I am breaking up with you. It’s not me, it’s you. I was never really a full fledged member in the first place…
I grew up a Democrat, then became a Reagan Democrat, then became an independent contractor and then the first time I looked at THAT tax return I became a conservative.
Anyway, for your party to let a dude with a bad spray tan, horrendous comb over, who’s on his third wife, who starred in a reality show with Gary Busey and Nene Leakes and then went bankrupt multiple times to win these primaries and you can not bring anyone decent to the prom is ridiculous.
Cruz? Hello that guy was definitely given swirlies in middle school.
Rubio? Napoleon complex. A little bratty.
Carson? Who needs Ambien when you’ve got him-I mean for the most part he will bore our enemies to death so there’s that.
Jeb? You let him get to you – big mistake, BIG big mistake.
Christie? First of all , fire the doc that did your gastric bypass- really shitty job in my opinion…
It’s gotten so expensive and so contentious and so awful to run for the big house in this country none of the good people will do it. Your ego needs to be the size of Texas to run or Trump Tower.
So Big Don, if you build that wall you know your golf courses and landscaping at your homes and businesses is gonna start looking pretty shitty.
And I’d like to see you bully Putin. That ought to work out REALLY well for us.
And do you have ANY idea how they will decorate the White House? It will make Kanye look likes he lives in Restoration Hardware.
I used to be worried about your party and my uterus. I was becoming worried about your marriage and religious stances. But this guy?
Now I know the GOP has lost its collective mind and obviously does NOT have the cohesiveness to put up a decent candidate. I mean Sarah Palin, really?
I should have known then.
Big Don is seriously messing with you. If you don’t think by November the party will be in shambles I have news for you.
Republicans, Please PLEASE get some cojones- get him OUT.
So I am done. I’m still a moderate. But I’m going to take my vote somewhere I’m treated like the somewhat educated person I am.
I know all the correct answers to the language quiz.
My spirit animal is orangutan.
My Disney Villain is Ursula.
My Disney Character is Goofy (natch)
The state I should live in is Texas.
My celebrity boyfriend is Gilbert Gottfried.
The house I should live in is Haunted…
Is this what Facebook has been reduced to? Quizzes, memes, quotes, and selfies?
I was looking at my news feed this weekend and out of 1244 friends, I bet only about 20 of them post consistently. It seems to have gotten quieter out there on the old book of faces and actually I have been as well. There are only so many pithy things I can think of saying on a given day. And I TRY not to post a cute cat video or some video that will make me ugly cry and ruin my Botox.
Are people actually getting their lives back???
Well, I did see a post from a friend who NEVER posts unless the fam is in Vegas with freekin CHANNING TATUM. (rant over)
But it seems like some of us are getting a little bored with social media. I know my Twitter participation is way down. I do love Instagram but mostly put fancy enhanced iPhone photos on there. I actually read a book last week.
A real book. Like one with pages and everything.
And that’s another thing. I don’t do Kindles. I have the app, I had a nook, but I found that I actually like turning real pages. I like to be able to skip forward back to figure out what’s going on. And I found that when I am on Kindle on my iPad, if I get to a boring part of a novel, all of a sudden I see that Facebook button and press there. Then Pinterest, Twitter and Instagram. And by the time that happens I have lost interest and need to do some laundry.
Speaking of which, I’m thinking my quiet Facebook friends have cleaner homes that me.
But I got US Expert on the US History quiz.
How about you-are you on social media more or less?
When you held her swaddled in that pink blanket in the hospital and as a toddler full of spit and fire you took photos of her like this:
And then as a Senior in high school, you paid a professional photographer for a photo like this?
As a semi professional photographer myself I’ve made the choice to limit my senior shoots to those that I know. I don’t really promote it but that’s because I don’t want to face the uncomfortable shots that some of these kids want. And my research of many senior photogs is that they are too-but the high school senior isn’t, and sometimes, neither are their parents.
