worst gift ever

Being that I have a bunch of gifts to wrap, laundry to fold, piles of magazines and kids' school papers to go through, not to mention I think I'm getting bronchitis — I didn't think I'd post until tonight, but then I saw this on the-coveted.com.

This is beyond wrong. Everyone knows I hate birds. I like them when they're flying around, not bothering anyone, but no — they have to attack people and try to kill them. Have you seen Hitchcock's The Birds? Scariest freakin' movie I've ever seen. The damn birds are everywhere! It's pretty much my nightmare since that day in 1994 when the parrot attacked me at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas. I was not injured by the bird only because I was able to get away thanks to my cat-like reflexes. For a chubby girl, I can run when faced with a big blue pterodactyl. Damn giant blue parrot. Scott said it was a Maccaw, I prefer to think of it as a giant blue instrument of death.

If I opened this on Christmas morning I would no doubt go into cardiac arrest. I'm sure seeing that Barbie under my tree would put me in the hospital. It could only be worse if those were owls. What the hell is Mattel thinking? Are there no other Barbies left in the world to make? What's next — Carrie from the Stephen King movie? Have they made the Aretha Franklin Barbie? Yoko Ono Barbie? How about a First Lady series? I suggest starting with Dolly Madison. Surely there are other Barbies out there to make. I'm not an anti-Barbie feminist. I love Barbie. Sure, she could stand to eat a sandwich, but I have nothing against her. I just don't want to see her being pecked to death by birds.

Here's the blurb about it from BarbieCollector.com: In 1963, Alfred Hitchcock,
the Master of Suspense, gave us a tale of terror not soon forgotten in
his film “The Birds.” Dressed in a re-creation of the stylish green
skirt-suit worn by the film’s ill-fated heroine in an iconic scene, Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”
Barbie® Doll celebrates the 45th anniversary of the acclaimed film.
From the doll’s classic ensemble to the perfectly painted expression to
the accompanying black birds, every aspect captures the film’s infamous
appeal.

Seriously? Her perfectly painted expression of utter fear for her life! I give up, Mattel. Here's an idea: the Kerry Barbie — In 2008, Kerry Faler, the Mistress of the Mundane, gave us a blog soon not to be forgotten for its near-humor and paranoid ramblings. Dressed in a pink ScrapFest! t-shirt and black yoga pants worn by her while writing the blog, the "Kerry Faler" Doll celebrates the life of the 34 year-old acclaimed mom. From the doll's comfy ensemble to the perfectly painted WTF expression to the accompanying MP3 of "Black Bird," every aspect captures Kerry's moderate appeal. You should know the Kerry doll cannot wear Barbie's clothes as the Kerry doll is not a stick and most likely would not play nice with Barbie.

No one better get me that scary doll from The Birds. Unless you want me to come to your house and beat you down, don't even think about it.

what the hell Friday: tech etiquette

I was reading the CNN site tonight at came across a Real Simple magazine guide to tech etiquette with questions and answers from "experts" in manners and etiquette and thought, really? What the hell? I'm polite and all, I don't need any experts telling me what's proper tech etiquette — I practically invented the subject. Y'all know I'm hopelessly addicted to gadgets, so I'm qualified, yo. So, here's the Kerry Blog Guide to Tech Etiquette.

1. You're walking down the street and listening to your iPod when
you run into someone you know. Do you need to remove both earbuds to
talk to her?

What the hell? Remove both earbuds to talk? It's like this, don't interrupt me while I'm listening to my jams. How do you know "Jungle Love" by Morris Day and the Mother Effin' Time's not on? You can't interrupt that! Dang, I might be groovin' to my theme song "Goody Two Shoes." Talk about etiquette, don't bother me. Text me like a damn normal person. And where I am going walking down the street? I have a car. I play my iPod in the car, and I can talk while I drive, so call me.

2. Is it rude to check your PDA at a friend's house?

The "expert" says to think of your PDA like a crossword puzzle and you can use it anywhere it would be acceptable to work a crossword puzzle. What the hell? Who's getting together and doing crossword puzzles with friends? Here's the Kerry Blog advice: if you need to access your PDA for something important like an email from your realtor or to check if you're winning the limited edition Hello Kitty personal massager on eBay or to watch the video of the monkey sneezing on YouTube — go ahead, knock yourself out. Your friend will understand. If not, refer her to my blog, tell her I said it's okay and I'm an expert.

