Why Do I Even Try?

I burned soup.

How in the hell can someone burn soup?

I made chili Monday because, well, it was chilly outside. And since I did NOTHING but sit at my computer after I did wound care on ONE patient on Tuesday, I thought I would make something even warmer and yummier than Monday night.

So I scoured my pantry and found taco seasoning, a can of corn, a can of ranch-style beans, and a can of green chillies. I added the leftover chili meat and 17 gallons(approx) of water, and turned on the fire. (That's chef lingo: fire.)

Then I sat down with my computer. Soon the room was filled with the wonderful aroma of spicy tortilla soup. I could hear the bubbling of the soup simmering on the stove and I inwardly patted myself on the back for being so dern domestic. Soon the botched cinnamon rolls would be a distant memory. Soon I would be hailed as Domestic Goddess Extraordinaire and have my own cooking show. What would I wear? How should I do my hair?

Then the sound of simmering got louder and louder, reminding me that indeed my family would be so impressed to walk into the house with supper ready to be consumed. Then it hit me. You probably shouldn't hear your soup cooking.

Upon closer inspection, which required me getting off my laurels, I see meat in the pan. So with cat-like reflexes, I filled the pan with water and stirred.

And sort of scraped a little.

And up floated little black pieces that I could only assume were the charred remains of the chili that had the unfortunate luck of being on the BOTTOM.

What would Paula do in this situation? Martha and Rachel would fix this how?

So I did what every good connoisseur of fine delicacies would do.

I told the family we were eating Blackened Tortilla Soup. Sold at only the finest restaurants for $75 a bowl. Cheese and Chips sold separately.

Facebook, I Salute You

For your daily finger exercises, click here and visit Dana as she reveals all in her interview. Then click here to see all the FAB-U-LOUS prizes you can win just by entering Mom it Forward's contest. Carissa and Jyl have worked their hineys off to get this site up and going and would love all our support. I am talking computers, printers, software, soundtracks, PEOPLE!

Now for Tuesday's Tribute. I am focusing this week on dear old Facebook. Over the last month, I have been able to reunite with thousands of my high school friends. Okay, hundreds. OKAY, some of my high school buddies.

Yesterday I heard from my oldest friend whom I love so much that I named my eldest son after him. But he didn't contact me on Facebook. He called me. This is the man that graduated Valedictorian and graduated from Vanderbilt University Law School. The guy who, when he told me he was going to Vanderbilt, I said, "OMG! I LOVE their jeans!" Yeah... I know. I am shocked, too that I didn't receive a scholastic scholarship. But who had a Facebook? Not him. Now who is the cool smart one?

We grew up together, our parents being great friends. We both had red hair and people always thought we were brother and sister. And at 7 years old, we discovered we both had a mole on our right forearm in the same exact place and decided we really WERE related and separated at birth. I was the crazy loud mouth social butterfly and he was the smart laid back one that never went partying with us because he was always home doing something mundane like studying.

Facebook allows me to keep tabs on what everyone is doing, and, because I am a nosey sort, I totally love that about it. I can write messages to certain friends for the entire world to read, or I can send a more personal note that only that person can see. So in other words, I can still talk about people and no one gets their feelings hurt. Just kidding. Kinda.

Facebook is generational. I got my mom signed up on my last visit and she is able to keep up with all her friends. I now can keep up with her and her buddies. I get to see what my big kids and their friends are doing as well. God knows I am always the last one to know what my out of town family is into. I can see what they wore to the latest party, what the beverage of choice was, and whose face they were pretending to lick from their pictures they so proudly display. Mom, really, your beer bong shot was not pretty. hee hee

Facebook allows ALL of our classmates to plan that 25th high school reunion and leave no one out. We don't have to worry about finding addresses or phone numbers. We can all make suggestions and people can give their input. It's really a beautiful thing.

Facebook, you have allowed me to remember times I had long forgotten and laugh all over again. Thank you, Facebook, for making it easy to reconnect and reminisce. Today I bow to you and your ability to never let me forget that I wet all over myself and the floor as Carla launched herself onto the velcro wall and hung upside down, unable to get down. Or that at a party long ago I called a guy by the wrong name when I drunkenly told him I loved him. Thank you for reminding me that I should never drink in public and that the ability to dance like a Solid Gold Dancer exists only in my head and is really not pretty.

