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Archive for April, 2008

but here’s my take on this whole Miley Cyrus controversy.

I’ll make this short.  Who do I blame? 

HER PARENTS.

The night I saw her do her thing on the CMT awards, I said to anyone who would listen (read that The Sub and The Junior) that her parents should be taking notes from the Britney Spears story and the Lindsay Lohan story, because, from what I could see, with young Miley prancing about on stage in high heeled boots, little Miley was well on her way to being on the same train wreck that Britney and Lindsay were booked on.  And I was serious.  I really, really wanted her parents to stop for a damn minute and see what was coming down the track.  I just knew somewhere in my brain that with this amount of fame…what with the Hannah Montana show on Disney and the Hannah Montana product line and the music and the concerts that something was going to go way bad.

And then yesterday, the Vanity Fair photos (and I’m not going to link to them on purpose).

I was just sick.  Of all the times I live to be right, I was seriously wishing I had been wrong.  I wanted to go and find Billy Ray and just punch him in the face.  Of course, he and mom Cyrus are saying something like ‘oh we weren’t there so we didn’t KNOW,’ or some kind of bullshit like that.

(and from here on in, this is just directed to Miley’s PARENTS)

Well, try again, Miley’s PARENTS.  Your daughter was being photographed by a photographer known for her ‘edgy photographs.’  When they asked you to leave for the last few photographs and you did…you signed off on the deal. 

And really, Miley’s PARENTS, you can’t in all good conscience say you couldn’t see this coming.  You had the freakin’ blueprint on what happens to a ‘tween who suddenly becomes a WORLDWIDE PHENOMENON.  As parents, you should have seen this coming a way’s back.  You’ve surely seen the pictures of Britney and Lindsay and any number of other Hollywood starlets flashing their ladybits for all to see on the Internet. 

Was that really what you wanted for your little girl?

She is 15.  She is one year younger than my Junior, who watches Hannah Montana on Disney every single day…which means that my 9-year-old son also watches Hannah Montana every day…and he thinks she is ‘hot,’ in the way that a 9-year-old does. 

I would die if he saw the picture of that 15-year-old little girl barely wrapped in a bedsheet, looking like she’d just had a nice roll in the sheet she was wrapped in. 

BECAUSE HE IS 9.

Now, I’ve never really bought into the thing that every single NFL player is a ‘role model.’  So many of the NFL stars that get the tag of ‘role model’ are anything but…and hopefully, as parents, if our kids are role modeling after these NFL bad boys, we have the good sense to say ‘hey, these aren’t role models and this is why (fill in the blank why). 

However, when you have a kid, and she is just a kid, who is plastered on everything from sleeping bags to t-shirts, to bed sheets, to posters…directly marketed to LITTLE DAMN KIDS…she does get to be a role model…and then i think you, as HER PARENTS, should say… HEY, THIS IS SORTA WRONG…when she poses for provocative photos in Vanity Fair. 

Again, let me remind you that SHE IS 15.

Now, just me talking, not to her parents…just saying.

It is my personal opinion that Billy Ray is getting way to much of a nut being back in the spotlight again.  I can’t help but think that at least MOST OF THIS is because he is getting such a nut being back in the spotlight.  Before his little girl became this phenom, what did we hear or see from him? 

And really, I have to send a shot to the MOTHER who has allowed this to happen.  Yes, Mom Cyrus, you are married to a One-Hit Wonder and then mother of a child who is wildly popular amongst the Disney Channel crowd…but really?  As a mother, do you really, really think that allowing your 15-YEAR-OLD to pose for Vanity Fair wrapped in a bedsheet is a GOOD IDEA???

I am seriously thinking that these people are completely effed up. 

It comes down to this, you stupidass parents of these hugely popular little Disney Stars, you are whoring your kids out to make money.  Don’t come to me with the excuse that you just didn’t know…and don’t make your kid go to the public apologizing…YOU STEP UP AND YOU APOLOGIZE.  It isn’t her fault.

All you had to say is no.

And that is just my opinion.

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Things I Hate…

  • 10-year-old girls with chunky ‘highlights,’ so their hair is brown and RED and BLONDE, in BIG stripes.  Like there isn’t enough time when she is, say…16…to have tri-colored hair that her mother will have to pay for.
  • 6-year-old girls in halter tops that accentuate their not-even-there-yet boobs.  Again, plenty of time for that later, Mom.  As ‘cute’ as you think that little halter top is now, when she is SIX, when she is 16 and actually has boobs…well, you’ll probably think it isn’t that ‘cute.’
  • 10-year-old girls who come to school in ‘heels.’  Really?  What are you priming them for, PARENTS?  Is it that you realize at the tender age of 10 that their calves look better in HEELS?!?!?! 
  • Those same 10-year-olds who wear mini skirts with leggings and belly shirts.  LEGGINGS AIN’T PANTS…EVER…and belly shirts on your 10-year-old…well, it’s just WRONG.
  • Parents who are too busy to actually get in the drop-off line and drop their kids in heels and belly shirts and miniskirts in the street, resulting in said children running across traffic to get to 4th grade.