It’s that time of the year-Senior Photos-a lucrative industry these days. Oh no, you don’t just get the draped graduation picture any more. Parents are paying upwards of thousands of dollars for professional shots of their high school senior. Overall, most are very tasteful, but a few (girls) especially walk that fine line between artful and trashy.
Parents pay big money for the congratulation ads in these yearbooks. Most have shots from toddler to teen. And the ads are for the most part very tasteful and charming. But that teen is also plastering the photo you didn’t include on Facebook and Instagram that looks like an audition shot for late night Cinemax.
Just thought I’d let ya know.
I saw one shot on Instagram last year that was unreal-while beautiful, it was obvious she was naked from the waist up, Hair blowing behind her, a studio shot, and she had her arms crossed over her chest and face in a model type pose. And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t putting together a portfolio.
I get it, in this day and age, all of our kids want to be fabulous. Famous. Your social cred is dependent on the amount of likes you get on Instagram. And it practically begins at conception.
Our kids have had cameras and video cams in their faces since they ceremoniously traveled down the birth canal to arrive in our selfie obsessed society. Hell, even ultrasounds have gone 3D.
Then, we document every triumph and tragedy of their small lives from day one to the day they graduate from high school.
Then come the senior pictures.
I really don’t get it when we push push our kids to be moral, be inclusive, be thankful, go on mission trips, go to youth group, excel in school, be strong, be proud, and then allow them to pose for a kitten shot for senior pics, or the shirtless “I have more abs than you do” shots that I’ve seen some of the guys do.
These kids may be 17 or 18, but remember, I have a feeling that when gorgeous Ashley is interviewing at the law firm in 7 years, she’ll be cringing at that sex pot shot she did in high school.
Just because they are seniors in high school still doesn’t mean they make the best decisions. You are paying for it. Have a conversation with the photographer. If you want that kind of shot, fine. But I’d be present for that shoot. Stay in the background. Let them have their 15 minutes of fame.
You won’t regret the tasteful shot.
She will regret the tacky one.
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I like your daughter. But you, my dear, are an asshat.
Why, you say?
The past 2 weeks my teen had one of her best friends who moved to another state stay with us for 2 weeks. A lovely young lady with manners and a quiet persona, I truly enjoyed her company and so did my daughter.
I also fed her, traipsed the two of them around town, and cleaned up after them.
Her mother came to pick her up last Sunday morning at 9am. Texted her daughter from the street to say she was waiting on her. Did she come in to my home and thank me? Did she text me or acknowledge that we were even present in our house during her daughter’s visit? Did she even text me to say that they were alive and back in their city?
No. No and No.
When my daughter started spending the nights out I always went to the home of the lucky friend and introduced myself to the parent. When she was in middle and high school, if she was going to someone’s house I didn’t know, I did the same thing-much to her major eye-rolling.
I was constantly shocked at how many of her girlfriends were dropped off at my home where the parent didn’t check to see if we were home, or to meet me if I didn’t know them. In this day and age, how can you just drop off a girl at someone’s home without checking to see if the dad is a pedophile or the parents are outright wacko?
I had one mom act like I was helicopter mom when I dropped my teen off at her home for a sleepover. I didn’t know her. She acted offended. She was taking them for a sleepover at the local Marriott that had an indoor pool. Which, by the way, is an idiotic idea for a birthday party in the 8th grade with 8 fourteen year old girls. I just wanted to know that she had this under control. I didn’t actually ask that but did ask if she had help and wasn’t doing this by herself. She assured me she was fine.
The next day my teen comes home. In tears. First, they stayed up all night and one of the girls texted some boys that they were at the hotel. They showed up after 2 am. Big brother brought them. Hotel Security was involved.
Then, most of them, including my daughter, thought it would be a good idea to take diet pills so they could stay awake all night. She took 5.
Can you say furious? I called this mother and never heard a word from her. She was in charge. Or, really, she wasn’t. I wanted the straight story. Never got it.
