1. This shocks me. I thought the Bible Belt was the home of all things sexist and antiquated. I thought this article was a joke. In fact, it was not a joke. These girls exist. And I say "girls," because they don't behave like any grown women I know. Why on earth would women, with educations, personalities and jobs depend so heavily on men for stuff they wanted? They are more dependent than this stay-at-home, un-employed mother of three. As one of my brilliant friends on Facebook said, "
"OHSWEET JESUS! I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED A VELOUR MOCK-LA-Z-BOY COUCH! I NEED IT NOW! TIE IT TO THE ROOF OF MY CAR! NOW!"
My friend Julie called me about this phenomenon the other day as she passed a parking lot full of couches and, of all things, toddler-sized lounge chairs. She felt it was blog-worthy and I agree. What the hell are those couches doing in a parking lot? I've seen patterned rugs for sale on the side of the road, too. Some of them are decorated with an enormous animal face, something exotic like a zebra or cat. While I have considered a tasteful cheetah-print area rug, like this one, the huge-face rugs don't do it for me.
3. Why is it now acceptable for Brad Pitt to have pock-marked, large enormous-pored skin, like he does in the most recent issue of W? Perhaps he no longer feels the need to prove he's hot, since he must be or he wouldn't be with Angelina. He has to be good-looking though, because his chameleon-like behavior with every woman he's ever been with would indicate a lack of personality. He is an accessory. Maybe the spread was too arty for a small-town girl like me.
4. Why does my husband lie to me so much about little things? Once and for all, does this or does this not indicate he will one day cheat on me? If, in fact, he does cheat on me, will he do it in a way I can ignore or will it be obvious? The suspense is killing me.
5. Why I can't have everything I want? And why don't I get it when I can? I saw these boots
Anyhow, these are things that befuddle me.
Namasté, y'all!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
In which I am confused. Again.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Emergency Broadcasting System
Here's a picture of Ginger and Greg, with some of the shoes they brought:
I bought a pair to wear to a wedding on Saturday with one of my Laroque dresses. Ginger autographed the bottom. How fun is that?
Namasté, y'all!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Ladies, we work hard.
My Grandmother was the first person I ever saw rock the Daniel Greens and I think my generation needs to take note. They are so stylish! They are more comfortable than you could possibly imagine! They offer so much support to the feet! After I was finished waxing rhapsodic about my new pair, my mother tried to burst my bubble of fabulousness.
"Main and Taylor doesn't even carry those any more. They're too expensive," she sniffed, implying that only someone as silly as myself would waste a vast fortune on slippers.
Au contraire, ma mère. Although it's true (and very sad!) that Main and Taylor no longer carries them, I wouldn't describe them as terribly pricey. I got mine for the very reasonable price of $24 from Endless.com. While that may be expensive for slippers, these are not, as I said before, mere slippers. They are lifestyle enhancing lounge shoes. Got it?
So, ladies, when your man gets home from a long day at work (or some other guy - your neighbor, the UPS guy, one of your kids), park your sweet self on the sofa, put your feet up and ring for your cocktail tray. You deserve it**!
* Public Service Announcement: Please don't confuse Yoga pants with sweat pants. Sweat pants are gross. Yoga pants are equally comfortable, but more expensive. And they make you look healthy. Sweat pants make you look like you just got dumped, are hungover and have eaten an entire family size bag of potato chips, chased with the greater part of a Whitman's Sampler and a liter of Diet Coke. Mind you, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. We've all been there. Just do it in some nice Yoga pants and throw those nasty sweat pants away. Thank you!
** Well, not really. But who deserves anything besides food, shelter and love? And health care, depending on which side of the political fence you're on. You don't deserve a cocktail tray at the end of the day, but why not have one anyway? Get it for yourself if no one else will.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Baby J's Frst Trip to Wal-Mart
When O. was a toddler, about the age of Baby J, we went to Wal-Mart. I don't know why. And we went to the scariest Wal-Mart in our town, the kind of place where the patrons have missing teeth in some spaces and extra teeth in places teeth should not be. We were letting O. walk through the store instead of pushing him in a cart. I don't know why. We were in an aisle with a strangely-toothed family. Again, I don't know why. They were nice enough, although the rather portly and hirsute* patriarch had chosen to wear a Michelob muscle tee and gym shorts. If his female companion's attire was any indication, it's certainly within the realm of possibility that she chose it for him. They had between them various and sundry children; there may have been some kind of Brady Bunch thing happening. One of the children, who weighed about the same as my husband but was a few feet shorter, was making silly faces at little O. In an attempt to seem non-snobbish, we did not intervene. In a split second, the husky young man, a carbon copy of his dad right down to the muscle tee, scooped O. up, chortling, "AH BET AH KIN PICK HIM UP!" To my immense relief, his parents asked him to "PUT THAT BABY DOWN" right fast. In the end, it was a lovely bonding moment that taught us not to judge books by their covers. So, perhaps that's a reason to go to Wal-Mart, but I digress.
