At what point does an actor decide her or she will be naked on film? And I'm not talking about porn "actors", either. That's a head-scratcher (no pun intended) on so many levels I wouldn't even know where to begin. I'm talking about regular actors like Halle Berry, Gwyneth Paltrow, Julianne Moore, Kate Winslet... These people don't have to do it for the money. Their movies do well without them having to get naked. The whole thing just seems so WEIRD.
Think about it. These people go to work like you or I. Think about your coworkers. Sure, their coworkers are other beautiful, famous people whereas yours and mine are dumpy and acne-ridden or at best, average like you and me. Can you imagine walking into the break room Monday morning and meeting a new person you'll be working with:
"Nice to meet you, Tom. I understand we'll be dry-humping each other on Thursday. I'll look forward to working with you."
THAT'S WHAT THEY DO!!
Maybe they don't refer to it is dry-humping (does anyone anymore?) but they simulate sex with people they work with and IT'S THEIR JOB TO DO SO. Is it me or is that completely bizarre??! Sure, people all over the place have office affairs (which I also cannot comprehend) but that's something they choose to do as an escape from whatever boredom their life has become. It's not a pre-planned, well-rehearsed job duty. (At least it shouldn't be. That's illegal.)
But getting back to porn "actors" again. What makes them decide that that's what they are going to do to earn a living? Do these people have parents?!! Grandparents???!! When they do get the job (no pun intended), what do they tell said parents and grandparents? How does that conversation go?
"Hello?"
"Hey, Dad! I've got some news!"
"What is it, dear?"
"Well, I'm going to be in a movie!"
"A movie? That's terrific! What's it about?"
"Well, um, I play this girl - she's a virginal freshman away from home for the first time and she orders a pizza with extra meat for her sorority sisters. Then, well, there's um, this kind of bizarre hazing ritual and...um, you know what, never mind. Just... forget I brought it up (no pun intended)... it's uh, it's not really a big (no pun intended) deal and, uh, the acting isn't really very good... and... say hi to mom for me. Gotta go."
It's just hard (no pun intended) for me to wrap my brain about that one. But to already be a famous, successful actor and now you're going to allow all the world to view your bare hiney???!!! I don't know about you, but I spend most of my waking hours trying to mask all of my many imperfections. I think if anyone other than my husband ever saw me naked I would just have to kill myself. Can you imagine writhing around on another person completely - or even partially - naked, cameras rolling, and knowing that at any time anyone can view this? YIKES!
I'm sure you are wondering what prompted this post. I was watching a movie recently with Gwyneth (to clarify - I wasn't watching the movie with her; she was actually in the movie...). It was called "Two Lovers". In it, there is a scene where she stands in front of the window and flops a boob out for Joaquin Phoenix and the rest of the world to see. I realize that any men who were reading this are now scrambling to get to their Netflix queue but for those of you still reading, why does she do this? She has enough clout and enough acclaim to not have to do that anymore. Nudity should be reserved for those people trying to make it (no pun intended) in the movies and think that there is no better way to do so.
Anyway, it just struck me as odd that part of an actor's job (no pun intended) could potentially be to be nude in front of their coworkers. Sure, I'm grateful that it has been part of Daniel Craig's job (N.P.I.) and hope it will be again. I'm just sayin', I think it's weird. Hard to grasp (N.P.I). Perhaps I shouldn't concern myself with the comings (N.P.I.) and goings of these people. I guess when I start pondering something, it's kind of hard for me to just sit on it.
No pun intended.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
I Hope You Have Wine...
... because this post will be full of cheese.
Yes, the family and I went to Walt Disney World for the first time last week and I have to admit - it was magical! This was my first trip (how un-American are my parents?!!) and the first trip for the girls. Mike had been a couple of times when he was younger and was not exactly overly excited about going. I just thought it would be a glorified county fair or something - cheesy and tacky at every turn. I was stunned to realize how great it was and how much fun we had as a family. Watching my girls respond to everything around them was truly a beautiful thing.
See? I told you this post would be cheesy. The thing about it is that Disney sucks you in. Yes, it's commercial. Yes, it's ridiculously overpriced. Yes, there are people roaming around that would make Wal-Mart patrons look smokin' hot. But this place does tourism like no other. They have managed to turn it into an art form. And even a sarcastic cynic like myself was able to be completely taken in by the magic. And the crazy thing is, I am DYING to go back and experience it all again.
I watched Kate, who turned four while we were there (more on that in a minute) react to seeing the princesses, Mickey and his friends, the evil stepmothers, etc., with the kind of wonder and awe that only comes from a child. It really was innocence in its purest form - captured right there on her face. To her, it really was Snow White. It really was Cinderella's castle. That really was Goofy even though he was enormous and never did anything other wave and give her high fives (he never uttered his catchy "Goarsh!").
On her birthday, she wore a button that said Happy Birthday and a park employee wrote her name on it. All day, everywhere we went in the park people said, "Happy Birthday, Princess". Being the bashful girl she is, she would bury her face into her father or me, but she secretly enjoyed it. She was treated like a little princess all day.
And for the record, I hate princesses. I was never a girly-girl (shocking, I know) and I swore that my kids would NEVER be into the princess crap. Fast forward four years and that's all they can talk about. Kate even told me the other day that her Daddy was her Prince Charming. Four years ago, I would have vomited in my purse if that sentence was uttered. Now, her saying it reduces me to tears.
Meg also enjoyed it but on a different level. Being that she's two, everything is still kind of a new and exciting adventure for her so this was just like stimulus -overload. She started out the week being so excited to see the characters, but if any of them came anywhere near her, she'd flail her arms to cry and scream for them to go away. By our last day there, she was running around dressed as Tinkerbell high-fiving everybody and kissing Mickey's face which was bound to have every communicable disease known to man right there in one convenient location.
She enjoyed the rides and the ice cream and all of the merchandise that we swore we'd never buy yet of which somehow we came back with five bags. We stayed in the park all day each day which meant that we had to forgo her nap. She passed out in the car on the way back to the condo every night except for the one night when she passed out inside the park and Mike had to carry her listless body about a mile to the car with her legs dangling at his sides.
We've been home for a week now and neither girl can stop talking about their trip. I cannot stop either. I'm sure I've told 50 people how great it was and they're probably all thinking what I was when people used to tell me about Disney - I'd rather lick the floor of a public men's room than ever go to that place.
So, enough blathering on about this whole experience. This blog is supposed to be about useless rambling, not anything of substance - and to my loyal readers, I do apologize for being cheesy and sentimental. My advice on Disney would be this:
If you have kids, take them. Especially young kids. That innocence won't be there forever and it is something you really have to see. Go in January. There were barely any lines and the weather was just perfect. On second thought, don't go in January. You'll just crowd up the rides and then I will have to wait. Don't try to do it all the first time you go. Feel your way around the park and let your kids decide how the week should play out. Get past the touristy stuff and buy into the magic of the experience. I'm so glad I did. It was truly one of the best trips I've ever taken and one which our family will talk about for years to come.
