Thanks, Red Carpet Guys

Last night, at time for Funniest Videos, I turned the TV on.  Lucky me. I need to entertain a restless 6 year-old.  What do I get? There was Russell Brand and his Ma--she, being an excellent example of "how to support your kid no matter what", and he, being himself.  That's right.  The pre-game for the Academy Awards. Oh well, 6o Minutes was not going to fill the bill any better.


It turned out to be a good thing.  They did something for me they meant to deliberately NOT do.  In fact, they bank on not providing this kind of experience. Thanks, Red Carpet Guys, for making me feel better about my appearance.


Yes.  That's what I said. 

Someone on the Red Carpet looked at least as good as I looked going to church yesterday morning. This is not my opinion.  It is fact.  You saw it, too.  Right?

The first one is an actress I have long admired for no reason. If you were watching, you noticed, too.  I don't even have to say her name.  Her medium length hair may have seen a brush, but in no way a curling iron or a flat iron.  Hmmm.

"No biggie", I thought, "She is just not the drop dead glamor type".

Next up, "No Name Interviewer Gal", calls the actress with whom she is speaking, "One of the most glamorous women here".  Then asks, "Which is most important, Jewelry, Hair, Makeup, or Gown?"  (Really?  I bet the actress thought so too, but I digress.)  SOMEBODY, spent thousands of dollars on a dress and about $48 on the rest.  Her non-descript accessories could have come from Claire's in the mall.

I could have jumped for joy.  From the neck up, either woman appeared suitably made up to sit in my living room with a cup of hot tea and a bored six year-old.  Apparently, these lucky glamor icons have made it so big they can now choose to show up on the Oscar Red Carpet made up like a middle aged, middle class, middle-sized housewife from middle America.

Glory.

Were you there?  Did you see it?  Can you name the actresses?

Argh...Is That How You Spell It?

...Life has become...how shall I say?  Hmm.  Let's let pain in the neck suffice for now.

First of all.  Twitter.  I get what is going on over there, but what is it really?  And, oh, I don't have the cellular phone for it. Anyway.

Second, How come I hear that the economy is bad and money is hard to come by. But when money is hard to come by for us, we get treated like we are up by the pool eating exotic fruit and having my nails done by someone else.  Like we really have it, but we are just investing it in some other more entertaining endeavor.  I think I need to contribute to the household income, but a doula job puts me out of commission for a couple of days afterward.   I have tried reducing expenses, but I am alone in that.

And another thing.  I already went through Middle School, and I don't want to go back.  I don't think it's a good idea for parents to get too involve in their kids everyday friendships.  It's just weird.  But so help me God.  I am sick to death of these kids my girls want to hang out with.  They look like the "in crowd".  But for my life, I can't communicate to my girls that these kids are not worth their time.

Fourth and by no means less important, I am a W*ight W*tchers lifetime member.  I know how to track (hate it so much; I don't eat so I won't have to write it down).  I know about emotional triggers and not setting myself up by having the wrong foods around the house.  I AM HUNGRY ALL THE TIME.  Like I have a tape worm.

Finally, maybe.  It looks like their is some crazy stuff going on in the news today.  But I don't have time to sit down and find out what is going on. Is there any of this I need to know?  Maybe if I had a better phone I could get on Twitter.

Valentine's Day Emergency

I have the thing that is going around; however, because I hope to impact the world for good before I die I am keeping the life support plugged in long enough to save your Valentine's Day and possibly your relationship.

Men, I am referring to you.

Statistically, we know there is an inverse relationship between length of time you have been in a relationship and the amount of time you spend planning Valentine's Day.  The longer you have been together, the less thought you give to stoking the fire.  Is it because you get smarter, funnier, better dressed, more thoughtful, and sexier every 365 days?

I think not.

With a few glaring exceptions, you got lazy.  She takes care of everything else and you forgot this is on YOUR list.  Along with taking out the garbage and...  Well, that's about it.

Today, you Fortunate Bassmaster, is your lucky day.

With my assistance, you will go down in history as Valentine's Day Guy and radically increase your chances of getting lucky.

