Throw the Book At Your Face

If I ever get the gumption to do so, I will apologize to JD for the grief I gave him over joining Facebook. 


I am pretty sure I used words like "pedophile," "freak," "weirdo," "stalker," and I am confident I accused him of trolling for a girlfriend. I am not proud. Sometimes I pick on him for sport.  


But one day, to shut me up no doubt, he showed me what it was he was looking at. And, he granted me full access to his page. I began looking to see what all this was about and within a week, I had my own page. 


Since then, I have not gone a day without checking it. No, really. I love Facebook. I would never run into these people at the grocery, or know that my kindergarten teacher likes One Kings Lane. It really is genius. 


But as of late, I have the following grievances:


1. It is NOT therapy. It is also, not a megaphone. it is not a highlighter or a center stage.  I don't want to have to buy a Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder Ring to figure out someone's status. If I see one more status that is "DJ Tanner is having the worst day ever" or "Blair Warner is weighing her options" I am going to scream. Can you please just put "Natalie Morales needs some attention. Please call or private message me?" It would be GREAT. 


2. I love that you eat out every night; please stop "checking-in." If you don't, I am going to start robbing your house while you are out.  There should be a rule that if you "check-in," you should also have to put how you are paying for your meal: "XXXX checked-in at Blah Wine Bar on the client's tab."  I think when you check-in, you are misleading some people into thinking you are balling out of control, when in fact, you are not. 


Also, I don't care that you are at Target. Unless, this is your way of saying "Hey, I am at Target, can I pick-up anything for you?" 


3. OMG! You went to Mexico? That is amazing! I am so glad you put up 457 pictures. Here are the ones I want to see: any with people. I don't care what your room looked like, or that there was a waterfall or a drug cartel at the border. I want to see what you wore to dinners and what you look like in a bathing suit because I am THAT insecure. If I want to see the topography of Mexico, I will go to Mexico. 


4. Back to #1. I think Facebook should have a breath test. If you blow over the legal limit, you cannot post. 


5. If I want a good quote, I will Google one. 


This post will show up again. Bet your bottom dollar. And, please feel free to add to the list. If you cannot add to the comments section, you can email your grievances to katiesanderson@insightbb.com. 

Her, Really?

Since starting and then "coming out" with these blogs like some sort of writing gay, I have gotten a lot of comments about my writing. A lot. 


First let me say, 99.5% of it has been extremely complimentary. "You write like you talk!" or "I feel like I am right there listening to you" and "This will serve as great documentation to have you committed!" The best, is when people compare my humor. Honestly, the insecure part of me really loves this. It is always a lesson in psychiatry to see how others view you.


The two comparisons I get most are Tina Fey and Chelsea Handler. Two comparisons I could not be more thrilled with. That is like saying "You are smart like Albert Einstein and Thomas Jefferson" or "You are pretty like  Giselle and Pippa Middleton" or "You are going to live a life like John's Candy and Belushi."  It is very flattering. I am big fans of both of their works. Chelsea is on a little late for me. Who can stay up past 10 for crying out loud? Who am I, a Lohan?


So, the other day, I had a "friend," let's call her former friend Kimmie Gibbler, email me and tell me that my blogs were 'hilarious' and 'well-written' and that I reminded her of.... wait for it.... a local radio personality here in town let's call Shelly B. (I am NOT trying to get sued.)


WHAT??? 


This is kind of thinking that says things like:
 "You are as funny as Urkel." Or "You know who was a great President? Jimmy Carter."  It is the equivalent of thinking Mr. Belding was the funniest character on Saved By the Bell.  


Therefore, her email might as well have  said:


"Dear Katie- I read your blogs. I found them to be mediocre.  Your writing is nowhere near MLA format compliant, you lack thought development, you open strong and close weak, your use of profanity suggests you are intellectually inferior and your humor is not overly accepted by all to be, well, let's say "funny." I found you to be quite a dullard. I suggest you make a better use of your time and enroll in some creative writing classes post haste and develop your skills before you continue to sully the Internet with the brand of thoughtless prose. I do not find you to be funny, but rather crass, distasteful and meaningless. Perhaps you should review a real comedianne, like one Ms. Fran Drescher. Fondly, Kimmie Gibbler."


