Crying over Spilled Milk

Maternity Photoshoot

2012-01-26T14:20:00.004-06:00

MATERNITY PICTURES ARE HERE!!

(guest blogger – Buckethead, aka my husband)

As I go through this pregnancy, equipped with weight gain, weird cravings, even weirder pregnancy dreams, and the un-settling-and-way-too-common phenomena of people coming up to me and wanting to touch my belly, I’ve been thinking about whether or not I wanted to take maternity pictures. The notion of maternity pictures is a new one to me. I don’t think they really became common until Demi Moore (pre-Ashton Kutcher Demi Moore) decided to grace the cover of a magazine 9 months pregnant wearing nothing but a smile. Since then, maternity pictures have joined the ranks of other odd things that you just do because, well, just because …like,

1.) Giving presents to the kids that attend YOUR kid’s birthday party

2.) Drink wine out of a wine glass instead of a Yahtzee shaker

3.) Accelerate through a yellow light

4.) Appreciate Ryan Seacrest

5.) Go to the dentist

6.) Not punch the dentist

But for some reason, I had problems getting motivated for my maternity pictures session. I’ve seen all the pictures from friends (real and 571 facebook friends) and so many seemed to channel their inner Demi Moore…yikes!! Given my late night Taquitos from What-a-burger; cravings for all things Bluebell; and the fact that rather than go to the gym of which I’m a monthly dues-paying member, I’m just resolved that the monthly dues are a ‘fat tax’ I pay – given all this, I wasn’t too keen to pose for pictures.

Our friend whom we used for the maternity pictures was amazing. At first I was shy and having a hard time getting into the photo shoot. I was so self conscious, and just didn’t think I looked like anything other than a manatee. But Shane put on some fun and funky music, kept things light-hearted, and I had a few glasses of wine and next thing you know I felt a lot more comfortable with my body. Shane kept things classy, and was quite the charmer with the compliments -- telling me to celebrate my body and enjoy this time of pregnancy. He told me to, “Own the shoot. Work it!!” and to, “Put down that donut!” By the end of the photo shoot, I was boldly believing my maternity pictures were the result of a collision of beauty, cheeseburgers, confidence, and inspiration – and that Demi Moore had nothing on me. The results of the shoot are below – and I hope you can see my confidence shining through me as I radiate in joy and anticipation at the arrival of our baby girl. I can’t wait for our little bundle of joy to arrive, and look forward to sharing with her how I looked during this pregnancy, and the intricate amazing-ness of the spread offense, deer hunting, and Taquitos. Who say’s manatee’s are endangered?

Love,

Buckethead

2011 Wrap Up

2012-01-01T21:31:00.002-06:00

As I sit here on the couch contemplating 2011, I have an overwhelming sense of peace, tranquility and the strong urge to fart. Ummm wait, I meant the strong urge to reflect on all the blessings I have been given this year. (Although I do kind of need to fart, too)

MY Top Ten Moments of 2011:

1.) Finding out I was expecting after taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom of Target on my lunch break.

2.) Celebrating my one year Wedding anniversary to Buckethead in the Wine Country and eating enough cheese and drinking enough wine to get me through my upcoming 9 month pregnancy dry spell.

3.) Realizing my dreams were coming true when I found out we were having a little girl, surrounded by our family and friends.

4.) Spending Spring Break in Disney World.

5.) Having an excuse to gain 25 pounds.....and counting.

6.) My husband having to ice his balls and his knee due to two surgeries in one month-- (one of those surgeries resulting in Baby Reese).

7.) Trying to help out the economy by purchasing a new house and a new car.

8.) Starting my SAHM role early by pulling a crazy pregnant lady moment by storming out and quiting my job. (And having the kind of husband that's totally cool with that).

9.) Robert Griffin III winning the Heisman (okay, maybe that's not my top ten but I'll throw it in there for the husband)

10.) Realizing that life has turned out exactly how it should be. Thank you Jesus!

HERE'S to 2012!! Happy New Year!!

Prego Update: 26 weeks

2011-12-08T13:28:00.002-06:00

Well, I know it's been a while but, don't blame me! I have been EXTREMELY busy. It's very time consuming putting on a good 20 pounds. Not to mention, I quit my job and am now a stay at home Mom. And even though this baby girl is in my belly, I have to sleep when she sleeps, eat when she wants to eat and poop when....well, whenever I feel the urge.

So don't be calling me a lady of leisure, folks. No sir, I am working harder than I ever have. Like....ummmm.....well. Ah ha! For example, I organized my closet today. It was so difficult, I had to follow it up with a 2 hour nap and a Little Debbie's Zebra Cake. It was delicious so I had another.

My sweet, precious, angel of a husband has been so helpful and perfect. He brings me water when I'm thirsty; gives lots of rubs and kisses; takes me to nice restaurants and doesn't say a word when I eat more than he does. In fact, he's been SO sweet, he has gained a little baby love weight with me! (Not sure if he thinks that part of it is sweet). But it makes me feel better that he isn't drinking a protein shake whilst I eat a fried chicken leg and mashed potatoes covered in honey (one of my weird cravings).

Pregnancy is a humbling thing. I lay in the bathtub, spread eagle looking like a beached whale and I think to myself, will I ever look the same again and what the hell is that leaking out of my nipple? But, then I quickly remember this precious little princess growing in my belly and as I feel her flip and flutter around I know that hemorrhoids and all, this is SO worth it.

And the Gender Is.....

2011-11-06T21:19:00.005-06:00

GIRL!!!!

We had an amazing time Saturday night at our Gender Reveal Party. Surrounded by our friends and family, we found out our little bundle is going to be a precious little GIRL! My self control was out of the ordinary as I managed to not only wait until Saturday to find out the big news, but I made it almost 2 hours through the party BEFORE we cut the cake! I wish I would have had that self-control when I pigged out on left over cake this afternoon. Hope you enjoy the pictures below. They are amazing because our super amazing friend, Shane took them for us. (Shout out!)

Prego Update: 20 weeks

2011-11-01T11:24:00.002-05:00

Today, I am on cloud nine. Who knows, maybe I'm even on cloud ten. We went in this morning and had our twenty week sonogram. The baby looks awesome! It was the cutest little baby brain, and baby femur I have ever seen. Not only did my rocking doctor (whom I love) tell me that the baby looked great, he also told me I was skinny and still looked hot! (Thank Heaven for male doctors who have a knack for flirting with fat pregnant ladies).

The gender of our baby is sealed in an enveloped which has already been delivered to one of my best friends for safe keeping. We will gather with friends and family Saturday night to reveal the sex of our little one. If some of you are thinking, "Wow, that sounds like LOADS of fun!" (hence the sarcasm) don't worry, we will be providing our guest with loads of booze and catered Mexican food. I will make up in Mexican food what I can't enjoy in booze.

TOTAL WEIGHT GAIN: 12 pounds

WEIRD CRAVINGS: Bacon, carrots, MEAT, MEAT, MEAT (my sweet baby carnivore)

Prego Update: 18 weeks

2011-10-12T20:49:00.003-05:00

Despite the lingering nausea; excessive vaginal discharges of question; constant bloating; severe constipation followed by room-clearing gas; back aches; woolly-mammoth belly; AND National Geographic nipples.....I'm actually really starting to enjoy this pregnancy. Seriously, I am!

The past week, I've actually transfered out of the "that lady is fat" stage to "that lady is pregnant" stage. Thank God! I was beginning to convince myself that (despite the sonograms and heartbeats) maybe I wasn't pregnant....maybe, I was just fat. But I'm not, I now look pregnant. Forget science, I just needed the belly. And I am loving the belly love. I know a lot of women are all "hands off my belly". Well, not me. Touch it. I know you want to. Touch me all you want. Rub this belly and rub it good.

TOTAL WEIGHT GAIN: 8 lbs

CRAVINGS: Dill pickle chips, Mexican Food, Grapes, Indian Food

13 1/2 Weeks

2011-09-09T21:16:00.004-05:00

I know, I know. It's been a while. I've been busy getting uber affection with my porcelain thrown. Honestly, pregnancy has been hard for me. Sickness and nauseous have become a dear friend to me, never leaving my side always there to greet me hour upon hour. I think I had some fantasy that I would be one of "those" pregnant ladies who breezed through the nine months with nothing worse than enlarged nipples and a few stretch marks. Well, not only are my nipples increasing rapidly by the day, but my sickness hasn't seemed to decrease.

Hello, second trimester??? Can you please assist? Keep your fingers crossed for me because there is nothing more I want than to eat a chicken fried steak and not have to experience the meal again 30 minutes later. On a good note, since the last time we talked....I CAN POOP! Praise the Lord and pass the cornbread! That has been such a relief (both literally and figuratively!)

Okay, enough icky poo stuff (Jef Swann, have I grossed you out enough?) Let's get to the belly pic and the stats.

13 1/2 Week Belly Picture

TOTAL WEIGHT GAIN: 6 lbs

CRAVINGS: Mashed Potatoes and Dill Pickle Chips

SEX: Yes, please!!

She's Having a Baby

2011-08-06T17:52:00.002-05:00

Well, you guessed it! I mean, I hope that you have guessed it by now; why else would I take a picture of me with my shirt lifted up? Unless you were "Girls Gone Wild" but, I digress.

I AM PREGNANT!

8 WEEK GESTATIONAL BELLY SHOT

Get ready to watch me get fat! Just kidding, kind of. On a serious note, I could not be more excited or feel so blessed. Buckethead and I are thrilled to add to our family and feel like this pregnancy is a miracle in the making! I plan on sharing with you all along the way.

WEIGHT GAIN: 2 lbs

HOW I'M FEELING: I've actually been suffering quite a bit from morning sickness. Not sure why "they" call it that when the nausea and vomiting last ALL DAY LONG. Oh, and I can't poop either. I just sit there for what seems like hours and.....nothing. Ziltch. Nada. Zero. And my boobs?? Wow, they are BIG. And they hurt. But Buckethead is not complaining about that one. Sleepy and I have a ton of saliva in my mouth constantly. I spit more that a major league baseball player! But, I am HAPPY. So, so, happy! Sure, I break down in tears at a hallmark commercial but I can't wait for this amazing journey.

Please keep us in your prayers and our baby in your hearts!

Family Summer Vacation: Texas Hill Country

2011-07-27T14:48:00.002-05:00

With Dallas on its 24th consecutive day of triple digit temperatures, the Texas heat is finally starting to get to me. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Texas. We are the inventors of Blue Bell Ice Cream, the Bush twins, the ten gallon hat and the best Mexican food illegal immigrants can provide. But my Texas pride is friggin melting! Never the less, when Vacation time rolled around, the family loaded up the car, I threw on a bikini and a pair of boots and headed south to the tropical paradise of.......Texas. Okay, so it's not Cancun, but we did go to the Texas Hill Country and had one boot-scootin hell of a time!

Gruene Hall- in Gruene Texas
The Oasis- Austin, TX

The Oasis- Austin, TX

The Oasis - Austin, TX

We also went to Shlitterbahn Water Park (World's Largest Waterpark) where I soaked in stranger's pee for 9 hours. Side note: I was dumped at Shiltterbahn one time for a pentecostal girl with no boobs in a one piece swimsuit but I digress. The next day we floated the Guadalupe River and exposed the kids to a little Texas "culture" a.k.a. drunk people blasting out songs such as "Those Oklahoma Boys Roll their Joints All Wrong" out of a cooler that is also a radio.

All in all, we had a great vacation. Davy Crockett couldn't have said it better: "You may all go to Hell, I'm going to TEXAS!"

Oops! I Did it Again!

2011-07-14T09:54:00.005-05:00

Britney Concert with the Besties!

We got a Dallas Celebrity to take this picture of us! He was really put out when we walked up to him with a camera and didn't ask him to be in the picture! (We're so funny!)

I had to put my Britney shirt on at the end of the night! (Notice my shoes are now in my hands and off my feet).

See? I TOLD you I was best friends with Britney Spears!

Nose Bleeds? Who Cares!?

Yes, I will love Britney Spears Until the World Ends! Sure, she's gone through a few Womanizers who were Toxic which drove her Crazy but I don't care. Don't Hold it Against Me. When I first became a Britney fan, I was Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman but now that I'm all grown up all I can say is Gimme More Britney Spears! I am so Lucky to have gotten to see Britney progress and become Stronger through this Circus we call her life. So when her concert arrived Monday night in Dallas I knew I had to see her Baby, One More Time. Let's be real; Britney, I'm a Slave for You.

I have loved Britney for 14 years! I will never forget buying her very first single CD to "Baby One More Time". She has been a consistent to me through my life. Boyfriends, relationship, friendships have come and gone....but Britney is forever. Thank you Brit-Brit, once again for an amazing experience!

Sugar Butt

2011-07-11T12:43:00.003-05:00

Sunday, Buckethead and I volunteered at church to run a Toddler Sunday School. We ended up with 9 very quick, and rambuncous 2-3 year olds. We lost one. But then we found it. Luckily the lost toddler was just playing in the toliet. Aside from that, it pretty much went off without a hitch. Well, except for one tiny, little, itty-bity slip of the tongue.

Mind you, I'm not usually the one to stick my foot in my mouth. Mainly because I care too much about what other people think (strange, as I share my bowel movements with strangers via the internet).

So we're trying to get the kids to line up, and although we have their names tapped on their backs, at times there were still too many of the little rascals to remember. So this one little tyrant, umm, I mean angel was running out of the line and I call out to him using the name......

SUGAR BUTT.

Sugar Butt? That sounds like a glittered stripper or possibly a name you call your husband (or Pimp) but a total stranger's toddler at CHURCH?? Yep, that's what I decided to call him. Sugar-Butt.

Let's just hope he's one of the few toddlers that, haven't been able to express themselves through words yet. Otherwise, I may be in line for a relatively mortifying call from the head of Children's Minstry.

Not Guilty

2011-07-05T16:19:00.003-05:00

I'm going to climbed up on my soap box for a minute (which is really hard after the burrito I had at lunch) and take a few moments to express my humble opinion about the Casey Anthony verdict. Sure, maybe I didn't go to law school and I don't have a fancy JD after my name. However, I have had several last names and I am an expert at the television network, Oxygen. A channel that survives off of re-runs of Forensic Files and Snapped--both shows about serial killers and convictions. Oh, and the Bad Girls Club, but I don't watch that one.....often.

Anyways, you may say I'm a little obsessed with crime theory thus I have been interested and slightly following the Casey Anthony Murder Trial. A few hours ago, Casey was found NOT Guilty of the murder of her daughter, Caylee. I'm not going to go into a large hypothesis theory or even say that I don't believe that she killed her daughter. Actually, I'm pretty sure she did.

BUT, did you hear what I just said....I'm PRETTY sure she did it. I think the Jury gave justice to this trial. Where was the concrete evidence? I couldn't find it and all I saw were clips from Nancy Grace and Fox News. I didn't sit for months in a court room going over the evidence, but twelve US citizens did. Twelve normal Americans, not a King or a Dictator. Those twelve citizens found her NOT guilty.

All over Facebook, my friends (whom I admire and respect their opinions) are saying Justice was not served. I beg to differ. You can't send a person to jail for life or even decades of their life if you are basing this on a hunch. The irony of the trial ending the day after Independence Day shows us in a hard way that we truly do live in the best country in the world and that we truly do have the best justice system in the world. Because, in our country everyone deserves a fair trial. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. And regardless if Casey is actually guilty, the verdict wasn't made on speculations, it had to be determined by facts, proven and convincing to a Jury of 12 peers.

Again, I can't say that Casey didn't kill her daughter. Honestly, I think she is guilty as the day is long but even if she isn't convicted here on this Earth, we have a God who is Just. Caylee will be justified if not in this lifetime, in the next.

The Scrunchie

2011-06-29T13:36:00.006-05:00

Earlier this summer I went to a "white-trash" birthday party.

For those of you who don't know, I am slightly white-trash by nature. I'm from a very small Texas town; I went to Homecoming my Sophomore year with a 4th cousin whom made-out with afterwards; my favorite fast food is the Dairy Queen and every male member of my family bears the name "Earl".

So given the blood that runs through my veins, getting dressed up for this party was a piece of cake.

Cut-off shorts? CHECK.

Colored Bra under a wife beater. CHECK, CHECK.

House shoes and a cigarette. CHECK.

When contemplating what to do with my hair, the infamous scrunchie immediately popped into my head. I knew that I had to have a scrunchie to make my fashion statement. That being said, I was a bit hesitant because this meant I would have to venture out, leave my comfort zone of Target and visit the great unknown; Wal-Mart.

I should mention that I'm not the biggest fan of the Wal-mart. The people are barefoot; poopy diapered toddlers are running amok; someone in a spandex onsie is squeezing an avocado next to me saying, "Take this one home. You can chew it. It's delicious".

Plus you can buy tires at the same place you can buy your meat. Basically, it's just not for me.

However, if I was going to get that scruchie I would have to put on my big girl panties and go to the Super Center. Upon entering, I knew I had come to the right place. Wal-mart has to be what is keeping the Scrunchie makers a-float because they pretty much had a designated Scrunchie aisle.

There were Velvet Scrunchies; big scrunchies; multi-colored scrunchies; tortise clips from the maker of Scrunchie. denim scrunchies; and banana clips. Yes, they even had banana clips!

Instantly, I began to channel my inner 90's child and fell back into the days when Save By the Bell's Kelly Kapowski was my idol; the idea of fashion was neon girbaud shorts and a No Fear t-shirt; and throwing around little paper circles called Pogs was a sign of a good time.

Yes the era of the scrunchie was a happier time. When I was growing up prostitution was cool because Julia Roberts played one and got to end up with Richard Gere thus changing my idea of future job paths. Pee-Wee Herman was still just a creepy looking adult that had a playhouse and not a guy that was arrested for charming the snake in a parking lot. Mark Walburg still ran around without his shirt off; I had a dance routine for every Ace of Base song on my tape track And As if! Clueless was my all-time favorite movie.

Walking out of the Wal-mart with a bag full of scrunchies made me recall the seriously awesome aspects of being a teeny-bopper in the 90s. All I wanted was to go back to a school dance and rock out to the Macarena with a head full of scrunchies and a pair of Doc Martens on my feet.

So, call me classless but ever since I got the scrunchies, I can't stop wearing them! I big pink puffy heart the scrunchie. They're convenient, they don't pull out my very expensive Asain hair, you can sleep in them AND let us not forget that they come in tie-dye! How could something so great disappear along with the Spice Girls?

I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really, want. I WANT MORE SCRUNCHIES. Yes, if you want to be my lover, you gotta get me more scrunchies.

Am I relatively mortified that I go to the gym in a hot pink scrunchie? Possibly.

But, if we would all make a stand and say, "NO MORE. I REFUSE TO BE THE VICTIM OF FASHIONABLE HAIR WEAR" and say, "YES" to the scrunchie. This world would be a better place and maybe, just maybe Hanson would make a come-back.

Caveman Crawl 2011

2011-06-20T09:36:00.005-05:00

I ran.
I swam.

I climbed.

I invented the wheel.

I crawled through mud trenches. I created fire. That's right; I completed the Caveman Crawl of 2011. It was the hardest thing I've physically ever done but it was such an incredible experience. The Monday follow is finding me walking with a gimp leg but it was so worth it!

Groupon = Laser Hair Removal = PAIN

2011-06-10T15:18:00.004-05:00

Before I begin, I must note that this blog post is about hair removal. If you don't know me that well, I tend to be somewhat graphic in my tales. So if you don't want to know what happened between my butt cheeks this morning. Look away; please, please, look away.

Now, I assume most of you know about the wonderful, mystical world of Groupon. A flying unicorn that farted glitter couldn't get me more excited than when my email bings with an out of this world good deal on Groupon. So, a few weeks ago when a laser hair removal coupon-Groupon was posted, I immediately jumped on that smooth deal. Mind you, I could have selected any menacing section of hair to remove but I chose to "de-hair" my private lady parts.

It sounded like a good idea at the time. Although I thought I was intricately prepared for my 9:30 a.m. appointment for my first out of six sessions, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I was told 45 minutes before I came into the appointment to apply a numbing cream that I bought at the consultation. Fervently, I applied the cream, getting every nook, cranny and crevice completely covered. Then I washed my hands. Apparently not good enough. Within 15 minutes my lady parts, three fingers, my right eyelid, half my tongue, my bottom lip and an ear lobe were completely numb. But, being the optimist that I am, I looked at this as a positive. I figured with the cream's potency I wouldn't be feeling a thing from the laser treatment.

Wrong again.

Now, if you remember a blog post of mine from a few years back, this ain't my first rodeo with hair removal in a "delicate" place. I have had many moments in the back room of a nail salon, being tortured by a lady named Ping. That was painful, but I had gotten out alive. Surely, this wouldn't be any worse.

The place were I was getting the laser treatment done was at a medical "spa". Medical Spas are almost as common in Dallas as a Starbucks. There is one on every corner. The mass amount of money women will spend in Dallas to be brought close to the brink of death for beauty is insane. Sure, peel 10 layers of skin of my face, just make sure the room smells of lavender and I get a foot rub at the end.

Yes, the spa setting is very deceiving. Walking into a beautiful room, with fresh flowers and calming music makes you believe your their for a Swedish massage. The cushy bed was far from a examination table and the cucumber water added a nice touch.

Perhaps it was the esthestican advising me to let her know if my pain got above an eight that got me realizing this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

"An eight?!?!" I thought to myself. I cry for 20 minutes and ask for a bag of ice if my pain scale hits a 4. But, "an eight??!" I needed some liquid courage, but there wasn't a margarita in sight. I was going to have to be on my own on this one.

Crap.

One. Two. Three.

ZAP.

Explicitive. Explicitive. Explicitive.

After the first zap, you could have stuck a fork in me. I was done. My common sense finally kicked in and I was thinking, was the heck am I doing? Why in the world would I subject myself to such pain? No scratch that, why in the world would I PAY to be in such pain? It felt as if Chuck Norris had shot laser beams out of his eyes and onto my....you know. The tech had to coax me into staying on the table, assuring me I would get use to the zap and that it wouldn't take much longer.

30 zaps later and 5 minutes in a position where I had to be on all fours; I was finally done.

After the treatment, I looked as if I had run 10 miles, in 100 degree weather through a hurricane. I was drenched in sweat and yes, I was crying although I blamed in on allergies.

One treatment down. Five more to go.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Random Ramblings

2011-05-23T22:20:00.003-05:00

It's that time again. You know, Bachlorette time. Time when I invest 8 weeks of my life watching the demise of a relationship that won't make it past the reunion show. But, I can't help it. It has a hold on me I tell ya. It takes over my mind, soul and body stronger than a Celine Dion CD.

My birthday was over the weekend. I'm not a huge fan of the birthdays idea that you have to have 5 different celebrations with huge amounts of people. It makes me nervous. I know what you're thinking, "How in the hell could a narcissistic, self-absorbed, amazing, awesome person, like JPO who likes to refer to herself by her nickname, in the third person, in all caps, NOT want to have a day where everyone focuses on her amazing awesomeness??"

