Another Photo Break

I'm taking another break from our regularly scheduled vacation coverage, b/c some of you expressed interest in seeing those professional photos we had taken. So they are FINALLY available at my flickr site. This has to be my favorite - I am not a huge fan of photos where the subjects are looking straight at the camera, and this one really captures the essence of the kiddo. It's one we're sure to treasure more as she gets older!

Beginning of the Bloat, AKA Vacation Day Three

On Thursday, I'm not myself. I have peed maybe 3 times in 2 days. No excavation of the bowels, either. I attribute this to breakfasts at Denny's. Unless you order a la carte, the cheapest breakfast deal is $5.99. A HUGE serving of omelet, two pancakes, sausage and bacon. Our fabulous resort served a complete breakfast buffet, but at a cost of $12.99. We ate there on day two, but for day three - it was gorging at Denny's. I didn't even come close to finishing my meal, but Roger and Amber had no trouble.

BTW, remember when you learned how to drive? Most likely, your father taught you. Well, I was in a time warp, as my father rode in the passenger seat of our rented SUV, with me behind the wheel. I'm a great driver, but to my father, I'm still 15. Even at the ripe age of 37. So as we're traveling down PCH, I'm constantly peppered with comments such as:

"Slow down!"
"You're going to turn right up the road!!"
"Don't leave so much space between you and the next car!!"
"We don't run over pedestrians in California like they do in Arkansas. It's against the law here!"
Mind you, these are not gentle instructions, but more like demands. I kept my cool, and got us safely to our destination, which was the fabulous Festival of the Arts! The web site explains more, but not every area artist can partipate. There are all sort of exhibits of fine art, from oils, photography, jewelry, sculpture - you name it. The child was absolutely fascinated by the array of works. A premiere cultural experience, if you ever make it to Laguna Beach during this time of year. HOWEVER, the prime attraction for the Festival is the Pageant of the Masters! There are no cameras allowed, which is a total shame - since there is nothing I can say that would do justice to the experience. Basically, live people "re-enact" paintings and sculptures, and it is absolutely phenomenal. The show is narrated, and accompanied by a live orchestra - and the cast recreates art so faithful to the original work that it is almost IMPOSSIBLE to tell that LIVE PEOPLE are involved. Truly amazing. The recreation of some of Van Gogh's works, as well as "The Last Supper" were among the highlights. Attending this one event made the trip for me. Even if my father looked at my high heels and commented, "Those don't look like good walking shoes."

Sand Crack, AKA Vacation Day Two

Our first entire day in So. Cal. HAD to be spent at the ocean. Mom and Dad led us to a secluded beach across from the Montage Resort to gently initiate us into the experience (as seen in the view posted previously here). The beaches in Laguna are unforgiving - lots of rocks, and sheer cliffs above. Amber and Roger tentatively waded out, while I found a sunny spot to brown my skin. I'm NOT a swimmer. At most, I'm a flounderer. More of a sinker. And an astute panicker. I have no interest in putting myself thru any further humiliation in order to overcome this fault. I remember being forced at the age of 13 to take swimming lessons. They finally gave me a "Poliwog" certificate, just to get rid of me. When I was a baby, I used to scream when my mother would get water on my face. Scream to the point that my digestive system would revolt, causing me to vomit in the bathtub.

After seeing Amber pick sand out of her swim bottoms for the umpteenth time, I knew she had forgotten that with the fun of big waves come the not-so-fun sand. She was amazed at the sheer volume of sand and salt that was in her hair, her suit, her everywhere. When we returned to the hotel, we washed gobs of sand out of her bikini. She must have showered for an hour. After a thorough de-sanding, we finally met up with the parental units in Dana Point for much needed dinner (and drinks) at El Torito, as I'm a huge fan of Mexican Food! More about our fabulous resort in the next post...

They're here!

The official photos from our vacation (well, at least any that are of interest) are finally up at my flickr site!

You'll notice there are only two photos of me. One reason is that the kid and I were the only ones lugging cameras around. Another reason is that the kid doesn't want a bunch of photos of her mother. Well, to be honest, she DID take one of my butt in a swimsuit. You will NOT see that one! Sorry, Internet!!

I did suffer one small problem during the trip - I bloated. So, at the beginning, I was fine (see the plane photo), but at the end, I was 7 pounds heavier. 7 pounds heavier in ONE WEEK! I dropped it all two days after our return, and my ankle bracelet no longer left hour-long indentations in my leg.

Oh well - enjoy the photos!

The Orifice Chronicles, Part Deux

We interrupt our regularly scheduled vacation coverage to bring you...MENA TRACTOR PULL!! Get your lawn chairs - this one's all fun! The day I returned from vacation, I was quickly reminded that I was back in the South. In front of my office is an EZ Mart, which is bordered by a grassy area which slopes down to a big ditch. To the left of my office building is another big ditch, which leads down to a culvert that diverts creek water. Thankfully, the mowing responsibilities for these two areas fall to the Arkansas State Highway Department. (Notice the reverence I give them?)Not too long after mowing commenced to the left of my building, the gentleman operating the device miscalculated the weight of his equipment, and became lodged in the culvert, as witnessed in the photo to the left. At the same time, the mowers were working across the street - and guess what?? EZ Mart Mower became stuck within HIS ditch as well, as you can see here to the right (click on images to enlarge). Now, as difficult as this may be to believe, this honestly happened within MINUTES...prompting me and Lanna to snap some photos. (Okay, I was too embarrassed to take them and sent Lanna to do the dirty work.) But as you can see in this final photo, if you look closely, Mower #1 is barely visible over the guardrail to the left of the photo, while Mower #2 is firmly lodged across the street. Sometimes, I LOVE having an office on the highway!

Snakes on a Plane, AKA Vacation Day One

It's been almost a year since our last flight, so I was anxious to see what might have changed security-wise. I was hustled to the side with my "suspicious" bag on my last trip, so I was pleased that the little airport in Fort Smith didn't put us thru much hassle. One flight to DFW, then another to John Wayne in Orange County for 4 hours of total flying time. No sweat. A couple of airline safety talks were the highlight, as the announcement of what actions to take in case of a "water landing" always crack us up. Roger turned to me during this portion of the airline spiel and asked, "Did you see any pontoons on this plane?" I also enjoy their euphemistic reference to your seat cushion as a "flotation aid." I prefer, "The Oh-Shit Pillow."

