AliBlog

Flat Tires

(Got any good flat tire stories? Devra told hers, which can't be beat, over on Sarah's goon squad blog, so now I'm telling one of mine here.)

On the weekend Jeromy turned 30, I threw him a party, bought him a 9mm hand gun and flew his brother Andy in to visit. In that same weekend - before we even made it to Saturday night for the party - Jeromy re-enlisted Beaker into the Air Force, and then we all moved Jen and Carey, plus their belongings, from Sedona to Tucson (where we were living at the time).

(Boy how we could fill a weekend before we had kids. Unbelievable. I think we even had dinner with Scott and Bridgette on Sunday night of that same weekend, not to mention that we cleaned up quite a mess from the party.)

(Okay, carrying on. I'm trying to tell a flat tire story here, you know ...)

To accomplish the move, we first drove to Phoenix where we stopped to borrow Uncle Jimmie's covered horse trailer. Inside Jimmie's back paddock, we hitched up the trailer, examined the tires, then traveled on to Sedona.

Do you want all the details? There are a lot of details. In Sedona we stayed at Mii amo Resort, where Jen had been working. I'd recommend it. The place is magical. She scored us a room and a massage for helping with the move. Of course, Jeromy doesn't care for massages, so I got the massage. Even though he and Andy did all the work. While I sat by the pool the next day. Did I mention it was Jeromy's birthday? And I'm getting pampered while he maneuvers horse trailers around the narrow roads of the resort and backing the whole contraption into the narrow, embanked parking lot of Jen and Carey's apartment building? But, hey. He got a hand gun from his wife for his birthday. He still talks about that today. Plus, he was completely surprised about his brother being in town. He was happy.

To recap: Jeromy was happy. I was relaxed. Andy was up for anything as usual. And Jen and Carey were excited to be moving to Tucson.

So everything gets loaded in to the horse trailer and we make it on to the highway, heading south in the 110-degree heat for the deserts and mountains of Tucson. Jen and Carey and their pets are traveling behind us in separate cars.

Within an hour, the horse trailer blows a tire. Fllptpt. We pull over and realize we have a spare but no lug wrench. And no pen. Jeromy's scrambling around for something to write with so he can notify passers-by that we need a lug wrench. Always resourceful, I whip out my lip stick, grab my address book and write, "NEED LUG WRENCH" on one lined page and hang it in the window. (You're looking at true Girl Scout material here, remember.)

Help arrives immediately. A family of immigrant workers pulls over to lend us their lug wrench. We thank them graciously, they refuse payment, and we head to the next rest stop to buy a new tire and a lug wrench. We replace the spare, store the lug wrench for future use and take off again.

Back on the highway, we make it through Phoenix before another tire blows. Fllptpt. This time Jen catches up with us and waits with Andy while Jeromy and I borrow her Jeep and drive it to the next exit to buy another tire. Carey heads on to Tucson in her car to make it there in time for an appointment.

On the way to the tire shop, Jeromy and I joke about the situation.

"Yep, the rubber's thin on those tires," we say.

"Yep, it's pretty hot out here today."

"I bet it's 200 degrees down there on the highway where the rubber hits the road," we surmise.

"And I bet we're carrying two tons of furniture back there. All that weight pressing those tires into the steaming blacktop. Man, those old tires must be melting right off the treads."

(You could cue some music here. I feel like we're at the point in the plot development where they'd play some music. A little country, a little comedy and a little bit of the blues while Jen and Andy and Jen's dog Buddy wait for us alongside the highway.)

Seriously, who else do you know who blows two tires in one road trip? And still makes it home in time for his 30th birthday party? Only the man who's coined the term, "Successful Breakdown." At this point, we had successfully broken down twice in a matter of hours. After a long wait at the tire store, Jeromy and I return with the new tire, he and Andy replace the old one, we all shuffle back to our own vehicles and merge again in to the highway traffic.

Would you think I was lying if I told you we made it within 20 miles of Tucson when the third tire blew? Fllptpt. It's not a lie. Again, we successfully maneuvered our way to an empty rest stop, waited for Jen and the dog to arrive in the Jeep and made plans for replacing the third tire.

It wasn't a hard decision. We decided to buy two tires and replace the fourth and only remaining tire on the trailer that hadn't already blown. This time Jeromy and Andy took off in the Jeep while Jen and I stayed behind with the dog and waited for the tires. We talked about karma. We tried to make phone calls. We laughed at the absurdity of the situation. We guessed that this wasn't the way Andy had expected to spend his weekend in Tucson.