I took Baby J to Wal-Mart the other day because I had to. O's choir director was getting married at our church (stay with me, I'm going somewhere with this!) The children's choir had been asked to sing and the ladies of the church were hosting the reception. Several of us were sharing the task of making marinated shrimp. It was one of those things where you're sent a very precise recipe, which you must follow to the letter so it will match the others. We were instructed to use "shrimp from Wal-mart: small, peeled, cooked frozen shrimp." You know I did not want to do that. So I checked the Piggly Wiggly, Publix and even a fancy mart or two. They had frozen salad shrimp, they had frozen shrimp with the tails on, they had frozen shrimp scampi, but they did not have "small, peeled, cooked frozen shrimp." Yes, I could have bought fresh and boiled and peeled it myself. Stop laughing, please. Or I could have broken the rules and bought tails on shrimp, but I am not a rule breaker. So, off I went, Baby J in tow, to Wal-Mart.
I found the shrimp, bought the shrimp and had a nice chat with another mother in the checkout line about the merits of Robeez baby shoes (So cute! So comfortable! And they don't fall off!) The checkout lady didn't even scoff at me for bringing my own bag. Oh! I also ran into someone I know who teaches aerobics; she had just had her second baby and I got to see the baby, a beautiful little girl. Yeah, the aerobics lady was already pretty slim, just in case you were curious. All in all, it was a
And the whole point of this was to offer a preamble to the shrimp recipe, which was easy and tasty. So, without further ado, I present:
Church Lady Party Shrimp
Obviously, I didn't make this one up, but I'm not quite sure who to credit. If it was your mom, aunt or grandmother who first made this back in 1962, please let me know. I'll credit her.
Take a bunch of shrimp. It really doesn't matter how much, which is one of the great things about this recipe. Use as much as you need. You can catch, cook and peel your own or you can buy frozen or already cooked. You can even buy it from Wal-Mart, but don't tell me.
Thaw your shrimp if it's frozen.
Layer the shrimp with capers and very thinly sliced onions. Drizzle each layer with Girard's Italian Dressing. When they say thinly sliced, they do mean thin. This was very exciting for me, as it was an excellent opportunity to use my new mandolin. I got to see all the shrimp that people brought and the kitchen ladies actually picked too thick onions out of one of them. Fine, it was me! I picked out those chunky looking onions! I'm a rule follower, so I couldn't help it! I'm pretty sure any good Italian dressing will do, but if more than one person is making it, they should all use the same brand. And the Girard's was good.
Refrigerate for 18 to 24 hours (no longer or they toughen). Now, you can leave them layered or you can do what I did, which is mix it all in a big Zip-loc bag. Squeeze most of the air out, so they are covered in marinade, but not all. If you squeeze it too hard, the shrimp will be gross.
Dump it in a pretty bowl and serve with toothpicks. Feel free to garnish it with parsley or something, too. I do love a good garnish!
Namasté, y'all!
*By the way, I always want to spell that word "hirsuit," because it's like they're wearing a suit, made of hair. Get it?
Friday, August 03, 2007
I'm an introvert. No, that doesn't mean that I don't like people (well, I often don't, but it's not because I'm an introvert). It doesn't mean I'm socially inept (keep your opinions to yourself, please!) It doesn't mean I'm agoraphobic (is that that fear of public places and crowds thing? Oh well, you know what I mean.) It does mean that I need to be alone on a regular basis to avoid going "bat shit crazy," as my brother in law likes to describe his...never mind.
Before Yoga the other night, I was telling the class about my need for space (huh. maybe I am socially inept. They can't possibly have been interested. But it did come up in a natural way, when the teacher asked me to move my mat closer to the student next to me. I made a joke about being introverted.) Another mother asked, "But, HOW do you do that with three kids?" Although the class was spared the answer because it was time to start, I thought about it (in my head, not out loud) for a couple of days. My pursuit of solo down time has evolved over the last nine years. Before kids and husband, it was so easy. My whole life was solo and I saw my friends when I wanted to.
My husband is not an introvert. He's one of those
assholespeople who can talk in complete sentences first thing in the morning. My dad is one of those too. In fact, thanks to my introversion's clash with Dad's (I say extreme) extroversion, I got a car when I was 15 years old, a pre-owned luxury four door 1981 Dodge St.Regis. It was a fine car. My parents bought it from my Grandmother and it was in excellent condition; it was like driving a La-Z-Boy couch. Enough about the car, back to me. The summer I was 15, I worked for my Dad, answering phones in his real estate office and listening to the real secretary sing show tunes (I could have DAAAAAAAAnced all NIIIIIGHT...) In retrospect, it was probably worse for her, having to sit next to her sullen boss' 15 year old daughter all summer, but I felt pretty sorry for myself. Now that I think about it, she might have been nervously singing to avoid thinking about whether or not she should tell her boss that she had caught his sullen 15 year old daughter standing on the toilet blowing cigarette smoke out the tiny window up by the ceiling.
