Well now, THIS has the potential to be interesting

A couple of years ago, for his 50th birthday, my college roommate surprised her husband with tickets to Paris. Leaving the next morning. We were all there...supposedly since a trip to Paris was totally out of the question because of their schedules, we were all getting together to wear berets and eat onion soup and chocolate. When he opened his gift, there were the tickets.

It was pretty damn awesome.

Mary turned 50 Wednesday. I'm pretty sure Husband was out of town. Offers had been made and rejected because we all know...there is NO point in time that a trip to Paris is convenient. You just have to do it. And they didn't. She has her eye on two additional diamonds the size of her original one.

That works.

So tomorrow I'm driving to Bham and the ladies are doing lunch. In Bham. We will either have too much to eat and drink and laugh REALLY loud in a high-tone restaurant, or we will spend a good two hours doing man-bashing the likes of which will singe the tablecloths. I'm voting for the food and champagne...there is actually potential there.

Having said this, The Big Boy was out of town on MY 50th birthday. (He's actually only been here for one birthday in 22 years...national trade show thing.) And I invited all my friends to meet me at the Mexican restaurant and my friend, Benji, brought a toilet seat with an embroidered palm tree on it and everyone signed it and then we took pictures using the toilet seat as a picture frame. You had to be there. It's not what I would have chosen but in hindsight...it WAS memorable. For better or worse.

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Prognostication

Random thought instigated by a cartoon sent by Country Girl, a phone call from my sister informing me that I'm going to be an aunt again in June (yeay!) and my own unfamiliar warm, fuzzy feelings.

Here's what I'm wondering:

I will be interested to see if the US experiences a mini-baby boom in October, and if a large percentage of these new Americans will be named Barack, Baracka, LaBama (they will be born to Ala'Bama football fans) and Obamita.

It sounds corny and I never expected to actually feel this way, but the inauguration of President Obama actually has me - optimistic. (I hesitate to say "hopeful" even though that's a more accurate description).

So if I were a younger person, whose adult life had been lived only post-9/11, and along came a young-ish President, with gorgeous little kids, talking about getting along with everyone, making peace with the world and finally fixing all these damn broken-down roads and bridges...ahem...I might be feeling like now is good time to start a family.

Hear me now and believe me later, this fall all y'all's neighborhood will be running over with passels new little Baracks, wearing tiny lapel pins on their onesies and sporting little Blackberries on their hips - and that is totally cool...as long as their hipster parents don't start driving like Secret Service agents. That would push CountryGirl over the edge.

If y'all only knew

City Girl and I are like night and day and she is the coolest damn person on this planet. I LOVE the things she does because...well, she has the time. And the motivation (which matters a LOT more than the time.) But the way she and I do these? We're not even playing the same game.

I say ... and you think ... ?

Unwanted :: animals...dumped in my yard
You’d better :: listen to what I say
Woman :: Someone's mom
Weighed :: In the balance (be fair...I worry about this a lot.)
Upright :: That monkey/ape in the pictures
I feel :: day to day
Ill :: Mama's attitude when you're not listening
It’s like :: what I said
Poor man :: Aw shit. The guy standing next to his van with the sign that reads: "will work for food or gas."
Great ::My kids' enjoyment of just about everything.
Do some muttering of your own here.

Timely Tips from City Girl

During this time of global belt-tightening, I offer these tried-and-true money-saving tips:

Buzz Kill
Instead of spending money on wine, invest in a one-gallon can of Kilz paint primer. Open the can in a confined space and breathe deeply. The health benefits/effects are vastly different, but you’ll save a wheelbarrow full of money! Assuming you all drink as much as we do....

Get Retro With Your Bad Self!
Here in the South we love us some casseroles. Giant pans of (mostly) breading and canned soup are routinely passed off as “vegetables.” It boggles the mind. BUT, do you have ANY idea how long it takes two people to eat one pan of chicken and dressing? A week, that’s how long - or, as measured in culinary terms, ‘until you can’t stand to raise another damn fork of the stuff to your mouth.’ But it’s cheap and filling, and still beats the Ramen noodles you lived on in college.