But we made it to Tucson. We threw a party. We celebrated 30 years of successful breakdowns. We celebrated with visitors from out of town, with old friends from the military, with new friends we met that night for the very first time, and finally with childhood friends we'd reconnected with by moving them into town on a half-day road trip with three successful breakdowns. 

(the party)

We Were Trying to Remember All the Concerts We've Attended

(In no particular order. Also not spell-checked or fact-checked.)

• Barbara Mandrell
• Lionel Ritchie
• Sheila E
• Cyndi Lauper
• Anne Murray
• Oakridge Brothers
• Iron Maiden
• Aerosmith
• Motley Crue
• Def Leppard
• Grateful Dead
• Phish
• Soundgarden
• Black Crowes
• Lollapalooza 1 & 3 (Jane's Addiction, Nine Inch Nails, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Ice T, Primus, Alice in Chains, Arrested Development, etc.)
• Social Distortion
• Merle Haggard
• Sheryl Crowe
• Keller Williams
• Concrete Blonde
• H.O.R.D.E. Festival 2 (Lenny Kravitz, Peter Gabriel, etc.)
• Sting
• Michelle Shocked
• Indigo Girls
• Ben Folds Five
• Emmy Lou Harris
• Lyle Lovett
• Big Head Todd and the Monsters
• Atheneum
• Jane's Addiction
• Guns N Roses
• Ritchie Haven
• Cowboy Mouth
• Ralph Stanley
• Ricky Skaggs
• Lillity Fair 1 & 2 (Sarah McLachlan, Fiona Apple, Joan Osbourne, Natalie Merchant, etc.)
• Over the Rhine
• Santana
• Macy Gray
• Eagles
• Soul Asylum
• Europe
• Great High Mountain Tour (Alison Kraus, Ollabelle, etc.)
• Saigon Kick
• Sade
• India Arie
• Ozzy
• Tesla
• Kathy Mattea
• REM
• Pink Floyd
• Hostile Amish
• Voodoo Birds
• Ecoustic Hooka

Some of these were attended only by me and some were attended only by Jeromy. Most of them we attended together.

Our favorites? Patty Loveless, Cowboy Mouth, Ricky Skaggs, Social Distortion and Grateful Dead. All for completely different reasons.

Our least favorites? Sheryl Crowe and Ben Folds Five. They're the only two performers I've liked less (way less) instead more after seeing them perform live.

Pick one and I'll see tell you the story.

My e-Mail Memory Machine

What's in your e-mail memory machine? Here's a few memories pulled from my outbox over the last week.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

So bring your good times, and your laughter too. We gonna celebrate your party with you.

Remember those bulky tape recorders that everyone had back then in the early 80s? We used to hold those recorders up to our clock radios and record songs as they played on the scratchy FM frequencies. Then we would take our bulky tape players to school and play them during free time or recess and dance, dance, dance. I always thought I was so cool for listening to that song. I sensed those guys really knew what it meant to have a good time, and I had a fuzzy idea that their idea of a good time was something I was way too young to understand. Yet somehow I felt connected to those grown up good times through the energy of the song.

It's time to come together. It's up to you. What's your pleasure? Everyone around the world, Come On!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

OHHHH, that rabbit. My memory is vague - but I do remember being broken-hearted enough when the rabbit died to demand a funeral. According to my mom, however, we lost steam for the burial. We were very into the planning of the whole thing & the hoopla leading up to the event but when it came time to dig the hole and place the boxed bunny into the ground our moms were the only ones left to shed a tear for the poor little guy.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He was the one who drove a turquoise, low-rider, convertible Toyota pickup with only the Y and the O in TOYOTA painted pink on the tail gate. I remember riding through the brick streets of Athens in the front seat with the top down and talking to him about his history as an artist. That was in 1994.

Far, Far Away

I wonder how far Robey thinks the distance is to his school. I asked him once when we were talking about Grandpa Buddy being far, far away.

-Is the cottage in Michigan far, far away?

-Yes.

-Is Uncle Beau's house far, far away?

-Yes.

-Is your school far, far away?

-No.

It's about a 15-minute drive down one main road and a few side roads. On the way there, Robey points out the landmarks he knows. There's the dirt movers, he says. There's my eye doctor. Mom, that's where we bought my pants. Look, there's my dentist! He gets excited about the dentist, but he's confused about the eye doctor. He thinks the Presbyterian Church across from the medical building is the eye doctor's office, and I can't convince him otherwise.