I know, I know. Sometimes I find it a little crazy myself. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE birthday presents. Actually, I like pretty much any kind of present; birthday, Christmas, Easter, YOUR birthday, Hanukkah, St. Patrick's Day, National Pet Week, Michael Jackson's Death anniversary, Halloween and Memorial Day. A present is expected on those days....and a few others. So of course, on MY birthday. I expect THE PRESENTS. And thankfully, Buckethead did not disappoint.

My Dad joined Facebook. Crap. My FB updates will now talk about Rainbow Ponies and Disney Princesses. My fear is that one day he will actually figure out HOW to use the FB and will somehow discover this blog and then I'm completely toast. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I keep my musing a secret. My mom reads this as does my Grandmother, Grandfather, my pastor brother and a large part of his congregation that I'm sure keeps me at the top of their prayer chains....but my Daddy? I mean, I'm his "baby girl". He thinks I'm angelic and that somehow I was miraculously a virgin on the night of my honeymoon to my second husband. I can't shatter his dreams.

Nothing else to say except I painted my toes green. That was a bad decision.

Easter 2011- A little late, I know

2011-05-02T22:41:00.002-05:00

Ode to My Hometown

2011-04-26T12:25:00.005-05:00

Entering my hometown, population 3,428, I cruise down the Farm to Market roads, white knuckled and fearful for my life, trying to recall the last time I drove on a road that didn't have a median separating the oncoming traffic. Giant pick-up trucks covered in dust and mud zoom past me, letting off enough exhaust to make Al Gore's crazy antics actually seem legitamit. Almost instinctively, I begin to casually wave to every car I pass the moment I enter the city limits. The passerby matches my wave, never once squinting to see if they knew me. They didn't need to "know" me to acknowledge me--it's just what you do in a small town. I drive slowly behind a vehicle that is going five miles under the posted speed limit of 45 mph. The motorist isn't in the rush I often see on Dallas highways to get to their location. It makes me realize that I can't remember the last time I wasn't in a hurry; relentlessly rushing from one event to another, day after day.

Passing the high school to my right, I see the hometown chant: "We Can, We Will. We're Barbers Hill" written out on the chain linked fence in Dixie cups. My thoughts flash back to 9 years ago and I can still recollect my old lunch table, my best friend's laugh after a crude joke I cracked, the nutty science teacher's abstract lessons that always seemed to make perfect sense and the way my boyfriend use to smell when he would greet me in the hallway after class.

"We Can, We Will" was programmed into my brain from a young age and I truly believed that being a Barbers Hill Eagle really did make you special; that there was something magical in the water--not just the toxins from the local chemical plants. I remember the overwhelming feeling of comfort that I felt being surrounded by people I had known my whole life. How I never once felt the insecurity of not being accepted, the hurt of be excluded or the fear of not succeeding; feelings that now too often transpire in my mind.

My eyes divert to the power lines sadly draped along the road, the lack of curbs, the plethora of ditches, a run-down barn, broken fences and drainage tubes. My hometown is not necessarily a handsome place, especially after living in the type of suburb where I reside now. But never once did I ever think it wasn't something to marvel after. The spirit is unlike any other and growing up there, I couldn't imagine anything better.

The Friday night football game that the whole town attended; the local Mexican food restaurant who served the best green dip this side of the Rio Grande; the theater stage where I found my talent; the water-tower park where I spent countless hours falling in love with a boy I hoped I would marry; the rice fields where I drank my first Fuzzy Navel wine cooler; the church where I walked down the aisle as a girl and asked Jesus into my heart. Every mile, every place is a memory.

I turn down a gravel road that leads me to my parent's home. They wait in the driveway for me and my family's arrival. It never matters how late I pull in, since I first started driving, they are always awake, waiting anxiously for my return home. Although, I can't remember exactly when I stopped feeling like this was my home and started feeling like Dallas was, there is still something about the house that makes me feel like I belong. There's something about that town that makes me feel like I belong.

Each visit is perfectly and wonderfully the same; always comforting, calming and routine. I find myself speaking in a longer drawl and becoming a coffee drinker who's content to rock on a porch swing and talk all day. My cravings for my grandmother's cook, Brighton shoes and blingy-jeans become almost unbearable and the women of my family all pile into the car to hit up the local boutique which always seems to have something I can't live without even though I live in a 5 mile radius of three different malls. My mom and I talk to hours and I realize I need to call her more and what a unique and precious gift I have in her.

Every time I go back, I like to have a little alone time in my old room. Picking up my prom dress still hanging in my closet, I cringe at the suborn 5 pounds that keeps me from my school-girl figure but wonder if I held my breath just right, if I could zip it up anyway. I open the Hope Chest my mom still keeps in my room and sit Indian style in front of it and go through all my treasures; letter after letter, picture after picture and I cry because life was so easy, yet it seemed so hard and I realize how much I miss my old friends. I wonder if I can ever get back what I had and I realize that life has changed for me and with that so did my relationships.

When Sunday rolls around, we pack up the car, say our good-byes and I drive off to the life I've made with my own family some 300 miles aways, I try to hold back the tears as the familiar lump in my throat returns and I have an overwhelming bitter-sweet feeling saying goodbye once again to the town that built me. And although I know I can never go back, I close my eyes and re-live the priceless moments that have forever been instilled in my memory after all these years and smile because in the end I feel so lucky and so proud to have once called this place my home.

Home-made Donuts

2011-04-08T09:01:00.002-05:00

For those of you who don't know, domestic-ness isn't exactly my forte. This has always perplexed me given my breeding. My mother and grandmother are champion breeders- thoroughbred racehorses when it comes to cooking. Thus given my pedigree, my abilities in the kitchen should come naturally; as if I were born to cook.

But, it doesn't. I'm like a gelding--a castrated horse whos equal is a donkey; subpar and stinky. And although in the back of my mind I have readily accepted my destiny of "sucky cooker", it doesn't make me continue to try and change the stars.

Once again, I tried to change my stars this morning. And I failed. Boy, did I fail.

My morning began promptly at 6:10 a.m. Breakfast needed to be out hot on the table for my husband and step-kids no later than 7:00 a.m. I woke up with my head full of dreams. Big dreas; dreams of a morning that did not consist of pop-tarts and Captain Crunch Cereal. Dreams of applause and joyful song echoing the walls of the breakfast nook signing, "For she's a jolly good fellow. For she's a jolly good fellow...."

Today would be the day! I was going to make home-made donuts. And no, this was no "boxed" donuts that had all the ingredients nicely packaged and the directions on the outside of the container. For the first time since I married Mark, I used the flour. YES, I USED FLOUR! You know, that white powdery substance that taste like shit by itself but magically turns into something wonderful and full of carbohydrates when you mix it with other...stuff? I knew I was big time the moment I opened the flour container.

So I spend 45 minutes while my family still slept, covered in flour creating the World's first home-made donuts. I made powdered, chocolate and glazed. They sat beautifully and wonderfully on display on the tray beside me. Vigorously, I made more and more knowing that these donuts would be a huge hit. I invisioned my step-son begging me for more. He would fail his spelling test without a dozen of my home-made donuts. My step-daughter would get acne from the stress of not having enough of them to eat. It wasn't only my mission to make the donuts; it way my mission to make enough of them to feed the world!

7:00 a.m. arrived and my tray filled with marvelous donuts lie of the table like a ceremony shrine. My husband ooo'd and ahhh'd over their beauty and the kids giggled with delight. I was about to make that breakfast my bitch. I had dominated breakfast!

I took th liberty of taking my first bite about 5 seconds before anyone else did. The initial taste of pwodered sugar coated my tongue with its fine particles of sweetness. A faint smile draped my face. Slowly chewing, I closed my eyes to savor the tast of.....soap? Is that...soap? Does it take like SOAP? What the *$@%!?!! My beautiful donuts taste like a fart soaked in dishwashing detergent!

Quickly, I open my eyes. It's too late. My family's pupils dialate as they proceed to spit the donuts out of their mouths and onto their plates. I didn't understand it. I grab a chocolate covered donut from the pate and take a big bite. Burnt SOAP. Regurgitation almost occurred. Chocolate donut remains are hurrled into my napkin.

Turns out, baking powder and baking soda are NOT the same. If you use baking soda and do not counter it with the acidity of another ingredient, you're food will tast like freaking soap. And, it probably doesn't help when you use baking soda that was a wedding present from Buckethead's FIRST wedding fifteen years ago. Yes, it was circa 1994 when I was chilling in my Girbaud multi-colored shorts watching Boy Meets World.

So needless to say, we ate pop-tarts.

The End.

Our Trip to Disney World

2011-03-28T21:28:00.004-05:00

Cow on Cow

2011-03-06T20:47:00.007-06:00

I'm stuck. But why did I climb the cow in the first place.? Could the fact that I gained 8 pounds this winter have anything to do with this problem? And why is there a statue of a cow in front of a Mexican food restaurant anyway? Do they realize the temptation they've created?

Little Victories

2011-02-25T15:44:00.003-06:00

For those of you who have not noticed my temporary absence from the blog-world....good for you! By now, you've finally realized the life in which I felt I should share its innermost details is really not all that different from anyone elses mundane existence. Now, I'm not saying I'm complacent with my life; quite the contrary. However, my daily dealings just aren't any more exciting than yours.

I'm sure I hooked a few of you in initially three years ago with my tales of woe during my divorce. I mean who doesn't love a tragedy to remind them that someone elses life sucks more than theirs does? I mean, that's why we're obsessed with Kate Gosslin as a nation, right? SIGN ME UP FOR DWTS! I'm a train-wreck waiting to happen!

But once the thrill was gone, the curiosity of a second marriage to a hunk 15 years my senior kept you absorbed in my life like a Bounty paper towel. Sugar Daddy? Yes please! I'll take one of those quicker picker uppers!

And now I've gotten you use to the scandals of my so-called life...always pressured to one up my self with something even more inappropriate than the last story.

Now what?

Do you want a story on me buying hemorrhoid cream? Maybe a tale of the time I burned the roast? Or how much Charlie Sheen paid me to sleep with him and how long he locked me in his closet? Gotcha....just making sure you're paying attention.

The life of a suburban wife is a very complex existence. I work; I clean; I cook--although I don't do any of the three particularly well and I'm beginning to feel like everyone else does it better. I ignore weird smells that reek of my step-kids, my dogs and yes, even my husband. I try to organize and look busy when I'm really thinking...what the hell should I do next?

And to top it all off....don't forget, I'm still young. Just 5 years ago I finished up my Senior year of College, where I lived off of bagel bites, wine coolers and one load of laundry a month. Now the majority of my friends are slightly older than me (I'm not going to tell your real age, Kath) and often refer to television shows I've never heard of....just once I wish someone would strike up a conversation about "Saved by the Bell". Then we could debate on who was hotter: AC Slater or Zack Morris and why Jesse got addicted to that SPEED in the first place.

I digress. All that to say, sometimes I still don't know what the hell I'm doing. Now, I live in a mammoth of a house and I go, "What, you mean to tell me your suppose to wash the dishes BEFORE you put them in the dishwasher?" A perplexing question, without a reasonable answer. It's a DISH "WASHER"

Mind you, I think I'm catching on to this whole wife, mother, Queen-of-my-Domain thing. It hasn't happened all at once; slowly but surely. That being said, I have my days where I feel like a total failure and I just don't think I will ever get it right.

But I've decided to bask in the little victories.

Victory in doing an entire basket full of laundry and not losing a single sock. Victory in my step-son eating an entire meal and not gaging once. Victory in my husband telling me he likes the flower arrangement I bought (he changed his mind after he saw the price tag). Victory in my mom coming to visit and her not spending her entire visit picking up after me. Victory in my step-kid's mom telling me "thank you for loving her kids". Victory in knowing how far I've come in the past year. Victory in knowing....even like this, I'm still way better than Paris Hilton.

SO CHEERS TO LITTLE VICTORIES! May we all bask in the glory of them from time to time.

Cooped Up in the House and School Projects

2011-02-01T19:12:00.004-06:00

Dallas shut down today because it was "too cold". You see, us Texans can't seem to function in temperatures below freezing. Our bodies begin to slowly shut down. Our phalanges begin to tingle and go numb; our nose's turn red and then the next thing you know- kidney failure. Our roads become ice coated labyrinths, our cowboy boots don't scoot like they should, we get athlete's foot and it becomes more hostile than a Whitney Houston concert. It's pretty much a total disaster-- the Great Snowcalypse of 2011.

After we (me, BH and the kids) braided each others hair a thousand times, squeezed all the toothpaste out of the tubes just out of sheer boredom and toilet papered our neighbor's trees we decided to be somewhat productive and work on Julia's school project--a commercial for a cereal made in Austria. Somehow, I forgot how freaking awesome I was at school projects and I ended up taking over the production. (I have to give credit, where credit it due and say BH came up with the idea).

Thought I would share the end results with you guys. I think it's Oscar material, or at least MTV movie award worthy.

Blissfully Bloated-Our Return from the Wine Country

2011-01-26T22:15:00.005-06:00

Buckethead and I just celebrated our one year anniversary in the wine country last week. It was amazing. I mean, an entire trip focused on my all time favorite adult beverage? Ummm,,YES please!

And not only that, what goes with wine? FOOD. Lots and lots of food. Particularly cheese. I LOVE cheese. Have I ever told you of my pure adoration of this amazing dairy product? The combination of the perfect sharp Cheddar with a little fruit and a cracker is a tri-fecta of yummy delicious goodness. I love cheese almost as much as I love bacon.....but I digress. This blog isn't about cheese, although I really like cheese. This blog is about my anniversary trip with my smoking hot husband.

We spent the first two days enjoying San Francisco and then headed up to the wine country for three days. Four pounds have been nicely added to my toosh (yes, I checked the scale) and we spent a small peddler's fortune on wine purchases (that's what you get for shopping whilst being tipsy) but it was one of the most romantic getaways I've ever been on.

Happy Anniversary to my traveling companion and my life companion--who happens to be peacefully snoring beside me. I love you, Buckethead--even if you do sound like a freight train.

Tooth Fairy Tales

2011-01-17T22:50:00.004-06:00

Tonight was a solo night for me with the kids. Buckethead assured me it would be an easy one, gave me a pep talk, a slap on the butt and a knuckle bump before he left entrusting me with his most valuable assets.

Inevitably, something of huge magnitude happened in his absence. Something bigger than Kim Kardashian's ass and Obama's ego; Mitch lost a tooth. And no, I didn't pull it. As it dangled from one nerve, I told him "Good luck buddy; you're on your own". Trust me, I would have passed out, thus causing my body to loose its ability to hold my bowels and it would have been a big mess--a big mess of poo. Huge. So seriously, I'm not a bad step-mom for refusing to help pull the tooth. Right?

I digress.

So the icing on the cake is that Mitch still believes in the Tooth Fairy. Well, throw me a pink tutu, some magic fairy dust and a disturbing obsession for collecting human teeth and BAHM...I AM the TOOTH FAIRY.

Have YOU ever been the tooth fairy? Do you understand the guilt you would have if you were the one who screwed up the whole mystery and magic of being paid for your tooth? (And not in the creepy way, like the guy in my office who I swear wants to make a necklace out of my teeth and a lampshade out of my skin) If you have, then you join me in understanding the seer importance yet overwhelming sense of responsibility that comes with being "The Tooth Fairy".

Thankfully, Tooth Fairy duty went on without a hitch. Somehow, God teaches people once they become parent's how to walk silently through a house, lift up a pillow with a heavy head on it , take out a tooth and stick a couple of bucks under it whilst never disturbing a single sleeping occupant in the house. Man, that would have been helpful when I tried to sneak out of the house when I was a teenager. It never worked--always got caught.

In the morning, I will throw my hands up with surprise when Mitch runs down the stairs to show me the $5 that magically appeared under his pillow last night. I will tell him that must mean he is one of the Tooth Fairies favorites and I will get to once again, be reminded of the sheer magic that it is to be a kid.

Not Much to Talk About

2011-01-13T19:23:00.003-06:00

If you haven't noticed, I've been on somewhat of a blogging hiatus. The problem isn't writers block, it's just that somehow for the first time in my entire life I really don't have much to say.

Seriously, this may be the first time I don't have something "me" focused to talk about. I mean, that is why people start blogs in the first place, right? To talk about themselves? Well, that's why I started one....And despite my efforts to make you believe that my life is interesting enough to dedicate an entire website to it, I feared you would realize that my life is well....normal. For now at least.

I mean, I could tell you about how Buckethead told me I looked pregnant the other night although he SWEARS what he meant to say is that I looked skinny and we should practice getting pregnant. Freudian slip? I think so. Regardless of that "mix up" in words, I didn't take it too seriously since I froze my arse off the other night in 28 degree weather doing military style boot camp. I threw up in my mouth.

Other than that and my search for the perfect hemorrhoid cream (for those dark circles under my eyes, of course) you will have to be patient until my all sorts of crazy return thus giving you an escape from your own reality into mine.

SPAM

2011-01-04T19:14:00.004-06:00

I'm trying to convince Buckethead that SPAM really IS good and that he should let me make it for dinner. Let's just call it a delicacy as I'm 100% positive that no one else in our neighborhood or in a 5 miles radius have SPAM in their pantry.

It's funny, you take me to a fancy restaurant and I will order the most expensive thing on the menu. But, my pallet is very "diverse" in the fact that Sponge Bob Mac and Cheese and a slab of SPAM sound pretty darn tasty to me.

I mean, my mom raised me on a dish called "Weenie Surprise" which surprisingly has the same name as a trick Buckethead likes to perform sometimes when we are alone in the bedroom. BOW-CHICA-WOW-WOW.

I digress.

"Wennie Surprise" --the food not the trick--in basically chopped up hotdog weenies over instant mashed potatos covered in marinara sauce.

Yes. This is truth. And no, my mom is not cruel. She is southern. Southern people are adventurous when it comes to their food pairings and always know that any cooking mistake can be corrected with either gravy or frosting.

I embrace my love of processed food and can only hope that one day I change my husband into appreciating the taste of canned meat.

Christmas 2010

2010-12-31T09:39:00.005-06:00

Random Ramblings

2010-12-22T15:23:00.006-06:00

I'm at home sick today and am watching the Presidential News Conference.

To be honest, I think it's kind of boring and I'm only watching it by default. I clicked on the The Ellen Show and I guess NBC deems Obama's importance slightly higher than a talk show. Is it bad that I care more about the Real Housewives of Atlanta and Kim's wig collection over how we are going to become a fiscally responsible nation or the removal of "Don't ask, don't tell"?

Sunday night we took the kids to Holiday in the Park at Six Flags. We got in a fight in line with a woman in a Looney Tunes sweatshirt and a missing tooth. This woman went all crazy on us and called Buckethead a "white trash hick that needed to get back to the trailer park" (BH did kinda dress the part: jeans, boots, Harley Davidson ball-cap, and a Carhartt jacket). I responded, "Well then, I guess we're neighbors. Need a ride home?".

She got her acid-washed pleated jeans in a bunch because BH wouldn't let her reorganize the entire line of 2,568 people to accommodate her desire that all 74 members of her family ride together. BH mumbled something to her under his breath that sounded a lot like the web address for weightwatchers.com. BH was a little excited afterwards, however, at the notion that he looked like a country hick -- "do I really look like a hill-billy?" he asked me all wide-eyed and hopeful. "Not really" -- your jacket costs over $100, so do your jeans, and I smell better than cupcakes" I responded. But then again, considering we were at Six Flags....when you lay with the dogs, you DO get fleas...

Two weeks ago, I never thought I would say this but, my Christmas shopping is done AND wrapped--with designer bows and personalized gift tags in the shapes of Poinsettias. Wow, I am SO domestic. At the rate I'm going, I might even make Santa cookies that aren't break and bake.

Since so many of you are special to me but I don't have your address because, after all, we DID meet on the internet. For all you know I'm a fat, hairy guy behind a computer who wants to make a lamp shade out of your skin and a necklace out of your teeth. But since, I didn't want you to miss out, I've attached our 2010 Christmas Card to share with you.

My Christmas List

2010-12-12T20:47:00.003-06:00

Santa Baby,

In contemplating what you will be placing under my Christmas Tree this year, please remember that I am by far the most well-behaved housewife in suburbia. Although you and I both know that isn't saying much, it should count for something, right? Don't think I didn't notice Mrs. Hoochie Britches in her new Mercedes Benz driving past me while I was shoving my dog's warm feces into a plastic bag. If she deserves that, I must be getting a space ship. I mean, I scoop my dog's poop from the neighbor's yard and she hits on everyones husband--I'm clearly the better candidate. Clearly.

Santa Baby listen, I know you're busy. I mean flying across the world in one night. You're not even on first class with the warmed nuts and fuzzy socks--your job ain't easy. At the point, I'm sure Mrs. Clause is fed up with your cranky attitude and is suggesting counseling and a group reading of the "5 Love Languages". Too often, ladies of leisure don't appreciate the hard work of their husbands. I understand Santa, I truly do.

That being said, I want to make your trip to my house as easy as possible. I mean, as you can tell I put the need of others before my own. Not trying to be presumptuous, but I'm going to go ahead and attach my list below.

1.) A secret room like David Letterman's. But Santa remember, I'm an angel. I would use it for good, not for porking over-weight interns. I was thinking of possibly using it for a scrap-booking room or maybe a sauna. The possibilities are endless.

3.) Adoration from all of my Blog followers. I'm kind of like Tinkerbell; I have to have applause to live.

4.)The original Nintendo. We all know that Mario Brothers changes World's civilization for the better.

5.) A sonicare toothbrush. Not much explanation for that one. I just want to be cavity free.... see how responsible I am Santa?

6.) Please make all girls who post a solo picture of themselves in a bikini for their Facebook profile pictures disappear forever....or at least from my news feed.

7.) Edward Cullen--the vampire. Not to be mistaken by Robert Pattinson--the actor.

8.) A chain email that really will make my wildest dreams come true if I forward it to 10 other people.

Any additional items can come from Neimans or infomericals. Oh and Santa, don't forget my spaceship.

All my love,

Feliz Navidad from Buckethead

2010-12-09T22:07:00.002-06:00

(Guest Blogger-Buckethead)

Having children takes Christmas and puts it on steroids for me. Not since I was a little guy in “Sigmund the Sea-monster” footie pajamas have I been so excited about Christmas. Although I am mature enough in my faith to know the real meaning of Christmas, seeing Christmas through the eyes of my kids adds so much joy to the season. I’m sure it’s the same for parents, grand-parents, and grown-ups everywhere.