We did have one minor incident on our last leg of the flight. Roger had to visit the facilities while the flight attendants were serving drinks. On his way back to his seat, an attendant was backing down the aisle in front of him, oblivious to his repeated verbalizations of, "Excuse me." When it appeared she was about to back over him and trip, he gently placed his hand on her back and repeated his line. She whipped around and said, "Don't touch me!! After 9/11, we are extremely sensitive to people coming up behind us and touching us!" I barely heard this, as I was getting up to let Roger back into our row. She started babbling to me about how inconsiderate people can be, and how flight attendants have to deal with so much these days - semi-apologizing for her outburst. All I could focus on was Roger seething with embarrassment. He felt she was inappropriate, and I agree. And has anyone noticed that the flight attendants aren't as hot as they used to be? I calmed Roger down by noting that the attendant who had committed the heinous act was old, fat, ugly, and had over-bleached hair.

After picking up the rental and checking into our kick-ass resort in Dana Point, we followed Mom and Dad back to their house in Laguna Beach (5 minutes up the road) for some of the largest hamburgers I have seen in my entire life. I wish I had a photo of THAT to share! Watch for the photos on my
fickr site!

Weeee're Baaaaaack!

Ah...7 days of forgetting all about work. Soaking up the Southern California sun. It was awesome. I will have more details about the trip in upcoming posts, but here is a view of the precious little one, as she stands atop a hill overlooking a beach we visited.

I miss it so much already!! Now, I have to spend the next hour checking in on my favorite blogs to see what I missed. Can you IMAGINE being computer-less for AN ENTIRE WEEK?!?!? Yeah - it was great.

Vacating

Well, I'll be back, folks. I will have NO INTERNET ACCESS for a WEEK!! My dad's computer is down, and I don't have a laptop. So, unless I stumble into a 'net cafe on the beach, I'll be MIA...I'm sure to have withdrawals.

OH! And we got the photos back! So enjoy this photo of the Lane clan, and pray for our safe return from the wilds of Southern California!

The Orifice Chronicles - Incident 1

It was a typical busy day at the orifice (office). Crazy busy, agents rushing around, customers and clients filling our 2-story building, and the phone ringing off the hook. I am inclined to hang around the front desk in times like these, helping out the client coordinator. Lanna is extremely capable, but there are only two of us, trying to handle a team of 10 agents and numerous clientele.
The young son of one of our customers comes racing towards the front desk, holding a box of matches in his hand. He exclaims excitedly, "These were in your bathroom!!!!" His tone was of sheer panic, as if our lives were in danger, because they were in plain view, IN OUR BATHROOM. That SMALL CHILDREN might occupy. Such as HIMSELF. It was as if he had discovered a hornet's nest in there - along with a rattlesnake and two tarantulas thrown in for good measure.

Lanna and I try to keep from bursting out in laughter, and I calmly tell the boy, "It's alright Sweetheart, they belong in there. That is their home." All the while, trying not to lose complete control, while witnessing the abject horror on his face.

Thankfully, his mother was not one of the complacent parents we often encounter. She had overheard the conversation, and swooped in to save us from our plight. "It's okay, **** (name deleted to protect the innocent/panicked), they probably use those to light candles in there from time to time. Just go put them back where they belong."

As Lanna and I almost collapse from the effort of stifling raucous laughter, the mother watches lovingly as the lad leaves to return the matches to their proper place on the back of the commode. She passes us this knowing look, with great kindness, as we share the common "assumption" of what great benefit matches can be for those who choose (or are forced by nature) to use that facility for more "odorous" bodily evacuations. This bathroom is dangerously close to the lobby, and though we have three bathrooms - this particular one has the perfect ambience to get the bowels moving. Sometimes, the Febreze spray just doesn't do the trick.

Shortly thereafter, I hear this loud voice from the bathroom: "I've looked all over in here, and I CAN'T FIND CANDLES!!!! Where are the CANDLES?!?!?! How can they light candles?!?!? THERE AREN'T ANY IN HERE!!!"

The mother, obviously mortified, apologizes with, "I guess he's just at that age where you can't put one over on him." Sadly, we could barely respond, as Lanna and I finally collapsed and burst out laughing, tears streaming down our face.

I don't envy that poor woman, as she will have to finally explain the matches. I can envision her future, as her son will undoubtedly one day "do his business," light a match, stick his head in the toilet to take a whiff and exclaim, "MOM!!!! This DOESN'T WORK!!!! I've lit the match, and how come I CAN STILL SMELL S**T?!?!?!?!"

Conversations With Songbird

My good friend Songbird and I recently had a discussion about Davey Havok, the lead singer of AFI. I love their video, "Miss Murder." I sent photos to Songbird, noting that he was as beautiful (if not more) than some women. At first, she didn't think him too hideous...but as our conversation continued, things turned sour. We often disagree about men; she thinks Matt Damon looks like a child, while I think he's HAWT. I despise Matthew McConaughey, but she'd like nothing more to be all wrapped up in his muscle-laden arms. She says I'm attracted to "girlie boys," or some similar phrase, since I prefer a more slender build over a big hunk. She describes certain men as "oily." Davey isn't my type - but there's something attractive about him. Kinda like Tim Curry in "Rocky Horror," you know? He's looking 80's retro - like Depeche Mode, New Order, Erasure - reminding me of the days when I was clubbing continuously and discovered The Cure.

So Songbird and I engage in an email exchange, as we often do. Her latest rant HAD to be shared, and put the "nail in the coffin" of the Davey Havok topic:

Me (after sending her a photo of Davey with long hair): I love grossing you out!! He does clean up though - in a Robert Smith (from the Cure) kinda way. Do you think he's oily???

Songbird: He doesn't really meet my criteria for oiliness, but I don't find him attractive in the male sense of the word.

First, he wears more makeup than I do.

Second, I can't take the lip piercing. It has the same effect a giant, yellow zit on his face would have with me. It mesmerizes me. I would try to look into his eyes as he spoke to me, but my eyes would keep cutting to the heinous lip mutilation ( or the giant, yellow zit ). Gross!

