Category: are you freakin’ kidding me?

open letter to SJP

Dear Sarah Jessica Parker,

Can I call you SJP?  Good.  SJP, I feel like I know you — I know you don't know me, but I know you because I've grown up with you, via the television greatness known as Square Pegs and the film masterpiece Girls Just Want to Have Fun.  I've kept up with you through the years and being BFFs in my head the way we are, I can't help but feel it's time to have an intervention.  I'm calling your friends Helen Hunt and Shannen Doherty from Girls Just Want to Have Fun and along with your hubs, we're going to get things right with you.  About what?  Have you not seen the photographs?  Well, I was going to leave the evidence for the intervention, but you've forced my hand.  Go ahead and look. 

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Do you see it?  Come on, SJP.  You know it's there.  You have a bad case of over-topping and side-boob. 

I know, I know.  It's the dress — no, it's not.  It's the boobs.  You've managed to put on a dress than serves as a boob-tray and go to the Oscars.  You know the dress looked like that before you left the hotel.  Not only do you look half an inch away from a wardrobe malfunction, you're boobs look like they're fighting and running in seperate directions.  When you're boobs look like they've had an argument, it's far from being a good thing. 

In the second pic, Matthew looks like he's about to break into everyone's favorite Broadway number "Hello Booby."   Lord only knows what painful undergarments you were wearing to boost those babies up and make them look fake.  I don't think they are, but they're looking it.  SJP, there was simply not enough fabric in the bodice of that dress.  I know a thing or two about boobs.  I have two of them, I've had them since fourth grade — I am an authority on the subject.  We've all had bad boob moments.  Lord knows I've inadvertantly flashed more people than I care to admit, but SJP, you have people. 

You have a stylist and a team of people who are paid to make you look good and make sure the girls are in place.  The girls did not behave.  I've never been so lucky as to have a team of people to help me get ready for an event, but I have had good friends to point out bad boob moments.  Once before a casino night in college, I put on a dress I'd worn before, a great black dress from Pier 1 (when Pier 1 carried clothing back in the day — man, that was awesome) which had an empire waist in the front, a deep scoop neckline, and was more fitted in the back — it was pretty cool.  Unfortunately, I had the wrong bra and I would have flashed everyone all night, so I did what any girl would do in the situation, I wore the dress backward.  And it looked great.  And no one knew I had the dress on backward.  And my boobs didn't fall out for everyone on campus to see.  True story.  Ask Kim, she will tell you (and she'll also tell you how her boyfriend Cody complimented me on my shoes that she said were ugly and didn't acknowledge how bangin' she looked, so she broke up with him.  Okay, so that wasn't the reason she broke up with him, but it was the last straw).

So, SJP, consider this your intervention.  Also, watch the final scene of your best work to date and remember the good old days before the Oscars when everything could be solved with a dance-off. 

xxxooo,
Kerry

What the hell Friday: dear diary edition

Once again, my thunder has been stolen.  If I had a nickel, people. 

Maybe you've heard of a little book called "He's Just Not That Into You," the authors, Greg Berhendt and Liz Tuccillo, have been featured on everything — you've seen them, you've heard them, you've seen the book in Barnes and Noble.  I've read an excerpt of the book and I'll break it down for you: don't waste your time on men who aren't interested in you and – newsflash – guys like to pursue women.  This is freaking genius, Pulitzer Prize stuff!  Well, guess what?  Now it's a movie.  And I want a cut of the ticket sales.

Why?  You may remember the theme of this movie from a little-known book called "my diary."  What the hell? 

Seriously though, I know I was no different than any other girl as a teenager and a single girl in my early twenties, trying to find my way in the dating world and thinking I must have "weirdos apply here" tattooed on my head.  My high school friends can attest to the quality of some of my boyfriends, and college friends will tell you how I won over my hubs, Scott.  Today I thought I'd tell some of the lesser-known stories that are pure entertainment, but at the time were pure torture.

Back when I was a naive cute-as-heck 16 year-old, I dated a series of losers.  I'm pretty sure I could have won gold in the Psycho Dating Olympics.  I would have at least gotten bronze (and I wouldn't have smoked pot afterward like some Olympians).  So, here's a true story from my dating life circa 1991:

I had a ginormous crush on a boy year older than me, whom I was on the school newspaper staff with, we spent an hour together everyday, our journalism teacher even tried to fix us up, lovely.  The short story: he was not remotely interested in me and started dating a girl with two first names a year younger than me, of course she was a beyatch, but teenage boys were stupid and couldn't see that kind of thing.  Anymoron, he wrote me a note one day saying he knew I liked him and was not "interested in any extracurricular relationships."  Well, me, being me couldn't let this go and had to write a note back saying he was an idiot for not using the word extracurricular correctly.  Bold much?  I remember telling my BFF of said note-writing, who said, "extracurricular dating?  what a moron." Thank you.

So, since said genius wasn't digging my scene, I was totally on the dating market — look out boys!  I went on to have a couple of perfectly dreadful relationships, one of which was with a boy who, after dating for two months, stood me up for homecoming.  I was one of the homecoming dance planners so that was not superfantastic.  Let's see, I went out with a Air Force dude who told me I wasn't experienced enough for him — again, nice!  Being dumped for not being slutty was pretty confusing — a compliment?  I didn't know.  What the hell? 