When my kids were pre-K, we bought them a wooden play-fort/swing-set combo. The store told us the time for an individual to put it together was about 15 hours. I quickly pulled out the checkbook and did what any manly man would do – I wrote a check to have someone else put it together. Only problem? They were filling up the slots of the ‘construction crew’ and the only one we could get was December 19^th – almost a week before Santa’s arrival. So, we booked the crew and, on the morning of the 19^th, a small contingency of capable and friendly Hispanic men spent a couple of hours building the play-fort. Problem was – the kids saw it all. “What is going on Daddy?” “Why, those men are putting together one ofyour gifts from Santa – a PLAYFORT and SWINGSET!!” I said. “ YEA!!” they both exclaimed, jumping up and down and running around in glee. “But, how did Santa get it to us early? Doesn’t he deliver his toys and gifts on Christmas Eve? Who are those men?” I could tell their little minds were processing, looking for inconsistencies in my carefully laid out explanation. “Well, you see children, those are some of Santa’s elves – here to do some big manual labor and build the swingset for us.” “Oh, cool!” they shouted – “yea for Santa’s elves!” Whew – problem averted – yea for Santa’s elves at $25/hour.

Fast forward to the following week. Driving by a home construction site in our neighborhood, my daughter yells, “Daddy, Daddy!! Look at all those elves – somebody’s getting a whole house for Christmas.” Didn’t quite know how to recover from that one (how do I redirect that not all Hispanic construction guys are elves?!?!). And man, don’t even get me started on how hard I had to work a year later to try to convince my son that we were not, in fact, at the North Pole – we were in Cancun and no, Santa’s elves do not love tacos and the Macarena.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas, and when you sing Feliz Navidad, raise a Corona to Santa’s elves everywhere.

- BH

Ornament Night

2010-12-07T21:40:00.004-06:00

This weekend we carried out a "Gardner Family Tradition"-- The Green Jello Mold with Pineapple bits.

No, not really. But we did go a pick out an ornament for the Christmas tree. Buckethead and the kids have gone and picked out an ornament every year for the tree. Since this was my first year, I knew I had to be very particular on what ornament I picked for mine.

It HAD to be the best. It HAD to be "special".

After perusing the aisles of Hallmark for "the one" I finally set my eyes on the ornament that had JPO written all over it. It was beautiful. Amazing. A reflection of Me. A memoral ornament that could truly show case the memories of the year, 2010. It was like finding a needle in a hay stack.

But, guess what? I found the Needle! Drum roll, please. Cue the fog!

I found a Bella and Edward ornament from the "Twilight" series. It made me happy. Buckethead took an antacid and then proceeded to shake his head at me. He told me I was such a kid. I disagreed and then he took me to dinner where I made one big straw out of three.

Hmmmm......maybe he had a point.

Random Ramblings

2010-12-05T21:24:00.002-06:00

Today was day one in the 2010 Christmas shopping ordeal.

Mission: NOT accomplished.

My ~~self-absorbed tendencies~~ ADHD is often highlighted this time of year especially when I'm shopping for others. I'll be out and about, fully focused on the gift buying process, but within moments I will be mesmerized at all the wonderful, mystical, magical presents that should be under the Christmas tree for ME.

A magnetic force kept pulling me toward the Handbag section of Nordstroms. No matter how hard I fought, the tractor beam was too strong. Kind of like Star Wars.

But, I've never seen Star Wars. And if you make a comment that you "can't believe I've never seen Star Wars" then that only means one thing: you're a dweeb.

I made Buckethead my Christmas list today. Then I went into our home office and made a copy for him.....just in case he lost it. It's now laminated and posted on our fridge.

I made a sad, sad, heart-wrenching discovery: I'm allergic to tequila.

So long, sweet margarita. Adios Jose Quiervo.

You see, every time I drink tequila I piss my pants and forget who I am for about 30 minutes. Okay, maybe not that bad but I do end up on the toilet. Actually, that's where I am now.

I hate our dishwasher. I also highly-dislike our washer and dryer. My dishwasher was spraying dirty water all over the kitchen today, whilst my dryer's buzzer hung until I kicked it, spit on it, and told it his momma is so fat she sat on a rainbow and skittles popped out.

Our house is so pretty at Christmas time. It makes me happy. The house being all lit up is like living in a Lite Brite. (remember that 1980's classic?). Speaking of Lite Brites, whatever happened to the simple Christmas present request?

I'm shitting bricks at how pricey everything is this year.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't use that kind of language. I'm shitting rocks at how pricey everything is this year.

When I was a kid I told Santa I wanted Barbies and a real life Ken doll all for my self. (Thanks for B.H. Santa! He's better even better with his opposable thumbs and legs that bend) Now, all the kids want are IPod touches, laptops and some "Fusigee Gravity ball" which was sold out in the mall except for in the "As Seen On TV" store. That $30 piece of crap is going to break by New Years.

Happy Belated Birthday to Britney Spears and a few other old pals of mine had a Birthday, too.

Here's a tip: Never trust a man who wears more jewelry than you do.

O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!

2010-12-01T18:52:00.004-06:00

Gobble Gobble

2010-11-28T21:25:00.008-06:00

As I sit here with a red indention that is quite possibly permanently embedded in the soft flesh of my stomach from the jeans that magically shrunk over the weekend, I am painfully regretting my final helping of pumpkin cake and gravy which I may or may not have poured on top of my cake as a taste pairing experiment.

It was good.

Speaking of gravy, did you know that giblet gravy has heart pieces in it? Well, at least that's how we do it down here in the South. We also have "dressing" instead of stuffing and we go to the Homecoming Dance with our third cousin as our date.

I digress.

Regardless, we had a great Thanksgiving weekend down at my folks ranch. My husband who hasn't shot a deer since before I was born (age joke) killed a deer. It's too distressing to even speak of it.

Well, I'm not technically speaking...I'm typing.

Disclaimer: PETA, ASPCA, and Pamela Anderson please note that all animals killed in the writing of this blog will be promptly used for sausage, chili and new leather pants. Please do not come to my place of work and throw red paint on me or my coon skin cap.

Anyways, in Buckethead's attempt to bring home the bacon...err....venison, he someone managed blow the tail off a yearling (young deer) in attempt to kill it's mother.

We will be mounting the tail on a Japanese cherry oak plaque and will be hang it next to the jar that holds my husband's foreskin from his circumcision 40 years ago.

That's a joke.

Anyways, we had a great weekend filled with food, family and laughing until our pants split. Although that might have been the dumplings.

I often hear people complain about how spending time with their family can be a chore. I am beyond blessed to be in a family where our time together is a complete blessing. I am so very thankful for having them in my life.

The Gift

2010-11-22T21:55:00.008-06:00

My dad is one of the most giving men in this world. The best part about my Dad is the kind of gift giver he is; the giver that doesn't desire anything in return. Maybe that's why I've been blessed with the gift of RECEIVING. Yes, I am one of the best gift receivers you'll ever meet. Just buy me something and I'll prove it to you. If you need some suggestions, just email me and I'll send you over the Nordstroms catalog.

My dad always taught me when you give, you give when no one sees. That way the only treasure you receive is from God, not man. So normally, I don't deem it fit to brag or boast about charity, however I do find it very neccessary to fall on my knees and thank God for the amazing little man he is growing my step-son into.

Mitch (my 9 y.o. step-son) approached Buckethead a few weeks ago with a burden that was heavy on his heart. With sad eyes, he told his dad he wanted to help the homeless.

When Buckethead asked Mitch what gave him this desire, his response was, "God told me at church and it made me really sad".

Buckethead told Mitch to brainstorm how he would like to help the homeless. Not long after, Mitch came back to his dad and told him he would like to give the $100 he had been saving up this year to the homeless in downtown Dallas.

Buckethead and I agreed to match his one hundred dollars and we spent this past Saturday morning making care packages for the men who line up for a warm bed every evening at Austin Street Shelter. With 40 packages of cookies and $5 gift certificates to McDonalds, Buckethead, Mitch and I headed downtown to follow through with the desire God laid on my precious son's heart.

As I watched him walk towards the line of men, I was reminded of how blessed we are and how we are to use that to be a blessing to others. Soon a crowd surrounded this little boy who said yes to the calling of Jesus. He didn't let his fears deter him from what he needed to do.Instead, he just went to those precious people who had absolutely nothing to give in return and he showed them that they were "inscribed in the palm of God's hand". He gave to them and wanted nothing in return. The gift was the giving.
And as he walked back to the car, I wept. I wept for the lowly and the weak; I wept for those people who did not have a home, a bed or a family; I wept because life sometimes isn't fair. But those tears were also filled with such pride and such love that filled my heart for Mitch. For the heart of a child who loves Jesus and loves the people that Jesus' loves. At 9 years old, his heart was breaking for what breaks our God's heart. It was one of my most cherished moments.

After we left and I snotted all over the car and my sleeve, we spent the rest of the afternoon spending quality time together at the Dallas World Aquarium viewing amazing creatures that were God's gift to us. Maybe he feels the same way we did as he watches us enjoy his gifts.

Random Ramblings

2010-11-16T20:26:00.002-06:00

Work has been crazy busy. Busy is good. Busy is job security. I had about 10 minutes to myself today and that time was spent in the bathroom stall--must have had bad eggs for breakfast.

Buckethead is singing at the top of his lungs from the shower and I can't concentrate on writing a blog. His last lyrics were, "Nothing rhymes with plethora".

I actually married someone who is weirder than I am.

And has the ability to be just as annoying as me. Is that irony?

I'm not trying to cage Buckethead like a bird who's vocal cords yearn to fly--I just want him to shut up enough for me to be able to write about anything else besides how much he is getting on my nerves right now.

Okay, change of subject. Tip of the Day: Underwear is fun to wear. You can wear it anywhere. If you don't wear underwear, people will begin to stare.

Christmas music is finally being played across the radio waves. The holiday cheer has exploded like Jessica Simpson's thighs and I'm loving it more than she loves the extended Taco Bell hours.

It's funny, I was singing along to "Baby it's Cold Outside" on the commute home from work today and I had an epiphany on the true meaning of the song. Basically, it's some horny guy, blaming the weather and trying to get a girl drunk enough to enjoy his Yule-tide log.

Wait, that sounds a little familiar. If I remember correctly, the first winter I spent with Buckethead he "accidentally" turned on the sprinklers during a freeze thus making the driveway impassible for our cars. Even his 4 wheel drive Range Rover.

Aren't those things meant to go across the Serengeti?

I think he may have even used the line, "Baby it's cold outside".

I made dinner out of a bag tonight.

I'm still hungry.

The Halloween candy is going to be the death of me.

Okay, that's it. Nothing rhymes with plethora.

Birthday Buckethead

2010-11-14T18:49:00.005-06:00

Friday was Buckethead's birthday. When I asked him what he wanted as a gift he told me he wanted a pony.....or maybe it was a pony ride? That minor detail changes the gift entirely. Ya know what I'm sayin??! Since I found myself going back and forth on what exactly he asked for, I got him socks and underwear instead. Seriously, I bought Buckethead socks and underwear for his birthday. Then I jumped out of a giant cake.

Naked.

See, not so boring anymore huh? Okay, so maybe that didn't happen. But we did have an amazing birthday weekend celebrating the man who melts my butter. I know I brag on BH probably more than I should and some of you may want to stick your finger down your throat when you read my blog, but I can't help it! I LOVE HIM!

I'm so thankful we were able to celebrate the man who puts his family before himself each and everyday. He knows how to love me and how to lead us as a family. We jump on the opportunity to show him how much he means to us...thus the socks and underwear purchase.

BH and I spent a romantic evening I planned at Stephan Pyles restaurant. It was obviously very fancy as you can tell by the sophisticated way they spelt Steven. I even made the reservations all by myself. Yes, I was proud of myself....I haven't done that since our first date!

We celebrated as a family at Bucca di Peppo where we went around the table and said what we loved about BH. Mitch told us he loved Mark because, "he was a great dresser and good at baseball".

Happy Birthday love of my life! I'm so proud of the man that you are and I think you're really hot, too!

Halloween 2010 Pictures

2010-11-07T19:48:00.004-06:00

I know, I know. It's a week after Halloween and I'm just now posting the pictures. And I'm fully aware that I've been a little absent lately. It's just that I'm so busy in the real world that frankly, I just haven't had time. My popularity has exploded to just magnitude that they created a Silly Band after me. No seriously, they did. It's purple and you can buy it at Wal-Mart. It's real nice.

Anyways, back to Halloween. After many sleepless nights and much contemplation, I decided to go as myself for Halloween: a Gold Digger. I'm kidding. But, I did go as a Gold Digger. I got all Martha Stewart and made my costume. Buckethead went as "Alan" from The Hangover complete with "Baby Carlos" in tow. (No Mom, do not go rent this movie).

I hope everyone had a great weekend! Now, I'm going to try to convince Buckethead to put on the fat suite and wig for bed tonight.....hey, I thought he looked hot.

Loving and Being Loved

2010-11-05T11:37:00.001-05:00

Buckethead here – JPo’s loving husband and occasional guest blogger. JPo has been extremely busy lately – job, life, and our TiVO is filling up with shows that have to be watched before they get deleted – PRIORITIES PEOPLE! But she misses each and every one of you and wishes she could spend more time with you here in bloggerville.

Today, I’m going to channel my inner Barry Manilow and talk about L-O-V-E. No John Wayne Marlboro Man stuff here – ooeey gooey, Lucy & Ricky, Mickey & Minnie kind of love. Get your Ben & Jerry’s, put on your PJ’s, jump up in the bed, light a candle, and read on!

Do you understand love? In my life, I have known 5 types of love (wait, all you perverts --- don’t jump ahead!!). They are:
(1.) The love of family,
(2.) “puppy love”,
(3.) brotherly love,
(4.) the love of JPo (my wife), and
(5.) the love of God.

They are different, and yet they are the same.

Different:
My best friend in the world is G-man. We’ve been best buds since 6th grade. Together, G-man and I have climbed mountains all over the world including Kilimanjaro in Africa. We’ve got each other’s back. I would take a bullet for G-man, and he for me. We share tents together. We pull each other’s finger. We do life together. I love G-man.

vs.

My wife is JPo. She excites me like no other person on the face of this earth. You should live in my shoes for a day. Catch her smiling -- it’s intoxicating. Watch her doing a little happy dance at the thought of a fun evening. See her sing in front of the mirror as she get’s ready. Notice her tender heart for others, animals, me – all of life. Listen to her tell a funny story. Let her compliment you. Check out her quirks and funny personality traits. See her in her night gown…okay, that one is only for me! I trust her heart. I crave her. I want to be around her more than anyone. I want to be a great man for her. I want to pursue her. I love JPo.

I don’t think I can interexchange the G-man and JPo descriptions above, although you should see G-man in a night gown! Different.

Same:
I choose both of them. I choose them. I choose to love them. Not just because of who they are (which alone would be worthy), not just because they love me (which is the greatest compliment and puts wind in my sails) – but because, I see them both as a gift. A gift from God.

Sorry, but I’ve got to put this in guy terms. I love cars. If I could, I’d own 100 or more. Fast ones, classic ones, off-road ones, luxury ones. I’ve owned some amazing cars: Convertible Porsches, BMW’s, Range Rover, Harley Davidson motorcycle – but my all-time favorite was a candy-apple red 1967 Mustang that I drove in high school. I owned a silver 1967 Mustang GT convertible as an adult, but the candy-apple red one was my favorite.

“Why?” you ask. “Because is was your first?” No – because it was a gift. My first car was purchased, lovingly restored, and given to me by my grandfather, Pop-Pat. Pop-Pat is huge in my life. I miss him daily. He was larger than life in my eyes – capable of doing anything. He was, perhaps, the coolest man I have ever known. And this man, my grand-dad, made me a car. ME! I loved it.

I loved the smell of the car. I loved the sound. I loved the freedom it gave me. It didn’t go fast at first, until I found out my loving grandfather put a governor on the carburetor to limit the speed. Then, upon removal, it went REALLY fast! I made lots of memories in that car – like the time I revved the engine up to peel out in front of my friends – only to blow gasoline all over the engine and catch the car on fire. Don’t worry, after running around and screaming like a 10-year old girl, I put the fire out.

But mostly, I loved the fact I could see the “hands” of my grandfather all over the car. He crafted part of the heater with a Folger’s coffee can. My interior could reach a balmy 206 degrees Fahrenheit in 21 minutes! I loved the car because it was a loving gift from a loving man. I was, in summary, grateful. It was a gift I couldn’t fathom – and the hours spent pain-stakingly crafted – every little detail in love and care for a grandson. I miss my Pop-Pat so much just typing these words.

And this brings me back to love – whether from JPo or G-man: what a gift. And the giver? None other than the Creator of the Universe. To think that God loves me so much to bless me with G-man, or JPo, or others in life – ME! I can’t fathom it – I can only be grateful and return that love, and cherish the gift. Like the Mustang, I see the “hands” of God all over the loved ones in my life. And to think God loves me this much – ME!

These people aren’t perfect – they blow gasoline all over things and catch on fire on occasion – but to me, considering the gift – I love them, and I wouldn’t want anyone else.

Choose to love people – see your loved ones as a gift. You have been blessed with real love – not fake, fading, emotional, fickle worldly love (aka “as seen on TV”), but REAL love. REAL love isn’t perfect, but something wonderful. REAL love can hurt, but it’s oh so worth it. Put yourself out there – love, and be grateful for the “gift” of others in your life. Be thankful you are so loved by the Father.

I close with an excerpt from a great children’s book my Mom read me, and I in turn have read to my kids. The story illustrates that love isn’t a feeling, an emotion, or fading. It’s a process, a choice and a gift.

THE VELVETEEN RABBIT

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

But the Skin Horse only smiled.

Vote!

2010-11-02T15:44:00.002-05:00

Have you voted, yet? If not, what are you waiting for?

I did! I called 5 times and voted for Bristol Palin and Jennifer Grey....oh, wait, wrong election. Oops! It's easy to confuse a general election and Dancing With the Stars, right?? RIGHT??!

Anways, go out and vote. Vote Republician; vote Democrat or vote for Pedro! But if you don't vote, you can't complain. And life's not fun if you can't bitch about something.

My motto for the day: "If you can't say something nice about a democrat, come sit next to me!"

Happy Election Day friends!

In the Aftermath of an Egg Salad Sandwich

2010-10-29T10:00:00.000-05:00

My step-daughter had her first pimple this morning. She walked into my bathroom with a confused look on her face and said, “There’s this weird pump on my nose that’s bothering me”.

Pulling her by her shirt sleeve into the light of the mirror, sure enough right smack dap in the middle of her cute, button nose was her very first zit. Upon my initial discovery, it became my mission in life to pop it and announce victory over the clogged pore. Ignoring her moans and “ouches” I poked and prodded at the thing until I realized it just wasn’t ready to pop. I drew back and recognized that I was only making the thing worse. Not only did she have a zit but now she had a red nose and her step-mom’s finger indentions on the side of her face. She was going to have to go to school with a zit on her nose and there was nothing I could do about it.

I tapped her on the butt and sent her on her way. I felt guilty but not really because when I was in 6th grade I got caught stuffing my bra and was on the 3rd string of the B-team basketball team.—it doesn’t get more pitiable and uneasy than that. And did I mention I didn’t start my period until high school??? Yep, I was a looser.

I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It’s funny I have a tendency to “over share” to you guys about bowel movements, sex and when my last bikini wax was, but often I find myself less inclined to share the hard truths of I’m sad or stressed or sometimes how I feel life isn’t fair.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware of the blessings in my life. But honestly a lot of things that have been out of my hands have given me a recent spell of restlessness and lack of peace. I feel like the zit on my step-daughter’s nose—like I’m ready to pop any minute but I can’t so I just stay put like a giant eye-sore.

Because of this I haven’t been sleeping well and I think I’ve developed a stomach ulcer. When I do sleep, I have these crazy weird dreams—and unfortunately not the good kind where people are frolicking around naked.

I like to give you guys the impression that I know all the answers. That I’m so wise beyond my years and you run to my blog for astute guidance and incisive advice. Kind of like the Dali Lama in heels….holding a glass of wine…..sitting on the toilet…..reading US Weekly…..whilst writing a blog.

But, I’ve got to be honest; I don’t really know what to do next. Cling to my family during this personal trial in my life. Appreciate my husband and my blessings. Pray. Try and get over it.

I’m sure some of you are cackling in delight thinking, “Finally, she understands that she’s crazy!” and you think I need to be locked in a padded cell and playing ring around the rosey with myself all day long.

Sigh. There’s really no sum up or conclusion to this blog. And who knows maybe this is all stemming from the Egg Salad sandwich.

Poor Choices

2010-10-25T13:15:00.002-05:00

I just bought an egg salad sandwich from 7-eleven for lunch. There was nothing heavenly about that sandwich. Egg salad will be coming out of me in some form or fashion within the next hour.

Egg Salad was a bad choice.

I got the great idea to shave my arms. Not sure why I decided this should be a new part of my grooming regimen, but ce la' vie I shaved the arm hair right off to go along with the rest of my hairless body. My arms feel like they are covered in hay needles and now I'm cold. I miss my fur.

Shaving my arms was a bad choice.

I told my husband that if the Texas Rangers made it to the World Series, he should get tickets regardless of cost. They hadn't made it in 39 years thus I assumed this year wouldn't be any different. Don't get me wrong, I root for the Rangers, but my heart belongs to the Astros. Needless to say, the Rangers are going to the World Series. Bye, Bye, new Frye boots and groceries for the month--Hello, World Series Tickets.

Doubting the Rangers was a bad choice.

Now, I must cut this short. My first poor choice is rearing its ugly head-- no pun intended.

Home Tour- The Master Bedroom

2010-10-20T18:37:00.007-05:00

oooooohhhhhh yeahhhhh. This is where all the magic happens.

That's right. In this week's home tour, I'm going to invite you into the sacred land of my bedroom. The place that holds the key to some of my most precious and intimate moments; the place where things classified as "adult only" are allowed and I'm free to enjoy the thrill. I find all of this and more in my bedroom which holds......my TIVO.

In my bedroom is where I'm allowed to record my guiltiest of pleasures such as The Real Housewives of anything, Sister Wives, Tori and Dean, Jersey Shore and Tosh.O. Our home holds two TIVOs. One in the living room, which is kid friendly and filled with Disney crap and then there's MY TIVO. The TIVO that Buckethead takes one look at, rolls his eyes and sighs.

And that's not all thats great about this room. I also have sex in it.

Yep, I just said that.

Okay, come on. I'm MARRIED. It's not that big of a deal.

So, I hope you enjoy the pictures. I big puffy pink heart my bedding. I had to sell a kidney to afford it, so you better comment on how freaking amazing you think it is!

Halloween and Hookers

2010-10-19T16:57:00.002-05:00

Today's blog is brought to you by the letter H.

It’s that time of year again. The time when closet hoochie momma’s across the planet start preparing for their favorite holiday of the year: Halloween. The night where sluts can be sluts and no one can say a damn thing about it.

This concept has always cracked me up. Every woman has the word “sexy” as the descriptive in her costume. Someone is either a sexy cop, or a sexy fairy or a sexy Strawberry Shortcake. Ahem, Strawberry Shortcake was NOT sexy. She was stubby, wore a terrible looking hat and had cankles.

One time I saw an acquaintance of mine walk into a party in see-thru lingerie with a tag hanging off of her that said “$5 Hooker”. Casually I walked up to her and asked why she decided not to dress up that year.