Okay. I'm done with the cheese and effusive prattling. You may now commence vomiting in your purse.
Yes, the family and I went to Walt Disney World for the first time last week and I have to admit - it was magical! This was my first trip (how un-American are my parents?!!) and the first trip for the girls. Mike had been a couple of times when he was younger and was not exactly overly excited about going. I just thought it would be a glorified county fair or something - cheesy and tacky at every turn. I was stunned to realize how great it was and how much fun we had as a family. Watching my girls respond to everything around them was truly a beautiful thing.
See? I told you this post would be cheesy. The thing about it is that Disney sucks you in. Yes, it's commercial. Yes, it's ridiculously overpriced. Yes, there are people roaming around that would make Wal-Mart patrons look smokin' hot. But this place does tourism like no other. They have managed to turn it into an art form. And even a sarcastic cynic like myself was able to be completely taken in by the magic. And the crazy thing is, I am DYING to go back and experience it all again.
I watched Kate, who turned four while we were there (more on that in a minute) react to seeing the princesses, Mickey and his friends, the evil stepmothers, etc., with the kind of wonder and awe that only comes from a child. It really was innocence in its purest form - captured right there on her face. To her, it really was Snow White. It really was Cinderella's castle. That really was Goofy even though he was enormous and never did anything other wave and give her high fives (he never uttered his catchy "Goarsh!").
On her birthday, she wore a button that said Happy Birthday and a park employee wrote her name on it. All day, everywhere we went in the park people said, "Happy Birthday, Princess". Being the bashful girl she is, she would bury her face into her father or me, but she secretly enjoyed it. She was treated like a little princess all day.
And for the record, I hate princesses. I was never a girly-girl (shocking, I know) and I swore that my kids would NEVER be into the princess crap. Fast forward four years and that's all they can talk about. Kate even told me the other day that her Daddy was her Prince Charming. Four years ago, I would have vomited in my purse if that sentence was uttered. Now, her saying it reduces me to tears.
Meg also enjoyed it but on a different level. Being that she's two, everything is still kind of a new and exciting adventure for her so this was just like stimulus -overload. She started out the week being so excited to see the characters, but if any of them came anywhere near her, she'd flail her arms to cry and scream for them to go away. By our last day there, she was running around dressed as Tinkerbell high-fiving everybody and kissing Mickey's face which was bound to have every communicable disease known to man right there in one convenient location.
She enjoyed the rides and the ice cream and all of the merchandise that we swore we'd never buy yet of which somehow we came back with five bags. We stayed in the park all day each day which meant that we had to forgo her nap. She passed out in the car on the way back to the condo every night except for the one night when she passed out inside the park and Mike had to carry her listless body about a mile to the car with her legs dangling at his sides.
We've been home for a week now and neither girl can stop talking about their trip. I cannot stop either. I'm sure I've told 50 people how great it was and they're probably all thinking what I was when people used to tell me about Disney - I'd rather lick the floor of a public men's room than ever go to that place.
So, enough blathering on about this whole experience. This blog is supposed to be about useless rambling, not anything of substance - and to my loyal readers, I do apologize for being cheesy and sentimental. My advice on Disney would be this:
If you have kids, take them. Especially young kids. That innocence won't be there forever and it is something you really have to see. Go in January. There were barely any lines and the weather was just perfect. On second thought, don't go in January. You'll just crowd up the rides and then I will have to wait. Don't try to do it all the first time you go. Feel your way around the park and let your kids decide how the week should play out. Get past the touristy stuff and buy into the magic of the experience. I'm so glad I did. It was truly one of the best trips I've ever taken and one which our family will talk about for years to come.
Okay. I'm done with the cheese and effusive prattling. You may now commence vomiting in your purse.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
A Week of Whoa!
Yes, it has been a woeful week. First, my beloved Conan O'Brien was informed that he was losing the Tonight Show. True, this really doesn't affect me, but I hate it for him. I really like him. He's a genius, but apparently too goofy for the mainstream. I started watching his Late Night show early on after seeing clips of it on another hilarious show, Talk Soup.
What piqued my interest was a sketch he and Andy Richter did where they played a practical joke on an oscillating fan. They actually placed it into a walk-in freezer and then sat back and commented on how this fan must be wondering why in the world it was in a freezer. The sketch was reminiscent of TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes where Ed McMahon and Dick Clark would provide a voice-over while the practical jokes were taking place. During the fan incident, Conan and Andy would remark things like, "this fan has NO idea why it's cooling off a freezer!" It was absolute lunacy. And I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen. And don't get me started on one of my favorites from his Late Night days - Country Cuckoo Clock Codpiece Zulu Warriors. Seriously, don't get me started. I will sing the theme song ad nauseum.
Conan will be okay, of course. They'll pay him millions of dollars to leave NBC. I hope he'll be able to start a new show. I have the DVR set every night to record him. Once he goes off the air, I'll really miss my CoCo. The girls will, too. They love his crazy dancing around the stage. Who knows what the real story is, but Jay Leno sure seems to be the common denominator in both this and the David Letterman Tonight Show mess. I don't think I like him. I'm on Team Conan!!
Second, I lost the previously-blogged-about photo contest. I didn't lose it, per se. I just came in second. Lost to my neighbor. On her blog, she informed her readers that she "smoked the competition". That would be me. Smoked. Toasted. Squished. Obliterated. Ground into a million tiny pieces then flushed down the toilet. In other words, I got second place. I thought I made it clear in my post that she didn't deserve to win - what with her cute hair and great personality. What part of that didn't my readers get?! Oh well. Second place isn't so bad. Let's all remember Suzette Charles if we need to be reminded of how awesome a second-place finish can be.
What? You don't know who she is? I find that pretty hard to believe, but if you really don't know, she was the first runner-up to Vanessa Williams in the 1984 Miss America pageant. After it was discovered that Vanessa Williams had posed for some tawdry photos, Suzette became Miss America. So see? The same thing could happen to me!!! I'm not saying that Amber has any of these kinds of photos on the web. I'm just saying that it wouldn't surprise me if she did and I think it should be investigated. I mean geez, her photo that won the contest was a picture of her topless baby. Where do you think he learned to pose like that?
Finally, I rounded out the week with a lovely bout of the horrendous stomach bug that is going around. I should have known better, but I have previously bragged about how my family seems to have a pretty strong constitution. I mean, every time there is something going around it seems like all of my friends pass it around their entire family. That just hasn't happened in the McCallie household. Until now. And what a bug to catch for the inaugural communicable illness!