So if you have never joined the cult and become a Facebooker, I encourage you to do so. It is easy breezey and so much fun. Join Deb and Jay and read other tributes today. You won't be sorry.

Stick A Fork In Me

Now I remember why I am not a baker.

I made my bread (you know, the Amish friendship kind), but decided to throw everyone a curve and do cinnamon rolls. Normally I go to our Czech bakery for these. Let's just say after this weekend, I will continue to pay for cinnamon rolls.

The recipe I got off the internet had me trying to knead an oatmeal-like batter, so I added more flour because that what my Amish alter-ego told me to do. And when I say "more" flour, I am really saying like 2-384 more cups.

So the cinnamon rolls were breathtaking. And by breathtaking I actually mean you couldn't breathe in when you tasted them or you would ingest into your lungs 386 cups of flour. And God knows that is never a good thing.

So I am tossing in the towel as a baker. I will now focus on being a butcher or a candlestick maker. I have my first aide kit and fire extinguisher handy.

It's a Two-fer

Okay, children. Today's post is two-fold. I am going to send you to read three of the six suckers volunteers that agreed to get interviewed by me, BaaBaa WaWa. Some of them tried to make me change the questions, some cussed me out, some just cussed. It was hilarious. So without further adieu I present to you the first of many unveilings: take it Deb and Ginger and Georgie, too.

Secondly, I want to share an email I recieved that made my husband cry laughing. The man who reads my blogs with no expression was bent over the arm of the couch trying to catch his breath while he read this. I mean this is FUNNY. Not sure it's as funny as Rick thought it was, but apparently those with balls find it the funniest thing EVER. Remember this is an email.

A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser for their anniversary submitted this:


Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety....??

WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME!!!

Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right?

There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target.

I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and taser in another.


The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5' long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself, 'no possible way!'

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best...?

I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, 'don't do it dipshit,' reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and . . . HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!

I'm pretty sure Jesse Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs?

The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an atempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.

Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself!

You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative?

SON-OF-A-BITCH, THAT HURT LIKE HELL!!!

A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the drooling. Apparently I shit myself, but was too numb to know for sure and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my nuts and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!!

Now THAT, my friends, is a Christmas gift I MUST have.

Fun With Jill and Janie

I have been in Blogville since July '08. Since then I have "met" the most incredible people and truly come to love them and consider them friends. We "talk" almost daily, which is more than I can say for my real-life friends, and I have the opportunity to keep updates on what is going on in their lives at present.



I have had the great opportunity to share phone numbers with some of these Blog Buddies I have made and occasionally talk to them via text or phone calls.



Tuesday evening I FINALLY got to hook up with my precious friend Janie from West Texas and have dinner. She was instrumental to me in my time of need, giving me professional advice for my career. She has called to check on me during tumultuous times in business and was always there with sage advice and encouragement.



We had tried to hook up during her many trips to my area and something always seemed to get in the way of our meeting. But Tuesday night I was bound and determined to finally meet face to face. Plus, I needed an excuse to leave my husband on his deathbed suffering from the stomach virus.



We met at Johnny Carino's and feasted on bread, stuffed mushrooms, and Balsamic glazed chicken. We talked and laughed and closed down the restaurant. We both brought our cameras, but never took a breath long enough to snap a picture. But to give you some idea of our meeting, this is EXACTLY what we both wore minus the dog and the pitchfork. I am the shorter one.
I can't wait to hook back up with her. We are thinking of starting our own reality show. As long as food is involved, I am in.

Because Inquiring Minds Want to Know

I volunteered to be interviewed by Binks thinking she would ask for my shoe size or what I ate for breakfast. When she gave me these questions, I was convinced I would have to think and make complete sentences. So now here is even more information to use against me at any given moment.