Third, I hate his hair. And what are you talking about "he does clean up"? I've never seen a picture of him cleaned up. He is always a painted "lady" with a bad haircut and a mutilated lip!! I am embarrassed that I thought he was relatively good looking in the first pic you sent me. I must have been under the influence of too many sinus capsules.

More Linkage, Dude

I gots new stuff! (Dem der's dat Arkansas enflu-ants, comin' out 'n mah writin'.)

My friend and I are fairly new to blogging, so we share other blogs that we find interesting. (You MUST read her posts about Disnementia and Parental Pride.) We've made some new discoveries that we are both adding to our sidebars!

One such discovery is Pioneer Woman. If you want to read some hysterical posts, check out Ree's site! She is the mother of four, and lives on a real ranch where they slice off calf testicles with wild abandon. Ree takes wonderful photos, too. Her fireworks photos are not to be missed.

Our next discovery is Eric at Humble Beginnings. Now, you might think it odd that we check out the site of a deacon-soon-to-be-priest, but he's funny! Besides, if he was wearing a hat like Elwood from the Blue's Brothers, can't you just hear him saying, "I'm on a mission from God?" He might even be able to dodge bullets, Matrix-style. Check out his blog - you might learn something. For instance, I had no idea priests went out on dates. Or had duck-covered shower curtains.

Lastly, I had to add IMDB,, for all things movie-related. I can't stand it when I forget an actor's name, or what movie he/she was in, etc...so this site allows me to get some sleep at night!

Hope you enjoy our recommendations - go check 'em out!

Tormented Soul

After taking a trip out of town yesterday to buy a swimsuit (horror of horrors!), I spent a relaxing Sunday just bumming around. The swimsuit experience was humbling, and even though ladies my age/size (and many that are older/larger)are bravely sporting two-piece swimwear this season, I remain too modest for such trappings. After finding a cute one-piece that reflected my sexy-yet-still-someone's-mother status, I felt triumphant, yet exhausted. What better way to spend my time Sunday than watching "Mommie Dearest?" I've been a cinematic neophyte for far too long.
Just look at the beauty of Joan Crawford in these photographs. Gorgeous. Yet, after watching this movie, I realize she was a haunted woman - and most likely suffered from some type of psychological disorder (OCD?) coupled with alcoholism. Though I cringed at the pain she inflicted on her daughter, Joan's own emotional turmoil made me take pity upon her. I had to read her bio on IMDB to get some sense of who she was. Amazing how such a stunningly beautiful and successful woman could self-destruct.

At any rate, I'm glad I finally saw the film. And Faye Dunaway scared the hell out of me with her performance. (I'm removing my wire hangers.) As a sidenote, a friend from New Orleans (thanks, Gary) sent me a link to some incredible photos out of Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. These photographs were taken by a local photographer, who happened to have many "before" shots of monumental buildings in the area. He later returned to these sites after Katrina to document the transformation. Some of the most stunning are of the interior of the Our Lady of the Gulf Catholic Church, and you can see them for yourself at Wilkerson Photography.

Entering the Black Hole

It's official. Roger and I are about to embark on an adventure that has torn many a loving couple apart. No, I'm not talking about the upcoming vacation. Worse. We have decided to build.
We've found just the right builder, the bank is ready to hand over the money, and we have totally agreed on the floor plan. Now, as people entering this dangerous territory do, we are tweaking it a bit. See that back wall? Moving it out a few feet. Probably going to rearrange the master bedroom and flip the bathroom to the other side, so we can have french doors leading out to the back deck. The tile (12x12 porcelain - a warm terra cotta hue) will extend into the entire kitchen/eating/living area. The only carpeted areas will be the bedrooms. What you can't see (though you might have caught a hint of it by the staircase to nowhere) is the bonus room above the garage. That's where Roger's music studio will reside. Finally, I will live in a house where guitars and amps don't fill the dining room!

Speaking of dining rooms, to us, having a formal dining room is silly. Yes, we entertain, but our friends prefer casual dining with their beverages. Dining optional. Interestingly enough, so many house plans have formal dining rooms tucked somewhere - along with a dining area like you see in this plan. Ridiculous waste of space. How many places can you possibly eat? This plan also has 10' ceilings, a requirement now that I have lived in a house with them for 13 years.

In the end, we should have over 2200 sq ft. Plenty of room for family and friends. Only one small hitch. We are now looking for the perfect piece of land.

Blogging Chicks - Aren't They Cute?

Now, how could I not join a group called "Blogging Chicks?" I am still so new to this blogging genre and HTML in general, I didn't understand a good portion of what the kind Michele of the Blogging Chicks Blogroll Metablog said in her introductory letter. A Metablog? Is this like a regular blog on steroids? At any rate, if you check out the "blogroll" in the sidebar there, seems as if I have entered an amazing line of code into my blogger template (thanks, Michele) that allows you to magically access the blogs of many a chick. You're welcome. I feel even more Neophyte-ish than ever. But I've joined with the hopes that by associating with these chicks (and doesn't that term beg to have the word "hot" in front of it?), I'll learn something in the process. And Michele, I'll do my best not to embarrass the group. If you need to punt me, I'll understand.

Cinematic Neophyte

There are good and bad things about having a husband 15 years older than myself. The bad things include hearing phrases such as, "You've never seen that?" Good things include Roger's attempts to educate me so that I can catch up to his generation. And this education continued the other night as I watched the original MASH movie from 1970 - which was EXTREMELY FUN, given there was war involved! (Yes, I have one of those History-Channel/Military-Channel-loving spouses - who watches all war, all the time. I have yet to understand his fascination with this genre.) Also - cut me some slack - I was TWO YEARS OLD when this movie was originally released.

I loved the comedy and overlapped dialogue. I discovered how "Hot Lips" got her name! "Spear-chucker" makes sense! The daily announcements were hysterical! And, even though I might be committing some sort of cultural blasphemy here, I liked Donald Sutherland and Elliott Gould better as Hawkeye and Trapper John. The absence of a "laugh track" made the humor even better.

Next up: "Mommie Dearest" and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Yeah, I know, you can't believe I haven't seen those either.

Family Photogenics

This was the last family photo we had professionally(?) taken, on a family vacation in 2003. So I was thrilled when a family friend asked us to be guinea pigs, as she needed subjects for a photo shoot. Our friend is thinking of trying a second career as a photographer, and since her daughter already owns a studio and is well-versed in the business (and was on hand during the shoot) - it was a no-brainer to participate.

