making Father’s Day a little easier

Yesterday after reading every Father's Day card that Target had, I decided there has to be something out there for the rest of us. Are you familiar with the typical Father's Day card? Most of them have a picture of a sailboat or a lighthouse with a sentiment like this, "To my Wonderful Dad on Father's Day. You taught me how to tie my shoes and ride a bike, but the most important thing you taught was how to love." Or there is a picture of a man's feet with little girl feet standing on his shoes and it says, "Daddy, I'll always be your little girl no matter how grown up I am. Happy Father's Day." These types of traditional Father's Day cards make me want to throw up.

It's not that I have a bad relationship with my dad, it's that I don't have a that kind of relationship with him. The truth is, I didn't have much of a relationship with my dad until my parents divorced three years ago and he started speaking for himself. We talk on the phone once or twice a week and he tells me what he's been up to, which is usually working and going to Nicky's on two for one enchilada night with his girlfriend, then we usually talk about a couple of amusing relatives. It's good times. My dad is a regular guy who works hard for a living and doesn't have any real hobbies. He doesn't play golf, doesn't grill, doesn't care about football, and doesn't wear ties unless he's forced to. He's not one for a great deal of sentiment and I've never found the right sentiment for him in a card — and for some reason, this year was especially hard. I ended up buying a card that said "To the King of the Road, Happy Father's Day." By the way, my dear old dad is a truck driver, more specifically, he is a "route salesman" for the big dairy in my hometown, but that's a fancy schmancy word for truck driver.

There was every type of Father's Day card except for the non-mushy card. There were expectant dad cards, new dad, step-dad, grandpa, papa, grandad, "to my son on Father's Day," "to my mom on Father's Day," and my favorite "you're like a dad to me." I thought about getting the last one just for fun. There was even a Father's Day card from the cat or dog. When I saw the card from the cat I said WTF outloud in the presence of children. I apologize, I'm not proud of that, but I couldn't help it and yes, I said the words, not the acronym. So, I grabbed the king of the road card and mumbled to myself on the way to the check-out, vowing to make a line of honest Father's Day cards for The Rest of Us.

I think I'll call my card line Cards for the Rest of Us, which could mean whatever you want it to. I'm debuting my Father's Day line here on The Kerry Blog, feel free to clip and print for your own use, royalty free 'til Hallmark comes calling, bitches!

This is the first card, which I put on my Facebook page yesterday. It's short and to the point.

My friend Shannon suggested that maybe the above card was a little too mushy, so here is the bare-bones version, just right for your dad and any dad you know. And if you're visiting your dad at the county jail, this is perfect.

For those of you looking for a little more sentiment, this is the card for you. It can be taken any number of ways. I would let it speak for itself.

This card is just great for those "regular guy" dads like mine. Self-explanitory is the best way to go.

My friend Jennifer made a special request for a card and I hope this one covers all the bases. I thought the hammer added that nice passive-aggressive touch I'm always looking for in greeting card.

And lastly, this card is truly for the rest of us.

Y'all have a great weekend. Check the blog Sunday for an extra special Father's Day edition.

xxxooo,
Kerry

on summer and swimsuit season

http://www.someecards.com/usercards/someEcards.swf
It's summer once again. Oh, don't be fooled by the calendar saying summer doesn't start until June 21st — I'm here to tell you it's here. Yesterday was Memorial Day, and as everyone knows, Memorial Day is the kickoff of summer.

Now, it's been hot here in south Louisiana for a while — mid-80's — that's hot. As I've told you before, I'm not fond of the heat. Temperatures that make my makeup melt are not my friend. When I walk outside in the summer, I feel like the Wicked Witch of the West when Dorothy throws the bucket of water on her, "I'm melting, I'm melting!" And I'm a girl who has to have her face on or I feel naked. Really, I'm sure in the Garden of Eden after Adam and Eve made their bikinis from fig leaves, Eve cracked open a pomegranate and made the first lipstick and rouge out of it.

