TGIF Fill-Ins

1. How can I be sure you really are a Young Rascal?

2. What would weed-ius do?

3. My hair obeyed my every command today.

4. Family reunion avoiders anonymous.

5. My favorite summer fruits are cherries and mango.

6. Yumm, that was delicious, thanks... er wait ...what was that?

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to watching instant movies on Nitflex, tomorrow my plans include tennis and Sunday, I want to huddle in the air conditioning with my hubs!

Cleeck on zee link if yee wish to plee Friday Fill-Ins, too.

the scream, redux

If Edvard Munch were still alive, a photographer, in Austin, and sitting on my side porch in the 108 degree heat, here would have been his inspiration for The Scream.

It is that hot and it isn't just my candle that is melting around here.

ding! ding! ding! my 100th follower!

I have been waiting, I kid you not, months, if not 3 years, 7 months and 3 days, for my pathetic 96 followers (the number 96, not the actual persons following) to grow to an awe inspiring 100. And guess what? It happened. Today. (Check sidebar to the right to verify).

Ding! Ding! Ding! (Insert 3-second soundbite).

(Which I couldn't find so I inserted this 4-minute music video instead, Gunther's ding ding dong song. I suggest you click the arrow and listen as you read my dedication post.)

Okay so the best part of my 100th follower experience? I didn't even have to go trolling to lure this honorable personage to my blog table.

No, readers, he found me! Because with a name like ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL I presume he identifies with the male gender. One never knows these days.

Just to be sure, I also looked at his profile picture.

Yes, I would say he is , in fact, a he.

But then, as I was uploading ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's picture so my other 99 readers could gender judge for themselves (or gendge for short, because I do believe we need a new verb for this specific purpose, don't you?) I noticed that his profile image was labeled "keanu." So now, unfortunately, ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's gender certainly is further obscured.

Sorry for the ambiguity, ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL. Feel free to jump in and clarify.

By the way, if ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL had used this image of keanu as his profile picture I would have been even more confused.

But back to this amazing masterstroke of blogenius, which is ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL electing to become my 100th follower, or, 100th sexiest person alive as the case may be. In honor of this hallowed event, I have decided to dedicate one post to this incredibly kind individual. Or more precisely, his blog.

And thank the almighty gord lod, ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's blog, Appellate Sky, is effing hilarious. A stroke of comic genius. I mean, whoever would have thought one could stay awake through, let alone emit laughter* throughout, a blogpost talking about the termination of the space shuttle program?

But it is true, my other 99 friends. Trust me on this. You will not be sorry to read about ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's excellent adventure through the intergallactica in his 2002 Chevy Malibu. Nor about the 4000 ton dildo for moms. Who among us can resist that?

I am every bit serious about the laughter factor, that is, in case you think my attempt at acerbic wit undermines my sincerity. I also want to add that he is a southern gentleman who hails from the state of my maternal heritage, Louisiana.

So thank you ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL for jumping aboard and thank you to my other sexy, smart, kind and amazing 99 loyal followers (and to those 8 who routinely leave comments to prove your loyalty) for helping give my humble coffeeyogurt some semblance of blogospheric relevance.

And now? I am going to spend the rest of my Saturday morning reading more about that 4000 ton dildo.

*when a smile has an orgasm, as defined by urban dictionary.

digi-history in the making: first text ever from my husband

Whereas I am ever one-pay-scale-away from becoming a device-slut, it could be said that Sam has bought a ticket on the slow boat to digi-land.

As in,

- it was the year 2010 before he replied to his first email

- 2011 before he composed one from scratch

Put a nail gun or a miter saw in his hand and he is home on the range. Digital texting? Not gonna happen.

Until tonight. He is away tending to his mother. He and his sister are at her house. It's looking to be the first step along the path of moving her toward an assisted living situation. Convincing her. Not something any son or daughter looks forward to.

So while I was grocery shopping, I sent him a text for the first time*

A bit anti-climactic, wouldn't you say? Instead of replying, I just smiled. And waited for him to call, i.e., bypass the whole confounded texting nonsense. In his mind, not mine. Me? I lubs me some texting.

*Thanks to Mental P Mama and her Parentexting series, I was able to take a screen shot of her screen shot and pretend that I can take a screen shot of my own.

dead at 27

Amy Jade Winehouse

(14 September 1983 — 23 July 2011)

I am stunned but not surprised. Sad to the point of tears. I loved this young singer's voice. So bluesy and raw. This decade's Janice.