At Louisiana Tech, I met Scott and he fell head over heels for me, obviously, when I was a freshman — but he was older and graduated when I was a sophomore.  We did the long distance thing, then took a break or broke up, whatevs.  At that time I was an RA in Dudley dorm and had the best residents ever, 2 of whom were the cousins of my high school BFF, oddly enough; and they had a roommate with a guy cousin.  I know, weird.  Anyfamilia, the roommate's cousin developed a crush on me and asked me to have coffee one day after a library science class and I went.  First mistake.  His name was Guy (okay, not his real name, but close).  We had coffee, he seemed normal enough, I said I'd have coffee with him another day, the next week, whatev.  So, we go to the coffee shop again and a few minutes in, I realize he's a little odd.  I few minutes later, I believe he's kinda crazy.  I decided it was a good time to fake having to be on RA duty for the night and asked him to drive me back to my dorm and we left.  I couldn't wait to tell my friends what a freakazoid Guy was and thought I'd made a smart move getting out of this before anything started.  Go me! 

As he drove past my dorm I realized I was being kidnapped.  I thought, "now who would kidnap a chubby redheaded girl?" then remembered "Silence of the Lambs" and started to freak out on the inside.  I reminded him that my dorm was getting further away and he told me he wanted to show me a house a few miles away.  WTF?  Great, I was going to be a person suit, just what I needed.  I contemplated how injured I would get if I jumped out of the vehicle and looked around the truck for any weapons.  No weapons.  He drives to the middle of NoFreakinWhere, Louisiana (close to Ruston) and shows me this dilapidated house, tells me this is where he'd like us to live one day and I realize he is certifiable and he could probably outrun me, defintely run me over with his truck.  I'm looking around for the well I'm sure Guy is going to drop me into and hope Jodie Foster drives by.  And so eventually (after over an hour) I talk him into driving me back, using psychology, and when his truck came to a stop in front of Dudley, I run into my hall director's apartment and call the Tech police.  I recount the story to my HD and the Tech cops, who do exactly nothing about the crazy Guy.  I was pissed. 

And so it was almost the end of the quarter and I moved my stuff into Kidd dorm, where I would be an RA during the summer.  Crazy Guy had backed off and I learned he wouldn't be attending Tech during the summer, so I was able to relax.  That was until he started showing up at the dorm almost everyday and Crazy Guy became Guy the Stalker.  It got to where I was pretty much trapped in the dorm because he would wait at the front door until I would leave for class.  I didn't want to risk becoming a person suit so, I began to spend my afternoons safe in the housing office, hang out off campus at my friend Carole's, and would return at night to the dorm to sleep.  There would be dozens of messages on my machine when I got back to the dorm and I was miserable.  One night "Silence of the Lambs" came on and I don't think I left my dorm room for over 48 hours.  Being away from Scott and having the crazy stalker was taking its toll on this chick. I'd dropped two classes and gained twenty pounds, awesome!   So, summer wound down and Stalker Guy backed off again until fall when he started the stalking again.  At that point a male friend got involved and Stalker Guy never darkened my doorway again.   I don't know what was said or if fisticuffs broke out, but I knew I had never been so glad for a guy to never call me again! 

And that's the story of how Kerry learned that bad boys may be bad boys, but then again, they may be psycho crazy kidnappers.  So, I won't be seeing "He's Just Not That Into You" because I've lived enough of that, thank you very much. 

What the hell Friday: all the news that’s sh*t

Edit:  If you're not in the mood for a semi-rant, just scroll to the bottom for some good 'ole Kerry Blog fun.

I'm sorry for the expletive, but I've been cursing more than usual and I blame the news.  Today's topic title comes from the idea behind the New York Times masthead and their slogan "all the news that's fit to print" which Rolling Stone changed to "all the news that fits" for the debut of the magazine in 1967.  But now, all the news that's sh*t seems to be a better phrase. 

This is a painful topic for me, being a news junkie and all.  I've loved all things journalism since I was 11 or so and I tend to soak up as much information as I can, via print, television, and the interwebs as a rule.  I took journalism for five years in high school, yes five (that's a whole 'nother post), and the only reason I didn't go into journalism in college is because I wanted to write fiction, not straight news.  But I did love my time writing for the Byrd high school newspaper and The Shreveport Times, I learned a lot and was in my element, at least one of them anyway.  But that's when news was news.

I have a beef with the media these days.  I guess I should restate that: I have a beef with the news media, our trusted news sources, the Big 3, the CNNs, and the local stations, too.  Why?  Here's why:

As I write this, at 1:40 CST, these are the top headlines on the CNN homepage:

Let's examine this, shall we?  Disgraced minister Teg Haggard sexual preference is not news.  I don't care if it's sex with both teams of whoever the hell is in the Super Bowl or their mascots, it's not news.  It's just not. 

Neither is the crazy woman who has had octuplets.  Why?  Because she has 6 children at home and went through fertility treatments to have the new babies.  That's not news.  I know I'm going to get flack for this, but because I'm riled up already, I don't care.  Here's my view:  just because you CAN have babies doesn't mean you SHOULD.  The smallest baby was 1.8 lbs.  What kind of problems do you expect these babies to have?  And the woman lives with her parents, no mention of the father.  At best this is a story for the Health section, under ethics (and no, I'm not a medical expert, but I do have common sense). 

