Things I've learned in 2011

Things I've learned in 2011:

1. Some  All of the time, new boots make up for a craptastic week.

2. Those cheesy quotes seen floating around the Internet, or else painted on a previously unimportant piece of driftwood, or offered by someone who has no idea what to say to you once you've just delivered word vomit? Guess what? A lot of the time they are true and of great value. i.e.:
                                                              

3. Don't waste your time watching the news....seriously it is depressing and if you need a hit of current events THAT bad, follow all the important media outlets on twitter and only click the on the links once you have taken a seat and are prepared to see tragedy.

4. Munchkin laughter can cure anything

5. an iPhone is the ONLY phone.  Other companies should just cut their losses and move on.

6. The only playlist you will ever need to workout to again is teetotally fo free, yo.  It's called "Girl Talk" and the Album is "All Day" and it is the BEST!  Try it.
Sure it has hmmm...a bit of profanity, but anybody who can provide mashups featuring Black Sabbath/Ludacris/Cali Swag District/Jane's Addiction/M.I.A./Dorrough/The Doors and many more and manage to make it a great beat that doesn't sound like its crammed together = genius in my world!! Check it out:
Sample it here: http://alldaysamples.com/

download it here: http://illegal-art.net/allday/
it isn't illegal just the website he chose i suppose. Just make sure you take your iPod off shuffle because it is meant to be listened to in the order in which it is downloaded.

7. It is sometimes necessary to "Cut them out".  I hate to say it, but people can be down right mean and all together drama queens.  The most vicious of these people are those you once counted as friends.  I don't mean cut them out in the mafia sense (make them sleep with the fishes) nor in the gangsta terminology (take a baseball bat to their knees) and no not even in the Redneck Ninja way (random trailer park trash transformed into ninja stars).  I just mean that sometimes distance is the best route.  I've learned this the hard way over the past 2 years.  Someone who cuts you down is not your friend.......that and I'm almost 30 and too old.  Save the drama fo yo mama.

8. There are somethings in life that are worth the money:
                   -adequate virus protection on your computer
                   - paying some random person in India to fix computer when said computer virus disables entire
                      computer
                   - a Kindle. seriously.
                   - the good paint at Lowe's
                   - a good pair of running shoes (if not your feet will pay for it later)
                   - a night out to cut loose and dance to your heart's content (use sparingly as your old ass will be
                     paying for it more than your wallet will)

9. I am a terrible gift giver.  TERRIBLE!!!!  Once in a blue moon inspiration will hit and I will draw tears,
    but, more often than not, I quite suck at it.

10. Advice from one source is stupid.  I have something of a Round Table.  I listen attentively to others'
      perspective and then arrive at my own opinion.  Sometimes people have ulterior motives, and sometimes
      they just have plain old bad advice.  Always best to pick a couple of brains.  Having said all that, it
     should be known that I have the greatest group of confidants there ever was.

11. Having all the laundry done can be more gratifying than sex

12. Good sex can change your perspective on shit.

13. Find an older relative.  Listen to their stories.  That is the story of how you came to be.

14.  Be kind.

15. Albus Dumbledore is the smartest man to have ever lived.  Use his quotes daily.

16. Everything starts as an idea in somebody's head.  A toy reindeer that poops jellybeans was once just
      some random soul's dream, now it is a reality that shits sits in my kitchen.

17. I ramble

18. Keep on.  Tragedy will strike and the unthinkable will happen. But you must keep on living and growing.

19.  I am never too old to learn.  Sarsaparilla!  That's my New Year's Resolution: to learn something new
       each day!!!

20. New Year's Resolutions are lame

21.  Don't EVER say, "I will never do that". Trust me, I've eaten crow quite a few times this year.

22.  There isn't much that a good book or friend and fine box of wine can't solve.

23. It is perfectly acceptable to look back and say, "Damn I was stupid...10 years ago, 5 months ago,
      1 hour ago or 12 items ago"

24. Tell those you love how much they mean to you because one day you won't have the easy opportunity.
       Not morbidly (read death) but because it is too late, or they lost cell service, or they don't have the time
       to hear it, or they are in a foreign country or well.....because they are dead. (oops back to being  
       morbid)

25. Pinterest is just as good as actually DOING a craft.

26. Hug your children every day.  There are people who would gladly take your place.

27. It is perfectly OK to take time to recharge your batteries.  Trust me.  I haven't done this enough and
      now I know better

28. Sometimes the best thing to do is just sit back, wait for it to pass and laugh.

29. I'm too old to stay up and watch the ball drop.  I think New Year's is lame.  Maybe I will pick up the
      habit again when Ryan is as old as Dick Clark but for now, I'm taking my glass of wine and my Kindle
      and snuggling my old ass up in bed.

