A Barbie Dream House for Me?!

There it sat. Huge and under the tree. The tag insisted that I was correct, this big box from Santa/my grandparents was intended for only me. My five year-old brain was buzzing with ideas. I could barely contain my excitement. My mother kept warning me to stay away from the tree, "It's not time to open presents yet. Stop touching things and back away from the tree!" I think I might have done a little dance of protest before I backed away.

I sat on my grandmother's paisley and floral couch and wondered, what could it be? A pony? It was certainly a large enough box. Then my mind settled on it. The only thing it could be. The only thing I really wanted. A Barbie Dream House. A Barbie Dream House! That had to be it! Satisfied with this idea I got off the couch and joined the rest of my family for dinner.

All through dinner and dessert I couldn't sit still. I squirmed this way and that in my seat at the dining room table. Dinner went on forever! Turkey and all the trimmings. Fine. Shovel it in. C'mon! We've presents to unwrap! They drank wine and then coffee! Would this dinner ever end? My grandfather lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. The nerve of him! It was never ending. Didn't these people know that a BARBIE DREAM HOUSE was less than two rooms away?! What was wrong with them? How could they not feel the ants in my pants excitement that I did? Didn't they want or need to unwrap their own presents? I NEEDED to unwrap that present! My brained screamed, "Time is of the essence here people!" Finally, my grandmother rose from the table and asked us if we wanted to sit by the tree and look at the lights. Yes! At last! We're going to get to the good part.

I watched my cousins and some of the adults unwrap presents. I received a few smaller items I can no longer remember. Then, my grandparents with big smiles on their faces, pushed the big box out from under the tree. Everyone speculated on what could be in such a large box. I nearly shredded the wrapping with my tiny frenzied hands. Huh. Wait. What's this? This is not some pink full of pictures Mattel box. It's just a regular old cardboard box. Uh.. heheheh something isn't right here folks. Slowly I opened the big box hoping against all hope that inside it was another box. The right box. The Barbie Dream House box. As I lifted the lid I noticed something red and wrapped in plastic. It was a coat. A winter coat. My heart seized. The wiring in my brain misfired and I swear I saw stars. This was all devastatingly wrong. A coat?! Who gives a little kid a coat for Christmas and smiles about it? What fun is a coat? It's not a toy! I have to wear this to school too? For the love of...

My heart just sunk. I lifted the red coat out of the box as my grandmother, all smiles, removed the plastic wrap. Oh look! It has a giant fur trimmed hood. Great. A belt too? Wonderful. I don't even think I tried to smile at my mother's prodding. I just remember the room feeling darker. I was so disappointed. How could they not remember to buy me the one thing I really wanted? Surely this coat costs as much as the dream house. It had fur for goodness sake! I hated that coat instantly. I wanted to throw it in the back of my closet banishing it to the dust bunnies forever. Scowling and refusing to mask my extreme disappointment and at the insistence of my mother, I thanked my grandparents. This was the worst present ever! The worst Christmas ever!

Weeks later and still playing with my cardboard box Barbie dream house. At least with the addition of the brand new giant box that the coat came in I had added an addition onto her house turning it into an apartment complex that her other friends could live in. To me that was the only consolation. No dream house. Just a giant red coat with fur on the hood that got in my mouth all the time. Awesome. I vowed never to forget this error in judgement by the adults in my life. I knew for sure that my parents were involved and had ok'd this gift. What was wrong with them?

Then one day as I stood in line waiting for my school bus a boy in my class began to make fun of my red coat. Being only five about all he could make fun of was the fact that it was big and red. Big Red he called me. Ha Ha. This kid was destined to be class president. He started pulling on the fur and telling the other kids it was a dead animal. Slowly, I turned around to face him and said in the most haughty voice I could muster, "If you must know that is REAL fox fur your hands are pawing. It was a gift from my grandparents and it is VERY expensive. It came in a GIANT box." Oddly, that shut him up. Then little girls began to crowd around me and they wanted to come and touch the soft fox fur. They admired the cute little belt and the fashionable buttons on my new coat. They wanted one just like it! It was a rather beautiful shade of red. Very complimentary to my hair color. Suddenly, I felt like a princess in my new red coat.

From that day on I loved that little red coat with the "fur" trim. I was sad when I outgrew it. I kept it for longer than necessary in the back of my closet. We had some good times me and that red coat. I believe it was the first lesson I consciously remember about finding the best in something and looking at the brighter side of things. A Barbie Dream House I came to realize was just a bunch of plastic. My coat kept me warm and regal. I could take it everywhere, something I couldn't do with the Dream House. Besides, I had a whole apartment complex to manage now with my imagination and that was better than just a single Barbie Dream House.



What makes a gift memorable for you? PBN wants to hear about it during today’s Blog Blast which is brought to by the fine folks at Excitations, a new gift giving site. Stop by and browse their memorable gifts. You can win some too! Just write about your most memorable gift whether it's that painfully bad hair crimping set you received on your 35th birthday (which was last year and not 1985!) or some wonderful surprise that totally made your year. Adult or child memory we don't discriminate! Just share.

Ooh I Won a Toyota Prius! Did You?

Who knew I had such a winning streak? Who knew I was this lucky? I didn't! But it seems that I am especially lucky with the British Gaming Commission. Those folks over there just love me. They love me at least three times a day.

Everyday I win something from them. Sometimes it's a million or so pounds, sometimes just a few hundred pounds. A few times it's been an exotic getaway for two. But today? TODAY IT'S A CAR! Lucky me!

Just look at this!

Toyota Car Promotions Department
2 Lansodowne Row, Berkeley Square,
London,W1j 6h, United Kingdom
CVR-nr. 25554493.

YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS HAS WON THE 2007 TOYOTA PROMOTION

This is to inform you that have been selected for a Cash prize
of£600,000.00.(Six Hundred Thousand Great British Pounds) and a brand
new
Toyota Prius car International programs November held 2007 in London Uk.

You can view our website to view your car
(http://www.toyota.com/prius)

Description Of New Toyota Car to be Shipped to you.
Miles:New.......................Doors:4 doors or more
Transmission:Automatic............Interior:Tan
Engine:4 - Cyl....................Year:2007
Warranty:Existing.................Cruise Control
Title:Clear.......................Exterior:Red
Condition:New.....................Engine: 1.9L DOHC MPFI VVT-i
16-valve 4-cyl engine w/integ
CD Player.........................Side Airbags
Passenger Airbag..................Driver Airbag
Anti-Lock Brakes..................Air Conditioning
Power Windows.....................Power Locks

The selection process was carried out through random selection in our
computerized email selection system(ess) from a database of over 250,000
email addresses drawn from all the continents of the world.This Toyota
carLottery is approved by the British Gaming Board and also Licensed by
theThe International Association of Gaming Regulators (IAGR).This
promotional carlottery is the tenth of its kind and we intend to sensitize the public.

To begin the processing of your prize you are to contact your claims
officer through our accredited Prize Transferagents as stated below:

Mr.Page Thomos
Email:page_thomos44@hotmail.com
Phone Number:+447045768085

When contacting him, please provide him with your secret pin code
and your reference number .You are also advised to
provide him with the under listed information as soon as possible:

CLAIMS REQUIREMENT:
1.Name in full :
2.Address :
3.Nationality :
4.Age :
5.Sex :
6.Occupation:
7.Phone/Fax:
8.Present Country:

If you do not contact your claims agent within 7 working days of this
notification,your winnings would be revoked.Winners are advised to keep
their winning details/information from the public to avoid fraudulent
claim (IMPORTANT) pending the transfer/claim by Winner.