Shelly B is on in the mornings and I cannot listen to her. Mainly, because I have a brain and also, because the doctors said that is the best way to keep my ears from bleeding. Her voice sounds like what I imagine it does if you put baby squirrels in the blender. She also has a gig hocking everything in town, so I get to see her on the TV from time to time.  


She says things like "Oh no she didn't" and "You go girl" both in and out of accent. And it doesn't stop there. It is EVERY catchphrase imaginable. She is the kind of person who can wax philosophical about Jersey Shore and The Bachelor like these are real people and these are real goings on about life.  She is LOUD and squeals for no reason. 


So much of her "comedy" is the garden variety obvious joke; dumb blond, small penis, is he/isn't he?,  low hanging fruit (to which she would reply "Oh no she didn't!!)  Which it has to be to be on radio.  I get that is her "schtick," but it is the most annoying thing I have ever heard. How do I know all this, you ask? Because I, apparently, only patron establishments where this drivel is on. For instance most recently, the dentist. For 2 hours. I am honestly not sure which was worse. 


So when Kimmie Gibbler came up with Shelly B as who I reminded her of, it really burned me up. Actually, it hurt my ego and my feelings. Of course I thanked her for reading and went about my day, but I could not stop thinking about it. I have no idea where she got it. Is that what she thinks is funny? Is that just her point of reference? Maybe I took for granted that most people who read my blogs have similar senses of humor to me. Therefore, I assumed everyone "got" what I was talking about. I am not sure. But that one, I really took that one hard. I was kind of depressed about it. It was a 2-glass of wine kind of night. 


Then, in a moment of clarity (probably between pouring the 1st and 2nd glasses), I remembered that trick where you write a letter to the person who hath wronged you and state your grievances. You don't ever send the letter, but it is cardiac to write it. Cathartic. Catholic. Catatonic?


In my mind, I wrote Kimmie Gibbler back an email:


"Dear Kimmie- Thank you for your interest in my blogs. Unfortunately, at this time, we are only accepting readers with an actual sense of humor. From your reference to Shelly B, it is clear that you are not someone who can sense humor, nor am I certain that you are fit to live an independent adult lifestyle. While I admire your desire for wit and the sarcastic arts, sadly, it is not for all. It requires strength, quick mental aptitude, some physical prowess, and an overall personality sharpness that I feel you lack. If you would like to continue training, I would encourage you to do so. You might start by making application for ANY position the Sedaris family would offer you in the form of a non-paid internship. If that does not manifest, you might quarantine yourself to the confines of your home and study hours of the outrageously defunct series Arrested Development. I cannot promise you this will work, but it might. Additionally, get an iPod/Phone so that you are not subjected to the mediocrity of terrestrial radio, Shelly B, and that infernal cackling each morning. Deep condition your hair each Sunday night and stop wearing so much make-up. You look hourly. Satirically, Katie"


Her? Really? Come on. That is like saying " I thought Hilter was a good leader." Idiot. 

Photo: Pinterest (Duh)

The Black Widow

Some people are just hard to write about. 


Not because the feelings don't exist or aren't genuine. In fact, it is pretty much the opposite. Sometimes, it is just that one person that you find it hard to put into words  how you feel. 


Especially if that person is among your most  sarcastic, pop culture knowing and over all most nonsensical sparing partners. And it is their birthday. 


I met my friend Creighton 3-years-ago this summer. True to someone who has a name like Creighton, she was your typical WASPY Goddess; she arrived in a 4-door Volvo, toting some heirloom casserole in a covered dish that I am certain bore a monogram. She was wearing pearls and a cardigan and she began to divulge details of her life growing up and currently that allowed me to complete and win the Yuppie Bingo card I was playing. But unlike most people with that kind of pedigree, Creighton was not wearing that same stinky cologne that so many do of "like me, please notice my life and like me."  She had an edge under that cardigan. 


Each time we hung out, I realized that cardigan was hiding a RUN DMC shirt underneath. Literally. Well, not literally, although she did, at a later time, wear a RUN DMC shirt. But she was so sharp. And it was like she was in my head. She got all my jokes; especially when no one else did. We watched the same shows, liked the same music, read the same blogs, on and on blah blah. Sweet Valley Twins. 