Gotcha Eve!!

Disclaimer: This is all about girly-stuff and kinda a yuckfest....so if you happen to be packing a standard issue weapon you may not want to read.  If you choose to go on....well you have been warned.

I hate being a girl.  Seriously.  I will concede that there are benefits: the face we wake up to in the a.m. isn't the one we have to face the world in, high heels, the ability to carry a fab bag and not be forced to stuff all of our essentials into our non-accommodating or non-existing pockets and of course our strange power over the opposite sex.  And while these benefits are super, my distaste for the downside of being a woman has increased with each passing year.  When I was little and at the beach with my family and our close knit group of annual beach accompaniments (including my Mom's BFF and her 5 boys), I found it annoying that they could run around topless yet it was "frowned upon" when I attempted to do the same.  As time passed, other aspects of all things girl ground at my nerves - why are we forced to bare all of our goodies in a bathing suit whereas stupid boys can wear board shorts and rash guards. Ugh!  Would I really be such a freak if I shaved my  unmanageably thick, white girl 'fro head of unruly hair.  Shaving!?! Waxing!?! Mix/matching!?!  Constant Maintenance?!?  Child Birth?!? Periods!!!!!!

The last item on this not-even-close-to-being-done list o' bitching has been the one that has solidified my dislike for being all sugar and spice.  Since the wrath of Eve began in 6th grade, my life has been constantly ruled by the terribly painful experience once a month.  After 18 years of unbearable periods (see My Uterus Hates Me), 2 surgeries to address my endometriosis, 2 children, something had to be done.  After the birth of my second child things began to get increasingly worse.  The past 6 months alone have been horrible.  The pain extended its grasp beyond once a month, making it difficult to live my life and do the things that are required by all of us Super women. Most importantly it interfered with my ability to be a fantastic mother to my 2 wonderful munchkins. 

After reviewing all the options for treatment with my doctor, we came to the conclusion that a hysterectomy was the best option.  Lucky for me, my doctor is phenomenal and highly trained with the Davinci Robotic Surgery

This hysterectomy ain't yo' Mama's hysterectomy, which required a C-section-esque incision.  This minimally invasive procedure has an easier recovery time, even though it is still a major surgery. 

Although this was clearly the best option, it was still a difficult choice to make.  After all my rants about hating being a girl, I was suddenly clinging to something that made me distinctly so.  And although my uterus and I have fought a vengeful battle for more than half of my life, it was my precious munchkins' first home.  I began having dreams filled with being punished for escaping the wrath God intended for Eve's conniving ways.  My decision was solidified as the surgery neared and my pain began getting worse.  The day I picked up my adorable chuck'o man 2 year old and nearly dropped him due to the pain radiating from my abdomen made me realize that any notions to the contrary were ridiculous.

It has now been 4 weeks since my surgery.  My oh-so-wonderful and not-so hard on the eyes doctor was able to remove all of the endometerisosis, my massivily enlarged (source of the increase in pain) uterus and leave my ovaries.  Although I have had a few setbacks, the recovery has been better than expected - only hampered by my own stupidity and stubbornness.  I would feel great on some days and forget to take it easy (stupid, stupid, stupid) and then pay for it after.  I can't wait to be totally back in the game. To be able to workout, play with my kids, dance like a fool and further live my life without the pain and nonsense that my body used to put me through.  As for the nostalgic issues, I just tell myself that while my womb held my munchkins for 9 months, my heart will hold them for a lifetime and I would rather hang on to that organ.

As for being a girl, I'm beginning to come around.  Except for the bikini thing - that one still pisses me off.

My Uterus Hates Me

Seriously, it HATES me!!