He's mapping out his world on that drive to school and back everyday while I map out my past.

I think of all the things that I could point out to him from my past. Look, there's the field where some friends and I got lost when we were ten. There's the wooded lot where we drank beer in high school. There's the new bike path they built when I was in college ...

Past all of those things, we also pass the road I lived on when I was Robey's age.

The house I live in today with my husband and my two boys is the same house that my parent's built and moved us to when I was five. So we drive that distance everyday: from my home of residence and also the home I grew up in to the home of my earliest childhood memories.

You see what I'm saying when I talk about far, far away?

In 1978 when my parent's moved us from one school district to the next, the distance to me was great. They were moving us away from the neighbor boy with the bike called Big Blue, away from the purple hydrangeas blooming in the side yard and away from the blacktopped street that stained my shorts with tar in the summer.

As an adult, I've moved from Ohio to Mississippi, from North Carolina to Arizona, from Illinois to Ohio, and a dozen other moves in between. But let me tell you, the distance from there to where I am today is not nearly as great as the distance we moved when I was a kid.

I'm not saying I was traumatized. Not at all. I'm just saying the distance of a move - any move - is large in a child's mind. What matters is that the things we moved to when I was five far outweighed the things we left behind. We moved to the country, to open fields, to damp creek beds and doting grandparents right next door. We moved to a better school district, to land with roots and to the place I still call home. These are the same things we moved Robey to when we decided to move back to Ohio.

This house and the land that surrounds it is the place my parent's called home. It's the place my grandparent's called home. I hope it's the place my children will always call home.

I woke up this morning in this home with the season's first snow covering the ground and thought to myself, "I love to look out these windows and see the snow in November. I love the warmth of this house when there's snow on the ground in the morning." We have such high ceilings here, and I've been feeling a chill all week long. But this morning? This house was warm.

Robey calls our home the red house. I've asked him if he remembers the house we lived in before we moved here, the house in Illinois that he lived in until he was 18 months old. He doesn't. And you know he doesn't remember the house in Tucson where we lived for six weeks when he was first born. We have photos of those places and memories there, and we sometimes miss their walls and roads and neighbors. Occasionally we think about what might have happened if we'd stayed there, if we hadn't moved back to Ohio. But those houses. They were far, far away.

They were far, far away from family. Far, far away from here.

Here is where we belong. This place. This place right here is home.

The Foosball Chronicles

Do you own a piece of furniture that tells the story of your marriage or the story of movement in your life? Let me tell you about our foosball table. I "won" it ten years ago from a radio station in Biloxi, Mississippi.

At the time I was doing temp work for a local manufacturer. In the engineering office where I spent my days we often listened to the local alternative music station, which featured a daily contest called The Trading Block. Every weekday around noon the DJs placed an item on the trading block and listeners called in to offer a trade. The first caller to offer a fair trade - at the DJ's discretion - was awarded the day's item. The trades continued by placing the new item acquired in the trade on to the trading block the next day.

On this particular day, the radio station was auctioning off a foosball table. I called immediately and offered two dorm-sized refrigerators in trade. They accepted without hesitation and joked that the prizes kept getting better! Soon they'd be placing cars on the trading block! (Which reminds me, have you read the story of the red paper clip?).

The next day Jeromy drove down to the station to pick up our prize, and we became the proud owners of a classic, regulation-sized foosball table. It lived in our spare room for the next six months alongside another newly acquired item - a kegerator*.

Have I mentioned our lifestyle in Mississippi? It wasn't what I was expecting after graduating from college, becoming an "Air Force wife" and entering into the work force myself. You see, Jeromy was in tech school with a squadron full of 18 and 19 year olds. He was the only married Airman and therefore the only one of the bunch with permission to live outside the on-base dormitories. By default, our apartment became the weekend hangout for more than a dozen enlisted men in training. We went through at least one keg per weekend. We cooked a lot of bacon and egg breakfasts. We narrowly escaped all kinds of trouble with the authorities.

Since we were lacking a guest bed and since all our friends were more than happy to pass out on couches, chairs and beer-stained rugs, the spare bedroom was the perfect spot for a foosball table. Jeromy, Kim, Mike, Stacey, Pat and others all learned to play a good game of foosball on this table, and we all improved our skills every weekend.