Accept my hearty congratulations once again!

Regards
Mr.Tedy Lee.
Lottery Manager.


But you know what? I don't think I really want a Prius. I'm going to give it up. Let them pass it on to some other lucky soul. We're just fine driving our 10 yr. old Toyota and newer Nissan. Besides I bet they would give me some ugly color. You know like purple? The color that sells the least on a sales lot. Also? Why can't a local Toyota dealer just deliver one to me? Why does Toyota want to go to such expense as to ship an American-made car to me from Britain. Hmmm.....

I'm mighty suspicious of anyone who wants this much information yet seems to have my email address. Do you think that maybe it's just a phishing site? That there is a reason this just ended up in my spam mail and not say on the end of a telephone line or at my front door? Does anyone else find it odd that the Toyota promotions department is the UK? Or that the Lottery Manager spells his name Tedy with only one 'd'? This whole thing reeks of scam.

So sad too because of course any winning car I would have received I would have just given away to charity. I win so much from the British Gaming commission I've grown tired of them and I'm passing my winnings on. Tsk Tsk...


***Don't forget to check out the new reviews here.
I just finished reviewing the book, The Daring Book for Girls, and it's a must read and must have for any girl age 8-18. PBN has more reviews too.

Oh My Rubbing Thighs!

Since we got back from our jaunt down by the river for Thanksgiving my once taut, now jiggly little body has been aching to go back to the gym. Great! Except Sunday I began to get sick. This cold is the slowest thing ever! Days go by with no change except that I wake up worse each day. Every morning I rise with the thought, "What fresh hell is this?" as blow my nose and blood spurts out. I'm sorry if you just puked up your toast. It's true. I'm tired and stuffy and full of snot. I want to work out but don't have the motivation or the energy.

So I'm comprising a list of food I ate over the holiday in hopes that the length of it will be motivation enough.

Rolls, rolls, everywhere and I ate them!

Three helpings of cornbread dressing- none of them small

Three helpings of cranberry goo

Four helpings of turkey with tons of gravy

Mashed potatoes made with cream and butter

An entire turkey roasting pan of Huff n Puff (It's sort of like chex mix folks) and it's made with butter and all sorts of good stuff. About four sticks of butter!

Beer

Wine

Gin (which my mother tsked tsked as it would only add to my fat consumption and all "my hard work" would be for naught. There's a woman in CT screaming "I told you so" at her computer right now. If you listen real close you can hear her.)

Stuffed celery -half a stalks worth (also known as a little piece of heaven- celery stuffed with cream cheese and olives)

Pecan Pie

Pumpkin Pie with whipped cream

Apple Pie

Three brownies

Uncountable pieces of chocolate fudge

Apple Pie ice cream (I know. I had no idea there was such a thing either) with caramel sauce and sugar cookies.

Do you feel like purging yet, because I do.

Ham at least two servings

Ginger-ale to soothe my stomach. Gee! I wonder why!

There were some greens in there in the form of salads and broccoli I'm sure but I guess they don't really count.

And One hotel bagel with cream cheese that immediately made a home on my ass.

Yup. It worked. I think I'm going to be heading to the gym just as soon as the daycare portion opens up.

It's true all the work I did (5 days a week for 5 weeks) just got erased and now I'm pissed. It's back to the treadmill for me before I start suffering from Dunlap's disease.

You know what else? Damn we are a lucky bunch of SOB's being able to eat all this food.

Hi! I'm Eva Longoria, it's nice to meet you!

And this, this is my husband, Tony Parker. Thanks for stopping by!

Yesterday, as I was sitting down to a nice bowlful of soup (I am sick, augh) with T.D. (who is for now, not sick, yeah!) I was found myself reading Parade magazine. I know. I hate it too. It's horribly vapid and doesn't help me in any way but I needed something look at instead of thinking about eating soup and breathing through my mouth at the same time. I haven't gotten around to teaching T.D. how to save someone from 'soup in the lung syndrome' yet either.

While viewing the article about Eva Longoria T.D. kept pointing to a picture of Eva and Tony Parker while adamantly shouting, "Momma! Dada!", over and over again. I kept correcting her but she was quite sure that I am in fact Eva Longoria and Daddy is Tony Parker. It doesn't matter that I'm a blond.

This is a new thing in our house. Every blond on TV or in a magazine suddenly becomes Momma. Flattering? Yes. In one day I have not just been Eva but also Katherin Heigl and some chick on Without a Trace. H has only been Tony Parker and a random policeman on the news. I keep correcting T.D. but she won't listen. It's delusional but isn't it nice to be told you look like this




even when you are still in sweaty workout gear and suffering from a head cold? I'm not going to correct that anymore. She'll figure it out and when she hits 14 and wishes to look nothing like her Momma and all I'll have are these memories.

In the meantime I think I'm going to go through my days thinking that I am indeed some hot surgeon on a hit TV show or a crime fighter for the FBI. I walk the red carpets just as easily as I glide through our local Bloom store I must say and I do love sitting court side watching H play basketball. It's lovely being delusional. Only thing? I can't seem to locate my personal assistant, nanny and larger bank account.


Image from People magazine.

I Heart Huckabee

Heh.

I've always wanted to use that.

Mike Huckabee, a former governor from Arkansas with weight issues (he's dropped the equivalent of an 8th grader) who knows how to make fun of himself. Sound familiar? That's right it's like Clinton Redux without all the Democrat stuff. Huckabee is a Republican.

I'm not playing sides here but I have decided in the past to look at many if not all the candidates in the coming year. What I love about Huckabee is his sense of humor. I've seen him on the late night circuit and he is not completely full of himself or afraid to poke some fun at his life and image. Just look at his Chuck Norris ads.



So while I don't agree with everything Huckabee stands for I do respect him just a little bit for having fun with the whole stuffy presidential race bit. It puts Hilary's Sopranos ad to shame. OK actually that whole thing was just terrible anyway. It reminded me of a high school election where the popular kid who is running decides to take whatever is the hottest, coolest, of the moment fad and bank on it for their campaign. Half the time it's not even something they would have known about if their nerdy but know it all campaign manager hadn't told them.

Anyway, Huckabee is pulling ahead of Romney in the polls in Iowa, despite Romney's attempt to blanket the state with Romney-heads (my made-up word). Can he pull through and actually be nominated as the Elephant candidate for November? Who knows. I'm just looking forward to more great ads and amusing interviews and anything to take away from this.



CELINE DION! CELINE DION ended up being the winning song! C'mon!!!

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Do you hear it too? It's either the sound of hysterical laughter or the heavens have parted and the angels are singing. I can't be completely sure.

Perhaps it's because of this?

THE BATHROOM IS DONE!

Cue Etta James singing 'At Last'.

THE BATHROOM IS DONE!

Aside from some tiny decorating changes it is officially done. I can actually take my toilet paper from off the wall and not from a paint can sitting on the floor. The quarter round has been painted a pristine white and is up. The trim is done. The walls are a beautiful semi-gloss green. Mint ice cream green to be exact.