Since I "blossomed" into puberty (vomit) in 6th grade my experience has been horrible! I'm talking having to miss out on life for at least 2 days out of the month because I was unable to move due to excruciating pain, vomiting, passing out or any combination of the 3 and sometimes more. Meds would help....and by help I mean that I would be unconscious for 4 hours until they wore off and I would then awaken to another vicious cycle repeating itself. When I was 14 my doctor put me on birth control in the hopes that this would regulate and calm down my period o' purgatory. Even though my mother was afraid I would be viewed as a modern day Hester Prynne (we live deep in the Bible Belt), this plan of action worked quite well.

Then at age 21, it all started again. Except this time I began having pain all the time. I couldn't workout, I could barely walk to class. I began seeing a doctor that had massive experience with cases like mine.  The cysts that were discovered on my ovaries made my right ovary double the size of a normal ovary and my left one was quadruple that size.  An exploratory laparoscopic surgery confirmed the doctor's diagnosis of endometriosis. A case so severe that, instead of burning it off as planned, my doctor couldn't do anything at that point. When I was conscious, my doctor showed me pictures of my insides (super cool albeit super yuck) covered in the black funk that was wreaking havoc on my life. It was EVERYWHERE! It coated every surface contained within my abdominal cavity. Completely covering my bladder and so thick around my uterine artery, that it caused my doctor to not proceed until she had a chance to go over everything with me. See removing the endometeriosis could result in severing my uterine artery thereby forcing a hysterectomy at the ripe ol' age of (by this time) 22 years old. I decided to go ahead with the surgery - it was either that or attempt to get pregnant which would have been mission impossible judging by the state of my baby making equipment and the fact that while engaged, I was *GASP!!* unmarried (did I mention we live in South Georgia?).

The surgery was successful in removing ALL of the endometeriosis, but left my insides wrecked with scar tissue. My doctor told me she didn't want to offer false hope. That it would be a one-in-a-million chance for me to get pregnant. ever.  My fiance and I were heartbroken.  We had dreams of a family, little mini-us-es running around and pitt-pattering through our lives.  I gave him an out.  I told him that since I was now barren-Marion he could call it off and find someone with a ready, willing and able baby hammock.  He declined my offer and we began discussing alternatives.  We decided on being foster parents with the hopes that adoption would follow. 

We were married 5 months after my 2nd surgery and began married life.  We had a five year plan in which the adoption option took the place of the typical "trying for baby" one.  As with most plans, this one went awry.  2 and 1/2 months after getting married, something blew the 5 year plan wildly off course.  A positive pregnancy test.  I took the test as a kind of joke, not at all stupid enough to believe that it could be possible.  I stared feeling weird and thought I was coming down with a virus or something because what else could make you vomit after drinking orange juice, brushing your teeth or right before you go to bed? That and Lannie The Wonder Dog became very protective of me.  So I didn't even tell my new husband that I was taking one.  When I showed him the stick he didn't speak for 12 solid hours. I didn't do a lot of that either.  What I did do a lot of was urinating. 5 pregnancy tests.  All with the same result: positive, 2 lines, plus sign, smiley face, pink line. 

Total shock and awe.  Obviously in shock due to my prognosis and the fact that I was on birth control to prevent the re-attack of the endo-monster.  Awe because it was a miracle.  Awe because God laughs at even the most well formulated plans and (in this case) replaces it with something unimaginable and miraculous.  Awe because when our baby girl was born we were changed for life.  Then awed again when she was 3 years old and touched my belly, looked up and said, "You gots a baby in your belly, Mama".  The subsequent pregnancy tests revealed that this child is psychic and God is wonderful (albeit in fits of giggles), because yet again we believed that Marlee would be our one and only because it was impossible to become pregnant. 

So after the 2 babies and somewhat pleasant intervening periods, I believed my uterus and I had come to a cease fire.  I quickly realized that it was but a brief reprieve and my uterus was an evil genius (muwhahahaha).  I had begun to have an appreciation...oh alright I loved it for the first time in my life...for this wonderful piece of me.  But after the birth of our son, my uterus struck back with a vengeance.  Our son is now 2 years old and, as of 4 weeks ago, my uterus sleeps with the fishes (read more "Gotcha Eve").

