These are a few of my favorite things...

Today, anyway.

1. Crazy 1700s-era bitch of the week: Mary Toft - gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "fucking like rabbits."

2. Garfield Minus Garfield - Better without the cat. (Now if Family Circus would just get rid of Billy....)
3. Ink that Stinks - Will make you think twice before getting that Ryan Seacrest tat.

Jesus Rogers - my personal fave.

4. Alfonso from Silver Spoons wants to teach you to break dance:



5. DaddyLikey - Always a fave. Thanks for the link, W!

Flashback Friday: She wanna (pearl) necklace...

OK, this post isn't really about a pearl necklace, but since I've decided to do the whole lyrics-for-post-title thing, I can't turn back now. Plus I might get some blog hits from pervs searching for free porn. A hit's a hit, right?

So let's flashback about 20 years or so. It's Friday and that means only one thing - trying to con someone's parent into taking us to the next town over to go to the movies, to the mall or to Michael's. Yes, Michael's the craft store. It was a prime destination for us back then because, in addition to awesome paint pens and puff paint (this was the 80s after all...), it was also the only place in town to buy these things:


Hideous, right? But, back then, they looked so cute with stirrup pants and oversize sweaters. Plus the bells let everyone know you were coming (and I'm sure annoyed parents/teachers/anyone over 14 to no end). Of course if you were planning to sneak out of the house, this was not a good accessory choice.

Anyway, I had so many of those damn charms - and was always on the hunt for more. There was even a toilet (with functioning lid!). I think I told myself if I had enough of them, Donnie from New Kids on the Block would totally love me. That didn't happen (thank GOD). I, did however, certainly look cute wearing it while playing Ms. Pac-Man at Aladdin's Castle.

I'm a Cowboy, on the Steel Horse I Ride...

In case you haven't noticed, I've started using song titles/lyrics as my blog titles. Pretty fun, don't you think? (I guess seeing as how nobody reads this, I can do whatever in the hell I want!)

Anyway, today I was thinking about bad decisions. We're still steaming over the poor call in the UCLA/A&M game last weekend, and it got me thinkin'. We all make bad decisions in our lives. Whether it's going with a college major because it was what someone else thought was best or taking that "one last tequila shot," we've all been there. Thankfully, none of my major life decisions have been horrible. I married the greatest man in the world, I have a good job (although I am still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up...but aren't we all?) and I've never killed a puppy or harassed a hobo. I'd say I'm doing pretty good.

But alas, gentle reader, I am far from perfect and have made plenty of poor choices. In the interest of keeping this light-hearted, I won't go into the really bad ones (like the college boyfriend I stayed with despite the fact he thought TheProfessor and I were lesbians. Gayle and Oprah - I totally feel your pain).

That said without further ado, here is number one (in what may or may not be an ongoing reminder of my bad decisions in the fashion arena).

1. The cowgirl skirt I made - and wore to school - in pre-school. I wanted one so badly (I looked at that damn Sears catalog page every day), but my grandma refused to buy one (reason #459,890 she is the smartest woman I know).

(Click here for more Sears awesomeness. Thanks, Alinsane!)

But did I, in all my five-year-old wisdom, take "no" for an answer? Oh, hell no. I opted to make my own (this was before all those studies came out that said scissors and needles were dangerous for kids).

The finished product was absolutely hideous (I wish I had a photo, but trust me...it was bad. I mean, really bad). The skirt was so bad, in fact, that when the 18-year-old teacher asked me...through obvious laughter...if I made it, I answered with what was probably my first lie ever.

"No, I didn't make it. My grandma did."

Sorry, grandma.

Don't Close Your Eyes....

Yes, NCAA refs...I know that UCLA is probably a bigger draw than A&M in the whole March Madness thing. However, your blatent disregard for the UCLA foul against the Ags in the last 9 seconds or so totally sucks. Not that we'd win or anything. But still. Give us a fair shot. A foul is a foul. Bastards.

Home Sweet Home

Wed-cation '08 was an absolute blast. However, I will admit that after four straight days of drinking and sunning, I was ready to get home. It's hard work keeping up with SuperHusband and his friends. On the plus side, I did get to wear the super-cute dress that I got for a steal at Nordstrom Rack.

The photo doesn't do it justice (although cropping out SuperHusband and Cowboy makes me look skinny, which is awesome) - it has amazing beading at the top and is long and flowy at the bottom. Plus, it was regularly $399 and I got it for $99. Score!