Within a few months, however, we headed to North Carolina for Jeromy's first permanent duty assignment. When our moving truck arrived, the guys in his new squadron were there to help us unload. To this day, Charlie and Joe will tell you that they knew - as soon as they helped unload the foosball table and the kegerator - that we would all get along just fine.

In North Carolina we had a three bedroom house. We bought a new bedroom set, put our old bed in the second bedroom and turned the third bedroom into an office. Since we had room in the kitchen for a small table, the foosball table was displayed prominently in our dining room. This was years before Joey and Chandler would do the same with their foosball table on Friends.

We played the table hard in North Carolina, getting schooled weekly by Charlie who learned to play from the foosball pros while stationed in Germany. After a few years in North Carolina, however, we acquired a used dining room table from friends and a used Mazda 626* from family. Now, we had no room for the foosball table, and we had a car that badly needed tires. The details are foggy, but somehow, through a series of Jeromy-style trades, we agreed to give Beau the foosball table for a new set of tires.

But how do you get a foosball table to Ohio in a Mazda 626? You strap it to the roof, of course. Jeromy designed a brace and platform that fit snugly into the open sun roof, attached the base to the upside-down foosball table, strapped everything down - and we were on our way. Half way to Ohio, however, in the mountains of West Virginia, we hit a rain storm. The platform began collecting water, and small drops started creeping into the car from the sunroof. For Jeromy, it was Chinese torture. Here he is transversing his way through the narrow, winding mountain roads with zero visibility when he starts getting pinged on the head by rain drops at completely random intervals. We tried unsuccessfully to block the leak with stray towels and other leak-blocking devices, but nothing worked. Finally, Jeromy hit his limit, looked around and said, "Don't we have an umbrella in here?"

Can't you picture it? You see two crazy kids motoring through the mountains in a rusted Mazda. You can't help but notice an upturned table of some sort strapped to the top of their car, so you look in at the driver to get a better view - when you notice the passenger is nonchalantly holding ... an umbrella ... over the driver's head? WTF?!!! I can't tell you how hard we laughed.

Eventually, the foosball table made it to Ohio unharmed, where it lived with Beau for a number of years in Columbus. In the meantime, we moved to Arizona, then to Illinois, started a family along the way - and definitely didn't have room for a foosball table in our new homes.

We'll leave it to Beau to fill in the details of the table's life in Columbus (which I'm sure are just as colorful), but suffice it to say that Beau moved to Texas for a few years and decided not to take the foosball table along on another cross-country journey. Instead, it found a home in the basement of doom, where it has been collecting dust for years.

That is until recently. Last week, I saw a notice in our church newsletter that the youth group was looking for a foosball table. We've been wondering how to properly donate the table for months, so I called right away. I wasn't about to let someone else donate their table before I donated mine. I am on a mission to clean up that basement, after all. The youth leaders accepted the table donation gladly, eagerly. They couldn't believe someone had a foosball table to donate, especially a nice, solid wooden table with all its pieces and parts intact, which mostly just needed cleaned and oiled - and it would be ready to go.

On Thursday Jeromy and I loaded the table into his box truck* and he delivered it to the church. Friday after the high school football game, the church welcomed 30 youth who - from what I'm told - spent most of the night taking turns on the foosball table. They probably enjoyed it more than we ever did in Mississippi or North Carolina. And the best part? Before we know it, Robey and Moe will be in the youth group too, and they'll be challenging their friends to games on that very same foosball table. How's that for a full circle?

*These items all have stories too. Stories of unpaid debts, successful breakdowns, incestial trades and unbelievable coincidences. Remind me someday to tell them as well.

Remembering 9/11

We were living on a military base in Tucson, Arizona. Jeromy was in Biloxi, Mississippi for training, so I was home alone with our dog. Around 7am Jeromy's friend and co-worker Greg called and told me that someone had flown a plane into a building in New York City. I immediately went to the computer to read the latest news. I don't know when it became clear to me that people were crashing planes into buildings intentionally, but it wasn't an instant realization.

I called Jeromy to check on him. I probably called my mom. I watched TV all day long. But after that first day, I couldn't watch anymore. I had to get out and see friends, walk the dog, work. Anything.

Days went by without me hearing from anyone else in Jeromy's squadron. I think Greg called a few more times to check on me as a friend, and Jeromy called everyday. But there weren't any official communications coming through for those of us whose spouses were TDY. Then one morning three or four days after the attacks, I received an official call from a Sgt in the squadron telling me to go outside and remove the standard name and rank letters that hung above our front door.

