Last Thursday I sat with a business book, wasting away the morning, when Mamma Bestie called. Our calls are few and far between since the little guy came into her life, and our visits are much more scarce. Who can blame us though? She's got a bundle of cuteness that limits her social life and I've got a travel schedule that rivals the President. Nonetheless, over the last year we've grown apart and it breaks my heart. So when MB mentions that she's about to do some yoga, hears that I've always wanted to learn, and invites me up to do it with her, I jump at the chance. I was already in my gym clothes and running through a litany of excuses why I wasn't going to go to the gym and this? This sounded fun. I could get in my cardio and have some much needed time with my bestie! Score!
She casually mentions that it's from a DVD that's part of this P90X workout routine... Sounds easy. Hey, I work out. I've got good cardiovascular control. I'm awesome. (At least I thought I was.)
P90X is mean, rude, and I want to officially kick its ass now. This routine was 90 minutes in total, but it took us four hours to get through it, what with all the hyperventilating I was doing. She said we were doing yoga, but she so lied. This was a "tie me up in a pretzel and hold that position while doing a flying leap" yoga. This was yoga that military intelligence uses to get you to spill the beans on all your national secrets! You think water boarding is torture? Let's see you do Warrior Three.
So the first 45 minutes was the crazy, "block this insanity from your memory bank" sort of yoga. But the last 45 minutes had me doing positions that were...well, only appropriate in the bedroom. (RE: The Frog) Some of them had me tied up in a pretzel so much that one flex had me moaning. (Evidently I moaned a little too well at one point.) And of course, when you get two friends together sweating (I was hyperventilating), breathing through the pain ("Just breathe", the instructor said. "Bite me." That's what I said.), and a bit punchy from all the stress of life, sooner or later one wrong moan will bring one of you to the point of giggles. And then more moans (with more gusto) ensue.
Giggles with your bestie are better than any other stress relief I know. We couldn't get through many of the other poses without some sort of laughter. But that wasn't the best part. I'm sure some of you out there have tried yoga a time or two. And those of you that have, know that yoga tends to bring you release other than that of the stress variety. How can I put this delicately? It, um, well... it....
It makes you fart, okay? Giant, wafty, big bullfrog croaking farts!
So there we were, doing some sort of "only appropriate if we were strippers or porn stars" yoga positions when I hear a tiny sound from my dear friend. And ladies, if you've ever been around her after she's eaten Baja Fresh and had the opportunity to hear (and smell) her burps, you'd know why my yoga mat suddenly ended up a few more feet to the right.
I'm no angel in this department. Did I ever tell you the story about our trip down the hill from Lake Tahoe after she and Murray The Monkey (her hubby, who used to impersonate a chimpanzee to make Princess giggle til she couldn't breathe, even though he fully denies ever doing it til this very day) got married? Well, we had Baja just before we left, and somewhere around the halfway mark, it upset both our stomachs. The Incredible Miss J (MB's other bestie who is a hoot and a half) was in the back seat with Princess, who was sound asleep. Baja gave MB the burps. Me, it affected in a location a wee bit south of burp. The first few escapees were silent and odorless, but they were more of a warning than anything. Soon enough they were bad enough to force the windows to be rolled all the way down, and MB used her heinous burps as a mere weapon against my chemical warfare. It was like bringing a knife to a gun fight. And poor Miss J in the back, suffering from our insanity. She deserved a purple heart for that one!
So back to yoga, the moaning, the giggling, and the farting. We'd neared the end of the routine and this meant that we'd achieved the ability to lie still, on our backs, breathing (me, hyperventilating), and just clearing our heads of all the stress. MB and I lie there on our backs, still for about a minute before our thoughts started turning to farts. I smile to myself just as she looks over, sees me smiling, and then she busts out laughing because she knew exactly what I was thinking. That's the brilliant thing about besties - we can be away from each other for a season, but no matter what, we still carry that bond that lets us know exactly what the other is thinking, even if it is about a fart!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Oh! Light bulb!