Another plus is, that after years of soul-searching, I finally decided what I want to be when I grow up. My new career goal is to be a traveling English/grammar consultant for Mexican resorts. I'm a pretty good writer/editor (in my real-life...not so much in the blogosphere when I'm tired, having a cocktail, not caring...possibly all three). But let me tell you...these resorts need someone like me. It would lend so much more credibility to the establishment. Plus I could wear flip flops to work, buy cheap sterling silver jewelry on my lunch break and have maid service during my stay. Not a bad gig.

I decided this would be a good career choice for me after seeing all of the hilarious misuses of the English language during our stay. I know, I know...it's Mexico. Whatever. I guarantee most of their revenue comes from the English-speaking traveler (well, except for that 70-year-old guy in the speedo and his wife in the thong...you know the ones). But you get the picture.

Anyway, I don't recall most of the examples (the cocktails, you know), however, here are a few of my favorites:

On the menu: Swizz cheese, peckels
Activities: "Your chance to be a really American Idol," riffle shooting

I am one of those people who is amused by such things...so I guess it would suck for all those like me who come to Mexico expecting some Engrish-type humor. They'll have to resort to being entertained by such mundane things as the antics of other guests (ex. SuperHusband trying to be a really American Idol by singing the Carpenters). Still, I think I've found my calling.

I just need to remember to stay away from the swizz cheese. It totally sucked.

Oh, Mexico...sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low...

Tomorrow is our big Mexico trip. I'm finally excited (after months of bitching about the fact that we are paying an ungodly amount of money just to go to Mexico - a place we've been tons of times). BTW, we are going for a wedding, so it's not really a vacation, but because we are shelling out more cash than we did for a 10-day Europe trip last year, by god I am calling this thing a vacation.

Can't you tell my attitude is improving?

It really is though. It started last week when the bride-to-be e-mailed me her concerns about getting married on an "unlucky" day. What day is that, you might ask? Well, the EYES of March, of course. (Seriously.) That got me to thinking this will probably be a fun adventure with lots of stories (read: blodder) for weeks to come.

So anyway...In our infinite wisdom we decided to rent a hotel room by the airport tonight to avoid waking up too early for tomorrow's flight (it's a 30 minute drive from our house in morning traffic) and because SuperHusband needed some work.

Here's the thing: SuperHusband works on straight commission and this week started off pretty slow. But we knew as soon as we made plans, business would pick up and he'd be swamped as hell today. As you can see from the time of this post...it worked. It's 11:30PM now and he's still on the computer with an hour left to go.

By the time we get to the hotel, we'll get a good five hours of sleep before we have to hop on the airport shuttle. We should've just stayed at one of those rent-by-the-hour places...although a vibrating bed wouldn't (completely) make up for a stained mattress and we probably couldn't sleep from all the headboard (and general) banging.

But it will be fine (as soon as I get my morning Bloody Mary) and I know we'll have a great time. Plus we already have a vacation theme song - which is critical. No...not Mexico by James Taylor (although according to SuperHusband listening to JT is a guaranteed hangover cure and I'm sure we'll be needing that). I'm thinking more along the lines of Private Eyes. You can't go wrong with Hall & Oates. And it is almost the EYES of March after all.

Adios!

No Snow Day

Further proof that there is no God.

Are you there God? It's me, Ro.

An uncharacteristic early March "Arctic Blast" has hit our city and that means one thing...spiritual deities everywhere are being overloaded with prayers for a Friday Snow Day (probably not many are coming from stay-at-home moms, but everyone with a job that has closing potential or in school is trying to cash in a favor with the big guy - I guarantee it). And I admit it, this reformed Catholic has even said one or two in hopes of sleeping late and a three-day weekend.

Why are Snow Days so great? Is it the unexpectedness of it? The "free" day off? The thoughts of staying home bundled up with a good bottle of wine book? I'm sure it's a little of all of these, but for me it brings back memories of being a kid and getting SO excited by the idea of missing school to go sledding (even if the biggest hill near us was the grassy side of an overpass). Our Snow Days were few and far between, but when we had them, they were a blast.

My adult Snow Days are quite different (no daytime drinking was involved back then...by me anyway), but no less exciting.