3. How quickly must I respond to an e-mail? Are the standards different for work e-mails versus personal e-mails?

Hmm. That's a hard one. I would say — what the hell? I have stuff to do, I can't be emailing you back right away all the time. I might be busy blogging or talking to friends on FaceBook, something important like that. Unless you're emailing me something really funny, then I'll email back immediately. Now, if I emailed you — that's something completely different. I give friends half a day to email back and if they haven't I assume a) they are busy planning a surprise party for me, b) they've been injured in a horrible disfiguring accident and can't reply, c) I have said something to offend them and they're pissed. I'm paranoid, so what? Email people back, ok?

4. If someone calls you, can you e-mail the person back or send a
text message if you're not in the mood to talk? What if you text or
e-mail someone and the person calls you back?

I have to say, I don't have this problem because everyone always wants to talk to me. Now, if someone calls you, you should call them back. I have a bad habit of not listening to voice mails, but I do check the caller ID and call people back — unless I'm busy posing for the new Victoria's Secret catalog. If someone emails, you should email them back. And that brings up another point: how do you know when it's ok to not email someone back? You know, you get an email to ask what time you're meeting a friend for lunch, so you reply with the time, then they reply to your reply to say thanks — are you supposed email back to say you're welcome? That could go on forever. Have you ever gotten a thank-you note so nice that you thought "I should send a thank-you note back"? Same idea.

5. Is using BCC (blind carbon copy) on an e-mail considered sneaky?

Hell no! Is it sneaky to call up a friend after an event you both attended to talk about how whatshername was wearing those low-rise jeans and you could see her thong and she has no business wearing low-rise or thongs? Not in my book. Some things just need to be said. For instance, I received and email not long ago that was so ridiculously juvenile and mean-spirited that I had to share it with close friends. I thought about posting it on the blog, as a couple of friends suggested, but I was content just to show a select few what a pompous baffoon this individual was. Is that sneaky? No. Is it being ugly? Maybe. Did my friends and I make up a new nickname for this person and now refer to them by that name? Fo shizzle. When in doubt, follow the Kerry Blog Rules of Emailification.

    a) don't put anything in writing you wouldn't want to come back to bite you in the ass.
    b) if you're going to put things in writing you may regret later, use spell check for crying outloud.
    c) if you're going to put things in writing you may regret later, make sure you send it to the person you intended it for. Once in high school I wrote two notes to two different friends and passed them on the way to a pep rally, of course, being an idiot, I mixed them up. So, friend A found out what a beyotch I thought she really was and friend B thought it was pretty funny. If you're going to be snarky, get it right. For the record, beyotch was crazy and went off on me and we didn't speak after that. Moral of this story: if you want out of a bad friendship/relationship, mix up your emails — it may get a crazy person out of your life, on the other hand, she could go all Single White Female on you.
    d) once you hit send you can't get it back. Don't drink and email, don't email late at night, and don't email in anger.
    e) email is not to be used for any of the following: beaking up with your significant other, telling someone their dad is gay, asking if there's going to be weed at a party, asking if there will be an open bar, telling someone their cat died, telling someone you saw their mom at a bar and she was looking hot, asking if it's okay to ask your friend's mom out, telling someone you think their child has Asperger's, admitting to an addiction, admitting you have no idea how you got home last night, telling someone you knew their spouse was a cross dresser, telling someone you think you saw their neighbor on Dateline's To Catch a Predator, or asking your spouse if that dent in their car was already there.

Hopefully that will help some of you. If you read the last paragraph and said, "uh-oh," then maybe you should distance yourself from the Interwebs for a while. If you have any further advice, feel free to leave it in the Comments. As for me, it's 1:10 am, perfect time for some late night emailing. I think it's a great time to confess to a friend that I may or may not have seen seen pics of their spouse naked on the Interwebs.

Y'all have a good weekend.

holiday pet peeves: edition 4

Although my friends look to me as their own personal Kerripedia, I've never claimed to know everything — well, yes I have, but I was joking. Anyinfo, for some reason I know a lot of things about a lot of things, most of which are only helpful when playing Trivial Pursuit, not for any real purpose. And trust me, not useful for any type of work or occupation — I've had many and no one ever asked me who invented the zipper (Whitcomb Judson) or what year Abbey Road was released (1969) or who wrote "the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (T.S. Eliot), but I can whip anyone's booty in Trivial Pursuit, as all my pursuits are fairly trivial. So, it's no surprise that I do know something about the Bible, being a Christian, having read it, sung hymns about it, and having heard roughly 2000 sermons on it.

And so here's what I do know. The book of Luke tells us Jesus was born during the the time of the census in Bethlehem and since there were no rooms to let, his mom, Mary, and his earthly dad, Joseph, laid him in a manger after he was born. An angel told some shepherds about the birth and they came to see baby Jesus. Eventually the wise men showed up and brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh; this is mentioned in the book of Matthew. Those are the main characters. That's all you need to know to make a decent nativity set.