It hit Meg first, but at the time I did not recognize it for what it was. She vomited once Tuesday night, but it wasn't very much and she seemed to feel okay, so I thought maybe she had just overeaten. Then, she vomited twice more (low volume) on Wednesday morning. Then nothing. No other symptoms. I thought we were in the clear. Fast forward to Sunday evening when I'm in Birmingham for a quick, overnight visit because my sister and her kids were in town. I was drinking wine on the couch around 7:00 p.m. and I began to feel a little queasy. Then I began to feel REAL queasy. Then, I was begging for death.
I won't go into the gory (and I do mean gory) details, but I was completely empty after about 6 hours. I finally was able to go to sleep around 1:00 when the agonizing pain in my stomach subsided only to be awakened at 1:30 by the sound of Kate crying and the scent of vomit wafting in from the next room. I dashed into her room and was quickly reminded that she had been served spaghetti for dinner and had, for once, eaten a good amount. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed as much room deodorizer as I could find leaving the room smelling like freshly squeezed lemon-vomit.
She threw up one more time (no diarrhea, thankfully, however, I was not so lucky) and we both managed to get a few hours of sleep. By the time I arrived back in Chattanooga on Monday, it was beginning to hit Mike. The tally climbs, however, because my parents informed me tonight that they were both visited by this nasty little bug in the wee hours last night. This thing is just the gift that keeps on giving! I am keeping my fingers crossed that I don't get a phone call from my sister telling me that we've infected her household. I've never had a stomach bug before and this one was a doozy. The best way to describe it is to quote a friend of mine, Victor, who went through something similar years ago when we worked together. Upon his return to work, he said very little about the effects the stomach virus had on him. He simply summed up the experience by saying, "I've got a lot of laundry to do".
So, there's my week in review. The "poop" if you will. (Couldn't resist the pun, sorry!) Here's hoping you are having a good week and that next week finds me with lots less laundry.
What piqued my interest was a sketch he and Andy Richter did where they played a practical joke on an oscillating fan. They actually placed it into a walk-in freezer and then sat back and commented on how this fan must be wondering why in the world it was in a freezer. The sketch was reminiscent of TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes where Ed McMahon and Dick Clark would provide a voice-over while the practical jokes were taking place. During the fan incident, Conan and Andy would remark things like, "this fan has NO idea why it's cooling off a freezer!" It was absolute lunacy. And I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen. And don't get me started on one of my favorites from his Late Night days - Country Cuckoo Clock Codpiece Zulu Warriors. Seriously, don't get me started. I will sing the theme song ad nauseum.
Conan will be okay, of course. They'll pay him millions of dollars to leave NBC. I hope he'll be able to start a new show. I have the DVR set every night to record him. Once he goes off the air, I'll really miss my CoCo. The girls will, too. They love his crazy dancing around the stage. Who knows what the real story is, but Jay Leno sure seems to be the common denominator in both this and the David Letterman Tonight Show mess. I don't think I like him. I'm on Team Conan!!
Second, I lost the previously-blogged-about photo contest. I didn't lose it, per se. I just came in second. Lost to my neighbor. On her blog, she informed her readers that she "smoked the competition". That would be me. Smoked. Toasted. Squished. Obliterated. Ground into a million tiny pieces then flushed down the toilet. In other words, I got second place. I thought I made it clear in my post that she didn't deserve to win - what with her cute hair and great personality. What part of that didn't my readers get?! Oh well. Second place isn't so bad. Let's all remember Suzette Charles if we need to be reminded of how awesome a second-place finish can be.
What? You don't know who she is? I find that pretty hard to believe, but if you really don't know, she was the first runner-up to Vanessa Williams in the 1984 Miss America pageant. After it was discovered that Vanessa Williams had posed for some tawdry photos, Suzette became Miss America. So see? The same thing could happen to me!!! I'm not saying that Amber has any of these kinds of photos on the web. I'm just saying that it wouldn't surprise me if she did and I think it should be investigated. I mean geez, her photo that won the contest was a picture of her topless baby. Where do you think he learned to pose like that?
Finally, I rounded out the week with a lovely bout of the horrendous stomach bug that is going around. I should have known better, but I have previously bragged about how my family seems to have a pretty strong constitution. I mean, every time there is something going around it seems like all of my friends pass it around their entire family. That just hasn't happened in the McCallie household. Until now. And what a bug to catch for the inaugural communicable illness!
It hit Meg first, but at the time I did not recognize it for what it was. She vomited once Tuesday night, but it wasn't very much and she seemed to feel okay, so I thought maybe she had just overeaten. Then, she vomited twice more (low volume) on Wednesday morning. Then nothing. No other symptoms. I thought we were in the clear. Fast forward to Sunday evening when I'm in Birmingham for a quick, overnight visit because my sister and her kids were in town. I was drinking wine on the couch around 7:00 p.m. and I began to feel a little queasy. Then I began to feel REAL queasy. Then, I was begging for death.
I won't go into the gory (and I do mean gory) details, but I was completely empty after about 6 hours. I finally was able to go to sleep around 1:00 when the agonizing pain in my stomach subsided only to be awakened at 1:30 by the sound of Kate crying and the scent of vomit wafting in from the next room. I dashed into her room and was quickly reminded that she had been served spaghetti for dinner and had, for once, eaten a good amount. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed as much room deodorizer as I could find leaving the room smelling like freshly squeezed lemon-vomit.
She threw up one more time (no diarrhea, thankfully, however, I was not so lucky) and we both managed to get a few hours of sleep. By the time I arrived back in Chattanooga on Monday, it was beginning to hit Mike. The tally climbs, however, because my parents informed me tonight that they were both visited by this nasty little bug in the wee hours last night. This thing is just the gift that keeps on giving! I am keeping my fingers crossed that I don't get a phone call from my sister telling me that we've infected her household. I've never had a stomach bug before and this one was a doozy. The best way to describe it is to quote a friend of mine, Victor, who went through something similar years ago when we worked together. Upon his return to work, he said very little about the effects the stomach virus had on him. He simply summed up the experience by saying, "I've got a lot of laundry to do".
So, there's my week in review. The "poop" if you will. (Couldn't resist the pun, sorry!) Here's hoping you are having a good week and that next week finds me with lots less laundry.
Monday, January 11, 2010
A Battle to the Death (of my dignity)
I am embroiled in a battle. It is not a battle of wills or a battle of wits, thankfully. But it is a battle just the same. And I want to win.
A photographer in Chattanooga is holding a contest the winner of which will receive a free 16x20 portrait or $150 off of a future session. She is using her favorite photo from each of the sessions she had in 2009. The one she chose from her session with us is a sweetly beautiful picture of Kate outside holding onto the handrail in our backyard. She looks so gentle and innocent. You would never know by looking at her face the way it was captured what an imp she can be. There is an opportunity to vote between now and January 15th. So, those of you who read this blog and are not in the running, please go and vote: www.dianasimpson.com (then click on her blog, then vote for my daughter).
This contest is not really about whose kid is the cutest. I will tell you emphatically that mine is, of course, but that’s not the point. You’ll go to the website and you’ll see other adorable children. It’s not really about which picture is the best. All of the pictures are good and worthy contenders. The picture of Kate is simply and truthfully one of several very good pictures of a very cute child.