No, the Obama girl look-alike is not news.  Please.

Neither is Stuff White People Like, although it is a funny website. 

Eating well for under 10 bucks is a Living story. 

Pole dancers?!  Pole freaking dancers?!  Is CNN just trying to tick me off or what?  This is so not news.  Not effing news.  No effing way.  You know what would be news?  If I were a pole dancer. 

Amy Winehouse's house being burglarized?  What were they after, her crack pipe?  Not news.  Not unless they broke in and found shiny ass unicorns dancing the can-can with Amy's wig. 

Mittens the cat — now CNN is mocking me.  This is Star Magazine stuff.

Do you see what I mean?  Does anyone remember that we're in a recession, a war, massive debt, environmental crisis — just to name a few?  I know those subjects aren't fun, but that's what news is.  News is serious business, you know news is serious because newscasters wear suits.  Suits are for serious situations.  Frivilous stories belong in entertainment and silly blogs and things.  Mittens the cat should be on FUPenguin.  Amy Winehouse belongs on TMZ.  The Obama girl look-alike, who cares?   To be fair, the Obama thing is a Feature and should appear in Living, nowhere near the CNN top stories.  These things should be tucked at the bottom in the categories in which they belong.

I don't know what happened to reporting serious news.  I miss Dan Rather and Tom Brokaw. 

In case you're thinking it's just CNN and to show both sides, here's the top FOX News stories at 2:58 CST:

Now, the Kerry Blog is anything but Fair and Balanced, so I'm calling FOX out — y'all ain't reporting the news either!  Yeah, I said it.  The politicians' signatures, sister attacking the bride, Drew Peterson's fiancee, and Amy Crackhouse  — not the news, not even close. 

Just for fun, and because I'm in a mood, here's the news story of the day that I'm making up off the top of my head, because that's where I keep my bestest ideas. 

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BREAKING NEWS:

SPACE HOOKERS HAVE LANDED, OBAMA DEFERS TO BILL CLINTON

Reports are coming in from the MId-West of Space Hookers landing in cornfields.  President Obama has deferred to former President Bill Clinton on this issue, citing the current economic crisis and Clinton's accomplishments  in diplomatic affairs. 

When contacted for a comment, former President Bush said, "there's hookers in space?  DAAYUUUM!"

Please stay with KBN the Kerry Blog Network for further developments .  We now return you to your regularly scheduled program. 

The photo comes courtesy of plaidstallions.com (my current obsession) and I made the Breaking News pic on icanhascheeseburgers.com. 

open letter to Jessica Simpson

Double-belted
Dear Jessica,

Can I call you Jessica?  I know we've never met, but I'm cool and not stalkery in the least, so I'll call you Jessica.  True, I don't know any of your songs and not seen a single movie you've made, but I have tried on a pair of Jessica Simpon shoes, so I think we're pretty tight.  Glad we got that over with.  I'm writing to you because you're all over my interwebs today and honestly, though it is by no fault of your own, you're preventing me from getting some work done. 

Don't cry, it's not your fault, it's those bad bloggers, I'm not one of them, I promise.  These evil bloggers are calling you fat.  Now, I would never say that because I don't think you're fat, you're not!  And who the hell cares if you've gained a few pounds?  You're dating that Tony Romo guy, you're happy, maybe you're hitting Taco Bell a little more often, I don't know — I love the Taco Bell, myself, it's okay.  It's a Kerry Blog scientifically-proven fact that people gain a little weight when they're happy.  For instance, my hubs has gained some pounds since marrying me and it's obviously because I make him so freaking happy.  What do you mean I can't prove that?  Jess, I'm on your side, don't make me slap you.  Again with the crying?  Oh, come on, I was just kidding.

It's pathetic that the mean bloggers result to elementary school name-calling to go after you when some of us just want to help.  You're  gorgeous girl!  Lord knows if I looked like you I'd be naked all the time!  Really, you're still maybe a size 8 and I haven't been an 8 since 9th or 10th grade, I'd go to Target naked if I were an 8 — I'd blog naked, for that matter.  Jess, you just need a girlfriend to go shopping with to help you stay away from unflattering outfits like this.  Trust me, high-waisted denim and and a double belt never did a girl with curves any favors.  I'm not saying anything about the pockets. 

Honey, come over, we'll get you fixed up with a good bra to boost the girls up (I know a thing or two about this, ask my friends), find a good pair of jeans, and I'll help you burn that infernal belt.  Really, girl, I'd fire whoever told you to wear that belt, it's all kinds of wrong.  And while you're at it, tell that make-up artist of your's to find some red lipstick, that pinky-lilac washes you out.  At least the make-up artist didn't make you look older 'cause then I'd have say ala Kanye, "THIS IS SOME BENJAMIN BUTTONS SHIT!"  And red lipstick just makes you feel good.  You'll have to trust me on that one, too.  For now, just go to Walgreens and get a tube of L'oreal True Red and put it on, it's practically an anti-depressant.  That is also Kerry Blog proven.  So have your people call my people (me in a British accent) and set up a shopping date, it's going to be fine. 

xxxooo,

Kerry

an early what the hell Friday

Yes, I know it's Thursday, but I'll be at Crop Connection this afternoon through Saturday night, so it's an early What the Hell Friday for you to ponder for days on end.  I'll be posting from CC, but this is too effin' weird not to post for WTHFriday.