What I want to know is why this simple but amazing and beautiful story is butchered by so many retail outlets? I don't know. Here's what I do know. Santa Claus was not at the birth of the Son of God. Shocking, I know. Let me break this down for you: Santa is not real, he was based on a 4th Century Greek Bishop named Nicholas, therefore St. Nicholas, Jolly old St. Nick, Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, Papa Noel — whatever you want to call the man with the bag — he missed the birth of Jesus by a few centuries.

It annoys me to no end to see Santa and Jesus together. It's a huge pet peeve of mine to see that. I could do without Santa all together actually, because he never did anything for me and being that now he's just used as an icon for mass retailers.

Enough serious Kerry-talk and onto the absurd because I'm sure that's what you tuned into for today. I spent a whole 15 minutes on the Interwebs looking up weird nativity sets and I'll share them with you.

Here's as fine a scene as any to start with, the owl Nativity. Owls, as in Whooooo's your Savior? Owls are creepy weird-ass birds that have no place in my life or my nativity scene. Who thought of this? Really? Bizarre, to say the least. And an owl Shepherd? No, that's just stupid.

Wanna know what else is stupid? Any other animal representing Jesus and family.
Do we really need a dog nativity? Whether it's with real dogs or ceramic dogs with chiauau angels. And that golden retriever shepherd looks bored. Weird, man. The goose nativity I just don't understand. If they put Mary Goose and Joseph Goose in clothes, why not Jesus Goose? Maybe I'm putting too much thought into this. But I just can't help but think how on Earth would geese put on clothes? They're as bad as the creepy-city owls up there — the owls are even holding things. Owls have no hands, much less opposable thumbs.

But that's not as disturbing as a nativity set that's edible.

Why? Why would anyone want to eat baby Jesus? Talk about creepy. And I suppose Mary, Joseph, and the camel are all milk chocolate; the wisemen are dark chocolate; and the sheep, shepherd, and angel are white chocolate. Who made that decision? I wish I could have sat in on that meeting in the candy shop. "Well, I figure babies drink milk, so we make Jesus milk chocolate." I think whoever came up with this idea was at least partly a nutjob (not my word, that's what a mental health professional would say).

But if that's not weird enough, how about cookie cutters so you can make your own cookie nativity. I almost get this one, I see where this idea almost makes sense. You see, making cookies at Christmas is something moms and kids have done for ages, why not incorporate the story of Jesus' birth and make some yummy treats? Because it's just plain icky to eat Jesus!

Now, I have no problem if you just want to make your cookie nativity and decorate it like a gingerbread house, but please stop there. For realz, people. Don't go eating it even if it looks delicious. And this is me saying this — y'all know I love me some cookies, they are my weakness as kryptonite was to Superman (only Superman didn't eat kryptonite). Personally, I would not make this. But, if you're going to make the cookie nativity set, you might as well have the nativity kitchen timer. As you know, nothing says "it's Chirstmastime!" like baby Jesus and fam dinging to let you know your Jesus cookies are ready. I know a certain cake decorator I'd love to give this to for Christmas, as she was the inspiration for this post when she emailed me about the lovely baby Jesus and Santa that started me on the quest to find the tackiest nativities on the Interwebs.

Speaking of tacky, how about a ginormous inflatable nativity for your lawn? Now, I'm not the best with measurement, but I'm guessing this is 900 feet tall. Look at those children — they look like extras from the Munchkinland scene from the Wizard of Oz. It's funny, I recall Luke 2:11 saying "Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you," not "Today in the town of David a GIANT baby Jesus was born!" This is just creepy. Now, I must confess something here. Last Christmas my mother-in-law said she wanted to put a nativity set on her lawn and I went to work, searching high and low for this very inflatable monstrocity. Because when someone says "I'm thinking of getting a nativity," my brain goes "hmm, I wonder what the biggest, most obnoxious thing I could get would be?" That's how I am pretty much any time a friend or family member mentions something to me. I've never believed that "less is more" crap — hell no, more is more! I so wanted to set this up on her lawn for her to see when she came how from work and freak her out. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Who would have thought it would have been sold out everywhere within driving distance of Mandeville? Oh, bother.

Maybe you like your nativity on a smaller scale, say to fit on an end table. Maybe you're into aliens and stuff, well, here's an option. Yes, I know those are supposed to be lambs in the window, but they look like aliens to me. It could only be better if there were pink flamingos in the background which reminds me of our neighbors in Brunswick, GA who put up a sleigh with a green alien dressed as Santa being pulled by a few pink flamingos. Those were the days. And really, aliens have as much to do with the Christmas story as an obese old guy in a red suit. I'm just saying.