What the contest is about, since we’ve established it should not be based on merit, is the fact that I want to win the prize. Do I want it for the bragging rights? Kind of, I guess, but that’s not my main motivation. Do I view it as a popularity contest? Sort of, I suppose. He (or hopefully “she” please oh please oh please) who has the most friends willing to vote will win. Do I want a 16x20 portrait for free since the pictures are so freakin’ ridiculously expensive? YES. I do. And I’m not ashamed (though I probably should be) to admit it. Nor am I ashamed (though I definitely should be) to tell you why you shouldn’t vote for my friends and neighbors whose photographs are also in the running.
First, there’s the Charapata photograph. A really good one, by the way. Probably better than the one of Kate. Amber is the subject’s mother and my closest friend in the neighborhood. Her boys are big buddies with my girls. She’s a great girl all the way around. That’s just the point - she is very pretty, she has beautiful hair, she has tons of friends, she has a really cute figure, great clothes, magnetic personality… she doesn’t need this. Plus, she’s a lot younger than I am. She has more time to win things in the future.
Then there’s the Cobb photograph. It’s one of my favorite photos ever of a kid that is not mine. Noah looks so sweet coloring in his room. It’s a great picture and Noah is a great kid. I love his mom, Denise. She lives right across the street and we used to get together with them a lot when the weather was better. She is hilarious, pretty, has the haircut I want but would look awful with, is in great shape – great figure, is very intelligent and has really great style – clothes, jewelry, shoes, everything. I can tell you that she already has quite a few pictures on her walls from her session with the photographer. I simply don’t know where she would put another 16x20. It would probably stress her out to have to find a place to put it. Clearly, she’s not the best choice.
Finally, there’s the Blackiston portrait. It’s a great one and was actually used as their Christmas card. It has the whole family (all 5 and growing) on the bed with a gift wrapped in pink to indicate the newest addition they expect next month. Very sweet picture of a beautiful family. And Steph, the mom, is a beautiful girl inside and out. She is tall and thin (save for the current baby-bump), is always smiling, and has the most gorgeous strawberry-blonde hair I’ve ever seen. She does more with her day than I do with a month. She home-schools her three boys, she cooks, she has a blog that has a bazillion readers, she is outgoing, positive, creative, and spiritual. What could she possibly need with a win? Her whole life is a win.
Which brings us to me. I am frumpy and disheveled most days. I only shower about 4-5 days a week. I lose my patience frequently with my kids. I use questionable tactics to try and win contests. AND I am clearly a horrible friend (as evidenced by the previous three paragraphs). Will I be happy for my friends if they win? Yes, I will. Do I want things to go in their favor? No, I do not.
Okay, I don’t deserve it. That’s clear. But don’t think of it as a vote for me. Think of it as a vote for Kate. Sweet Kate.
You know she was born 10 weeks early right?
Only weighed 2 lbs, 10 oz.
But if you want to vote for someone who was born full-term, please don’t feel guilty.
Here’s one more tidbit for you: At the end of our session, the girls were playing in the backyard on the swing set while the photographer was loading up her equipment. At the same time, she and I turned around and watched helplessly as Meg, my sweet two year old, fell off of a ladder she was climbing to get to the top of the slide. It was so scary! She fell on her neck and then flopped over. My first thought was that she could have cracked or broken her neck. Meg and I both cried for about 30 minutes after it happened. Such trauma. She’s okay, thankfully, but it really was a harrowing experience watching her fall from that height and then seeing her body go end over end. I don’t want you to feel pressure to vote for us simply because of this mishap, I’m just telling what happened. You can let your conscience handle the rest.
So there it is – my plea for votes. I know it is shameless and I really do feel bad about it. But this is war. War is ugly. What are you gonna do?
To vote for Kate, please go to www.dianasimpson.com and click on BLOG. The contest is at the top. Kate is midway down the last under “McCallie”. You can vote as many times as you like.
To vote for someone else’s kid, please find another contest.
A photographer in Chattanooga is holding a contest the winner of which will receive a free 16x20 portrait or $150 off of a future session. She is using her favorite photo from each of the sessions she had in 2009. The one she chose from her session with us is a sweetly beautiful picture of Kate outside holding onto the handrail in our backyard. She looks so gentle and innocent. You would never know by looking at her face the way it was captured what an imp she can be. There is an opportunity to vote between now and January 15th. So, those of you who read this blog and are not in the running, please go and vote: www.dianasimpson.com (then click on her blog, then vote for my daughter).
This contest is not really about whose kid is the cutest. I will tell you emphatically that mine is, of course, but that’s not the point. You’ll go to the website and you’ll see other adorable children. It’s not really about which picture is the best. All of the pictures are good and worthy contenders. The picture of Kate is simply and truthfully one of several very good pictures of a very cute child.
What the contest is about, since we’ve established it should not be based on merit, is the fact that I want to win the prize. Do I want it for the bragging rights? Kind of, I guess, but that’s not my main motivation. Do I view it as a popularity contest? Sort of, I suppose. He (or hopefully “she” please oh please oh please) who has the most friends willing to vote will win. Do I want a 16x20 portrait for free since the pictures are so freakin’ ridiculously expensive? YES. I do. And I’m not ashamed (though I probably should be) to admit it. Nor am I ashamed (though I definitely should be) to tell you why you shouldn’t vote for my friends and neighbors whose photographs are also in the running.
First, there’s the Charapata photograph. A really good one, by the way. Probably better than the one of Kate. Amber is the subject’s mother and my closest friend in the neighborhood. Her boys are big buddies with my girls. She’s a great girl all the way around. That’s just the point - she is very pretty, she has beautiful hair, she has tons of friends, she has a really cute figure, great clothes, magnetic personality… she doesn’t need this. Plus, she’s a lot younger than I am. She has more time to win things in the future.
Then there’s the Cobb photograph. It’s one of my favorite photos ever of a kid that is not mine. Noah looks so sweet coloring in his room. It’s a great picture and Noah is a great kid. I love his mom, Denise. She lives right across the street and we used to get together with them a lot when the weather was better. She is hilarious, pretty, has the haircut I want but would look awful with, is in great shape – great figure, is very intelligent and has really great style – clothes, jewelry, shoes, everything. I can tell you that she already has quite a few pictures on her walls from her session with the photographer. I simply don’t know where she would put another 16x20. It would probably stress her out to have to find a place to put it. Clearly, she’s not the best choice.
Finally, there’s the Blackiston portrait. It’s a great one and was actually used as their Christmas card. It has the whole family (all 5 and growing) on the bed with a gift wrapped in pink to indicate the newest addition they expect next month. Very sweet picture of a beautiful family. And Steph, the mom, is a beautiful girl inside and out. She is tall and thin (save for the current baby-bump), is always smiling, and has the most gorgeous strawberry-blonde hair I’ve ever seen. She does more with her day than I do with a month. She home-schools her three boys, she cooks, she has a blog that has a bazillion readers, she is outgoing, positive, creative, and spiritual. What could she possibly need with a win? Her whole life is a win.