1) As a nurse, what is one of the funniest (or craziest) things you've had to deal with?
Working at the hospital, one must acquire a "sicko" sense of humor. What most people do not find funny, we find hilarious. Some of the funniest moments were involving on of my favorite surgeons. One weekend while he was on-call, we had THREE men come in with items placed where the sun doesn't shine and they couldn't get out. The first one was jaw-dropping-OMG-you-have-to-be-kidding-me funny. The second one was ELECTRIC BLUE and funny just for the fact it was yet another excavation project. The third one was still vibrating when removed and when the Dr. sent it in the biohazard bag up to me thru our tubing system making the "rrrrr" sound, I was crying laughing.

2) One of my favorite flowers is the Bluebonnet. Tell me about Texas and why it is such a great state. What is your favorite and least favorite things about it?
Texas is the only state I have ever lived. I grew up in the panhandle where you can see for miles and have lived in the DFW for the last 10 years. Here it has trees and different elevations. Because Texas is so big, you get the pine trees, the rolling hills, the prairie/plains, Palo Duro Canyon, and the beaches. The colors from the dirt to the sky are incredible and the weather is ever-changing. The people are my favorite and the winds are my least favorite. The people are nice and don'y make fun of your wind-blown hair or if they see your panties when your skirt blows over your head.

3) Growing up with two sisters, was there a lot of competition in your house? Did you share clothes or steal clothes? How about makeup? Are there brothers?
I actually have 3 sisters, one I rarely talk about because she had at one point decided she didn't want anything to do with us. Now she has decided we are as cool as we think we are and wants to repair the damage. (Her daughter was the one I raised for 3.5 yearswhen she didn't want to be a mom.) Growing up with 3 sisters and no brothers, we always wore each other's clothes and did make overs on the weekend. It was a time when we did songs and dances, wrote skits and would perform them for our parents. There was never a dull moment, and if one was anticipated, we always broke out in song and dance and entertained each other. We think we are hilarious. We do the "turn upside down and paint a face on your chin and sing to Donny Osmond's Puppy Love" trick. Our husbands think we are insane.

4) What is your favorite high school /college or adulthood experience and why?
Growing up in Borger, we always would drag Main Street and congregate on the old TG&Y parking lot. We would laugh and talk about who was doing who. It was THE place to be. I have lots of college and adulthood memories, but my high school years were by far my favorite. I had 12 best friends and we spent every waking hour together. I stay in contact with all of them and they are now attorneys, doctors, dentists, architechs, nurses, teachers, hospital executives, and business owners. I have connections, people.

5) I love movies and was wondering, do you watch movies? What is the first movie you remember watching?
I love watching movies at home. I love being able to hit pause if I need to make bathroom run and I never have to blindly feel my way back to my seat or worry about sitting in front of chinese people with screaming babies that cry in Chinese. We also have one of the last drive-in theatres in the world (that's what they say anyway) about 5 minutes from our house and in the summer months I enjoy going with my family. The funnel cakes are to die for. I am sensing a need for a such an experience during our Sept Blog Rendezvous. My first movie that I actually remember seeing was Snow White. I think I was four. The mirror on the wall and the witch scared the bejesus out of me. That was the same year my mom and I watched The Birds and thus was born my over-the-top fear of flying birds. I saw eyes poked out. And the sounds... My mom was ever-faithful to cover the TV screen with a cup towel when any sexy scenes were on, but she dropped the ball on that mental scarring scene. Thanks, mom.

Much thanks to Binks and her Barbara Walter's ability to interview. Even if she didn't make me cry. If you want me to interview you, just tell me in your comment. Just know I will not be as kind. I love a good tear jerker...

Tuesday's Tribute

Today I pay tribute to my husband.

When he is well.

As we speak, he is on the couch in a fetal position, stealing my "spot" on the couch, moaning because he has been afflicted with the stomach virus. The same stomach virus that I had yesterday and received NO help with anything. But this is not about me and my amazing iron stomach.
I could feed my husband anything and he would eat it and say how good it is and thank me for cooking. When he is well.

Yesterday I served him Noodle Soup (no chicken) and crackers. He says, "Are these the new crackers I bought Saturday?"
"No, precious. We still had this unopened package left from Christmas."
"I want the new ones. These taste stale."
"Okay, precious. Let me open the new box for you and get some."
"Can you get a different spoon? This one's a little large."
"Okay, precious. A smaller spoon is on it's way."
"Did you get Berry flavored gatorade?"
"Yes, of course, precious."
"Can I have some ice?"
"Any particular number of ice cubes, precious?"
Then he dribbled some Noodle Soup on my blanket.
THAT made me close my eyes and breathe deeply.