I think I like it. I have to like it at this point. If for one reason only. I posses a towel rod. It's true! I no longer have to throw it over the side of the tub. Do you know how messy a bathroom looks with paint brushes, paint cans, thrown towels and tiny screws and bolts hanging about for FIVE MONTHS? Pretty damn messy. Enough to make one feel they might just go a tiny bit crazy. Add an instigating dog and a curious toddler into the mix and you just might have cause for a domestic dispute.

I think H just wanted to survive the holidays with a nice wife. Either that or the week he just spent using that bathroom while family was in town was enough to convince him that it was finally time to finish that long overdue task.

Now if I could only figure out how to decorate it....



Ok it wasn't quite this bad, but close.


Image from nlcnet.org


It is also CYBER MONDAY people! RUN to Mummy's Product Reviews for some great gift ideas and lead-free shopping!

TAKE THE SURVEY TO THE LEFT AS WELL. A great prize pack awaits you! Drop me an email when you've taken the survey so I can enter you into the drawing.

Stupid Gray Sweater

Sometimes I dream about an old gray sweater. It reeks of death and when I wake up from a long night tangled in my sheets unable to get away from this sweater I am angry. I want to never think of it again. It's like a piece of rotted flesh that I wish I could cut out of me. But I cannot. If only it were that easy.

It seems that recently this old gray sweater is hanging out a lot in the depths of my subconscious. Like an old splinter it is rising to the surface. It begs for attention and I hate to give in. I want it gone. Yet I am unsure and scared on how to do so. I am out of my depth here and floundering.

After one of these sweater nights I am haunted for days. I am prone to staring into space or tearing up for no reason. I cannot sleep. I am haunted and hunted by this sweater. I will find myself running errands and then crying. Again I get angry. It is apparent that I need some sort of closure. How to do that is unknown to me, but until I figure it out I know that I will keep dreaming of that sweater. It repulses me with it's tattered sleeves, stretched out neckline and unflattering silhouette. It smells of death. How do I put this sweater to rest?


Anyone with even a clue on closure should feel free to pipe in because telling it to die in my dream, burning it and even attempting to destroy it has never worked.

Overheards

SCENE: Hotel hallway early Friday morning.

Me: (BIG YAWN) Oh! I'm so tired....

Mother: (In hotel hallway with H) Well you have every right to be?

Me: Huh? Why? (I didn't cook dinner, I've stayed in a hotel all week without the kid)

Mother: Well....

Me: (Badgering) What?! Why do I have a right to be tired? (H creeps down the hall a bit towards the elevator)

Mother: Because it's that time of the month and...

Me: MOM!!! Geez! That is not why I'm tired! GOD!! Augh! (Loud huffy sigh by me as I feel I'm 14 again)

Mother: I'm just saying. Why else would you be tired?

Me: (Resisting the urge to say, "because I've been out all hours of the night gettin' my drink, swerve and drug on..." just to get a rise out of her proving in fact that I am 14.) Because I've stayed up late each night this week and gotten up early. That's why.


Anyone else have any fun holiday moments like this one?

Because Really? It's Not About the Turkey

The parade is over. The turkey is done. All the leftovers have already been used to make late night snacks and the wine bottles are empty and in the recycling bins. Done. Thanksgiving is officially over.

Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday with all its food and trimmings goes so quickly. The prep work, the arrival of guests, family photos and side conversations are all just moments that lead up to the big meal. This year dinner seemed to go by so fast. Before I knew it my plate was empty and my stomach was sufficiently stuffed. As I looked around the table I smiled and thought it really is all about family. That is why I love this holiday so much. I love the smiles, laughs and even the ultra competetive game of Spoons.

The time I spent alone with H's grandmother making cream puffs was more than just two women trying to overpower one long recipe. It is a time I will remember and am so glad I had a chance to partake in. That and cream puffs are exactly that. Puffs. And I? Kicked some cream puff ass!

The announcement from my brother-in-law that I would soon have a sister-in-law, my first, is one that made the day even more special and memorable. I totally called it by the way. I knew it would be announced this weekend. We are all so happy to have her be a part of our family. I cannot wait to find out more about her and hopefully find a new friend.

So aside from the classic moments that make up so many holiday movies (my mother snorting when I took another drink, some non-pc comments that circulated throughout the day, and the general funny cuteness that only comes from toddlers) it was a rather perfect Thanksgiving. The sunny almost 80 degree temperature only enhanced it.

Black Friday for me isn't one of mass sprees or early wake ups but a good time to reflect on the time we spent together as a family. A family that I feel so blessed to be a part of.

And there's your monthly dose of sap.

Let the Festivities Begin

My forehead is bruised. The country music and Neil Diamond on the CD player is to blame.

My ears have finally stopped bleeding. Neil Diamond again. More country music than I can stand in a week was filtered into my brain in under two hours.

The GPS system on my father's truck is still in tact. I showed it some mercy.

Our trip down south to my MIL's yesterday was uneventful. I valiantly decided not to destroy the GPS system when it repeated told us to make a U-turn for about fifty miles. I didn't feel rejected when my father decided to not listen to me and take my directions but instead use his GPS thingy. I hate those things. I hate having more noise in the car. The beeping. The fact that you trust yourself less and rely on a chip just irritates me. I will never own one.

But we made it and I managed read all but one article in my Newsweek. Still by the time I crawled out of the car I felt drugged. What is it about car rides through the country with late afternoon sun that makes you so lethargic? Even T.D. after a long nap was totally out of it. Her hair was wild with a smattering of multi-colored barrettes all over and pig-tails askew. She sullenly looked around and blinked. I hear ya kid, I feel ya.

So the Thanksgiving festivities begin. I'll be sweating blood making puff pastries this afternoon and I might need some booze to deal with that. I'm not a flaky bakey person. Pound cakes I can do. Cookies I can do. Delicate puffs of flaky dough? Not my thing. It's a good thing I'm not smoking because some ash might have gone into the mix.

Did I mention that in the flurry of activity to leave the house yesterday I forgot to pack socks? Yup. And feed the dog. Good thing the neighbor is coming by today or I might have lost my couch by the time we got back. Here's to keeping it together this holiday season. Cheers!

For Goodness Sake think of Alice Paul

Cross-posted from Moms Speak Up-

Less than 100 years ago women fought for the right to vote. They fought long and hard battles staging protests and strikes in front of the White House. These women were the first people to protest in front of the White House ever. For women like Alice Paul and Lucy Burns, often described as militants, the decision to fight for the women’s right to vote was especially strong. These women endured prison time in the Occoquan Work House right here in Virginia only ten minutes from where I now live. They went on hunger strikes and the prison guards force fed them through tubes. Imprisoned three times Alice Paul would not back down. Nothing was more important to her than the women’s suffrage movement. Through her and other women’s actions, the demonstrations, parades, fires and mass meetings these women made a valid point. They were equal and deserved one of the greatest parts of being an American, the right to vote.

When I think of how these women who were part of the Congressional Union for Women’s Suffrage would react if they knew that some people, women included, would give up their right to cast a ballot for a piece of technology or and sum of money it sickens me. I feel physical pain and tears actually well up in my eyes. I want to spit fire and rain hell down on those who choose to give up their right to vote. To me it is a sacred and hard fought victory. Not voting as a woman is like pissing on these women’s graves. Their persistence and refusal to back down is part of what makes this country great but also why they won their battle. They never gave up. They never gave in no matter how arduous it was. We shouldn’t either. It makes me proud to be a woman when I think of them.