Work off Those Casseroles!
Are home repair projects piling up as fast as dirty laundry? Is the Honey-Do list now literally as long as your arm? Stop waiting until you can afford professional repairmen and get busy! Thanks to the InterTubes you can find step-by-step directions and videos for repairing anything in your house. And your neighbors probably have all the tools you need to do the job – what is a neighbor for if not to mooch from? Listen, if *I* can replace a toilet tank assembly and change out a door knob, you can too. It ain’t rocket surgery.

Get in Touch with Reality Television
If, like me, you’ve avoided reality teevee like the plague, now is the time to catch up on popular culture. Reality shows are entertaining and TOTALLY make you feel good about yourself! (Who ARE these people and exactly how did they get so f*cked up?) It’s a two-fer! Boost your self esteem and save money on expensive movies at the same time. Hub and I have discovered “Tool Academy” on VH1 (basic cable) and it is freakin’ hys-terical!

Save Time – Have Sex
It’s a fact: a roll in the hay accomplishes everything listed above – except the casseroles. Provided you use bullet-proof contraception, it’s free entertainment. It is – when executed properly – aerobic activity, and you get a buzz from it – albeit short term...so an investment in Viagra may be called for. Which, assuming you haven’t lost your job and benefits, is covered by health insurance – brilliant!

Things everyone knew except me...

Sometimes it feels like I live in a hole. Or a vacuum.

Smoked salt...Didn't have a clue. Walked into the grocery store one day last fall and there it was and Hellooo! Damn good idea.

I Love The 70's...A television show on VH1. Maybe VH1Classic but I had never seen it until this weekend. Laughed my ass off and that's ALWAYS a good thing.

The tab on the end of the aluminum foil/saran wrap box...There is a half-moon cut-out tab on the end of your aluminum foil. You push it in and it holds the roll in place, to keep it from slipping out while you're yanking on the stuff trying to get it to cover something. No lie...been there all along. Unbeknownest to me.

Gas gauge...Okay, this one is iffy but if your car has it, it comes in handy. Or in rental cars. But SOME cars? On the gas gauge on the dash? The handle for the little gas pump is on the side your gas cap is on. Sometimes. And the last time we rented a car in New Orleans and drove south this came in REAL handy.

Ultimate drinking game...Okay, I'm really good at this one but if you don't TELL, no one has any idea that this is pretty easy. Unless you've been drinking. "Name seven major college teams whose mascot name doesn't end in S." Needless to say, The Crimson Tide comes to mind. But there are actually 30-something...The Green Wave. The Minutemen. The Orangemen. The Syracuse...come on. You know this one.

I think maybe I'll set my mind to learn five totally useless facts a week for the rest of my life. Just in case.

Why I'm Not President of the PTO

This is the email I sent out to everyone on my email list from The Not Nice Kid's elementary school. YOU CAN'T FIX STUPID.

A couple of years ago we were having one of "those" mornings...couldn't find a clean uniform shirt, didn't have lunch packed, there's only one shoe...those days happen. By the time we got in the car one kid was crying, the other was sulking and The Mama was hoarse from yelling. It was NOT a pleasant environment.

And then some idiot in an old snub-nosed van decided to ride my bumper down Houston Town Road. The speed limit is 45, I was doing 50 and he was about six inches off my ass. All. The. Way. Down. The. Road. We have a trooper who frequents this place some mornings (maybe because I call the trooper's office every two weeks) so there's no REASON to speed...it's only about a mile and a half to the highway. Take your time. Smell the roses. Arrive in one piece. But this guy obviously had an agenda and it involved some sort of interaction with the back half of my car. And this was NOT a good morning to be messin' with The Mama.