Last weekend the fish tank light burned out, and since then I’ve been on a mission to locate one that illuminates Sassy and Marmalade the way that the old one used to. We’ve purchased one that makes the water appear blanketed in sunlight (but made the water appear bathed in poo) and another that is supposed to enhance their colors (but only turned the water pink like Barbie’s mansion). Neither, however, brings darkness to light the way that the old one used to.
Sassy and Marmalade are two, very fat, very spoiled goldfish that dance at the front of the tank each morning as I start the bread toasting in the toaster. Sassy is orange and white and the oldest of the two. Marmalade is all orange and when we got her, she was about the size of a quarter. Now she’s almost as big as Sassy and round like a gumball. In all reality, these are Princess’ fish, but I love to see them dance and beg for food each morning. Makes me all happy inside and secretly I dance, too. (It’s cute. I shake my butt, just like they do when move their fins back and forth. If anyone ever videos this and sends it to You Tube, it will go viral, because white girl can dance! Holla!)
Why is it so darn difficult to find the right light bulb? Isn’t a light bulb a light bulb? (By the by, try writing light bulb consecutively three times. After awhile, light bulb doesn’t look like it’s spelled correctly. What’s up with that? Light bulb. Light bulb? Hmmm…odd.) The fish tank looks so bleak without the proper light. And incorrect lighting is no different. The right light makes all the difference.
The same can be said of life. In our darkest hour, a single flame burning brightly cannot reveal the correct path to resolution. Instead, it simply allows us to take our next step. (Or keep us from bumping our head on the nearest surface.) When our surroundings are completely dark, we don’t know if we’re safe, about to fall, or about to run into a wall. (Or for some of us – who shall remain nameless – the walls simply jump out at her for no good reason even when there’s plenty of light. Okay…we’re talking about me. Nurse Betty would’ve called me out for that as soon as she read it, so I had to fess up!) But a single light bulb, or in this metaphor, a single epiphany, can make everything seem crystal clear.
Each day we have the opportunity to learn from our experiences. You thought I was going to say “mistakes” instead of “experiences” didn’t you? Well, I firmly believe that there are no real mistakes, just opportunities to learn and apply that knowledge in the future. Like, when my car mysteriously ends up in front of a donut shop and a bag of happy sprinkled donuts is sitting in the passenger seat next to me screaming in fear of the impending ravaging, I’ve learned that a milk chaser cuts the sugar so much better than a coke. Things like that, you know?
Okay, so maybe I’m not talking just about the proper donut ravaging technique. (Or am I? Muuuuuuaahaaaahhhhahhhh!) We all know that past experiences can shape the way we react to our current surroundings. The right light can make all the difference when faced with darkness, though. In the morning, bright sunlight can seem oppressive to weary, tired eyes. And in the evening, the setting sun turns everything golden and fiery, with shadows appearing where buildings and trees once stood.
But when the sun is straight up in the sky, during that perfect spring day when it appears that the trees have taken a deep breath in and exhaled giant blossoms, the warmth blankets your face and feeds your soul.
That’s the kind of light that shapes you.
That’s the kind of light that gets straight to your heart and points you in the right direction. And suddenly, you know what you need to do.
Or in my case, the light points me to the nearest donut shop. Cue screaming donuts.
Shine on, my friends. Shine on.
Sassy and Marmalade are two, very fat, very spoiled goldfish that dance at the front of the tank each morning as I start the bread toasting in the toaster. Sassy is orange and white and the oldest of the two. Marmalade is all orange and when we got her, she was about the size of a quarter. Now she’s almost as big as Sassy and round like a gumball. In all reality, these are Princess’ fish, but I love to see them dance and beg for food each morning. Makes me all happy inside and secretly I dance, too. (It’s cute. I shake my butt, just like they do when move their fins back and forth. If anyone ever videos this and sends it to You Tube, it will go viral, because white girl can dance! Holla!)
Why is it so darn difficult to find the right light bulb? Isn’t a light bulb a light bulb? (By the by, try writing light bulb consecutively three times. After awhile, light bulb doesn’t look like it’s spelled correctly. What’s up with that? Light bulb. Light bulb? Hmmm…odd.) The fish tank looks so bleak without the proper light. And incorrect lighting is no different. The right light makes all the difference.