Let's get to the three nativity scenes that probably bothered me the most out of the bunch (and trust me, I left out a lot).

I find that nothing brings out the spirit of Christmas like a game of bean bag toss. This is a great way to teach the kids about Jesus. Everyone get a bean bag and throw it at the wisemen for 10 points! Why is it only 5 points for the slot above Jesus? Seems like that one would be worth more, maybe it's just me. You know a kid that plays this will one day invent the nativity slot machine with 3 wisemen in a row instead of cherries.

Here's the troll nativity. I have no words.

And I'm leaving you with the Celtic nativity. That's right. Celtic. Here's what the store blurb says, "Packaged in a
special keepsake box with the tradition of the Celtic nativity, this 6
piece cultural set is sure to become a cherished family heirloom as it
celebrates the sacred birth in Irish heritage." Say wha? The sacred birth in Irish heritage? Was Jesus Irish? Y'all, I'm a good bit Irish — I've done the research, my great (times a few dozen) grandpappy was the first mayor of County Cork, for realz. With all the time I've spent researching the geneaology and reading up on the history of Ireland, I can't believe I didn't know Jesus was Irish. Plus, the figures in this creep-city set are just busts and they're super weird. What's with the two-headed one? I think this is the worst offender in the bunch.

Okay, peeps, this is the longest post I've written in a long time, but there are a lot of pics that take up a lot of room. This post was a two day affair, started yesterday, worked on before church, and after lunch. And I have to say, at no time in the service today did our pastor mention aliens in the Christmas story or trolls or even the Irish. Next year I'll be releasing my own nativity scene with Barbie and Ken dolls, as well as one with superhero figures. Wonder Woman as Mary, Superman as Joseph, Green Lantern, Aquaman, and Flash would be the wisemen and Batman would be the shepherd. I'll have to find a tiny Superboy for Jesus, but don't worry, I'm on the case.

what the hell Friday: my thunder has been stolen

So, since yesterday was a snow day and I have been essentially trapped in my home with a feverish 3 year-old this week, I made a break for it and went to Target. What a great idea that was. Apparently everyone was thinking the same thing.

After getting tissue paper and tape, my Frizz Ease Secret Weapon (love that stuff), and milk, I made my way to the scrapbooking aisle as I always do. I can spot anything new on that aisle because I'm like a scrapbook hawk looking for prey. On first glance I saw nothing new, until some funky rub-ons caught my eye.

Y'all, someone needs to call the po-lice 'cause my thunder has been stolen. Some scrapbook company (I've already forgotten the name) has taken MY catchphrases and turned them into rub-ons. What the hell? Oh, I'm sure that will be on the next series of rub-ons! Damn. I say shut up! all the time. I've said it for years and I say it to everyone, it's like saying "oh, really?" or the equivalent, but with more chutzpah. This blew my little mind. I stood in the scrapbook aisle dumbfounded. This has to be the second or third time in the past month that I've thought, "ooo — I should make that a product!" only to find out it already exists in the retail market. As a conspiracy theorist, I'm sure either my van is bugged (b/c that's where I do most of my thinking outloud) or my iPhone is being tapped and someone is getting all of the fantabulous ideas I tell my friends.

So, if that weren't enough, I start flipping throught the little pad and find oh snap!, seriously, boo yah! and fo shizzle! What the hell? I am really the only person I know who uses all of those phrases on a regular basis and I KNOW I'm the only 34 year-old white chick who uses boo-yah! and fo shizzle in public. This is when I thought about calling the management over, but I knew that wouldn't help. So, I documented my findings and bought the rub-on pad for evidence. I plan on calling my tv boyfriend, Anderson Cooper, to get CNN on this story, 'cause I'm sure this is right up there with the recession, the auto bailout, and Linens and Things and KB Toys closing (and yes, for those of you in the know, my maiden name started with a B, hence Kerrybee, and when I was a kid I thought the store was named for me, made sense when I was 6). I would say I should start my own scrapbooking news program on the web, but I'm sure someone would take that idea, too. If the rub-on pad would have had for realz, whatev, and no big — I would have called somebody. Maybe someone's stealing my identity. Ha. I've got news for them, it ain't worth stealing.