It's the USB Boob Warmer.
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Yes, it's a boob warmer.  For times when you're naked at the computer and it's just too much trouble to find a robe (as I'm wearing as I write this) or any type of clothing.  Thank goodness this has been invented because I can't tell you how often I'm blogging in the buff (btw, that's my new hit single "Blogging in the Buff") and I think "if only I had something to plug into this USB port to warm my bodacious chi-chis." 

Well, lo and behold, leave it to the Japanese to invent this lovely product.  I'm sure they're working on the USB ass warmer as we speak.  It would just be one bigger version of the kidney bean-shaped boob warmers.  Genius, I'm telling you!

But Kerry, pray tell, how does this nifty gadget work?  Oh, yes, you knew there would be more pictures.
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Why, it looks like you stuff the boobie warmers under your bra.  Damn, guess I can't use them naked.  You'd think they would have made them in skin tones — a peachy color, tan, cocoa, mahoghany — I'm just saying. 

I could just see my friends who work in chilly offices pulling these babies out and getting warm and toasty in the office.  I think I'll be picking up at few of  for next Christmas.  Secret Santa gifts!

Too bad the website's in Japanese.  I can't help but wonder, do they come in sizes?  I need to know if they make my DD or not. 

what the hell Friday: carry that weight

When I posted my new year's resolutions last week (has it been 2009 for a week already?  Damn) I'm sure a few of you thought "ok, where's the 'lose weight' resolution?"  Well, I didn't make that a resolution.  It's not because I don't want to lose weight, it's because after 20 years of being on some type of diet or another, I've decided not to make it a resolution.  Yes, it's been on my list for 20 years.  What the hell?  That's either pathetic or — well, it's pathetic.  So, no, it's not a resolution. 

What I have decided to do is be healthier in 2009 and not make my weight the center of it all.  Why?  Because of Oprah.

Did you miss the headline?  It made CNN!  Good grief, Oprah gained weight.  The nation's economy is in the toilet, we're in a war, Osama's still out there, Israel's attacking Gaza again — but stop the presses!  Oprah has hit 200 pounds. 

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This is O on the cover of O.  Does she look horrible?  No.  Sure, the purple outfit is doing nothing for her, but she looks fine.  This is what O had to say on the matter: "I can’t believe that after all these years, all the things I know how
to do, I’m still talking about my weight. I look at my thinner self and
think, `How did I let this happen again?’"  Maybe it's because your body is not meant to be 140 pounds.  I'm not advocating being heavy, but starving yourself and having to workout to the degree Oprah did to stay the weight you diet down to is unhealthy as well. 

For instance, I'm 5'2" and according to several weight charts I'm supposed to be 128 pounds.  A friend of mine who happens to be a doctor said that would be tiny for me and I agreed.  I was 128 pounds when I was in 7th or 8th grade, which was before I had hips (you're thinking I was going to say "and boobs," but no, I had already had the boobs).  So, no, I don't think 128 pounds is my "ideal" weight.  Ideal maybe if I go on Survivor for fat chicks and lose half my body weight, maybe — but no, 128 isn't gonna happen.  Nope. 

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Just for fun, I uploaded a photo of me taken a few minutes before my date picked me up for prom senior year.  Let's look at what I would consider my ideal weight, shall we. 

The pic is taken at an angle, so it's weird, but whatev.  And yes, I really am that pale. And that was the year I made a brilliant decision to dye my hair black at Halloween with the wash-out in 24 shampoos hair color, only it didn't wash out, so that was as light as it got.  What the hell?  I was an effing genius — really, I don't know how I made it through that year with all the stupid things I did.  I was 18 and I'm guessing 160 lbs.  I looked normal, looking back, of course.  But at the time I was depressed beyond belief and had zero self esteem (and obviously no posture to speak of — look at those shoulders).  At 18 I hated the way I looked because I thought I was fat.  Now, if I was a good blogger, I would photshop in a pic of me now looking at my 18 year-old self and do a magazine cover mock-up like the O cover.  But, I'm not going to do that because I'm lazy.  My point is, hindsight is 20/20.  Always has been. By the way, I don't know what I was thinking straightening my hair that night because it rained and I looked like a poodle by the time we got to prom.  Oh, and look at those skinny ankles — is it any wonder I've sprained them a hundred times? 

We can't dwell on what was any more than we can worry about the future.  Sure, I looked a lot better then, but I was 18.  I wasn't a happy girl.  It took years to figure out my happiness isn't connected to my weight and it shouldn't rule my thoughts, although it does much of the time.  If I beat myself up over my weight it only makes me want to eat cookies.  Like half a bag of cookies.

Instead of Oprah asking how she "let" herself gain weight, a better message would be to be happy and healthy at whatever point in life you are, whatever age you are.  I'm going to eat healthier this year and start walking and stuff.  That's not mind-blowing, it just makes sense that if I don't want to have a lot of the problems overweight people deal with as they age, I should get healthier for health's sake.  That's not because I'm unhappy with the way I look, hell, as you can see at 18 I had the double chin — it's about being happy with who I am and treating myself better. 