But then, Sweet B arrived on the scene. So now, I am in this club as a Mommy. It got real. Real fast. "People stopped being polite, and started getting real."  With that reality, you quickly learn who you should ask for advice, who you can ask for advice, whose advice you should listen to, and you overall start looking at your friends as moms. I started to really assess parenting style, marital relationship with kids and overall confidence as a mom and a person and how to emulate that in your life. Every time, I came back to Creighton. 


Creighton will tell you what she thinks of Wills and Kate or Peaches Geldof, but not how to parent your child. Unless you ask her. She has the most diplomatic and sensitive way of offering advice without offending; cradling without coddling and listening without lecturing. She is always quick to tell you about a time when she felt she was  a failure, but also of a time of triumph. Most likely, in a story that will make you laugh so hard you cry. 


She is the kind of person who is always making me laugh. Our lives together are a gigantic inside joke. Not to be a mean girl, but this post is riddled with inside jokes.  I love getting texts that say "When you have a second, we need to discuss Benecio del Toro and Kimberly Stewart. That is all. "  She and I pretty much are probably doing exactly the same thing at the same time on any given day; reading The Daily Mail and pinning things on Pinterest. 


Creighton has taught me a lot of things. A LOT. She taught me to make toddler hair bows. In turn, she probably taught me that should I die accidentally, I will not be identifiable because I have no fingerprints. She has given me more advice about raising a daughter than I have been able to absorb. I will no doubt need a refresher course and will continue to seek her counsel as she is raising two of the greatest little girls on the planet. Her guidance on sales/stores/sites has been enough to get me divorced.  She taught me that if you are ever stuck in an elevator in someones home, don't panic until afterward. One of her best pearls of wisdom, I feel should be embroidered on a pillow: "Never buy what you can make." Clearly, you see the irony in that. 


She is the kind of friend that is effortless in that her expectations are minimal. But as a good friend, you have to be on your toes. She is a worthy opponent. To be able to get her to laugh, or to have her call you "hilarious" is truly one of the most valued compliments one could receive. 


Her house looks like a photo shoot for a magazine. She does calligraphy "on the side." When she says she will not buy something she can make, it is true; because she can make anything. She is the kind of woman who sends her girls to school in matching leggings and tunics with their monograms and Santa hat appliques that she did not buy, but made for a fraction of the price and that look better than everyone else's. When someone says "Oh Creighty, the girls look great! Where did you get their shirts?" she will say "Oh, I made them. It wasn't a big deal." Humble is one of her best qualities. 


She married her high school sweetheart. Barf, I know. But, unlike some Lifetime movie couple, they are exactly the couple that you would want to get married. Equally hilarious, they are probably as in love, if not more, as they were in high school. I am certain of it. I can't imagine they haven't always been sickeningly perfect. 


Today, she will have no fewer than 200 Facebook


But again, I did a blog post. Because before I opened up my blog to the masses, I sent it to Creighton as a Beta test. You can thank Creighton for being able to read this blog publicly. Just be sure to write it in calligraphy. 




Happy Birthday, Creighty.  

You Are Literally Right.

I am seriously the world's worst match maker. The problems is, I always see it AFTER the horrible date I have set these innocent friends of mine up on. Therefore, like stirrup pants, I gave up matchmaking years ago. 


But when you have different friend groups, like we all do, it is kind of like matchmaking. This kind of hit me recently when I was at a playdate at a friends house that she had invited another of her friends and her kids to attend. This was one of those times where my complete inattention detail paid off, because I had no expectations for the playdate other than to have fun. 


When we got in, there was the normal chaos that comes with kids and introductions. That part is tough for me because there is so much going on, I sometimes miss crucial parts. Like names. So I have to really laser focus on those first crucial moments. I either look really interested or like I am passing a kidney stone. Without seeing footage, it is probably the latter. 


After the kids got settled, the moms retired to the kitchen for some snacks and chatter of our own. Let's call the mom I previously knew Rose and the new mom Dorothy. I kept saying her name over and over in my head like some sort of mental patient. Rose and Dorothy had gone to college together and then worked together before "retiring" after their kids were born. We are all about the same age, as are our kids. We begin with the usual small talk; the inhumanity of household duties, why doesn't 20lbs fall off in your sleep, apartheid, Tripoli. I begin to notice a pattern with Dorothy. 


She thinks I am an idiot. 


Okay, that is maybe too literal. But, every time I concur with her thought or inquire more about her feelings on a subject, her response is "Oh, you have no idea" or "Oh my God, you don't even know." 