It was so much fun, and I found out that I am very comfortable in front of the camera. No shots yet, as they have yet to be computerized and processed, but I will share them as soon as possible!

Belle in the Making

I've never considered myself a "Southerner," though by virtue of living in either Texas or Arkansas for the past 30 years, I suppose others might disagree.

My parents hail from California, so I had never eaten a fried vegetable until high school, when one of my mother's friends introduced her to fried okra. It was a completely foreign dish, and I distinctly remember almost gagging from the grease content the first time she made it for me. Never before had I consumed a vegetable that had not been steamed - as that is the most perfect way to retain all the flavor, crispness and vitamins. I also had never eaten a vegetable served from a can - the BLASPHEMY of such!!

My friend prides herself on being a true Southerner, and I'm constantly reminded of her prowress in all things domestic, horticulturistic, etc. (Did I just make up a word there?) She brought me some freshly picked blackberries this week, and I decided not to let them go to waste, but instead to make a cobbler. My introduction to the cobbler came a few years after I moved to Arkansas. One of my agents brought one to my office and was just flabbergasted that I had no clue what one was, nor how to make one. "It's so SIMPLE," she professed, and immediately, I could tell she had lost a great deal of respect for me. Well, to redeem myself, I purchased one of those "Southern" cookbooks (one compiled by locals) - and found a recipe that looked as simple as could be. The "magic" of cobblers appears to be the dumping of the chosen fruit onto the batter, and the batter magically rising around the fruit, forming a crust on top. I refused to believe this phenomenon, until tonight. It's not quite done yet, but as evidenced by the picture to the left, this is indeed the case. (And yes, my anal retentive nature required me to check on the process, every five minutes during baking.)

Though Songbird may disagree, I am well on my way to conquering this strange Goliath that is the "Southern Culture!"

Don't Mess With Evan

If you haven't heard, it's not a good idea to screw with Evan Guttman. Or Evan's friends. He's not a Mafia dude (though he DOES live in New York, and could pass for the part), nor does he have a multitude of friends with baseball bats and mean temperaments. What he possesses is something we all have access to: the Internet. That, and some dogged perseverance.

Here is the link to Evan's hour-by-hour, then daily trials as he tries to do one thing: recover his friend's Sidekick from someone who happened upon the item, and didn't return it. It is a tale of "finders keepers" versus "do the right thing." What makes this even more interesting is how others react to Evan's 'net posts, and take to stalking the "thieves." Not unexpected is the apparent lack of concern displayed by the police force in such a large city for a plight as miniscule as Evan's seems to be.

If you can't bear to read the whole diatribe, here is a link to the New York Times article, outlining the final outcome to the saga. (It may require a short, free registration to view.)

For what it's worth - I found this to be a great tale of how one man can make a difference thru a few simple posts on the 'net. And frightening, too!

Cat-astrophe

It began as a joyous occasion, the celebration of my executive secretary's 80th birthday. This is a woman I have the utmost respect for, as she has been climbing the stairs to her office in my buiding for over 17 years, dutifully keeping my books and cutting checks to pay my bills, as she did for the previous owner. She is more than a secretary - like a second mother, who thinks nothing of admonishing me for spending too much money, or giving me a good-natured slap on the ass when I say something off-color.

At the end of her party, she gave me one of her flower arrangments, adorned with balloons and beautiful curly string. It is for this reason that I secretly resent her. See this innocent looking feline? Well, I was ready to throttle Whiskas with my bare hands. You see, I knew well enough to place the bouquet of flowers on a high surface when we went to bed that evening. What I forgot is the ability for said feline to leap upon tall pieces of furniture in a single bound.

When Roger and I awoke the next morning and stumbled into the kitchen to retrieve that life-saving first cup of coffee of the day, our bare feet slipped on something. "What the heck is THAT?" we wondered, sleepily. After turning on the light - we noticed lovely brown streaks. Not only in the kitchen, but across the bathroom floor as well. Seems as if Whiskas discovered the curly string during the night, ingested it in a frenzied moment of play, and the spent the rest of her delightful evening attempting (to no avail) to remove it from her intestinal tract.

After many expletives were hurled, we rectified the mess. Time to rectify the cat. Upon inspection of her nether regions, we discovered a lovely, brown-stained curl of ribbon portruding from her anus. Remember those Chatty Cathy dolls? Much the same effect can be achieved by holding down a cat and pulling curly string out of her ass.

Taylor Hicks Update

Everything you want to know about Taylor Hicks is right here on Sunny's great site! I have been stopping by nearly every day to check on the Soul Man's progress in the crazy world of entertainment.

People Magazine's recent article hints at the personality of the grey-haired crooner - showing the side of him that came through during his performances. His interview shows a down-to-earth persona. Let's just hope that being thrust into the spotlight doesn't change him, and he can remain true to himself. Based on his responses to their questions, that's exactly what he wants as well.

Even the snarky boys at the WOW Report, have been Taylor-ized, and though initially skeptic, have reported their recent Hicks experience here. You know when you can impress a couple of high-society queens with a little harmonica, you've made it!

This Is Where the Neophyte Part Comes In...

Okay -- so the blog hasn't changed much in the last few months. That's because I have absolutely NO CLUE about what to do to change it!

Hopefully, this horrible state of affairs will soon come to an end, as I have decided to slog through a web site tutorial to try to learn some HTML. Basically, I know two things: how to type a link so you can "click and go," and how to add a favorite link of mine to the sidebar. Sometimes I really have to think about the link typing, and it takes a lot of trial and error to get it right. (Remember, people, I'm in REAL ESTATE.)
So as I go through some changes (which may foul this blog COMPLETELY UP while I am experimenting), please bear with me. Oh, and just to let you know, Roger and I celebrated 13 years of marriage this month. Here's a photo of my fresh, innocent little face, on my wedding day those many years ago, for your amusement.

But the Cobbler's Husband?

There's an Irish proverb that states something to the effect of, "The cobbler's wife has no shoes."

I am finding that to be true.