When he is well, he is wonderful. When he is sick, not so much.

I will at this point do anything to get him back to normal. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

I like him so much more when he is not whiney. That is MY job.

I Did It

I did it.

I made Amish friendship bread.

 I added raisins, dried cranberries, blueberries, and walnuts.

And, before you ask, yes, I went a little overboard on the cinamon/sugar sprinkling over the top. 

There was actually another pan of it, but it's gone alredy. I My kids ate every crumb.

I now have a new respect for the Amish women that apparently have more muscle and dedication than I do. I had to get Rick to help stir it, because I had a double batch due to my daughter on purpose accidently leaving it at my house. So I had 7 people to get rid of give away starts to, which put a damper on the whole baking fun, since I really have only 4 real life friends and the rest of you live in my computer.

The Amish, I am sure, do it much better than I do.
But luckily I didn't have to gather the eggs or milk the cow.
I didn't have to hook the horse to the buggy and go into town for the sugar and flour, or put my hair in a bun. No chopping of wood or picking the blueberries in my long calico prairie skirt.
I could never make it the Community.

 Plus, I would stick out like a sore thumb with my blond wig.

Kalee's First Day As A Teacher

I want to tell you if you have never read Martini Mom, you must! She has some of THE funniest stories of her life as a kindegarten teacher. I love this woman and she needs another follower and commenter like a hole in the head, but whatever. (bitch) Anyway, I wanted to tell you what happened to Kalee yesterday on her first day substituting and try to get 189 comments like MM does.

My daughter Kalee, graduated with her elementary education degree in May '08. She subbed yesterday for a special ed class in town. I called her yesterday to check on her and see how her day went.
me: "How did it go?"
Kalee: "It was fine."
M: "Just Fine?"
K: "Yeah. It makes me glad to know there are worse behaved kids than Grayson."
M: Heh heh "What happened?"
K: " We have a precious little girl with Down's syndrome in there that is a little toot. I told her to sit down while we passed out snacks and she said, 'Puck you' to me.
M: "What?!"
K: " Yeah, I looked over at the aide and was like, 'Did she just say what I think she said?" and she just slowly nodded her head finding no amusement in it."
M: "OMG! What did you do?"
K: " I just sat her down and gave her a puzzle with animals on it to bide me time to get the snacks passed out and to get her mind on something else."
M: "Well that was smart."
K: " No, not really. She just said, 'Puck you, duck. Puck you, dog. Puck you, cat, the whole time she put it together. It didn't work. And it was a 10 piece puzzle."

I would have subbed for free for that!!!

Tuesday Tribute to Junk Stores

It's Tuesday. Tribute Tuesday to be exact. That means I have to do a post on someone other than myself. Jay and Deb are bossy like that. See, look directly to your right. They made me put the button up there, too, so you can click and go to their blogs. So I am going to give my tribute this week to second hand stores that benefit great charities. (I never follow instructions to the letter, so I am branching out here. Plus I had this for today's post before I remembered what day it was. Sue me.)

These places such as Good Will, Salvation Army, Soul's Harbour, local women's shelters, and many others need our support financially to keep their wonderful organizations going. They have great things donated and schleps like me drag them home and re-do them.

Below are some pictures of my latest rescue.

An old antique table that I bought at a junk shop. She was $10. And she was very unloved. She needed a new home and I needed a new desk.

This is what she looked like before. She was all sad and worn.

Man, my posts and front door need re-staining!

A little sanding, a little paint and stain, and she looks good as new. Only her edges have been re- sanded and stained to make her look not-perfect. I cannot have something perfect in my house.
That chair is the next project. She doesn't go with the table all brown and shiney in her pleather dress. And before you tell me, I know the rug is too small. Remember I am lazy and I would have had to move it. And no, I didn't mop the floors either.

I think she is sexier than me in a blonde wig.

No, Amy, you can't have her.

If you haven't ventured inside one of these shops, I highly encourage it. You will be giving back to the community as they assist those needing help.
Donate items or money for the homeless, the abused women, the needy families, and people trying to get their life together. God knows if it's cool, I will buy it.