I remember so clearly the first time I heard Amy's music. A driveway moment. Saturday night. Sitting in the living room of friends. Vodka and cranberry in my hand. A vintage orange and pink tumbler.

Who is this? I loved what I heard. The newly acquired Back to Black, Amy's album destined to win six Grammies. I asked to replay the album later in the evening. I was so excited to hear someone new, someone who sounded this good. I never stopped loving her sound.

And then the drugs. Those reapers of so many young and troubled musicians. A tabloid photo showing her arms so thin, her skin so sallow. References to meth addiction. It occurred to me, She could die, too. I anxiously followed her up and down progress.

And now today.

Rest in peace, Miss Winehouse. You sure didn't seem to rest on this earth.

when faces talk

When it comes to cleaning it's always been this way for me - I don't need to clean so much as I need a reason to clean. This weekend I had my reason. My sister and two little nieces are flying down from the north country.

While I was cleaning and vacuming the car (twice a year affair, if that) I found myself smiling despite the one hundred degree temperature and the sweat dripping down my nose. I was thinking about how my sis and I get to laughing hysterically during our visits, mostly because she makes the most ridiculous faces.

Some people call it mugging.

Mugging seems to be a family tradition. My mother always made crazy faces, usually conveying surprise or mocking disapproval. Then there's my sister who routinely puts on clown faces. And now my daughter. When she was a toddler, my husband's sister remarked how animated she was. I didn't understand what she meant. She said my daughter was a lot like me and my sister in that way, that we were so expressive. Huh? I still didn't get it. What was so different about us? I was intrigued.

Many years later I do get it. I've been paying attention. Whereas I used to think everybody made faces when they talked, I've come to see that people's expressiveness ranges from rarely using gestures to regularly making faces to tell a story or emphasize a point or punctuate a joke.

My husband, Sam, and his sister are quick witted and funny but hardly ever make faces in the middle of their story. Maybe never because I can't think of an example where they did.

Some of my friends are dry witted and completely deadpan to the point of almost missing the joke. I like both kinds of humor but think I'm partial to the making faces thing.

Like for instance, my favorite comedians have a thing about mugging:

Martin Short

Kristin Wiig

Andy Samberg

I've also come to realize how much I make faces when I talk. Sometimes I'm overly aware of it. It's like looking out from my own face, noticing my expressions from behind my face and seeing their effect on people. And I wonder if I look ridiculous. If they wonder why the heck I find the need to make so many faces, why can't I simply tell a story without the goofy mannerisms.

What about you? Are you one of the expressives or one of the deadpans?

I want my, I want my, I want my HBO

And not for the movies. I've got Nitflex for that. I want to get HBO so that I can watch this guy:

what besties can teach us

I was reading Jenn's post about a group of bitter divorcees who were handing out advice to their kids on how to avoid a bad marriage: wait until you're at least 30 years old to marry.

I replied that I thought it was ridiculous to pick an arbitrary age and think that is the magic bullet.

I married around the age of 30 and I think I have a pretty good marriage so you might think the bitter divorcee advice holds true. But I dont' think it was just our age that made it so. I think it was the fact that he was available as often as I wanted him to be. He didn't weasel out of dates or show up late or not show up at all. He cared about my well being (in the bedroom, even). He valued me as a friend and as a person with thoughts and opinions that mattered.

Not exactly advice on marriage but a good parallel, I read an article by a therapist who suggested we teach our daughters to only have sex with someone who feels like a best friend, who acts like a best friend. Someone who you can talk to about anything, who you trust will stand by your side, who helps you when you need it, who is reliable, who shows up, who is kind in words and actions. Most of our kids know what a best friend looks like so it's tapping knowledge and feelings they're already familiar with.

What kind of advice would you give someone who wants to know the secret to choosing a healthy mate?

Painting: Besties by Danielle Fraser

blog neglect - guilty as charged

It's been so long since I've posted. I wish I could say the reason for my neglect is that I was vacationing at some gloriously beautiful destination like the one pictured above ... and ... well actually, I will say that.

Because it's true.

San Francisco. Muir Woods. Santa Cruz. Henry Cowell State Park. Monterey. Big Sur. My dream vacation. First trip to California (I know, I know). I loved every minute and have so much gratitude that I got to see it all with my husband and three kids.

That's Big Sur's McWay Falls in the picture. Taken by my own hands with my own trusty camera. No swiping of google images for this cup of yogurt. No sur.