So, summer is not my fave. Last year I decided I looked silly in shorts with my white as milk legs, so it's capris and bermudas for me all summer. I do not tan. I burn. Badly. I've had enough sunburns in my life to know I can be outside at midday for 20 minutes and have a sunburn on whatever part of my body that is exposed. I'm sure I will have skin cancer at some point from my own sun stupidity and the lack of knowledge my parents had about UV rays. I recall a statement from my childhood that was repeated more than once that went something like "you'll be fine, we used to slather baby oil on ourselves and bake for hours!" Which led me to develop my own philosophy "just because you did it, it doesn't make it normal or okay." Feel free to use that little gem in your own life with your older relatives, sometimes it works.

Besides the looking-like-an-albino-in-shorts thing, I also dread what most women do at this time of year: the swimsuit. I'm no different than any other woman, we all have body issues and hate the swimsuit hunt and hate the "get ready for swimsuit season" propaganda that we get from magazines, television commercials, and now on my Facebook homepage. You know, because I'm not good enough the way I look now, I have to prepare for "swimsuit season" like it's an Olympic event. Here's a headline for you, advertising peeps: we will never be ready, perfection only exists in magazines thanks to Photoshop.

Even though I hate it, I have to wear a swimsuit at the pool. I'd rather wear a caftan ala Mrs. Robinson with a turban and sunglasses, but I think I'd get a few strange looks at Franco's. And so, I've been shopping online for the right suit for about a month. Guess what? There is no such thing. And I'm not just talking about for us plus-sized girls. The online stores and catalogs all want me to think they have the perfect suit, but I know better. You know why? Because wearing a swimsuit is as close to public nudity as it gets for most of us.

And so, I started my hunt. Lane Bryant, Torrid, Fashion Bug, Macy's, Nordstrom, OneStopPlus, SwimsuitsForAll, Sihouettes, and the list goes on and on. The suit I wanted was at Lane Bryant (no, they do not have swimwear in their brick and mortar stores, don't get me started), a top and a swim skirt, but the top was sold out in my size. I can't tell you how long it took me to decide on that top, so I was pretty miffed that it was sold out. I went back to my old standby, Land's End and picked two tops and a swim skirt, deciding to go in a completely different direction than the Lane Bryant suit. When I went to pick my size category there were more options than I've ever seen: Regular Torso,
Short Torso, Long Torso, Plus Size,
Short Torso Plus, Regular Torso D-Cup, Regular Torso DD-Cup, Regular Mastectomy — holy Esther Williams! I don't know if I'm a short torso plus or just a plus. No idea. How do you measure your torso? Lands End, I'm a girl with ADHD, don't give me too many options or I'll go look at lolcats and forget shopping. I went with plus.

The fun part of shopping on Landsend.com is using their Virtual Model tool. I've used this before, but not for swimwear, so I thought this would be nice and virtually humiliating, getting to see what the virtual me would look like in the suit. Get a good look at this.

Meet Virtual Kerry. I don't know about her. Her hair is too long, but there wasn't another hair choice with curly hair. My real face is rounder and my boobs are bigger, but I think the skin coloring is about right. And she's standing like weird, but whatev. This is the swimsuit I decided on: top, skirt, and sandal. I went against my usual black suit, way out of my comfort zone, but the idea is maybe I'll feel better in the pink and won't look as pale as I would in black. Really, I just like pink. The Virtual Model thing is pretty interesting. On the site you can click the arrows to see what she looks like from the side and the back, which is helpful (and funny) to see what my virtual butt looks like.