Everything we love or hate teaches us a lesson.  Everything we love or hate changes our life dramatically.  In my uterus' case - it made my life more wonderful than I could have ever imagined and taught me to never underestimate the miracles that are waiting in life.....and to always have a good doctor on hand.

Framin' my Favorite Danglin' (s)

Ooooh Shiny!!  Instead of just using my collection as a one-at-the-time decoration hanging from my lobes, I made something that makes them art in my bathroom when they aren't in use (plus I no longer have to sift through tangled earrings!).  And the earrings that I love that have lost their mate can still be admired!

Oh-so fancy and SIMPLE!!

Step 1:  Find a frame -preferably one with some character but any will do.  I found this one at a Antique store for $5 and all I did was clean it up a bit, but the possibilities are endless - paint it or embellish with a hot glue gun and some bling or ribbon.

Step 2:  get some screen from a hardware store.  I think I got a small roll for like $2.  Be sure to get a durable metal mesh so that it will last.

Step 3: cut screen with wire cutters or some serious shears.  Make sure it is big enough to cover the opening and give you room to staple to the back of the frame.

Step 4: Staple screen to back of frame.  Pull it tight and staple at small intervals to avoid sagging.

Step 5: Display it.  Hang your new earring holder on the wall and hang earring hooks through the screen!

So simple and only takes just a few minutes to make! And it's so cheap, yet fancy, it makes a great Christmas present!



Accessories - for me or my home?

I love jewelry.  Not the super expensive fancy kind, cheap things will do just fine.  Unusual and special finds are my favorite and I have accumulated quite a few.  The thing I do not like about all of my jewelry, is that I can't wear it all everyday without looking like a spaz.  So now I have discovered ways that allow my fabulous finds to be displayed and admired on a daily basis. 

First is the adorable Jewelry Tree I found at TJ Maxx for about $13 bucks! Not only is it functional and a quick place to place the pieces I wear more often, but I love seeing it on my dresser!

hanging on my jewelTree is my single most favorite piece of jewelry!  See I wanted some Mom jewelry - but not yo Mama's Mom jewelry.  After searching for a very long time, I finally found something that fit both my style and budget (see other post regarding my frugality).

I found it at The Vintage Pearl - which has tons of other fabulous finds! The crescent moon is hand stamped with "I love you to the moon & back" - something my daughter and I have always said to each other (little dude is starting to get the hang of it), and the disc is hand stamped with the names of both of my children.  I added the 2 birthstone crystals.  Hands down my favorite thing!
From now on, I try to avoid stuffing my baubles into the jewelry box.  Accessories for me and my home!!

Decor by the Door

A friend once told me to not just fill up space rather only put things that I absolutely love in my home.  This is now my mantra on allowing things into my sanctuary.  Whether decor pieces, utilitarian or people (I kid, I kid), loving it is something I must.  Problemo Numero Uno: I'm not a millionaire and while my heart may go boom boom, my ever-frugal hand puts a death grip on my wallet barring it from further use.  Second issue? I'm extremely particular and find it increasingly difficult to find the item that fits perfectly into my style and ease of use AND tight (tighttighttight) budget. 

Such a situation occurred recently.  Growing aggravated by the constant presence of jackets, book bags, and other random hangable objects on my dining room chairs, I decided we were in dire need of a coat rack.  I searched everywhere: online, stores, antique shops - nothing....well, nothing that I liked.  And as for the ones that would "Just do" well they were at least $70.  I refused to spend 70 bucks on something that makes my nostrils flare just a bit when I look at it.  Then, as I was on the verge of burning all hanging materials 1968 bra style, I got an idea.  If you want something done right, you're just gonna have to do it yourself.  So becomes my homemade, most favorite thing in my home (I forgot about the kids and hubster, well they're a close 2nd, 3rd and 4th). 