I know that today we are all very busy with our individual lives. We have families, jobs and everyday lives crammed full of things. The election is a year away. So why do we need to think about voting now? For one reason and that is to educate ourselves. To arm ourselves with the knowledge about each candidate so when it comes time to vote in the primaries and later the general election we can feel confident in our decision. If sites like BridesDecide can easily outline what each candidate stands for then why can’t we simply spend a small amount of time to pick a candidate? You probably won’t find one that believes in all the same ideals as you because most of us don’t even find that in our significant others, but just try. Take a few minutes today and do some research. Educate yourself and make the conscious decision to vote in 2008. If you aren’t registered yet NOW is the time! It takes five minutes! I swear I did it on Rock the Vote a few years back when I moved to this area. Within minutes I was a proud Virginia voter.

Vote. Do it for the future of this country. Do it so you have the right to complain when things are not to your liking, because if you refuse to cast a ballot then you have no right to argue or bitch when things go against your beliefs. Remember it is not just women in this country who fought for the right to vote. Think of the people of all races and genders all over the world who have given their life for this precious gift of choice. Let that be your guide.

It's That Time Again

It is hard to believe that it was almost a year ago already that I was here. Oh yeah and that the holidays are upon us.

In just a few short days we will be sitting down with our families enjoying their company and expanding our waistlines. I for one, cannot wait. This year is a first as well. My parents will be joining parts of H's family to enjoy the Thanksgiving fare together. T.D. will be in great demand. As the only child at this event she will be spoiled rotten. The attention overload will be a feast of its very own and all hers for the taking.

I love this time of year better than any other aside from my birthday week I suppose. Because damn that is always a fun time. But is it just me or does Thanksgiving reek of tradition more than holidays? We always ate the same food and for the most part each year played out much the same way. Now that I'm old and married new traditions arise. No year has been the same. We've never had a cooking disaster or a bunch of Bumpeses steal our turkey. The only thing that comes to mind that has remained a constant since I've been married is that H needs his cranberry goo right out of the can. Uncut. I know. It's chilling indeed. Yet each year I like to look back and remember a few things.

1. My cousins and I raiding the Andes Mints BEFORE dinner. We would eat entire bowls of those things that my mother had placed around the house. We would suck them down and just pray no adult found us. Or other cousins who weren't invited to partake of their cool minty goodness.

2. Fighting with my uncles, cousins, and my own father over a dish called stuffed celery. One of those awesome 1950's Kraft "inspired" recipes that involve chopped green olives and cream cheese. Mm.... I still feel like shoving as much into my face each time I see one of those laden down celery stalks.

3. The Macy's Day Parade. Do I need to say anymore? No matter what lame soap star is crooning I'm a watchin' if only for the Rockettes.

4. Being woken up at 5 a.m. despite it being a school-free day because my Mom was clattering dishes down below.

5. Passing out from drinking too much "soda" from the bar.

6. Hearing my parents argue about how to carve the turkey in whispered tones as if no one else could hear them.

7. Hiding dinner rolls from my cousins. From the sound of this and some of the above it was as if we were starved little kids am I right? Just greedy it seems.

8. Chips and Dip...mouth. watering. Must stop thinking of dip....and chips....

9. The incredible quiet that falls on the house as the last guest leaves and you realize it is only 6 p.m.

10. The incredible loudness that overcomes each room in the house when it is at full capacity and dinner has yet to be served.

What Turkey day memories do you have Internets? I would love to know.

What am I Thinking? I'm thinking No. Not Yet.

I had a dream last night that I was in labor. Labor in some horribly old, mad-scientist looking type of a hospital. I was not supposed to be there. The walls were dripping wet with condensation and the floor was incredibly filthy. I was not going to have my baby there. I was also beyond huge. I could barely walk.

When my water broke I looked at H all confused and said, "My leg is wet. Must be the dampness of this place." He looked at me like I was high on the smack. Then my legs gave out from under me. On the filthy, dirt-crusty floor I cried, "I cannot feel my legs! I am numb from the waist down and I haven't even had any drugs yet!" Anxiety? You could say that. I could blame it all on my brief glimpses of My Name is Earl last night or on one simple fact. I'm late. Like 10 days late. It's a freakin' PMS laden nightmare.

I do not normally discuss this type of stuff here it is just not my thing, but obviously this is getting to me. I've taken FIVE tests. All negative except for one invalid one. That one? It scared the bejeezus out of me. It just wouldn't register at all and I sat there blinking, willing it to do something. ANYTHING! The after about ten minutes I trashed it. Then, I whipped out another test and moved on. OK, I did go back later and check the invalid one again. Still blank. I took another test this morning, even trying another type, same outcome. Negative.

I have to say it was a relief. I had just told H, admitted really, that I'm just not there yet. Give me until BlogHer. I'll be ready by then. Right? I think so. I just need a bit more time. Because I'm clearly just not ready. Can I say it anymore? It is the one thing I realize more and more each day. I know I will be, when the time is right. My heart, mind and body still need to heal from some of the aftermath of the last pregnancy and its fallout. It was more traumatic and scarring than I realized or like to admit. After all I survived worse I thought. So why can't I just jump back on the pregnancy horse so to speak?

I should probably be reading this book. But when I place it in my cart over at Amazon I end up taking it out because again, I'm not ready to even read a freakin' book. This is harder than I thought to admit and not something I thought would happen. I figured after a calculated amount of time I would be ready for another child. I could just wing it or let it happen but for some reason I am not. I'm not and I feel like a villain. As if I'm taking something away from H, my family and his family. Like I'm some ice queen holding all the cards and power and I don't even want them. Perhaps I just need to hear that no one cares if we have another one. That it is not an issue and I can just let it fall away. It would stop sitting there in the back of my mind nagging at me too like some problem I can't solve.


On a whole other topic - Senseo wants you nice people to test out their merchandise so click here and get started on your pod coffee journey.

ALSO the wonderful group over at SVMomBlogs is looking for more NYCMom contributors. They want to launch the site soon and need more writers. So if you live in the New York area, blog and write please check this out and contact them. You would be joining a fabulous group of writers and bloggers. I love being a part of the DC site. You can even email Jill Asher herself at jillDOTasher AT gmail DOT com.

Need Something to Do?

Dear Readers,

I love you. I love that you stick by me, comment daily, and come back for more. It makes me feel that maybe I'm not so crazy thinking I can do this whole blogging thing. I value your opinions a lot and love to get feedback from you.

So why not fill out that fun and short (less than 10 questions!) survey over there under that cute Blogher ad. That's right. The one on the left. Just click it. Then drop me an email and let me know you've done so. One lucky reader will get a fun surprise package from me!

Because so far what I've learned from readers is that you love giveaways! Which I have weekly over at my other site which has more than just kid DVDs by the way.


What can you win? Well, just some of the following fun things:

Full size Intelligence body lotion
Full size Intelligence Thermal facial mask
Awaken body lotion
Awaken sea salt body scrub
Unwind body lotion
e.l.f. lip gloss in Angel

And more....it's a $150 dollar value. The drawing will be held on Dec. 1 so get started on that survey and drop me a line. And any of you readers who make things and want to get some free advertising email me (veamason at gmail DOT com) and we can either set up a review or add one of your items into this giveaway!