The same can be said of life. In our darkest hour, a single flame burning brightly cannot reveal the correct path to resolution. Instead, it simply allows us to take our next step. (Or keep us from bumping our head on the nearest surface.) When our surroundings are completely dark, we don’t know if we’re safe, about to fall, or about to run into a wall. (Or for some of us – who shall remain nameless – the walls simply jump out at her for no good reason even when there’s plenty of light. Okay…we’re talking about me. Nurse Betty would’ve called me out for that as soon as she read it, so I had to fess up!) But a single light bulb, or in this metaphor, a single epiphany, can make everything seem crystal clear.
Each day we have the opportunity to learn from our experiences. You thought I was going to say “mistakes” instead of “experiences” didn’t you? Well, I firmly believe that there are no real mistakes, just opportunities to learn and apply that knowledge in the future. Like, when my car mysteriously ends up in front of a donut shop and a bag of happy sprinkled donuts is sitting in the passenger seat next to me screaming in fear of the impending ravaging, I’ve learned that a milk chaser cuts the sugar so much better than a coke. Things like that, you know?
Okay, so maybe I’m not talking just about the proper donut ravaging technique. (Or am I? Muuuuuuaahaaaahhhhahhhh!) We all know that past experiences can shape the way we react to our current surroundings. The right light can make all the difference when faced with darkness, though. In the morning, bright sunlight can seem oppressive to weary, tired eyes. And in the evening, the setting sun turns everything golden and fiery, with shadows appearing where buildings and trees once stood.
But when the sun is straight up in the sky, during that perfect spring day when it appears that the trees have taken a deep breath in and exhaled giant blossoms, the warmth blankets your face and feeds your soul.
That’s the kind of light that shapes you.
That’s the kind of light that gets straight to your heart and points you in the right direction. And suddenly, you know what you need to do.
Or in my case, the light points me to the nearest donut shop. Cue screaming donuts.
Shine on, my friends. Shine on.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Perception Versus Reality
How many of you out there have that one friend who makes each aspect of their life seem downright perfect? And how many of you know differently? Just as I suspected (because I'm awesome like that) - we all have that friend. He or she has the perfect spouse, the two car garage, the 1.5 children, and they make an exorbitant amount of money. They take dream vacations and have absolutely nary a worry or concern in life. Sigh...if only my life could be that perfect, you say!
Well guess what, boys and girls? It ain't all happy puppies and kittens behind closed doors. Chances are there's debt, there's marital strife, and overall discontentment with life. I'm not calling anyone out here, so don't start thinking I'm pointing any fingers. Although, if you feel like this resonates personally (again, because I'm awesome like that), I encourage you to eat a big plate of humble pie and take control of your unhappiness.
I've had this concept of "perception versus reality" floating through my head for a week now - don't make any comments about the lack of particulate matter beyond that one errant thought - and it wasn't until yesterday that I figured out what it was all about. What we perceive as reality isn't always truth, and social media outlets and personal airs often prevent people from seeing what is truly taking place on the inside. What would happen if we all simply wore our own heart on our sleeve and told everyone exactly just how it is?
In short, we'd have chaos personified! Think Something To Talk About with Julia Roberts. Remember that one scene at the luncheon where Julia's character starts unravelling the long laundry list of indiscretions these ladies had been hiding? Well, what if we took a more modern approach and posted exactly what was on our minds to our Facebook account? Let's pursue that, shall we?
Imagine a sunny Tuesday morning, sitting at your desk, just catching up with friends and family over Facebook. All is perfect in the world. Birds are chirping outside, the cherry blossoms are blooming, and the maid is doing your laundry. Chocolate, donuts, and ice cream have now become calorie- and fat-free.
Friend #1 Status Message (In Happy, Perception Land) : My kids are beautiful little trinkets from heaven. I found it so funny that they colored me a picture today...and who cares if it was on my new duvet?
Your Response : Why yes, I'm so very jealous. You have the perfect children! So cute!
Now back to reality... Let's try this again. And with a bit more oomph!
Friend #1 Status Message (In Reality Land) : My bratty, undisciplined children just ruined my new duvet! If only I were a better parent, and hadn't been polishing off that last bottle of red, maybe I wouldn't have been so oblivious!