VOILA

I lucked up and found a post from a South Georgian Plantation house.  it had been cut in half lengthwise, but I'm sure anyone can find a post and someone skilled with a saw to dissect it for them.  I then used a hand sander to remove layers of paint, the earliest of which was from the early 1900's, and then stained it.   Also, lucky for me, I was able to find glass door knobs to use as hangers. The post was then screwed into the wall (on a stud) at the top and bottom.  Angled holes were drilled at aesthetically pleasing intervals for the knobs.  I used pieces of a dowel rod and wood glue, both in the holes on the post and knobs, to affix them.
Total Cost:
Post - $20
Knobs (all four) - $30 (a "STEAL" as another antique dealer told me...apparently they can be pretty pricey)
Dowel Rod - $2
And elbow grease from myself and my wonderful master of woodcraft father!
= $54
But most of all I absolutely love it and view it as a piece of art which also saves my sanity, although it is so beautiful I almost hate to junk it up with random hangables.

Here are a few more pictures showing details

This hook was on the post when it was removed from the house.  I couldn't bare (or manage) to take it off and it serves as a perfect place to hang my purse.

see ;)

I will add other such projects that make my home wonderful soon!

Child's First Best Friend

The summer before my sophomore year in college, I walked through a door and came nose to nose with my best friend, or more accurately tongue to face.  The only thing that made me certain that she wasn't just a bundle of black socks was the quite large, pink tongue that hung sloppily out of her constantly smiling mouth (the better to lick you with my dear).  I loved her instantly. 

From the beginning it was evident that Lannie was clever, usually too clever for her own good.  The day after I brought her home, my roommate had to rescue her out of a toilet; those Labrador Retrievers do love to swim.  She got mad at my other roommate and ate her remote controls.  How Lannie knew the difference between my TV remote and my roommate's VCR remote, I will never know.  But there sat my perfectly intact TV remote and beside it (and scattered to kingdom come) were the remains of a fully dismantled VCR remote.  She became known for her escape prowess, engineering such evidence-free routes that I'm sure there's a prisoner somewhere begging for her services. 

Aside from all the deeds that remain a toss up between good dog/bad dog, Lannie was extremely smart and a gentle giant.  Training her took minimal effort and she seemed to understand even without official command.  The times she would stare longingly, begging for people food, one only had to say, "You're being rude" and she would turn her head and tuck it under her arm embarrassed.  She knew to stand and observe, almost reverently as we exchanged vows on Grayton Beach 6 years ago.  Both times, before we even knew I was pregnant, my normally chilled out BFF became inexplicably protective over me, giving us the first sign that a baby might be on the way.  And once our children were born she would watch over them, let them play with her and be gentle in a way that seemed impossible for her 90 pounds.

Yesterday as I stood at my kitchen sink preparing breakfast, I looked out the window searching for her smiling face as I have every morning for the past 10 years.  And there I saw her.  Illuminated by a sliver of sunshine as if she were asleep. 

After I got a handle on my shock and grief, we knew we had to tell the kids.  My son is two and it was hard enough with him looking around and asking, "whe doog? whe 'annie".  Most people told me to tell my daughter that Lannie ran away.  I decided on the truth.  I am an advocate to being honest with your children, not necessarily all the gory details but I am not going to lie to them.  You do that and you start to break away at trust and that is so hard to grow back.

As my husband and I began to tell her last night (cue waterworks on all three parts) we quickly realized how powerless we are in protecting our children from so many different things.  My daughter asked if Lannie had been "runned over by a car" (because this dog seriously escaped our fortified yard without difficulty).  I told her no, that she had just lain down and died, that she didn't hurt or suffer.  My very grown-up 5 year old told me how she was glad that Lannie didn't have to stay in the doggy hospital for a long time.  And then, eyes still streaming tears, she said, "But Lannie will be in our hearts, right?" (I nod, stifle more sobs) "But she might dig out of my heart and then dig back in".  She slept with one arm hugging a picture of Lannie tight to her chest and the other hugging a near life sized stuffed animal in the form of a Black Labrador Retriever.

Even though my heart is breaking for Lannie, I find myself thankful.  I am thankful that I got to spend 10 years with her and her ways that would have put Marley to shame.  I am so thankful that I didn't have to look into her big brown eyes, watch her suffer and decide when it was time.  I'm so glad my daughter and son got to know her, even though watching my precious daughter in mourning hurts like crazy.  I just hope she doesn't ask for a puppy too soon because I can't stand to see her in pain and that wish would probably be granted before it even escaped her lips.