No DIY, no coupons, and no cute kid stories here

I can't talk about holiday goodness, turkey day recipes, DIY centerpieces, or getting the lead out. There are no coupons or giveaways today. I'm skipping GNO tonight because I feel the need to cocoon. The rain is like a weevil in my brain. It kept me up last night. It makes me want to curl up and keep my Little Women DVD on a constant loop. I also have a massive amount of stuff to get done.

So in lieu of boring you with kooky stories about my dog time-traveling or how she swears she's produced such hit movies like Wild Hogs, which she claims was a big hit, I bring you this. Because really? Do you want to hear how ridiculously cute it was that T.D. told on the dog yesterday after the Lex got into some groceries? She did. It was cute. The evidence also spoke for itself. Enough said.

Enjoy a little lead free moment.




This ages me but who remembers the original version of this PSA? I can still recall my friends and I using these lines on teachers and other adults in high school.



The original version for you youngsters. Did we really have stereos with knobs like that in '87? Wow. And is that the Smuckers guy doing the voice over? Discuss.



You know you were saying the words along with Bugs. I still think, "Keep those pot handles turned in" each time I cook.




Totally unrelated but I ALWAYS wondered how they did that!

I'm sorry, I cheated.

Dear Hairdresser,

Would you prefer to be called stylist? I'm just not sure anymore. My confidence in you has gone. We had such a beautiful relationship. It was good while it lasted and then things just went horribly wrong. I'm not sure what happened still but your inability to listen forced me into the arms of another.

I hated to do it. I'm not one for betrayal. I really did think you had mad skillz in everything hair. The subtle way you wound highlights into my hair each autumn with the lowlights was completely stunning. Your service impeccable. You spoiled me. Your clean, vibrant, non-chemical smelling salon turned me rotten for everyone else. So did the cookies and chocolates on trays and all the other small touches I became used to when in your presence. I even, sigh, let you hug me when I arrived and left. I don't even have family that I hug that much. I feel so used.

Why did I betray you? Quite simply your lack of listening and communication was what did it. I yearned to be heard and not to be so blond even in the summer time. I looked washed out in photos and wanted something more natural even if I had to get my hair processed to achieve it. You did it once. Then you re-blonded me again despite my wishes. My whole head and not just the roots. You never just do a touch up or trim. You snip here, then snip there until my screams and cries fall on deaf ears and it is too late. The right side is done. Now you have to do the left. Don't get me wrong. No one can layer and blend like you. No one. BUT WHEN I SAY NO LAYERS I MEAN NO LAYERS! Remember that one time? You know you made me mad when I whirled out of there so fast breathing like a beast waiting to fight. I couldn't even look at you I was so angry. You sent me a gift card for $50 and letter of apology. It made me come back. I gave you another chance. And another and another. Then after that last cut with the BAZILLION nicely blended but KATRILLION layers in my baby fine hair I decided we must part ways. It was simply too much.

I've started seeing someone else. I just thought you should know. She's not you. She gave me the exact cut I wanted and I'm thrilled it's just not as fine a cut as you would have done had you listened. She makes me wait which you never did. I think of you while I'm waiting. This has not been easy on me. There was no lemon water and other stylists sullenly sat around this new salon. You would have never tolerated that. This new place. This new girl. They let hair sit on the floor. You truly did spoil me and I loved it. Every second. But, she listens. My hair? It's the color I asked for. The cut? It's exactly like the photo. Remember when you used to do that? When you used to listen?

I can feel myself caving though. That next time I will go back to you. I will surrender and go back into your softly lit salon. I will repent. I will make up a pack of lies about having my hair done while I was on vacation. I just can't bare for you to know I cheated on purpose. I'm a sucker for a very fine cut. I can't help it. It just grows up better. That's one thing beauty mags don't lie about. A good cut grows out for months looking well, good. Promise me when I come back you will try to listen? I want this to work so badly. Really I do. I miss my expertly cut perfectly thick side bangs bad.

Yours,

The Client


A new review is up on Mummy's Product Reviews. Beauty Confidential, the new book by Nadine Haobsh formerly Jolie NYC. Nadine, a former beauty editor at some famous beauty mags herself, spills all the secrets in this funny, tell-all book. It's loads of fun and it teaches you how to do the perfect blow out.

My Trash the Dress

Cross-posted from Flaming Tulle

Recently I participated in Trash the Dress, a growing project that many photographers are taking part in. Now worldwide Trash the Dress is typically done the week after a wedding has taken place. The bride gets back into ‘the’ dress and well, trashes it. Photos are done in water, under water, in the dirt or just plain out in the open without a care as to what happens to the dress. There’s even been a dumpster dive. When a photographer friend of mine asked me to take part in this fun project I was eager to help out.

Not wanting to use my own dress, and quite frankly I don’t think it still fits, I opted instead to lay waste to some of the bridesmaids dresses that appear to be breeding in the back of my closet. Out came the sage colored two-piece, the red empire waited gown and a black gauzy number. I really wanted these dresses to go out with a bang. That red one could have been set on fire and I wouldn’t have minded. We set out on a chilly fall day for the local marina and immediately got down to business.

I climbed trees, laid on fallen logs and felt a bit like Narcissus as I glanced at my reflection in the still waters. I dropped into some foliage and rolled around a bit and even lay on a dock with some scary geese fast approaching. It was fun. OK, it was more than fun. When else can I traipse around in formal wear, full makeup, and up do and my Chuck Taylors? Seeing as I’m not a fashion model, I would venture to say, never. It was cold but it was all in the name of art right? One thing though. That green ensemble was pretty much dirt repellent. It is back in the closet waiting for take two of Trash the Dress and warmer weather. Not a speck of dirt stuck to it. Unbelievable.

What I learned from this whole this, beyond the creativity and fun of it, is that it is a perfect opportunity to de-stress. Really what could be better after all that wedding hullabaloo than getting back into that dress and really getting out some florist aimed aggression? Maybe you just simply want to wear the dress one last time and this is a great chance to do so. That is a good enough reason for me. You can go to the Trash the Dress forum and find a local photographer near you and see how much you can trash that dress.

To see the some of the photos from my session with Sarah from Sarah Lynn Photography click here.



A great little bit about what Trash the Dress is all about.

A Typical $900 Sunday Afternoon

Our house was pretty quiet yesterday until just after my post-run shower. See, there was this leak in the tub. The faucet. It leaked. Non-stop. All day, everyday. I would walk by it in the morning and find that H had stuffed towels around it to stop the drip, drip, drip, drip sound that was apparently driving him mad. It was like weevils in the brain to him. He could not abide it. It kept him up at night. It drove him to distraction. Me? I never heard a thing.

He casually mentioned to me over breakfast yesterday that he would be going to the hardware store to fix this leak. "A $5 or $10 job." he said. I agreed and off he went. Then as I was about to blow dry my hair I heard it. The first bit that would be a string of swear words. He was cussing out the pipes. I went back to diverting T.D. from using too much mousse on her own hair and blocked her ears with the sounds of NPR, when I heard a clang and more swearing. This time it was followed by, "Hon, I think we need to call a plumber." Oh! Suddenly it is a 'we' thing. Insert my own swear words here. "Why?" I asked with bated breath. "Because I just broke some pipes. I need you to turn on all the faucets in the house NOW!" He bellowed.