Your Response: Your children are truly undisciplined and I can't stand being in the same room as you because of it. You are a lush.
Ahhhh....Better! Okay, so truth hurts. And it's not always pretty (like me), but what's the harm in telling it how it is? I refer you to my Hallmark greeting card writing BFF, and the post entitled "I'm Sorry You're Pissed".
And that got me thinking. What happened if we did the same thing in the dating world? He he he he he....
Imagine a brisk Saturday night at the local date night restaurant. A blind date between a boy and a girl commences. Let's listen in on their conversation...
In Happy Land:
Girl: I haven't had a date in 18 months, but that's ok. I've really been working on me, and my career has been keeping me quite busy!
Guy: A little "me time" is good. How about we order some food and get on with the evening?
Meanwhile, back in Reality Land, things are a bit different.
Girl: I haven't had a date in 18 months. The aliens keep kidnapping me and my four cats for their experiments back on Glargon 4. Do you speak Vulcan? Because I'm an international Star Trek ambassador and I'll need you to be able to understand me during our mating rituals.
Guy: See ya!
Right. Okay, maybe hiding one or two parts of the crazy is a smart idea when you're dating someone new. Just don't hide the important stuff, like Star Trek memberships and alien invasions. We all put our best foot forward and try to make the best impression on our prospective match. And sometimes it takes a second look to really see the true beauty of another person. Other times, you can sense the "stranger danger" ahead of you!
So what's the moral of today's story, boys and girls? Well, besides the fact that I'm awesome. (Holla! ...or Challa, as a nod to my BFF when I make fabulous french toast out of the oh-so deliciously dense, eggy Jewish bread and smother it in macerated strawberries.)
Ahem...I digress.
The moral of the story is that we all have a little honesty that is lurking behind the shadows, just waiting to take the bloom off of our proverbial roses. Life isn't always that rosy, no matter what kind of spin we throw on it. Your friends have their own drama at home and they would love to hear how rotten your life is too, just to take their minds off of their own crap. Ever hear that misery loves company? Sure you have. So open that bottle of red, give your kids some crayons, and invite your best girlfriends over. It's reality time!
Well guess what, boys and girls? It ain't all happy puppies and kittens behind closed doors. Chances are there's debt, there's marital strife, and overall discontentment with life. I'm not calling anyone out here, so don't start thinking I'm pointing any fingers. Although, if you feel like this resonates personally (again, because I'm awesome like that), I encourage you to eat a big plate of humble pie and take control of your unhappiness.
I've had this concept of "perception versus reality" floating through my head for a week now - don't make any comments about the lack of particulate matter beyond that one errant thought - and it wasn't until yesterday that I figured out what it was all about. What we perceive as reality isn't always truth, and social media outlets and personal airs often prevent people from seeing what is truly taking place on the inside. What would happen if we all simply wore our own heart on our sleeve and told everyone exactly just how it is?
In short, we'd have chaos personified! Think Something To Talk About with Julia Roberts. Remember that one scene at the luncheon where Julia's character starts unravelling the long laundry list of indiscretions these ladies had been hiding? Well, what if we took a more modern approach and posted exactly what was on our minds to our Facebook account? Let's pursue that, shall we?
Imagine a sunny Tuesday morning, sitting at your desk, just catching up with friends and family over Facebook. All is perfect in the world. Birds are chirping outside, the cherry blossoms are blooming, and the maid is doing your laundry. Chocolate, donuts, and ice cream have now become calorie- and fat-free.
Friend #1 Status Message (In Happy, Perception Land) : My kids are beautiful little trinkets from heaven. I found it so funny that they colored me a picture today...and who cares if it was on my new duvet?
Your Response : Why yes, I'm so very jealous. You have the perfect children! So cute!
Now back to reality... Let's try this again. And with a bit more oomph!
Friend #1 Status Message (In Reality Land) : My bratty, undisciplined children just ruined my new duvet! If only I were a better parent, and hadn't been polishing off that last bottle of red, maybe I wouldn't have been so oblivious!
Your Response: Your children are truly undisciplined and I can't stand being in the same room as you because of it. You are a lush.