ULTAmite Makeover

While visiting Amarillo, my mom, daughter, sisters and my grand babies went to Ulta. THE store for beauty products. It's like a Tammy Faye candy store, plus hair products. My daughter got a makeover and looked gorgeous. My sisters and I got new brushes and makeup. My mom walked away with a tube of mascara. I knew she had to be sick.

While I was there I saw what had been missing my entire redheaded life.

In the back.

Beside the blow driers.

With a price tag of only $200.

There, on a white dummy sat my dream.

I could finally have more fun.

Ready?!

The headband was even included.

Sorry Justin, I am bringing sexy back.

Don't worry. I didn't buy it. They made me leave the store before I could.

It made my nose look too long anyway.

"R" You Ready For This?

Today, because I have had only three hours of sleep, I am doing this little diddy. It's a fun thing that makes you list ten of your favorite things that begin with the letter the blogger gives you.

I received my letter from Deb and I thought YIPEEEE! She bestowed upon me the letter "R".

Just as on Wheel of Fortune "R' is a staple. "R" will be easy breezey slice of cheesey. "R". Ummm. Uhhhh.
Oh, okay, okay, I know.

Rice. I love rice. Long grain, brown, Boil-in-a-bag, instant, fried, steamed. You name it. But my above all favorite is what my family calls sweet rice. For breakfast nothing is better than a warm bowl of rice with milk, sugar, and butter. I can eat the whole box. I stand over my kids secretly hoping they leave me enough.

Relations. Yes. I mean S-E-X. Mom, you can skip this part if you are feeling flushed. Call me weird, but I love it. Now. I don't mean this second, but now in my life. With my husband. With someone who loves me and tells me I am beautiful, even when I don't feel like I am. Always better with Romance. Hee! I combined two.

Roombah. No, I don't have one, but my SIL does. She swears by it, so I want one. I HATE sweeping, and sweeping, and then sweeping again, all in 42 minutes. The dead grass and dried mud drive me absolutely batty. Plus, I think it might be funny to watch my dog, Andy, with the flattened little R2D2 thing sucking all the gunk up off the floor without anyone manning it. It's so Jetson-like. I will learn to love it.

Renovations. On someone else's home, of course. I have lived in re-do's since I was first married at 19. I love to paint. It is very therapeutic for me. I love to fix things and make them all pretty. Then, six months later, I do it again.

Rock. Not the ones you step on and hop around with weirdly contortioned feet, but the music kind. Now that I am "old" I find myself listening to Pop Rock, but the urge to slam in some Hard Rock is always there. Is it just me, but when you hear certain songs from "back in the day", does it make you want to drive fast with the windows down and your hair blowing with that sense of "coolness" that suddenly washes all over you? No?! Hmmm.

Reclining. No, not recliners, but just reclining. It's more involved than just sitting. I also have my spot on the couch that I call mine. With a simple flick of my hand I can make anyone in the house move out of my spot. It is a known gesture. No arguments or whining. I have claimed it. I blog there. I watch TV there. I drink my Diet Cokes there. It is a sacred place. Hello. My name is Jill and I am lazy.

Reading. I love to read and wish I had more time to sit down with a good book and read my brains out.

Okay, eight down and 2 to go. I am hitting a wall here. "R" isn't as easy as I thought. Let's break it down. (na nana na)

R-A: Raggedy Ann? Raman noodles? Racing? No. None of these, though Raggedy Ann is cute and I DO have one from my childhood. But I look too much like her. Except for the triangle mouth. And I DID eat Raman noodles during my divorce and lost 30 pounds. And racing might work if I was any sort of athletic. Does racing to the bathroom to keep from peeing yet another pair of panties count? I didn't think so.

R-E: Renuzit? Regurgitate? Rebound? No, none of these do anything for me. Reeses? Now that I could handle. I will take 5 please. But even that isn't in my "love" category.

R-I: Ricola? The song alone makes me want to NEVER try the product. Rhino? (Shut it, the "H" is silent) Ricotta? I do love Ricotta....

R-O: Rotel? Mmmm, love it. Rolaids. Very important AFTER Rotel. Row Row Row your boat? Oh dear Lord I have lost it.