Bad-a-bing.

True story.

I digress.

So, in searching for my Halloween costume this year I’m kind of at a loss for whom to be. Every costume in the store was of two extremes. One, so cute it made me throw up in my mouth and the other were costumes designed for Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends. And I don't look like Hugh Hefner's girlfriends. Cellulite is Cellulite....even on Halloween ladies.

Mind you, I don’t think I’m at the stage where I want to dress up as a giant M&M and convince Buckethead that we should be “twinkies”. Nor, do I think it wouldn’t be nice to find something to wear that makes me feel good about my self and a little sexy. However, there’s nothing a little sexy about these costumes. It’s down right whore wear.

Side note: I once misspelled on my blog the word whore as hoar and my pastor brother (God loves him….No seriously, God like REALLY loves him. They are BFF. He can wear the Jesus is my Homeboy shirt and make it legitimate) wrote me an email saying: “You need to learn how to spell-check. You can’t even get your curse words right.”

Anyways, back to the story.

I’m stumped. My psyche won’t allow me to be anything that is unoriginal therefore my costume should emanate my creative dominance over all my peers. Yet, somehow despite my awesomeness, I have a feeling my costume is going to be one of mundane facade.

So, whose it going to be? Snookie, Lady Gaga, Where's Waldo, Little Wayne, an illegal immigrant?

Who knows, maybe I'll give in and find the fulfillment I so desperately seek in the form of a Naughty Nurse costume.

Random Ramblings

2010-10-12T18:44:00.003-05:00

I just ran three miles.

Impressive, I know.

Somehow three miles justify me drinking wine....alone.

They say, alcoholics are the one's who drink alone. What do "they" know anyways? And who is "they"? I'm guessing "they" are the PTA, Willy Wonka's Umpa Lumpas or the Southern Baptist Convention of Texas. Just a guess.

Anyway, I think Florence Henderson is awesome on Dancing With the Stars. I mean, did she really dry hump like a pubescent teenage boy on the dance floor in last night's show? It was hot. I'm 40 years her junior and my knees hurt.

Like, I think I need some Icy-Hot rub or a margarita.....anything to ease the pain.

We went to the State Fair over the weekend. I ate Fried Frito Pie, Fried Oreos and a Corn Dog. This year I managed to not throw up in the bushes (yes, this happend last year). My guess it because I gracefully passed on the chicken fried bacon.

I don't feel bad about it indulging but my ass is saying a different story.

Speaking of my ass, it's gotten larger. That's why I went running.

I really need a bikini wax.

I bet that last confession made my mom really uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel guilty for being a little more vocal than my southern momma raised me. But, I figure I'll just pay off her house when my slightly crude words make me a HUGE STAR (it will happen, right?) At least I didn't say vagina.

Last year I managed a winning sports team. It was a fantasty football team, but I won, never the less. And then I gloated in my victory and yelled, "nana-nana boo-boo, stick your head in doo-doo" to my co-workers; sent out a company wide email thanking everyone for their support and told them I would be collecting the $50 owed from each of them by the end of the day.

I wasn't invited back this year to participate.....It kind of hurt my feelings.

Oh, and I have a very expensive purse. It broke. This proves materialism is alive and well. They really aren't "better quality", they just have a logo all over it.

When I was little, I use to paint my nails with liquid paper. I also told my second grade class that "Sex was a beautiful thing for our mommy's and daddy's".

I still don't like my second grade teacher.

I should go make dinner now.

Home Tour: Dining Room

2010-10-11T20:46:00.005-05:00

I've decided to jump on the band wagon and feature a room in my home each week for my blog-viewers. Technically, if I were to show you my favorite spot in my home, where JPO finds her "me" time, it would be a picture of the toilet. However, since there is really nothing special about our toilet, I wont waste your time.

We are starting in the Dining Room for the Home Tour. Why, do you ask? Since we've only used this room ONCE since we've been together, it's definitely not one of the most used rooms in our home. But, the dining room set was the first piece of furniture we bought together. And BH and I have also used the dining room table for "other" recreational activities if ya know what I'm sayin...... kidding (kind of).

Though this room is rarely used, I love it. I forget about it sometimes, but when I go to check for dog poop under the table, I always think, "Man, we should really use this room more often". Then I am reminded that it is a dining room and in order to dine one must cook. And after much contemplation, I decide it may be a pretty room but it ain't that pretty.

So, I hope you enjoy. You can pretend I am having you over for a dinner party, serving escargot for an appetizer and a nice fillet of fish for the main entree. You better dream it because the reality in our home is Hamburger Helper with a side of canned green beans. Man, I'm glad my husband loves me anyways...

(Side note: Although, I am no cooking extraordinaire , I am on a mission to change this. I baked a pie--from scratch...I plan to share my experience later in the week)

Guest Blogger, Buckethead: What I Know about Women

2010-10-08T12:37:00.003-05:00

What I know about Women….

I used to joke that I was going to write a book, a large coffee table book, entitled, “What I Know About Women.” It was going to be a big, thick, beautifully bound book. But, on the inside, there were only blank pages. Page after page of blankness. Nothing. Except for the middle page – there’d be a drawing of….uhem….uhh….a lady’s mysterious body parts. That’s it. Nothing more.

Yep, that sums up what I know about women. 200 pages of nothing – except a hoo-hah. Nothing more. That’s all I know about women.

Hold on a second -- I need to set the stage. Most of you on here only know a little about me from the excerpts of my guest-blogging or from JPo’s random comments. You don’t have the full picture, so here are some things about me you should know:

I’m well-rounded. I play guitar, piano, basketball, mountain climb, read those book thingy’s, and can win most games of “Scene-it!” (except the “New Moon” edition).
I’m rather educated – as demonstrated by the fact I just used “rather” in a sentence.
I’m accomplished – I’ve managed to succeed in the business world for 17 years now despite the fact that no one seems to question me on my claim that I invented the semi-colon.
I have a mom, sister, daughter, ex-wife, ex-girlfriends, and one incredible woman of a wife à therefore I do have a context of women. Plus, I’ve seen Beaches, Steel Magnolias, She’s Having a Baby, My Best Friend’s Wedding, The Notebook, and several movies with Hugh Grant. I’m qualified.

Yet despite all my qualification, you gals are such a mystery. A quandary. A cornucopia of constant confusion, chaos, change, emotions, estrogen, contradiction of terms, and complexity. There is nothing in the world more fragile than an unbreakable woman; they are born able to read minds and in all of it women are all so glorious and beautiful and we can’t stop (why we wouldn’t ever want to stop) falling in love with them.

I’ve been married to JPo for 9 months now, and with her a total of 26 months (when you hit 2 & ½ years, you no longer count in months…). So, I’m starting to learn a great deal about women. For instance, I now know:

(1.) Temporary insanity is real. Really REAL!! From what I’ve seen, women seriously could be acquitted of any crime if it’s that time of the month. Do you know why they call it PMS? Because Mad Cow Disease was taken. I feel sorry for what you women go through – I truly do. Bloating, cycle, roller coaster emotions, pain, cramping, discomfort – and that’s just when you miss a shoe sale at Nordstrom’s!! But menstruation? Terrible. I think God invented the monthly thing with women so we men don’t get too comfortable and complacent with our women, thinking we’ve got this ‘relationship’ thing figured out. Because just when you think, “oh man, she digs me – I’ve got this relationship on cruise control, “ BAM!!! She stabs you in the throat with a table lamp because your tone was off when you asked her, “Hey, what’s for dinner?” It keeps us on our toes, sleeping with one eye open.
(2.) You deal with stress differently than us men. Take this for example: I’ve had a really hard week at work, my car is in the shop, and I’m feeling blue. I call up my guy friends and say, “Rick, Jeff, Chris – look, it’s been a hard week and tonight I want it to be just us guys and I need to dance. I just need me and my boys, no girls, and I just want to dance everything out of my system and let my cares be swept away to the rhythm of the night and some cosmopolitans. Rick, what are you going to wear? Can I borrow that Dickies pant-suit? No, the hunter green one you wore last week at the deer lease. Let me take a soak in the tub and I’ll meet you at the club at 9pm.” Yeah. That will never happen. No, I would go on the patio, drink a beer, and stare at the fountain in the pool. Or maybe I’d play a violent fighting game on the Wii. Or go for a run, lift some weights, or punch a kitten. But the difference is this: women vent in packs à men most often vent solo, if at all. But, I will say this – man’s failure to properly vent more often than not results in us taking it out on you women. You are much better at this than we are – maybe you are on to something…where are my Dickies???
(3.) Girls are like nun chucks: they are awesome! But when u mess up it hurts ...a lot. You girls are smart. Men can be mean – up-front, full head-on, nothing surprising or hidden in our attack. Blunt, rude, un-thoughtful, and cruel. Ruthless and terrible in our ‘shock-and-awe’ way in which we attack our women. We wound with our words like a dull instrument. But women? You are like Navy Seals or Special Forces – you can sneak up, lay down a line of nuclear bombs, and be gone before we can even utter, “Did you hear something??” If more men would realize that a woman can say more in a sigh than a man can say in a sermon, then we’d be on our best behavior a lot more often. Men are not wise to pick fights with women. Women get the last word in every argument. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument. I have an idea that the phrase "weaker sex" was coined by some woman to disarm some man she was preparing to overwhelm. A woman is like a tea bag - she only knows her strength when put in hot water.

Those are just some of my thoughts. To generalize on women is dangerous. To specialize on them is infinitely worse. But in conclusion I always come back to this: I love my woman. All of her. She is complex, passionate, crazy at times, funny, a hot mess, frustrating, and intoxicating. Life would be so boring without her. I think God knew what he was doing when He made women – especially my woman. I think that man is not a perfect picture of God. Neither is woman. Together, the unique attributes of both man AND woman combined represents the best picture of who our God is. Wild, but logical. Passionate, but constrained. Fierce, but gentle. Loyal, yet jealous. Just, but forgiving. This is how God intended it to be – and why He wanted Adam and Eve together in the first place – so we would know a little bit more about His love for us. Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men. Whatever women do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good -- luckily, this is not too difficult (for women). So, I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out women, or even my woman, but I have figured out this: I love my woman and for any short-coming or complexity or challenge or craziness I’ve articulated, I’m beyond certain it’s all due, in part, to something I’ve done. It’s all man’s fault. See? I guess I really have figured out women!!

Guest Post

2010-10-06T08:26:00.002-05:00

Good morning!

I guest blogged for Aly over at her super cute blog, Analyze This. Check it out. I promise to be back on the blog circuit soon; you know I can't go too long without talking about myself.

http://blogginaly.blogspot.com/

New York Girls Trip

2010-09-28T19:05:00.002-05:00

You Live, You Learn

2010-09-22T09:29:00.000-05:00

This week will mark the two year anniversary of my blog, Crying Over Spilled Milk. For those of you that have joined me in this journey, let me take a moment to say thank you. It has been quite a rollercoaster we have been on these past couple of years, hasn’t it? A few downs, many ups and a couple of “I think I’m going to puke” moments. But somehow, through it all (even the poop stories) you have stuck by my side through the stink; laughing with me, crying with me, pitying me, but most importantly you’ve been praying for me. Your compassion, understanding and love means more than you know. So thank you, thank you, thank you!

Let’s recap this journey, shall we?

The tale began with a divorce; a divorce that crooked me into a cynic; a divorce that made me question God; a divorce that turned my world upside down and broke my heart into a million pieces. Two years ago, I didn’t comprehend why I had to go through all that heartache. I couldn’t wrap my arms around believing anything good or just ever coming out of such a travesty. At such a young age, I found myself alone, frail and broken, grieving a relationship that ended up being a great disappointed to both parties involved. My heart told me it wasn’t fair. My mind told me I didn’t deserve it. God told me nothing because I refused to listen.

I was bitter and angry. It felt good to put the blame on my Ex’s shoulders. But mind you, I had guilt. Crazy guilt. The kind of guilt that crept in and consumed my mind in the most silent of nights. But I wasn’t ready to face it. Medicating myself with anti-depressants, working until all hours of the night and slipping further and further into a state of apathy seemed to be the only treatment to alleviate the ache in the pit of my stomach.

Starting this blog helped me process what had happened to me only a few months before. Writing down my thoughts and sharing them with people who actually seemed to care is what initiated the learning and growing process for me.

I learned that in the moments when you are unabashedly bawling your eyes out is when you receive the most clarity. I learned in the silence and in the lonely nights how to enjoy myself, for once. I learned that it’s hard to forgive people but it’s even harder to forgive yourself. I learned that once you reach forgiveness for someone else, it gives you an indescribable joy and peace and I’m hoping to one day know how fully forgiving myself will feel. I learned that when I prayed but felt like God wasn’t even around, that Jesus heard my every word wept and he held me in his arms through it all. I learned that laugher can be the best medicine. I learned asking people for their opinions doesn’t always feel good and sometimes can hurt deeper than you thought. I learned to trust in God’s providence. I learned that it’s okay to grieve hurt, even if it’s self inflicted. I learned how to take the blame for my own actions and release the burden off of people’s shoulders that didn’t deserve to carry it on their own. I learned that I hurt many people deeply. I learned the pain of recognizing it all.

But, I now know all those tough lessons were preparation leading me to a deeper understanding of the love of our Heavenly Father and into the arms of a man I thank God everyday for. There are times when I am sitting with my husband, watching him laughing at a funny T.V. show, helping with the dishes or carefully concentrating as he shaves his beard and I silently thank God for my previous divorce so I never take for granted the love he and I share. Through God’s precious grace, I have been giving a second chance at a beautiful family. He has blessed me with Buckethead and two amazing step-kids. I now have the love of three very special people who build me up, encourage me and love me despite my flaws. He has turned this story that was once a tragic one into a beautiful love story.

I am anxious to see where this story of my life heads. All I know is that I have a great partner in life who I have committed my heart and soul to that I can’t wait to go through this ride with. Maybe one day, Crying over Spilled Milk will have an entirely different connotation (I’m talking babies, people!) for Buckethead and me. But, where ever this road leads us, I will remember to be thankful for all of it. You live, you learn. You cry, you learn. You loose, you learn. You love, you learn.

Master-bath Re-Vamp

2010-09-19T17:50:00.007-05:00

I know I haven't been much of a blogger lately. As the saying goes, "No news is Good news," this is true in my case. Life is going pretty peachy, my friends. BUSY but peachy, none the less. I mean, I could entertain you with Tales from the Toliet or how a load of whites managed to turn pink in the laundry last week, (Geeze, I HATE when the laundry fairy does that) but I also try to sensor myself in hopes I won't get a call from my mother or worse; my pastor brother.

One little task that kept me busy recently, was I decided to "update" the master bathroom in our house. Although there were many advantages to marrying my sweet buckethead (he can reach the top shelf, he's a human heating pad and he's a pretty good kisser, too) one of the coolest bonuses was that I moved out of my 700 square foot apartment into a beautiful home. However, since he has lived in this house we now share for going on 9 years, sometimes I feel like I need some of my touches in it to make it truly home to me.

But trying out your creativity for the first time on a very expensive house, can be a little intimidating, not to mention kind of stupid. It would be one thing if I hadn't been a wall texturizing virgin, but reading a "how-to" instruction guide via google as my only preparation, may not have been wise. Regardless of Buckethead's fear we would end up with a disaster on our hands and an unfixable problem on the walls of his largest investment, he agreed to let me spread my creative wings and fly.

After the taping alone took 4 hours, I was starting to highly regret my decision. However, pressing on, I spent the next two weeks stripping wall paper, texturizing, painting, tearing down mirrors, making 4 trips to different stores to find mirrors and hanging mirrors (all with Buckethead's help, of course). Below it the result of our hard work.

Before:

After:

"The Millers"

2010-09-13T16:18:00.004-05:00

After a year and a half of slipping in and out of the services unnoticed, Mark and I finally joined our church this weekend. I should mention that it wasn’t completely my fault that this took so long. Becoming a member of this church wasn’t as easy as I thought. You can’t just walk up the aisle to the preacher with arms wide open, fill out a piece of paper and give a scout’s honor that you were baptized when you were 8. Buckethead and I had to attend a 5 hour member’s class before we were allowed to add our name to the church’s Holy Roller roster.

Regardless, Buckethead and I were pretty excited about the class. Mind you, we were told that the class would give us the opportunity to get to know other people in a more intimate setting that is hard to find in a church of 4,000 members. So, Saturday morning arrived and I promptly jumped out of bed, preparing myself for the day’s festivities; eager to break bread or share a latte’ with our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.

Rocking a pair of jeans with blinged out crosses (I thought it was a nice touch) and a button down shirt that covered enough skin even my father would be pleased, we grabbed our table number upon arrival and headed over to meet the other table occupants that I had dreamed would become our new best friends—good friends; the secret casserole recipe trading type of friends.

But then we met “The Millers” at table number 4. I check my number to make sure this isn’t a mistake. I check it again. My number is still 4. I then proceed to stare at my number really hard and cross-eyed in hopes that I may have some superpower I’ve never known existed that would allow me to change the number with my complex mind…..nope, that didn’t work either.

My heart drops into my stomach and I start frantically looking for someone to barter my pack of juicy fruit gum and a gel pen for an incognito table switch. But I recognized my hunt was useless; no one who want to trade us. My original hope for friendship quickly vanished.

Before I continue, I must note that I do feel somewhat guilty about my initial judgment. I mean listen, my heart isn’t coal black and I don’t reek of sulfur (except after a late night visit to Taco Bell). My mom taught me you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and besides, I was at a church function for crying out loud! But you don’t understand. There we sat across from 4 of the most unhappy, socially awkward people I’ve ever met in my entire life.

Attempting to give the family who’s tense glare and failure to blink made me more nervous that the time I got stuck in an elevator for 2 minutes with a man who had a striking resemblance to Bin Laden (turned out he worked in the basement deli). But guess what? My initial opinion was correct. These people REFUSED to talk with us. They wouldn’t say a word other than to mumble that they were “The Millers” that they didn’t like their old church, and that they had nothing to say. It was more likely that Brad Pitt would walk into the room shirtless to serve me a hotdog than this family attempt to get to know us.

Seriously. I'm waiting Brad Pitt.....

And to make matters worse, every 30 minutes we were suppose to have a group discussion that they voluntarily chose not to participate in, leaving Buckethead and I to discuss “get to know you questions” amongst ourselves. So Buckethead got to learn that I loved red wine and worked in HR. With my head perched on my hand, I gazed at the table to our right who were laughing, fellowshipping, and frolicking amongst a field of wild flowers, holding hands, singing ring around the rosy together (well, close enough). I was envious--jealous. I even tried to lean towards their table and laugh along side of them but it didn’t work.

In the end, I didn’t get the fellowship I was hoping for, but I did become a member of the church Buckethead and I hope to grow our family in for years to come. And to look on the bright side, at least we didn’t have to end our team building with a trust fall or anything…”The Millers” sooo would not have caught me.

These are my Confessions

2010-09-02T15:37:00.003-05:00

I have a confession. Mind you, I've been needing to confess this for a long time, however I've been too embarrassed to face the music. What can I say? I guess I'm a follower. I hate being different. Now, I tried and I tried to change, but my efforts were useless. I tried to ignore this feeling but it kept coming to the surface like the aftertaste of bad sushi. But I realized perhaps it's time to come clean. So, here's the truth:

I hate shows about cakes.

It's CAKE, ladies. I don't need to watch Cupcake Wars, Cake Battle, Dream Cakes, Who's the Boss of the Cake or whatever the crap is called. I mean, how does TLC get away with these pathetic excuses for a T.V. show? I would rather watch a make-out scene from the series about the creepy old couple that have 19 kids than be forced to sit through an hour long segment about the drama of baking.

However, my girlfriends love these shows. I smile during the conversation of these cake shows, nodding my head in agreement so hard I nearly have a concussion. But, I just can't relate. Aside from the fact I like to EAT cake, there is nothing else in my realm of interest that would make watching these shows remotely entertaining.

That being said, it makes me question: Does this make me less of a domestic woman? Is the fact that I would rather watch Jersey Shore get their GTL on, or people busting it on Wipe out embarrass my gender? Perhaps I am flawed as a homemaker. Are we all suppose to enjoy cooking shows? Who killed JFK? Does this define us as women? Did Yankee Doodle really name is feather macaroni? Should I fake it, till I feel it?

Sometimes I feel like my transition into suburbia is completed. Until, I try to sit through an episode of some cranky, fat people frosting a cake and then I quickly realize-- nope, nope, not there yet.

The Bunny

2010-08-30T17:22:00.005-05:00

Buckethead rescued a baby bunny out of the pool. Immediately, I swept in and grabbed the bunny. I pet him, I loved him and I named him George. But, I called him Bunny for short.

We brought him in the house, wrapped him in a towel and watched the Little League World Series. China won--despite the fact that they're a communist country and their plastics can be toxic.

Bunny stayed with us for 30 minutes. We fell in love with each other. He loved me despite my inch long black roots and I loved him despite his little rabbit poop pellets but I knew I needed to get him back to his family. Have you ever read "Watership Down"? If you haven't, you just don't understand the "bunny community" like I do. So I did what was best and put him in the bushes in the front yard (far away from the pool) and sang my heart out to Elton John's "Circle of Life".

I cried.

That's the end of the bunny story.

The Women Who Shaped Me

2010-08-26T21:23:00.003-05:00

Happy "Birthday Month" to my Mom and my Grandmother.

These two women are amazing. Seriously, I'm not just saying that so my Grandmother will STILL send her adult grandchild a $100 on my birthday (which she still does) or so my mom will take me out for a pedicure then instruct the poor Chinese man on the proper way to clean out the foot whirl pool (which will occur, no doubt). No, although those are nice bonuses, their fabulosity goes well beyond that.

One thing I love about my mom, besides the fact that she is insanely gorgeous and looks like she has botox without having botox (fingers crossed for that gene) is she will always speak her mind. Grant it, it's not always fun to hear but I cherish the fact that I have such a Godly influence that isn't afraid to tell me the truth. For instance, she has no problem calling me, briefly asking me how my day was, followed by telling me how entirely inappropriate my blog posting was and how I need to remember "your entire hometown church reads that blog". She also tells me when my cleavage is distracting, when my skirt is too short and when I need to shave my armpits. But mainly, she gives great advice. She has been a wonderful wife to my father for over 30 years. Her wisdom in marriage advice is so rare and I am beyond blessed to have a mother who showed her daughter the true example of a Godly wife and mother.

My Grandmother. Wowzer. She makes cooking look sexy--she's hot. Not. Even. Kidding. I am her number one fan. I can truly sit here and tell you that my Grandmother is one of my best friends. She has probably sacrificed for our family more than anyone else. This is something I never really discovered until adulthood. She has shown dignity and grace in difficult situations and is the definition of a true lady. She also makes a mean pot of Chicken and Dumplings, kicks my butt at weight lifting and don't think her butt doesn't look great in her Lucky jeans.

I am so thankful to God to have these women who cover me with love and prayer. I love you both. Happy Birthday!