And treating myself better also has to deal with how I view myself.  I am not my weight.  I am not my dress size.  I am Kerry: wife, mother, daughter, friend, superfantastic woman in the here and now.  And that's pretty good. I'm not perfect, and I'm okay with that. 

For your Friday, I'm leaving you with two more pictures from an artist I just discovered a few days ago through one of my favorite blogs, Manolo for the Big Girl.  The artist is Kal Barteski and she was an instant fave the second I saw her art.  It's empowering and smart, pretty and soulful — and I love art that is all those things.
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Barteski calls these "tiny art" and these are my two favorites. 

This one says:

"she was the one who couldn't see /she was the one who didn't know/ compassion was curvy/ experiences experience was heavy/ beauty was within her/ so much beauty."

If I would have seen this as a teenager it would have turned a lightbulb on inside my head.  I'm sure of that.  There were no messages for girls like this in the early 90's.  There were no girls that looked like me in magazines.  There were no body acceptance blogs, that was a few years later.  

I'm loving the tiny art.

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The tiny art on the right says:

"she loved/ she loved and loved/ with every inch in every way/ en masse/ and all and every/ undeniable/ unbelievable/ indisputable/ incomparable beauty./ so much beauty"

If you don't think that's awesome, just go put on some Britney Spears and read Cosmo or eat some Cheetos, 'cause I got nothin'.

I'm serious. 

Okay, if you're still with me, I'll post some scrapbookie stuff this weekend and we'll have some fun.  Your assignment for this weekend is to be happy with yourself, or at least start on that path. 

I'm happy being me and I'm happy you're here. I like you the best.  But you already knew that.


when no one takes you seriously anymore

Courtneylove8
Some day, when I just don't care anymore, I will hire Courtney Love as my fashion consultant.  This look says, "so what?  I know I mixed my laderhousen with Tinkerbell's woodland fairy costume and put on a feather headband.  Didn't you know January is magical creatures of Germany month?!" 

That still doesn't explain why she has the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz thing going on at her wrists and ankles.  Even if she's on her way to a costume party, that still doesn't make sense.  You know she's not going to a costume party.  You know she's just walking to pilates or Starbucks with her magazine and croco leather bag (which I'm surprised she didn't trade out for her purse made of spiderwebs and unicorn hair filled with fairy dust). 

And Courtney, we know you're not dressing like this for a role.  Unless they're remaking the Sound of Music and you're Crazy Aunt Helga who tries to get the Von Trapp children to try magic mushrooms to experiment with their groovy sound while Maria is off making out with the Captain.  That's in the director's cut of the film, in case you're wondering. 

Just don't tell me this is in Victoria Secret's new Austrian Angels line.  I just don't trust outfits or lingerie you have to comb. 

what the hell Friday: Christmas school vacation

Note: if you happen to be a teacher, you may want to stop reading now.  It's not that I don't love you, I do, but I'm thisclose to losing it. 

When I was but a young lass, Christmas vacation was the best.  It was the best two weeks of the year, it was the shiznit if you will, pardon my hip hop slang.  Right before the break, all the kids had written their letters to Santa and talked about what we'd asked the big man for.  We had our Christmas parties at school and Christmas programs at church, the countdown was on.  The last day before school let out for the break, there was a flurry of activity.  I remember watching Christmas movies, singing carols, working holiday word find puzzles, and giving my teacher a small gift. 

These days not much has changed, sure the teacher gifts are a little nicer and of course the Christmas outfits and dresses are much prettier, but it's still the same excitement of getting out for two whole weeks of Christmas.  So, what the hell?  Now I'm the mom!

I don't know exactly when it was that I became an adult.  Yes, I know — I could vote at 18, drink at 21, but I wasn't an adult.  I married the hubs at 23, but I wasn't an adult.  I didn't become an adult until I was responsible for another life.  Little did I know that little 7 1/2 lb life would change a lot of things.  It started before she was even born.  I couldn't eat guacamole or brocolli when I was pregnant and when she came into this world, suddenly I had to turn the music down in the car, there was no sleeping in on weeekends, she controlled my life. 

And now, she and her sister are in elementary school.  Their brother is in mother's day out twice a week.  You know what that means?  Christmas vacation. 

Let me explain how things are now that I'm the mom.  We get the December calendars for school and both of the girls have Christmas parties, Molly has a progam, Andrew has a program — and here's the best part: the parties are on the same day and so are the programs.  And so it begins, the mad rush before the break.  Now, having three children means lots of gifts.  No, not for them!  For teachers, bus drivers, librarian, and 400 other people you have to buy gifts for if you're the mom.  So, by now you're broke and you've run around town like a crazy person finding gifts for people, outfits for programs, and then you get a note in the backpack.  For the program, your child's class has to wear cowboy gear.  What the hell?  What do cowboys have to do with Christmas?  Oh, they're singing the western version of Jingle Bells, which is the regular Jingle Bells, with a twang and a yee-ha at the end.  Makes perfect since.  And so you send the hubs to buy a cowboy hat at Target on the dollar aisle because they had them last week and you're busy wrapping teacher gifts.  The hubs calls to say no, there are no cowboy hats!  So, you send him across town to Party City and he calls asking if it's okay to get her a pink sequined cowboy hat.  Sure, at this point you don't care if has flashing neon flamingos on it, whatevs!