Ahhhh....Better! Okay, so truth hurts. And it's not always pretty (like me), but what's the harm in telling it how it is? I refer you to my Hallmark greeting card writing BFF, and the post entitled "I'm Sorry You're Pissed".
And that got me thinking. What happened if we did the same thing in the dating world? He he he he he....
Imagine a brisk Saturday night at the local date night restaurant. A blind date between a boy and a girl commences. Let's listen in on their conversation...
In Happy Land:
Girl: I haven't had a date in 18 months, but that's ok. I've really been working on me, and my career has been keeping me quite busy!
Guy: A little "me time" is good. How about we order some food and get on with the evening?
Meanwhile, back in Reality Land, things are a bit different.
Girl: I haven't had a date in 18 months. The aliens keep kidnapping me and my four cats for their experiments back on Glargon 4. Do you speak Vulcan? Because I'm an international Star Trek ambassador and I'll need you to be able to understand me during our mating rituals.
Guy: See ya!
Right. Okay, maybe hiding one or two parts of the crazy is a smart idea when you're dating someone new. Just don't hide the important stuff, like Star Trek memberships and alien invasions. We all put our best foot forward and try to make the best impression on our prospective match. And sometimes it takes a second look to really see the true beauty of another person. Other times, you can sense the "stranger danger" ahead of you!
So what's the moral of today's story, boys and girls? Well, besides the fact that I'm awesome. (Holla! ...or Challa, as a nod to my BFF when I make fabulous french toast out of the oh-so deliciously dense, eggy Jewish bread and smother it in macerated strawberries.)
Ahem...I digress.
The moral of the story is that we all have a little honesty that is lurking behind the shadows, just waiting to take the bloom off of our proverbial roses. Life isn't always that rosy, no matter what kind of spin we throw on it. Your friends have their own drama at home and they would love to hear how rotten your life is too, just to take their minds off of their own crap. Ever hear that misery loves company? Sure you have. So open that bottle of red, give your kids some crayons, and invite your best girlfriends over. It's reality time!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Too Uncool For Words
The scene: This morning, 7:45 am, in the Living Room. Princess had finished getting ready for school, I was sucking down the last of my coffee to give me that much more of a caffeine high before I headed off to the gym. (Squirrel!)
Princess: Mommy...
Me: Yes, Bubba? (My newest pet name for her, derived from "baby". You have to say it with Martin Short's accent from Father of the Bride.)
Princess: (Doing her best Karen Walker impression, pointing awkwardly at me with a disgusted look on her face.) You're...you're not going to wear that to my poem recital? Are you? (The fear in her voice was as thick as a cake donut with no frosting to cut it.)
Me: (Dressed in workout clothes, hair pulled back, no makeup...literally disgusting.) Bubba, when have I ever gone anywhere in public looking like this? I'm always put together. I can't exactly go to the gym looking like a movie star.
Princess: I'm just sayin', Mommy. I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of my friends.
Me: (Inside, thinking that I'm so gonna ream her for that one someday. Think of something creative! Think, think, think. Aha!) In that case, I'm going to show up in my jammies and bunny slippers.
Princess: (Fear, pure fear on her face.) YOU WOULDN'T!
Me: (Smug as hell, knowing I just won this discussion.) Don't think I won't. And I'll call you Bubba in front of your friends. Doesn't embarrass me in the least. And guess what, sister? I don't have a problem embarrassing myself. I do it all the time. It's fun! Remember the heelies? (Side note, slipping on a pair of heelies just after eating a big plate of beans is not a good idea. Think coordination and need to hold in your core in order to balance, then add a side of gas... Yeah, do the math.)
Princess: Mommy, please don't!
Me: (I'm winning, I'm winning! Na na na na na na!) Then don't make fun of my gym-fab outfit here. Check out the stylish Nike's and my aerodynamic ponytail. It's the hotness.
Princess: (The guilty, worried look on her face is just priceless. Ha! I'm one smart Mommy.) I just don't want to see you this way at school. Please don't wear your jammies to my recital. (She starts heading toward my closet to pick out my clothes for the day, as if I'm incapable of putting together a decent outfit on my own. Wait a tick...The tables are turning. She's suddenly winning. Crap.)
