King Arthur Movie Tristan

We started to 'bud' in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would snap until we had calluses on our backs.

Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.

Our next little rite of passage was having sex for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Then it was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire day leaning over Brother John . Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.

Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a whole watermelon and we pee'd our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.

Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while theOB ? says, 'Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar . Calm down and push. 'Just one more good push' (more like 10), warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the %$#*@*#!* hubby and doctor square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 pound bowling ball through a keyhole.

After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when all that 'cute' wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.

Then come their 'Teen Years.' Need I say more?

When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.

So we progress into the grand finale: 'The Menopause,' the Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer in those now seasoned 'buds' or the aforementioned Nether Regions, or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.

Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing o n life's cake: Being able to pee in the woods without
soaking their socks...

So, while I love being a woman, 'Womanhood' would make the Great Gandhi a tad crabby. You think women are the 'weaker sex?' Yeah right. Bite me.

Did you know that it's Beautiful Women Month?
Well, it is and that means you and me.

Facts On Figures :

1. There are 3 billion women who don't look like super models ? And only eight who do.
2. Did you know Marilyn Monroe wore a size 14?
3. If Barbie was a real woman, she'd have to walk on all FOURS due to her proportions!
4. The average woman weighs 144 pounds, and wears between a size 12-14.
5. One out of every 4 college-aged women has an eating disorder.
6. The Models in the magazines are AIRBRUSHED!!! - NOT Perfect!!
7. A psychological study in 1995 found that 3 minutes spent looking at a Fashion Magazine caused 70% of women to feel depressed , guilty and SHAMEFUL!
8. Models 20 years ago weighed 8% Less than the average Woman. Today they weigh 23% less......

~*~ Beauty of a Woman ~*~

1. The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, The figure she carries, or the way she combs her hair.
2. The beauty of a woman must be seen from her eyes, Because that is the doorway to her heart, The place where love resides.
3. The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, But true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.
4. It is the caring that she lovingly gives,The passion that she shows.
5. The beauty of a woman With time, only grows..

The Images of A Mom

1. 4 YEARS OF AGE My Mommy can do anything!
2. 8 YEARS OF AGE My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!
3. 12 YEARS OF AGE My Mother doesn't really know quite everything.
4. 14 YEARS OF AGE Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either!
5. 16 YEARS OF AGE Mother? She's hopelessly old-fashioned.
6. 18 YEARS OF AGE That old woman? She's way out of date!
7. 25 YEARS OF AGE Well, she might know a little bit about it.
8. 35 YEARS OF AGE Before we decide, let's get Mom's opinion.
9. 45 YEARS OF AGE Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?
10. 65 YEARS OF AGE Wish I could talk it over with Mom...
    ***Please send this to all the phenomenal women you know today in celebration of Women's History Month***If you do, something good will happen...YOU will boost another woman's self-esteem

To the powerful women in my life - Keep the faith!!!
Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders & says... 'Oh shit...she's awake!!

Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right. Love the ones who don't just because you can. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a second chance, grab it with both hands. If it changes your life, let it. Kiss slowly. Forgive quickly. God never said life would be easy. He j ust promised it would be worth it.

Girlfriend and Sister's Week I am only as strong as the coffee I drink, the hairspray I use and the friends I have. To the cool women who have touched my life. Here's to you!

National Girlfriends Day What would most of us do without our sisters, confidantes and shopping, lunch ing, and tra veling girls? Let's celebrate each other for each other's sake!

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up puke laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, 'It's okay honey, Mommy's here'.Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted. This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T. This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors. And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football , hockey or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars, so that when their kids asked, 'Did you see me, Mom?' they could say, 'Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world,' and mean it.This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the (grand) mothers who wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.For all the mothers who read 'Goodnight, Moon' twice a night for a year. And then read it again. 'Just one more time.'This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls 'Mom?' in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home -- or even away at college.This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away. This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them. For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting.For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely. This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.What makes a good Mother anyway?Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?Or is it in her heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in your home?Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation...And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.Single mothers and married mothers.Mothers with money, mothers without.This is for you all. For all of us.Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we can. Tell them every day that we love them. And pray. Please pass along to all the Moms in your life. 'Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall.'