Which brings us to me. I am frumpy and disheveled most days. I only shower about 4-5 days a week. I lose my patience frequently with my kids. I use questionable tactics to try and win contests. AND I am clearly a horrible friend (as evidenced by the previous three paragraphs). Will I be happy for my friends if they win? Yes, I will. Do I want things to go in their favor? No, I do not.
Okay, I don’t deserve it. That’s clear. But don’t think of it as a vote for me. Think of it as a vote for Kate. Sweet Kate.
You know she was born 10 weeks early right?
Only weighed 2 lbs, 10 oz.
But if you want to vote for someone who was born full-term, please don’t feel guilty.
Here’s one more tidbit for you: At the end of our session, the girls were playing in the backyard on the swing set while the photographer was loading up her equipment. At the same time, she and I turned around and watched helplessly as Meg, my sweet two year old, fell off of a ladder she was climbing to get to the top of the slide. It was so scary! She fell on her neck and then flopped over. My first thought was that she could have cracked or broken her neck. Meg and I both cried for about 30 minutes after it happened. Such trauma. She’s okay, thankfully, but it really was a harrowing experience watching her fall from that height and then seeing her body go end over end. I don’t want you to feel pressure to vote for us simply because of this mishap, I’m just telling what happened. You can let your conscience handle the rest.
So there it is – my plea for votes. I know it is shameless and I really do feel bad about it. But this is war. War is ugly. What are you gonna do?
To vote for Kate, please go to www.dianasimpson.com and click on BLOG. The contest is at the top. Kate is midway down the last under “McCallie”. You can vote as many times as you like.
To vote for someone else’s kid, please find another contest.
Monday, January 4, 2010
New Year’s Resolutions
As with each new year, I have been reflecting recently on the things I need to do or to fix/change in my life in order to be a better, happier person. I’m happy in general. Very happy, actually. But there are always things we can all point to that we’d change about ourselves and each year we resolve to do just that. And, for the first two weeks of each year, our diet is better, our closets are cleaner, and we are much more likely to stay within the speed limit. Then, we go inevitably go back to our old, gluttonous ways and lay the groundwork for the next year’s resolutions.
I don’t really care much for resolutions. I don’t think you should decide to work on things one time a year. I think of it in the same way I do dieting – nothing will work unless or until it is a change in lifestyle. Quick fixes don’t solve the problem. So, that being said, I thought I’d go through my annual process of picking several things I will never change, and set myself up for failure by vowing to change them. There are also goals I am setting for myself that are not necessarily things that need changing, but thing that just need starting.
Here is my list for 2010:
1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)*
2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations, times when I get shaky and need something sweet, times when I’m at a party and am drunk and have forgotten that I’ve vowed not to eat sweets, and other times when no one will find out that I've caved.*
3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children. It's not good to curse as a general rule, but I really need to be cognizant of it particularly since my kids repeat everything they hear. But, it's hard. Damn hard.**
4. I will keep my car neat and tidy but not necessarily clean. It's so hard to find the time to have it cleaned or clean it myself, so saying I'll keep it clean is just an obvious lie. But I could do a much better job of keeping it from being uninhabitable. There is dust EVERYWHERE, toys, paper, wrappers, and any other kind of junk all over the floor, and God-knows-what smashed into the crevices of each car seat. It's foul. And, at all times it either smells like fast food or faster food. Yuck.*
5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes. Ugh, why did I even write that? I am horrible at that. Don't people know that the best gift of all is being excused from sending thank you notes? Why don't people give me gifts and then say, no thank you note needed. Those of you reading this who give me gifts on occasion need to pay attention to that last sentence and perhaps work that into your own 2010 resolutions. Thanks.*
6. I will stop complaining so much. Yeah, I agree. Never going to happen.**
7. I will be more patient with my children. (I was laughing as I typed that last sentence.)**
8. I will be healthier. This means I'll eat better, exercise more, and focus on positive things instead of filling my mind with anger, blame, depressing thoughts and the crap that's on TV. I won't guarantee that everything I put into my body and mind will be healthy, but I'll do a better job of keeping myself healthy. The older I get, the more I realize that it's a wonder any of us ever make it. There is so much sadness out there. Diseases. Bad luck. Bad food. How much happier would we all be if we took ownership of our bodies and our surroundings?
9. I will not post serious things like that last resolution. People are expecting sarcasm and this just throws them off. **
10. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy. The first thing I do when I get home from work is slap my hair up into a rubber band, rip my bra off and change into my pajamas (or if I want to dress up, some sweats). My poor husband. I'm sure he'd appreciate seeing some trace of the woman he married. She is buried under about 20-25 pounds she's put on since their wedding, flannel pants, and a fairly repulsive old, pit-stained T-shirt. I'll show him that I care about his happiness by paying a little more attention to what he comes home to everyday.*
That seems like a pretty good list. I'm sure I'll come up with some new ones as I break these over the next few days. But this is at least a good starting point.
I wish you luck in keeping your resolutions and I hope 2010 brings you much happiness and contentment.
* Denotes items that I am unlikely to actually accomplish
** Denotes resolutions I have already broken
I don’t really care much for resolutions. I don’t think you should decide to work on things one time a year. I think of it in the same way I do dieting – nothing will work unless or until it is a change in lifestyle. Quick fixes don’t solve the problem. So, that being said, I thought I’d go through my annual process of picking several things I will never change, and set myself up for failure by vowing to change them. There are also goals I am setting for myself that are not necessarily things that need changing, but thing that just need starting.
Here is my list for 2010:
1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)*
2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations, times when I get shaky and need something sweet, times when I’m at a party and am drunk and have forgotten that I’ve vowed not to eat sweets, and other times when no one will find out that I've caved.*
3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children. It's not good to curse as a general rule, but I really need to be cognizant of it particularly since my kids repeat everything they hear. But, it's hard. Damn hard.**
4. I will keep my car neat and tidy but not necessarily clean. It's so hard to find the time to have it cleaned or clean it myself, so saying I'll keep it clean is just an obvious lie. But I could do a much better job of keeping it from being uninhabitable. There is dust EVERYWHERE, toys, paper, wrappers, and any other kind of junk all over the floor, and God-knows-what smashed into the crevices of each car seat. It's foul. And, at all times it either smells like fast food or faster food. Yuck.*
5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes. Ugh, why did I even write that? I am horrible at that. Don't people know that the best gift of all is being excused from sending thank you notes? Why don't people give me gifts and then say, no thank you note needed. Those of you reading this who give me gifts on occasion need to pay attention to that last sentence and perhaps work that into your own 2010 resolutions. Thanks.*
6. I will stop complaining so much. Yeah, I agree. Never going to happen.**
7. I will be more patient with my children. (I was laughing as I typed that last sentence.)**
8. I will be healthier. This means I'll eat better, exercise more, and focus on positive things instead of filling my mind with anger, blame, depressing thoughts and the crap that's on TV. I won't guarantee that everything I put into my body and mind will be healthy, but I'll do a better job of keeping myself healthy. The older I get, the more I realize that it's a wonder any of us ever make it. There is so much sadness out there. Diseases. Bad luck. Bad food. How much happier would we all be if we took ownership of our bodies and our surroundings?