I am the owner of a Century 21 franchise, and I have been in the real estate business for the last 14 years - you'd think I lived in one phat house. Not so. We bought our little Victorian charmer a few months before Amber was due to arrive, as it was more reponsible to buy SOMETHING than to raise a child in an upstairs apartment. Now said child is 12, Roger and I are face-to-face with the fact that we have outgrown our little home, and we are looking to either buy or build. We are the worst clients EVER. I've seen every house on the market - and nothing is good enough.

Appropriately, I got an email this week with the following images:



Your house as YOU see it...






As your LENDER sees it...






As your BUYER sees it...







As your APPRAISER sees it...





As the TAX ASSESSOR sees it...



All very true. I'm already tired of looking. And Roger is getting excited about the shopping/buying/building prospect - almost as excited as he got when I told him that I was buying him a bass boat, just "go pick it out."

I think I'll surprise him with a new truck.

Gift Idea for YOUR Dad!

As Father's Day approaches, I'm (again) at a total loss as to what my father would appreciate, besides socks, hankerchiefs, and ink for his printer.

My mother? COMPLETELY different story. You see, my mother and I have the same twisted sense of humor. And my mother appreciates the most absurd and eclectic gifts with sustained laughter, resulting in teary-eyes and aching bellies, all around. Half the fun of giving my mother a gift is the sheer joy in talking about its humorous aspects over and over again, sharing gleeful giggles, like naughty schoolchildren. We even used to go "Ugly Shopping" together, in an attempt to locate the most hideous outfit during our spree (which was VERY easy during the 80's). It is this same relationship we had during my youth that drove my father away from the dinner table, to enjoy his dinners in the relative quiet of the living room, while my mother and I cackled excitedly about the latest gross thing we had encountered that day.

But YOUR father may be different, which brings me to one of the greatest gifts I have ever given my mom. I just had to share it with you, in case you are clueless about what to give dear old Dad. It is pictured at the left, and I'll give you a minute to figure out what it is. Oh, you know it. You just can't wrap your brain around it. But you know you've seen it...somewhere...but where?

Yup. One of the great benefits of living in rural Arkansas is that I actually have access to these. Beautifully tanned, hollowed out, still with soft hairs attached, ready to carry your favorite tidbits (much like their previous owner did)!! You got it. It's a purse, made from a bull scrotum. The perfect gift for my mother, and maybe your dad!!

My mother, I might mention, is partially blind due to retinal neuropathy as a result of her diabetes. As you can imagine, when she opened this gift, she had to spend a great deal of time "feeling it," to determine what it might be. We got the greatest laugh, as she recounted to me how my father watched this tactile investigation as she wondered aloud what it could be. He finally had to exclaim (with great disgust, I'm sure - for the daughter who would visit such wrath on his home), "Well, for Chrissakes', Robin, it's BULL TESTICLES!!!"

Avoiding Today

Does anyone else find it odd that mothers are going to extreme lengths to NOT have babies today? Find further documentation of this weird phenomenon here.

I always was of the mindset that if you obsessed over something and feared it, you gave it power.

Another reason that today was (for me) just another day.

Not Just For Your Teeth Anymore

I expected the topic of anal bleaching to disappear from my brain cavity a few months ago. When initially I heard of it, I dismissed it as an urban legend. Then, a friend from California came to visit, shattered my illusion and verified the existence of such a practice in the real world (or at least in California.) Verbally verified, of course. Today, I was again faced with the reality of such a practice while reading The WOW Report.
Now, seriously folks, have you ever had a time in your life when you thought, "Is there any way of making my anus more pink or lighter in color? Mine is dark and I hate it." First of all, when is the last time you REALLY inspected your winkie? Your significant other spending a lot of time down there? No, forget it, I don't want to know. At any rate, being married to a medical professional, I hear it ALL...and believe me, they joke about everything (anonymously, of course) regarding the oddities of the human form. He often recovers people who have been subjected to colonoscopies. Never in my life has he come home to say, "Boy, you should have seen how BROWN this @$$hole was today!!"

According to Crappers Quarterly,which is a real online publication, "They use a special cream, combined with a full waxing treatment to achieve optimal results. The cream is concentrated and works 'with' the body (dark area) not 'at' it. It absorbs and penetrates into the skin and lightens from the inside out-slowly, but steadily." (Can you tell I did my research?)

I can only surmise that this is something the Brokeback fellas are into. Them, and porn stars. I just wonder how Crest is going to create a marketing campaign for their "new" Whitestrips.

Random Thanks

Nothing real big going on today, except for the usual "back to work" routine and the child's ballgame this evening. So, in order to re-establish much-needed karma, here are today's things I am thankful for:

1. Having a husband who doesn't mind cooking fantastic meals, two nights in a row.
2. Having a 12-year old who hasn't uttered the words, "I hate you." Yet.
3. Knowing that sitting around all weekend, watching movies, is an approved activity at my home.
4. Enjoying a Tuesday-that's-really-a-Monday at work that is quiet and calm.
5. Having a nail-stylist in a small town who can successfully make my hands look as if they belong to a porn star.

Sad...But True

As you may have noticed, I try not to get "too" political in this space, but I just couldn't help posting this (thanks, Mugsy). As I have several friends in the National Guard, it makes my heart heavy when I realize all that is asked of them. The National Guard didn't use to be our primary military force. I know they are tough and willing...but...oh, I'll just shut up now and let the image do my talking.

Orgasmic Idol

HE DID IT!! And yes, I'm proud of him. Unfortunately, the finale of Idol was a bit painful, especially since I had a pretty good idea of who the winner would be going in. But having to suffer through two hours of variety-show-style performances led to several eye-rolling moments. First off, why the heck did they allow Meatloaf on stage? He wouldn't have made it past the first round of auditions!! He also looked quite shocked that Katharine McPhee got a bigger reaction from the audience. Much as I hate the camera-mugging Kat, she did shine next to the wavering, slobbering fat bastard she was paired with. And someone please tell me, what exactly IS Clay Aiken? I haven't figured that one out yet - and I'm glad I missed that season of Idol.

Mary J. Blige shouldn't have relegated Elliott Yamin to background singer - he was definitely holding his own, sounding more confident and relaxed than he had all season. I look for him to get a big record deal and free dental work. And Momma Yamin couldn't have been more proud.