Thanks for the Nut

Funny how one little word can change the game.  There are the obvious ones: War, Hate, Love, Death.  Then there are the everyday ones, the ones in which we just consider the implications of that one word.  We don't really think about the word itself.  Yes, No, Sure, Positive, Me and, my personal favorite - the one that isn't actually a word but holds so much meaning, ummmm.  Of course its all in the context in which these words are used that gives them their strength.  In fact, most of these words contain the most power when used in a responsive scenario. 

Will you marry me? "Yes"
Will you marry me? "No"
Can you help me on Saturday? "Sure" (knowing i was planning on staying in my jammies until at least 4 pm)
What does it say? "Positive"
Who made this big mess? "Me" (trying to dodge this question is a speciality of my munchkins)
Well what are we going to do since this pregnancy test says positive? "ummmmmmmm"


Each of these words hold a mighty weight. Words are powerful; treat them with indifference and they will sneak up on you like a dog and bite you on the buttocks.  At times when I'm forced to think of the meaning behind them, I gain appreciation for even the most mundane words.  Today, that mundane word is hamburger.

The word hamburger has never really held any particular interest for me.  Sure I've said it, when ordering pizza, contributing ideas for a cook out, requesting hubcap make a stop by the WD - and all those times I never paid it any thought at all. But just the other day with the utterance of that word, my life was suddenly in upheaval and I had to catch my breath.  That stupid word slapped me in the face.

As with all words, the context is important so here goes the contextualization:
I asked my Babygirl which kind of kid's meal she wanted from Wendy's.  It was a night after a long day and I was not stepping foot in that damned kitchen, well except to get milk, and some napkins, and to put a couple of glasses in the dishwasher, oh and to prep things for dinner for tomorrow....well I had made up my mind that I wasn't going to cook at any rate.  We rarely eat fast food, not just because most of it is terrible for you but mainly because I am a downright tightwad, so the munchkins always get excited.  My little girl, after a moment's consideration, looks at me with her big greenish-blue eyes and utters one word "Hamburger".  "What did you say?", I ask because I am hoping that I misheard her, alas there it is again, "I want a hamburger".  World seems to be shifting, though I don't feel the full implications until after the mad-dash-daily-supper-bath-books-teethies-love-kisses-night-night-more-kisses routine is completed. 

She used to say "hambooger".  It was so cute and even when she tried to say it the right way, the only thing that changed was that the "ooo" was more emphasized.  All the other little words started to rush in my head and pretty soon I was overwhelmed. When she was thirsty she would say, "Mama, I'm drinky".  There were so many times when we would be playing and I was acting silly that she would say, "You are a crazy worman".  So why does stupid hamburger have me so bothered?  Because it is the last one.  Oh, she will still call me a crazy worman every once in a while because she knows it makes me laugh, but hambooger was the last one that occurred naturally, without intention of being funny.  I should be thankful she isn't marching into the school cafeteria and yelling out that she wants to eat a hambooger. And I am.  But mainly I'm in shock because these past five and a half years have gone by so quickly and I have just felt the whiplash.

That devil of a word "hamburger" also raised so many questions.  How much longer will she call me in to give her extra kisses, even though I have basically smothered her with the previous fifteen smooches? How many more times will she call for me, only to "forget" what she called me for?  Just the other day she found a pecan (say it the Georgia way emphasis on the can or stop reading my blog :) ) at recess and saved it in her pocket all day.  When I picked her up from school she said that she saw it and thought of me (appropriate because she called it a nut, emphasis on the nut).  She told me how she had kept it safe all day in her little jean skirt pocket and was so proud when she gave it to me.  How many more times will she harbor an illegal nut for her crazy worman of a Mama? 

Our time with our children is fleeting. I know that pretty soon she will be in those dreadful teenage years and the words that come out of her mouth will devastate me for much different reasons.  Now on, when I get aggravated because we are standing there staring at each other because she has forgotten what was so important that she had to call my name 15 times, I'm going to say "hamburger".  And when I go in her room to kiss her one last time goodnight, the one that is just for me when she is already dreaming of frogs (you just have to know this kid), I'm going to lean down and whisper in her ear, "Thanks for the nut".