And so the Friday Christmas break begins they kids come in all high on sugar and bring in backpacks with all sorts of little gifts and candy from friends, tons of artwork and ornaments made from popcicle sticks, beads, pompons, and pipe cleaners that litter the kitchen table.  And the children say, "Mom, isn't it great?!  We're out for two weeks!"  Oh, yeah, just great.  Just wonderful.  Just shoot me in face right now. 

We're almost at the end of the two weeks and my house is a disaster.  I have stress acne.  They've eaten everything in the fridge and pantry.  I've watched more Noggin, Rudolph, Boomerang, and Strawberry Shortcake than anyone should ever have to.  Truthfully, it's cruel and unusual punishment and I wouldn't wish it on hardened criminals.  Well, yes I would, especially Yo Gabba Gabba and Dora the Explorer.  Come on vamonos, everybody let's go — yeah, go to hell, Dora!  I'm sorry I got carried away for a minute.  I really hate Dora.  Her head is shaped like a damn football.  What the hell?  Have the illustrators ever seen a human being?  We tend to have heads shaped more like baseballs, not footballs.  But I digress. 

My daughters go back to school on Monday.  When they get on the bus, I'll be doing the mother effin' Mexican hat dance and beating the hell out of a pinata in celebration.  I may start drinking for the occasion.  A little tequila in my coffee cup sounds about right. 

Also on Monday, I will be writing a letter to my congressman.  I believe I have come up with a plan to make the Christmas holiday a little more manageable.  I know it won't be easy, I know we have a long road ahead of us, but I know that it will make the moms of this country a little more sane and full of Christmas spirit.  My plan is to make Christmas a holiday celebrated much like Thanksgiving.  We will make Christmas on a Monday every year and New Year's Eve will be on Thursday.  That way Christmas vacation lasts only one week and sanity is spared all across this great nation.  But Kerry, we can't move Christmas! Oh, yes, my friends, we can.  You see, since we're celebrating the birth of Jesus and He was born in the spring as our theologian scholar friends believe, we're not celebrating it on the right day anyway, so it's okay.  But Kerry, won't that mess up the whole calendar if New Year's Eve is on Thursday every year?  Listen, I didn't say my plan is perfect and there are plenty of smart people who can figure this out.  Hell, we have leap year every four years and I still don't understand how they come up with when we have Easter every year.  I know we have Mardi Gras 40 days before Easter, but how do we know when Easter is?  See, there are people wiser than I who can figure these things out. 

No need to thank me, I'm sure there's already a statue being carved out of stone in my honor, hopefully it will be a little thinner than the flesh and blood version, I don't ask for much.  Don't worry, I'll keep you updated on how my bill progresses.  I'd like congress to call it the Give Momma a Break Bill.  Or the What the Hell Vacation Bill.  Either way, I'm sure we'll get the votes for it to pass.  I'll be willing to go to Capital Hill if need be.  Hear that, Hillary?  I'm comin' for you.  And I'm bring my kids for you to babysit.  You should have plenty of time now that you're going to be Secretary of State and all.  Maybe we can have lunch and enjoy some girl talk, you know, about hair products, pantsuits, whatever. 

2008 year end wrap-up

I'm not sure if you've heard, but it's the end of this year.  Look at a calendar, you'll see.  So, the journalist in me thought I'd give you a year end wrap-up, being that I'm a news junkie I can't help myself.  I've scanned all my usual news sites and my favorite list comes from CNN/Time.  They have the Top 10 everything stories, from straight news to the top 10 Late Night Jokes, it's worth checking out.  But, because I'm me, the list that caught my eye was the Top 10 Oddball News Stories of the year.  That's a list I can get into. Let me start by saying the story names are from CNN/Time, but the writer has my sense of humor.  Particularly for #5.

Thomas-beatie3
1. The Pregnant Man — trans-gendered Thomas Beatie gave birth to a baby girl in June.  Beatie was using testosterone therapy and underwent chest reconstruction, but kept his girly parts and was artificially inseminated because his wife had had a hysterectomy.  He went talk shows, 20/20, Oprah felt his baby belly and everything.  Oh, and guess what?  He's preggo again.  Personally, I don't think this is a big story. Um, he still has a uterus and a vajayjay, so yeah, he can have babies just like me and almost every other person born a girl.  Now, if I don't know, Tom Selleck were preggo — that would be news.  Anderson Cooper would be all up in that action with the first interview and Oprah would have a fit.

Potskull
2. Night of the Corpse Skull Bong — 3 Texas teens not only robbed a grave, but cleaned up a skull to turn into a bong.  The idiot that confessed was sentenced to 8 months in the county jail for abuse of a corpse.  Damn.  When I was a teenager we used to prank call people and stay out past curfew.  I was a goody goody, but some of my friends did at least commit misdemeanor crimes and though I did hear tales of hi jinks, grave robbing never came into play.  At least not that I know of.  My friends weren't into drugs either, but I would think if they had been, human remains wouldn't be at the top of the list for making bongs.  Again, I am assumming.  For all I know, they were smokin' crack out of Elvis' sideburns.  Really, I wouldn't have put it past some of my high school punk-ass boyfriends to rob a grave.  I dated some high class morons, some day I'll tell some stories.