So, on another note, Target now has little painted canvas plaques you can totally make yourself for maybe $4. I found one that may be my motto for 2009, c'est la vie. I don't know why I decided to make a self-portrait because as you know I'm not one to turn the camera around. Just kind of fitting today. And if I'm ever arrested, maybe they'll let me use this as my mugshot. And my expression goes with the expression, if you know what I mean. Yes, I'm wearing a ScrapFest! shirt. Y'all have a nice weekend. I'm hoping to get some rest and do something fun. You do the same.

holiday pet peeves: edition 3 (I think)

I love my Christmas tree. I love that it's prelit and it does not bother me in the least that it's artificial because I'm allergic to the real ones anyway and did I mention it's prelit? Also, the real tree was always a source of contention in my house growing up. One year my dad was all DIY and flocked the the tree himself (great plan, huh?) and my mom was furious because we could not hang a single ornament on it, the thing was so plastered with flocking. Picture a large, solid-white cone-shaped tree in a small dining room in 1980 with a crying 6 year-old (me) and 4 year-old (crazy sis), a mom with frosted hair yelling at a dad about the flocked tree in the corner about the fact that the tinsel is sliding off. Oh, that was good times!

Anytinsel, I've never been big on real trees. I know, OH, THE HORROR of an artificial tree! But I don't care. I don't have to water it and vacuum up needles and hope there isn't a squirrel or chipmunk living it just waiting for the perfect time to come out, bite me and give me rabies for Christmas. Oh, chipmunks are all cute when they're singing "Christmastime is Here" and wearing little shirts on TV, but in the wild, chipmunks are deadly ninja-like creatures with a thirst for blood. I can't risk all that. So, here's lovely pic of my fake tree in all it's splendor.

Was there really a doubt that I would have pink snowflakes and colored glittery balls on my tree? Yeah, I didn't think so. My tree has all the stuff the kids have made, our Hallmark ornaments, and everything, so it's very colorful and fun. Just like a family tree should be.

But on the other end of the spectrum is something I call "that doesn't belong on a Christmas tree." For some reason in the past decade or so, people have been putting weird stuff on their trees and it's just getting more strange. You might not be aware of this yet, as these new breeds of ornamentation have been slowly introduced in department stores from coast to coast, mingling with the regular ornaments, right under our noses. Right at the top of my list are owls. Regular readers know I hate owls, they are creepcity. But really, what the hell does an owl have to do with Christmas? You ever heard of the Christmas Owl? NO! Here's what I saw at Macy's.

Okay, I'm just going to say it people. If you want owls, skunks, mushrooms, and other woodland creatures in your tree maybe you should
have left it in the dang forest. There, I said it. That's right, leave the tree in the forest. And if you have an artificial tree, it's a downright shame to put fake owls on a fake tree. On second thought, go ahead — if anyone should put fake crap on a tree it should the artificial tree owners. Did you see that? I can change my mind. It can be done. While we're
at it, go ahead and put the Pottery Barn glittery acorns
and a shiny onion on your tree. Why on earth would you put an onion on a Christmas tree? That's the stupidest thing I've seen all day. I mean I'm familiar with the song "Glass Onion" by the Beatles, but I'm pretty sure they weren't singing about Christmas decorations.

You shouldn't have onions on your tree. You know what else you shouldn't put on your tree? Things that mix Jesus and Santa. You know what I'm talking about. I've seen many a yard with a nativity right next to a giant blow-up Santa, but this ornament takes the cake. It's kit from Oriental Trading. Now, I order stuff from OT every year for vacation Bible school, so I'm familiar with their site and I knew they would have some pretty tacky stuff for Christmas, but not Santa praying next to baby Jesus in the manger.
That's just wrong. Plus, it looks like baby Jesus is giving the thumbs up to Santa, like "hey, I know I'm the baby Savior and all, but we're cool, just bring me some sweet presents. Oh, and I know I'm Jewish, but my dad, you know — God — he's down with you bringing me a tricycle or a puppy." I'm all for the "Keep Christ in Christmas" idea, but I've been in protestant church my whole life and I'm pretty sure Santa was not at the birth of Christ. And I'm not buying that maybe he was a Wise Man, 'cause they didn't come from the North Pole and they didn't travel by reindeer either.

Now, I don't want to ruin your day with this, but I have found what are — hands down — the most disturbing Christmas ornaments I have ever seen. This is a whole 'nother category of fug. It's the mythical gay biker merman. Yes. Gay. Biker. Merman. Holding a Cosmo. Let's have a moment of silence. Okay, that's better. This is on par with the Patrick Swayze centaur tattoo. You know Clay Aiken has the collection: firefighter merman, cowboy merman, Indian merman, police officer merman, construction worker merman, and army merman. I could not make this up — I'm simply just not talented enough. It's the Village People as mermen. The site doesn't say that, but come on — it's the freakin' flockin' Village People with a few more thrown in for good measure. Y'all, I don't know whether to be in awe of the evil genius that thought of this or call the funny farm and tell them someone escaped. For realz.