And recovering from this vacation? An acute episode of post vacation blues, people. It has taken quite a lot out of me, this returning to normalcy. So please bear with me while I adjust to life back in Dulltown at my house on Hotashell Boulevard.

take that, texter!

The Alamo Drafthouse is a chain of Austin theatres where food and drink is served. A whole menu of food plus adult beverages.

The caller in this audiotape is angry because she was kicked out of the Drafthouse for texting. Because texting might disturb fellow movie goers. The Drafthouse was so tickled with the voice mail they posted it to Youtube:

Really?

I don't know. Texting doesn't bother me.

Talkers bother me. Crying babies bother me. I missed a punch line in Bridesmaids the other day, thanks to a crying baby.

And you know what else, Drafthouse? Food servers bother me. Food servers walking back and forth, taking orders and delivering the food to the group sitting next to me and in front of me bothers me. Servers stooping to avoid blocking my view bothers me. The fact that they mostly do block my view bothers me.

I find myself worrying for the health of the food servers and their lower backs. I want to tell them, Don't work here too long. When you're my age you'll regret it. I actually want to whisper that. The act of resisting the impulse to give motherly advice bothers me.

And then there's the smell of food. I can't resist looking around to determine what I'm smelling. French fries? Fried okra? Potato skins?

All this looking and worrying and sniffing bothers me. So I haven't gone in a few years. And probably won't unless it's the only theatre in town playing the movie I want to see.

And when I do go? I'll be wearing a nose clip.

What do you think? Do you mind someone texting in a theater? Should someone be kicked out for it?

can you find the roadrunner?

Not that kind.

This kind.

The real deal.

Geococcyx Californianus.

I've lived in Texas for over 25 years and have only seen a handful of roadrunners. The first one I saw was in Big Bend National Park. Sam and I were vacationing, no kids at the time (what? is that possible? a vacation by ourselves? surely I dreamt that up). We were walking up one of the many trails and between us walked a huge roadrunner. Friendly guy, he came within a few feet of us and let us admire his long tail and brown spotted plumage.

Fast forward to the past few months. We've been spotting one in our yard, again and again. The next door neighbors have, too. We've all been wondering what's up.

Wonder no more. Sam was sitting in the throne room one evening recently, looking out his window to the magic kingdom that is our backyard. The window he insisted on designing our master bath around. It was one of the few features of our house that he was adamant about. He wanted that passenger side view.

He saw our roadrunner scuttling up a stand of Live Oaks trees. When he left his observation post, he went outside to see where the roadrunner was headed. He spotted a nest.

In all these years, I assumed roadrunners were ground nesters. Turns out they nest in cactus, low bushes and short trees.

Here's another factoid I was very happy to read:

The roadrunner eats anything it finds, such as scorpions, lizards, rodents, and other birds. It is one of the few birds fast enough to prey on rattlesnakes. It attacks a rattlesnake by grabbing the snake by the tail, and snapping the body so that it beats the snake's head against the ground or a stone until the snake is dead.

Having just had dinner with friends who told me their dog was bit by a rattlesnake, I hope the roadrunner sticks around and rears up many little ones.

See if you can find the roadrunner in her nest:

No?

Try again:

I tried to get closer. If you don't believe me I've got a fire ant bite on my middle toe to prove it. By the time I swatted the fire ant off my foot, I looked up and the roadrunner had taken off.

We've since learned they lay as many as 12 eggs but typically only 3-4 live to make it to the ground. They will be parented for two weeks and then they will be on their own.

We can't wait to meet the baby roadrunners and introduce them to our other exotic backyard bird family,

Mr. and Mrs. Flamingo.

Update: Approximately three weeks later Mr. and Mrs. Roadrunner appear to be the proud parents of baby roadrunner chicks. We don't know how many but we see proud momma and papa running back and forth from the nest carrying darling little gifts of lizards and other foodstuff. We are waiting to see the chicks hopping around on the ground and hoping to get pictures.

note to attorneys in child custody cases

1. Give the psychologist you wish to testify on behalf of your client more than two hours notice especially when she has no idea you're going to call her to the stand. Doubly so when (a) she has no idea she is going to be called as a witness and (b) the courtroom is located in the next county. We do have other clients to consider. We do have several years worth of notes to review. And we might need to fill our gas tanks.

2. Give the correct address of the courtroom. There is a difference between Chestnut and Chester Streets.

3. Introduce yourself when you come out to find the witness. Looking at two waiting therapists, neither of whom have ever laid eyes on you, and asking, Who wants to go first? doesn't cut it. I mean, dude, you want us on your side.