Yeah, it’s been a trying week for me at the Boy’s elementary school.  I have seen kids in heels, kids in belly shirts, kids in miniskirts, and kids in halter tops dropped off across the street, forcing them to cross the traffic of all the parents who recognize the DROP-OFF RULES. 

NOTE TO YOU PARENTS WHO ARE IN TOO MUCH OF A HURRY TO GET IN THE DAMN DROP-OFF LINE:  You are going to get your kid RUN OVER ONE OF THESE DAYS.  Elementary school kids aren’t that great at paying attention to when CARS ARE MOVING.

So, basically, it appears that what I really hate are THE PARENTS who let their little girls wear belly shirts and halter tops and mini skirts and high heels to ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, for crissakes, and to add insult to injury, they drop the little girls with high heels and belly shirts and halter tops ACROSS THE STREET, making them cross traffic to get to school…

I mean, really…seriously… parents of my neighborhood…would it be too much to ask you to dress your little girls like LITTLE GIRLS with LITTLE GIRL shoes?  I mean, really, isn’t there going to be a lot of time to argue with her about what she is walking out of the house wearing…like when she is 16!?!?!  Do you really want to have her thinking that BELLY SHIRTS is the way to go???

And we won’t even go into what I see in the HIGH SCHOOL parking lot, because Holy God, do I have more to say about that…

 

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The Joys of 44

I’ve been 44 since February 8.  I’ve been ‘in my 40s’ for a while now.  I have friends in their 40s, as well. 

So, when I began to experience…things that were not…pleasant…once I reached this pinnacle…I decided to keep it quiet.  When the maps of spidery veins showed up on my ankles, looking something like this

Well, I chose not to say anything about it.  I chose to suffer in shame the fact that if I looked real close I could come up with a route to Houston that would shave hours off my time.  The purple lines are the way to go…less traffic.  Only my ankles know. 

Also, if I look at my ankle maps towards the end of the week, after I have spent hours sitting my fat ass in a chair with my legs in 90-degree angles times 2, when my ankles turn to kankles…when they look like tree trunks…you can not only see maps to Houston, but to much of the Gulf Coast. 

That’s how big my ankles get toward the end of the week.  Think…

Only not quite that SEXY.

The lady who does my mani-pedi just loves it when I come in.

The other thing I’ve noticed since I’ve been ‘in my 40s’ is the fact that my bladder suddenly is incapable of holding more than 4 ounces at a time.  Now, granted, I’ve birthed four babies in my lifetime and I may have slacked of on the Kegels over the 23 years I’ve been a mother, but seriously…is it too much to ask of my rapidly deteriorating body to hold an 8-ounce glass of water while I do the whole 30 minutes in the pick-up line at school?!?!  Must my daily pickup routine ALWAYS end in me frantically doing Kegels in the van, desperately hoping that the muscles ‘down there’ remember how to hold on to it just long enough for me to hit the closest toilet? 

The answer is yes.  Yes, every single day, at least on days where I have consumed any liquid at all, I am the one bailing out of the van and lurching up the steps and tight-stepping it down the hall, horribly grateful if I make it. 

We won’t even talk about how it is in the evening when I have a few beers, a known diuretic…as in…HOLY GOD I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM EVEN THOUGH BEN IS ABOUT TO SAY GOODBYE TO HIS DAUGHTER THAT HE ALLOWED TO BE SHOT ON LOST.

Frankly, when you are me and you’ve had some beer and LOST is on and you know that if you miss one single SECOND you are going to be even MORE LOST…well, it doesn’t matter.  It comes down to this.  Make it or don’t make it.

Hey, how’s that for a new game show?  Let’s have 20 or so 40-somethings standing on a stage and let’s have them consuming beverages in order to win prizes…MILLIONS OF DOLLARS EVEN…and the last one to cave and have to hit the potty WINS.

I’d be the first one gone…every time. 

Yeah, I know.  It’s too sexy, isn’t it.