First Day of School 2010

2010-08-24T08:56:00.006-05:00

Well, we survived the first day of school! Buckethead only cried like a baby for 7 minutes after dropping his daughter off for her first day of Middle School. He tried to blame the tears on peeling an onion and I thought, "Wow, what a man I've married. He can peel an onion whilst driving a SUV." I should have put that down as one of my requirements on Match.com.
Julia thought the sign was dorky and kept looking next door to make sure our cute middle school boy neighbors didn't see her posing in front of the house holding a retarded sign. Did you know it's SO NOT COOL to hold up a sign your dad decorated with little hearts and doodles? Go figure!

We had difficulties deciding what to wear for the first day of school. It was going to be hot but we also wanted to don our new threads. Man, Buckethead must of tried on 100 outfits before we decided on what he would wear to drop the kids off. I mean, he has to look good for those PTA moms who wiggle and giggle in his presence. Never met the PTA?? THAT'S an entirely different blog. Some of those Women are NUTS.

Both kids had a wonderful day. They loved their teachers and had so much fun reuniting with old friends and making new ones. My prayer this year for them is that they continue to grow in their faith, that friends will be of plenty, tears will be few, laughs will be continuous and that they will always remember they have a family who loves them.

P.S. See those ever-green plants in the picture? They're dead. Dead as a door nail-Dead. I spray painted them green because I'm too cheap to buy new ones. You're welcome for that "white trash tip of the day".

Guest Blogger-Buckethead "The Incident"

2010-08-19T13:19:00.002-05:00

JPo and I have had many ups and a few downs in our 2 year relationship. There have been fights (most recently the infamous "Baked Beans" debacle of 2010) and even more moments of glee (like just about anytime I come home from work with a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a tabloid for her). But one date remains the same: "The Incident".

We don't talk a lot about that day -- it's painful and brings up awkward moments of silence and mean glares -- like when you are in a crowded elevator and someone "naturally scents" the ride for 10 floors. The Incident was a torrid moment to be sure, but it had a long a bumpy runway and turbulent flight leading up to the crash landing.

What was "The Incident" you say? The day I kinda broke her dog's leg. Before I tell you about it, let me give you the background.

JPo has a ~~satanic beastmaster good-for-nothing~~ Weiner dog named ~~Lucifer~~ "Huck Finn" -- or "Huck" for short. When she was single ~~living in van down by the river~~ , Huck was all she had. By their nature, dachshunds are one-person dogs, alpha-males, territorial, and extremely moody. You know - like a Guido from Jersey Shore at a Paul Mitchell hair products convention. Huck prefers women to men, and ruled the castle at JPo's -- eating from the table, sleeping in the bed, sitting on the furniture, running the TiVo, getting food, water, potty breaks at all hours of the night, and generally getting to pick and choose which pieces of furniture / carpet / clothing / plant life was to be spared, and which ones should be shredded, urinated on, pooped on, or used as a chew toy. He was spoiled. Uber-spoiled.

Additionally, Huck has a bladder control problem. Check that -- Huck has a 30 gallon bladder and a spigot that won't shut off completely. He wets so much NOAA tried to categorize him as a tropical depression. Look at him wrong, make eye contact, walk in the room, sneeze, scratch your nose, blink, or think about blinking -- he wets. Yesterday alone I cleaned up pee 5 times, JPo 3 times, and WE BOTH WORK AWAY FROM HOME AND THE DOGS STAY OUTSIDE!! The kids and I affectionately call him, "Pee-Diddy," or "Pee-Willy", or "Pee-Meister", or "@#*!%" (not PG-13 material).

Now, don't tell JPo, but he is kinda cute. And very soft. And L-O-V-E-S JPo and my daughter immensely. He's weird, for sure, but I can see redeeming qualities in him ~~as a meal for a Phillipino family~~ . But JPo and I have had more scuffles about Huck than any other subject. I grew up that dogs were like movable lawn furniture: great fun for the outdoors. (And now we have 3 dogs!!!!) Huck and I have clashed from the get-go --> because I love to antagonize him (it's so fun because he thinks he's such a little prince and get's so perturbed when I pester him!), and because I AM THE ALPHA MALE of my house. Because of me, Huck can no longer be on the furniture. Because of me, he isn't allowed around us during meal time. Because of me he stays outside during the day. Because of me his momma is distracted and no longer makes him the center of the universe. Because of me, he actually has to go number one (even though he still pees inside at the thought of the drop of a hat) and number two outside; he now has two step-brother dogs to compete with (a Sheltie and a Basset Hound); and he has to fear for his life that I'll put lemon juice in his mouth if he sleeps with his mouth open. He has to mind me -- or there are consequences. In his mind, I am the Taliban, Al Qaida, Adolf Hitler, and "The Situation" all rolled into one.

So now ‘The Incident'. I came home from work, went outside on the back patio to greet ~~get molested by~~ the dogs. I know, now, to greet Huck outside and let the yellow River Jordan flow before bringing him inside. Except he cowers -- and then he squats in his pee. Given he had pee all over his belly, I got a towel and picked him up shoulder height to clean him off. At some point, a mouse farted or something sooooo scary in Huck's world that he flipped out, flipped over my shoulder, and landed awkwardly on his leg. He shrieked, ran outside, and hid under a bush. "Oh well," I thought. "I tried. Enjoy Bush Gardens." But when JPo got home, Huck screamed like a Justin Bieber fan and revealed a hurt leg that turned out to be broken. Doctor's office, cast on, mad wife, none for me that night. I guess it didn't help that when our vet told us it would be $1800, I countered with "Are you kidding me??!? How much cheaper would it be just to put him down??!?"

Huck recovered and he and I have reached a good working relationship. And that's the thing - in any relationship, you have to compromise. I love JPo dearly, so for me, a HUGE compromise is letting PEE-DIDDY sleep in the bed with us each night and she compromises by not covering my nose and mouth with duct tape during sleep as she remembers "The Incident". Huck still grates on me at times, and he gets back at me by staring at me with a look that would make a train back-up and take a dirt road. But deep down, if something happened to JPo, I would take care of Huck. I promise -- ~~I would make some Phillipino family's day~~ because JPo loves Huck, I love JPo, and I'm trying my best to see a way to love Huck too -- even if I have to look through yellow-stained (pee) glasses.

When I was a kid....

2010-08-18T11:33:00.004-05:00

....my parents got the bright idea of allowing my brother and me to pick out new carpet for our bedrooms. For those of you who do not know my brother, as a child he was convinced that he was magic, his idol was David Copperfield and he wore multi-colored rayon shirts. Now he is a minister who still probably wears multi-colored rayon shirts and gets his magic from the Holy Ghost.

Much to my parent's surprise, my brother picked out blood red carpet and then proceeded to paint his wall's dark blue and spray paint gold stars on the wall. He then hung a black light form the ceiling, not to be trumped by the strobe light he also installed.

Men.

As an "imaginative" child who owned close to 300 Barbies and proceed to have hour long soap opera sessions during which my Barbies would make out with their step-brother and the limo driver, then due to the angst of the love triangle, jump off the balcony of the Barbie dream house to sudden death --I, of course chose pink carpet.

Originally, the pink carpet was wicked cool. Boasting about the new carpet, my friends would lust after my pink Berber as they loathed the beige carpet they were destined. At 7 years old, I had the coolest carpet in the whole school. Mind you, when I hit middle school and I was stuck with pink carpet, I began to question my initial choice in flooring.

Never the less, it has become increasingly evident that my parent's gave my brother and me a huge advantage over many kids today. They gave us choices. They let us get creative and make decisions for ourselves. Will I let my own children pick out their carpet? Probably not. But that's beside the point. I never said I was going to be as good of a parent as mine were.

Thanks for the carpet, Mom!

So Long Sweet Summer

2010-08-16T15:16:00.002-05:00

Today marks the final week of summer before my step-kiddos begin their new school year. Our evenings will alter this week and they will be forced to go to bed on time without the aid of a sugar induced coma. Presently, it has become increasingly evident that the kids have gone into a state of anxiety laced depression. In contemplating this state of mixed emotions the kids are dealing with, I’m reminded of when I was in school and remember that I too, experienced the fear of the unknown—fear the you get the “mean” teacher; fear that you have to sit by the weird Jehovah’s Witness kid that tells everyone he has cooties; fear that your cadre of friends will suddenly not want to associate with you.

Especially, Julia; innocent chocolate covered Julia. She is entering Middle School. Oh, sweet 8 lb 6 oz baby Jesus wrapped in your golden fleece—help us. If you would have seen Julia’s backpack by the end of last school year, you would have thought she should be featured on “The Secret lives of Hoarders”. That being said, now she will have a locker. I can envision that metal square jam packed with ripped up papers, old homework assignments, last weeks ham sandwich, gym shoes and all the other crap messy kids seem to stash in the 12 X 20 inch cubby hole. Are we SURE she isn’t my child??

While walking these future halls she will enter next week, she will probably experience her first boyfriend; have her period; have pimples; become an emotional rollercoaster; tell me I’m not her mother; tell me that she’s sorry; fall into puppy love, have her heartbroken; break her father’s heart; think that Justin Beiber is hot; think that Justin Beiber is gay; have questions and struggle with her faith; love her friends; hate her friends; become the most popular girl; feel like she’s all alone.

Boy, I’m glad I don’t have to relive the days of snarky, pubescent teenage girls. That is the WORST.

Someone the other day asked me how my summer had been. I hate that question more than I hate the chant “Yes We Can”. Why? Because it’s practically rubbing it in the face of the “I work 40 hours a week under fluorescent lighting in an office that smells like tuna fish and bath&body works lotion next to a guys whos coffee cup adorns the logo ‘FBI-Female Body Inspector’” worker that we don’t get summer vacation.

So, how has my summer been? Well besides the fabulous vacation to Mexico, it’s been like any other time in my year. Except I have a heat stroke every time I saunter to my car in the parking lot in 103 degree heat, all my plants are dead, my dogs smell like arse and fertilizer and I have to prance around in a bathing suit sucking in my stomach on the weekends.

Is it a crime to say I’m ready for fall?

Same Side of the Boothe Kind of Love

2010-08-12T15:06:00.002-05:00

Have you ever witnessed those really obnoxious couples that sit on the same side of the booth at a restaurant even when it’s just the two of them? I mean how exasperating is that? There they go, wasting a perfectly good side of the table because they are too googley-eyed to sit across from each other; the distance in space between the two of them would simply be too far. So, there they perch inches apart, thus having to turn their neck at a painful 90 degree angle to make eye contact for the duration of their conversation. Then, if they are the truly abhorrent clingy couple, they will struggle to eat one handed because the other hand is occupied with holding their partner’s hand. Mind you, due to the lack of one-handed eating dexterity, one of the partners will manage to get food on their face, and as if EVERYONE does this, the other will lick it off with a kiss.

Gross right? Except, there’s only one problem; I AM THIS COUPLE. And I love it!
I am in a “same side of the boothe” relationship with my husband and I have never been happier. Is it cheesy? Abso-freakin-lutely. Would it make more sense to sit on the other side? Sure. Do we get stares? I blame that on Buckethead’s fierce good looks. Plus, sometimes WE FEED EACH OTHER. Okay, stop gagging. It’s not that bad.

Before I continue, I must note that this is not nor has ever been typical “Jpo” behavior. Too many times in previous relationships, I have cared too much of what others thought, or simply didn’t want to feel someone else’s hot breath on my arm while eating my frito pie. There are many aspects of my marriage to Buckethead that differ from my first marriage. Basically, I am a completely different type of wife. God knows, I’m far from perfect. I still sit in the bathroom sink to pop zits every night before coming to bed, thus enticing my husband for a late night rendezvous appearing as splotchy as a pepperoni pizza. And there’s a very slight chance that I may be a little overly sensitive—very slight chance. But one of the biggest differences in who I am in my marriage today, is that I love Buckethead without reservation.

Once upon a time, I was hesitant about not only loving someone, but showing someone that kind of love. I figured acting “ga-ga” over someone was showed some sign of weakness. Today, I love Buckethead deeper, stronger and without condition. So when I sit beside him in a restaurant booth or I blog about how hot I think he looks in his swimsuit, don’t hate. Just swallow that throw up in your mouth and know that I am completely and totally crazy in love with my husband.

I hope it never goes away. When we’re 90—well, Buckethead will be 90 and I’ll just be starting menopause—I hope that we are still sitting on the same side of the booth, having fully mastered the art of single hand eating, still hopelessly in love like we are today.

Family Vacation to Playa Del Carmen

2010-08-09T22:03:00.004-05:00

I'm Back!

2010-08-09T12:20:00.003-05:00

Buenos dias, mi amigos!

I'm back from a much needed and much enjoyed vacation to Playa del Carmen, Mexico! I know, I know, I haven't been much of a blogger lately. Blame it on work; blame it on being too busy. Blame it on the booze and blame it on the Henney.

Ever noticed how much tired you are when you come back from Vacation than when you went? Of course, it's a good tired. You're worn out from all the fun and sun you were having verses exhausted from spending 3 hours conversing with your Swedish co-worker Larry with the fuzzy teeth discussing 401k options and why his wife Helga left him for a guy that cleans out fish tanks . (yes, it's a true story).

And you know the saying you always want what you can't have? Well, what do you think I couldn't have for 5 whole days whilst sharing a hotel room with Buckethead and the two kids? I'll give you a hint, I had a LOT of it on my honeymoon. Yep, that's right. I couldn't freely "love" my husband in a biblical sense for 5- WHOLE- DAYS! And boy, did I want some carnal action. Fine,I'll stop there. I digress, but I mean have YOU seen Buckethead without his shirt on? Okay, okay....you can stop dry heaving now.

But, both Buckethead and I were so exhausted upon our return yesterday, my desire quickly altered into wanting nothing more than a hot bath and reruns of The Real Houswives of New Jersey in my own bed. I know, hard to believe I would pick Teresa and her forehead over "relations" but recovering from Vacation is hard to do!

I'll post lots of pictures tonight of the trip with commentary on some funny moments. Such as the fact that I truly DID cry over spilled milk when my step-daughter spilt a large glass of milk on me in the airport and I had to travel 4 hours with a layover smelling like sour cheese. OH, the irony.

Have a great day!

Friends--No, not the ones on Facebook

2010-08-02T14:14:00.003-05:00

I wanted to take a few minutes to speak about friends.

According to Facebook, I have over 700 “friends”. Sounds like a lot right? But, have you ever gone through all your friends to see how many of those hundreds of people you really know? Sure, maybe you sat by one of them in Spanish class your junior year of college or one is the friend of a friend you met at a birthday party two years ago. There are some on there that I truly have no stinkin clue who they are. I'll look at them sideways, upside down and picture them as the opposite sex (you never know) but still...blank. Nothing, nada.

Acquaintances are easy to come by. But real friends—now that’s a different story.

You know what one of my favorite things about troubled times are? I know, tough to imagine you would categorize something that comes out of a bad experience as a “favorite thing” but it’s true for me. And no it's not how having aniexty gets you a high dose of xanax or how clean women's restrooms are at gay bars. Although I'm not discrediting the two, my favorite thing is I love how when the road gets bumpy, you find out who your friends are.

There is something sort of magical about true friendship. There are no contracts binding you together, no blood relation keeping you entwined, no requirement to maintain the relationship other than the sole desire of wanting to be friends. I justly consider myself the luckiest girl because I have the best friends in the world.

When I got a divorce, I had friends that cooked for me, welcomed me into their home, prayed for me and supported me. Those were my college girlfriends, my girlfriend from work and my best friend, Mimi. They loved on me when I did not deserve it, and comforted me when I had nothing else. They are my girlfriends for life; my pedicure buddies and my girl trip go’ers. There like my bra; close to my heart and there for support. I am so thankful for them.

After a few months of a whirlwind romance with Buckethead, I was apprehensive that we would not find friends that would be companionable to our circumstances. Most of the couple friends I had pre-Buckethead, were long gone and moved on with my Ex. The same happened for him. Although our relationship was fun and solid, something was missing; friends. Real friends. The kind of friends you “do life together” with. I didn’t even have to jump backwards 50 times and sacrifice a goat to get them, but we were blessed beyond measure with our friends. We “do life” with an amazing couple of families. They love us, knowing our faults, the dreadful jokes we tell over and over again and how we behaved that one night when we drank tequila. These friends have your back, love your children, lend their ear, swap shoes, and cook you barbecue. They pray for you, laugh with you --sometimes at you, cry with you and take on challenges with you such as figuring out what the "K" in K-mart stands for or why Yankee Doodle named his feather Macaroni. I am so grateful to have couples in my life that love me and my husband. It is one of my greatest blessings.

They say you can never have too many friends. I disagree. Don’t invest your time in the hundreds that don’t know your struggles, don’t know your circumstances, don’t do what’s best for you, mean you harm and don’t know your heart. Focus on the few that do and spend your lives together.

“If you live to be one hundred, I hope to be one hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you” –Winnie the Pooh to Christopher Robin.

Julia Grace Gardner

2010-07-23T10:56:00.002-05:00

Today you turn 11 years old. Hidden, I watched you run around the living room in your hot pink pjs last night; arms extended high twirling a blanket over your head in a fluid motion. You were singing at the top of your lungs a show tune (a woman after my own heart) and tormenting your little brother by whacking him on the crown of his head every time you circled past his spot on the couch.

I couldn’t help but notice how graceful you looked despite the childish cackling and playful banter; it was more grown up than I have ever seen you. Your arms are longer, you lips are beginning to pout, your curves are developing and your feet are now bigger than mine. Quickly, I realized that I was amidst a very sacred moment in every girl’s life-- to quote the highly knowledgeable, Britney Spears, your “not a girl, not yet a woman”.

There is something truly magical about you Julia. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a heart as big as yours. You’re unlike anyone I know. With your hands you make beautiful creations—always drawing, sculpting and making little fuzzy animals out of cotton balls. You can use your imagination to entertain yourself for hours. With your ears you listen to me when I tell you about my day or talk to you about the good and the bad. Your sensitive to others feelings and almost wear yourself out trying to make everyone feel happy and loved. With your eyes you have a knack for mixing and matching out-fits to make the perfect ensemble. You already have a fashion sense all your own and refuse to conform to any taste or suggestion. With your heart, you willing give a piece of it to me and to your Uncle Jake, Grandma Carol and Pop-Rod. How lovingly you have accepted us into your family blows my mind. Thank you for loving me, Julia Grace.

These past two years have been more fulfilling than any in my whole life. I feel so loved being a part of your family. Your daddy has given this to me; you and Mitch have given this to me. You have made the best out of your past heartaches and have used them to teach you and grow you into the young lady you are today. The way you have handled having two families has shown more maturity, openness, kindness and understanding on your end than most adults could ever do.

I am so excited to see you continue to grow up and know that each and every milestone will prove that your Mommy and Daddy did something right--they have raised the best girl I know. And although the two hour long Barbie soap-opera’s are beginning to dwindle, Disney channel will eventually be replaced by MTV and the thousands of stuffed animals that accompany you to sleep will eventually drop off to none, I love the innocence you are still clinging onto for dear life and through it I am reminded of how I use to be when I was your age and who I should be as a grown woman today.

Happy Birthday, Julia. Keep the magic!

An Older Man

2010-07-20T13:18:00.000-05:00

So, now that you know how Buckethead and I met (the lovely mystical world of on-line dating) one might wonder how the two of us found each other amongst the hundreds of thousands of desperate singles franticly searching profile after stinking profile of endless people professing that they too love long walks on the beach, romantic dinners and truly do look better in person than in their pictures (sure ya do).

I mean, I don’t blame you for wondering. If the computer were to match me up with a postulation on my compatibility, I’m assuming they find my counterpart to be a single male, mid-to late 20’s, no kids. So one might question, how did she end up finding and dating a man 15 years her senior with two kids and a 30 year mortgage?

Aside from the fact that Buckethead is absolutely perfect and any woman that crossed his path and passed him up would be a absolute dolt, the reality is a simple fact: I like older men.

Cindy McCain, wife of Senator John Mccain is 17 years his junior. She has been quoted stating, “Having a strong father, I wanted an older man”. So, not only do I agree with her stance on health care, I also agree with her on her reasoning behind marrying older.

The signs have been there for me all along. Growing up, I had a huge crush on my dad’s best friend and watching Twilight I found myself oooing and ahhhing. But not over Jacob—the steamy, hot (literally and figuratively) werewolf; not Edward—the icy, hard as stone sex-pot. No, none other than Bella’s dad—the slightly older, mustache donning cop. I mean, he’s hot right? And while ABC has searched the country over finding the best and hottest bachelors, I have found none to be as good-looking and nice as the host, Chris Harrison.

So, turns out I would prefer a guy with bad knees over a boy with ache problems. But it’s all relative. In every choice in life there is good and bad. Being with Buckethead has made me mature in areas in life that would have taken me much longer to develop and heck, I think I keep him young! He has been all over the world and experienced things I’ve never even imagined but it makes him a really great tour guide.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are times when the age difference is more than apparent and at times even strange. One’s applying Rogaine; the other’s applying zit cream. Not to mention the fact that his daughter and I both like to bedazzle headbands, have matching Twilight shirts and like to sit in front of the T.V. with a Barbie coloring book and watch the Disney Channel. I’m sure when I’m in the mist of these activities my husband tilts his head and thinks, “What have I done?”

But when we are running amok and I can’t figure out how to work a dishwasher and he doesn’t get my references to “Saved by the Bell” and we feel like we are on different wave lengths, one thing is always present- we are crazy about each other. And that’s all that counts—age difference or no age difference.

Things I Plan on Doing Whilst Buckethead Is Out of Town

2010-07-15T08:51:00.002-05:00

Walk around naked (wait, I already do that....and Buckethead likey)
Have three dogs sleep in the bed with me
Catch up on all my "Real Housewives" shows and "Glee" re-runs
Eat an entire box of Sponge Bob Square Pants shaped Mac and Cheese
Poop with the door open so I can see the T.V.
Park smack dab in the center of the garage and not have to try and hit the imaginary tennis ball he insist I line up with--this usually takes me three or more tries.
Clean out my closet--if and only if I finish all my T.V. shows

The Shake Weight

2010-07-13T08:47:00.005-05:00

So there you are, perched up on the couch watching one of your twenty six mindless T.V. shows and your glazed over eyes suddenly refocus as the commercials hit. Now, if you've been watching live T.V. at all, even Chuck Norris couldn't have stopped you from seeing the advertisement for the "Shake Weight". You know, the weight that after closely demonstrated by shirtless men makes you feel like you need to take a cold shower, go repent to a priest (even if you aren't catholic) and slowly makes you understand why some men have one forearm larger than the other.....yeah, that one. And don't act like you never notice the striking patterned resemblance of a "private time" activity.

Now, much to my surprise even my 9 yr old step-son has noticed this commercial:

Mitch: Dad, I know what I want for Christmas

Buckethead: What's that?

Mitch: The Shaker Weight. You know, the one on t.v.

Buckethead: Haha...why is that?

Mitch: Because I have GOT to get a girlfriend. I NEED a girlfriend.