I learned a lesson that night.
Now when 18 goes to people’s homes or has dates and our rule still stands. If we don’t know him, he must pick her up, and come in the house or she doesn’t go.
Our house, our rules. Deal with it.
And if my kid EVER spends more than 2 or 3 days at your home and enjoys your hospitality, you can bet she will WRITE you a thank you note, and I will make sure I thank you as well.
Every year, I have a blue bird couple that takes up residence in the blue bird box on my screened porch. And every year, I watch as Daddy blue bird stands watch over the household and Mom blue bird works tirelessly building her nest, incubating her eggs, feeding her chicks and then coaxing them out of their home for bigger and better adventures beyond our back yard.
And when those babies fledge, which I have had the opportunity to watch twice, Mom and Dad will perch on the opposite side of the box, usually on my trellis and squawk and squawk at each kid until they finally take that leap and fly out of the nest. Sometimes they stumble, fly in to my potted plants, get confused, look scared, but after a few moments, they gain confidence and fly off.
For the next month Mom and Dad teach them the ways of the world and off they go to find fame and fortune and not get eaten by the neighborhood cats.
This is the way it is supposed to happen.
But many of us still have a 18 plus year old at home. Either they are not going the college route, going to a local community or tech college, working full-time, burned out from high school or generally dealing with having a hard time leaving the comforts of their home.
So this Momma blue bird squawked and squawked and this baby is STILL HERE…
I’ve read all of these heart-felt posts about having an empty nest. Dealing with the reality of having their kids go on to new and bigger things. Exceptionally sad yet happy for the new phase in their child’s life. You people are LUCKY. Geesh.
I love my daughter with all of my heart and have enjoyed (mostly) every single minute of her growing up years with her Dad and I. But Girlfriend, it’s time.
Time to for her to find herself. Time for her to find out about the REAL world. Time for her to fend for herself. Time for her to ENJOY herself without her helicopter mother frantically texting her every 30 minutes she’s out on a weekend night. Time to make mistakes. Time to fall really in love. Time to make new friends.
And I know that she is on a different time schedule and going off to school may not be her thing. That’s cool. But it’s time.
There are many of us out there that are just waiting for the moment that the kids fly the coop and we are counting down the minutes. You just don’t hear about us. We were the moms who didn’t cry at the bus stop the first day of kindergarten. We were the moms high-fiving each other and pouring Bloody Marys on the first day of school.We were the moms that DREADED summer vacation (mostly in the teen years)We were the moms who thought 5th grade graduation ceremonies were ridiculous (it is after all, something that a kid SHOULD do, you know, go on to 6th grade???)We were the moms that sat, at 4 am, in line at the school to get their teen a parking space so we didn’t have to drive them to school. We DID cry at your high school graduation. Yes, a bittersweet 12 years has gone by.
But the next day we were at Target buying bedding and furniture for your new dorm room or apartment. 2 months ahead of schedule.
For all of you out there saddened by your upcoming empty nest, I feel for ya. I know, I know, end of childhood, end of being a hands on mom, facing aging, yada yada yada. Boo freekin hoo. Take a hint from Momma blue bird, she got those chicks out of the house in 4 weeks. She’s our hero.
So to all my girlfriends facing the empty nest with dread in a few months, it’s time. Come on over, I’ll have the box wine. The chips and dip. It’s time-to celebrate. It’s finally OUR time. The best is yet to come.
This weekend I found out that I am getting to the age where going to the bathroom in a clean restroom is a right, not a privilege. You would think that since the porta potty was invented in 1962 by George Harding that it would have come a longer way in 60 plus years.
But it hasn’t.
Initially this device was invented for people who built and worked on ships-because finding a place to shit on a ship closer to the area you worked in was a necessity. Designed on the outhouse concept, ship workers were having to leave and walk all the way back to the docks to go drop the kids off at the pool. Made of wood and metal at first, they found that they were smelly.