4. Ask one question at a time. Four questions wrapped into one is a sure way to annoy the witness and the judge. It's also a way to get an answer you weren't looking for. We are talking about the future of little kids here, not whether some corporation has to pay a two-bit fine.

5. Don't ask questions that don't have double negatives in them. Meaning, ask questions worded in the positive. It's a whole lot clearer. We witnesses really don't enjoy saying, I'm sorry, that question is too convoluted for me to answer several times in a row.

6. Show the slightest bit of appreciation for the psychologist who, at a moment's notice, rescheduled her afternoon appointments, drove 40 miles, skipped lunch, and, unlike yourself, isn't getting paid.

7. It would be a whole lot more fun for everybody involved if you acted a little more like the attorneys on Boston Legal. Go for edgy and a lot less repetition. One, we'd know what to expect. Two, the judge might actually pay attention. And three, novice expert witnesses like myself might actually look forward to testifying instead of dreading it with every ounce of our being.

Note to the rural county court stenographer? You keep rockin' those rhinestone flip flops.

high college tution: does it pay?

We've got three teens in the house. We are staring down the barrell of a financial shotgun called college tuition.

A few weeks ago we were stunned to learn from a friend whose high school senior got accepted into UC Berkley for the fall that the annual cost of tuition, room, board, books, etc. would be $50K. No financial aid packages available. California would prefer to take a check in full from it's out of state students.

Blew my mind. I knew the Ivy schools would run that high. Didn't expect this from a state university, albeit out of state.

Compare $50K a year to our close-by state university about 30 minutes down the road: less than $20K. Begs this question, does a college diploma that costs $120K more pay off? Even more than that if you add in the interest on student loans. And most kids these days do get loans.

But really, does a kid who graduates from a nationally recognized school experience better financial success?

Something of an answer was in our local paper today. A study by economists Dale & Krueger found that,

"Once you control for aptitude, career earnings don't vary based on the college attended: if you are smart enough to get into a brand-name private university, you'll do just fine going to a state college. What will determine your success will be your aptitude and your work ethic, not the name on your diploma."

So kids? I'd much rather have a $20K t-shirt. No, really.

You can read more on financial lessons for high school grads, here.

what may be the last words from coffeeyogurt for, like, ever

Goodbye Cruel World.

Because there are times when the world is too harsh, too unforgiving, too filled with head lice.

Our first battle was five years ago. Two second graders and one fifth grader. Three long haired kids, thousands of strands to be searched.

We managed to rid the oldest two of their affliction within two weeks. The third child? Long, fine, light brown, copper highlighted locks where lice loved to linger? Took months. A good six months, maybe nine. Some of the worst months of child rearing, I do know that. Nights of crying, whining, howling and growling from the child who, it became apparent, could least bear the suffering.

So of course, this time around, it has to be the copper headed child whose group of friends invited us back to Lice Nation.

I discovered the lice midnight Friday. Which meant delivering the most devastating news of all to a middle school girl's ears: no sleepovers and no slumber parties.

And so everyday for the next several weeks her dad and I will sitting on our picnic table, in the bright sunlight, hunched over our child's head, ensconced in coke bottle glasses bought specifically for the purpose, diligently combing.

Because if there's one tip that I recommend? That finally ended our months of failed attempts?

Reading glasses. The strongest power glasses and the cheapest you can find (thank you Dollar Store).

You may look like a middle aged, transgender Buddy Holly while you're at it but you'll be able to see those little mo-fo Phthiraptera basturds and get your life back.

driving miss crazy

A flat tire, a dead battery, a fender bender, and keys locked in the car. All within the past six months of my teen's new driving career.

All taken care of by johnny on the spot his dad.

Though to give my son proper change-tire-credit, he did get the jack properly situated and was successfully lifting the car when his dad arrived to save the day.

All the while his mom stood by playing with her cell phone wringing her hands like the helpless female stereotype she would prefer to dispel. Mind you, it was my car.

Mind you, I've never changed a tire on my own. Thirty plus years of driving. Though I am good at fetching cold drinks and providing light hearted banter.

But back to the flat tire at hand. When it occurred, we were in front of the main entrance to my son's high school. While he worked the jack his favorite teacher was leaving for the day. He was a young attractive guy. He looked to be in his early 30's. He also looked determined to walk by us as quickly as he could.