The other weird thing about shopping Lands End is you can shop by your figure shape. The choices are triangle, inverted triangle, rectangle, and star. The link to see the descriptions for these shapes was broken, so I guessed that since I'm not the first three, that I must be a star, since a star is big in the middle (and so am I) — so that's what I went with. Usually, when I've seen a figure shape chart in a magazine or wherever, I'm a circle or oval or an apple, if the choice is a fruit. A celestial body has never been a choice, but it's kind of neat. Pointy, but neat. Just for my amusement I went to igigi.com to see their shape categories, and of course, I'm an oval. Here's the description:

The Oval Figure type has the following characteristics:

Shoulders are prominent or average and slightly sloped
Face is fleshy with the fuller jaw and cheek area
Neck is shorter with the inclination toward fullness at the nape and shoulders
Back is broader and fleshier; wider ribcage
Bust is ample; usually larger than the hips
Waist is undefined, carrying the weight in the front midsection
Flat buttocks
Hips are usually proportionately slender
Thighs are relatively thinner and only tend to have a slight fullness at the high hip.
Legs are very shapely and lower legs are proportionately slimmer to the overall body shape.

Firt of all, man, she looks tall.

I'm so going to use "fleshy" as THE adjective to describe myself from now on. Does "fleshy" sound better than fat? That is the question of the day.

And thank you, Igigi, I know I do not have a giraffe-like neck, nor JLo's derrierre. I'm surprised they didn't mention my skinny ankles when describing my lower legs. Seriously, the Igigi people must have been stalking me to get this info. It's scary accurate. Why they just didn't name this body shape "Kerry" is beyond me.

So, that's the history of summer and me. Just one big heatwave of sunburns and body image issues. Hey, I'm working on it. Here's to a great summer for all of us — be you a rectangle, triangle, inverted triangle, or star. Shine on.

what not to wear

http://www.someecards.com/usercards/someEcards.swf

I know what you're thinking, "Kerry, how do you do it? Style, smokin' bikini body, and sharp wit — how do you not tell people what's what on a daily basis?" Well, that would be my general disinterest in speaking to people. Trust me, it takes quite the amount of effort to feign busyness and preoccupation when someone is attempting to grab my attention or start a convo while I'm in a doctor's waiting room, as I was yesterday.

As usual, I was trying to appear engrossed in something so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone, this time I was playing on Facebook on my iPhone, then moved onto a game of SuperBreakout before updating my calendar. Apparently I did not appear busy enough, as a woman started talking to me. This woman asked my name, said she sees me everywhere, and that our kids go to the same Mother's Day Out. It was at this moment that I thought either I had a stalker or that maybe I need to pay more attention to my surroundings, because I don't recall ever seeing this person in my life. And so I was trapped in the waiting room having to talk to this woman until she was called back and she stood and flung her purse on her arm. This is the purse she was carrying.

People, this is atrocious. How many tiny round zebras had to die to make this purse? Now, I'm all for making a statement with accessories, but the only statement this bag makes is: yeah, the safari had great shopping!

We need to talk about choices for a moment. I don't know who started the circle-flappy purse craze, but I'd like to beat them over the head with every mall kiosk circle bag ever made. Certainly these were first made by a designer, but in the trickle-down to the malls the bag morphed into the ugly we have here. I'm going to give y'all some advice on this one. If you have to have a trendy bag and are getting a knock-off of the real thing, stay within the original color range the bag was made in.

Speaking of, if you have a fake Coach bag with random letters on it, do us all a favor and set fire to it right now. Go ahead, I'll wait. Done? good. We will not speak of this atrocity again.

Moving on to an atrocity so heinous I'm tempted to skip the subject, but something needs to be said. If you are out of college or are old enough to have a real job, you are too old for velour sweatpants with words on the ass.

This is not a good look.

Dear Woman in the Doctor's Office With Two Clingy Children,

There is nothing Juicy about your ass.

Best Wishes,

Humanity.

People, if you are in your mid-thirties and have had a couple of babies you will no longer be able to purchase sweatpants with words on them. Period. For the love of retail, just stop. If you are my age (thirtysomething) you are are not Juicy, Baby, Sweetie, or Pink. You are not an Angel, Cutie, Princess, or Spoiled. What you are is stupid and you look like a fool. Yesterday when I saw the mom paying her bill, wearing the pants in question, it took every ounce of restraint I had not to walk up and say, "Hi, I'm Kerry from my blog and I'm here to help. Let's go to The Gap and get you some pants, then we'll have a bonfire with the hideous cellulite-hugging pink things you're wearing. Don't worry kids, your mom is in the hands of a semi-professional who has seen every eppie of What Not to Wear! I'm like a chubby Stacey London!" I just need my Clinton Kelly.

the "this is my ass" image is from http://www.lanceandeskimo.com. thanks!

the awesomeness that is Sky Mall

Y'all know I love some shopping.