Yet another fun thing that has happened to me in my 40s is that, although I never had ‘skin issues’ as a teenager, suddenly, now that I am 44, it seems that I have the face of an adolescent boy.  I have more fucking zits on my face than I ever had as a teenager…not to mention the generalized redness and dryness and flakiness that screams YOUR SKIN IS DRY THROW ON SOME MORE MOISTURIZER…yet, when you do, it only makes it worse.

Who knew the 40s were so fun? 

I sure didn’t.

The joys of the 40s haven’t stopped with kankles and kankle road maps and urinary near-incontinence and zits…NO.  I also have to deal with the issue that all my grey hairs are the texture of steel wool.  They stick out of my head like curly worms…and no amount of L’Oreal 5G (Medium Golden Brown for those of you who don’t know) can tame them.  I can leave that shit on for the recommended 20 minutes…or 25 minutes…or 35 minutes…and when I rinse it out…yeah, still got the wirey greys poking out of my head like crazy, curly wires.  I especially love the ones that stick out of my temples at 90-degree angles…like long and skinny and curly screws on Frankenstein’s big boxy head. 

Also very sexy.  I KNOW.

Here seems as good a place as any to throw in the mix that I have eyebrow hairs that grow wiggidy wack and are, while not GREY, just weirdly devoid of natural hair color…they are sort of a dirty dishwater blonde…that oddly grow to about 3/4 inches and are CURLY.

I always wanted lush, curly hairs…I just didn’t want them IN MY EYEBROWS.

OH, and shall I discuss my goatee of 7 persistent WHISKERS that persist in growing on my chin? 

I swear as I sit here, thereis nothing more FUN than spending an hour in your hairdresser’s chair…a person TRAINED TO LOOK AT HAIRS…only to come home and look in the mirror, admiring your new ‘do, and see a chin hair THAT IS 3/4-INCH LONG.

I know, I know.  My sexy factor is going up exponentially, isn’t it.

The thing is that up until recently, I have struggled with these issues in silence.  I haven’t really discussed with my sisters of the 40s.

Which made me feel rather isolated and alone in my struggles with wacky grey hairs and zits and pee issues…

But we don’t have to feel isolated.  There are more of us out there, as I realized the other night during a chat with my friend, Catherine. 

That conversation absolutely freed me.  I know now that I am not the only 44-year-old woman dealing with this shit.  And that made me happy.

Anyone need a road map to Juarez?  Hurry and tell me because i have to go to the bathroom…to pluck this chin hair.

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First, can we address the American Idol travesty that happened tonight?  Can we?  Okay, if you haven’t watched yet, this is where you click the X.

I will be the first one to say that I love and adore Jason Castro.  I think his dreds are cute and I think his eyes are gorgeous and his smile is beyond charming and I love it when he plays the ukelele while sitting on a stool.  The fact that he is a Texan and we all cheer for our fellow Texans, only made me want him to be great even more.

So, when last night came ’round and he chose the song ‘Memories,’ from CATS for crissake, yet didn’t know it was a play about CATS and didn’t know that the CAT that sang the song was  GIRL CAT…well, me and the Junior sort of cringed.  The fact that he didn’t even sing it that well…okay, let’s get real here…he sucked it up pretty bad…in short, it didn’t fare well for our pretty boy from Richardson.  We were quite sure, though it made us sad, that Jason was going to be in the bottom 2. 

BUT…he was not.  He was safe. 

As was Ms. Forget the First Line and start over Brooke, who then sang the song but sounded like she was being pinched in a vice. 

We were pretty sure that Jason might get through on his adorableness, but Brooke…not so much adorable.

So, when Brooke was called safe and took her seat on the sofa and left freakin’ Syeesha and Carly on the chopping block…well, I was just sitting here thinking WTF REALLY…I mean, hell, I’ve never been a Carly fan, but really…this was just a travesty. 

Syeesha was great on Tuesday and sang it just as well tonight.  There was NO reason she was bottom two…which made me happy because I’ve picked her for my final four since the get-go.  Carly was great, too, and though I’ve not been a huge fan, even I knew that she was better than Jason and Brooke. 

Yet, it was Carly and Syeesha in the go-home stools…and Carly went home.

I don’t think it was just me who saw Brooke and Jason look almost obviously sorry.  Because they should be. 

If it were me and I was Jason or Brooke, it would be all I could do not to stand up and say WAIT THIS IS RIDICULOUS I NEED TO GO BEFORE EITHER OF THEM.

But, of course, they did not because this is a contest where the public gets to vote…no matter that it completely jacks up my projection for the final four, which were going to be David Cook, David Archuleta, Syeesha and Carly.

I just knew that Brooke was going to go tonight and Jason would skate because, let’s face it, he is darling and looks a little bit elfish and, my god, those eyes.  Even I knew that he wasn’t going to get voted off.