OK. First? I had on no pants. All the shades were up too. Should I really be running wild in my house like that? No. But when I broached that with him all I got was some muttering about it being my fault if the house flooded. Right. I turned on all the faucets. If my neighbors see my white butt so be it. I'm saving the house right? Then I yanked out the phone book and walked upstairs just as T.D. tried to fix the pipes herself. H looked at me and stated, "I need to cut a hole in our bedroom wall." I gulped. A hole? Oh sweet baby Jesus! A hole in the wall! Exposed pipes would greet us each morning when we woke. Is this really necessary? Can't we just call a plumber? H would not relent. Out came a saw as he and I (with great regret) moved the furniture to make room for tools and the holes debris (gasp!). He knocked out small pieces with a hammer at first. Dry wall crumbled and dust puffed out into the air. My stomach lurched and I winced. I could not look, yet I was frozen in place as the beautiful cocoa colored wall became another home improvement project. I retreated to busy T.D. She was intrested in straightening her hair with the Chi.

Then I heard it again. Swearing. I looked down and H declared, "Well I've broken two pipes." He lay on his back on the floor. A man defeated. I groaned and came down the stairs to survey the new damage. Ugh. It was more than I could bear. I put the phone book in front of him and gave him the phone. "It's what we need to do. You know it is the right thing. Hon, you are good at real estate investing, but electrical and plumbing is not your forte. Just make the call." Head hung in shame and defeat H called our local plumber. After it was all settled that the plumber would indeed come by H looked at me and said, "I feel emasculated." I patted him on the leg and said, "That's fine. Now wait for the plumber I'm going to the grocery store."

Three hours and $900 later with two plumbers and two traffic stopping/blocking plumbing trucks it was fixed. No more leak and with new hardware in the tub. They both made sure to tell me that they would have done the same things that H had done. Broken pipes and all. Manufacturer defect and old-age and all that. I just smiled. Thanks boys, but the man's not in trouble. When I told H this he smiled like a little boy. "They did? Awww." He seemed so proud. He was almost there! He could have fixed it on his own he declared. I just gave him THAT look. Discussion closed with one request. My request? That the hole in the wall (now bigger) would take precedence over my bathroom (STILL not fixed by the way Internets). I NEED IT FIXED THIS WEEK not 20 months from now. I will not be going to BlogHer telling people "No, I still can't hang my towels and yes, the hole is still there."

I'll keep you posted.

Sorry Toys, You are Under Arrest

I'm dreaming of a lead-free Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know. Where the kids aren't eating Aqua Dots.... Come on sing along everybody! It's real catchy! Maybe if we make up a little ditty about all the recalled products we can easily remember them right? Wait. That would be about a 56 hour song at this point.

This blog blast topic could not have come along at a better time. Already our house is mired in catalogs selling various holiday wares to my kid and I. At the same time I can't get through an episode of 'Without a Trace' without a few stories about MORE toy recalls flashing at the bottom of the television screen. It is besides the point to say this makes me angry. Toxic glue? Lead paint? Toys coated in the same junk that goes into a date-rape drug? What is happening here? Why is this happening? I have no answers or toy alternatives because the solutions I keep thinking up keep getting recalled.

What I do know is that I'm frustrated. This is T.D.'s second Christmas, one she'll actually be excited about, and yet I am having the hardest time trusting myself into buying anything for her. It makes me mad, sad and just all around Scrooge like. This isn't like me either. I'm not one to freak out over every news story or run around like Chicken Little. I almost bought that Fisher Price kitchen two days ago and now it's being recalled. I don't think I'll be doing any catalog shopping either because I can't read the labels. It's too bad too because not only do I loathe going out into the holiday fray but I trust the big box stores even less than the catalogs and online companies.

After talking with my mother yesterday we are going the only route we know. We will be looking up items here at the Consumer Union Safe Shopper Guide. They have a complete list of not just toy recalls but all the 2007 recalls and a friendly section on where to go for some nice safe alternatives. Those beaded necklaces made in my home state (Shame Lil'Rhody!) won't be making their way into my house. The cute plastic dish sets made in China? Sorry, not on my watch. It is as if I have to put T.D.'s toys under house arrest. I'm now the warden for not just the ones that have managed to snake their way in already, but for all the ones that might arrive this holiday season. Like we parents don't have enough to worry about.

It is not all negative though. The one positive about this whole recall ordeal is that it is stopping me from blind consumerism. I find myself having to really think about what I'm purchasing. That is a good thing. A lot of needless stuff that might as well end up with the wrapping paper debris won't be purchased. Instead I'm favoring old classics like coloring books, non-toxic paints and crayons for T.D. this year. We're purchasing an easel and chalkboard and books. At least I don't have to worry about the Barenstain Bears trying to slip my kid something harmful or her choking. It's pretty hard to choke on the spine of a book.

So before you head out to do your holiday shopping be it in the stores or online be sure to do your whole family the favor of reading the recall list and the safer shopping guide from the people who bring you Consumer Reports. They won't steer you wrong.

The Stepford Twitch

I've talked about how I have a tendency to overextend myself over here before. It seems I just don't learn my lesson. I wanted to cut down on reviews but have I done that? Nope. I just promise away, book myself into a corner and then reap the benefits/scheduling conflicts.

More and more I find myself wishing for a whole day where the phone never rings, I resist the urge to check my email and I just sit and watch so much bad television I forget I have legs and my butt loses all feeling. Come to my house that day around 9 p.m. and I would be in a wasteland of Halloween hangover inducing candy, nacho detritus and pizza crusts. My hopeful ideas of going for a run usurped by an all too compelling episode of Rob & Big or America's Next Top Model. Sounds like heaven right about now. Wait! Let me pencil that in for Sunday.

I love how if I talk to some of my friends they seem to think my days are filled with housekeeping, fun leisurely errands and Sesame Street episodes. Ha! I careen through life happily mommy blogging and not looking for freelance work. I never feel like pulling out my hair and if I do it's because I've messed up a batch of cookies. Then again these same folks rarely read the blog or ask me any questions beyond "how's T.D.?" Grr....

So I'm just waiting for the moment when I'm out and I feel it might be today or tomorrow where I just malfunction. My eyes glaze over and begin to twitch. My head spins around a few times and a spring or two pops out as smoke pours from my ears. I'll look like one of those Stepford Wives who suddenly malfunctions. It's all my fault too. I just jam in too much. I just want to do too much. No stone unturned, no opportunity or experience missed. I need to Susan Powter myself and STOP THE INSANITY.

Does anyone actually know how to do that? I swear if someone comments in about taking a step back and a deep breath I will hunt you down. Somehow big deep breaths only work for two things- labor and when I'm trying not to puke.

There's a big SALE going on over here so check it out.

He Works for the Government. He can't be Fired.

A funny thing happened to me on the way home the other day. Cue drum. Ba dum bum.
I was in the Charlotte airport waiting to board my plane when a man caught my eye. Not like that! He looked familiar. Had I sat across from him in some banal meeting at Company A many months ago? Hmm... I just couldn't shake this feeling.