Don't forget to send in your pics or videos for the Kerry Blog Ugly Ass Christmas Decoration Contest. Email the tackiest lawn in your neighborhood/town to kerrybee7@yahoo.com and I'll announce the winner on Christmas Eve. It's going to be all that and a bag of gay biker mermen! Y'all are on your own for the Cosmos, there's no open bar on the Kerry blog.

short and not so sweet

So, I'm on my Pappaw's computer and this keyboard is making me crazy, but I thought I'd update y'all.

I got out of going to breakfast with my dad this morning, 'cause I just couldn't take it. Avoidance is my way of dealing with unpleasantness at times. Especially when the unpleasantness is my dad and his GF who I met last night at a bar. Sometimes I really think people are testing me to see what it would take to send me straight to the mental hospital. Maybe that's not the case, but you can never be sure.

Let's see, I think I got to sleep around 3:45, that was the last time I looked at my phone to see the time. I sent my version of drunk dialing/drunk emailing, which is just super-late night emailing 'cause I think that's the perfect time to tell someone your thoughts, around 2 or 3 am, when I'm making close to no sense and have a giant headache and all. I blogged more than I should have, but oh, well — it was What the Hell Friday, afterall.

In the blur of my blogging last night I forgot to mention the thing that capped off the evening and did cheer me up when we got back to the totally rad Ramada. I couldn't take a pic 'cause I left my camera at home and my iPhone doesn't have a flash, but there was a van in all kinds of colors parked in the lot with Ghetto Sno-Kone spray painted on the side. How freakin' frakken awesome is that? I am so opening Kerry's Ghetto Fabulous Sno-Kone at home. That beats Papa Sam's Sno Balls and the rest of them. People will come from all over for my sno cones in flavors like Give Me My Money Blueberry and Crack is Whack Coconut. My fave would be Drive By Banana, maybe Big Pimpin' Pina Colada. I haven't named all the flavors yet, but don't worry, I'll get to it. Y'all be good. I'm going to lunch with my mom and two of the munchkins. Scott took Molly to the Tech game, so it's a fun day for all. Y'all be good and get yourself a ghetto sno-kone.

What the hell Friday

Forgive readers, I know it's not technically Friday anymore, but I think here on the Kerry blog I'm going to institue a new feature I'd like to call What the Hell Friday.
This is way more personal than I usually blog, but I can't sleep and whatev — it's my blog, i can change my own rules. Tonight was a night I had been looking forward to since we decided we were coming in for Thanksgiving. Not only did Scott and I have a night out, we were going to see my friend Will's band. Now, I haven't seen Will in 15 years, so I already had some anxiety about this because I'm me and I'm stupid. I've become friends with his wife, who is pretty fab and I would be seeing her and other friends I hadn't seen since I was a size 16, so my insecurity level was at Level Orange. No, that wasn't enough for my little brain. No. So, I forgot to pack undies for the trip and another pair of jeans. So, I figure I'd wear a dress I brought tonight because I didn't want my jeans to smell like smoke from the bar. No big. I put on my Spanx, new bra, and the dress and realize I'm showing WAY more cleavage than legally allowed in Caddo parish. So, I decide to wear my denim jacket and new scarf with it so I won't be arrested for indecent exposure. I decided I looked kinds cute, for me anyway.
Then I called my dad to see when we would see him tomorrow. That was my first mistake. No, second. Like a moron, i'd told him we were going to see Will's band. Dad tells me he and the new girlfriend would be dropping by the bar so I could meet her. What the hell?
Y'all, I don't go to bars. I don't drink, smoke bothers me, I was going to see my friend and hear the band. I haven't been in a bar since 1994. Do the math, people. So, Scott and I went to dinner, it was yum-o-rama. Then we went shopping (I had to have undies and something to wear home Sunday) and to Barnes and Noble and had coffee. My anxiety was rising like the flood waters during Katrina, and I'm on cleavage patrol the whole time.
We get to the bar, talk to Molly, say hi to Will, band starts playing, it's all good. Not 30 minutes in, Dad shows up with the GF. Now when someone says they're stopping by, how long do you think that means? Not almost two freakin' hours! What the hell?
Plus, no one told me it was bring your dad to the tavern night. I knew when he ordered drinks I was going to lose it. I was calm. The band took a break and I sat there trying not to think of breaking a pool cue over my dad's head. I so wanted to bust a ninja move. Really, I'm too damn nice. I wanted to talk to friends, but my dad wanted to make small talk and I loathe small talk. The band starts up again and dad gets the GF another beer. Perfect. Not only am I not wanting to play nice with them, I'm so not in the mood to hear about what a good man dad is when he leaves the table. What the hell?
I have no words. Can anything in my life go half-way normal? Of course not. Can I have one anxiety-ridden moment at a time? Hell no. I may tell the rest of the story later on, right now I'm going to see if a John Hughes movie is on or something with Hugh Grant. It's 2:30 am and I need a comedy not based in reality, 'cause hell if I don't have enough going on here.

this is where I put my foot down

Word on the street is our Beyonce (aka Sasha Fierce) is begging to be the next Wonder Woman in the film currently in pre-production by Warner Brothers.