9. I will not post serious things like that last resolution. People are expecting sarcasm and this just throws them off. **
10. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy. The first thing I do when I get home from work is slap my hair up into a rubber band, rip my bra off and change into my pajamas (or if I want to dress up, some sweats). My poor husband. I'm sure he'd appreciate seeing some trace of the woman he married. She is buried under about 20-25 pounds she's put on since their wedding, flannel pants, and a fairly repulsive old, pit-stained T-shirt. I'll show him that I care about his happiness by paying a little more attention to what he comes home to everyday.*
That seems like a pretty good list. I'm sure I'll come up with some new ones as I break these over the next few days. But this is at least a good starting point.
I wish you luck in keeping your resolutions and I hope 2010 brings you much happiness and contentment.
* Denotes items that I am unlikely to actually accomplish
** Denotes resolutions I have already broken
Saturday, December 26, 2009
A Story From Christmas Past
Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you were with loved ones enjoying the magic of the season! I know I was exactly where I wanted to be - in my home (the kitchen, mostly) with my wonderful husband and sweet girls and my parents. We have so many blessings to celebrate and thoroughly enjoyed the day.
As you age, you begin to realize that giving truly is better than receiving. Particularly when people give you things you don't like. Kidding, of course. But the old adage it is better to give than to receive really does hold true. This year, everyone seemed happy with the things I had gotten for them. The girls excitedly riped through the wrapping paper and were overjoyed by the treasures inside. My mom was very excited about the John Prine tickets I got for her in addition to a DVD and a decorative piece for their house. Dad seemed happy with his gifts from me, although to him the best gift is being with his family on Christmas.
There were no disasters when it came to what I had gotten for Mike this year which is always a welcome change when I think back to The Year Of The Teapot. I cannot remember what year it was, but I'm thinking it was Christmas of 2007. Mike and I were home for Christmas with our girls and my brother and his (now former) wife and daughter were in town as well. As usual, there was no shortage of sarcasm in the room the entire day. At one point we began saying that what we would really prefer to the gifts we had been given would be the cash equivalent so we could go out and get what we really wanted. Each eagerly-awaited package would be opened and then a shout of "CASH!" would follow indicating that it was a nice effort, but that we'd still prefer the cash used to purchase it. All of this was in good fun of course, as it always is. Until...
Mike was opening his final gift from me. I had gotten him a teapot from Williams Sonoma because he and I had both recently begun drinking tea at night. He had mentioned an interest in having one, so I got him a nice one from a nice store. Although it wasn't terribly creative or expensive, I still thought that it was a thoughtful gift and thus would be well-received.
So Mike was unwrapping it and began to see the box as the paper was ripped away.
"Oh, yeah, a tea pot", he said sarcastically, thinking (or perhaps hoping)that this box was a decoy and his real gift would be something quite different.
"No, Mike, it really is a teapot", I said gently, hoping that he would not get his hopes up that there was something better inside the box.
"Right, Maggie. Sure. It's a teapot.", he went on to say. Now he was trying to break the tape at either end of the box so he could reach in a pull out his real gift.
"Mike, I'm serious. It is a teapot. Listen to me." I said emphatically. Now I was beginning to have tears stream down my face. For one thing, I cry over everything, so of course this would happen during all of this. But another thing was that this was happening in front of my parents. In front of my brother. When Mike discovered that this gift really was a teapot he was going to feel SO bad for making fun of it. I wanted so badly for him to quickly remove both feet from his mouth and close it before he tried to insert them again.
"Maggie, I know it's not a teapot", he said with almost a tone of irritation. I mean, WHO would give their husband a teapot for Christmas? The very thought of it is ridiculous! It was as though he wanted me to drop my act and just admit that the teapot box was hiding something wonderful inside.
Sadly, it was not. This banter went on for what seemed like 17 days. I was crying and then laughing because I couldn't stop crying. He got a look of confusion on his face; not knowing exactly what was happening and whether or not this was all some kind of joke.
He reached into the box, saw that it was a beautiful, stainless steel teapot and immediately said, "Well, I love it. It's really nice. I mean, we DO drink a lot of tea. It's a very thoughtful gift. I just wasn't expecting..."
He understood now why I was crying. The realization was hitting him and it was not lost on him that he and I are not the only ones in the room. He thought he'd hurt my feelings (which, he sort of had). But truly I just felt so bad for him because in the moments leading up to this, he was basically indicating that no person in his or her right mind would ever give this as a gift. Not that he had anything against teapots (he and I both do, now). I guess it was just something that a (straight) man in his early thirties wouldn't really get too jazzed about. Who could blame him?
I was able to dry my tears and pull myself together, of course. We went on to have a scrumptious meal as we do every Christmas and still enjoyed a sarcasm-filled afternoon. As a result of this little blunder though, my brother nicknamed Mike "Teapot", but it didn't really stick. Mike has gone on to be overly appreciative of any gift I gift him which was a nice side benefit of having to live through this experience.
The moral of this story is to never make fun of a gift until you are absolutely certain that what you are making fun of is not what you are opening. Also, that it is better to give than to receive. Oh yeah, and stainless steel teapots are very handy for hitting someone over the head.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
As you age, you begin to realize that giving truly is better than receiving. Particularly when people give you things you don't like. Kidding, of course. But the old adage it is better to give than to receive really does hold true. This year, everyone seemed happy with the things I had gotten for them. The girls excitedly riped through the wrapping paper and were overjoyed by the treasures inside. My mom was very excited about the John Prine tickets I got for her in addition to a DVD and a decorative piece for their house. Dad seemed happy with his gifts from me, although to him the best gift is being with his family on Christmas.
There were no disasters when it came to what I had gotten for Mike this year which is always a welcome change when I think back to The Year Of The Teapot. I cannot remember what year it was, but I'm thinking it was Christmas of 2007. Mike and I were home for Christmas with our girls and my brother and his (now former) wife and daughter were in town as well. As usual, there was no shortage of sarcasm in the room the entire day. At one point we began saying that what we would really prefer to the gifts we had been given would be the cash equivalent so we could go out and get what we really wanted. Each eagerly-awaited package would be opened and then a shout of "CASH!" would follow indicating that it was a nice effort, but that we'd still prefer the cash used to purchase it. All of this was in good fun of course, as it always is. Until...
