Archive | August, 2009

5 Random Fashion Observations

20 Aug

Because, tonight, Project Runway is back. Viva Tim Gunn.

1. Some mornings, I miss my wardrobe staple of Chico’s stretchy black Traveler’s pants. Then I remember that the same size fits me even if I gain 40 pounds, and I resist any urge to go buy another pair.

2. People who have enough time and emotional energy to be outraged by the first lady wearing shorts on a visit to the Grand Canyon need to get a life. Seriously. I read some of the hyperventilating, pearl-clutching critiques before I saw the pictures and expected to see her booty hanging out the back and a too-short tank top revealing a belly-button piercing.

3.  Baby Phat, I really do not think you need to make your acid-washed denim miniskirt available “now in sizes up to 24.” I do not say this with a sneer of a size 2.  I myself am rather amply blessed in the figure department. But my sisters, dress the body you have, not the one you wish you had.

4. Seriously, what is up with these boots? Zappos offers them up as a hot new look. For who? Tundra gladiators who need the formality of a high heel?

ugly

5. However, after a summer with more than FIFTY freaking days over 100 degrees? If it meant I could wake up with it being 70 degrees tomorrow? I would wear the boots with the Baby Phat skirt and parade around the River Walk. Seriously.

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Five-O

12 Aug

One of my favorite people on the Internet is celebrating a milestone birthday today.

And although I have offered up my share of geezer quips,  including asking if Luby’s Cafeteria will have Wi-Fi so he can tweet while he’s eating the senior plate, I’m going to set the snark aside for a moment.

When I first started writing this blog, it came after years as a television news producer. I did plenty of writing, but it was to tell other people’s stories, in styles geared to please news directors and consultants, and then to watch from a control room as other people gave a voice to those words.

So this blogging thing has been a sometimes terrifying process, like going from helping with costumes backstage to walking on a tightrope. I’m hardly new to the circus, but this is a new role, and the balance bar is still unsteady in my hands.

Richard has been sauntering across that tightrope for awhile, as a sports writer and amazing storyteller. We have mutual friends, my husband worked with him for awhile, but we’ve never met. But when I started following him on Twitter, he was gracious enough to return the favor.

In 140-character snippets at a time, we’ve traded snark and sports talk, and occasionally, even sincere snippets of conversation. And Richard, one of the best writers I know, regularly takes time to read this blog, and amazingly, tell me he thinks it’s worth reading.

It’s easy to take small kindness for granted, but today, my friend, I want you to know I do not. Because of the deep respect I have for you as a writer, a journalist, a man of faith and integrity, those 140 characters are powerful. They make the tightrope not so daunting.

I hope, as you celebrate this milestone and begin this year, that God blesses you and your family, and gives you many more years to laugh and write and encourage. Happy 50th.

Stringing Along

11 Aug

I’m hanging up the necklace when it suddenly shatters.

Beads crash, bounce, scurry

to hide in the corners of the closet.

I could gather them. Restring, re-clamp, restore.

A wall of necklaces, my drawers of clasps and crimpers and spare beads —

they all testify to my ability to create, mend, try again.

But this day, the cold tile scraping my knees,

I am more inclined to sweep the scattered beads

into the dustbin,  toss them with the trash.

Restringing is painstaking work, the necklace never quite the same.

A bead missing here, a clasp wire scratching there.

Reminders

of when it all fell apart.

Not worth it, I decide, for pony beads and cheap glass with the lustre worn off.

The other choices, to repair or release? Not so easily settled.

Taking more than an afternoon, bruising more than my knees.

I weigh these beads in my hands, wonder if they’d ever look the same put back together.

All Roads Lead to Commando Duggars on Facebook

9 Aug

I never fail to be amazed at the kind of searches that bring people to this little corner of the Internet.

I wrote about the Duggars once, speculating about the secret seductive powers of Michelle’s she-mullet. So about once a week, someone gets here by wondering if she is pregnant again. (For the record, I don’t know. But if she is, the mullet is to blame. Jim Bob cannot break free of its siren song.)

I also vented about my boy child’s opposition to wearing underwear. So a lot of people come here wondering about going commando or asking “what do I do about child who won’t wear underwear?”

Sigh.

I can’t help them, either. The “are you wearing underwear” question is STILL a regular morning inquiry here. But progress has been made. I no longer have to request to see the waistband. He just walks back to his room, defeated in his commando dreams.

I can offer no help for those wanting to find “good hippo porn,” “the best quizzes on Facebook,” or get a definitive answer on whether or swine flu is one of the signs of the apocalypse. I do not offer a “quiz to find out if I am about to go postal” (Aside to the determined searcher from Friday: I suggest a professional therapist).

I cannot tell you how long you would last in a fight against God or Jack Bauer, although I recommend you not quarrel with either. I do feel a little sad for the person who arrived here “searching for my lost happiness,” but I assure you, I do not have it. It’s probably hanging out with my size-6 ass, and my guess is, neither of us are ever going to find the two of them again. They’ve probably gone into the witness protection program together and are living on beach somewhere in the West Indies.

Sigh. I feel like a failure reading your search queries, Internet. I hear you as you go away, singing softly to yourself, “but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” Now, because of this, someone will search for information on Bono and instead, find this post. They, too, will go away empty handed. Please forgive me.

I *can* help a few searchers. For those who wonder “What will the puppies be like if I mate a Jack Russell and chihuahua?” — you know that cartoon character the Tazmanian Devil? Imagine him, only as nervous and trembling as a heroin dealer coming down off a trip in a room full of DEA agents. It’s not a combination the world needs.

I also have the answer to “the difference between naked and nekkid.” Naked means you’re not wearing any clothes, nekkid means you’re naked and up to no good. I know you can find a human-sized hamster ball at Hammaker Schlemmer. You definitely cannot get the swine flu from bacon.

However you got here, thanks for coming. Have a cookie, have a nice time, please come back.

Five Things I Learned This Weekend

3 Aug
  1. I should never embark on a painting project on a weekend I have PMS.
  2. A child offering to “help” is really a domestic terrorist planning on unleashing the twin hounds of havoc and chaos.
  3. If you back into a freshly painted apple-green wall, you will have two apple-shaped prints on the butt of your jeans.
  4. Acetone will take that right out. If “right out” means after half an hour of dabbing and inhaling fumes that make you forget your own name.
  5. A startled corgi told to “get out of here” will choose the exit route that involves leaping with unbridled enthusiam into the paint tray.
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