I think I speak for all of us who grew up with Wonder Woman on television, when I say oh, hell to the no,
Beyonce, you are not Wonder Woman. This is where I put my foot down. We simply cannot stand for this, people.

Do I need to remind you who my friend on the right is? This is Lynda Carter, the Wonder Woman of my generation. She was Amazon Princess Diana of Paradise Island and became Wonder Woman on tv from 1975 until I was 5 in 1979. She had an invisible jet and magic lasso, a boomerang crown and bullet-deflecting bracelets — what I wouldn't give for some of those bracelets! I've checked Macy's, I can't find them. And the boots! Those are crime-fighting boots. If I had those boots right now, New Orleans would not have the highest crime rate in America. Well, it would take more than the boots, I'd need the whole costume. And someone to be my sidekick 'cause I hate fighting crime alone. You know what I mean. A girl's gotta have friends. And an invisible jet wouldn't be bad either.

Can you see Beyonce in that costume? No. Plus, Wonder Woman does not sing and Beyonce has sung in the movies she's been in to stop you from noticing what a mediocre actress she is.

Let's talk about this for a minute. If you're my age you grew up with Lynda Carter, too. I did not wear Wonder Woman Underoos in the late 70's for this. That's right, the Underwear that's fun to wear. Man, those were awesome! Do they still make those, 'cause I'm so getting them. Not for my girls, for me. Okay, I'll get some for the girls, too.
Anyway, at no time when I was a little girl running around in my Underoos did I think "ooo- I hope when I have kids a big movie studio will make a movie version of Wonder Woman with a singer who thinks she's an actress and has an alter ego!" No way.

Have we learned nothing from Catwoman? Ah, how quick we forget. Halle Berry is great and all, but she's no Catwoman just like Beyonce's no Wonder Woman.

That's Beyonce in her finest crazy costume. Do you see Wonder Woman? No, Beyonce is better suited
play, oh, I don't know, maybe C3PO's love interest in a future Star Wars film. Or Mr. Roboto's love interest in the Styx reunion tour. Here's what she had to say on her plans:

"I would definitely have to keep it right for that
costume. The way that Lynda Carter wore it, she was sooo fine. She was
amazing. I saw her costume at the Met. Her waist was unbelievable. It
was pretty crazy, actually, her proportions. But I love Wonder Woman
and it'd be a dream come true to be that character. It sure would be
handy to have that lasso. To make everybody tell the truth? I need
that. It would come in very handy."

Say wha? Why does she need the lasso of truth so bad? Maybe it's because she and hubs Jay-Z won't actually admit they were married a few months ago. I don't know, I'm just sayin. I'll check in with y'all later, I have to write a letter to Warner Brothers Studios.

a whole lot of woman needs a whole lot more

Frugal Beth and I went to Lakeside mall today, mostly to play with makeup at Sephora. I love makeup, always have — and Sephora is the bomb. A sales associate gave Beth a sample of some wrinkle-fighting stuff to Beth, it was $150 and I thought Beth might pass out. Saleslady, you have no idea who you're dealing with. Bethy Beth has never met a penny she hasn't pinched. I bought a bunch of stuff — big surprise.

The shopping was going well, found everything I was looking for and you know that never happens. Then we hit Lane Bryant, the store for curvy women — as the new phrase on the glass entrance says. I looked at dresses, hoping to find something I could buy and not have to order online for the Christmas party. A superfantastic sales person pulled all the dresses that wouldn't be too long for me and showed me to the cool fitting room, the one that's as big as my master bath.

So, I try on the first dress, looked like a potato sack, second dress the same, third dress — potato sack with a bubble bottom, fourth — potato sack with beading at the neckline. Apparently the look for this holiday season is inspired by Mrs. Potato Head. Here's a look at the wall of reject dresses, notice they're all black except for the ugly one that's red, white, and black. I didn't get the memo from LB that if you're a plus-sized woman you should hide in black. It would be different if the dresses were fabulous, but there's nothing like looking like you're hiding in a dowdy black dress.