Mike was opening his final gift from me. I had gotten him a teapot from Williams Sonoma because he and I had both recently begun drinking tea at night. He had mentioned an interest in having one, so I got him a nice one from a nice store. Although it wasn't terribly creative or expensive, I still thought that it was a thoughtful gift and thus would be well-received.
So Mike was unwrapping it and began to see the box as the paper was ripped away.
"Oh, yeah, a tea pot", he said sarcastically, thinking (or perhaps hoping)that this box was a decoy and his real gift would be something quite different.
"No, Mike, it really is a teapot", I said gently, hoping that he would not get his hopes up that there was something better inside the box.
"Right, Maggie. Sure. It's a teapot.", he went on to say. Now he was trying to break the tape at either end of the box so he could reach in a pull out his real gift.
"Mike, I'm serious. It is a teapot. Listen to me." I said emphatically. Now I was beginning to have tears stream down my face. For one thing, I cry over everything, so of course this would happen during all of this. But another thing was that this was happening in front of my parents. In front of my brother. When Mike discovered that this gift really was a teapot he was going to feel SO bad for making fun of it. I wanted so badly for him to quickly remove both feet from his mouth and close it before he tried to insert them again.
"Maggie, I know it's not a teapot", he said with almost a tone of irritation. I mean, WHO would give their husband a teapot for Christmas? The very thought of it is ridiculous! It was as though he wanted me to drop my act and just admit that the teapot box was hiding something wonderful inside.
Sadly, it was not. This banter went on for what seemed like 17 days. I was crying and then laughing because I couldn't stop crying. He got a look of confusion on his face; not knowing exactly what was happening and whether or not this was all some kind of joke.
He reached into the box, saw that it was a beautiful, stainless steel teapot and immediately said, "Well, I love it. It's really nice. I mean, we DO drink a lot of tea. It's a very thoughtful gift. I just wasn't expecting..."
He understood now why I was crying. The realization was hitting him and it was not lost on him that he and I are not the only ones in the room. He thought he'd hurt my feelings (which, he sort of had). But truly I just felt so bad for him because in the moments leading up to this, he was basically indicating that no person in his or her right mind would ever give this as a gift. Not that he had anything against teapots (he and I both do, now). I guess it was just something that a (straight) man in his early thirties wouldn't really get too jazzed about. Who could blame him?
I was able to dry my tears and pull myself together, of course. We went on to have a scrumptious meal as we do every Christmas and still enjoyed a sarcasm-filled afternoon. As a result of this little blunder though, my brother nicknamed Mike "Teapot", but it didn't really stick. Mike has gone on to be overly appreciative of any gift I gift him which was a nice side benefit of having to live through this experience.
The moral of this story is to never make fun of a gift until you are absolutely certain that what you are making fun of is not what you are opening. Also, that it is better to give than to receive. Oh yeah, and stainless steel teapots are very handy for hitting someone over the head.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
UPDATE - Socks, Highwaters and Owls, Oh My!
Just an exciting update to share with my (two) readers:
This past weekend, I met my sister (well, we had met before...) in Atlanta for a day of shopping and a night of food and beverages with friends. Mary, being one of my faithful blog followers, had read my post about my hideous fashion taste and decided to intervene. Of course, she was already aware of my lack of taste since we see each other several times a year, but I guess when she read it and knew that others probably were making fun of me, she decided now was the time to offer her counsel. Normally when we take this trip, it is to finish up any last-minute Christmas shopping. But this year she was on a mission. She was going to help me find and buy some decent looking, non-"mom" jeans. And guess what - she was successful!!
First we had lunch at Houston's (sssssslurp!) With a friend of mine from college. We had a great time despite the fact that I am not a friend mixer. You will never be invited to my house and be introduced to someone you do not know. I HATE being the common person that links a bunch of people who don't know each other. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. I almost passed out at my own wedding reception because I had people from every corner of my life {family, high school, college, work, all of my former lovers (as if!)} in one room together. Ugh! At any rate, Alisha is a college friend and had actually met my sister before when they both served as bridesmaids at my wedding. She is a pretty easy person to know, so I was able to relax and enjoy my meal. She also treated us to a glass of champagne to get our little shopping spree off on the right foot.
Somehow my bill for the lunch was $85.00. I'm still unsure as to how that happened, but apparently the champagne worked because I didn't seem to care much. I just paid it, hugged Alisha, and off Mary and I went. We went to Lenox and I was immediately reminded of why I hate Atlanta. There are ENTIRELY too many people in the city of Atlanta - and most of them were in Lenox Mall that day. We first went to Macy's to find some jeans. Of course, Macy's in as big as the entire mall in Chattanooga so finding the perfect pair of jeans for my misshapen legs was not going to be easy. Our first order of business, however, was to find the restroom.
Because it had been so long since either of us was in this mall, we weren't sure where the restrooms were. So, we followed the signs whose arrows were purportedly pointing us toward the facilities. We were following one sign when I looked up and saw another sign showing the restrooms were in the opposite direction. Frustrated, we shrugged it off and assumed we had just gotten mixed-up somehow. After a few minutes of walking in this new direction, we realized we had ended up in the exact same spot we had just been in. No restrooms. We were growing more frustrated and our bladders more full with every step we took in the wrong direction. Then we saw another sign that we started to follow claiming that the restrooms were in yet another direction. Long story short, about an hour later, our bladders were empty. I hate Atlanta.
Anyway, we found the section with the jeans and I have to say I hated everything I saw. The wash was so dark that it looked absolutely ridiculous. The jeans looked like Wrangler jeans that people wore back in my horse-riding days. I feared I would look like a cowgirl if I purchased them. But, my sister loving told me to shut up and let her handle it. She gathered what had to be 27 pairs of jeans and we trotted to the nearest fitting room. With skepticism, I tried on the first pair. I tried as hard as I could to pull them up to my belly button but 1. they were too tight; and 2. they were not designed to go up to my belly button**.
"These are WAY too tight", I told my sister. Her response? "Those look GREAT on you!". What?! They aren't roomy! They're touching the floor! I can still see my belly button! I look ridiculous! But no, she advised, this was how they were supposed to fit. This was how they were supposed to look. You have got to be kidding me! These jeans fit so snugly that every time I pulled them off, they clung to my granny panties and took them down with them. I made sure to position myself each time I slid a pair off so that my sister caught a nice glimpse of my "assets". She had been making fun of my taste and fashion sense this entire time, so I retaliated by giving her a nice shot of my cottage-cheese-resembling hiney. That'll show her... Of course, she then became concerned by the size and length of my underwear and, perhaps, has now formed a new mission - to get me out of granny panties and into, gulp, thongs!!! Eeek!
I tried on a few more pairs and honestly did begin to see that my grotesquely-shaped rear end and thighs did kind of look better in these jeans. What's more - I actually began to look taller. She informed me that our next stop would be to find a fun pair of boots that I could wear with these jeans. I had never considered using the word "fun" to describe clothing or footwear. I had never gotten past referring to clothes as "comfortable" or "roomy". Apparently, comfort has no place in clothes that you wear out of the house. Who would have thought it?