Buckethead: Oh yeah, so the Shake Weight will get you a girlfriend?

Mitch: Yeah, in only 6 minutes a day, I can have huge muscles.

Buckethead: Okay, okay. I'll think about it.

Mitch: Well, can I have some AXE body wash too?

Buckethead: Ummmm....I guess so.

Mitch: Yeah, AXE body washed gets you all the hot ladies too.

At this point, should we be concerned???!!

Do Boobies make us go Bonkers?

2010-07-09T09:01:00.002-05:00

Do Boobies make us go Bonkers? Think about it, Teressa (Real Housewives of NJ) gets her "bubbies" done and WHAM....she flips a table over at dinner. Women like Jennifer Lee (pictured in the photo) are about one Xanax away from a nice relaxing stay in a padded cell. Silicone sisters are all around us; especially in my part of the woods. Mind you, I live in one of the top ten most prominent cities in the United States. Therefore, you cannot walk through a Target at ten o' clock at night in your PJ's with zit cream dotted all over your face, bra-less with your 'girls' hanging close to your belly button and not feel self-conscious waiting in line next to the vixen mail-order bride with her double Ds at the check out counter.

The University of Philadelphia did a study on women with breast augmentation and found they are 3.5 times more likely to suffer from depression and anxiety than women who are shaking what their momma gave them and staying natural. So what comes first: the chicken or the egg? Does having large breast that draw attention to yourself cause you to develop depression and anxiety OR are people who suffer from these ailments more likely to get the surgery done in hopes of fixing their already present depression?

I have to assume it's the latter of the two. That being said, I am not completely opposed to plastic surgery. Now don't get me wrong, I don't think you should ever disfigure yourself or attempt to use plastic surgery as a crutch for deeper problems. But, heck if my boobies end up looking like two pancakes with a nipple attached to it after my future child sucks the life out of them I might, just might be at the doctor's office learning about the difference between silicone and saline implants.

But, I can't help but wonder if our world is going a little 'mad' with all the attempts to perfect your outward appearance. If you recall, last week I went to a bikini truck show and received 20 injections of botox FREE with my purchase of a swim suit. I mean seriously?? What happened to getting a free bottle of sunscreen or a water bottle? Is plastic surgery so accepted and easy to come by that we will all end up expressionless and clipped, nipped and tucked?

We can thank the Jewish community for a lot of things; Jesus for one. We can also thank them for Barbara Streisand, kosher hot dog weenies, Jill Zarin and for Mel Gibson polluting all the news stands last year. But, do you know what else we can think them for? Collagen. That's right gals. That syringe of fat you inject into your lips to plumb your pout--it contains foreskin. That's right FORESKIN. So, next time you see your Jewish friends out in the community be sure and thank them for the gift of circumcision and the benefits you get from it.

Now, if that doesn't make you think twice, you're helpless!

How I Kissed my Girdle Good-bye

2010-07-07T12:10:00.005-05:00

This blog may offend some of you (go figure???) -mainly those of you who are overweight and pretend to "embrace" your fuller figure. The type of women who find the cellulite on the back of their thunder thighs to be appealing and the rolls of fat on their stomach a convenient place to set their coffee cup. The type of women who have Christina Aguilera's song "I am Beautiful" set as their ring tone. Now don't get me wrong, if you truly fit into this rare category of women who don't mind their sexiest undergarment being nude Spanx Power Panties then good for you! I know that all of our bodies are made differently and that women come in all shapes and sizes. There are some women who will never be a size 8 but could kick my ass in a relay race. But before you roll your eyes at this "skinny bitch" and get prepared to write an anonymous comment about how I would never understand what it was like to have stretch marks and to crave gallons of ice cream....stop right there.

Once upon a time I was....ahhhh, you see....I was, I was kind of...sort of....plump, stout, overweight, large, chubby, portly, flabby, paunchy, pot bellied, beer-bellied, meaty, ample, heavy set, obese, corpulent, fleshy, gross, plus-size, big-boned, tubby, roly-poly, beefy, porky, blubbery, chunky, pudgy......get it?

And worse than that, I was the chubby chick who was in major denial. For months I sported a muffin top (the fat that sticks over your too tiny jeans giving the look of a muffin top with your stomach) refusing to throw out my pants thus admitting that once again, I had jumped up a size.

Presently you know me as a happily married 120 pound blond that comfortably eases into her size 27 jeans. However, this was not always the case. Some of you remember the old me-the brunette, grumpy, cheese pizza aficionado who was 20 pounds heavier and completely miserable. See below:This was one of the few pictures I could find of me during my "Portly" stage since I burned nearly every image of myself during this time, changed my facebook account and threatened my friends and family within an inch of their life to remove any evidence of this travesty from their bookshelves, websites and picture frames.

So even though it wasn't as if you could compare me to the Goodyear blimp, those 5 years that I found myself stuck in an unhappy weight really messed with my mind--I imagine LSD having similar side-effects. It all started in college and my new found love for Steak and Shake - thus going 8 consecutive days eating steak cheeseburgers with a chocolate shake. During this stage in life I got married, graduated college, landed my first job and got a divorce. Did the fact that I weighed pretty much the same amount as my first husband contribute to the demise of my marriage? Probably. I mean since he wasn't a licensed heavy equipment operator so he just couldn't figure out how I worked. Kidding.

Hindsight being 20/20, now I believe that my self image at the time contributed significantly to the heartache and turmoil I went through. The saying, you can't be happy with anyone until you're happy with yourself truly applied to me. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't even recognize myself. In high school I was vibrant, beautiful and confidant in who I was. Fast forward a few years later and I found myself completely unable to love myself yet alone any one else.

I was sick constantly. I had developed a skin rash no doctor could figure out, my hair was falling out, I couldn't get out of bed in the morning, I was cranky and I cried all the time.....imagine being married to that! Imagine BEING that! I was a complete wreck and finding the energy to participate in the day was exhausting in itself.

A few months after filing for divorce, I had a nervous breakdown at my office and was taken by co-workers to the hospital. There, I was diagnosed with depression. It was the first time I truly felt like a doctor knew exactly what was wrong with me. If you've been a follower of my blog for sometime you know that I am currently working on a book titled, "A Diet Called Divorce".

Countless people have asked me how I lost the weight and the honest answer is that it took hitting rock bottom and realizing that the only way left to go was up made me get my act together. And it's not necessarily "being skinny" or "loosing weight"....I believe it's being the best YOU that you can be. I know I sound like Dr. Phil (my Texas accent is nearly that bad, too) but since I became accountable to my body and trying to taking care of it as if it were a temple, I have become such a happier person.

God only gives us one body while we're on this Earth. And the moment I stopped treating my body like a Ford Focus and more like a Bentley, was the moment I began to remember that I had value not only to myself but to other people. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not some health crazed work-out junkie who's best friend is my trainer, Tad. I'm actually quite far from that.

For example, I love Ribs.

And I don't work out a lot, I eat processed foods and I snack after dinner. But, mainly what changed is I began to appreciate my body and love my body. When you love something, you take care of it. You don't give it things that would harm it or feed it an entire tray of blueberry muffins in one setting (hypothetically, people!).

But to really answer your question and give you some practical steps to getting that excess weight off that doesn't require laxatives and a really long index finger.

Kid's meals. I truly think it's all about portion control. Jelly-belly JPO- 1/2 large pizza. Happy JPO- 2 slices of pizza. I ALWAYS order a kid's meal, now. And if the waiter tells you that you're too old and you tried to bat your eyes and show a little cleavage, then split with somebody. Plus, you save money and you don't feel as bad when you buy that super cute LV wallet.
Don't waste your calories on liquids. Did you know a large Sonic Coke with Cherry is close to 1,000 calories? For most girls, your calorie intake for the day shouldn't exceed 1,500. You pretty much shot your day with that sugary drink.
Don't obsess over it. Was the Great Wall of China built in a day? No! So, don't expect to loose weight fast. When you start being conscious of what you are eating and begin taking steps in the right direction, you will eventually see it.
Hang out with skinny people. I'm not lying! Have you ever eaten dinner with a really skinny person? They will order a salad with their dressing on the side and lightly dip the tip of their fork in the low-calorie dressing before taking their bite. Half of the salad will remain on the plate and they will drink 4 to 5 glass of water during the meal. Now, if that doesn't make you disgusted by the bacon-cheeseburger you ordered.
Watch out for a beer belly! If it's fruity and comes with an umbrella in it--STAY AWAY! You might as well take to your waist a syringe of pure pig fat.
Love yourself. You won't take proper care for it if you don't!

Would you stick a bumper sticker on a Bentely? I DON'T THINK SO!

My Summer In Photos

2010-07-03T18:44:00.004-05:00

Shreveport, LA--Yes, I won $200 bucks at Craps. No, I didn't apply it towards my 401k

Yes, we are adults- Yes, we build pyramids.

On the Boat with our friends- Shane and Ally

Party Cove at Lake Ray Hubbard--where's the party?

Fun at the Pool

Dallas Summer Musicals- Dream Girls

Dallas Summer Musicals- Wicked

Dinner with our Besties-Javiers

Kiss the Cook or else!

Boating with Mimi and Kyle

Burn Out

2010-07-02T09:26:00.003-05:00

This week I have felt burned out on life thus inducing a crankiness not caused by my menstrual cycle (although, don't think I haven't used Aunt Flo as an excuse). Basically, life just hasn't gone my way. A couple of things fell through this week even though I crossed my fingers for close to 20 hours straight, waited for the clock to turn 11:11 to shout up a prayer and nearly pulled out all my eyelashes so I could make a wish on them. Now I sit hear behind this computer screen with no eyelashes, cramped fingers and a little bit of gas--but that's from the tacos last night.

After my initial reaction of pitying myself and wondering where my stinking happy ending was, I was thankfully pulled back to reality by a good friend of mine. This friend cares so much about me -- or maybe just wanted me to stop bitching and moaning....I'm not sure which. But regardless of the reason, she helped me find proper prospective. I think a lot of my stress stems from thinking that my way for my life is what's best. I mean that sounds reasonable to most, right? To decide your own fate. To control your own life. To determine your own destiny.

But, where do you let God fit into your life's plan? Is Jesus merely a reason to get presents at Christmas; a prayer around the dinner table; or a lifeguard you only talk to when you feel like you're drowning? Time and time again I tell myself to let God take the steering wheel of my life and to let my own expectations and desires take a backseat. But BAM...when something doesn't go my way, I immediately think God is wrong and my tunnel vision sets in. Go figure, but I tend to favor when things go how I planned...not always how God planned.

When you trust in Jesus as I have, you have to realize that a man that walked on water, turned water into wine and oh yeah, RAISED FROM THE DEAD (didn't want to leave that part out) probably has a better idea than a girl who has had to turn her underwear inside out because she failed to do her laundry. If we always got our way, I would be living in a magical house where dishes were never dirty, Huck spoke in a British accent, Neiman's stocked my closet and four concubines in furry nighties served beer on tap on request (that one would be Buckethead's wish...not mine).

So my reminder to myself and to you this week is, remember to make the best out of what God has given you and allow him to use your situation to pave the way for everything else he has in store for you.

Have a great weekend, ya'll!

Dog Poop

2010-06-30T10:02:00.004-05:00

WARNING: I'm going to curse, yell and misspell below because its already been one of "THOSE DAYS".

Every morning lately, it seems I temporarily loose my hearing and fail to wake up to the blaring beeping of the alarm. So as I jolt out of bed 45 minutes passed the initial alarm beep, I hastily herd my three groggy dogs outside through the door in my bedroom that leads to the backyard. Sprinting to the bathroom, I pull the curling iron out of my bottom drawer and spend the next 90 valuable seconds trying to untangle the cords of the curling iron, straightener and phone chargers--attempt failed. So basically I have to curl my hair whilst my phone charger hangs down at my feet along for the ride.

Barefoot and makeup half on, I frantically throw dog food into three bowls and run outside to serve the Kings of our household their breakfast. And then I step in dog shit. A big pile of steaming hot, freshly deposited, dog crap. Mind you, if I would have been prancing around in my underwear, barefoot in the grass at 7:30 this morning, I might have watched where I was stepping....but right outside the backdoor?? Normally, I would not think that my pea size brained dogs could scubcum to that kind of disrespect- I was wrong. Dead wrong.

So, after I attempt to wash the soggy poop off my foot in the pool water, while breathing through my mouth in attempt to ignore the smell (chlorine kills that ...right??) I search to find something to pick the pile of poop up with before Buckethead sees what these dog's he borderline hates, have done and transforms into something that the devil incarnate would tremble at the sight. So I am running amok through out the back yard trying to come up with something -ANYTHING- to scoop up the poop discretely. There's nothing; although I did contemplate using my step-daughter's bathing suit bottoms but decided against it at the last minute. At this point there is only one other option, so I carefully choose the biggest leaf from our Potato plant and shout up a little prayer that my fingers don't get too contaminated by the remains of Harley- the basset hound's dinner. In one swift movement I grab the poop take a giant leap towards the flowerbed and throw the poop in the air making thus causing a perfect landing behind the shrubs.

So, given my success, my head is held a little higher with pride as I turn around to face the three dogs. We are in a stare off--I'm trying not to blink and loose my focus on the big eared dumbo who is found guilty of this travesty. 30 seconds pass. Harley finally cracks under the pressure of my glare and slowly rises, walking toward me and away from his protection of the covered porch. For an instant I believe he is coming to apologize; to sacrifice his favorite bone as a peace offering or offer a friendly hand lick as a truce. Instead, he hikes his leg, whilst maintaining his eye contact with me and pees a giant puddle of pee on the flagstone....not the grass, not even remotely close to the grass. He did it to spite me.

"Euthanasia was in your future before I brought you home? Your ass was grass!" - I scream at the dog who is still peeing a river that is now streaming down the concrete in my direction.

Stick a fork in me...I'm done. Anybody want a dog....or three dogs? Anybody??? Anybody???

My Kind of Shopping

2010-06-28T13:45:00.002-05:00

I love shopping. Seriously; I do. I want to make out with shopping, doodle it's name on my notebook and get matching best friend necklaces.

Whether it's hitting up the Last Call sale at Neiman's or shopping for yeast infection medicine at Walgreens; I love to shop. And it's not just spending money, it's really researching my purchases. Mind you, I also clip coupons and ALWAYS use my discount cards. If there is a two for one special; I'll be there getting my free gallon of Clorox or dish washing liquid. THERE. SEE??? Now you can't call me a gold diggin, spoiled, self-absorbed lint licker.

So, given my love for shopping and my strong desire to save a penny here or there, tonight might just be the best shopping deal of my lifetime thus far.

I'll be going to a bikini trunk show. And guess what? If I buy a bikini, I get BOTOX for free! Yes, I am serious. No, I'm not joking. Otherwise I would be laughing....although after tonight you might not be able to differentiate the emotions on my face. Oh well, at least that wrinkle I've developed over my right eye in the few shorts months of step-motherhood will be taken care of with a few quick pokes and a bikini in the bag.

Update

2010-06-24T08:53:00.001-05:00

I ate it.

These are my Confessions

2010-06-23T10:40:00.001-05:00

Confession: There is a Hersey's kiss under my desk.....it's been there for at least 2 years.

I'm hungry. Today, I'm thinking about eating it.

"The House that Built Me"

2010-06-21T10:35:00.002-05:00

Three phone calls and a text message later, I have yet to talk to my Dad to wish him a Happy Father's Day. Oh well, I guess my love is so abundant ~~or my brother has finally made his way up of taking on the "favorite child" position~~ that he doesn't need a phone call from me to know that I'm thinking of him. I'm thinking maybe his phone is broken, or he made my entire family practice a duck and cover drill and they were out of range under the house....yeah, that's it.

Yesterday I spent the day with my husband and our two children (my step-kiddos for you newbies) showing him how special he is to our family. Buckethead is the backbone to our family and I would truly be lost without him. Having another day to celebrate him and his dedication to the one's he loves is always welcomed in our household. I bedazzled him a shirt that said "World's Best Dad" and made him wear it to church with a carnation pinned to the top--okay maybe I'm not that cruel. It was a perfect father's day, except my mind kept wandering back to my father...and I missed him.

There is a song on the radio that I heard this morning on the way to work that brought tears to my eyes; Miranda Lambert's song, "The House that Built Me". Although, I am in such a wonderful place in my life now, this was not always the case. I remember a few short years ago going home to my parent's house to try and clear my head of the confusion and heartache that engulfed me. I sat in my parent's back yard at the little tomb stone where my childhood pet was buried and reflected on who I was before I had become the person I didn't recognize; I reflected on who's daughter I was; I reflected on the person the people in that house believed I was and who I was meant to be.

Although, Dallas is my home now....the house that built me and the parent's that raised me in it will always be a home in my heart.

"The House that Built Me"- Miranda Lambert

I know they say you cant go home again

I just had to come back one last time.

Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom

is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

And I bet you didn't know under that live oak

my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself

if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.

Won't take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years.

From 'Better Homes and Garden' magazines.

Plans were drawn, concrete poured, and nail by nail and board by board

Daddy gave life to mama's dream.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.

Won't take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on

and you do the best you can.

I got lost in this whole world

and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.

Won't take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.

A Tale of Online Dating: Final Chapter

2010-06-17T08:59:00.003-05:00

Scrambling for my drink, I gulped down another shot of liquid courage. Now he knew my dirty little secret; not only had I been married, but I was married to a beloved pastor's son whom he happened to take prayer request from back in the day. In other words my condition to the Christian population of Dallas was worse than leprosy. Too many times lately I had seen stares, heard the whispers and slowly watched the people whom I thought were my friends slowly disappear. I had been banished from my colony of Christians and moved out of the village. An outcast from my own people, I was completely prepared for him to make some lame excuse to get away from me, the leper. I sat tense and sweatier than a whore in church next to him. But as the moment passed, I watched him process the information he had just be handed and instead of disgust smeared across his face what I saw was actually sympathy.

"This year must have been very hard for you", he gently said as he reached for my hand and held it in his.

All I could do was hang my head down and nod.

It had been a hard. Terribly hard. I had watched from the sidelines as I let my marriage crumble into a million little pieces. Initially walking away from the heap that had once been a sacred covenant, trying desperately to ignore the mess I had made. And night after lonely night I sat on my sofa looking at a pile of crap that had become my life trying to figure out how to make it better; trying to figure out how to get out of bed the next morning; trying to figure out if God would ever love me again; trying to figure out if anyone would ever love me again. In my moments of weakness, I knew that I was found guilty in this trial but couldn't figure out what exactly had been my crime. Was it leaving? Was it not trying harder, fighting longer and loving deeper when I was married? Or was it wasting my life away, letting each day that passed be more meaningless than the one before instead of moving forward with hope? Helplessly, I had rushed to the pile of nothingness to try and arrange the brokenness into something that could be recovered but it had been too late. The residue had been on me ever since. No matter how many times I tried to wash the remains off of me; it was still there, visible for all to see.

And as I across from a man who could see the aftermath covering my body, I realized that the reason he wasn't leaving was because he understood. He too had been hurt. tortured. destroyed. by divorce. Yet, he was a little further along in the healing process than I was. He had realized that he deserved happiness. He had realized that he was forgiven.

At the time, I didn't know what was going to happen after that night but I had a funny feeling inside that wasn't gas, that it might just be something great. Something better than great, even. I had a feeling that this man was going to be my saving grace. The cheese to my macaroni; the Bobby Brown to my Whitney Houston....wait, scratch that one.

Plano_Mtn_Climbr became just that for me; a gift from God displaying his amazing grace. Sure, I destroyed the million of other women's on Match.com lifelong ambition to become the second wife (or mistress) to my devilishly handsome, smart and compassionate man, but I was the one in a million that he chose, even if it was like picking a puppy out of a litter displayed in a cardboard box in the parking lot of Wal-mart. Regardless, if it was kind of like that he picked me and I'm so glad that he did.

Rita Mae once said, "Computer dating is fine, if you're a computer" but I decided to put myself through the unknown maze of online dating because I was tired of begging under the table for scraps of affection and decided that maybe, just maybe, there might be one more shot of love for me somewhere out there. I went in knowing Online Dating was a lot like shopping at Marshall's; you know there's a defect you just hope it's not too visible. And sure finding a good man was like nailing jello to a tree; I encountered enough doozies at first to deserve a free cookie and question if I should just stay home and dye my eyebrows than go on another blind date, but it was well worth it in the end. We go to the Internet for travel booking, cliff notes, shopping and even are convinced that the Internet can make us insta-doctors and give us the divine ability to diagnose any aliment. So, why not go to the Internet to find a little love?

The divorce taught me to stop searching for the right man and start focusing on becoming the right woman. I knew that I did not want to make the same mistakes I had made before and I wanted a man who felt the same.

That night on our first date, Plano_Mtn_Clmbr showed that he was the type of man who would guard and defend my honor. A few weeks later he proved that very thing to me when he received a call from a leader in our old church trying to convince him I was something that he already decided in the few short weeks that he knew me, that I wasn't.

I actually found a man online that not only was current on all his shots, bathed everyday and was willing to lie about how we met; I also found a man that I fell more deeply in love with than I could ever imagine.

Thank you Buckethead, for making the terribly embarrassing fact that I once was a member of Match.com sooooo very worth it. I love you and I love our fairytale and always remember.....at least we didn't meet on EHarmony!

Guest Blog from Buckethead: Black Men Can't Swim

2010-06-14T10:13:00.004-05:00

*The views and opinions below are not mine, just of the man that I share a bed with. If you are offended....don't be. If you want to stab me in in the face with a fork....channel that negative energy to my husband; I'll give you his address.