The Pickler Schtick was back, as annoying as ever. Did anyone else hear her "drop" the accent for a bit there? Barf. Another note: I couldn't figure out in Simon's montage if he was highly sexual with all the self-stroking, or just narcissistic.

Listening to the group of girls/boys perform, I agree with something Simon said earlier in the season: it was the boys' competition to lose. They sounded much tighter than the girls - and evidently possess more talent.

Chris and the lead singer from "Live" looked like brothers - and I felt as if Ed Kowalczyk spent most of his time trying to distinguish himself from Chris, as Daughtry looked on admirably.

Most uncomfortable moment? Besides the obviously deranged Clay Aiken wannabe having a seizure onstage (and having to be put in his cage by Ryan Seacrest), was Taylor's performance with Toni Braxton. She was gyrating all over, sexing up a song about the ghetto? At one point, she nuzzled up to Taylor and attempted to wrap his hand around her waist and rub it against her bod. Thankfully, Taylor didn't take the bait and caress the hornilicious, mumbling (and maybe drunk?) Braxton, but kept his cool as Fox cut away from the shot. He outsang her, too.
All in all, too lengthy of a show, but DAMN! They saved the best for last, as surprise guest Prince hit the stage! And thank goodness they didn't make him sing with an Idol contestant - he rocked the joint like no one else! Here is a link to check out the Purple Man's performance, in case you missed the best part of the show (thanks Mr. Big). Little too much makeup, but he proved (as always) that he reigns supreme. And yes, this moment led me to title this post as such. Can you tell I'm a major Prince fan?

I'm so glad that America voted for Taylor Hicks instead of Miss Priss-Face. Don't worry, she'll end up on Broadway and have a successful career. But as Taylor said, he's the one living the American Dream.

Is It HIM?

Could it be? This is the very first season that I have watched American Idol. Obsessively. With the same obsession that I watched the very first season of Survivor, or that season of the Real World where everyone got naked and drunk in Hawaii. I have not been disappointed, b/c the man who caught my eye as unique has made it all the way to the TOP TWO. If you wonder why I never caught on to the Idol craze before now, it is b/c I thought the competition sought to crown a perfect little pop-princess-diva, or a sexy-sultry-rocker - thereby creating another packaged commercial bore that would assault the airwaves with mediocrity. I came to this show with a healthy dose of skepticism, to say the least.

As a classically-trained musician who is also married to a musician and counts another musician as a best friend, you can imagine that I am a harsh Idol critic. Early in the competition, the only one I was really cheering for was Simon. But Taylor Hicks? Different. Real. What made me root for him? Not so much what I heard from his lips, but what was emanating from his soul. Music lives inside him. Whether or not he is the most talented singer in the competition is surely up for debate, but I don't think you could find anyone who breathes music more. And to be honest, I'm surprised that he made it this far.

Is it possible that America is also tired of the package that the music industry tries to sell us? That America is ready for someone who is a little rough around the edges, but truly FEELS music, deep inside? Can they stomach the moves of a man possessed by his muse? Let's hope. For Taylor Hicks, tonight, goes up against his antithesis. A girl who has been groomed for this her entire life - who spends more time trying to seduce the camera than remembering lyrics. She's already got the gay vote, which tells you she's ready for Broadway. I am not a Katharine-hater, but she's what I hate about Idol.

I hope it happens, and that America votes for an underdog. I hope Taylor sings well tonight, and doesn't ruin his chances with a bad performance. I will be voting for the soul of music tonight, b/c that's what only a true musician can feel.

Katrina Fatigue

Now that the New Orleans mayoral election is officially over, Americans can once again push thoughts of this city and the devastation of the Gulf Coast region to the back of their minds. On to the next tragedy: Will Barbaro's leg heal enough for him to avoid the death penalty?

How easily we tend to forget things that do not affect us directly. I was proud to read this, which is Sports Illustrated's Peter King, tackling the subject head on (thanks, Gary). I was also proud that CNN's Anderson Cooper kept showing us all, months after the disaster, that there was still so much to be done. And don't get me started on the trailers sitting in Hope, Arkansas - I could write reams about how incompetent federal agencies are with their bureaucracies and red tape.

No, we're spending money to secure our borders (something I don't disagree with). We are spending money to fight the terrorists "over there," or maybe to create a democracy for them. (I've lost track of what our current mission is in Iraq.) But who is taking care of our own? We have been assaulted as a nation, and the help just isn't coming. Still. After nine months.

I, like Peter, am furious. We still think about 9/11, as well we should. But now, the movies are coming to a theater near you. If you want to experience an ongoing disaster taking place today, all you have to do is drive South.

Register at the Morgue

I'm a big fan of Dateline's "To Catch a Predator" series, where they set up a police decoy to chat online, posing as a minor. Men of all ages make sexual advances on these "little girls," then arrange to meet them in person, when they think the parents aren't home. Here is a link where you can watch one of these #@*&*%'s as he arrives at a home, thinking he's about to have a sexual encounter with a minor child.

One of my daughter's friends wanted her to go to a high school football game last year, and I had to quiz the father taking them by asking, "Do you let your daughter run around all over the stadium?" You see, it's a small town, and I already knew the answer. I knew the other child and that she did not sit in the stands and actually WATCH THE GAME. Kids that age (12) are there to socialize, and run amuk. My daughter's classmates are all allowed this privilege. He scoffed at me, and when I didn't let my daughter attend the game with the family, I was labeled as "overprotective." People have become complacent, assuming that bad things don't happen here. When I first moved here, people didn't lock their cars or their homes. I was flabbergasted, b/c I grew up in a place where if you didn't lock your car, you wouldn't HAVE a car in less than fifteen minutes.

Our little town has hopefully woken up. Just last week, a level-three registered sex offender arrived at a local ballpark and attempted to lure two young girls into his van by offering them a ride. Fortunately, the heads-up mother alerted the police after her daughter told her what had happened, and the bastard is once again behind bars. What's worse? The sex offender was registered IN THE NEIGHBORING COUNTY. It can happen anywhere. And parents had better pay attention, know where their children are at all times, and check on them frequently. I'd rather be called "paranoid" and "overprotective" than "grieving mother," anyday.

And I believe the only place a sex offender should be registered is at the morgue.

Skewed Idol?

Here I am, voting with one hand, blogging with the other.