I boarded the plane and there he was sitting right next to me. Fate? Now I never strike up conversations with strange men but I was just couldn't let go of the idea of how familiar this guy looked to me so I spoke up. Turns out the guy lives in my neighborhood and we have probably seen each other around town. Nothing big. Then he threw out there that he used to work for the Department of Defense.

"Me too." I replied.
"Oh well I worked in the Hoffman Building." He answered, as if I wouldn't know it.
"Wow. So did I!"
"I worked in the wage department you probably..." I interrupted him right there. "SO DID I!"

The year I was born this man took the job that I would later have as my first job out of college. He started out with the same people who would later be the higher ups when I got there. We worked with many of the same people. Including my evil boss. The man who punished me (yes,really), made other women cry daily and basically caused so much grief I left after 11 months and filed a sexual harassment report. That job while it had some great moments (loads of travel with other early twenty-somethings)was a nightmare. It spoiled me for a long time. I was so warped on what a boss should be like and how you should conduct yourself in an office it was awful. He would ask us to wear low-cut shirts and short skirts. He would punish us with no work and keep us from office get togethers and travel just because we denied him entry into our hotel rooms. He was a monster.

I relayed this briefly to this man I didn't know on a crowded plane and you know what? He understood. He had to deal with it too. He dealt with the women in his office for years suffering under this jackass. He eventually left partially due to this same man. The coincidence of it all was just so bizarre. After more conversation it was relayed to me that old boss-man isn't faring so well. He is in fact dying. This is quite sad. It is sad in the sense that a human being is suffering and so is the family around him that loves him. He has children who love him. Can I deny that the idea of 'you reap what you sow' crossed my mind? No I cannot. It flashed like a neon sign in my brain for quite some time. Is that wrong?

For years this man emotionally and mentally mind-f*cked women. He berated them and made them feel as low as dog sh*t on the bottom of one's shoe. Lower even. Countless people left their jobs at this office because of this man. But as H said last night, "He can't be fired, he works for the government." It's true. When I filed my complaint he had 23 years in and all he got was a slap on the wrist. A tap really. When I filed about seven other women came forward that very same day and that was all he got. A verbal reprimand. Nothing more.

It's all water under the bridge now. I marveled at what a small world it is on meeting this man who looked familiar but I am simply amazed at the coincidence we share and the sameness of our situation. It makes me sad that a government such as ours, an office that modern, could employ and keep such a Cretan for so long. How powerless we all felt in that situation as women. Young women.

Today I fight the urge to feel a sense of righteousness over the outcome of it all. Now he officially cannot return to work. It's like a comedic tragedy playing out right in front of me.




* On a much lighter note see this great review for Effie's Heart. Kimo's clothing is to die-for. I am in love with the red coat! Also, I'll be a guest on Motherhood Uncensored's radio show tonight at 9 p.m. with featured guest, author Ann Dunnewold, of Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box. An amazingly helpful book folks so check us out tonight.

Trash the Dress Baby! Just trash it!

Tomorrow I will be participating in Trash the Dress. I cannot tell you how excited I am.

What is it?

Quite simply it is a photographer project where they take photos of women destroying their wedding dresses or other fancy attire. See I seem to have an extensive collection of bridesmaid dresses and military ball gowns that quite frankly need to be done away with. I could just donate them like I have in the past to such charities as The Glass Slipper Foundation or to Ugly Dress. Except none of these dresses are ugly. Not even the kiwi colored one if you can believe it. So when I was asked by a local photographer to take some time to get down and dirty, traipse through the various terrains of local graveyards, dried out riverbeds and lay down in some leafy trails I jumped at it.

Yes, it will be cold. Possibly freezing and rainy. I will be wearing my chucks to ensure comfort and I might even rub some dirty leaves on myself and get T.D. in the mix. Too bad she doesn't have some cute flower girl dress to destroy. Because these dresses will be destroyed. Sorry Jen, Dawn and Macy's. Sorry. It's time. The dresses must go. There is no more room in the closet or my heart for them. The dresses must be trashed and what better way than by smearing them with mud, ripping them on some rocks and just plain ripping them.

Toodles poufy kiwi skirt with a butt bustles and trailing ends. So long beaded halter with the gauzy black finish. Adios empire waisted red satin gown complete with rhinestones. I actually did hate you if I must confess. You were the ugliest of the lot that is left. Too bad I no longer posses the flesh colored gown I paid $300 to wear a few years back I would have gone into a swamp to kick that ones ass. All that money. All those alterations. All in the name of friendship and joyous good times. But it's in reality just a dress and the memories are in my minds eye and countless photographs. Possessed by many people. Augh. That flesh colored dress....

Can you tell I'm excited to brave the wet fall elements and just do this thing? What could be more fitting? I can think of nothing besides lighting them on fire or yes, donating them. I'll post pictures as soon as possible so you can see how much I am willing to subject myself to in the name of art.

Catfish, Cotton and a Chevy Malibu

Scene: The Deep South. Fall colors graced the landscape as I crossed over the Tennessee line into Mississippi this weekend driving three versions of the new Chevy Malibu.



Wait! That doesn't sound right does it? I live in the DC Metro area. Why was I test driving cars in Graceland territory?

Because GM decided to get a little crazy and invite some bloggers (mom bloggers if you will) into their panel of reviewers for their all-new, redesigned Chevy Malibu. Oh yes, they did Internets. I don't think they quite knew what they were getting themselves into. At least Chris, who oversees GM's blogs (they have those?), didn't. I think he enjoyed the ride and realized that we bloggers are a little on the crazy side. We drivers enjoyed his extensive knowledge of 80s music as well.

So let's start from the beginning shall we?

Like Kristen, from Mommy Needs a Cocktail I kept waiting for the moment when I realized that GM wasn't honestly going to put me on a plane, take me to Memphis, put me up at the Westin, feed me scrumptious food and let me drive over state lines into Deliverance territory. No way! But they did. When the US Airways rep actually confirmed my ticket and I was taxing on the runway I was almost in shock. This is for reals y'all!

The fact that I almost hurled my snack mix on the descent into Charlotte was alright because the freedom to use the regular women's restroom and not the family restroom had me giddy. I read an entire Newsweek and I could have called it a day. By the time I got to the hotel I was exhausted. Yet it was just beginning. After a quick call from Elizabeth and Kim my spirits lifted as cookies were brought to me by these fine, fun ladies. I was so excited to meet other bloggers! I just have never had the chance. After talking to them and hearing their thoughts on the weekend my nervousness subsided. We were really going to be driving these cars!



Having never been on a junket like this I think I can now say I'm spoiled. GM knows how to work it. They treated us to a tour/cocktail hour at the Gibson Guitar factory that was beyond fun. We got to get up close and personal with the execs, engineers and designers of the Malibu and really get up in its grill. Afterwards it was on to dinner at BB King's on Beale Street. I found myself in conversation with Terry, the GM Director of Communications, who really wanted to know why on earth I've never owned or wanted to buy and American made vehicle. Why am I so tainted so to speak? I have to say it is pretty impressive that this company is doing this much research on such a personal level.

My group was the fifth wave that week of journalists, car enthusiasts and bloggers to be hosted by GM. It was abundantly clear as the weekend went on that they care a lot about the Malibu and making it one great piece of machinary. They want to know why we buy the cars we buy and how they can make their cars work for us. They kind of half to at this point but that is besides the point. It is all much appreciated and I learned way more than I ever thought I would. There wasn't a boring point to the whole trip.