So, JC, if you're listening...hook a sister up. You can worry about war, famine, natural disasters and all that other ugly stuff later. I know you aren't that busy right now...you already gave the Giants a SuperBowl win and the major music and movie awards seasons are over. You have a little free time on your hands, so please, please, please use it on me. I won't lie to you like I did back in college, you know...when I said if you make sure I'm not pregnant I'll never have sex again. We both know those were empty promises that were eventually broken. But I'm a grown up now and know better. So I agree not to give you any bullshit, if you give me a free day. That's all I ask.

Well...at least until I'm nominated for a best original screenplay Oscar. But we can renegotiate then....

Making a Pit Stop

To all potential game show contestants:

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD consider your attire before you go on television in front of millions of people.

I'm not talking about the hoochie mama low-cut tops and high-cut skirts that are the requisite uniform on MTV dating shows. I'm talking to YOU everyman - the one who has always dreamed of betting it all on the Daily Double, picking the $1,000,000 suitcase or basking in the glow of winning the Showcase Showdown. One day your big moment might just come and when it does remember one important fact as you sit there under hundreds of bright studio lights, telling some inconsequential story to defend your answer and help prevent your nerves from getting the best of you. Here's my sage advice to you, dear friend: Silk shirts are NOT a good choice for appearing on television in stressful situations.

I can't tell you how many times I've been distracted by the giant pit stains on some (usually) guy who is pumping his fist in the air, celebrating the fact that he remembered the name of the first wife Henry VIII beheaded. It's so damn distracting, annoying and just plain GROSS. There is nothing worse than a sweat stain the circumference of a basketball peeking out from the turquoise silk Chess King shirt worn by some douchebag who probably rents a starter BMW and sells cell phone plans for a living. In fact, it may be even MORE annoying than the dramatic pauses that have become de rigeur on most game shows. (Thank God for the DVR.)

So, when your chance at the big prize comes, promise me you'll do a run through. Pick your shirt, undershirt(s) and deodorant carefully. Stand under the brightest light in your house. Invite some neighbors over with spotlights or really bright flashlights. Ask them to point them at you for an hour (offer them cocktails). Play some music to keep everyone entertained (this serves two purposes in the event you are planning to appear on Don't Forget the Lyrics). If there are no stains after this process - congrats. You have your shirt. If there are, try an additional undershirt or a different shirt. This may seem tedious, but trust me...you don't want to be remembered as "the disgusting guy who was sweating all over the 1 vs. 100 set." (Unless you're Kevin Federline, who has in fact appeared on this show. In his case, being known as the sweaty guy as opposed to the train wreck's ex is probably a step up.)

Anyway, this is good advice that can probably carry over to your personal life as well. Learn it. Live it.

On behalf of viewers everywhere, I thank you.

Ro

A perfect Saturday night

I spent a couple of hours on the phone catching up with my high school BFF on Saturday night. She was home alone (well, she was the only adult there anyway - TowHead was fast asleep) and I was home alone (I was the only human here - the cats and dogs were off being annoying somewhere else). We were both finishing up our first bottle of wine. (That's why were friends, it's never our first glass...it's the first bottle.)

BTW, for those of you keeping track at home, I opted not to take my antibiotic on Saturday so I could drink. Yes, I'm going to hell - and will have a killer headache on my way down. I know this. But a weekend without cocktails is kinda like Motley Crue without Tommy Lee. I mean Samantha Maloney is still a drummer and all, but it's nothing close to the same and not near as fun.



Anyway, a little buzz for each of us and out come the yearbooks. We went through our jr. high and high school annuals over the phone and read what we'd written to each other. If I recall (it's a little fuzzy), it was pretty funny (and, yes, I know...totally lame that this was our Saturday night activity). We wrote in code so "grown-ups" wouldn't know what we were talking about. But now that we're old...we couldn't remember what half of it meant. And we realized that neither of us signed the other's our senior year. (She lived with me for the last few months of it, so this is particularly odd.) But no worries, we've promised to brandish pens and code words next time we're together.

Old friends really are the some of the best friends.

My New Baby

I'd like you to meet the newest addition to my family:

She's the Vuitton Batignolles Horizontal and she is gorgeous, no? I have been contemplating the Speedy (middle sized one...too lazy to look up the number), but I tried this one on and had to have her.

SuperHusband is still at the bachelor party (drinking beer on a deer lease somewhere), so he doesn't know about her yet. He probably won't leave me unattended again any time in the near future.