Tough night on Idol, and for the first time (Taylor Hicks fans might want to read with caution), I see the difference in the contestants. Elliot Yamin has more potential than Taylor. Katharine McPhee has more training than Taylor. And yet, Taylor is having the most fun in this competition.

I may be the only person in America who wasn't shocked that Chris Daughtry was voted off last week. His rocker scream was wearing on me. Did you know that your vocal chords involuntarily constrict and relax, based on what vocal tones you are hearing? I was usually tired after a Chris performance.
Two worries tonight. One that Taylor, for the first time, doesn't quite seem to measure up to the competition. Two, that Vote for the Worst might actually have something to do with the results of the competition. Each week, this web site tries to throw the Idol competition by encouraging its readers to vote for the contestant they have dubbed "the worst." At least, for Taylor's sake, they've had him pegged for the past two weeks. Will they make him safe? As of right now, Dial Idol has Taylor making it into the finals. And so far, they show that Katharine is the next to go.

I'm voting for Taylor, b/c I would truly love to see a non-packaged performer have a shot at the big time. I just love watching him, and I'm ready to hear an album (there's that old-timer word again) with a different type of vocal hit the charts than all the commercial idiocy plaguing the airwaves. Plus, Katharine always has this look on her face as if to say, "You must love me! I am hot! I can sing!" And appears just shocked when the judges lay down any criticism of her.

Tomorrow night, we'll know for sure who makes the finals. Let's hear it for the diabetic deaf guy, and the grey-haired soul man.

Head-Stompin' Mother's Day

I only wanted a very few things for Mother's Day, which I expressed in a kind but firm manner to the loving husband and daughter. They created my motherhoodness, allowing me to make certain requests, one day of the year. The demands were are follows:

1. No blaring alarm clocks in the morning.
2. No telephones ringing in the morning.
3. No cat, upon my chest, snagging at my lips with her claws in the morning.

Basically, I didn't want anything to artificially awaken me from my sleep. For once, I wanted to arise naturally, with nothing but my body's mechanisms and the rising sun to contribute to the process.

I had forgotten to mention one critical caveat: No Head-Stomping Poo Woo.
I really love my dog, whose real name is Lucky. "Poo Woo" comes from the fact that I started calling him "Lucky Loo Poo Woo" as a term of endearment. But he is quite animated and unaware of his own strength. He gets excited quite easily, hence, he is mainly an outside dog. When he enters the house each day, it is like a dog tornado.
A favorite weekend trick is to unleash the dog on the last sleepyhead of the family, who has chosen to laze until an unacceptable hour. Poo Woo loves this honor, and displays great talent in rousting the most stubborn sleeper. He will launch his body the entire length of the bedroom, land firmly on the offender, and commence stomping up and down on his or her head. Works like a charm. As it did again today.

The best part of the day was that for the first time ever, my daughter made me breakfast, all by herself, from a recipe she found. It was wonderful, and totally made up for the head-stomping.

Blaine-Worthy Feat

Did you see David Blaine this week? Hottie in a bubble. Until you saw his gnarly hands. Too bad the stunt didn't pan out the way he wanted. He should have focused on the breath-holding attempt, instead of compromising his abilities by submerging himself for a week in water. You know how sleepy you get after you go swimming? Try it for seven days. No wonder he failed. I really enjoyed Blaine more when he performed amazing card tricks on the street, or pulled string out of his abdomen, or made someone's watch appear in a storefront window.
I found something yesterday to pacify you Blaine-addicts out there - a truly amazing feat! Stuff on my cat is a site I check out daily, b/c I enjoy seeing the arrogant feline subjected to a wee bit of humiliation. (Don't worry, no cats are harmed in the making of this site.) At any rate, someone please tell me how you can get a cat to hold still long enough to get THIS photo! Seriously, that takes talent. Toilet paper is THIN, folks.

I know, not as exciting as "cat in a bubble," but try to wrap a cat in toilet paper, and I'll promise you it's worth televising.

Rocker Shocker

Is it possible? Is he really gone? Well, I gotta hand it to the American public (a group I had almost lost faith in after the 2004 elections) - they did the right thing. Chris Daughtry had the worst performances Tuesday night, possibly of his whole tenure on the show, and rightly deserved to go home. Yes, he is closest to Idol material, but he got too cozy and slacked off. No room for that anymore - not at this stage of the competition. More shocked was Katharine McPhee -- who should be the next to go.
What's amazing to me, is that America seems to have fallen in love with the two underdogs of the Idol story...the scruffy, talented Elliot, who is by no means polished in appearance, but charming, diabetic, and 90% deaf in one ear. And Taylor Hicks, the grey-haired, gravel-voiced, jerky soulman with painful dance moves, who looks nothing like the pop stars of today. I would argue that they are deserving to be in the top two, based on their love of music alone. And I'm just thrilled that the cutesy-pie, perfect-package kids are mostly out of the running. This is my first season to ever watch Idol, every episode, and I'm glad I did. Idol-faithful, educate me. Is this the best one ever?
Also important to note: Taylor is the only contestant who has NEVER been in the bottom three or bottom two. The only one.

Idol Thoughts

The Final Four, can you feel the excitement? This is really tough - a hard place in the competition, but I'm so thrilled that two of the most NON-COMMERCIAL guys have gotten so far! That's been my whole beef with American Idol, that we're supposed to pick a "Simon-Cowell-Endorsed-Package" of what our Idol should be. Now, Simon-lovers, don't go all hateful on me. I tend to agree with most of Simon's comments during the show. He's harsh, honest, and doesn't sugar-coat the cold reality of how the contestants perform. Plus, I don't think he's doing the mind-altering substances that Paula imbibes.

So...who are my top two? Taylor and Elliot. Taylor has always been my top pick, b/c he is REAL and DIFFERENT, and doesn't scmooze the camera. He is being true to himself. The man would shrivel and die if he wasn't involved in music. Elliot has a great voice, and with a little polishing, would make an album worth listening to. (Did I just date myself horribly by using the word "album?" Do any of you remember what an album is?)

As for Katharine, well, she has an inflated ego. That bothers me. Chris? I seriously don't think I could listen to 13 tracks of his voice. I own Live's "Throwing Copper," and as great as it is, I still can't listen to it all the way through without stopping. Katharine and Chris ARE, however, perfect commercial packages. Just what Simon would love. I think he actually resents Taylor Hicks making it this far - remember how Simon dissed him early in the auditions?