Technically, you are right. Hence the questions. 


For example: Talk turned to schools. We began talking about a local school that has gotten some bad press lately. I mentioned that I had a friend who had looked at the school and felt it was a little overcrowded. Dorothy's response "Oh, you don't even know." Right. Cause notice I didn't say that I had looked at the school. Just my friend. I am merely providing a relational point. I am not saying that I know, or implying that I am in some way an expert on the subject in which we are discussing. Just makin' conversation, bitch. 


It was exhausting. Once I noticed it, I couldn't stop noticing it. It was her response to everything. And what if I did, actually know something. What if Rose had been like "So, isn't it crazy that some people think that the Kennedy family is cursed?" Here chimes in Dorothy with her "Oh my God, you don't even know." Ready for the punch, cause here it comes. "Actually, Dorothy, I do. I read a fascinating book called The Kennedy Curse a couple of years ago that explored that exact notion. It seems that the idea is rooted in the hypothesis that the patriarch, Joe, was so calculated and devious that he somehow "sold his soul to the devil" for the success of his children because he would burn any bridge, spin any yarn, promote any act, no matter how salacious for the advancement of the family. Ironically, his wife Rose was so pious, that even she could not make-up for his misgivings." Boom!  I do know.


I didn't want to say anything else, but I didn't want to seem unkind or disrespectful to Rose. Frankly, Rose seemed a little put out with her too. I began to phrase things in a way to to thwart her; "I am no expert, but blah blah blah."  It stumped her. For a little while...


Dorothy had to leave early. She gathered her kids and thanked Rose for having her. She told me it was great to meet me and that she hoped we could do it again soon. I told her, "I know. You have no idea how much fun I have had!" She looked at me for a minute and I thought maybe she was on to my game. Then, I realized that I had spoken her language.  


Rose explained that she had realized it was a bad idea immediately after she had invited her. I started to feel bad, but she went on to explain that it was because she forgot that Dorothy is not always a crowd pleaser. She practically apologized all over herself. I explained that I wasn't good at matchmaking either and that it was okay. Like dating, at least I had gotten a free meal. 


This is what I hope you imagine Dorothy looks like. 

Photo: Pinterest

Aruba, Jamaica, Ooh I Wanna Take Ya... But I Don't Want to Bring You Back.

First of all, I re-read my last post and clearly, I need an editor. What sounded so good in my head did not make it to my fingertips. I may try to refine that at a later date. Or, dictate it to someone more eloquent, ask them to write it down and then rob them blind of their notes. While it made me sound like the most selfish person in the world, (which we cannot tell for sure I am not, those tests are still pending) I truly had a much more innocent sentiment. 


Okay. 


Can we just agree that if you go on vacation here:

Photo: Aruba.com

You are going to die. I am especially warning my blonde friends. Not to be racists against my brunette friends, cause you know I love you all SO much, but it only took Natalie Hollaway for me to cross this place off my bucket list. 


Also, while most recently Aruba, can we just say as a blanket statement, that if you look like this:

Photo: Politico

and the guy who offers you the trip to Aruba look like this:

Photo: Politico

and is NOT a Baldwin brother, or this is not a scene from a show like King of Queens or According to Jim or another stupid comedy where there is a hot wife and a schlubby husband, HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU. 


I don't solve crimes anymore, mainly because my mystery machine is in the shop, but I will throw you the following bones:


1. If you work at an insurance company, maybe check the "purchased" and "trying to cash-in" dates.


2. If the person of interest tries to go to the airport and leave, THEY ARE GUILTY AS HOMEMADE SIN.


3. If the person of interest story changes several times, suffice it to say, they probably did it. 


4. If your chief of police is named Taco, you have no credibility as a country, tourists hotspot or place able to solve 2 high profile crimes involving American beauties who went missing on your watch. Taco? That is a food. That may be more person opinion. 


God bless this girl's family. I cannot imagine not being able to not have that closure. I also cannot stand the thought of having another Jorgen Van der Sloot slinking around. Very little makes my blood boil like that guy. I hope they get this guy to start talking. I might suggest a wafting a plate of cheese fries in front of him for starters...


Otherwise, stay away from Aruba!!

For Real, For Real Feelings

Maturity, is not always my strong suit. 