We pulled up to the stop sign, I put my car in park, I took off my seatbelt, I got out of the car and I walked back to that van. The man was frantically trying to lock the door and roll up the window at the same time. I opened his door and I jerked that man out of his van. His glasses fell on the ground. His mouth was flapping like a trout on the riverbank. The man in the other seat was trying to find the door handle and they both had eyes the size of saucers.

Technically, I shook his hand. Technically, I shook his hand A LOT...I shook his hand until he stumbled back and sort of "sat down" on the edge of his seat. I introduced myself (using my maiden name because, considering where we were, there was a 50/50 chance I was either related to him or my dad had given him a job and I BY GEORGE wanted him to know I wasn't going away) and then I turned around and walked back to my car, fastened my seat belt and took my kids to school. They weren't having much to say.

The van was still sitting there when I drove out of sight.

The point of THAT story is to tell THIS story. (That's a line from Ron White and if you didn't know that, you should.)

Every now and then, as I'm going along and minding my own business, I feel a jerkin' coming on. Someone does something REALLY stupid and I think, "That idiot needs a jerkin'." So far, I've resisted the temptation but the driving habits on Catholic Hill are beginning to wear on my nerves.

When you come in off Tennessee Street and start up the hill? You need to slow down. Considering that I have MY kids in MY car and they are VERY IMPORTANT kids IMHO, you need to slow down A LOT. Fast cars and small kids on school property do NOT jive. Your foot. On the brake. It's a good idea.

When you get UP that hill? The road curves to the right. That means, the right of way is to the right. When you come sailing up that hill, driving too fast, you do NOT have the option to "choose" which way you'd like to go. Either curve to the right or YIELD the right of way, stop, look, listen if you're particularly dense, and then proceed straight if you're going downstairs. This isn't rocket science, it's common sense and courtesy and both of those will take you a long way.

Should you be a woman, driving too fast, sailing up that hill, hauling ass straight across Plum and down to the cafeteria and you have a CELL PHONE in one hand and a MASCARA WAND in the other? There's apt to be a jerkin'. I'm just saying. This goes back to those important children who just HAPPEN to belong to me. If you are driving a motor vehicle then you need to be paying attention to your driving skills. Get OFF the phone and get UP ten minutes early to put on your make-up...you may not believe this but you CANNOT do three things at once. I've seen you not do it.

THEN. Once you top that hill and make your choice and you decide you're going downstairs? You need to slow down some more. Because if you start down that hill at 7:35 in the morning and there's a car parked in front of the lunchroom doors? There's about a ONE HUNDRED PERCENT chance that a child is about to get out of that car!! No lie!! I've seen it happen!! Should you be driving a shiny black truck with UNATOO for a personalized tag? That's my kid coming out of the car and you do NOT want to be doing 30 miles an hour past the lunchroom at the exact moment my kid opens the car door. That's one more important kid in this household, whether you give a flip or not. Should you ever again nearly hit my kid, coming out of my car? There's liable to be a jerkin'. I'm just saying.

This also brings us to the people who, for some reason known only to themselves, are so important and are so desperately needed some place that they do not feel required to follow the flow of traffic. As a general rule, the traffic around St. Joseph flows clockwise. It flows clockwise because THAT'S THE SAFE WAY TO DO IT. Everyone, flowing along, paying attention, driving slowly, watching for small darting children. This works. I don't know what page you read that says you can come in the back way, past the gym, past pre-K, past the first grade and LET YOUR KID OUT in front of the lunchroom, headed the wrong way? But you're on the wrong page. Honey...you're in the wrong BOOK. And there's liable to be a jerkin'. I'm just saying.

While we're at it, may we address your child's physical capabilities? If your kid is old enough to be getting in and out of a car in front of the school, your child is capable of opening a car door. I know...I've seen it happen. If you have a child who is getting out at the front door of the school and that child is not capable of opening a car door, picking up his backpack, getting out of the car, closing the car door and walking into the school? There are classes that will help your child. Or, if such is the case, there are classes that will help YOU. Teach your child. To open a car door. Turns out? That's a pretty NECESSARY skill. I know...I've seen people do it a LOT.