BTW, there is a web site that tracks the busy signals of each contestant's dial in numbers, called DialIdol that has been pretty close to predicting who will be voted off next. Here are their results from last night:

DialIdol Score Margin Of Error

Taylor Hicks 29.749 1.533
Elliott Yamin 29.181 1.539
Katharine McPhee 25.623 1.577
Chris Daughtry 25.241 1.581

Could it be true? Can't wait for tonight!

Acronymania!

Amber got her yearbook Friday, which was IN COLOR - the ENTIRE THING! How cool is that? I love looking through the photos, putting faces with the names of kids she's mentioned throughout the year. Especially the ones she's said are "bullies" or "mean" or "jerks." Got my eye on those. It's also neat to see how much her classmates have changed since they were wee ones.

So, I'm flipping through - and I'm reading all the messages left by her friends. I notice two things that disturb me. One signature includes the message "LYLAFKLC," and another dozen or so include "HAGS."

LYLAFKLC. Okay. My mind is twisting around that one pretty fast. Going thru all the possibilities. I remember a favorite in my day was "LYLAS," or "Love You Like a Sister." Was easy to pronounce - "lie-lass." But what was this? I get the scoop from the kid. LYLAFKLC = "Love You Like A Fat Kid Loves Cake." Thank goodness.

HAGS? I wondered if the first kid who wrote this was...well...affected. Maybe just a little bit of dyslexia while trying to write "hugs." Then another kid signed that way - and another. Was this the beginning of a middle school version of the "Mean Girls" clique? Nope. Evidently, HAGS = "Have a Good Summer."

My turn. Every so often, I get a CD addiction. I'll buy a CD, and then it stays in my CD player for a month, until I've memorized every song on it. My latest addiction is FOB. Catchy, great lyrics, great song titles...I think I've about got the thing memorized. I even like their videos! So if you're wanting to catch up with today's music at all, this is a CD I would recommend. And I wouldn't recommend you look up Pete Wentz's Sidekick photos that were "mistakenly" distributed on the 'net. Though I have a whole new respect for little guys. Their album is entitled "From Under the Cork Tree." What's the significance of the title? In a recent interview, Pete said, "We wanted for people to get their parents to buy it for them [having] to say, 'Will you go buy me FUCT?' It's just an awesome acronym." I think it would be funnier if they told their fans to go out and get FUCT. Oh, and for those of you who are acronymically-challenged, FOB = "Fall Out Boy." HAGS!

Got Pants?

HOORAY! It's NO PANTS DAY!! (Better than acknowledging Cinco de Mayo, with all the unrest in today's America, dontcha think?) According to the official web site, which you can access here, "No Pants Day" is a day where everyone, be they students, respectable businessmen, or cherished community leaders, leave their pants behind. Usually this means wearing thick, appropriately modest boxer shorts, but bloomers, slips, briefs, and boxer-briefs all work as well. If you are participating today, you are invited to upload your photos to flickr.com, with the tag of "no pants day." And, when you access the official web site, you can view photos from previous events. My favorite has to be the gentleman in his shirt, tie, and jacket, standing atop a conference room table, pantsless. Taking "Casual Friday" to a whole new level!

I Am Grup

After a recent trip out with friends to a club, I was reminded of an article that I read about "grups." (Full text of this fascinating article here, with thanks to Mr. Big.) Pictured to the right is a couple in their late 30's, with children younger than my daughter. The author of this article has noticed a trend I thought was my own personal identity crisis - that many people my age "refuse to grow up." I am evidently not alone.

I joke all the time to my husband about how the nursing homes one day will be filled with the tunes of the Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and Led Zeppelin - as little old men in wheelchairs pester nurses for a spare joint. As the article suggests, that vision may not be far off. It seems as if more and more people in their 30's, 40's and 50's have kept up with fashion and pop music, breaking the cycle of "parents who just can't understand the music these days," thereby partially eliminating the generation gap. I listen to Bloc Party, and yes, they ARE better than The Bravery. My husband hangs his many guitars on our dining room walls. My friend, whiterabbit, still wears Converse. My daughter has just discovered The Cure and New Order...what's going on here?

The author claims it's our generation's passion for life, something I whole-heartedly agree with. In the closing paragraph, he states, "Being a Grup isn’t, as it turns out, all about holding on to some misguided, well-marketed idea of youth—or, at least, isn’t just about that. It’s also about rejecting a hand-me-down model of adulthood that asks, or even necessitates, that you let go of everything you ever felt passionate about. It’s about reimagining adulthood as a period defined by promise, rather than compromise. And who can’t relate to that?"

Awesome...totally. Now excuse me, while I go dancing.

Unbridled Emotions

I have had a really tough two weeks. Mostly job-related stress and a flurry of responsibilities to address. You know, when you reach a certain age, you are expected to handle such adversity with maturity. As a business-owner, I face intense scrutiny for my decisions and reactions to conflict. I'm not allowed to cry.

I have a Netflix subscription, but it's difficult to find time to watch movies, now that the kiddo has entered softball season. Finally, I was able to watch "Radio," uninterrupted. A friend of mine suggested the film, and I had caught bits and pieces of it on satellite. But I wanted to fully immerse myself in the movie experience. Immerse, I did.

I was amazed at the acting skills of Cuba Gooding, Jr. I recall his performance in "Boyz 'n the Hood," when he was just a young actor. And who could forget his enthusiastic Oscar acceptance speech when he won for his supporting role in "Jerry Maguire?" The fact that "Radio" involved sports made this even better. Plus, I'm a sucker for anything based on a true story.

My daughter thought I was a blithering idiot during the scene when Radio found out about the death of his mother. I was sitting on the couch, literally crying and bawling great hitching sobs, right along with Radio. Tears were flowing down my cheeks, uncontrollably - and it felt SO GOOD. I am an incredibly passionate individual, in every aspect of my life. It was just the release I needed.

I strongly encourage you to watch this film. It reminded me that there are others so much less fortunate than I, and it is my responsibility as a decent human being to reach out to those who would benefit from my assistance. In one way, the story of Radio was a gift to me. I will find a way to return the favor.