3. Strange Things Afoot in Vancouver — 6 severed human feet have been found on the shores of
British Columbia since August 2007.  Medical experts believe the feet were "detached naturally" from bodies floating in the ocean and have washed up on the beaches.  Um, dude, are there that many dead bodies just floating around up there?  Seriously?  And can we just talk for a minute about the poor people who stumbled upon these feet?  I could never go to the beach again.  I guarantee you I'll never go to a beach in Vancouver.  When we lived in Canada, my bookclub friend, Paula, was from Vancouver and she never mentioned the washed-up feet.  And she was the outdoorsy-type (complete opposite of me, hence the bookclub), so I'm sure she went to the beach.  Who's up for a vacay to B.C.?

4. Virgin Shark Mother

a female Atlantic
blacktip shark named Tidbit. Tidbit, who died due to pregnancy
complications — the pup, also deceased, was discovered inside her womb
after her death — had produced the offspring without the help of a shark
father. The asexual reproduction, known as parthenogenesis, occurred
at an aquarium in Virginia Beach, VA and the October announcement was only the second documented case in shark history. 

Y'all — I wouldn't attempt to paraphrase that one.  First of all — virgin shark.  WTF?  Second, asexual reproduction is freakish.  I wouldn't trust any animal who could reproduce by itself.  If an animal can Xerox itself, that's pretty much cloning as far as I'm concerned.  Not that I learned that in biology or anything ('cause Lord knows I wasn't paying attention and I was probably writing Mrs. Andrew McCarthy on my notebook) and I'm far from being a science whiz.  Unless it's the science of love, of which I have a PhD.

Fetus_sucking_thumb
5. She Ain't Heavy, She's My Partially Absorbed Embryonic Twin

When doctors examined a 9-year-old Greek girl complaining of a stomach
ache, they were startled to discover the cause: an embryonic twin the
girl had absorbed while in the womb. The girls' abdomen was swollen
with the growth, which surgeons removed safely. "Vanishing Twin
Syndrome" is not entirely uncommon — experts say it occurs as often as
1 in 8 pregnancies — but the vast majority of vanished twins are
completely absorbed by the surviving twin or by the mother before birth.

Shut up.  I've spent A LOT of time in OB/GYNS offices and I've never heard of this in real life.  Yes, I've seen the documentary on TLC, but for realz, y'all.  Damn.  Absorbed?  No.  Viva paper towels absorb, not people.  Can you imagine being told this info in the doctor's office?  I wouldn't need anestetic for the surgery, I'd go into a coma right there.  Have you noticed 3 of these stories have had to deal with pregnancy?  I'm glad the reproductive chapter in my life is over because I couldn't take this crap. 

6. Second Life Divorce — follow me on this one.  A real-life British couple were apparently really involved in an online role-playing game called Second Life (I've never heard of it, but it sounds just lovely) and the wife caught her husband "cheating" with a Second Life prostitute, who in real life is a divorced mom from Arkansas.  The Brit courts saw online cheating as grounds for their real divorce AND now the guy is engaged to the woman he "cheated" with online — in real life.  Did you get that?  I'm getting a headache just trying to process that.  The only role-playing games I'm familiar with are action games, not people being prostitues online.  Is that what our world of technology has turned into?  Online prostitutes?  I suppose you can't get STDs from computer sex, but you could get a computer virus, perhaps.

10_oddball_pedicure
7. Fish Pedicures — The practice of plunging feet into a tub of tiny carp called garra
rufa, which nibble on dead skin, was popular in some Asian countries
and became an American craze after John Ho, a Virginia salon owner,
announced he had offered the treatment to 5,000 customers over a
four-month period. Soon, pedicurists all over the country were ordering
thousands of
the fish, which are said to help soften the skin in advance of normal,
human-administered pedicures. Unfortunately for some salon owners who
had already ordered the fish, Washington and Texas quickly banned the
practice
on sanitary grounds.
Oh, hell to the no.  I love a pedicure, but there's no way on Earth I'm sticking my feet in a tub of itty bitty dead-skin eating fish.  That's sick.  What the hell are people thinking?  This is disturbing.  Damn, why not use a freakin' dingo from the outback or a damn grizzly bear to give your tootsies a rub down?  What's the punk-ass salon owner going to do next, get wasps to sting you and call it botox? 

8. Breast Milk Ice Cream — PETA wrote an open letter to Ben & Jerry's telling them to use breast milk instead of cow's milk.  PETA later said it was a gimmick.  Really?  Now, I'm all for breast feeding, I nursed three babies, but I draw the line at ice cream.  And I'm all for ice cream, too, just make mine with cow's milk, please.

Big foot
9. Bigfoot Lives! No, Really! — Ok, here's my summary: a couple of guys in Georgia told the world they found bigfoot and had its corpse in a freezer and CNN and a bunch of news people went nuts when a bigfoot expert went to see it.  The dudes put up a website, had videos on YouTube, and people ate it up.  Of course, it was a bigfoot costume in a freezer and those guys are back to watching Larry the Cable Guy on Comedy Central.  Yeah, if bigfoot exists, two rednecks will find it, I'm sure of that.  I'm actually going to give these guys props, they sold it and people bought it!  Oh, by the way, I've got a unicorn in my backyard and some leprechauns in my garage.  CNN, you listening?  Just be careful when you go in the backyard, the unicorn's tame, but my dragon gets a little hot around strangers. By the way, is this not the best photo ever?  I think it's t-shirt worthy. 