While I really hate nonsense, I will never not laugh at a fart joke. I cannot imagine a day when there will not be a minimum of 5 reality TV shows on season pass in my DVR,  I laughed (out loud) the other day on a commercial when they typed out "boobs" on the keypad of a calculator, and I still take shots of whipped cream straight from the can. 


But sometimes, I realize that I have grown-up. It sneaks up on me, but sometimes I get it. 


As I have reviewed the tape, I can't say exactly when it has happened. But I am hoping it hasn't been just in the last year or so; rather I have just become aware of it then. 


I have found myself, genuinely rooting for people.  Wow, that looks horrible in print. Let me explain. 


Hopefully, this is a maturation issue. Hopefully, this is the light at the end of the tunnel that was the competition I like to call my '20's.' Whatever it is, it seems like now, I am genuinely enjoying other's happiness rather than selfishly wondering how it will alter my life. Sadly, that was my mentality. And it wasn't that I did not feel excitement for my friends; not at all. It just seemed that everything was so competitive. 


To give you an example:  The other day when a friend told me she was pregnant. I found myself so excited for her, because she was so excited, but also thinking "whew, better buy some bottled water on the way home."  Where before, I think I would have been tempted with something like jealousy or fear over her impending baby. And when I say fear, it would have been fear like "should I be having a baby?"  But now I find myself being genuinely excited for her and able to show that. I am not worried about "checking that off my list." It was the same thing with getting married and getting a house and graduating college and getting into college and graduating from high school and blah blah blah.  


I have plenty of other pressures now. PLENTY. I never knew being a Mom would bring about so much pressure. 


But I think that is maybe the trade-off. Now, I can really enjoy the excitement that comes with seeing people I love genuinely happy. One of my dearest friends in the world is in a new relationship. That is like buying a ticket to see the BEST movie ever. It is electric!  When one of my best friends got married last October, it was the most I have cried at a wedding since my own. And it was because it wasn't a turn-key "different wedding every weekend" kind of wedding. It was one of my best friends marrying the love of her life in a wedding I had watched her plan with love and excitement. Not competition.  


Maybe everyone else got here before I did. It wouldn't be the first time my development has been a little arrested. It is just really nice to be in a place where I am genuinely enjoying life events of my friends and family now. 


Good job, Katie. 32 seems reasonable. 

Photo:Pinterest

Photo: Daily Mail

Photo: Daily Mail

Photo: Daily Mail

Just No. 

Helicopter Hunk

Photo: Popsugar

Guess who is single again?!?!!?


And going to ARIZONA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


That's right! He will be training something something helicopter blah blah in the desert/dessert. (I gotta figure that one out before we get there.) 


Let me be clear; Harry is merely a vessel. I am only using him to get to the Duchess. I mean, if I have to go to dinner with the guy, have a few drinks, chat him up with my knowledge of all things English, throw around a few Union Jack jokes, so be it. I mean, I am practically old enough to be his older sister. 


While I was gone, I DVR'd (is that really a verb?) "Wild About Pippa" on TLC. Before that, I noticed that there was a "Crazy About Harry," so I just threw that in for posterity.  When I got home, I had plenty to watch while I was unpacking. Not that I texted home to make sure it was recording. Or that it was the first thing I did when Sweet B went down for her nap on Saturday. 


I would venture to say, he and Pippa both have the better gig. All the fun and none of the pressure. 


I would like to think that if I meet him, I would quickly befriend him. I would also like to think that there is even a single possible scenario where I would meet him that involved me looking  and acting like a human. I would also like to imagine that every female at ASU is excommunicated from the state until further notice. I am certain the proximity to Los Angeles will bode in my favor as well. 


God save the Queen!

Oh the Places You'll Go... If You Can Get There.

Photo: Pinterest

Clearly Dr. Seuss never never a directional problem. I, on the other hand, need a compass and a pirate map to get wherever I am going. 


As I mentioned, part of my trip to NYC meant that I was going to have some "downtime" which I was SUPER excited about. However, sometimes having too many options can be your own worst enemy. If you ever watched Perfect Couples on NBC, you are probably laughing through your tears right now. If you didn't watch it, you have no idea what I am talking about. And that is okay. Keep your map and your canteen close; the trip is long, but there is a point at the end. 