So in the 1970’s they were made of fiberglass. They are still smelly. But on the flip side (ok, porta potty joke inserted here heh heh) they are lighter and easier to transport. And clean. The cleaning part is selective at events. Some do every day, some wait till the end.
Obviously where I was this weekend, they waited till the end.
Now I know us gals are for equal rights and all that but I am sorry, I just CAN’T go in a plastic crapper right after a 300 lb guy with tats, a Big Gulp and an ‘I’m with Stupid’ shirt on comes rambling out the door.
I. Just. Can’t.
At the end of the day, I’m still a delicate southern belle with (some) manners and a personal hygiene fetish. Showers are important to my mental and physical health. And so are clean hands.
And clean hienie.
I consider it the lowest depths of hell to go in a plastic box with an open toilet in 86 degree heat to get some relief. I’d rather wear astronaut diapers to an event than go in one of those things again.
I participated in an antique festival this weekend and besides the slow sales, me and the girls all around me were laughing AND complaining about the relief stations. I swear, we would have paid a dollar a poop to go in an air-conditioned, clean women’s room if they had it. Because in reality the people who make the most money at these things are the guy selling the funnel cakes, corn dogs and water at two bucks a bottle. Which is why they need these things.
I’m sensing a business here. Can you see me, in a pink trailer with ladies rooms, air conditioning, working sinks, fans-at a dollar a drop? I’m going to call it The Princess Pooper and am going on Shark Tank for funding.
Don’t steal my idea. I know lawyers.
So please Festival people, concert promoters, party planners, and all, at least can you DESIGNATE the chick shitter???? Would it kill you? Could the Porta Potty makers make pink potties with fans for goodness sakes?
Just until I get my funding.
You’re invited to my launch party. Bring a fan.
FUN FACT: The world record for the most porta potties assembled at one time occurred in 2009. During the inauguration of President Barack Obama, 5,000 porta potties were rented for the attendees of the event.
Oh those crazy Democrats…
I only need 12 MORE LIKES on my Facebook page right up there to the right to get to 2000-LIKE Forever 51 and I promise to keep us both entertained.
It really makes me crazy when I am either shopping with someone or I am manning my booth at the antique market and someone says, “Oh, I can make that MYSELF!”
Yeah sugar, you just go ahead and try that whydontcha. . .
And BC can also be the WORST about saying this, especially when it comes to the yard.
In my wildest of dreams I have a pool boy, a landscaper, a gardener and a yard man. A whole slew of he-men trimming and making my Barbie Dream House Garden come true. In my hood, most people have yard services and for the first 16 years we lived here we consistently violated the covenants by doing our own yard. And BC grew up in a household where his weekly duty was cutting their 1 acre yard thick with St Augustine grass that he had to use the push mower on for years.
It gives him major acid flashbacks. So when he did ours, he always came in with the ‘itches’.
I’m allergic to this, I’m allergic to that. When I cut that bush down I broke out in hives. Wahhh Wahhh Wahhh.
Never mind the fact that he just had to have that $1500 mower to make our grass perfect. Oh, and that makes him cough and sneeze constantly too.
So about a year ago, I convinced him to give it up and hire a yard service.
Saved the marriage. And got the HOA off our pine straw-less backs.
So for all of you who have friends, or family members that always say, “I can do that cheaper myself,” I give you
10 Things To NOT Do Yourself:
1. Heart Transplant
3. Root Canal
4. Septic Tank Cleaning
5. Defend Yourself in Court
6. Breast Augmentation
7. Asbestos Removal
8. Hair Plugs
9. Build Your Own Swimming Pool (I swear he ALMOST tried this)
10. Lasix Eye Surgery
I love my yard guys, even if they are portly and muddy. Cheaper than marriage counseling.
Yesterday, I stumbled wearily in to my home laden with luggage, books, swag and a little hung over from learning, laughter, late nights and red wine. Never mind the planes trains and automobiles that I had to negotiate to arrive safely back in my nest.
