmmm.

Prom.

So did I miss anything? Isn’t it just an over glorified dance?

I don’t think I missed anything by not dancing the hoochy-koo with my ex-boyfriend in a gym filled with bad teenage decorations.

I remember watching in an Oprah show on mothers that would do anything to make sure that their daughters are able to go to prom. Because these mothers, had missed their proms and felt like their lives were lacking as a result… of missing prom.

Chill everybody… it’s just freaking prom.

It’s just a dance.

Granted, it’s a nice memory. Nothing to get your whole life worked up over.

These moms were putting ads in local newspapers, spreading the word, even paying some of these boys to take their daughters to prom. Just because they, themselves, felt like they had missed out on something that was life-changing.

Isn’t that sad?

These women… and at least their 40s, were still hanging on to the fact that they hadn’t gone to prom… and they were going to make damn sure that their daughters didn’t have that same baggage.

Frankly, I don’t think their daughters would’ve had that baggage unless that baggage was suggested to them by their own mothers.

It’s just prom. Right? Am I missing something here?

I don’t think so.

Now, I knew that all my friends were at the party having a good time.

And, I was a little blue that wasn’t there. It’s true.

And then… I got over it.

I got to spend time with my irritating brother, and my silly dad, and my good-cooking mom.

Not too bad… really. They’re great people.

So, I’m glad to say that my daughter went to her second prom. And she had a great time at each prom, but had she not had a date she would’ve gone alone… and still had a great time.

This is the beauty of the modern teenager… That in this day and age you can go to prom by yourself. You don’t have to bring in three-eyed cousin from Nebraska just to be your date.

When I was going to prom… you did not go alone. Period. End of Story. That’s it folks. No Hans Solo.

And, all those women that were on the Oprah show, I believe that they were not “socially allowed” to go alone either. That there was some stigma attached to just hang with your friends at a big dance.

Luckily, with the progression of civilization we have accepted the fact that people can have fun alone… without a date… just hanging with your friends.

Thank god we have made major strides.

Right.

Oprah moms. Get over it.

Move on, Moth-ah!

Graduate from high school.

I am here to tell you there is life after prom.

I promise.

😉

Belle

A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winning Author   

 Finalist in Broad Humor Film Festival Screenwriting Contest — Announcing “PICKLED TINK” — Screwball Comedy Screenplay!   Belle Karper, Award-Winning Author, Screenwriter, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com
WHY THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – The Ridiculous Escapades of Belle Karper on YouTube!

All on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

YOU make plans, but LIFE has other arrangements…

(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

This last week has been another lesson in… “YOU make plans, but unknown to you, LIFE has already made other arrangements.”

Last Wednesday, right before I was to leave for a four-day conference, I and my husband took my son out for frozen yogurt. Just a little treat, a little fun, before I was to leave for four days.

So as I am standing there, I noticed something different about my son, and I mention it to him. I joke with him, that maybe he is goofing around with me, and that he should cut it out.

He swears to me that he is just eating his frozen yogurt.

So I look at him, and like I said, he seemed different to me.

We go back to the house, laughing and giggling. I disregarded the prior incident as just being “nothing.”

Then I see the problem again, with my son.  “Honey, cut it out,” I say to him.

“Mom, I’m not doing anything.”

I grab him. I look at him. And I said, “Okay, we are all going to the hospital.”

That is when this difficult journey began… and also the tears.

I would like to tell you what’s going on with my son, but I know that he wants me to keep his privacy.

I’m sure that you understand.

However, we spent the entire Wednesday night into the early hours of the morning in the emergency room.

Of course, I could not go to my four-day conference. My place was with my son.

From that moment on, every single day since last Wednesday, we have spent in hospital rooms, doctors offices, labs, specialists, and we even went to a world-famous Institute that specializes with my son’s current issue.

He has had so many tests now that he is bruised from poking, and probably now glows in the dark from all of the x-rays and x-ray type machines.

Still, we have no definitive answers.

I have cried many tears over this.

I want to help him.

I want to save him.

I want this to be over.

But, like I said, I am waiting to find out what LIFE has in store for us.

I am hopeful.

Please send us your good thoughts.

P.S. —  BTW, the guy that runs/owns the 4-day conference is trying to not let me have a refund even though they offer a 100% money back guarantee… I would love to tell you who this is, but I am waiting for him to do the right thing. He even talks about how his turning point in his life was when his wife got cancer… Right… no compassion.

Curious, isn’t it?

Be well,

Belle

A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winning Author  

S. Belle Karper, Award-Winning Author, Screenwriter, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com
WHY THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – The Ridiculous Escapades of Belle Karper on YouTube!

All on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

Hello Dahhhhhlings! (Pics)

(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

Why hello, Darlings!

I just wanted to wish you a happy new year and check in for a moment.