There I am in NYC on what was a picture perfect Wednesday morning. It was a crisp 72 degrees according to Good Day New York (look at me, watching a local/national show).  I had my perfect sundress and cardigan on, my hair had a little extra bounce and I was wearing my Rainbows. I had super cute flats in my bag, but let's be serious, my dogs were barking. The plan was as follows: coffee, water, Zara. Maybe Anthropologie and Bed Bath and Beyond if I had time. 


After paying $11 for a Kashi bar, coffee and a Smartwater (which seemed ironic), I hit the streets. Ah, I was so Carrie Bradshaw, it was sick. I had 2 people ask me for directions. Directions! Clearly, I looked local. I was enjoying the day, the breeze, the city! I felt so alive! 


Then, I felt lost. And not in a soul searching way. Like in a "this isn't the way to Zara kind of way."  So, I pulled out the iPhone. I was headed to anything BUT Zara. Oh, and I spilled my coffee all down my dress. 


Not to be frazzled, I mopped up the coffee with the cardigan, configured the directions on my iPhone and regrouped. I got it together and Zara got paid. 


The best part of the whole morning was, I got to be with me. Just me. 


I get plenty of alone time at home. JD is very good to take Sweet B "off my hands" when he gets home. Not because I ask him to, but really, because he wants his own time with her. (And because he knows I am an actual monster if my Jeopardy gets interrupted.)  But most times, that alone time is spent thinking about what else has to be done, or what I should be doing instead of indulging in a little free time. 


When Sweet B is in school, I make sure to schedule everything during those hours so that she isn't subjected to the mundane tasks of Krogering with me.  I anticipate a letter of thanks from the Kroger Corporation this year. In addition, I try to schedule all those 'We should meet for coffee' times then. That way, I can ensure I am giving full attention without being like "Isn't she so cute? I bet you have never heard anyone scream so loud, have you?"  When adult playdates are at night, that takes away from my time with JD.  Weekends are important for all of us to be together as a family; especially if he has been on the road. 


ALL of those things are important. But at the risk of sounding selfish, there is little time for a Katie decompression. That is ironic, because 21-year-old Katie could not WAIT to stop being alone with Katie. That staring contest had to get called. 


I love my husband, I love my daughter. Those things go without saying. This is not a cry for help. But, as a wife and mother, my identity has definitely gotten lost. And while I am worried about sounding selfish, whenever I have free time, I am either doing things for our family or worried about getting back in a timely fashion. 


My Mom used to tell me "If you're bored, then you're boring." When I was younger, it drove me CRAZY. Mainly, because it was usually on a rainy day and it was code for "clean your room." As part of my maturation process, I have seen the wisdom in that phrase. If you can't enjoy your own company, then you are probably the problem. 


So, while directions are not my forte, the map of me is still the same. And on that day, just for me, I really enjoyed the trip. 


Lewis and Clark, no.  Still kind of fun, yes. But Harry believes in me and sometimes, that is all that matters.

Photo; Pinterest

Thanks, Love.

Don't Be Retarded At the Party...

If only it were this easy;

Photo: Pinterest

And maybe for some, it is. Not this kid. 

Recently, we were going to a party where I am typically the least accomplished person there. I am not super close with a lot of these people, so when they ask me what I do, I would love to say, "Well, I stay at home to raise our daughter who is currently in a toddler MENSA program. I also write 2 wildly successful blogs. You don't read them? Well, you must not have access to the Hearst media family app on your ipad and iphone."  Instead, it goes more like this, "I stay home. Which is awesome. I love it. No, really. I mean, I am not saying that emphatically to prove anything. I really love it. My daughter is funnier than most adults I know. Plus, I get to wear yoga pants most days. Oh, and I did just download some Introduction to French podcasts, so that is what we are going to be doing. What was the question? Oh, the bathroom. I think it is over there. I don't live here."  

I think the word you are looking for is composed. 

So, prior to my most recent public humiliation, I had seen one of the regular attendees in the society paper at a children's charity event hosted by the Junior League. Oddly specific, yes. Because I committed it to memory so I would have something to talk to her about when I saw her.  Like "Oh, I recently saw you attended blah blah blah.... how great of you to lend your time to such a worthy cause." 

Locked and loaded. 