We might also address entrances and exits as in...don't block 'em. If you are in line to pick up your kid at the front door? Don't block the entrance to the playground. We pick up kids by age and, believe it or not, there are parents who don't drive up to the front door. There are parents who pick up their kids in the parking lot at the playground and...THEY NEED TO BE ABLE TO GET IN THERE. As you're edging along, in line for the front door of the school, and you get to the entrance to the parking lot? Stop. No big deal, no extra effort for you...let those people in. They are there for a reason and I'm sure they would afford you the same courtesy, given the chance. It's a very courteous school. I know. I've been here a while.

Considering that I've been raising kids for 28 years (count 'em) and haven't killed one yet, I'm not preaching because I have all the answers but because...whatever it is? I've already messed it up. At least once. And learned. I've learned a LOT and one of the things I've learned is that these are very precious kids. And to have been entrusted with their safekeeping is the most important job I'll ever have.

Bar none. And when YOUR stupidity interferes with MY kids' safety? I might feel a jerkin' coming on. I've seen it happen.

Friday Funny

Unmentionable things that can be burdensome:

Dog farts...What the HELL did you get into? There's an entire bowl of perfectly good dog food in the kitchen. Whatever you ate that wasn't on your diet is coming out RANK, and I'm tired of running the fan so that my eyes don't water. Puh-leeze. (Although, doesn't every family need a scapegoat?)

Aging and eyebrows...This shouldn't be an issue...I need to be worrying about global warming and college tuition. I didn't even know I HAD eyebrows until I looked up one day and...there were sprouts. Above my eyeballs. Interfering with the straight line. And apparently (if personal experience is any indication) pulling them out just pisses them off and makes them come out at increasingly diverse angles. Who'd a thunk it?

Dust...I pulled up the carpet to get rid of the germ factory and it turns out? Concrete sheds. It sheds concrete dust and if you have a concrete slab and you haven't gotten around to staining it? Everything in your life will be covered with a fine white powder. IT'S ROCK, for pete's sake...how the hell can CONCRETE shed? This one's just not fair.

The absence of cops when you need them...If someone doesn't get me some law enforcement on the thoroughfare into town in the mornings, I'm going to Go Utility. The speed limit is FORTY-FIVE FUCKING MILES AN HOUR and I'm doing 50. Get off my ass.Citizens aa-ray-est! Citizens aa-ray-est!

The on-screen DirecTV guide...I was used to this. Movies were one color, sports were one color, stuff I didn't want to watch was another. We upgraded and...it all looks the same, it's smaller, and the remote shifts stuff in...slow motion. Or something. LEAVE MY SHIT ALONE. It takes me too long to get used to things and I am an end-cap sucker...make it bright and shiny and familiar and I'm yours for life!!! Don't go messin' with the merchandise!

That clip is 9-1/2 minutes long and you should watch it anyway. I have saved it into Favorite Places, to be watched one day a week for the rest of my life. Sometimes, you should laugh just because IT'S FUNNY!

Maybe I should stick to my gardening skills

I'm going to have to declutter my life and since I'd have to get a job if I chunked The Big Boy, it looks like I need to part with some stuff. So I've been pulling things out and sorting through piles and...I don't have it in me.

Every single thing I'm looking at? I know just as sure as I'm standing here that the Thursday the trash guys pick it up is the day before the Friday I will desperately have to have it. I KNOW this...it's just the way things work.

My "go" pile currently has three curtain rods, with accompanying rings, and although there aren't three identical windows in this house...the minute those are gone I'm going to remember what I bought them for.

There's a pair of in-line skates that I (really!) DID use. Eleven years ago when we lived in Texas. IT COULD HAPPEN! It could. There are two sets of lovely gold and cream star-shaped candles. I have NO IDEA WTF I was thinking...they're short so they must be supposed to float in something and...I've got no floaters. Pretty damn sure.