A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk 'S office, Was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. 'What I mean is, ' explained the recorder, 'do you have a job or are you just a ...?' 'Of course I have a job,' snapped the woman. 'I'm a Mom.' 'We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation,
'housewife' covers it,' Said the recorder emphatically. I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, Efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, 'Official Interrogator' or 'Town Registrar.' 'What is your occupation?' she probed. What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out. 'I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.' The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and Looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words.. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, In bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. 'Might I ask,' said the clerk with new interest,'just what you do in your field?' Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, 'I have a continuing program of research, (what mother doesn't) In the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) And already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) And I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging t han most run-of-the-mill careers
And the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.' There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she Completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door. As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, Testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more
Distinguished and indispensable to mankind than 'just another Mom.'
Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.

The other night I was invited out for a night with the 'girls.' I told my husband that I would be home by midnight, 'I promise!'

Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easily. Around 3 a.m., a bit loaded, I headed for home.

Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hallway started up and cuckooed 3 times. Quickly, realizing my husband would probably wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times.

I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution, in order to escape a possible conflict with him. (Even when totally smashed... 3 cuckoos plus 9 cuckoos totals = 12 cuckoos MIDNIGHT!)

The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, I told him 'MIDNIGHT'.. he didn't seem pissed off in the least.

Whew, I got away with that one! Then he said 'We need a new cuckoo clock.'

When I asked him why, he said, 'Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said 'oh shit.' Cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted.

There comes a time in every woman's life when she has to take a close lookat herself. Not at her circumstance, not at what she did, not how unfair life is, or at who made you do it. She has to just look atherself in all her glory and imperfection. Have you ever admired awoman who has been through changes in her life? Or have you made up in yourmind that she is just messed up. Before you make this mistake,take a closer look. A woman who has endured the most unusual life issomeone of wisdom, someone who has been chosen by God to go through thingsthat have made her stronger. Think of all the great women in the Bible: Mary Magdalene, Ruth and Naomi,the woman with an issue of blood, and Esther, to name a few. Mary was aprostitute, a very uneasy woman. But by the time Jesus wasdone with her, she was His closest follower. Esther was unfortunatein marrying an abusive man, but by the time God was done with her, she hadmarried one of the wealthiest men in the land. Women are so quick to beatthe next one down instead of trying to holdher up. Before you wonder, " What's up with her?" ask yourself,"What's up with me?" That woman could be my mother, sister, aunt,in-law, stepmother, niece, grandmother, great-grandmother, neighbor, friend,or co-worker, etc. That woman could be ME. Women are the carriers of life, not the channels of death. Let's build andencourage each other, as did Ruth and Naomi. Pass this to all the women inyour life. Encourage and love, forgive and forget, and trust that the womanthat receives this will be touched in some way.

My mom only had one eye. I hated her... she was such an embarrassment.
She cooked for students & teachers to support the family.
There was this one day during elementary school where my mom came to say hello to me.
I was so embarrassed.
How could she do this to me?
I ignored her, threw her a hateful look and ran out.
The next day at school one of my classmates said, 'EEEE, your mom only has one eye!'
I wanted to bury myself.
I also wanted my mom to just disappear.
I confronted her that day and said, 'If you're only goanna make me a laughing stock, why don't you just die?'
My mom did not respond...
I didn't even stop to think for a second about what I had said, because I was full of anger.
I was oblivious to her feelings.
I wanted out of that house, and have nothing to do with her.
So I studied real hard, got a chance to go abroad to study.
Then, I got married.
I bought a house of my own.
I had kids of my own.
I was happy with my life, my kids and the comforts, then one day, my mother came to visit me.
She hadn't seen me in years and she didn't even meet her grandchildren.
When she stood by the door, my children laughed at her, and I yelled at her for coming over uninvited.
I screamed at her, 'How dare you come to my house and scare my children!'
GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!!!'
And to this, my mother quietly answered, 'Oh, I'm so sorry. I may have gotten the wrong address,' and she disappeared out of sight.
One day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house.
So I lied to my wife that I was going on a business trip.
After the reunion, I went to the old shack just out of curiosity.
My neighbors said that she died.
I did not shed a single tear.
They handed me a letter that she had wanted me to have.
'My dearest son,
I think of you all the time. I'm sorry that I came to your house and scared your children.
I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion.
But I may not be able to even get out of bed to see you.
I'm sorry that I was a constant embarrassment to you when you were growing up.
You see........when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost your eye.
As a mother, I couldn't stand watching you having to grow up with one eye.
So I gave you mine.
I was so proud of my son who was seeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye.
With all my love to you,
Your mother. '

so please send this message to someone you think fits this description. Please do not send it back to me as I have already received it from another International, Very Good Looking, Damn Smart Woman! And remember this motto to live by: Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!" Have a wonderful day ! To the Girls !!