It’s been a wonderful holiday season and frankly we’ve been quite busy with all of our social philandering! You might have read the blog before this one about our holiday party… Wow, what a good time that was! I can still feel the alcoholic vapors radiating from my pores. 😉

Naaa! But it was, just such a blast!

We went away for a week to Sedona. I never really realized how many people didn’t know where Sedona was until my husband happened to mention to some of his coworkers that he was going there. Hello? What’s Sedona? Are you for real?

Let’s just say that it’s one of the most beautiful places on this earth.

The red rock formations that are sprinkled on the landscape are breathtaking. And to have been able to drag our mountain bikes with us from Los Angeles, California to Sedona, Arizona… well let’s just say that were quite lucky to be able to have peddled those paths amongst the cactus and my children’s giggles.

Yes I am quite a lucky woman indeed.

Plus, to have the luxury of my husband preparing all of the mountain biking equipment and carrying the Camelback and making sure that we have our helmets and our gloves and our sunglasses… well, I was quite pampered with the luxury of him and his thoughtfulness. Frankly, I didn’t have to think about a thing except pedal! Yes, now that’s the way I LIKE TO TRAVEL!

Then of course we got back and we all caught the flu, which mine developed into a horrible sinus infection and have been on antibiotics still today. YUCK.

So frankly, I haven’t been online too much because I have been recovering, and have been taking this time it to move great strides on my new book. Which I am totally excited about! It’s humor/suspense, and it’s great fun! I can’t wait to finish it and get it “out there!”

In the meantime, here are some pictures from the holidays…

Much love to you all, and stay away from the freaking flu. It’s a bummer.

holiday dinner

my man and our bikes

the kids

biking bell rock

great shot

beautiful cactus

sedona dirt

slick rock Momma!

snowing in sedona

catching snowflakes

fesitval of lights

our hands

the kids

my silly kids

Happy New Year, everybody!

xoxo

Be well,

Belle

  A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

Farmville… It’s Time We Spoke Out! (Part 1)

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

Okay. First, we need to set a few ground rules here:

1.     I was never going to play Farmville.

I think that it is important to repeat that first assumption here, so I’m to give it a subheading, and going to call it 1A.

1.A. I was NEVER going to play Farmville.

I mean it.

Next…

2.    I don’t know how I’m supposed to deny anybody wanting to give me “Free gifts.”

That’s just rude.

My Momma raised me better than that.

Well… she did…

I mean, if somebody wants to give me a free gift, who am I to deny them the intrinsic beauty of this sharing of two souls when one bestows a gift to me, and then I to them…

Of course, I am simply going to lovingly accept it.

“Thank you, Dahhhling, for the fabulous Banana Tree. It does so come in handy when my husband is away…”    😉

Yes… I will love and adore… cherish, even… every gift.

Even if it’s a lowly apple, cherry or plum tree (lowly as in Farmville standards, of course).

No offense, Dahhhhlings!

By the by… neighbors and friends… keep those Olive and Pomegranate trees coming, ya hear!

Sorry, I had to put in a plug for which free gifts I prefer now.

How sad is that?

Well, so the Lord Almighty, and my Farmville neighbors all know that Belle (that’s me) is a loving and generous receiver of all gifts great and small, and likewise I am a loving and generous gifter.

Shut-up… I am, too.

Everyday, I make a list of the people that give me the Farmville gifts just to make sure that I reciprocate and don’t accidentally skip anybody.

I need a fricking virtual assistant to keep up with the stress of my Farmville.

Yeesh.

Next…

3.    I have never played an electronic game beyond “Guitar Hero.”

And for the record, I play a mean freaking guitar that has buttons on it, okay? 

Don’t try to convert me to the “real” guitar. 

Not going to happen. No way. No how.

I would never cut my acrylic nails, and besides I think those guys are just showing off. The guys playing with the wire stringy “old-fashioned” guitars. They might think that they are more talented than we…

The true heroes of the guitar… the guitars with color-associated buttons on them.

But, we know better… don’t we?

Yeah… guitars with wires on them are old news.

Get with the program, man!

Buttons are “in.”

Just give me a guitar with buttons on it any day… and a couple of double AA batteries, and a Wii that’s plugged in… and I play a mean three-fingered colored-coded guitar.

Oooh, Baby!

Yeah, I know it’s got more than three buttons on it… give me a break.

I can count.

It’s kind of like painting by numbers… but for the guitar… with three to five colors… of buttons.

But, I play on the EASY level — which means that I only play with three buttons… and that since I am a woman, it further means that I am entitled to believe that the EASY level means “Easy Listening.”

And, nothing else.

Got it?

Don’t try to correct me.

We’d all hate for you to get on the “bad list” today.

So, let’s just understand here… just so that we are all on the same page and everything… I play on the “Easy Listening” level with three fingers, three buttons, and three brain cells.