I have over 300 cookbooks. Collected one by one (ooh, oooh, ooh. That's another post when the girl who bought my house in Texas walked into the library and explained to her fiance..."You buy them by the boxful at yard sales." You white trash bitch. You buy and READ them one at a time.

I read cookbooks at night. For entertainment and fodder for leftovers. Some of them are best friends: Emeril's, Cotton Country, Rick Bayless, Breakfast at Brennans, Martha Stewart, Neiman Marcus. I have my grandmother's original red and white checked Better Homes & Gardens. THESE ARE IMPORTANT! And oh, y'all...they are taking up a LOT of space. A lot. And some of them haven't been read in years but...it could happen!

Bundt Classics. I make one cake and I make it a LOT and I DON'T EAT CAKE. But other people do and I cook for other people so...it could happen. Home Sausage Making. I actually did this. Once. After I spent $160 on equipment, I made boudain and it was wonderful and we loved it and now I don't know where the equipment is but, it could happen. Again. A Flavor of Normandy. No clue what's in it and unless I get all highbrow and decide to cook a theme dinner THAT book's not going anywhere. But it could happen.

Oh, and then there's Cheesemaking. Cheese. Making. As in...make cheese. Oh, y'all, all good intentions aside and wondrous acts I sometimes DO accomplish? That ain't gonna happen. If it does...I'll send a picture. Of me on my inline skates...making mozzarella balls.

You CAN have it all!

Short and Sweet

Obviously, for the past few days, Country Girl and I have been indisposed for various reasons - but we hate to leave y'all hanging for too long.

So in honor of Inauguration Day, we give you the first of approximately 50,000 Obama LOLs.

Bonus Day!

I had no idea my office is closed for the MLK holiday today!

So I'm about to put a paint primer whoopin' on some window frames.

No time to blog!

KITCHEN PAINT! WOOOOOOOT!

Friday Farewell

And Then it Began to Rain

Marathon Kitchen Remodel
Project - Month 14

Back when I was younger, thinner and more patient The Hubster initiated - after seven years of barren but well-intentioned promises - a kitchen remodeling project.

The impetus for which was the fact that I, with my own two delicate hands, had torn down half the wall between the kitchen and dining room, painted three 2x3 samples of red paint on the remaining walls and began purchasing new appliances at an alarming rate...and needed somewhere to put them.

It was a God-awful mess, just as I intended. ::bwaah-haa-haaaa::

So last fall Hubster contracted with two "gentlemen" to do the work. I'm not going to revisit the end of that story. The fact that it still is not finished should tell you everything you need to know. The following spring came and went...nothing happened. Summer...nothing happened. Fall...nothing happened.

Until last month when Hub began planning Kick Ass Superbowl Party III and that's when I had to put my big honkin' foot down.

"There is no way in hell that group of friends - the same people who two parties ago voted on the dining room color from the wall swatches - are going to find that room in exactly the same state it was in last January. It's embarrassing. No, sir. No paint, no party."

I know what you're thinking: What a bitch. What a shrew. Paint it yourself!

Ahhhh... but I can't. You see, The Hubster is the most linear thinker you will ever vicariously-through-a-blog meet. An order of operation must be followed. Steps must be taken in sequence. Jumping ahead in the plan may result in physical injury.

Wall paint follows trim paint. Trim paint follows plaster touch-up, plaster follows moving the light fixture, light move connected to the shin bone....

So on Friday night when Hub announced he was replacing the back door - which appears nowhere on the Unalterable List of Steps to be Taken in the Pursuit of a Kitchen Modernization Project, Revision 2 - I checked his head for fever. Then I held up three fingers and asked him what day it was. He seemed to be okay, so what gives?

I still don't know what happened, but bless his heart, he went at that back door with such a vengeance...tore it down, ripped out the frame, removed the trim. Nothing but a big, gaping hole in the back of the house where an ancient, drafty entrance door once hung.