Anyhow...my self-pity-party began bright and early every morning, when I would come downstairs to eat breakfast and Dad would be sitting at the table with his cereal and the newspaper, just rarin' to go. He couldn't wait to make some inane remark about something in the paper or his day or my breakfast or the freaking couch. I took this as a deliberate attempt to ruin my life; that is how painful an early morning conversational assault is to me. And, by the way, Dad happens to be an intelligent, kind and interesting person who is well-liked by everyone, even me, but I don't like anyone before coffee. And after the breakfast assault, I would be forced to ride in the car with him, ALL THE WAY TO THE OFFICE, at least a ten minute
torture sessionride!
Apparently, what was torture for me was worse for Dad. My Dad is a guy who never complains; he seems immune to annoyance. I, however, pushed him over the edge that summer in a matter of days. He couldn't stand riding with me in the morning. He told Mom that my presence in the morning ruined his day. So, they bought me a car. They didn't tell me I was getting a car because I was such an asshole, they just bought it. This is one of the qualities I admire in my parents - they usually don't over think things. They didn't worry that buying me a car might be a reward for bad behavior. They didn't shop around (I think they asked all of the grandparents who was sick of their car.) They had a problem and they solved it. And the St. Regis was an excellent car.
Where was I? Oh yeah, down time. So this is how I get it, in spite of three loving boys and a husband (also loving, I think, but one never knows for sure, does one?) I try to anticipate opportunities and I try to create them. I can guess what time Baby J might nap, for example, and I can play with him and act goofy and happy in the morning so he skips the morning nap and takes a nice long one in the middle of the day. One down, two to go. I have a few options for the two to go: I can try to pawn them off on someone else (I think I once convinced my husband that my perfect Dad used to sometimes come home from work and take us out to lunch. Lies, all lies. But he did take us to breakfast at McDonald's every so often), I can make them play outside and threaten them with all sorts of heinous things if they come back inside, I can let them watch a movie on the computer (not optimal, since I have to hear it). The best case is pawning them off on someone else. Sometimes this is easy, sometimes not so much. This summer, I've managed to time it so Baby J takes a nap at the pool, where the big kids are easily distracted by sugary snacks (the potential fallout of the sugar is offset by the swimming), other kids and Marco Polo (or Shark or whatever the kids are playing these days.) If I don't allow them to come within ten feet of the sleeping baby, he'll sleep for a while and I can read, which is alone enough. Unless one of my friends is there, with her kids, who I can't threaten ("If you wake him up, YOU HAVE PLAY WITH HIM FOR AN HOUR AND I will EAT YOUR GAMEBOY FOR SUPPER!)
Another way to get solo time is to be willing to pay for it. According to my sister in law, it's worth taking out a second mortgage if you have a house, or getting a cash advance on a credit card if you don't, to pay for childcare. The single most best thing ever about this summer has been the discovery that our very mature and enthusiastic fourteen year old neighbor is willing to keep the kids - AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE. The moment's notice is extremely important (but, you knew that, because I put it in all caps. But maybe I also used the caps because this is my first attempt at drinkin' and bloggin' - with a bottle of Pommery Brut Royale, if you were curious.) Having The Glorious S next door has made my life almost as convenient as it was pre-family. Tout d'un coup, I can go to the gym without loading anyone into or out of the car and I can take my time there, because I don't have to pick anyone up out of the childcare room. I haven't had that luxury for nine years (Sing it, Joan Baez!). When The Glorious S has children of her own, I want to write her a letter explaining exactly how she saved my life. I may even offer to babysit her kids. Then again, maybe not, because by that age, I intend to be tooling around town in a vintage baby blue Jaguar, smoking cigarettes and wearing huge sunglasses. And these shoes,
which I bought recently. I told the saleswoman that I planned on wearing them on my outings from the nursing home and I don't think she quite got that I was serious. By the way, I did get those shoes at a massive discount while The Glorious S was keeping the boys.
For me, solo time can also happen in a crowd. Taking a Yoga or aerobics class can be just as great as being totally alone. So can shopping out of town. The downside to public alone time in a small town is that you almost always see someone you know (or someone your mom knows or someone who knows your sister or someone who dated your uncle.) As I get older (more desperate for alone time??), I've gotten better at brushing those people off when I need to. I do love, though, when I'm out of town, sitting in a coffee shop or restaurant or going shopping on my own and not knowing anyone. I think I actually breathe deeper when there isn't any threat of unwanted social recognition.
Anyhow, I keep rambling and this is going no where and Baby J is fussing and Extroverted Husband is hovering, so this is the end!