Nice. Just for fun, I put on my clothes and
checked myself
out in the mirror. This may be
a first and a last on the blog, but here's me in the fitting room. I look like a ghost. I stand with my hand on my hip and a phone in my hand all the time, so that's a natural pose. And you can't see how cute my new Born maryjanes are, but it's difficult to take a picture in a mirror. Sorry for the poor quality, but it's an iPhone, not a real camera. I'm a terrible judge of what I look like, but I looked 10 times better in my clothes than I did in the dresses. Black empire waist top and flared jeans. I watch What Not to Wear, I know how to dress my apple-shaped figure and it's not in potato sacks. I know you can't tell anything about this outfit from the pic, but ask Beth, I looked kinda cute, I think.

Maybe I'm getting more gutsy in mid-thirties — Lord, that's weird to say — but I've had it. I'm only posting the pic to say there are a lot of bigger girls out there with money to spend on decent clothes and we shouldn't have to go to online stores to buy them because there's nothing in the mall. And I was in a great mall, too. I shop online a lot, but it would be nice not to have to. I know all the cute plus-sized stores, Igigi, Torrid, Swak, etc. My beef is with the brick and mortar stores and their selection. For crying out loud, a chubby girl has to go to oldnavy.com to shop because they only have plus sizes online. I know, I'm wearing Old Navy as I'm writing this. And can I just say that I'm 34 and I don't want to look like I should be on the freaking Golden Girls. I can rock just about any outfit out there, but girl can't rock a moomoo, not even on Halloween. For realz, peeps.

I think I'm going to start my own clothing line. Of course I'll need financial backing and someone who can sew because I have two sewing machines in my house and I can't work either one. I got a C in Home Ec, there is no hope for me. I'll let y'all know how the clothing line goes. For now, I've got some great curtains I'm thinking would make one hell of a wrap dress. I can't sew, but I have a hot glue gun and I'm not afraid to use it.

Ok, so I just stumbled on a song and have to share. It's my new theme song as of 3 minutes ago. It's Mika singing "Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)" and I think it's fun. Skinny girls can watch it, too. It will be up as soon as I figure out how to post video.

no sleep ’til Birmingham

Things were looking good for me last night, I finished packing my scrapbook stuff and got in bed at 11:30 — that’s early. I tried really hard to sleep, really I did. Sleep wouldn’t come. So, I got out my laptop, tried to order a dress, didn’t order the dress; the ship date is next month. Tried to find the dress at another online store, only Nordstrom carries the plus-sized line. Of course. Gave up on that, wrote an email, ripped pages out of scrapbook magazines for my inspiration journal, turned off the computer, looked at the ceiling. I tried not to think of the bird or bat or ghost that’s in our attic. At two, I decided to take some Benadryl, got back in bed and closed my eyes. The last time I looked at the clock it was a quarter ’til 3. At 4 am on the dot, Katie and Andrew sound like a herd of elephants coming in our room. Here’s how the rest of my night went.

4am tell Katie and Andrew to get back in bed.

4:15 tell Katie the smoke detector is a good thing and will not talk to her like the one in the movie they showed at school. Tell Andrew to get out our bathroom 20 times

4:30 give up on them getting back in their beds, tell them to get in bed with me

4:30-5:30 tell Andrew to stop playing with Scott’s alarm clock, to get his feet out of Katie’s face, to get back in bed, to stop touching my hair, to stop getting all the way under the covers, to stop touching my face, tell him my boobs are not hills to launch his imaginary rocket from, tell him to lay down, tell him to lay down, tell him to lay down; tell Katie to ignore Andrew

5:30 tell the kids I’ve had it and they better lay down and be quiet because we have 45 more minutes to try to sleep.

5:30-6 wonder to myself why we thought three was a good number of children to have. Can’t think of a single reason why. Ponder selling kids to the circus. Ponder taking a sabbatical from mommyhood.

6 throw the covers back, jump out of bed and dramatically announce that we’re getting up, ’cause I can’t take it anymore.

6:02 Scott calls, asking how my night went. Close eyes, count to 10, and calmly tell him I have not slept and that Katie and Andrew…he tells me he’ll call me right back. Throw the phone on the bed, say every curse word I can think of in my head, not outloud because the two sleep theives are looking at me.

I hope your night went much better than mine. At 9 am I’ll be dropping off Andrew at MDO and will not see my hubs or munchkins ’til Sunday afternoon. At this point, I don’t care if I get a layout finished or not, I just want to sleep alone and not have to use concealer for the circles under my tired blue eyes.

Y’all have a good weekend, I know I plan to.