Oh, yeah… And, I only play three songs… But, I am damn good at those three songs.

Right.

I digress.

So, I am trying to apologize in advance that my field of play in the electronic alter-universe is limited, to say the least… and even with that analysis, I am being generous… even to myself.

Next…

4.     I’ve never liked any of those electronic games.

My son plays them with unbelievable expertise.

Not that I’m thrilled with that knowledge, mind you.  

I know this because if he had his druthers, he would be playing his Electronic Games every hour of every moment of every day.

Without pause. Without food. Without oxygen.

Heck, let’s face it — the whole world could be caving in and he would still be shooting out power blazers on a level 39 “Alien Cucumbers Battle Mario’s Speed Racer and Godzilla Fireballs.”

His mad pounding of the keys… well, I just don’t understand the hopping and jumping around and disappearing exploding fire-gonzos and stuff like that.

Big deal, right?

So what, that he hasn’t eaten… done his homework… or blinked his eyes in four hours…

Mere details.

He can’t be bothered.

So, no… I was never really good with the game thing.

But…

Then all my peeps and buds on Facebook started sending me all these gifty things for Farmville…

Who knew?

A Pig here.

A Goat.

Two people even sent me some elephants.

Elephants?

Yeah… like those belong on a farm.

Right.

Guess what they make?

Circus Peanuts.

They make circus peanuts.

Hmmm…

I hate to break it to you… but those are awfully large “circus peanuts” that come out of a cute little elephant, if you know what I mean.

And… I wouldn’t recommend eating any of those so-called peanuts, okay?

Eeeeeeuuuw.

It’s just wrong.

Well… I had 82 (eighty-two) gifts sitting on my Home Page of Facebook.

Go figure.

82.

That’s quite a bit, right?

But… remember, I was NEVER going to play Farmville.

I have got no time.

Right.

My son nearly died when I told him that I had DELETED THEM ALL.

Yes, I deleted all 82 gifts.

I mean, what hell am I going to do with a pig that finds truffles, right?

I don’t even freaking like truffles.

Gag.

So, needless the say, “am-scray on the ig-pay.”

Until… my son showed me the Farmville light…

I never deleted any gifts again.

Eeeeek!

TO BE CONTINUED!!!            

TO CONTINUE THE STORY ******* CLICK HERE *******

Be well,

Belle

  78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

What I Missed… and What I Didn’t…

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

 

My darling husband went on this moutain biking trip.

I couldn’t go because I had to stay home and do the “Mommy Thing” and send my kids off to the Homecoming Dance in style (my son’s first!).

So this is what I missed in Bryce Canyon…

Utah...

Riding the "fin" in Bryce -- I have had nightmares about rides just like this!

 

Beautiful Bryce Canyon

 

This is the trail... Riding between rocks instead of trees...

I call this "The Balls" of Bryce Canyon!

 

AND this is what I didn’t miss… My kid’s Homecoming Dance…

 

 

 

And, here he is...

My Handsome Guy

My Precious Duo

My daughter and her date... Yowza

Some of the Gang...

My Girl and her Crew!

I figure Bryce will still be there after this dance… but, this night…

Well, you get the picture.

Be well,

Belle

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

142 Kids to my House for Pasta?

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

Okay, so here’s the deal-e-o…

 

Last night, against my better judgment, I agreed several weeks ago to host my son and daughter’s cross-country team’s pasta party carboloading-hormone blast.

This under the expressed request of the Team Captain, who by the way happens to be a headstrong no nonsense kind of girl, namely my daughter.

I just don’t know where the hell she gets her ball busting ways, but she was intent on hosting this party…

Yes, I just don’t know where she got these personality traits…

She insisted. My son insisted. I bought pasta.

But the question still remains, what the hell was I thinking?

Their cross-country team consists of 142 kids.

Ugh.

That’s right, 142 kids — no typo. This was a real shindig of high school hopping hormones.

Double Ugh.

(This is me screaming) Aaaaaaaaaah…. aaaah… a…  …. …. (passed out from dread….)

Okay once again, I ask, “Have I lost my mind?”

Possibly.

Not an answer that I like to treat lightly. But, definitely a possibility.

So yes, I agreed to cook pasta for 142 kids that were over-eating for an impending cross-country meet.

Do you all know how much teenagers actually eat anyway?

I am here to tell you that they eat a-fricking-lot of food.

And, these kids were coming over to my house last night to “Bulk Up” on carbs so that they could outperform their competition the next day.

Bulk up?

….   …. (me passed out again…)

I had serious “performance anxiety.”

Serious.

Tranq.

Thank God for technology.

So, I started boiling these giant lobster pots, that each held about 1,000,000 gallons of water. The giant white one, actually boiled 6 pounds of dried pasta at a time. I just think about that — the hugeness of the pot… the amount of water… and 6 pounds of cooked pasta… just the way that alone was enough to break my back and scrawny little arms.