Me: I'm not going to wear jammies or gym clothes to your recital. I'm going to look like a respectable Mommy. And don't be picking out clothes that make me look like I'm going on a business trip. (That's when she pulls out an outfit that was even better than I had in mind.)
It's official. I'm uncool and my daughter has better fashion sense than me. And so it begins....
Princess: Mommy...
Me: Yes, Bubba? (My newest pet name for her, derived from "baby". You have to say it with Martin Short's accent from Father of the Bride.)
Princess: (Doing her best Karen Walker impression, pointing awkwardly at me with a disgusted look on her face.) You're...you're not going to wear that to my poem recital? Are you? (The fear in her voice was as thick as a cake donut with no frosting to cut it.)
Me: (Dressed in workout clothes, hair pulled back, no makeup...literally disgusting.) Bubba, when have I ever gone anywhere in public looking like this? I'm always put together. I can't exactly go to the gym looking like a movie star.
Princess: I'm just sayin', Mommy. I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of my friends.
Me: (Inside, thinking that I'm so gonna ream her for that one someday. Think of something creative! Think, think, think. Aha!) In that case, I'm going to show up in my jammies and bunny slippers.
Princess: (Fear, pure fear on her face.) YOU WOULDN'T!
Me: (Smug as hell, knowing I just won this discussion.) Don't think I won't. And I'll call you Bubba in front of your friends. Doesn't embarrass me in the least. And guess what, sister? I don't have a problem embarrassing myself. I do it all the time. It's fun! Remember the heelies? (Side note, slipping on a pair of heelies just after eating a big plate of beans is not a good idea. Think coordination and need to hold in your core in order to balance, then add a side of gas... Yeah, do the math.)
Princess: Mommy, please don't!
Me: (I'm winning, I'm winning! Na na na na na na!) Then don't make fun of my gym-fab outfit here. Check out the stylish Nike's and my aerodynamic ponytail. It's the hotness.
Princess: (The guilty, worried look on her face is just priceless. Ha! I'm one smart Mommy.) I just don't want to see you this way at school. Please don't wear your jammies to my recital. (She starts heading toward my closet to pick out my clothes for the day, as if I'm incapable of putting together a decent outfit on my own. Wait a tick...The tables are turning. She's suddenly winning. Crap.)
Me: I'm not going to wear jammies or gym clothes to your recital. I'm going to look like a respectable Mommy. And don't be picking out clothes that make me look like I'm going on a business trip. (That's when she pulls out an outfit that was even better than I had in mind.)
It's official. I'm uncool and my daughter has better fashion sense than me. And so it begins....
Monday, January 10, 2011
Mixed Dozen
Okay, I discreetly remember sending a request through my direct line to The Big Guy Upstairs for no turbulence on this flight, and I even had a few friends send that same request through just for added bonus. Did God forget to write this one down? Do I need to get Him a new day planner or new stack of Post-It Notes? Maybe that delivery of sprinkled cake donuts got lost and he’s angry. (I can relate.) Because seriously, folks, this amount jolting and rocking should only take place in earthquakes and bouncy houses. (Which, by the way, I rock the Kasbah in bouncy houses…children beware! They should totally rent them to adults for drunken birthday parties. We have more fun in them than the kids!)
So I’m back up in the air at 30,000 feet after a two month hiatus on travel. It feels good to be back in this chair, although leaving Princess behind amid her tears and frustration caused by a job that brings joy to my heart but pain to hers creates a bittersweet reunion with said chair. She is my family in my Tiny World. She keeps the smile on my face, the grey in my hair (Ha ha! You can’t see it because I’ve dyed over it!), the worry and joy in my heart (Amazing how kids can allow you to feel both emotions at the same time.), and the encroaching wrinkles on my face (Shut up.). Without her, I would not be where I am today. Her existence has compelled me to push harder and love more.
I came to my Tiny World in 2002 after leaving a much tinier world for bigger and better things. Tiny World didn’t exist to me until my world became unraveled. But now I wouldn’t trade Tiny World for anything. I have learned a great amount since I moved here, and beyond the biggest lesson of self-sufficiency, I learned that the concept of family doesn’t exactly have anything to do with blood. Family is your network of friends, coworkers, and blood relatives. My blood family lives hours away from me, so when I moved to Tiny World, I developed my own family.