I took the dog outside with me, stood on a chair and began removing the letters one by one. I slid out a 2, an L and a T - then started to get nervous. Why was I doing this? Were terrorists targeting on-base housing according to rank? Were satellite images of my front door being pulled up on someone's computer screen? Were evil-doers driving the streets of my neighborhood right now looking for officer housing? I pulled out the remaining letters quickly, left the chair on the stoop, rushed inside with the dog, then went through the house and locked every door. 

I remember feeling sullen for weeks and sitting outside at Beaker and Richelle's house as usual, minus the standard laughter and hi-jinx. I remember thinking that things were going to be different, that the light-heartedness of our lives was over. That this period of innocence was lost. That the fun and carefree lifestyles we'd led, even in the military, would now be as foreign as the Gatsby lifestyle had been to Nick.

But I was wrong, and sometimes I think that's a shame. We were drinking and laughing, camping and riding, partying and celebrating birthdays again within months. It was too easy. I worry still that it's too easy. That we slid back into our freedom like you slide back into a favorite pair of jeans. It's this innocent comfort, this easy return to life as we know it that now makes intelligence officials say, "We're going to need another 9/11."

I heard that quote recently on the Discovery channel, and it chilled me to the bone. It made me feel like I was back on that military base sliding letters out from the silver tray above my front door. B (I'm getting spooked) - O (am I being watched?) - L (am I safe?) - E (why am I out here doing this alone?) - N (last one, then ... I ... can .. go ... back ... inside .... and lockallthedoors).

Where were you? What do you remember?

Alilicious, Mommylicious Me

The Queen of Spain is hosting a photo contest that accepts entries in the following categories:

• Mommylicious
• Mommyfabulous
• Yummy Mummy
• Housewife
• Fertile
• CountRock

The prizes - from her new 'store' - can be found if you follow the links.

Since I'm not especially fertile, fabulous or yummy, and I'm not a housewife or a rocker, I'm entering under the mommylicious category, which doesn't seem like a perfect fit either, but - hey, it's fun to reminisce about my pregnancy with Robey now that a second one is on the way.

Here's the 'before Robey' photo of my belly. I think I was actually about 10 weeks along here, but I was in much better shape to start out with back then. This time around, I'm sure I was actually popping out a bit at 10 weeks ... but I've yet to take a picture of my belly this time around.

Here I am at 7 months, on my 30th birthday, which we spent in Northern Arizona - in Flagstaff, Wilcox and (you guessed it) at the Grand Canyon.

This is the biggest belly photo that I have, from 39 weeks. Notice that my belly button is non-existent. It never popped out but flattened out altogether instead. My mom pointed this out to me in amusement when I sent her the photo at the time. I, however, was not amused. At the time, nothing about my body amused me anymore at all.

Jeromy and I attended a friend's wedding the same night this photo was taken, and many of the guests, whom I'd met a few weeks earlier at the bridal shower, were shocked at how much I'd grown in just 14 days.

And finally, this is one of my favorite photos of all time, taken the day of Robey's birth. It's also the most Mommylicious of the bunch if you ask me.

To view the other entrants, read the comments on this post at the queen's blog. Good luck to all the other fertile, fabulous and yummy mommys who aren't afraid to show the world their pregnant bellies.

A Flashback from Mich

In an attempt to keep Alison putzing down memory lane, further continue the “it was one of those parties” mantra, and send my cousin to OU with the right information, I (Mich) have contributed this post to AliBlog.

It was one of those pall smarties where ...

... Boone’s Farm Wine had been purchased at the Stop-N-Cop with a fake I.D. and smuggled up the side stairwell of what was then an all-girls freshman residence hall. (Can’t you just hear the echoing sound of clinking bottles and 18-year-old giggles?)

... Rush, Black Sabbath, Jane’s Addiction, and Simon & Garfunkel were played at full blast.

... Sharon, Jen, and I were busted by the androgynous R.A. whom we had nicknamed the HE-SHE and forced, as punishment, to attend an alcohol abuse seminar. Alison wasn’t there and escaped unscathed.

... Jeromy visited from Columbus State and had to relieve his abnormally small bladder by peeing out the fourth floor window, as no boys were allowed in the dorm after a certain hour.

... Alison and I decided we’d start our own literary magazine and invited a gang of pretentious artsy-fartsy types into the dorm room once a week to read and discuss poetry.

... the two-topping Papa John’s pizza cost $7.99, the bread sticks were free, and not having to eat at the dining hall was priceless.