ACCIDENTALLY BY DESIGN GUIDANCE ON HOW TO NOT GIVE YOURSELF THE SHAFT THIS VALENTINE'S DAY

1)Flowers.  Dear God In Heaven Above, know who you are dealing with.  There are exactly two kinds of women.
--The first type is: "Dozen Long Stem Red Roses" type.  She expects her flowers in addition to whatever else you are doing.  Like the Christmas Tree at Christmas, this is the symbolic requirement and by no means all that is expected.  You do it to show her you are paying attention. She doesn't want daisies, carnations, or tulips.  Get. It. Right.
--Everyone else is the second type.  Our flowers must relate to who we are as a person.  If we can plant the bulb out in the yard later or if our flowers are in a framed print, flowers speak to us in our hearts.  Even if we are allergic and can't have them in the house.  Lucky man indeed who is in a relationship with a Daisy or a Tulip girl.
 2) Perfume.  We live in truly shocking times.  The classics are fall by the wayside as starlets on their way to rehab allow their name to adorn stuff that smells like a sanitary puck.  This is not your problem.  Your task is to find something that smells great and doesn't remind you of your mom.  If you don't know her favorite, go for a scented candle or bubble bath or a gift card to S*phora or something .  Like "Your Song", do this right and you will make your life easier.  Forever.  No pressure.
 3) Candy. Hooray for candy.  Does she love the "heart shaped box" and the crap shoot of finding a good one in the midst of the weird?  Go for it.  If you had started earlier, you might have ordered specially written candy conversation hearts. Since you didn't, I recommend the candy store at the mall and filling a clear container with bulk candy.  Her favorite.  Not yours. 
 4) Jewelry.  Unless you are buying an engagement ring or already married, you are setting your self up for trouble.  Earring boxes and ring boxes look too much alike.  If she is expecting a ring and gets a bracelet...that sucks.  Seems like dangerous territory to me, but I am not a jewelry girl. If you have a jewelry girl and have been in the relationship any amount of time, your needs are beyond the scope of this blog post.
5) Practical gifts.  Depends. You want out?  My dad once bought my mom an over under shotgun for her birthday.  He got a gun and out of the relationship.  Win-win for him.  Other gifts to avoid may include but are not limited to:  small kitchen appliances, exercise equipment, tickets to watch YOUR team, fishing tackle (even if she says it is what she wants; this is Valentine's), over under shotguns.
6) Cards, handwritten letters.  Mandatory.   READ THE CARD.  If you can cop to what is written there, you are in business. If you can't be bothered to read the card.  Hand write the letter yourself.  It doesn't have to be long.  It has to be true. Does not include texts, email, e-cards, fb wall posts, or tweets. If you think you rock because thousands of other people listened in to your innermost feelings, you are too young to have a valentine. 
7)  Lingerie.  Only if she will be proud to wear it.  If you will never see it again, why bother.  Me?  I like nice warm socks.
8)  Economy Sucks?  Time is money, Hondo.  Start earlier.  Use your imagination.  Make her life easier.  Arrange for a reliable sitter yourself.  Clean the house. Cook the dinner. Wash the dishes.  Let her hold the remote. If Hershey and Hallmark are still in business, so are you.
9) Under no circumstances should you tell her what you wanted to do but didn't have enough time.  If there was no question of Valentine's Day being canceled this year, you have had 365 days.  Don't. Tell.

Hurry up, Valentine's Day is not a day for anyone to go without.

Go.  Now.  While there is still time.

Durn It, Ree.

Nine years ago, I was in an email discussion with an online friend with whom I shared an fascination with the tough gals of the old west, who did the same job we did, without the benefit of indoor plumbing and electricity, to say nothing of telephone and television.  Which is how I found myself searching for photos of the Pioneer Woman Statue in Ponca City, OK.

The second or third result yielded a "blog" (whatever that was) of a gal who had moved from the big city to the "isolated" country somewhere.  I rolled my eyes, thought,"kwitcherbitchin'", and moved on to locate the object of my search.  The "real" Pioneer Woman.

I didn't tell anyone about it.  Didn't read all that much of it and didn't think of it again until last Saturday, when I got my birthday present.

Shut up.

I have always been the girl who bucked the trend.  If someone said, "You have to..."  I would say in my snotty little heart, "Do I?"  I still haven't seen the movie, Titanic.

So I get way down in the middle of memorizing every word reading my shiny new cookbook, and she tells about the day a few years ago when she started her blog.  Oh.  That Pioneer Woman.

Shut up.

Ree Drummond got the life I wanted.  Ranch, cowboy, basset hound ( I don't want hers; I want my own.). I am from Oklahoma and I knew I wanted the dream life when Ree was in L.A. spending too much on shoes. She also happens to have collected on my current dream.  Her little simple blog grew to the point that when she published her cookbook, her fans went out and made it a #1 bestseller.  And demanded more.

Worst of all, I couldn't find a single thing to criticize about the book.  It's great.  I am a cookbook snob. I spent the entire weekend trying to find something to dislike.  There was nothing*.  It's like she wrote it for me. Thanks, Pioneer Woman.

*Nothing I wouldn't ask of every cookbook ever published. Is there a law requiring that every cookbook ever published include a recipe for artichoke dip?  I mean it; I need to know.

Yeah, and no, I am not being paid for an endorsement.  Or a review. Duh.  There is just not really anyplace but the blog where you can say you love someone you want to hate (ya stalker) and someone somewhere will go, "I'm cool with that."

Monday Morning, Armchair...Preacher

 Have you ever sat in the pew at church and thought about what you would say to this group of people if you had the podium?

Like:

Is it about being orthodox(having the best theology)?  Is that what Jesus said?

Do the ones with the most academic degrees win?  I mean, is it okay to have Jesus + a little statue to good grades?

Is anyone here struggling and keeps showing up to meet Jesus and this is what they are getting?  Admonished that they need to worship "just like this".

"We don't drink or smoke or chew and we don't go with girls who do."  Do we gossip and split off into cliques like 7th grades girls?  Is there a spiritual bunch and a needy bunch and a nameless faceless crowd?  Yeah, there was in the Bible, too.  Jesus hung out with the sinners/needy. Thank Him.

...Nah,  me neither.  I never think about that.

Yips

       In golf, yips are when a golfer stands over the ball and can't start his swing.  He or she may step back, take a practice swing and approach the ball again.  And again, be unable to take his or her swing.
     It appears that this disorder can also effect bloggers, as well.  I am afflicted.
     A casual glance at any linky shows that, whether on not one has something to say, needn't be a barrier to posting every day.  Yet, I can't seem to bring my spinning thoughts down to earth and post a little something.
     Topics abound.  Ideas wash over my brain all day like the waves on the beach.  Alas, as with the waves on the beach, nothing seems to stay.