But when I walked in my home I noticed that something was different. Or really, everything was the SAME.
Exactly as I had left it when I took off this past Thursday.
Had someone broken an arm? Was my dear teen stricken with Ebola? Did BC run off with the Mail Girl? Had The Rapture happened and I was Left Behind???
It was obvious that the fairies that take care of my home had gone on strike. The Pick Up Fairymust have handed in her notice because the Tupperware cup on the end table was STILL there from Thursday.
The Laundry Fairy had to have quit as well, she left the evidence for all to see.
And The Kitchen Fairy must be in Cabo with the Pool Boy because the sink is full and the pool is still green.
Thankfully my family WAS intact, BC on the couch watching the Masters and 18 applying her fake fingernails and getting polish all over her carpet for the umpteenth time. At least they are alive and the first comment I got was, “What did you bring me?”
They really really missed me, I can uh, tell.
This CEO is going to have some crappy performance reviews coming down the pipe soon. If they aren’t careful, I’m going to take the crock pot out of retirement and start using it again.
All y’all just laughing at us magnolia’s here in the South about our itty bitty amount of snow that paralyzed our fair cities of Birmingham and Atlanta.
Bless your heart.
And kiss our little ol’ freezin’ asses.
Cause we here in the South just don’t take kindly to cold weather. Like Rhett Butler said, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
Unlike the hearty up above the Mason Dixon, we don’t worry too much about our streets blockin up, or our children missin school. We just deal with it.
We sit by the fire, drink some iced tea and bourbon, and call it a party. We know that in a coupla days it will be right nice about 50 degrees and we’ll be back out on the back porch tellin stories and grillin steaks.
Y’all up there with your fancy big newspapers and television reporters talkin about how we get the vapors over just a few inches of snow. Darlins, our snow hits that warm Georgia clay and turns into mean old ice when the temperature drops. Our ground is warm as a pig’s belly in the mud. That’s how we provide the rest of you out there with all those deeeelicious peaches, strawberries, blueberries and Vidalia onions. Now, what would you do without those???
We do have lots of you Yankees that found out about our weather and our low taxes ,that have picked up and moved your stuff on down here like nobody’s business. And the minute y’all hear that dreadful snow word, y’all just haveta get in your cars and act all uppity and think y’all can show us how to drive in it. It’s ice you ding dongs. No one, not even a The Dukes of Hazzard can deal with that.
And we’re gonna ride that silly Governor and Mayor out of town on the rails. Their staffs need a serious butt-whoopin and so do they. Our Southern Hospitality is no joke, we all just jumped right on the Facebook and offered our houses and help. Shoot, there was even a police man that delivered a baby right there on the side of the busiest highway in our area. Said he didn’t have to help much, momma did all the work and was great. That’s a true southern gentleman if I ever did hear of one.
Bless his heart.
So all y’all talkin about how we can’t deal with this, don’t get your britches in a wad, we’re relaxin by our fireplaces, catchin up on our stories on the tv, gossiping about the neighbors over our cocktails, and getting ready for that barbecue this weekend for that big ol football game.
Come on down, the weather is fine. Or it will be in a coupla days.
I love when the new year comes. It’s a new beginning for everyone. All the sappy resolutions, commitments, announcements of being a better person, yada yada yada.
Give it two weeks. Or two days. Let’s see how that diet, healthy, faithful, blah blah goes the minute you get hit with the baseball bat of stress at work, home or play…
Okay, so I am being snarky. Yeah, I get it–sorry, but this realist has decided to make some realistic revelations for the new year.
Bear with me:
1. I have neglected this blog in 2013. I was profoundly wordy in 2012 and not so much in 2013. Life just got in the way (my parents started reading it) and all the promises at these blog conferences and workshops that are a bit pricy extol that you can MONETIZE!! Yes, stand out, be paid, revel in the oodles of money you are going to make. Guess what, the folks making money blogging are the ONES who put on the conferences and classes! DUH. So I resolve to let what ever happens happen. I will pick wisely where I spend what little money I have to enhance this thing called ‘writing’.