Great, I thought. Exactly the first impression I was hoping not to make. I shrugged, gave him a sheepish grin and said,"I don't want to get my pants dirty."

The teacher replied with a look that said, Like I give a crap, lady. I'm sure you're a good mom most of the time." And he kept on walking.

And now to bring you a light hearted look at what was really going on in The Situation Room the night of the Bin Laden invasion. Not to be missed.

driving me to drink

I was driving in the car with my son who is learning to drive. Or to be more accurate, I was being held hostage in the passenger seat wishing I'd asked my doctor for some beta-blockers.

My son was weeks away from taking his driver's test.

I was weeks away from marching up the steps to the Governor's mansion to demand he issue an executive order to pray for rain raise the driving age to 18 21.

We're on a busy highway with cars speeding past. Heading north on Mopac just before Enfield exit, for my fellow Austin road travelers. Right there were the lanes narrow and the congestion gets hairy.

So my unlicensed teen driver was behind the wheel, cars whizzing past, violating every single rule I'm trying to impress on my son as important.

He asks me why it's ok for all the other cars on the road to drive so close to the cars in front of them.

My reply: Experienced drivers often break a lot of safety rules, like tailgating too close and changing lanes without using their blinker. Experienced drivers can get away with it. But you're a new driver and as a new dri---

My son's thoughtful rebuttal: I'm not a new driver, MOM!

My reply: (Screeching in the most undignified manner.) Not a new driver? What?  You don't even have your license yet!

Son: (Very calm and mature-like. I'm not sure where he has learned this.) But I'm not a new driver.

Me: And what is your definition of a new driver, then?

Son: Someone who has just learned to drive.

Three questions:

(1) Is anyone shocked that car insurance rates for new drivers are so high?

(2) Is it too late to find religion?

(2) Can someone please tell me we will survive this?

Thank you, Worst Mother, for supplying the perfect illustration.

are you there god? it's me, texas.

You may have seen the story on the national news. A wildfire burnt 100 acres in southwest Austin last Sunday. Five homes were burnt to the ground, twenty homes damaged.

Apparently enough smoke and ash made it's way to our fair Governor's temporary mansion that he felt touched in the head enough compelled to issue an official proclamation.

Governor Good Hair proclaimed the next three days official Days of Prayer for Rain in Texas.

Yes, you read that right.

Days of Prayer for Rain.

Now call me a cynic, but I had to read it for myself, word for word, on the Governor's official website to believe it and take three shots of tequila to keep from pulling every single hair from my pretty little head.

Here's an excerpt:

"WHEREAS, throughout our history, both as a state and as individuals, Texans have been strengthened, assured and lifted up through prayer; it seems right and fitting that the people of Texas should join together in prayer to humbly seek an end to this devastating drought and these dangerous wildfires;

NOW, THEREFORE, I, RICK PERRY, Governor of Texas, under the authority vested in me by the Constitution and Statutes of the State of Texas, do hereby proclaim the three-day period from Friday, April 22, 2011, to Sunday, April 24, 2011, as Days of Prayer for Rain in the State of Texas. I urge Texans of all faiths and traditions to offer prayers on that day for the healing of our land, the rebuilding of our communities and the restoration of our normal way of life."

This auspicious proclamation lead me into deep embarrassment thought:

1. Does a rain dance comply with the proclamation?

2. Did Governor Perry check the doppler radar before issuing his proclamation?

3. Surely it will rain somewhere in the 268,820 square miles of Texas before the weekend is out, right? But that leads me to wonder: Does it have to rain during the next three days to deem the proclaimtion prayers officially answered? Or can it rain, say, a month from now and still count? A year? I mean, God has a lot on his plate right now what with answering the prayers of victims of tsunamis, war crimes and cancer. It would make sense if he were to put off a mere drought. Right?

4. Is it true that there is no term limit applied to the governorship of Texas? Can we maybe pray for the state legislature to work on changing that?

5. How the hell did Texas elect this bass-ackward governor?

inceptionally mediocre

I watched this tonight with my daughter who had already seen it. I kept having to pause the movie to ask her what was going on. Not to mention rewinding again and again in order to hear what the heck was being said. Asian man with French accent, what? French actress imitating an American accent, who?

What I did like about Inception, though, was noticing the layers under the layers that the filmmakers so sneakily snuck into the movie. It's one of the perks of living to be half a century old.

Or did they?