And then it began to rain.

It monsooned sideways. Into the opening. All over Hub, his tools, the kitchen floor....

Apparently this is what happens when you deviate from The Plan: You anger the gods of alignment and structure and they piss on you.

I am confident my Hubster won't let THAT won't happen again.

Connected to the knee bone...connected to the thigh bone...connected to the hip bone....

I liked this one

It constantly amazes me at the people who do not realize the utter contempt this man feels for them. So you tied a cardigan around your shoulders and voted for George W? He still wouldn't cross the street to spit on you if you were on fire.

Free Associating

I very much enjoy reading the free association posts on Le Laquet's blog, although I rarely participate for whatever reason.

But I thought maybe if I do it, you twisted puppies might play along - and that would be fun, right?

Humor me, it's been a rough year so far.

So submit your responses in the Comment Box (where else?) and the submission deemed most clever/funniest will win a prize.

(I'm all about the prizes lately).

My contribution:

Resolution : Dyslexic Bolshevik

Break :: Kneecaps

Tied :: Implicated

Suffering :: Martyr

Instead :: Menu Substitution (a la When Harry Met Sally)

Slash :: Haircut

Divorce :: Elizabeth Taylor

Cough :: Hernia

Happy :: Go Lucky :: Holly Golightly

Sniffle :: Mr. Snuffleupagus

Spontaneous Trivia - Did you know that Snuffy's first name is Aloysius?

Note to Self:

Hey. Self: Next time you're thinking about getting all cocky and shit about how no one in this house ever gets sick? Stifle the impulse because for PUNISHMENT, The Inmates will be visited by various forms of the crud for oh...say...GOING ON ABOUT THREE MONTHS NOW.

Just a thought.

Friday Funny

see Sarah Palin pictures

Nothing will make your day sunnier than going over to Erin's place at Out of Character and checking out her hysterical scuba diving video. I've never been scuba diving but when I do? I ain't poking NUTHIN'.

Drionking. Or not.

For some reason known only to my evil alter-ego and the heavens, a couple of years ago I got up one day and announced that I wasn't going to drink from January 1 until the Super Bowl. Completely arbitrary dates and occasions. To this day, I have no clue.

Thinking about it, it makes sense that I was either detoxing from six solid weeks of mainlining champagne and cheese straws for the holidays, or that I was trying to lose weight. Either of those are perfectly reasonable explanations and you can take your pick...your guess is as good as mine. And each year I get up and without having even given it much thought, I abstain for that given period. It doesn't make that much difference to ME, but to the people who surround me on a daily basis...this is a reeaallly long month. Like, the longest month of the year and GUESS WHAT? It's just getting started.

We've had two family birthdays at the Mexican restaurant so far this month. The first time I ordered unsweetened tea, the waiter called up front and told the proprietor who came back to our table because he didn't believe it. Instead of the usual celebration which typically involves everyone in the family wearing the sombrero and singing "Cheeseburger in Paradise" with the Mexican-speaking music man, we ate in relative quiet. No one did any impromptu dancing down the aisles; no one served birthday cake to everyone in the restaurant we knew and half the people we didn't; and no one ordered "shots all the way around" and then FOLLOWED THROUGH. I had NO IDEA that I was the instigator of most of the family memories that keep my mother in such a tizzy, but obviously that's the case because this is the first time in memory we didn't SHUT THE PLACE DOWN.

I haven't decided if this is a good thing or not.

Do I feel better? No. No better, no worse. I haven't lost any weight...on the contrary, instead of reaching for a no-fat, no-carb bourbon and water after dinner I find myself looking around and realizing why people snack at night. Nothing else to do. I've been in bed by 9 p.m. every night this week. This is NOT all it's cut out to be.