2. I lacked focus in 2013. In life, parenting, writing, work. Too many situations pulling me in too many different directions. Some I could absolutely not write about. Some I did. So in 2014 the focus will be back. It will be The Year Of Writing Dangerously(I bought the book)…
3. There is no such thing as a DIET. There is such a thing as watching what you eat, being healthy both of mind and body. If those two ain’t together you can fuggedaboutit. I did join Weight Watchers and it is working. Slow and steady wins the race. And the skinny jeans.
4. I need to read more. In the last week I have downloaded or bought about 6 different books to start the year off. I go in and out of reading binges and I’m feeling one coming on, as long as I can get to level 320 of Candy Crush first.
5. I know social media is a total time suck. Just look at my house. I love it for the connections I have made, but hate it for being such a large part of my day catching up. Time to hit the delete button for: People who only post quotes, people who only post political stuff-especially the inflammatory (yeah, BC, take it down a notch…), all the animal rescue sites–good GOD, WTF-hand me my Prozac I can’t take it! All the I never post anything about anything UNTIL I go on a fabulous vacation then I post a gazillion pictures a day people, people who only use it for self promotion for their business, multi-level or otherwise, Girlfriends who only post relentless selfies and nothing else-I’m thinking profile pics should be consistent, but whatever. So I guess that will leave me with about 100 out of 1000 people but quality, not quantity, right?
6. I will take control of my house back from my animals. I will stay away from PetsMart on adoption day. Do not believe these statements from rescue people: He’s housebroken (unless he eats the cat food, then he will have diarrhea for two days all over your hardwood floors), She was living in an apartment and had to get rid of the dog (it lived in a crate 24/7 and now will not get near one and has anxiety issues when you leave), He’s fine with cats! Just not small children (which is code for hates cats), If he doesn’t work out bring him back (changes phone number and disappears from Google maps), He doesn’t bark much that we know of (because he is so traumatized at the rescue facility that he doesn’t bark but after a week in your home he decides ever sound is a threat and will bark non-stop). And I will stop feeling guilty that I feed them grocery store-bought food and not the wheat-free, holistic, herbal, ground up tofu $50 a bag crap from the pet boutique.
7. I will live on a budget. This will be terrifying for me, as I know how to calculate the price/earnings ratio of a company, but can not balance a checkbook for the life of me. So, BC, just give me an amount and then make a warning sound like a gong or something when I get close to the zero balance.
8. On Sunday I will make a grocery list for the week. Scratch that. Not happening.
9. I will no longer be the mom who has all the teens over all the time. They are using up my toilet paper, drinking all my Diet Cherry Cokes (the NERVE) and eating me out of house, Tostitos, and my yummy taquitos from Costco, putting cigarette butts in my planters at night (Yeah, I know who you are) and making my driveway look like a redneck used car lot. Buh Bye. Go to your houses. Have a nice day. Or I start charging a cover fee. Get used to it, it’s college prep for all those fun bars you will be going to on your parent’s nickel.
10. Me and BC will travel more. And stay more than 48 hours (he’s with the airlines). I know he hates hotel rooms but he has NO idea how much I love the peace, the maid service, and those cute little shampoos and shit.
11. I will put on a bathing suit this year. I will purge my closet of all those ‘hopeful’ outfits that I will never wear again-you know the ones-but I may be going to a black tie affair this year (yeah, right). I will eat at home more. I will not eat another diet frozen meal again-they do not look like their cover photo and I don’t believe in photo-shopped food. I am giving up on my wish for a farm with chickens. I’m looking, however, to find a nice lake place. Never give up on a dream.
I will enjoy 2014 so much more than 2013. And if any of these get broken in the next week or so I don’t have to tell you anyway. At least not on Facebook…
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