Saturday dawned bright and early as we headed out to the cars to begin our 150 mile test drive. That's right! We drove out of TN and into MS taking those Malibu's over various terrains and seeing the sights. Here are some highlights.

-Grannies without their pants sweeping front porches. Typical Saturday morning?
-Cotton to the left, cotton to the right
-Good ol' boy sheriffs do not appreciate blogger photography.
-GM frowns on Chinese fire drills.
-Was that a dog fight? Ooh look! More dogs are a comin'.
-Lawn jockeys really do exist.
-Hogs and Horses welcome for drinks at bike night.
-You can so fit two bloggers into the back of a Hybrid Malibu!
-Kristin looks like the girl who gave me her fake ID in college. Though Kristin is way nicer and didn't throw pitchers of beer in my face yelling,"Drink it up pledge!"
-Cockrum. It's a town people! Get your mind out of the gutter.
-Bucksnort's. 24 flavors of soft serve ice cream please! You know you want some bucksnort.
-Nicole has one of those new fangled thingy's called an EYE-Phone. She uses it to send things to the Internet y'all.
-That meeting Kelly and Kristen was the best part of the weekend. I wouldn't have had as much fun in that car without them. Discussing the allure of Stephen Tyler's tongue was a serious conversation. Thanks ladies!
Thanks to GM too for making me think that despite the media/marketing hocus pocus you companies put out there you can still make me believe that you are decent, fun, and caring people. I enjoyed the ride!

The actual review of the Chevy Malibu will be up this week so check back soon! For now enjoy the other fine reviews on Mummy's Product Reviews.




Cockrum. Have you had your fill?

Blog Blast! My Ultimate Beauty Blunder

Green hair,Orange Hair,Gray Hair-It is all the same. Bad.

It was late at night. I was alone. My roommates were all gone. My boyfriend was out of town. It was just me and a box of Feria, the newest at home hair coloring kit on the market. The platinum blonde color oh so tempting. I just had to try it. It called to me from the shelves of CVS and I snatched it up and brought it home. Like a junkie in its paper bag I scurried into the bathroom to begin taking my already blonde and ultra highlighted locks even more blonde.

Around 11 p.m. I found myself coughing and running from the bathroom, the scent of bleach was so strong. There might have been some tingling. I can’t be sure. My brain has blocked out so much of the impending trauma. When I finally rinsed out the dye and put on the super softening conditioner I had such high hopes. I would be the blondest blonde in town. My almost-white due would evoke Marilyn Monroe memories. I would be stunning. Sexy and beautiful, a woman to be reckoned with and my boyfriend would not know what to do with this brand new woman. As I toweled off and looked in the mirror something looked wrong. Very wrong. My hair was not blonde, not even a bit. Instead it was orange. My once sunny blonde locks were now the color of a pumpkin. I screamed. I cried. Alone in my dark apartment just me and some seriously fried harsh looking hair. It was a true nightmare.

I called my Mom begging for the number of my cousin who is a stylist. She promptly called me back telling me to do nothing. Don’t touch a thing but the buttons on a phone to call a hair salon. Only a team of professionals could fix this mess. If I tried to dye it back myself it would only damage my hair more. I was distraught. I fixed a strong drink and vowed to go to a salon first thing in the morning. The next morning I woke up ashamed. My roommates could not stop laughing. I was even more mortified and distraught upon seeing the streaky orange locks in the broad daylight. I shoved my nasty burnt hair into a ball cap and trudged to the nearest salon that had an opening.

At the salon I reluctantly showed them my mess. They shook their heads sadly saying the see it all the time, these silly girls who mess with professional strength color without any thought to the damage it can cause. This would take some time. Did I understand that I would not be blonde anymore? Yes. Did I understand they would have to strip my color and I wouldn’t be any color? Gulp. Uh sure. No!!! WHAT? I just kept my mouth shut and let the professionals do their jobs. Three hours later I emerged from the salon chair with a grayish green mess. It wasn’t orange but it wasn’t anything. I looked like a sea witch. A Medusa in training. I was heartbroken. I trudged home, head hanging in shame, $200 poorer.

Later my boyfriend (now H)stopped by. He took the baseball cap off my head and said, “Uh it’s sort of green or gray. I can’t really tell. It’s like the absence of color yet every color! What were you thinking?” I don’t know! To this day I don’t know. Did I do it again? You betcha! A year later I was in a whole other salon asking them to turn my streaked mess of a head back into a blonde mess tout suite! I had a plane to catch to my parent’s house and I sure as hell wasn’t going to show up with another messy dye job. My mother wearing that ‘I told you so’ face. That was the last time I dyed my hair at home though. I walked out blonde again but it was five hours later and I was $300 lighter in the wallet that time. I vowed as God as my witness with all the Scarlett O’Hara in me that I would never dye my hair at home again!

Luckily no photos of this trauma exsist. For more hilarious and cringe-worthy beauty mishaps visit PBN. Pictures will be there! PLUS an incredible contest celebrating the arrival of one FAB book, Beauty Confidential by Nadine Haobsh a beauty expert herself with loads of things to share.

HERE ARE THE RULES AND THE PRIZES!!!!

Tell us about your biggest beauty blunder!

What can you win? The entire list of beauty editor must haves on pages 12-14 of Beauty Confidential:

NARS blush in Orgasm
Terax Original Crema intensive conditioner
Essie Mademoiselle and OPI I'm Not Really a Waitress nail polish
Mario Badescu Drying Potion
Shu Uemura eyelash curler
Bumble and bumble Does It All styling spray
Cetaphil face wash
Kiehl's Lip Balm #1
Lancome Definicils mascara
Phytodefrisant balm
Lancome Flash Bronzer Instant Colour Self-Tanning Leg Gel
Yves Saint Laurent Touche Eclat Radiant Touch

In addition, if you post a picture of your beauty blunder, you'll be entered to win another random drawing: Five lucky winners can ask Nadine their most burning beauty question, and they'll receive a personal answer!

GET EXCITED!!!!

Scattered and Hopped Up on Sugary Treats

Today is one of those days where I question my sanity. Where I wish I had a nanny and a personal assistant to run such mundane errands such as packing my bags, picking up things at the grocery store and doing my daily workout for me. Do they charge by the hour for things like that? It might be worth looking into.

I'm scattered, my shoulders are tight and I feel like my head might explode and the sun isn't even up yet. I have no idea how I'm going to structure my day but it better have some running or high paced walking involved or any moment of zen will be impossible to find.

I'm off to pack two suitcases. One for me as I'm going to Memphis baby! and one for T.D. she's going to Nana's baby! It would figure that this weekend, the first weekend I'm called away for work, H is as well. I'm excited about traveling on my own again and mingling among other writers and meeting some great bloggers but I'm nervous and it just makes me even more prone to scatter-brained antics like making half a mix CD, eating frosting at 7 a.m., and driving on empty with the tire pressure light blaring. Fun times.

I think I hear the loot from T.D.'s successful pillaging last night calling to me. I must down some Kit-Kat encrusted gumballs with Butterfinger sides to ensure I'm functioning at maximum capacity today. Marshmallow pumpkins anyone?


New Reviews up at Mummy's Product Reviews including a PBN one about personalized kids books that are extremely high quality and make great gifts!