So, what's a girl today when she's on a plane for a while and forgets her newly purchased magazines, the book she's reading, and anything else she thought she packed to keep her entertained? Why the Sky Mall catalog, of course!

Are you familiar with Sky Mall? Sky Mall brings you products you never knew existed, much less need. At all. At any time. I love the Sky Mall catalog. Where else can you shop for pet products, Lord of the Rings jewelry, hammocks, wine chillers, and bizarre spa items? Bizarre is putting it nicely.

I never got into the finger-less gloves. I'm not sure if that's surprising or not. I've seen them in various stores and catalogs and on celebrities that really should know better. What I haven't seen are toe-less sock-type things. Foot gloves? No idea. Let's take a look.

The description says they are for hammertoes. I don't know what those are. Melissa sat next to me on the plane and gave me the impression said toes are not desirable, but this toe-less sock thing looks uncomfortable. I like that the toes are nicely painted. What attention to detail the photography director for Sky Mall must have. "No, don't use the model with the ugly hammertoes — get some pedicured tootsies for the Happy Feet toe-less socks!"

For some reason the Sky Mall people think those of us who travel by plane are quite the afflicted group. That's the only logic behind all the bizarre health-related products for sale. For instance, here's the home acupuncture thingamajig.

I don't know about you, but I'm an American medicine kind of girl. I'm not hanging around the acupuncturist's office/batcave. Call me crazy, but I'm just a little iffy on the whole needles in my skin thing unless I'm getting a shot by a nurse in scrubs who knows my name in a doctor's office with a diploma hanging on the wall from a university in this country. And I don't mean a correspondence school either. For realz.

Sky Mall even has something for the hypochondriac in your life. Or maybe that's you. I'm just saying. There's no judging on The Kerry Blog — just love and stuff. And a maybe a little judging. So, who cares if you think you have every disease known to man? Sky Mall cares. They want you to order this:

Note the tag line: A Guide to Self-Diagnosis for Hypochondriacs. And all this time I thought that was called WebMD. I would buy this for a couple of people I know, but I wouldn't want to encourage the crazy.

Speaking of crazy.

I'm all about comfort, but damn. When I was pregnant with Katie I had an extremely hard time getting comfortable at night and found a maternity pillow shaped like candy cane that allowed me to get some sleep. I loved that pillow. After Katie was born the pillow and I parted ways. There is nothing wrong with having a comfy pillow, even if it's shaped like a U. But sleeping with the long stem rose is just plain weird. And rose petals stain.

When it comes to sleeping, people have all kinds of weird quirks, don't they? I have to have complete darkness, my sound machine, 4 pillows, the ceiling fan on, and my bedroom has to be nice and cool — I'd have the thermostat at 60 if the hubs didn't freeze to death. So, yeah, I'm kind of high maintenance in the sleep department, but not on planes. I've never been able to sleep on planes. But I never had this either:

Seriously? It's an inflatable pillow for your face. Mr. Mustache here needs his beauty rest, so he brings his teal velour pillow onboard, spends an hour blowing it up and annoying the people next to him, then has a nice restful nap, just in time for the announcement to put your tray tables in their upright position and wake the hell up.

Don't tell me the pillow is a good idea or it's practical or convienent, because I'm not buying it. In fact, I'm not buying any of these either:

Why so many solutions for the common litter box? Is there some kind of litter box crisis going on in America that I'm not privy to since our cat ran away? Are cat owners rebeling? Do today's cats have needs beyond Tidy Cat Crystals and a scooper? Damn right they do. Cats today need a concealed litter box or one that looks like the space ship from Mork & Mindy.