Okay okay -- before you get all up in arms and call the EEOC, ACORN, NAACP, or Kayne West, let me explain the title to this blog. "Black Guys Can't Swim" is in response to the movie "White Men Can't Jump." I figured we've come far enough in our country that FINALLY we can start making fun of each other again without offending, taking ourselves too seriously, or fearing violation of 'political correctness.' In fact, I think what our country needs is a little 'political in-correctness.'
My trouble with political correctness is that it takes some of the fun out of life. IMHO, Political Correctness is based on a flawed assumption: everyone’s feelings matter. Why is this a flawed assumption? Because it fails to take into account one very simple and all-too-true concept: some people are just too sensitive. Sometimes, you just have to learn to deal with it, and not expect the rest of the world to change for you. Some people get as mad as a midget with a yo-yo (see?? how else could I have said that? a little person with a yo-yo? just doesn't work...) for the silliest of reasons. Before I move on, I need to state a few caveats: (1.) racism is always wrong. Always. (2.) Offensive and ludeness are contrary to the teaching's of our Savior Jesus (and I didn't mean "Hey-Suess" -- the hispanic guy), and (3.) inability to laugh at ourselves means we take ourselves way too seriously and means we are, eh-hem, self-centered. Anyway, forgive me -- I'm wandering like a blonde girl in a spelling-bee. My point: Ease up America! Let's laugh at each other. When you laugh at each other, walls break down, moods are lifted, and real discussions can begin to understand each other and get rid of long-standing stereotypes or racisms.
The other day, I was in an all-hands meeting at work. I work for a Chinese company. The presenter, a man from China, was explaining our failures with a certain customer. His summary to our CEO? "We need more white-face at customer." What do you think I did? Call HR? File a complaint? Run up and punch him in his Xiang-Li-Dong?? No, I hollered "Amen Yella Fella!!" We all laughed a good hearty laugh and even our VP of HR told me in my exit interview that although I was being fired for my comment, he appreciated the levity it brought to our meeting and that I was a genuinely funny guy. Okay -- I wasn't fired but I also wasn't offended. I rolled with it, laughed, and tried to get his name right (do you know how Chinese parents name their kids? They stand at the top of the stairs, throw silverware down the stairs, and whatever sound it makes is their kids name! Ping! Ding! Chang! Dong! Ling! Xiang!).
I know certain words in my vocabulary may be politically incorrect. Like "GAY" -- I'm sure I over-use that word. But listen -- when I say something is 'gay' it doesn't mean I'm slamming homosexuals - but how else do you expect me to describe a fanny pack? They're gay'!! How else do you describe Ricky Martin? (well, actually, he really IS gay!)
Wake up America -- the Brits have been politically incorrect for decades, and they are hysterical. The gave us "The Office" and Monty Python and Simon Cowell and Mr. Bean and BP oil spills (okay, at least two of those are not very funny). Wake up America -- there's a black man running our country!! I think that is amazing! We have really progressed as a socitety!! (The Obama economy utilizes a system of carefully monitored checks and balances. He writes the checks, you pay the balance. Q. What would you get if you crossed Albert Einstein with Barack Obama? A. E = MC Hammer).
No? Not good? Then make fun of me -- I don't care. I'm a white cracker (well, if you aren't white you can call me "Cracka" but not "Cracker" because only fellow whites can call me "Crack-er"). Here's another: I'm (mostly) Baptist -- There are three truths in life: Jewish people do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah. Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian faith. Baptists do not recognize each other in the liquor store. Q: Why should you never ask one Baptist over to watch football with you, but instead always invite two? A: Invite one, he`ll drink all your beer. Invite two and neither of them will drink a drop!
One more problem with Political Correctedness -- it takes away from the real problem. Examples:
A Criminal - unsavory character
A Crook - morally (ethically) challenged
Abortion - Near-Life Experience
Alcoholic - Anti-Sobriety Activist
Assassination - involuntary term limitation
Bald - comb-free
Bald - folically independent
Bald - follicularly challenged.
Blind - optically darker
Blind - photonically non-receptive
Blind - visually challenged
Body Odor - nondiscretionary fragrance.
Crime Rate - street activity index
Dead - Actuarially Mature
Dead - living impaired
Dead - metabolically challenged
Dead - persons living with entropy
Deaf - Visually Oriented
Fail - achieve a deficiency.
Fat - Differently Weighted
Fat - gravitationally challenged
Fat - horizontally challenged.
Fat - horizontally gifted
Fat - People of Mass
Fat - person of substance
Well, you get the point. Guess what? Sometimes we need to be convicted so that we can change. And guess what? Conviction isn't always politically correct! Stealing and robbing are wrong -- but when we lessen them and call the acts "health care reform" (okay, I couldn't resist)....just joking ... when we call a Shoplifter - Cost-of-Living Adjustment Specialist -- we've gone too far. Call things like they are -- so that real change can be produced in a person's life.
So, I say, don't take yourselves so seriously America. And I'm now shopping my screenplay to my future blockbuster: "Black Guys Can't Swim." I promise, it won't be offensive to black people because I'll get one of the Wayman brothers to star in the film. Oh wait - that IS offensive to black people.

{information provided by www.bored.com/pcphrases}

Carnations

2010-06-14T09:00:00.005-05:00

Before I begin, let me assure you that I will post part three of the Online Dating story sometime this week. In the meantime, do not come to my house and threaten me with pitch forks and torches.

We all know of the little flower Dianthus caryophyllus, more commonly known as the Carnation. To enlighten you on a little history of the carnation, according to a Christian legend carnations first appeared on Earth as Jesus carried the Cross. Jesus' mom, Mary shed tears at Jesus' plight, and carnations sprang up from where her tears fell. On another note, Oxford university students traditionally wear carnations to all exams for good luck. Carnations are also the national flower of Spain and the emblem of Mother's Day. {*all information provided by Wikipedia.....so it MUST be true} But this is not the story I have been told growing up about this particular flower.

This weekend I went down to visit my family. Buckethead stayed behind and ~~probably went to Hooters, drank beer that wasn't low calorie, ate fried food, pooped with the door open, snored and watched war movies~~ worked. On Saturday night, I went out with my parents and brother to a Mexican restaurant where a few Carnations cheerfully decorated the table. I glared at the carnation with disgust.

" I don't like carnations", I declared as I flicked the delicate petals with my fingers.

"Of course you don't", my mother replied with equal distaste for the flower that was displayed before us.

My brother looked at us both and asked us why. Without pause I regurgitated everything I had learned from my mother at an early age about why we don't like carnations. First and foremost, they're cheap. If a man brings you carnations, you know he spent the same amount he spent on his Big Mac to purchase them for you. Secondly, they are of no use other than being a filler flower. Meaning you should always tell the florist that you want NO carnations in the bouquet so they won't rip you off.

My mom nodded her head so hard in agreement, she nearly got a concussion. She beamed with pride at the daughter who had learned one of the most important lessons in life; never buy carnations. But, as I looked at the flower, I noticed that it was actually quite pretty. And that it's fragrance was more lovely than a baby angel (not that I know what a baby angel smells like but I'm guessing it's pretty freakin awesome). Pointing this out to my mother, she looked a little closer and hesitantly said that she had to agree with me.

ME: "Mom, why did you tell me all these years not to like carnations"?

MOM: "Well.......because your Grandmother told ME not to like carnations".

Yes, craziness is passed down from generation to generation.

A Tale of Online Dating: Part Deux

2010-06-09T14:06:00.002-05:00

Although I had hit 'Reply' I didn't really know what to say. There was something inside of me telling me this one was worth a shot: why, I didn't really know. Sure, he was attractive and his familiar face put me at ease but what would make it work this time when I had failed in the dating game a few weeks before? Besides, he was close to fifteen years my Senior and his profile stated that he had kids-plural form!

Up to this point I had never even considered dating someone with children. My personal preference of dating would have been someone who was divorced only because they would be more sympathetic to my minor melt downs and occasional hiccups on the road to recovery. But, a divorced man with children; that was something at this point I had never even considered. Don't get me wrong I liked children, I just wasn't sure if being a wicked stepmother at the ripe old age of 24 was something that was in the cards for me.

Convincing myself it wasn't worth it after all, I clicked "Cancel" on the message and tried to forget about the man who told me in a message, "You are beautiful and I just had to write you and give it a shot." Sure, I had lots of men throwing out compliments in hopes of getting a date, but there was something about this message that was different; it had been the only one that I actually believed.

If you had heard the voice inside my head that day, you wouldn't have been able to ignore it either. She was screaming at me in a British accent between my ears, "You bloody idiot! A guy like this doesn't come around everyday. Sure, he's online getting dates, but guess what? SO ARE YOU. That doesn't mean he wears pleather underwear and has white tigers as pets. Maybe he's like you....he just doesn't know where to start. Do you think you aren't worth it? Do you think you don't deserve a second shot at love? You decide your own fate. If you don't give yourself the opportunity to find happiness, maybe you don't deserve a second shot; maybe you deserve a lifetime of eating alone with your dog and watching your arse grow to the size of a bean bag chair. GO OUT AND GRAB IT, before the chance passes you by".

So, given the voice inside my head was beginning to threaten taking on the voice of Fran Drescher and also the tiny fact that secretly I knew she was right, I logged back on Match.com, clicked on the message from Plano_mtn_clmbr and hit "Reply".

"Thanks for the compliment. How are you?"

Send.

Now, I know the message was not much and any normal person would probably take it as a blow off. But, I was leaving it up to fate. If he was truly interested in me, he would take the bait and go from there. Common sense was telling me that since it had taken me hours to respond he had probably found someone to have a good time with tonight and I would be the last on the list.

But, good ole' Fran Drescher knew what she was talking about; in a matter of minutes I had a reply. We spent the next hour emailing each other back and forth slowly but surely revealing more and more about ourselves. Before I knew it, I found myself laughing at loud at his responses and not being able to remove the smile that had formed on my face. This man I had never met had already found the smile I had misplaced a few months before.

I shared the ugly with him: that I'm would never be the best cook; i leave lights on and kept the water running when I brushed my teeth; I still had hang ups over my second grade teacher; I was overly obsessed with my dog and I had been called crazy by more than one boyfriend.

He told me that he was from Mississippi and lived by the motto: What Would John Wayne Do? He shared with me about how much he loved his kids and how much he loved his motorcycle.

We talked about faith and how we had both experienced the heartbreak legalism can bring into your life. And then he told me he use to be a deacon at a Baptist church. Oh, and not just any Baptist church.....the church where I use to go with my ex-husband....the church where I was no longer welcome.

Before I continue, I must note....I am not a man and I don't have a penis but if I were to guess what it feels like to be kicked in the nads....the wave of gut wrenching agony I felt upon this discovery was the closest I had ever gotten to the experience. My stomach was in knots. Why did my past continue to haunt me? Would I ever get away from it all? Would I have to move from the city I love and called home to distance myself from the evidence of my failed marriage?

Upon this discovery, I initially thought there was no sense in even continuing our courtship. I figured the minute he discovered by former last name he would make a hex out of his fingers and run aways screaming. I tried to convince myself that in a church of 25,000 members, the likely hood that he would know me and my story was slim to none. Sure, maybe we had past each other a time or two in the hallways but the chances of him discovering who I was and exclaiming, "Ooohhhh, you're THAT Jennifer" followed by him spitting at me and casting a stone or a frozen frapachino (whichever one was available) towards me would be highly unlikely. Right?

Despite the risk, I wanted to meet him. I hoped this was the kind of guy who wouldn't judge me for my past. If this was a man who would look past the ugly to see the beautiful, I had to find out. When he asked me out for a date the next night, I said yes.

Although I had grounded myself from Vodka a few months earlier, I gave myself a one day pass and made myself a cocktail whilst preparing for my date; a really strong cocktail. Trying on at least a 47 tops, I ended up choose a black v-neck blouse that had just enough cleavage to make you look and not enough to make it look like I wanted you to. I left my house 5 minutes after the date was initially suppose to start and hoped he wouldn't mind a fashionably late entrance on my part.

Arriving in the parking lot, I sat with my head perched in my sweating hand praying to God to ease my nerves. I was as prepared for a date as I could be; had my best friend on speed dial, a can of pepper spray in my purse and enough deodorant on to keep me PH-balanced through the weekend. I had made a point not to shave my legs so even if I had several glass of wine I wouldn't succumb to fleshly temptation due to the woolly mammoth hiding under my True Religion jeans.

But I was terrified because deep down I just wanted to be loved.

The wine bar was dark and the music was overpowering. The bar was long and lined the entire right side of the room. Slowly walking down the side of the bar I tried to find the man I was suppose to meet based on a few pictures I had seen. For an instance I remember the man I had met a few weeks ago and the photo fraud I had experienced. For all I knew, I could be searching for a Mary when he was really a Rhonda (if you've never watched the Mary Tyler more show...never mind). But, the moment our eyes met, I knew that was exactly who I had come to meet.

I couldn't believe my eyes. This man was even better looking in person. He was tall and had a presence about him that dominated the room. His smile was crooked and kind of quirky and it made my stomach flutter. He had a private table reserved for us in the back so we could talk in a more intimate setting and he gently touched by back as he guided me to our seats. He took the lead and ordered a bottle of wine I had never heard of and asked sweetly if that was okay.

The conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine. Before I knew it an hour had already past and the talking had yet to reach a null. The evening was progressing to be one of the best first dates in the history of first dates. In my mind there was nothing that could put a damper on it. But, somehow the course of the conversation turned to church and I was faced with the inevitable; tell him that I too, use to attend the church he was speaking of or keep my mouth shut. I decided there was no other way around it. Regardless if it was an ender, from now on my relationships would be based on trust and understanding. If I wasn't honest now, I may end up getting my heart crushed in the future.

Casually I said, "Yes, actually that is the church my husband and I use to attend".

"Oh, really? Were you two really involved in the church?"

"Ummmmm......you could say that".

"How so?"

"Well, actually my father-in-law was a minister there"

"What's your ex-husband's name?"

I paused. Sometimes the truth can set you free and other times the truth can kick you in the groin. I wasn't sure what the out come of this confession was going to be, but there was no turning back. It wasn't as if I could tell him I was just kidding and that in fact I had never been married before and I actually was a Methodist thus making the wine I was drinking not a sin. With a deep breath, I told him my ex-husband's name.

Silence. Plano_mtn_clmbr nodded his head, looked in my eyes and said, "Yes, I know him very well. In fact, I was his Sunday School leader when he was in the Youth Group".

Awesome. F-ing Awesome.

To be continued....

A Tale of Online Dating

2010-06-07T13:05:00.005-05:00

Hello, my name is Jennifer and I use to online date.

There I said it! The horror of it all! I'm melting! MELTING!! Mind you, this is probably one of the more mortifying confessions I've ever had....and if you remember correctly, I have openly confessed about my bowel movements and stuffing my bra. So, you get the point.

Before I continue, I must note that very few people actually know this wee-little fact about me (sorry I didn't tell you mom!) . At the time, it was humiliating enough that I was a 20 something divorcee' who had already experienced a failed marriage and the division of assets before most young adults experienced their first real paycheck. Add resorting to the Internet to get someone to buy me dinner was just the icing on the cake.

To backtrack, my co-workers were starting to worry about me. I had been separated from my ex-husband for 5 months now and the divorce was a few days away from being over. They knew my life revolved around coming to work and going home to share a Lean Cuisine with my dog and watch American Idol. I was okay with that life, but they were right. I was lonely. Terribly lonely. Like the type of lonely where I would have 10 minute conversations with Huck (my dog) about the weather. The type of lonely where I actually looked forward to going to work. The type of lonely that even a tube of concealer can't hide the swollen and puffy eyes the next morning.

My girlfriend at work insisted that I try online dating. Her dance card was full from all the dates she had scheduled from her on-line suitors. Literally, she would book her nights weeks in advance with a different guy at a new restaurant every night. Assuring me I would save tons of money by having my dinners and even the occasional lunch paid for by dates, that it was well worth the $30 a month membership fee. But what really hooked me on it, was she promised me the distraction would be good for me. It would help me move on. It would help me forget.

At this point, I was still extremely hesitant. First and foremost, I knew my mother would kill me. A natural worrier, she would assume the worst and imagine online dating to be something close to what she has seen on Dateline NBC, "To Catch a Predator". Secondly, I didn't know what to expect and I don't like surprises. Was it one big online orgy of random singles looking to hook up? Would all the men online be ugly? Would someone I knew see me on the site and tell everyone about it? Would I go blind if I sat too close to the computer screen? Who killed JFK?

So many questions filled my mind. But after days of contemplation, I took a leap of faith and got a 30 day membership to Match.com. I posted a few pictures of myself and I wrote this in my About Me:

I'm a small town girl, living in a big city. I enjoy the finer things in life but I can go down to the family ranch and play on the land with the best of them. I've got my daddy's money and my momma's good looks. I love adventure and love to travel but don't mind curling up on the couch with a really good book and wasting the day away. I can be honest to a fault and am strategically disorganized (which is a polite way of saying I'm a mess). I am a blond, not by nature, but by choice. This is a good thing because I have the brains of a brunette. My momma and grandmamas taught me how to be a southern lady. The advice a southern woman will give you about life and love are as follows: Learn how to fix a car but act stupid so a man will fix it for you, but at least you'll know if he's doing it right; It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is with a poor one; Never trust a man who wears more jewelry than you do; Whatever cooking mistakes you make can be covered by either gravy or frosting and ALWAYS remember who's daughter you are. If you noticed I am divorced. Although it is unfortunate, I have chosen to learn from my mistakes and go from there. I am definitely old fashion when it comes to love. I am fully capable of taking care of myself (and I do) but I believe there is something very natural about a man providing for a woman. Not looking for a ring on my finger by December, just someone who wants to take things slow, get to know each other, establish a friendship and go from there.Also, one more thing.....If you have a cat that you love and are not planning on getting rid of, don't contact me. Not that I don't like cats.....they just don't like me. I am deathly allergic!

And with a click of a button I was on the world wide web of dating. Within minutes, I had messages, winks and favorite request (these are online dating lingo) by tons of men across the metroplex. Basically, if you are good looking and don't claim you bedazzle t-shirts as a hobby, men will flock to you as if you were a Brazilian Super Model that tasted like a Krispy Kreme Donut.

So, I was being pursued. Big time. But my heart wasn't in it. I just couldn't get into the idea of dating. Scratch that. Not only dating, but DATING LIKE THIS. To me it was almost like catalogue shopping. A giant J.C. Penny's catalogue of singles (or so they claim) ready and willing to meet you for coffee or a quick hump....whichever you choose. You posted pictures and then in 500 words or less had to convince someone that you are a worthier pursuit than your competition, DFWBARBIE4U.

Finally, a man contact me that I thought would be worth exploring. He was a golf pro at one of the finest Golf Courses in the metroplex. He claimed to be a Christian and he looked pretty cute from his pictures. I agreed to meet him at a Sushi restaurant. I had one drink, claimed I had to get home to my dog and left 30 minutes later. Why do you ask?

PHOTO-FRAUD. This guy looked nothing like his pictures. At first, I seriously thought it was a joke. Listen, I'm not that (just kind of) superficial. But, if he was willing to be that dishonest about the way he looked the what else was he hiding? For all I know, he was going to club me and make a necklace out of my teeth and use my skin to make a lamp shade. I got the hell out of there.

My girlfriend convinced me that it was a fluke and that I needed to give it another shot. Disgruntled and pessimistic, I accepted an offer to another gentlemen a few days later. Going in with a bad attitude, my expectations were extremely low. Except, turns out he was really nice. I mean a genuinely nice guy. Very Polite. He opened the door for me, took me to a nice dinner and gave me a side hug when he walked me to my car. I agreed to go out with him again and everything repeated. He asked me out to a movie for a third date. I said yes. Some time during the course of the movie after I finished off the large popcorn he bought me, he reached over to try to hold my hand. I quickly pulled my hand away from him.

"I'm sorry", I whispered. "I don't do that".

"You don't do what? Hold hands??"

"Ummmm....yeah. I don't hold hands".

He never called me after that.

I gave up. I was going to let the rest of the 30 day membership run its course and not renew for the next month. This dating thing just wasn't for me. I would go back to spending my nights walking my dog and organizing my sock drawer. I even contemplated moving somewhere far away like Poland, taking up the Oboe, and learning to speak French. Aside, from the loneliness that ate away at my strong will and hurting heart, life would go back to normal and normal was good, right?

But something happened. 3 days before my membership ran out, I got a message from a man on the website that seemed to stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of messages I had from other potential suitors hoping to catch my attention. His smile was intoxicating and I knew I recognized him from somewhere. I clicked on Plano_Mtn_Clmbr's profile and read:

Life is so short! We get one trip on this rock - if we're lucky, that's 22 Olympics, 90 Christmas Holidays (and chances to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Story"), 3 fashion crazes involving bell-bottoms (2 down, 1 to go), and a lifetime of laughter, fun, and leaving a loving legacy. Seize the day - make the most of every divinely given moment. We are not promised tomorrow. This is my life's passion. Within that, I'm looking for someone to help me grab life and give to it all we can. This isn't decadence, hedonism, or debauchery, but a life of kindness, compassion, energy, excellence, passion, joy, altruism, and adventure. I'm looking for someone to share this adventure with - to be swept up in it. Whether it's what's for dinner, where to travel, what's that smell, or what is the meaning of life - the answer is to be found in God and together. I want someone who can match my passion, provide wisdom and reason, be a cheerleader, learn new things with me, and to show me the greatness of what make them unique. And for that special someone, I promise to bring all that I am, and all that I can become, to them. One last thing - the two most important loves of my life are my faith and my family (daughter, son, Mom, Dad, sister, niece, nephews, and okay, I guess brother-in-law too). Okay, enough about me - I want to learn about you! Drop me a line, and let's see if perhaps fate smiles on us and we get to live life to the fullest together. Now, stop, drop and roll...oopps, I mean live, laugh and love!

After I read it, despite the cynicism I had been feeling in my heart....something made me hit "Reply".

To be continued......

Don't You Touch My BACON

2010-06-03T14:36:00.004-05:00

Usually, I try to stay away from voicing controversial opinions because it never fails that I will get at least one comment or email telling me how wrong I am. Which is fine, I don't mind you thinking I'm wrong, but when you get all drunk on your hater-aide and start calling me a cootie queen it makes me think, "Geeze, even though this is MY blog, which is about ME and MY opinions, maybe I'll just steer clear of voicing an opinion on anything other than my favorite Disney Character".

That being said, today I'm just going to come out and be controversial by saying,I don't like the Obama administration. And no, it's not just because I wear a "WWJD" bracelet, have an household that is taxed like we are Donald Trump and my daddy taught me Republican women are prettier. Yes, those contribute to my countdown to the next Presidential Election, but it's not my main reason. I work in the Human Resources industry and am having to dive into the specifics of the health care reform.

Now, I like to think of myself as an open-minded conservative. For example, I think attending a gay wedding would be so fabulous! They would probably have rainbow ponies for you to ride on and Lizza Manelli singing a duo with Elton John. We would toast to the happy couple with Cosmopolitans and leave covered in glitter. If that doesn't sound awesome, I'm not sure what does.

Basically, I'm not going to agree with a political view point just because it falls in line with my political affiliations stand. Mind you, I have been trying to look at the health reform with an open mind. That was until I heard the ugliest rumor I have ever heard. When this was initially brought to my attention I gasped and thought, "Could it be?" I mean this news effected me more deeply than when Save by the Bell went off air or when I found out that Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey were getting a divorce. I felt....betrayed, hurt, scared and utterly horrified. For anyone who truly knows me, they know there is one thing I have loved deeply without fetter my whole life; Bacon.

I love bacon. No, scratch that, I ADORE bacon. Laugh all you want, but there is nothing like a slab of bacon to start your day off, followed by a BLT sandwich for lunch and shrimp wrapped in bacon for dinner. When I eat bacon, I feel like I'm in a fairytale world with little pink pigs prancing around fat and happy in top hats on a rainbow singing, "We will gladly sacrifice our life for your enjoyment".

Did you know that the health care reform and the government sticking their nose where it doesn't belong and trying to regulate our salt intake will RUIN bacon? I bet you didn't know that, huh? Do you know what makes bacon so damn good? SALT. Do you know what bacon taste like without salt? WARM CARDBOARD. Well, my democratic friends no need to say I was right, you can just quietly scrape off your bumper sticker in the middle of the night and take a stand and VOTE FOR BACON.

