By Cami Beiter - As a teenager, I coveted the occasional cigarette with a select few, a very small circle. Most of my friends played sports. If our dirty little secret (and occasional habit) were discovered, coaches and parents, would have something say about it. We snuck a drag here and there...whether it was at a forbidden kegger, the late night concert or sitting on a friend’s deck after school.
My high school had a designated smoking section. I’m not sure how it worked, or was monitored. I can’t imagine sending a note into school: “My child has permission to smoke in the designated area, stink like an ashtray and blow smoke rings with fellow classmates.” Those who frequented the smoking section were forever deemed a, “bleacher creature.” My friends considered it social suicide to be seen on that area of campus. Dudes sported Ozzy Osbourne T’s with ripped sleeves, big hair, acid washed jeans...while other creatures of the bleachers, the fashion requirement was black, black and more black. If my friends and I wanted to sneak a drag, we did what most girls did...smoked in the girls bathroom. We walked in, dead-bolted the lock to the main door, and lit up. God, Read more... Evolution Of The Butt
By Cami Beiter - As a teenager, I coveted the occasional cigarette with a select few, a very small circle. Most of my friends played sports. If our dirty little secret (and occasional habit) were discovered, coaches and parents, would have something say about it. We snuck a drag here and there...whether it was at a forbidden kegger, the late night concert or sitting on a friend’s deck after school.
My high school had a designated smoking section. I’m not sure how it worked, or was monitored. I can’t imagine sending a note into school: “My child has permission to smoke in the designated area, stink like an ashtray and blow smoke rings with fellow classmates.” Those who frequented the smoking section were forever deemed a, “bleacher creature.” My friends considered it social suicide to be seen on that area of campus. Dudes sported Ozzy Osbourne T’s with ripped sleeves, big hair, acid washed jeans...while other creatures of the bleachers, the fashion requirement was black, black and more black. If my friends and I wanted to sneak a drag, we did what most girls did...smoked in the girls bathroom. We walked in, dead-bolted the lock to the main door, and lit up. God, Read more... 
"Is that a spider!?"
I interrupted my conversation with Brady to yell and point from the comfort of the couch. Glowing in the light from the recessed ceiling lamp, a thin eight-legged intruder dangled. After quickly blowing at it (what did I hope to accomplish, except that it curled up it's legs and swung at me) I ran to the other room. "Keep an eye on it!" I yelled to Brady. I spotted the vacuum but my other son spotted the fake rifle sitting next to it and laughed. "Whaddya gonna do Mom? Shoot it?"
"No," I rolled my eyes. "I'm gonna suck it!"
So, in honor of the spider who's life I had to snuff out with the long end of the vacuum cleaner, I give you last year's lovable spider column "Miss Muffet and Me" just in case you missed it the first time around.
By Wendy Pierman Mitzel
4/9/13
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and last night I heard it: “MOM! There’s a spider in the bathroom! Come quick, kill it.”
If I was the character Fern in the classic “Charlotte's Web,” poor Charlotte wouldn’t have had enough time to finish the “SOME PIG” message before I took a shoe to her. I am not a fan of the spider species. Just writing about it makes