My favorite things

The torrential downpour has inspired me - that and the satellite is out and I got tired of doing laundry. Best enjoyed to the tune of My Favorite Things or to reach maximum enjoyment: don't read this at all

Salt on the rim
Of margaritas on weekends
Laundry completed
Someone else in the kitchen
Super nice back-rub without all the strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Brand new Mush Tevas
And munchkins that giggle
Beach-bags and posh-bags
And thighs that don't jiggle
Seeing each day as my kids grow their wings
These are a few of my favorite things
Feeling Bert's Beeswax all over my lips
Enjoying a Heath bar without guilt from my hips
Going to Grayton on break in the spring
These are a few of my favorite things
When the kids fight! Mama starts to scream!
I feel I'm going mad,
I simply drink wine and think of these things, and then I don't feel so bad!



So that's it. Rain has stopped and I'm tucking in for a Kardashin marathon! So next time you feel like you're losing your mind make up your own song....or save yourself the trouble and have Skinnygirl Margaritas on hand.

It's hard out there for a Southpaw

It's that time again! The glorious day when all us Southpaws can raise our our hands and high five all you righties' faces (I kid, I kid)! Happy National Left Hander's Day!

Growing up a lefty, things weren't easy on the streets. It's hard out there for a lefty in a righty's world. EVERYTHING is designed for those with the "right" stuff: desks, doors, scissors (this still plagues me), computers, necklace clasps, guitars, golf clubs.....I could go on and on. Point is you righties just don't know how good you've got it.

Attempt after attempt has been foiled by my Southpaw dominance. I tried to learn tennis (one sport in which the equipment is neutral) but I had to reverse everything that was being taught to me! I wanted to take up golf - good luck finding a cheap set of lefties (website just for lefty golf supplies). Yet even after scoring a super cheap (read free) set, it was nearly impossible to learn due to the fact I had only right handed hot shots to teach me. And yes, still maintianing that it was hand dominance and not lack of hand-eye coordination that played in the biggest role in these epic failures. Guitar, sucked it up - I'm just trying to learn right handed. It even proved difficult as co-captain of the danceline in highschool...well difficult to those righties who had to suffer through my backwards left geared routines. Abuse of power? Probably.

So August 13th is our day! You can have all the rest. Yes this world is designed for those of a dominate right, but just remember that we are smarter and more creative than you - just look at the stats! We've got DiVinci, Einstein, Michelangelo and Hendrix on our side!

Ta-Ta for now! And just for today, throw that peace sign with your left hand!

Peace out - the Southpaw White Chick!
(and for any typos - deal with it I was typing on my iPhone, jury is still out whether it's intended just for righties!)

Whitey, Whitey try to hide-y

This guy is special.  It is because of him that now during the month of August we maintain constant vigilance.  He was the ambassador of all those following in his creepy six-legged footsteps in the Augusts to come.  We even named him:
Whitey

On a perfectly normal day I walked out the back door, not maintaining the level of critter caution that is now practiced as August Awareness (ah, the naive years).  I approach the screen door at a rapid pace and as I began to push it open a movement directly in front of my face causes my eyes to refocus.  There, a good 2.5 inches from my face, clinging to the screen, Whitey introduced himself.  I stood stock still for about 10 seconds completely baffled by the thing staring back at me.  See, Whitey wasn't just any roach, mind you, but an albino one.  

I freaked and yelled for my hubby to come squash the varmint.  Alas, Whitey scampered away before the foot fell (roaches can run at the alarming rate of 3 mph).  An expected amount of Googling ensued.  I research things that scare me in the hopes that I will develop an understanding of them and not be so frightened.  Ah, Google!  What more could an Amateur Insect Hunter Girl need?

A few FF (in this case Freaky Facts):

• Roaches wear their skeletons on the outside of their bodies.
• Cockroaches bleed white blood. (did not need to know that)
• Roaches outgrow their skeletons and must shed them to regrow (vomit, vomit, vomit)
• Albino? nope, just happened to see a roach naked, which they are for approximately 8 hours while the new roomier skin/skeleton regains its regular color. (lucky you)
• During the nude fest - a cockroach is white with black eyes. (have fun sleeping tonight)

Check out these and more interesting, albeit disgusting, Roach Facts <-----do it.