I may, however, fall off the wagon this year. My college roommate's 50th birthday celebration is January 30 and if I'm going to drive to Bham for a catered, sit-down dinner, I think I'll have a drink. Or ten. The Super Bowl, I've been told, is February 2 this year (unlike two years ago when it was oh, say, ALMOST ST. PATRICK'S DAY) so it's not like I'm defeating the purpose. Whatever the hell it is.

But I will tell you this: my friends, my family, my kids, my neighbors and the average guy on the street? Y'all aren't NEAR as funny when I'M sober...not even close.

(The title was originally a typo but in retrospect...that's funny.)

In Honor of Heather's Birthday

Best Comic Strip Ever: www.xkcd.com

Rethinking Facebook

Random Observation:

I am not sure I want to continue participating on a social networking site with more fans of:

Shakira (584,609) than The Doors (533,560)

And more fans of BANANAS-IN-FREAKING-PAJAMAS (529,764) than The Beatles (496,011)

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Thank God Pink Floyd (991,259) kicked Britney's ass (516,154) or I would have had to close my account on the spot.

Jeez.

That Six Degrees thing...

Something came up about the six degrees of separation thing and everytime it does, it just cracks me up. Because, honey, if you are even remotely connected to anyone or thing in the Deep South? You are at most three degrees from Jesus, the grocery man, Australia and the devil. Trust me.

Last Thursday we drove to Bham to a New Year's Day party at my friend, Mary's, house. She was born in South Carolina, lived in Saginaw Michigan and moved to this corner of the planet with GM many years ago. My mother was her English teacher in high school, and she was my roommate at Auburn. There is no other past connection. (Totally unrelated, The Big Boy and I got into a fight on the way down there because he pulled into a drivethru and took my quarter. The one in the door. That I use to get a cart at Aldi and DO YOU KNOW how complicated life gets if you're in the grocery store parking lot and YOU DON'T HAVE A QUARTER to get a cart? I'm just saying.)

We're sitting in the den and Mary introduces me to a lovely woman and in the chitchat we realize...This is Ann, the woman who sold The Big Boy's Aunt Faye her house in Homewood 40 years ago. My middle child's middle name is Faye, after this lovely aunt. We laughed at the coincidence. I wondered how much Aunt Faye had told her and if I needed to slink silently into another room.

I move into the kitchen, where Gayle is sitting. Gayle rents a house in Tuscaloosa to Paul, my oldest childhood Center Star friend's son. The day that happened and everyone made the connection I got dubbed "The Ambassador for Center Star." That would be me. Gayle also worked with my dad's best friend's daughter, when JoEtta worked in Atlanta. In the past. And that bunch is into accounting/engineering and I have NO connection to anything like that.

But then! The Saturday after Christmas, friends of ours who have moved to Denver were home for the holidays and we all met at the Mexican restaurant for a get-together. And margaritas. And I will be damned if I wasn't sitting in that kitchen in Bham and there was...a couple. And it turns out...the man works for Mary and her husband, and his wife's brother is our friend at the Mexican restaurant Saturday night!!

I was related/akin to half the people at that damn party before it was all over. And since they're all thin business people dressed in designer duds, working the crowd and being fashionable, and I'm just really loud and a legacy...I had a blast!! It didn't really matter where I parked...I had a connection.

Which if you get to leave and go home the next day, can be a good thing.

Image Credit: (another cute blog!) http://allsorts.typepad.com/allsorts/friends/index.html

Rerun

If only I had 2008 to do over again....

Wait. Well, actually, I do - sort of - don't I? What the hell good is a brand-spankin'-new year if not to be employed as a big, fat do-over?

People are always yawping on about how a new year is a clean slate. ::raises face into wind, arms akimbo, and breathes deeply of brisk mountain air - aahhh!:: A fresh start!

Historically, I've never bought it. Life events that really do provide a chance to start anew - birth, death, divorce, marriage, fabulous new shoes - tend not to follow the calendar, Gregorian, Julian, Lunar or otherwise.