If you haven’t gone through a divorce as a parent, you’ve never realized the full depth of that old adage that it takes a village to raise a child. When you’re a divorced parent doing “it all” on your own, you soon realize that you need that village just to be able to get through the day. My family here in Tiny World is made up of friends that I treasure more than a box of a dozen donuts. If you put us all together in one room, we resemble something of a mixed dozen…
You’ve got your nutty ones (Mama Bestie’s Hubby fits this one), ones with sparkly sugar coating (Smudgie), ones that are so much better once you unravel their layers, and some that have such a rainbow of sprinkles on top that you can’t help but smile when you’re near (Nurse Betty and Mama Bestie). They come in all different shapes and sizes, and some are real donut holes! (But I love them anyway!)
My Tiny World family is there for me in all my good and bad times. We support, encourage, and redirect each other (…they redirect me home when my car mysteriously ends up in the parking lot of a donut shop). We are there to act like fools together, get drunk together, and create new traditions with each other. When holidays come around and seeing relatives is impossible, my Tiny World family invites me in as one of their own. We walk Christmas light-lit streets in the rain and wish each other Merry Christmas at the stroke of midnight.
We fight with each other, bring each other back to center and back to God, and introduce each other to our Tiny World families, thus creating a bigger network of villages. (I am not the village idiot, contrary to what some – Nurse Betty – may say.) Our mixed dozen may seem like a motley assortment of characters, but it’s just as zany as any American family, blood-related or otherwise. This collection just has a few more nuts than most!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Don't Try To Eat Them
I'm all about the thoughtful gift, as opposed to the expensive, showy gift. Don't get me wrong - I'm still okay with lavish displays of affection and welcome it wholeheartedly (see http://www.bluenile.com/pearl-bracelet-freshwater_13196). But the gifts that speak to who you are and show that the giver has really been paying attention to who you are? Those are the gifts that really mean something!
I'm sure anyone who has read at least one of these posts can attest to my mild fascination (shut up) with donuts. Okay.........
I loooooooooove those tasty little confections of fried, doughy goodness.
And what better way to keep them in my life than a gratuitous display of them? This was a Christmas present from one of my biggest fans, Smudgie. She's been very supportive and is one of the most sincere, wonderful human beings on this planet. And I don't say this just because she gave me this:
FAKE DONUTS!
Trust me, you can't eat them. I have them purposefully turned around so you can't see the bite marks on the back side.
I'm sure anyone who has read at least one of these posts can attest to my mild fascination (shut up) with donuts. Okay.........
I loooooooooove those tasty little confections of fried, doughy goodness.
And what better way to keep them in my life than a gratuitous display of them? This was a Christmas present from one of my biggest fans, Smudgie. She's been very supportive and is one of the most sincere, wonderful human beings on this planet. And I don't say this just because she gave me this:
FAKE DONUTS!
Trust me, you can't eat them. I have them purposefully turned around so you can't see the bite marks on the back side.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
King Me
I'm doing the quarterback dance in the in-zone and I'm not even afraid of getting fined. I'm gloating so much that nearly nothing could bring me down off this victory high.
Remember the Christmas Crustacean that Nurse Betty just gifted me? And the "shellabration" I had the moment I received the esteemed pleasure of adorning my tree with that monstrosity? Yeah, Nurse Betty thought she could out-do me. She thought she could make me afraid to buy one more disgusting ornament. She thought she could stop my antics.
She thought wrong.
Hee hee....
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| Silver Antlers! |
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| And a Santa hat! |
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So Sparkly! |
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A shiny gold clarinet! |
Queen is playing in the background. "...you got mud on your face, you big disgrace..." Boom, boom, clap. Boom, boom, clap. "Weeee will, weeee will, ROCK YOU!"
Meet Shroomie!
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| Like, totally psychedelic, dude. |
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| A sparkly mushroom cap. |
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| And a mossy base. |
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| Even comes with a clip for ease of decorating! |
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