Cut to our interaction. Let's call her Kathy. Kathy and I find ourselves waiting at the bar for a drink where we say hello and make the usual pleasantries. As if pulling out a gun to shoot up the place, I reach into my back pocket and play the "saw you in the society paper" card. And it sounded like this:

"I saw you about 3-months-ago in the society paper at the X children's charity event with the so and so's. Your black dress was so cute! I also saw an ad on that page for Cartwheels. I haven't been there lately and I think I just missed their big sale."

SHUT UP DUMMY. Easy freak show. It was SO much detail, stupidity and so unnecessary. Again, I see this girl 3x a year at best. So, for me to remember that much detail from a single picture that at this point has run about 3-months-ago is insane.  But why not over share?  Why not be awkward? Why not have to recover from that? Why not tell her I work for the FBI because of my incredible memory skills? Could that get me out of this?

Ugh. WHY!!!!  Just why. I don't remember always being this way. I think that as I have gotten older and had to twist and turn in new circles, sometimes I just panic and say anything. I realize that I didn't tell her she looked fat in the dress or accuse her of being a communist for caring about ill children, but there is an element of weird in the amount of detail I recalled and then shared. Probably the kind of detail that they find in the journals of serial killers. 

I tried to play off the fact that I am a complete idiot savant by making a Rain Man joke and then excused myself. My recovery is usually okay, but it is just that initial bomb that is so awful. 

Until I can get this under control, I am going to print these cards and pass them out. Like people who have Chron's disease or are allergic to bee stings. 

Photo:Pinterest

Since I continue to make society an awkward place, I need to make it a better place. Our church is partnering with Blessings in a Backpack to provide food  for students who might not otherwise have meals on the weekends. For $80, you can feed a child on the weekends for an entire year. If you are interested, you can visit ccum.net to find out more, or I would be glad to pick-up your check/cash and deliver it to the church. I can't promise it won't be done awkwardly, but apparently, that's all I know. 

You're Fired

Are you looking to kill an afternoon or get fired from your job? 


Then try this. 

pinterest.com

I refuse to take up any more of your time so that you can get straight to pinning. 


But you should know, the Sanderson Resort and Spa is not currently hiring. 

Stop Ness Monster

This is terrible. 


I don't like this, and I don't  totally know why. 

Photo: Daily Mail

Isn't this just a step away from a Nessy confirmation? This is actually Oliver Voss's floating sculpture which is designed to look like a woman bathing in the picturesque Alster Lake. It will be there for 10-days. Which is about 9 too long if you ask me. 

The three-piece work of art, which is 13ft high and 98ft long, will be turning heads for the next ten days - with many visitors boarding rowing boats to get a closer look. 

Photo: Daily Mail

Voss, head of the advertising academy Miami Ad School, said he wanted the aquatic sculpture, called The Bather, (clever, did you say he was the "head" of the advertising academy?) to be 'a topic of conversation in Germany'.

Photo: Daily Mail

But his creation has also caused controversy, with district mayor Markus Schreiber telling de Bild newspaper that it was 'sullying the beloved lake'.

Photo: Daily Mail

Really, Germany? Lady in a lake has sullied you? No, I agree that this is weird as hell, but this is where you claim "Achtung!" 

Let's make a deal. And let's head to Geneva to make it legit:

1. You remove that crazy lady monstrosity from that lake. 

2. You quit saying that crazy lady is what makes Germany weird.

3. Send me a custom Mercedes. 

4. I will quit saying mean things about Germany. 

5. Make Heidi Klum your Goodwill Ambassador. 

Auf Wiedersehen,

The World

Where are The Bangles When You Need Them?

They could sing that "Hazy Shade of Winter" song or maybe "Eternal Flame?"


One of the people I care about most in the entire world is going through one of the most horrible seasons of life right now. And at a really crucial time. Try as I might, my incessant chatter is only making things worse. All the cute texts of Sweet B doing toddler things is wearing thin. 


Because of my un-diagnosed Aspergers Syndrome, I continue to offer these words, genuinelly:


I'm sorry. 
I wish I could take the pain away. 
I would trade you places if I could. 
It's okay to cry. 
I wish you would cry. 
If I cry, would you? 
I hate you and you are a bad friend. You look stupid in that top. 
Does that make you want to cry?
Fine. Don't cry. Crying is for evolved people. I thought you were. 
DAMNIT. CRY!!!!!!! You will feel better. 
Wanna get drunk? I kind of do. A nice day drunk? Maybe a tank top.cut-off kind of day drunk?
No? 
Fine. 
I'm here. 
And I can be there in 5-hours flat. Sans toddler. With provisions.......
You know what that means.... Buffalo chicken dip with extra ranch!