So, to me, 01 January in whatever Year of our Lord has always been just another day...albeit a day frequently marked by hungovered-ness and plagued by football and more-annoying-than usual commercials on the teevee.

But yesterday, after reading Dory's stirring farewell to 2008, and as I was manically exorcising handbags and closets of old Kleenex, I was thinking back over the year - not about the bad things (death, illness, job change, stress) - but about the things I wished I'd been able to fit in.

Any normal person would know intuitively that (as our regional heroine, Scarlett O'Hara, said) tomorrow is another day. But for yours truly it was an A-HA! moment. Tomorrow IS another day! Okay...so technically TODAY is a new day, but give a girl a break, wouldja?

A-ahem. The following are things I wished I'd done in 2008 and now have a chance to do in 2009:

1. Write more. Not the stream-of-consciousness flow of kibbles and bits that you all are subjected to here, but actually practice better writing. I entertain myself by making up the most elaborate stories - why not write them down? Or, at the very least, become a better marketing-oriented writer (ie - hone that skill set).

2. Save some money. At the end of every year, as we embark on the annual adventure of scrounging up receipts for the accountant, I think, "Wow. I need an emergency fund" and then immediately forget about it. But how can you tell off your boss and your boss's boss and become a legend at Acme Global Consolidated, Inc. if you don't have anything to fall back on?

3. Leisure travel. Do you have any idea how long it's been since Hub and I have been to the beach - which is only 8 hours away? Ten years. Ten. Long. Years. We gotta get out of town more often.

4. Take more naps. Seriously. I aged about ten years in 2008. I need more sleep.

5. Do something with the $50,000 worth of yarn, fabric and miscellaneous crafting supplies stockpiled around this house. This is the activity I should have made more time for last year. I spent thousands of dollars on Christmas 2008. Could I have knit and/or sewn something for everyone instead? Oh, hell yes. So 2009 is the year.

Actually, beginning today when I dust off the sewing machine, Project Homemade Xmas '09 begins. (I feel like I'm going into battle - quick! - where's my kilt? Where's the blue face paint?).

That's pretty much it. I usually worry that I'm not communicating enough with friends and loved ones, but - let's face it - if you don't check email or have a Facebook account, you really are making it unnecessarily difficult for people to keep in touch with you.

Can I get a "True Dat"?

Post Script: Taking into consideration comments regarding the new look - Heather said she liked it, but that was when the background was parchment-colored. Mel said it was a bit difficult to read, but that was when I changed the background to terra cotta. Tom was no help whatsoever, but the answer to his question is: Cuban cigars. So we're back to parchment.

Image Credit: Cute blog - http://scrumdillydo.blogspot.com/

Don't Leave! You're in the Right Place!

So what do you think of the new look? Does it make our butts look big?

I've been ALL about clearing out today - closets, drawers, makeup, the fridge. You name it, I have cleaned it, am cleaning it or will have cleaned it by Sunday.

Not cleaned like scrubbed, but cleaned like decluttered.

This afternoon I pulled every damn purse out of my closet and emptied them of old receipts, dried-up Purell wipes, loose pills/Altoids, fuzzy Chap Sticks and wadded tissue. Held them upside-down over the trash can and shook out crumbs. The handbags? They are clean.

So is my jewelry box. I lost an earring two years ago on the Subway in NYC but haven't been able to let go of the survivor...until today. Okay, so I didn't throw it away, but I put it in the step-down box, out of sight. Six months from now, when I haven't looked at it every day and, deluded, thought, "Maybe someday I'll find a match..." I may be able to let go completely. Hey, it's a step.

Then I got online, took a look at the blog and thought, "All those polka dots are a kinda busy, aren't they? What if we tried....this?"

Looks cleaner to me, but is maybe missing a little personality? I haven't sprung it on Country Girl yet - will email her next...after a stiff drink (bracing myself).

So do me a favor and cast a vote: "Nice, Keep the New Look" or "What are You Smoking? Bring Back the Dots!"