Yet, he wasn’t and neither was Brooke.

My top two remaind the two Davids, the Big and the Little.  But, the other two?  Well, after tonight I’m wondering if it isn’t going to come down to this final four:  David C., David A, Jason C., and Syeesha.  I just don’t see how Brooke is going to make it another week. 

And, for the record, which we will be able to go back and look at, I think that since Jason is still in this deal, he will sing Red, Red Wine on Neil Diamond night. 

ARg.  I’m just so annoyed.

On another note, we got about 2 inches of rain tonight in about one hour.  It was sort of hairy for a few and we had to power down the computers and we lost satellite while Rob and I monitored the weather slash watched the Idol show on ANALOG TV in the shed, but as it turns out, we only got big rain and some wind.  Still no hail, even though we only need just a little bit to get a damn new ROOF for petesake…and believe me when I say, WE NEED ONE. 

And yes, it does sort of make me feel bad that I am hoping for some hail…just little bits and nothing damaging…TO ANYTHING OTHER THAN OUR ROOF.  Seriously, we are living under three layers of 100-year-old shingles for petesake.  It’s TIME to get a new roof and the best way to get one in central Texas is a nice frosting of dime-sized hail…for about 3 minutes. 

Yet this wacky ‘spring’ weather continues to deny us. 

So…I guess I will close with this.  Jason Castro, you better the hell BRING IT next week, and Brooke better suck it up big time.  As for Texas Weather, i would be more than happy with just rain…I could do without the whole Tornado Warning thing. 

Think I have a chance in hell of any of those wishes coming true?  

Yeah, me either.

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I am currently in the throes of Water Bug War ’08.  It happens every year about this time, when it gets so fucking hot so quick that the water bugs go all apeshit and decide that NOW is the time to invade.  It’s maddening, but I’ve lived in Texas for now…37-plus years…so, I’m all about just making a plan to counter attack rather than getting all WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WATER BUGS DOING. 

I mean, listen, we live in a house that is older than I am that is a pier and beam setup.  That means, for those who live on concrete, that our house basically sits on piers, only without the lovely view of the ocean, and underneath it is dirt and moistness where shit lives…water bugs and spiders and frogs and lizards and (hopefully only probably) snakes inhabit that nether zone space that is under our floors. 

At any rate, Operation Anti-Insect is in affect…or effect.  I’ll let you be the judge.  I’m too tired from thinking about what all I can do to deter said insects to think about grammar at this point.

So, that said, and apologies to those that are phobic about water bugs, I will go on to something much more pleasant.

This weekend I had the opportunity to play with our new self-propelled lawnmower and my front lawn is phenomenal!  The weeds, when you trim them down with a fancy mower, look FANTASTIC, and almost just like real grass.  Luckily, all of these  pretty little things are in the backyard and I didn’t have to whack them down.  We have so many of those in the back backyard that it looks like a purple haze if you jack with your focus.

In the back backyard, we have a (much more pleasant than water bugs), yearly surprise invader that is quite lovely and I will never whack it off.  It is quite pleasant to see, while I gaze over the back 40 .  Thanks to the back neighbor’s lack of pruning skills, I get to actually have ROSES in the back backyard. 

If I haven’t posted any recent pictures of the Big Beautiful Belle, here is one that I see every single day…sometimes from the inside looking out and sometimes from the outside looking in.  The expression is always the same…WHY AM I ON THIS SIDE OF THE DOOR FOR CRISSAKES I NEED TO BE WHERE YOU ARE

This ‘dog’ has completely ruined me.  That face rules me, to put it simply. 

If only I could teach her to wage war on the water bugs…doesn’t she look like she is ready to wage WAR?

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The Dane Story

Here are the Danes.  The one on the left, that’s the Dark one…the one that runs around this place.  The one on the right, the Light one…he belongs to my friend The Teacher and runs around on the other side of the tracks.  The guys have been best buds since they were in diapers.  One of my favorite pictures is of the Light one sitting in a Little Tykes car while the Dark one pumped his gas. 

It just makes me laugh.

The are the night and day of Danes…the head and tails…the polar opposites…as far as looks go anyway.

The way our families met is just so crazy that we love to tell it.

See back when I was baking the Dark one, it was tantamount to me to find a name unique and perfectly fitting what was sure to be a gorgeous child.  Rob and I poured over baby name books and while I leaned toward names like Riley and Colin (to this day he tells the boy I wanted to name him after a body part) he would throw out bizarro names like Galahad (joking of course, but still). 