But maybe you're not a cat owner and you're on a plane shopping for something unique. Maybe you've been thinking about taking the pink flamingos out of the front yard and tossing the garden gnomes in favor of something more edgy. You could go with either of these bad boys:

You couldn't go wrong with either monster. Personally, I would purchase both and put the zombie coming out of the ground to the side of Bigfoot as if Bigfoot isn't watching where he's going and is going to step on him. I have a couple of friends with birthdays coming up and I think these would be just perfect. They would also make a great housewarming gift. If you order these for a housewarming, have it delivered to your house, then under the cover of night go set them up on your friends' lawn so they can be surprised in the morning. Nothing says "welcome to the neighborhood" like a couple of monsters on the lawn.

Depending on how you look at it, this is either the best or the worst of the Sky Mall catalog. It's one of those "is the glass half empty or half full" things.

Georgia on my mind

When I heard Scrap Etc.'s event was going to be held in Atlanta, I knew I wanted to go. Atlanta is one of my favorite places. The hubs and I lived north of Atlanta when we were newlyweds back in 1997-98 in Gwinnett County. It was a great place to live and we had heaps of fun each weekend exploring the area.

This weekend some of my favorite peeps and I will be exploring the Crowne Plaza Resort for Scrap Etc.'s "Wishful Thinking: the art of creating memories." I couldn't be more excited to be spending the weekend with my girlfriends (even the fabulous Lisa is meeting us all the way from Connecticut) and we will see lots of scrapbooking friends we've made over the years. This event is much different from ScrapFest! in the way that we will be in classes from 9am 'til 5:30 each day with cropping at night. Most of us are used to the open-crop sort of retreats, so we're hoping to learn fun new techniques from some of the best in the industry.

We're also hoping to get some good shopping in on this trip as well. Can I tell you how much I love Phipps Plaza and Lennox Square? Bloomingdale's, Nieman Marcus, Kate Spade, Louis Vuitton, Crate & Barrel (my favorite), Burberry, Nordstrom, Vera Bradley, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Tiffany & Co. Y'all. Oh, and Teavana — it's like tea heaven. Love that. And Perimeter Mall is close to our hotel, where there is a Nordstrom, so I may have to get the Mrs. Robinson dress. And we can get an Orange Julius too. Is there anything better than a scrapbooking weekend, fab shopping, and an Orange Julius? Okay, dinner at The Melting Pot. I'm pretty sure we're going for some fondue. It's going to be a good weekend.

Check out Scrap Etc.'s site to see the instructors and their blogs for some creative inspiration.

boat shoes

These Betseyville shoes by Betsy Johnson make me want to get a boat. I would call my boat The Wandering Aye and I would wear these shoes.

Lime green and hot pink would be the colors of my boat, of course. I'm thinking Bermuda shorts with nautical themed pashmina afghans would be the crew's uniforms. And of course our theme song (because everything in life must have a theme song) would be The Lonely Island (w/T-Pain) song "I'm On a Boat." It may be my favorite song of all time for the line "I effed a mermaid." Yes, readers, it is crass, but hilarious and you know I like the comedy. Here is the clean version with the bleeped out curse words, so enjoy.

subtlety

As I told a friend earlier, I do not know what subtlety is. So, I ordered the rosette necklace. I'll have a pic when it comes in.

I heart this bag

I thought I'd share my new bag for spring and summer. It's by Brighton and it's just gorgeous, made a lot like my Audrey bag I picked up in the fall. Let me introduce you to Lilly.

day after Christmas ramblings

I hope your Christmas was a special one. Our's certainly was (all three Christmases.) Last night before bed, my oldest said it was her favorite Christmas ever and the crazy middle one gave a toast over pizza at dinner (I made Christmas lunch, the kids at pizza for dinner) she said "cheers to Christmas and the birf of Jesus!" She can't say words that end in TH. It was a nice moment.