A Diet Called Divorce (Excerpt)

2010-06-01T11:07:00.002-05:00

Good Morning friends, family and foes. Since today is a busy day for me and I do not want to leave you empty handed, I decided to give you guys a little taste of my book, "A Diet Called Divorce". This excerpt comes from the first few pages of the chapter : Divorcee' is Sexy. Hope you enjoy! Oh and, this is copywrited so, basically....don't steal my shit! Hugs!

Click here to read my previous entry: http://spilledmilksaga.blogspot.com/2009/11/diet-called-divorce.html

There is a wonderful and beautiful life even after divorce. When I was knee deep in the middle of it, I never would have guessed it. After it was all said and done there were a lot of things I wished I would have said and wish I could have changed. But, that’s the problem with life, there’s no rewind button. You just have to keep moving forward and hope that the heroin of your story finally learns from her mistakes, like the heroin in this story finally did.

It’s kind of ironic that you have to royally screw things up before you can learn anything from it. You could say, “If only I had known what I know now”, but guess what? You didn’t know and you probably never would have gotten that kick in the ass that you needed to set yourself straight.

We don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t suck when you can’t always fix the mistakes you have made. My mistake was unfixable. So was my husband’s. The damage was already done and the hurt was too deep. Eventually you get around to forgiving one another but sometimes, it’s just too late. When you put to imperfect people together to try and live as one, too often the dreams become broken.

My divorce went through and finalized that hot June day along with thousands of others. My case was one in a million to the people who buzzed around me in the crowed downtown courthouse. I sat with my sweaty hands folded in my lap, silently saying my last name over and over again in my head. After today, that name would no longer belong to me. In the back of my mind, I was reminded that within a few short months, the name would belong to the woman he chose over me. I no longer had the right to bear the name. Sure, it would take a few weeks to once again go through the motions of changing my name legal back to my maiden’s in an attempt to pretend this marriage never happened. But I knew better. This name would be the last thing I shared with him and I thought if I repeated it enough, this part of my life wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

My soon-to-be ex husband forfeited his required presence at the courthouse and I sat quietly with my lawyer in line to see the judge who would dissolve my marriage with ease in a matter of minutes. The court house was packed, filled with anxious faces ready and willing to put their past behind them. Yet, amongst the crowd were a few faces similar to mine; swollen red with puffy moist eyes trying their best to hold in their emotions until they made it back to their empty homes.

Mind you, I knew that this was how it was suppose to be. I was emotionally exhausted. At this point, I was ready to move on. But, despite knowing that finalizing this divorce was necessary, didn’t make it hurt any less. The knot in my stomach, was so painful I sat hunched over in my chair until the court attendant called my name.

Walking into the cold court room, I watched the end of a divorce proceeding for a couple who had been married for 17 years. My short three year marriage was nothing compared to what they were losing. Their years of memories would be much harder to forget than mine; I was envious of that. I was already starting to forget my husband and our time together was becoming a distant memory. I didn’t want to loose those recollections, not yet anyway.

Upon approaching the bench, I studied the man who held the power to completely change my future in his hands. I knew the judge wouldn’t remember me and my case by the next hour but I would always remember his face. He had long grey hair that he kept back in a ponytail; his eyeglasses were black rimmed and trendy. The black gown used to distinguish him as a high powered judge, hung open and loose, revealing his worn blue jeans and Hawaiian shirt he sported. He had a kind smile, crooked teeth and looked at me sympathetically as I approached the bench with my lawyer. Smiling down from his bench, at the shaking girl he looked straight into my eyes that tried with all their might to hold back the tears, and asked me if I wanted a divorce. I hesitated before I replied.

He didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know that I still didn’t know the answer to this question. That I had gone back and forth for the past several months trying to figure out whether or not my marriage could work. This man didn’t know that I had tried only weeks before to go back to my husband and beg him for forgiveness but had been turned down and rejected with the same conviction and certainty I had abandoned my husband with only a few months before. The internal struggle for the truth continued in my heart and mind and I feared it would be a question I would never get the answer to. But, regardless of it all, I knew my response had to be yes. There was no other choice, no turning back. The divorce was happening and there was nothing I could do about it.

I can’t remember exactly what was said or how it was handled but I’ll never forget the deep tone in his voice and the echo in the room when he said the request was approved. It was done. My marriage was over. For such a dramatic experience, there was no bolt of lightening or roll of thunder. Nothing in the rest of the world had change even though everything had just changed in mine.

My lawyer escorted me out of the courtroom and told me congratulations. I laughed because it was the most unfitting choice of words anyone could have chosen. It was a devastating moment in time. Maybe an “I’m sorry” or a “Best of luck” would have been more fitting but this was nothing to congratulate me on. I had ruined a marriage and paid a slime ball $5,000 to do it.

“No congratulations to you” I replied as I walked away, not looking back at the very perplexed lawyer standing with his hand extended.

Alone on the steps of the downtown courthouse I sat my tired body down and soaked in the warm sun that was beating down on my face. The courthouse lawn was crazy for a Thursday afternoon and the crowds of people rushing up and down the stairs, made my resting spot somewhat of a hazardous one. The transsexual who looked like she drove in on a Rainbow pony, dashed past me leaving behind the glitter and the faint scent of Vanilla. Her clear plastic heels knocked my purse down to the next step, spilling half of its contents.

Regaining my composure, I nestled back into my spot on the steps, this time with my purse tucked protectively behind my legs. Somehow, despite the loud voices and stirring that surrounded me, I closed my eyes and thanked God that despite it all, life goes on. Even though I felt in that moment I had the energy to do nothing, in the back of my mind I knew that eventually I would have to stand up, walk down the steps and move on with my life.

I listened as the birds chirped in the air. Although I hoped I wouldn’t end up with a big pile of bird poop caked in my hair, I smiled as their happy song echoed through the lawn and remembered the bible verse my mom would remind me of as a child, “If God takes care of the birds don’t you know he’ll take care of you, too?”

I believed that God would take care of me and that he would some how make this all fit into his plan for my life. As the tears began to fall, I knew I didn’t trust God to heal my marriage, so I took my own path, doing what I thought was the right thing because deep down, I didn’t believe God really loved meI understood that one day this would all be a distant memory. Something I would look back on and had trouble remember what I felt, how I felt and the decisions I made that forever affected my life and the lives of others. I knew there would come a day when I no longer held on to the guilt that would haunt me in my moments of weakness.

But as I sat on those steps, I knew today wasn’t that day. Today was the final reminder of my sins and of my failure. It wasn’t just the loss of my husband that made me mourn, it was the loss of that blind faith I had always had. Yes, it was horrible that I let my spouse down, but what is so much worse is I let God down. . Maybe even if I would have trust in God my marriage still would have failed. I’m not sure, but at least I wouldn’t have had to go through the pain alone. As I got up to leave, I knew that God has his hand over me. He would help me pick up the pieces, mend my heart and show me his unfettering love that I could amazingly still feel despite my disappointment to him. I knew my faith would continue to grow and I would eventually see the big picture in God’s plan for my life. The failure was a blessing in disguise because of the way it grew me as a person. .....(to be continued)

Deep Thoughts with Jpo

2010-05-28T10:22:00.002-05:00

Believe it or not, there are moments when I actually think about things deeper than what Britney Spears is up to, how many calories are in that Ding Dong and when my next bikini wax is. So, today I'm going to ponder the following deep question:

"Can you screw up the will of God?"

Buckethead and I were discussing this the other day and have yet to come up with a conclusion. Being divorced and now remarried, this question hits really close to home for me. My marriage to the Bucket, though not perfect, is the greatest blessing in my life. He is the cheese to my macaroni. I can't fathom the gift of Mark being from anyone other than God. My prayers that I would cry out to Jesus in those heart breaking, terrifying and lonely moments a few years ago, were answered when Buckethead was brought into my life. I'd like to believe that our marriage is "meant to be"; an answer to prayer. I mean, isn't that every little girls dream? To find and marry their soul mate? The one man that God made for them?

What I want to believe is that we have got to think pretty highly of ourselves to believe that we can screw up the will of God. I know that Mark's divorce and my divorce were not what God wanted for us, but being an Omnipotent God, didn't he already know this would be a part of our winding and struggling path we walk on as Christian and he knew that Mark and I would be together in the end?

You may think my theology is way off, and maybe it is. But, what I do know is that had I not gone through what I did in my first marriage and experiencing the heartbreak of divorce, I really don't think I would appreciate what I have now with Buckethead. If the divorce hadn't have happened, I wouldn't understand Grace. A forgiving God was so far from my grasp of understanding, until I saw his forgiveness cover my darkest sin.

So does God allow the sin and hurt in your life to happen for his will to be fulfilled or can we truly screw up the will God has for our lives? After we fail, do we have to live out the rest of our Earthly lives in a life that was not intended for us? Or, does it sometimes take falling flat on your face to truly rise up to who you are meant to be?

More Wedding Pics (too pretty not to share)

2010-05-25T21:26:00.003-05:00

My T.V. Life

2010-05-25T11:04:00.003-05:00

Just moments after Jack Bauer walked out of my life forever, in walked Ally for the new Season of "The Bachelorette". Because I'm pathetic like this, I will spend the next 8 weeks obessing over this reality show; a reality in where a guy who makes 30k yearly will be able to pursue Ally with Hellicopter rides, fine dining and lots of hottub action surrounded by a camera crew. If not's not an accurate portrayal of dating, then I don't know what is!

If I were Ally, I would fire my wardrobe consultant because her dress made her look like Liza Minnelli after eating a pan of Canollis. It was an awful selection. It made Lady Gaga look like she was dressed in Channel. And was her hair green?If I recall correctly, Ally made fun of Veinna last season for having hair extensions. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think there was about 5 packs of a Swedish woman's hair fused into that head of hers.

Although I found Ally rude and winy last season, I'm willing to give her another chance for no other reason than I need a new show to cling to. The withdraw of 24 and Modern Family is still fresh. My wounds need time to heal. So, given the situation, I'm moving on in forgiveness towards Ally. She better not piss me off though, or I'll have to go all Chuck Norris on her ass.

Just a thought, if ABC really wants to boost ratings, they should have Kate Gosslin be the next Bachelorette. How stinking fantastic of a train wreck would that be? I think I'm on to something....

Weekend Wrap-Up (Birthday style)

2010-05-23T18:42:00.003-05:00

As my weekend is drawing to an end, I am reminded of how blessed I am! My Buckethead treated me so special this weekend for my birthday. We went as a family down to Wolfgang Puck's new restaurant 560 and had a wonderful dinner (although there were NO kids menu's forcing us to order our 9 year old son a meal that could have taken the whole family to Chili's for the price).

Never the less, it was so tasty and I was surprised with a David Yurman bracelet after dinner. Spoiled? maybe. Grateful? Abso-freakin-lutely.

Winter Weight

2010-05-21T10:53:00.002-05:00

The annual 5 pound winter weight gain that begins immediately after Thanksgiving and stays lingering around my waist line and upper thighs until around my birthday (which just so happens to be this weekend) disapeared over the last few days. FINALLY!

I'd like to give a warm thanks to the Stomach Flu for all its help in the weight loss and for making me question if we should install two toilets side by side each other when we remodel our master bath in the fall. Unfortunately, I more than discovered a need for this arrangement.

Now, although the 5 pounds has been flushed down the toilet; it wasn't an easy fix people. I nearly gave myself a concussion from bagging my head on the porcelain throne and any image I hoped my husband would never have of me will now forever be painfully branded in his brain.

Mind you, Buckethead handled it best he could although he obviously thought my pain tolerance could have been a little higher. He would sweetly pat my arm, tell me he loved me,put a cold towel on my head and then think of some excuse to get the hell out of there and turn his headphones up high.

In my defense, living on Gatorade and pepto-bismol for 72 hours isn't exactly my idea of killer time. So, I got cranky? Who wouldn't? So, I screamed when he brought me Cherry flavored children's Tylenol? Big Deal! So, I wrapped my legs with Icy Hot pads and cleared out the entire neighborhoods sinus' with the smell? Sounds like a great idea to me! So, I tried to convince him the only cure for my fever was watching a marathon of The Real Housewives of New York? Duh!

Today, I'm feeling better and will join my sweet family at the Rotating Ball Restaurant in downtown tonight to celebrate my birthday. There is no better birthday gift than being with your family and no longer having the shits.

Happy Weekend!

The Stain

2010-05-18T08:49:00.002-05:00

Somebody peed on the carpet last night. Upon in ital discovery this morning, which unfortunately was by Buckethead, the peaceful and tranquil morning turned quickly into a pissy one (hehe....get it? Pissy?? You know because someone pee'd?). Whilst scrubbing the carpet, Buckethead glared towards the rear french doors at the three dogs peering through the glass panels. All three looked guilty; all three looked innocent; all three looked terrified.

So, given the fact that I'm the one that brought a third dog into our lives thus making us the crazy dog people, anytime one of the dogs does something wrong in our house I immediately try to shield and defend them in hopes that I too, don't get sent outside with only a water bowl and a squeaky toy.

Mark's voice was starting to sound more like a growl (or Kristi Alley's stomach) leaving me no other choice than to think quick. At this point I'm desperate and my only rebuttal is, "Well maybe it wasn't the dogs, it could have been Mitch".

Nice, Jennifer. Blame the pee stain on your 9 year old stepson. I think a better argument would have been if I had blamed it on myself. Mind you, I had a few cocktails last night followed by a Crunch Wrap Supreme from Taco Hell. Things can happen.

A Little Bit of TMI

2010-05-17T13:24:00.002-05:00

So, I'm wearing this form fitted black dress today and just because I'm a ~~size 4~~ size 2, doesn't mean that I don't need a little "help" tucking it all in. So what does any cosmo girl do in this situation? Pull out the spanx and prepare to suck it in, tuck it in and roll 'em up.

So here's the TMI, if the above wasn't enough for you already. About 20 minutes ago after my Sonic cheeseburger, I quickly realized I should have had a packet of Splenda for lunch instead. The Spanx had reached it's breaking point. And Oh my Sweet Lady Ga Ga, they were seriously about push my kidney up into my thorax. There was no getting around it; it was either me or the spandex. Fortunately, I have my own office and now the Spanx are resting quietly at the bottom of my purse. What a relief to know I am free to stick out my gut and not fear that my underwear are going to pop like an over-inflated balloon.

Fantasy Dinner

2010-05-13T09:51:00.003-05:00

Ever played the Fantasy Dinner game before? The game that allows you to pick 7 guest, living or deceased from any era in time, to join you for dinner? Given the fact that nothing in the last 24 hours has occurred that's even worth mentioning ~~or isn't X rated~~ , I decided today, I would share my 7 fantasy dinner guest with you.

Originally my first choice would have been the obvious, Jesus Christ. But then I got to thinking. Sure, we would have a never ending supply of red wine and it's a heck of a lot cheaper to buy water than go to the Liquor store and stock up on some Merlot. Except, I know how I get after a few glasses and my guess is that the wine Jesus makes is pretty freaking awesome. And given the fact that one of my guest would be Teressa from the Real Housewives of New Jersey who's been known to flip a table or two at dinner parties, I decided I would probably just let Jesus join us from Heaven or better yet seat him at the opposite end of the table next to George W. Bush and cross my fingers that George keeps his drinking to a minimum.

Now this next person that would be joining me, I believe and have believed this for sometime now, could be my very best friend if only she would stop asking her security team to escort me from the premises. Just once, if I could breach her system and gain access the rest would be history. We would have pillow fights, gossip and paint each other's toes. This future best friend and the lady that would be sitting on the right hand side of me at this dinner is none other than......Miss Britney Spears.

Not wanting to seem unintelligent and completely surfacy, I know I would need to throw in someone of substance and great political influence. This is why my next guest would be ~~Chelsey Handler~~ Sean Hannity. I would probably put Sean down beside Jesus and George, that way he would know once and for all that Jesus is a Republican.

Common sense kicks in and I realize that somebody has to pay for this dinner of Fillet Mignon, garlic mashed potatoes, sea scallops and Key lime pie; so I decide to invite Buckethead.

Now, I'm down to one final dinner guest and I decide to pick Kate Gosslin. Why? Because it's funny and she really stunk on Dancing with the Stars and at one point she had a litter of kids in her stomach and I want to know if she's REALLY having an affair with her bodyguard and compare hair extensions. (Yes, that sentence is a fragment, run-on etc. but I needed it for dramatic effect) I would deck myself out in head to toe Ed Hardy attire so I resembled her ex, Jon in hopes that she would go crazy and pop out a baby or something.

If she left in a huff, I would quickly replace her with Sebastian, the crab from The Little Mermaid because have YOU ever met a singing crab before? I don't think so.

We would all sit there, enjoying the wine Jesus made listening to the sweet song "Under the Sea" performed by Sebastian. Somehow the course of conversation would turn to the Twilight Saga and I would secretly wish I had chosen Edward Cullen to come to dinner over President Bush.

Makeover

2010-05-12T10:26:00.003-05:00

I don't know about you but I love me a good makeover. When I'm feeling frumpy, bloated and up to my eyeballs with a bunch of white girl problems (such as finding the perfect wedge shoe for the summer), I know that it's time for a little pick me up. Intuitively, I know just what to do and head over to the "Nice Nail" in the Target strip center.

Side note: I don't understand the name of my nail salon. "Nice Nail"? Do they only want you to have ONE nice nail and the other NINE nails look like you used a highlighter to do paint them? Why don't they say Nice NailS. Plural form- that way I don't go in there and make a fool of myself my asking them to paint my right index finger.

I digress. After I go in and visit Choo, the sweet Vietnamese lady who talks trash about me, my grown out cuticles and stinky feet in her native language to the girl beside me, and get rubbed, yanked, scrubed and filed and asked three times if I want her to paint a flowa on my toe, I get out of there feeling rejuvenated and refreshed.

My blog was acting down in the dumps the other day. She told me she wasn't motivated and that she didn't feel pretty anymore. I think she had gotten in a fight with her boyfriend but I didn't bring it up--you know, salt in the wound people?

Any woo, I knew just the ticket--A MAKEOVER! Doesn't she ooze FAB- U - LOSITY!? She's hotter than a gay man in the mosh pit at a Madonna concert! A special thanks to Mary at Blog Rock for fixing my girl up! You can contact her at mary@blogrockmaryrc.com

Let's Talk About S-E-X

2010-05-11T08:45:00.003-05:00

Did that title get your attention?

I feel like I should start with a *disclosure* statement and let you know - the following blog will contain adult content and should not be read by people under the age of 18 or over the age of 65, my dad, my grandad, readers who call me highly inappropriate, and people who pretend they don't have sex and that their children were dropped off on their door step by a stork in a striped conductors hat.

I have a 5th grade step-daughter who's entering the final few weeks of school. The school will begin preparing them for Junior High and what to expect so they are not blind sided when they walk through those nerve-racking doors in a few months. Does anyone know what that means???

SEX EDUCATION CLASS!!!!!

Gulp! In a matter of days my sweet, innocent, secretly still likes to play with Barbies step-daughter will learn about erections, wieners, wet-dreams, periods and intercourse.

I'm so nervous for her! I don't know about you, but I found the penis to be absolutely terrifying! The memories of sitting in our gym watching a video of a cartoon penis ejaculate still haunts me. After the video, I sat there perplex and thought...does SEX mean a man pees in you? I just didn't get it! It was gross and told my friends "I will NEVER, EVER, EVER enjoy that" (Side note: I WAS WROOOONNNNGGG!)

Buckethead has been locked up crying in the bathroom. I shoved a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a juice box through the space under the door in hopes he would eat something. I told Buckethead to not be naive; our little innocent baby girl, knows more than we think. After all, she thinks Edward, the Vampire from Twilight is HOOTTT. Along with Justin Beiber and the Jonas Brothers. I'm sure her and her friends are starting to talk about boys and figure things out.

But, the notion that she will have a visual of the male anatomy and what will happen to a boy when you stand too close to him at the end of the year dance party, somehow draws an end to a certain stage of innocence she won't get back.

Now don't get me wrong, I think she should watch the video. 5th grade is the time to do it, otherwise she will get all her get the "facts" from her peers and it may not be the "facts" you want her to believe. That being said, I think it's our job in her home to prepare her for the video so she doesn't try to poke out her eyes in horror. I know some parents were upset because the video doesn't teach abstinence but that's the parent's job not the schools. The school is simply giving the facts. The parent's have to teach the kid the right and wrong way to handle what they have just learned.

My mom did a great job when it came to teaching me about sex. Unfortunately, it was earlier than 5th grade as I had an intense curiosity about the anatomy text book that was up in our attic. She taught me that sex wasn't a bad word or a bad thing, it was just private between a mommy and a daddy. I remember going to my 3rd grade class and telling them that, "Sex is a beautiful thing for our parents".

I got laughed at. Andrew Classuand pointed his big pudgy finger coated in chocolate in my face and yelled "JENNIFER LIKES SEX". I ran to the bathroom and cried. I did voo-doo on him with a Ken doll when I got home from school and called him a lint licker.

One of the things I love the most about my relationship with my step-daughter is that she confides in me. She'll tell me something private, ask me not to tell anyone and I keep my promise. I know that she will come and talk to me about the sex video and I will start to perspire and say ummm and like a lot. I will try to think of other words to use instead of penis, such as boy parts, tee-tee, wienie and tallywacker. I'll try to keep reverting the conversation to maxi pads and periods but never the less, it will come back to the question, "What do boys think about that gives them wet dreams" and I will look up to Heaven and say "You Created it God so why didn't you add a Sex education chapter to the Bible"? I mean I guess I could always go to the Song of Solomon and read about the breast being like two mountains of lilies that the man "feedeth" in.....but I'm afraid that would creep her out even more.

So any suggestions? Thoughts, advice, or opinions? Do you have the perfect thing I should say when the questions are brought up? Can you give my step-daughter and I an Oprah moment?

It Wasn't Me

2010-05-10T11:11:00.002-05:00

Harley blamed it on Huck. I shook my head and said, "You really expect me to believe a weenie dog could to this in a matter of minutes?" He just sat there, hoping those big dopey eyes of his would get him out of trouble. It worked and then I took a picture.

Thank You Mom

2010-05-07T13:20:00.002-05:00

Thank you Mom for instilling in me the need to wear clean underwear, to not sit too close to the T.V. and teaching me the difference between "closing" a door and "slamming" a door. Even if I never figured out the scale of measurement when you'd tell me, "I've had it up to here". I see a lot you in me now as I attempt to be a grown up in this world.

For example I, too lock myself in my bathroom to soak in the tub with a glass of wine and a romance novel and block out the screams that come from behind the door. I also love to clean out people's ears. Anybody's ears....just like you, Mom. Harley, the dog and Mitch, the step-son go running to hide when I walk out with a Q-tip in my hand.

Sure, I have a long way to go but Mom, you truly are a gift from God and I'm so glad you're my mom! Happy Mothers' Day.

I'd also like to say Happy Mother's Day to my sweet friends Julie and Shasta who became Mom's this past month.