I’m not built for crap like this.

Granted, the side benefit was the water steaming on my face that created a sauna effect to clear out my pores. However, the fact that I almost dumped hot boiling water and cooked pasta down the front of me — well, the cleansing of said pores (which I am not admitting that I have such pores that actually need cleaning) was hardly a silver lining…

When all is said and done, I counted the empty 1 pound cellophane bags of pasta that were ripped open in a huge pile on the floor —  18 pounds of pasta cooked, I was finished. In more ways than one.

Since I did this pasta party thing last year, and obviously didn’t learn from the event enough to say “No!” this year, I have now come up with a system, so to speak.

First, I go to the $.99 store and buys some of those large aluminum trays so that I don’t have to wash anything at the end of this carboloading event.

18 pounds of pasta? I bought eight huge aluminum trays.

Then you have to make sure that you have the extra large aluminum foil — only by Reynolds. You don’t want an aluminum foil faux pas, so you can only trust the best. Heavyweight, by the way. Costco. And, while you’re there get plates, glasses, flatware, napkins, and a book entitled, “Where did I lose my Sanity, again?”

Then you buy a vat of butter.

Not patties. Not sticks. The largest container of butter that you can find. The end.

And, you will use all of it. Slick those noodles so that they won’t stick together… ever. You cover with the aluminum foil and then stack them in your oven (at 200 degrees) with cookie sheets separating so that they don’t fall into each other and smash the pasta below.

Brilliant, huh?

I know.

Don’t ask how I came up with this idea. Maybe it was because last year all of the trays were stacked one on top of the other and mashed the pasta turning into one giant noodle per tray… maybe that was the incentive for my brilliance.

Maybe.

But, I have to say, that the kids that came last night were truly nice, honorable and well behaved kids.

I think this is due to the fact that cross country runners are true athletes. Very focused. Individuals with literal goals.

They are each beautiful in their own way. So cute the way they giggle about completely inane things.

I remember giggling about inane things.

It was only yesterday.

And, I’m not in high school anymore. Thank God.

I have to tell you that last night went so smoothly, that I would do it again and again for these kids. I’ve had pasta parties for other teams and there were problems where the kids tried to get into the liquor cabinets and things like that…it was disappointing.

However these kids, just wanted to eat, have fun, and they even helped me clean up.

Think about that.

I’m going to repeat that — they helped to clean up!!!

It was wonderful.

So maybe that’s why I did it, to make my children happy and to revisit the cuteness of high school…

Maybe that’s why I chose the insanity of cooking 18 pounds of pasta (and by the way, about 4 gallons of Ragu! Yes, gallons!)

And, I guess I haven’t learned my lesson, because I would do it again… and again.

Lovely kids.

Truly lovely.

So, if you get the opportunity to give a pasta party for your child’s cross-country team, don’t hesitate… but, DO buy enough pasta — they are going to eat it!

I’m thinking about catering…. Nah. 😉

Be well (sorry, no pics, “…. too embarrassing,” my kids said!),

Belle

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

A Lot Going On in the Mirror . . .

I was waiting in the house . . . for my son . . . waiting . . .

“Why are you late?”

“I was looking in the mirror,” he said.

“What?”

“Looking in the mirror.”

“Right.”

“Right, yeah, uh-huh. Just look at me, mom . . . I’ve got a lot happening here.”

“Yeah?”

“See, yeah, right?” he nods assumptively, as if I should already know this.

I swear the way kids talk these days.

So, he walks away from me.  And, I am still standing there . . . waiting . . .

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“I’m looking in this mirror here,” and he points to the mirror in the entry. He has now gone from the upstairs mirror in his bathroom, now to the downstairs mirror next to me.

But, it’s really as if I am not there at all.

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, mom, looking in the mirror here. Checking me out.” he says . . . “This may take a while . . . ”

He smiles into mirror. Does a little smirky thing that is supposed to entice another 14-year old girl to join his harem. He tosses his head, and his hair lands in the perfect skater-boy swish to the side of his face. He does a chin nod, to confirm his studliness. He is entranced by his own boyish “Man”liness. So bewitched, that he is not moving.

“Uh . . . Okay, honey. Well . . . uh . . . I ‘m going to go into the other room and watch TV,” and I begin to walk down the hall. “Are you going to come with me?”

“Is there a mirror in there?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

He starts to follow me. Still in his 14-year old year old innocence, in 20-feet he will know that I lied. Poor thing. I guess he’ll have to watch the TV instead.

Aaaaaah. To be 14 again.

I guess he’s got a lot going on there . . .

Gotcha! He’s such a funny kid.

Unfortunately, he barely looks in the mirror. That, and the shower, another aversion of the 14-year old male soul.

Be well,

Belle

So, y’all come back, now. Ya’ hear?

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website