When I was a little girl Christmas was all about family and for me, it still is. Every year on Christmas Eve we would go to my Mammaw Lewis' little house for dinner with my mom's side of the family and it was always a lot of fun. My great-grandmother made these sweet carrots I loved and she had always had a little tree that sat on top of a table. My great aunts and uncles and cousins were there and we had lots of presents to open. Every year we knew it was time to go home when the weatherman on the local news said Santa had been spotted in the area. I loved Christmas Eve, it was a special night and it didn't have anything to do with the Santa. My great-grandmother, Katie Lewis, passed away the Christmas after the hubs and I were married. We had long stopped the Christmas Eve tradition after she moved in with my grandparents as she got older, but it gave me the same feeling to have spent one last Christmas with her.

On the right is a familiar sight — Christmas morning. Change a few things in the picture and it could be present day, but it's my sister, Otto the dachshund, and I in 1981. That was the year Santa brought my Barbie Townhouse and I knew he had to be real. Of course, the next year I found out the cruel, hard truth and I'm sure that's what set me on the path to cynicalville you see today. Did anyone else equate the authenticity of Santa Claus with the quality of presents you received? I don't know about everyone else, but when I got the Barbie Townhouse with a working elevator it pretty much blew my mind. I have to admit, the whole elevator-thing ruined the real estate experience for me as an adult. We lived in a 3 story townhouse in Canada, but there was no elevator. The hubs' aunt has a townhouse in Metairie with an elevator. It's a real-life Barbie Townhouse, only it's not pink and the elevator isn't run by pulling a string. If I lived there, I'd paint the whole thing pink and hang out in the hot tub all the time. Then if I got bored, I'd take my pink Corvette out with Ken, Midge, and Skipper — well, not Skipper, I never liked that whiny beyotch.

If you were a kid in the 80's like me, you remember the goofy toys we had. Check out the little squirrels I'm holding in the photo. Those babies were a little rodent family called the Woodsies that came with a little fabric log that was their house and little squirrel furniture. How weird is that? I don't know what my sister is trying to keep my disinterested dog out of — she always had the weirdest taste in toys. Does anyone remember the Monchichies? If not, maybe this will refresh your memory.

Y'all, that's some freakiness going on right there. What crack smoking toy exec came up with those? My sister loved those damn Monchichi monkey puppet dolls. Over the years in my world the word monchichi has somehow morphed into a term of endearment for children — I don't know how or why, but call kids monchichies — not just mine, all children. Munchkins and monchichies.

At some point in adolescence I became less interested in my own gifts and focused on giving. Trust me, it was not some highly spiritual epiphany that came to me; although it was around the same time I became a Christian, so maybe it wasn't a coincidence after all. Anypresent, I didn't care too much about what I received, it was all about finding the perfect gift for friends and family and wrapping it in Martha Stewart fashion. I went to extremes. I went to such extremes in gift-giving that the band Extreme was all "damn, we better change our name, this chick's making us look bad." Friends will know what I'm talking about. If you asked me for a book, you'd better believe I was going to try to find the first edition. I was nuts. With the invention of eBay, I'm sure I'm worse now, although I try to not go overboard anymore.

I still refuse to use those plasticky stick-on bows and just any paper. I'm a gift wrap snob and I'm not afraid to admit it. It's real ribbon (I've also been known to use ric rac, pompons, and felt) and heavy paper, no drugstore stuff, mainly Hallmark. Last week I realized I had left the tissue paper and enclosure at home when I got to the pack and ship place to mail a few gifts and I had to take a moment, count to 10 and tell myself it wasn't a big deal. I'm pretty sure when the magi showed up with their gifts for Jesus they didn't have polka dot tissue paper and monogrammed gift enclosures. But then again, when you're giving gold, who cares how it's wrapped? Although I'm more of a silver person.

EDIT: Because I'm a giver, this is for Jenn because she said I have the innate ability to transport her to "back in the day," which is of course, my goal in life. Yes, it's the Popples commercial. Popples are the bastardized stuffed animal ball-thing that haunts Jenn's dreams!

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:

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:

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