I love you. I pray every night that God takes your pain away and helps you understand his plan. Don't lose faith. I didn't. And he gave me the best thing(s) that have ever happened to me out of the worst thing that has ever happened to the person I love most. I don't get it either, but we don't have to. We just have to believe. 

Photo: Cleverhandpress

I'll Give You Something To Cry About

If I have to hear that Jennifer Hudson Weight Watchers song one more time, I cannot be responsible for my actions.


Add to that the shrinking Duchess Middleton and the fact that every single time I check Facebook it is like looking at a login in sheet at the gym,  ("Headed to the gym", "Just got back from the gym", "Ran 200 miles at Cherokee today wearing my duvet cover for extra resistance") and it is a little excessive.

Now, anyone with two eyes can see that I am in the shape of my life. I think any doctor would tell you that I am probably the model of physical fitness and health. If your model is Roseann circa 1991. 

Photo: ABC

And until shopping becomes exercise or you can lose weight from a pill, this is how it shall be. Ooh, or wish yourself thin. Because then, a Middleton I shall be. 


But in the 5-minutes it has taken me to write this, find the picture of Roseanne and insert the photo credits so I don't get sued and have to go to jail, I have heard 2 segments about weight loss on the Today Show. It is going to be a STELLAR Monday for insecurities. I should definitely put on a swimsuit today. 


All the more reason to keep my focus for the accolade I had intended with this post....


About 3-weeks-ago, I was with one of the sweetest Gals/Moms I know. She went to high school with JD and I met her through him, but have had many a chance to hang out with her group of girlfriends. While I don't thinks she would mind her name being used, let's call her "G." 


G just had her 2nd baby who is not only a little cherub, but pretty much as perfect as her first baby. Apparently, she has perfect babies. In the blazing heat of a Catholic picnic, she looked radiant. And it wasn't just the glisten of 1billion percent humidity. She was glowing with elation. 


The more we caught up, the more guilty I felt. Why, you ask?  Two fold: 1. I have been SO consumed with my own moving drama that I completely neglected to acknowledge/be a good friend about this kid. 2. I was probably already bitching about how fat I was at this point after Sweet B was born. Actually, I think that very night, 3-months-ago, I was still bitching about baby weight almost 2-years later. Making it all about me. (Are we ever really not talking about me?)


The next day, I sent her a text (as to avoid the phone completely) telling G how much fun we had and telling her how great she looked and what a great job I thought she was doing as a Mommy. I wanted her to know I was serious, so I used all caps at least twice and several exclamation points. 


What I got back, shocked me. 


She admitted she didn't love how she looked. She said that she had several pounds that she wanted gone, but that she realized that her priorities were changing. She said she wanted to be healthy, but her goal to be as skinny as she was in college was not realistic anymore. Then the gut punch: She said that every time she looked at her baby, she realized that he was worth every single pound, and that she would get those pounds off, but not at the expense of time with him. 


I put my phone down and cried. I didn't even know what to respond. Clearly, she is a superior thinker to me. She is obviously more evolved than I. Wow. OMG, did I text her back?


What a breath of fresh air. What an unselfish Mom. What an unselfish human being. 


I would love to say " I wish I could have been more like that..." Well, actually, I do wish I could have been more like that. But I looked like the Mom from What's Eating Gilbert Grape? So, it wasn't a healthy lifestyle for me or Sweet B. 

Photo: IMDB

Time was a factor...But, I wish I hadn't been so consumed with being emaciated or having people be like "YOU just had a baby? You are so thin!" 


I want to say that I am evolved enough to say that I would rather be comfortable in my skin and healthy. Then, my desire of all desires would e to have people gush over my accomplishments with Sweet B. Because that is how it should be. My smart, well-mannered, well-behaved, polite, well-rounded, Christian, compassionate child should be the reflection of all my hard work. Not 6-pack abs or definitive triceps. 


Maybe I could do it all. But I have 2 blogs and a lot of reality tv to watch. 


I need more people like G in my life. And more people need to take a note from G.