The middle name was all but chosen, just a boyed up version of the girl name I was going to name him when I thought he was a girl…which happened to be until I was 7 months pregnant. 

Anyway, one day Rob calls up and says “What about Dane.”

Dane.

I ran down the checklist in my mind.

Interesting.  Not overly used.  Not spelled weird.  Sounded good with the middle and last.  Didn’t make his initials spell something stupid.

We loved it.  It was decided.  Dane Alexander he would be.

So, fast forward.  Time to go to the hospital.  Beautiful baby boy is born looking worried from the second he hit the atmosphere…presumably about when dinner was going to be.  When the nurses asked what his name was and we told them, one of them said, “Well, isn’t that funny.  The girl down the hall, her baby’s middle name is Dane, but I think spelled DAYNE.”

I looked at her like, you have got to be shitting me.

She wasn’t.

Fast forward.

When he was about a week old I ran into HEB to pick up some pictures and ran into a friend of mine.  When she asked what we named him and I went through the whole spiel about how we’d labored over picking a name that no one else was going to have blah blah the chick down the hall named her girl kid something Dayne blah blah..

She got this look.  Then she said…

The guy who works in produce and his wife just had a baby yesterday and named him Dane.

I looked at her like, you have got to be shitting me.

Two Danes.  Two Danes with ‘A’ middle names.  Two Danes with older siblings in the same grade.  Two Danes with mothers who found themselves at 37 happily surprised when there was two lines.  Two Danes with mothers who were…seasoned.  Two Danes born exactly one week apart.

And lest there be a question, the Dark one never lets the Light one forget that he is a week older than he is.

For the longest time we knew of the other but never met.  Then one day at an early morning award ceremony that the girls hadn’t told me about so i was sitting there with ganky hair and yesterday’s mascara schmeared around, the not yet 1-year-old Danes met and their mothers became fast friends.

It’s been such fun watching these two grow up and challenge the other.  The Dark one has always been the more cautious of the two, but when the Light one showed up one evening with a bike sans training wheels, it took about 1.57 seconds before the Dark one demanded his be off too, and then about 5 minutes before it was like a BMX rally in the backyard. 

When I look at this picture it hits me.

The Danes aren’t little boys anymore.

Damn, where does the time go?

 

 

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So…question

My Junior has taken a job at a local ice cream place where you can also get a cheeseburger doused in barbecue sauce…and this place of employment has an assistant manager named Shiloh who regarly doesn’t let my Junior leave at her time to get off. 

Now, I understand some minutes to finish up an order, or perhaps a quick sweep sweep, but what I do not understand is when you make said employee (the Junior) stay a full 45 minutes past her time to get off while her MOTHER is sitting in the parking lot to pick her up and making her RE-sweep where she has already sweeped, before she gets to leave. 

Now, sitting in the parking lot, looking in at this action, I had to suppress the urge to go in the doors of Braum’s and beat the shit out of Shiloh and tell her that the Junior was LEAVING NOW.  I mean, really, I was, and had been, sitting in the parking lot for 45 minutes, for pete’s sake.  At one point in time, Bitch Shiloh and I met eyes through the window and I gave her that whole LET MY PEOPLE GO look. 

I mean, seriously, the folks back at the Casa were waiting on me to watch the SURVIVOR that we HAD TO MISS THANKS TO TEXAS WEATHER, for gosh sakes. 

My irritation was not helped at all by the fact that when I parked in my usual pickup the kid spot, my gas tank went all HOLY SHIT WOMAN ALL THE GAS IS GONE TO THE BACK AND I’M GOING TO STALL YOUR VAN, which just pretty much sent me into wig the fuck out mode because (1) my cell phone was dead, and (2) I knew that if I called home, the folks there weren’t necessarily able to come assist if I was, indeed, out of gas.

So, while I was wating on the Junior to stop mopping and getting double scoops for the fine folks of our lovely town to STOP WANTING A MILK SHAKE FOR GOD SAKE, I was wigging the hell out over (1) being potentially out of gas and (2) having a cell phone that was completely DEAD.

Seriously, people, is it unreasonable to show up to pick up your Junior when she is supposed to get off work at 9, and you even throw another 15 minutes in the mix, and when that doesn’t happen ,you get just a slight bit PISSED OFF.    I mean, really, I was missing SURVIVOR (on the computer, which I could totally watch 30 minutes later, no foul, no big damn deal.

Yet I sat there irritated to no damn end. 

What it comes down to, in my mind, is that these people (Shiloh especially) need to get a damn clue as to how valuable my damn time is.  Especially when I am almost out of gas.

So, finally, the question is this…am I being UNREASONABLE? 

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