We did find some boots and even some new casual shoes to replace the clogs I have been wearing for... I'm going to say eight years now (but it's really probably closer to 10). I have to say that I really do like my new purchases. I have been proudly wearing all of it ever since I returned. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that no one commented on how cute my jeans were at a party I went to this week. However, it has occurred to me since then that no one would comment on it because it's not like I'm setting any new trends. I have just finally caught up with the one that is currently out there. Why would anyone comment on a person looking normal?!
My trip to Atlanta was a success not only because of my new clothes but also because I had a great time with Mary and the friends we were able to see while we were there. Plus, I was inadvertently groped as I tried to make my way through the massive crowd in Lenox mall - so there's that. I only got lost twice trying to make my way around the city (I hate Atlanta) and I managed to squeeze in getting a couple of gifts for others on my list. I am thankful for my sister for intervening on my behalf and helping to bring me out of my fashion rut. Never fear - I'm not totally out of it. You, too, can help in the area of shirts, scarves, jackets, underwear, my hair, bathing suits, skirts, pumps, make-up, running clothes, party clothes, pajamas, jewelry, purses, bras that actually match my underwear, home decor, etc., etc. All help is welcomed and certainly appreciated.
**The jeans that are designed to go up to a person's belly button can be found at your nearest Sears.
This past weekend, I met my sister (well, we had met before...) in Atlanta for a day of shopping and a night of food and beverages with friends. Mary, being one of my faithful blog followers, had read my post about my hideous fashion taste and decided to intervene. Of course, she was already aware of my lack of taste since we see each other several times a year, but I guess when she read it and knew that others probably were making fun of me, she decided now was the time to offer her counsel. Normally when we take this trip, it is to finish up any last-minute Christmas shopping. But this year she was on a mission. She was going to help me find and buy some decent looking, non-"mom" jeans. And guess what - she was successful!!
First we had lunch at Houston's (sssssslurp!) With a friend of mine from college. We had a great time despite the fact that I am not a friend mixer. You will never be invited to my house and be introduced to someone you do not know. I HATE being the common person that links a bunch of people who don't know each other. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. I almost passed out at my own wedding reception because I had people from every corner of my life {family, high school, college, work, all of my former lovers (as if!)} in one room together. Ugh! At any rate, Alisha is a college friend and had actually met my sister before when they both served as bridesmaids at my wedding. She is a pretty easy person to know, so I was able to relax and enjoy my meal. She also treated us to a glass of champagne to get our little shopping spree off on the right foot.
Somehow my bill for the lunch was $85.00. I'm still unsure as to how that happened, but apparently the champagne worked because I didn't seem to care much. I just paid it, hugged Alisha, and off Mary and I went. We went to Lenox and I was immediately reminded of why I hate Atlanta. There are ENTIRELY too many people in the city of Atlanta - and most of them were in Lenox Mall that day. We first went to Macy's to find some jeans. Of course, Macy's in as big as the entire mall in Chattanooga so finding the perfect pair of jeans for my misshapen legs was not going to be easy. Our first order of business, however, was to find the restroom.
Because it had been so long since either of us was in this mall, we weren't sure where the restrooms were. So, we followed the signs whose arrows were purportedly pointing us toward the facilities. We were following one sign when I looked up and saw another sign showing the restrooms were in the opposite direction. Frustrated, we shrugged it off and assumed we had just gotten mixed-up somehow. After a few minutes of walking in this new direction, we realized we had ended up in the exact same spot we had just been in. No restrooms. We were growing more frustrated and our bladders more full with every step we took in the wrong direction. Then we saw another sign that we started to follow claiming that the restrooms were in yet another direction. Long story short, about an hour later, our bladders were empty. I hate Atlanta.
Anyway, we found the section with the jeans and I have to say I hated everything I saw. The wash was so dark that it looked absolutely ridiculous. The jeans looked like Wrangler jeans that people wore back in my horse-riding days. I feared I would look like a cowgirl if I purchased them. But, my sister loving told me to shut up and let her handle it. She gathered what had to be 27 pairs of jeans and we trotted to the nearest fitting room. With skepticism, I tried on the first pair. I tried as hard as I could to pull them up to my belly button but 1. they were too tight; and 2. they were not designed to go up to my belly button**.
"These are WAY too tight", I told my sister. Her response? "Those look GREAT on you!". What?! They aren't roomy! They're touching the floor! I can still see my belly button! I look ridiculous! But no, she advised, this was how they were supposed to fit. This was how they were supposed to look. You have got to be kidding me! These jeans fit so snugly that every time I pulled them off, they clung to my granny panties and took them down with them. I made sure to position myself each time I slid a pair off so that my sister caught a nice glimpse of my "assets". She had been making fun of my taste and fashion sense this entire time, so I retaliated by giving her a nice shot of my cottage-cheese-resembling hiney. That'll show her... Of course, she then became concerned by the size and length of my underwear and, perhaps, has now formed a new mission - to get me out of granny panties and into, gulp, thongs!!! Eeek!
I tried on a few more pairs and honestly did begin to see that my grotesquely-shaped rear end and thighs did kind of look better in these jeans. What's more - I actually began to look taller. She informed me that our next stop would be to find a fun pair of boots that I could wear with these jeans. I had never considered using the word "fun" to describe clothing or footwear. I had never gotten past referring to clothes as "comfortable" or "roomy". Apparently, comfort has no place in clothes that you wear out of the house. Who would have thought it?
We did find some boots and even some new casual shoes to replace the clogs I have been wearing for... I'm going to say eight years now (but it's really probably closer to 10). I have to say that I really do like my new purchases. I have been proudly wearing all of it ever since I returned. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that no one commented on how cute my jeans were at a party I went to this week. However, it has occurred to me since then that no one would comment on it because it's not like I'm setting any new trends. I have just finally caught up with the one that is currently out there. Why would anyone comment on a person looking normal?!
My trip to Atlanta was a success not only because of my new clothes but also because I had a great time with Mary and the friends we were able to see while we were there. Plus, I was inadvertently groped as I tried to make my way through the massive crowd in Lenox mall - so there's that. I only got lost twice trying to make my way around the city (I hate Atlanta) and I managed to squeeze in getting a couple of gifts for others on my list. I am thankful for my sister for intervening on my behalf and helping to bring me out of my fashion rut. Never fear - I'm not totally out of it. You, too, can help in the area of shirts, scarves, jackets, underwear, my hair, bathing suits, skirts, pumps, make-up, running clothes, party clothes, pajamas, jewelry, purses, bras that actually match my underwear, home decor, etc., etc. All help is welcomed and certainly appreciated.
**The jeans that are designed to go up to a person's belly button can be found at your nearest Sears.
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