10. Your Money For My Life

After his wife left him, Ian Usher decided to make a clean break from his
old existence as a rug salesman in Perth, Australia. So he took the next
logical, if extreme, step, and put his entire life up for sale on eBay. On
the auction block, sold only as a package, were Usher's three-bedroom house,
his 1989 Mazda sedan, a jet ski, his computer, his furniture, an
introduction to his friends and a tryout at his sales job. The bids rolled
in and Usher, 44, ended up collecting around $380,000. He later said he had
hoped his life would sell for more, but he still had enough to finance phase
II of his unusual midlife crisis, embarking on a massive trip around the
world to complete a hundred life goals in a hundred weeks.

That's pretty awesome.  Who hasn't wanted to start all over after an extremely stressful period?  The rug salesman put his whole life on eBay!  It would be strange to watch the bids roll in for your life, wouldn't it?  When I've sold a few things on eBay, I was excited to see people bid on stuff, but I don't know how I would react to selling all the tangible things in my life.  Here's what my auction listing would include: 4 bedroom house, Town & Country minivan with a dent on the back right bumper, 7 or 8 magazine subscriptions, my Vera Bradley collection, pink Dyson vacuum and pink handvac, fantastic record collection, a closet full of clothes in a range of sizes to accommodate the most discriminating yo-yo dieter,  co-ownership of a small scrapbook business, an introduction to my friends (who rock the house, btw), a husband who loves scuba diving and video games, and 3 kids who are super adorable, but don't listen worth a flip.  Oh, and ton of laundry that's currently blocking the doorway to the laundry room.  What would the starting bid be? How would you decide that?  I'm not sure.  My auction listing title would be "Get a Life."  Maybe the bigfoot guys would buy it.  They need one.

Well, peeps, that's my year in review.  I stayed away from the obvious stories because we all know about those, you've heard all the commentary you need about Palin, Obama, gas prices, the economy, and Iraq.  Where are you going to hear about the virgin shark mother and fish pedicures if I don't blog about them?  This blog's tagline should be "pondering the innane, so you don't have to."  Once again, the Kerry Blog delivers on that promise!

Friends and peeps, there are lots of fun things coming up this week — my new scrap office will be revealed (before and after pics), pics of recent layouts and a trip down memory lane with a look at my first foray into scrapbooking from back in '99!  And my New Year's resolutions, so check back for more fun than you can shake a paint stick at.

Christmas shopping guide: idea #8 — a great ending to the series

So, I wanted to end the Christmas Shopping Guide series with a bang, and peeps, I think I've found the perfect gift for the hard to buy for man in your life.  I can say with full authority, I have seen nothing like this in all my 34 years, never heard of such a thing, never dreamed I'd lay eyes on anything so beautiful and wrong at the same time.  What could I be referring to?  Feast your eyes on this catalog page:
New catalogue 01

For your final edition of the Kerry Blog Christmas Shopping Guide, I give you custom made urinal sculptures.  Yes, they are sculptures of flowers and shells. Yes, they are working urinals.  Yes, I am just as confused as when I watched "The Lake House" and couldn't figure out how the heck Sandra Bullock and Keanu got together through a magic mailbox. 

Being as how I'm a chick and know little to nothing about urinals, I assumed they were purely utilitarian.  I was obviously wrong.  I've not been in many men's restrooms, of course there was the Taco Bell men's room somewhere in Mississippi, but my knowledge on this subject is limited.  So, I turned to my hubs for his opinion, who said "I have a mixture of emotions, not one is desirable, kind of like mixing ketchup and icecream."  No, I don't know what that means, the hubs in an enigma.

Art has always spoken to me.  I love art and I understand that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  Call me crazy (wouldn't be the first time), but when I think of art, bodily functions do not jump to mind.  The potty artist is is Clark Sorenson and he says the sculptures are meant to be installed and used.  Now, once upon a time, I was featured in an art show, I was on the program as an artist — at no time while viewing my work did I think, "hmm…that would look great as a toilet."  Maybe it's just me. 

So, if you're still looking for that perfect gift for that guy in your life and you'd like to have more art in your home, go ahead and order one of Clark's pieces.  Of course, it may give you nightmares to walk into your bathroom at 2 am to potty and see a giant Calla Lily jutting out of your wall.  I know that would give me nightmares.  Not to mention I wouldn't be able to take the hubs joking about watering the flowers, which I know he would do everyday. 

And just in case you're not a flower or shell person, maybe you can't get enough politics in your life — well, here's the urinal for you:

George 2 sm
Y'all, I'm not a Republican and I find this disturbing.  Beyond disturbing.  I'm pretty sure I'll have nightmares about this.  I mean, hell, what's next — a Cheney bidet?  Ew.  No, that's just, no. 

Ok, later I'll post on something a little more congenial.  Well, maybe not congenial, but I'll aim higher for the next post (pun intended).  For now I have to get some sleep, I've spent far too much time on this post and my eyes are quite heavy. 

Remember to get your entries in for the Kerry Blog Ugly-Ass Christmas Decoration Contest by Christmas Eve.  Email pics or videos to kerrybee7@yahoo.com