A pall smarty is a small party in Ohio University’s Jefferson Hall room 440, circa 1991-1992. And, in case you don’t know, pall smarties happened nearly every day. This was the beginning of a great friendship among the four of us, not to mention the beginning of what was arguably the best five years of our lives.

Our room, one of only two quads in Jefferson, was absolutely gigantic by dorm room standards. Accommodations included two bunk beds, four desks, a couch, a mini-fridge, a card table, and (as you can see) plenty of room for pall smarty guests. Our linoleum floor was cushioned by a custom-made pink area rug with the letters OU in the middle, thanks to Jeromy’s brother Andy. Three windows faced East Green. The center window was arched and rose nearly eight feet tall.

There was no e-mail (what’s email?) nor cell phones (you mean a car phone?). We had no cable tv, because we had no tv at all. But we were never, ever, bored.

Now, over ten years later, my second cousin Casey is going to OU. I’ve told her grandmother (my Aunt Beth) all about this room, and Casey is going to do her best to live there too. Good luck, Casey! I hear that Jeff Hall is a co-ed dorm now, which is a whole different story (a.k.a. Sophomore Year and the Big Couch After-hours).

The Cool Chronicles: 7th Grade

October 19, 1985:
Willie broke up with me. Because he didn't want to end up cheating on me. I still like him.

December 31, 1985:
I had a bunch of friends spend the night for New Years. Went to Betsy's party first 7-11.

January 1, 1986:
I hate Willie. I just realized how totally conceited he is.

January 6, 1986:
Back to school! I had an excelelnt day. I crossed out Willie on everything. But we lost the basketball game 23-24. Refs NO good!!! Some kid mooned us twice. Queer.

Promapalooza! It's Here! It's Here!

These days, when the kids go to the prom, they wear strapless designer dresses - sleek and stylish, elegant and clean. I've seen them looking all grown up and bejeweled at local restaurants. Their dresses are much classier than the gaudy, shimmering bridesmaid knock-offs worn to prom in my day.

Surely, today's styles will be more forgiving than the prom fashions of the late 80s and early 90s. I can't imagine a more unforgiving time style-wise than the years I attended high school. To prove my point, I give you exhibits A and B as part of the blogosphere's first ever Promapalooza.

Exhibit A: Prom 1990. Black lace over pink taffeta. High waist line with eye-catching bow. Shortened hemline to expose legs. Big hair swept to one side.

Exhibit B: Prom 1991. Black and gold lamé over black satin. Pleated cap sleeves of gold and black. Straight skirt with lamé half-skirt covering. Brilliant gold heels. Imitation gold jewelry. Hair in partial up-do.

The dress in Exhibit A really was a bridesmaid leftover. For years, we bought all my formal dresses at this little, country dress shop that sold bridesmaid dresses at clearance prices. Exhibit B was the only dress I ever picked out of a catalog and ordered at full price. I was so proud of it. I thought it was the epitome of class.

As for the hair, the partial up-do worked so well that I wore it again for my wedding day five years later (ee-gad). And just this weekend - honest to God - Jeromy asked, "Are you ever going to get a perm again?" He liked my hair in Exhibit A! He thought I was rawkin and sexy. Of course, I thought he was sexy too with his bolo tie and shoulder pads and short suit jacket. Mmmm-hmmmm we were a pair.

Want more promapalooza? Check out:

• Ellen's sexy, sequined mini.
• Sarah's Rock n Roll boyfriends.
• Bridgette's Gone with the Wind hoop skirt (posted on Sarah's blog).
• BIYF's hot pink dress shirt (click through to Flickr to see the photos).
• Erin's Mystic Pizza imitation.
• Ms.Mama's bi-level haircut.
• Xta's tanned skin.
• Ritch's long, feathered hair (posted on Sarah's blog).
• Tammy's limo dream (posted on Sarah's blog).
• Becky's sweeping shawl.
• Hillary's revealing neckline.
• Running 2Ks clasped-hand photo pose.
• April's sleek, black dress.

And there's more to come. I'll be updating this list throughout the day. Then - tomorrow you can come back to AliBlog and cast your vote for "best" hair and "best" dress. The winner gets ... all the glory and bragging rights that come with winning the blogdom's first ever Promapalooza. Oh yeah!

(Thanks to Sarah for scanning my photos. Since I don't have a functioning scanner, I couldn't provide images of Marcy and Beau and Jen as well. Maybe next year ...)