I love it when this happens. Recognizing actors playing opposite each other, knowing they had prior roles that relate somehow. Seems I never forget a face. Who knows, maybe I am one of those super-recognizers I wrote about earlier (oddly enough, I wrote that post almost two years ago to the day).

So here goes. Inception. The layers within the movie about layers of sleep.

- Heathcliff (Tom Hardy) plays alongside a man (DiCaprio's Cobb) who also keeps chasing the woman he loves on the other side.

Bugged me the whole movie. Where have I seen this guy? Why do those lips look so familiar? I had to google his name in order to make the connection.

- The Edith Piaf song, Non Je Ne Regrette Rien. It was bugging me, too. I wanted to figure out why they chose that particular song as the wake-me-up.

And now I'm thinking it was because the song played alongside the woman who plays a woman who certainly does have regrets (Cotillard's Mal) because she can't wake up, afterall.

- Cillian Murphy plays Robert Fisher, which may or may not be a play on Bobby Fisher. How this relates to Inception I have no idea. But again, I recognized Murphy from somewhere but couldn't put my finger on it. Turns out Murphy is a man who once played a man whose alter personality is that of a woman (Peacock). In Inception, Murphy played opposite a man (Hardy) who morphs into a woman (the blonde at the bar).

I confess I didn't pick up on this layer until I looked up Murphy to learn his prior roles. I'm still not sure what movie I recognized him from originally. Cold Mountain maybe. Or the preview for Red Eye? Don't know. That one will remain deep in my subconscious.

As for the man playing a woman theme, I only came up with that one because, you know, I was writing this post.

- And, finally, but no layer of connection that I can come up with, I got to see Lukas Haas so many years after Witness, all growed up.

I spotted him right away. He's an Austinite, originally, or was at some point before he played the Mennonite boy. Turns out, thanks to imdb, Haas and DiCaprio are friends.

So while the actual movie, in my mind, was, in a word, meh, the underlying meanings were a real kick to watch.

Either that or it's late and I dreamed it all up.

What about you, reader? Did you see deeper layers of movies within the movie? Maybe some that I missed?

congratulations aggies!

And they make history again. The Fightin' Lady Ags beat the Fightin' Irish Lasses 76-70. An exciting game, I was on the edge of my sofa the entire time.

The game was played in Indianapolis so it may as well have been a home game for the Indiana based Irish. Even the refs seemed to be favoring Notre Dame, especially early in the second half - five fouls called on the Aggies in the first three minutes, putting three of our women in foul trouble. A couple of the fouls looked suspect but thanks to ESPN's low budget coverage we fans were not given the benefit of instant replay. Despite the questionable calls, the Aggies kept their positive outlook and ultimately won the game.

The crowning event for me, when it came to proving a bias, was this: After the Aggies won the championship game and the stars and streamers were released from the rafters, I started to notice the colors.

I'll let you see for yourself.

Green, gold and blue. Notre Dame colors. On some level it just made the unexpected victory that much sweeter.

Congratulations Aggies, first time Women's NCAA Champions!

lady aggies make history

Way to go, Aggies! They beat number one seed Stanford to win a spot in the national championship game. It's the first time Aggies have made it to the NCAA women's basketball finals.

We've been following the Lady Ags all season and have seen some exciting basketball. Sam and I took our girls and two of their friends (all played on their middle school team) to see the Aggies beat the hell outta t.u. Longhorns in their Austin arena. I loved that the girls got to see stadium seats filled up to watch women's sports.

To quote one commenter on an Aggie sports blog, "This isn't women's basketball, this is BASKETBALL!"

And here are a couple fascinating factoids:

Aggies got the chance to play Stanford after beating number one seed, Baylor, who beat the Aggies three times during conference play. And now? Notre Dame just beat number one seated UConn after losing to them three times. Fourth time is a charm.

Second factoid: Stanford held the record for the fewest turnovers, Aggies for forcing the most turnovers. Aggies ended up forcing Stanford to turnover 22 times. Poetic justice, the game ended on a Stanford turnover.

And hats off to a superb coach, Gary Blair, for keeping it positive. That's him hugging 6'8" Baylor player, Brittney Griner (only women's college player to ever dunk the ball during a game). For the past five years Blair has drawn a plus sign on the back of his hand to "keep it positive." You can see it on his hand in the photo at right. He understands these are college kids and it's just a game.

So it's on to the National Championship on Tuesday night!

Gig 'Em Fightin' Texas Aggies. Beat the Fightin' Irish!

You can see more pictures, here.