R-U: Rubiks Cube? Nope. Rudeness? Hate it. Rum? NOW we are talking!! Coconut please.

Okay my favorite R:

Rick. I know I have gushed about him and made you ill, so I will tell you what made me laugh the other day. He received a business card from a woman he was supposed to call back. Her last name was Kunz. When he called her and left her a message, and being the gentleman he was taught to be, he addressed her as "Ms". And being the goofball who cannot pronounce Smith, added a "T" to her name. Between the "n" and the "z". And did not make the "u" long. In the background of that message she will hear me "BWAAAHAA" like Mr. Ed. I am thinking he won't get THAT lady's floor job.

God, I love that man.

Okay, sue me. I only did nine. If you want to do this because you can't think of a post, let me know in your comment. I will assign you a letter. Hee! I feel so teacher-y.

BTW, I used 16 sets of quotation marks in this "R" post. Seventeen. It has to be a record. Eighteen. I just titled this thing. heh heh. I need more sleep. I am thinking I am flipping hilarious at this point.

The Reality That Bites

Okay, so sorry for the vanishing...mourning during the holidays is not recommended. I just returned from the big A, spending time with my mom and making a combined pledge with her and my sisters that 2009 will be a year of rejoicing and fun. Being sad is way too tiring.

So, my holidays were busy and filled with food, family, and messes to clean and more food. I am cheeseballed-out and if I don't see a dip featuring sour cream and something green for a year, it will be too soon. We got all things Wii and to the suggestion of all my employees, my husband got me a navigation thingy. Now I can find my way directly to every restaurant in every town I visit. The Wii Fit remains safe in her box and I will unleash her when I unpack from Amarillo. Maybe.

My mom lives in this beautiful cottage-like traditional home and has every square inch of it decorated like the pages of Southern Living, with her bathroom being the spa retreat from Heaven. Amelia and I spend like an hour in there just rummaging through all her lotions and masks and exfoliates and oils and, well, you get the picture. I only have one, okay two complaints.

Her bathtub was made for 90 pound midgets.

I cannot soak because the cramps that develop from not being able to point my toes is unbearable. Porcelain is freakin' cold in the panhandle and when you AREN'T a 90 pound midget, every inch of you touches the damn thing. Seriously, I have gravy tureens bigger than that tub.

Then there's the full-length mirror with the heat lamp illuminating all that stands in it's view.

The mirror and light that makes everything a reality. The reality that my C-section isn't noticeable. Not because my surgeon was a genius, but because my belly hangs over it and hides it. The reality that my saddle bags won't fit on most average-sized horses. The reality that I missed a couple of places when I gave myself that Brazilian shave job because hot wax scares the hell out me. The reality that my cellulite on my thighs have some dimples so deep that I could seriously serve crab dip in them. The reality that the varicose veins shimmer and shine against the chalk white skin they bulge out of. The reality that the hair on my upper thighs I convinced myself was blonde isn't. The reality that tiny small bosoms actually can droop. The reality that sideways AND naked, I look even worse. The reality that that damn Wii Fit I begged for will be opened. As soon as I click publish.

Happy 2009. Now I gotta go breathe heavy and sweat. That will happen just opening the box.

I Am Not Dead. REALLY!

Hello from the Land of the Lost!!! Thank you for the sweet emails and comments worrying that I had dropped off the face of the Earth. I am fine, just fatter and more full of it.

I just wanted to ask you a favor. Please visit my wonderful friend, Wendy here and show her some love. We have worked together and even opened up a company together. I have been trying to get her to blog for FOUR months. We have shared many laughs and I love her dearly. She knows every emabarrassing thing about me and I have paid her well to keep her mouth shut. Just kidding. She is cheap. Just kidding. Maybe.

I have told her all about you and she still wants to meet all of you. Just kidding. About the still wanting to meet you part. But I have told her about how great you all are and how encouraging you would be to her. God love her, she only has me to tell her about Blogville. SHE NEEDS YOU!!!!! So please stop by and introduce yourself. I know you want another follower anyway. See you tomorrow at 7am.

So glad to be back home! I missed you!!! Now go visit Wendall K.