So there you have it!  Casper the not-so-friendly, freakishly white roach.  If anyone is wondering, I had no luck chasing my fears away.  In fact, it is still coming my way at the surprising rate of 3 miles per hour.

Peace and watch out for the Whiteys!

August Annuals

August signals the start of so many things.  School starts back (yippee), the oppressive heat begins to relinquish its hold (not in South GA), fall is just around the corner and with it comes college football (Go Dawgs!), and each of these things hold different meanings for us.  ‘Round my parts, August signals something quite different from the aforementioned joyous occasions, and the only meaning it holds is regret.  Regret that I don’t have the desired arsenal to deal with things at hand:  Critters.

These invaders are not of the common house pest variety.  I could deal with flies, roaches, spiders (Ok I lie – ew, yuck & original arachnophob).  The point is – a Google search is necessary when identifying our annual visitors.  Things they have in common:

1.       Always creep into our happy, normally bug-free (Thank you Astro) life in Early to mid-August

2.       Always causing a moment, amidst the panic, of extreme curiosity & equal WTFocity of the unidentified specimen (one exception – read on)

3.       Always come at you in a rather shocking and surprising manner. (read apparate right next to you causing you to scream and jump around thereby leaving neighbors no choice but to call 911)

4.       Once initial contact has been made, they come back – just once a year, in early to mid-August to scare me right out of my pants.

Whether this is in honor of our Annual Augustinians or a sacrificial measure, I have dedicated a special section just for them to get cozy and randomly jump out to say “Hiiiiiiii”.  Stay tuned for individual  Tales of the Creep!

Who wants crumbs?

Disclaimer: in no way am I to be considered an expert in any area.  I do not have a chunk of knowledge regarding one sphere of interest, rather a vat of random crumbs spanning various topics that usually are quite pointless unless I am watching jeopardy (domination).  In other words, choosing to keep up with this blog is as advisable as selecting the “More Ghetto” route on the Garmin.

So if I am not an expert of anything, what the hell am I doing?  Here is my attempt to explain, although expect far more confusion after reading, I apologize in advance.

 My Sister the hilarious blogstress: Do it…start a blog.

Me: um, about what?

Sissypants: just do it, it is so much fun and you

 would be great at it.

Me: pretty sure you are just looking for an enabler for your “All Things Blog” obsession

Sissy: sad, but true. Do it.

Presently…..no idea what I’m doing…blogging…sheesh

So there it is.  This not easily influenced thing strongly conflicts with natural urge to make sister happy. (No doubt she is preparing a retraction on her previous statements convincing me to blog).  Here I sit: A blundering baby blogger.

I am a researcher by nature and a lover of knowledge, so naturally I began to find articles with tips on starting a blog, which apparently isn’t as easy as one would think (who knew, right?).  The results of my search were astronomical!  Apparently everyone is an expert on blogging, with one obvious exception.  After several minutes over drowning in much too much information (my attention span sucks when I am not interested) I was mentally wadding up the results of the Google search and tossing them into the virtual bin, an action that I will no doubt regret in the blogs to come. 

Then it hit me: if I turn into a zombie just reading about things that don’t passionately interest me, how on earth can I blog about them.  Why limit myself to one area, be it kids, cooking, books, addictive reality TV, iPhone apps, never-ending weight loss struggles, random rudeness, etc. when I’m not just a munchkin shepherd, meager amateur chef, obsessive reader easily intoxicated by the smell of books, Bachelor franchise addict, card carrying member of iPhone Junkies Anonymous, receiver of hypothyroidism via genetics, seemingly constant and unwilling observer of random rudeness.  So THEY say find a topic and stick to it.  Consider it done.

My niche: things that passionately interest me because blogs without that = stale,lame,  

Chances that my random mumbles and grumbles will become cyberlitter? On a scale of “I’m good......no one saw” to “public epic failure” – I’m sitting at a Lohan.  Although saying this would be public is laughable because I am more than likely talking to myself.  So here I go.  Where am I going? Not a damn clue.  Just remember: Wherever you go – there you are.

Ta-ta for now – not to imply that there will be a later.