Blogger me this HG...

Another blogger got a "deal". And this one, my heart be still, is with HGTV. This blogger is evidently really famous (and why haven't I heard of her, I am just saying...) as the "Mommyblogger". Forbes named her one of the most influential women in media. Along with Kelly Ripa (Really? Like how many of you bought into the cookies she baked in that Electrolux?). So, I am like, really HGTV. Really? You picked a Heather over me? You know, it was always the Heathers that got to be the cheerleaders and got picked to be the class presidents. You must remember the Heathers from your school, right? Short, cute, blond, basically everything you weren't. I can remember hanging out in the girl's bathroom smoking a cigarette when a Heather would come in all excited, "Like really, I cannot believe it, Jonathon Draper just told me I was, like cute and all". I'd be like, "Really like, the guy that bought me this fifth of Jack Daniels told me I'd be like, really totally pretty if I stopped wearing overalls and biting my nails". Here's the deal, the world is full of Heathers and you just have to work at taking them out one blog at a time. The fact that this Heather got her gig with HG is really the part that is hard to swallow. So hard in fact, I almost choked on my frozen Cameo cookies this morning. I wasn't gonna do it, I was going to start with a bowl of Special K, but then I saw the cake that daughter Judy made last night and I thought to myself, "Self, are you going to start yet another Monday out with cake". Self was feeling rather strong this morning and shot back, "Hell no, we are starting with Cameo cookies and we may finish with the cake"! So, of course that whole plan got shot to hell as I opened up the HGTV site to this rather disarming news. Another blogger makes it big! So I started looking at her site to see if she simply got chosen for her looks, etc., and here is what I found. The site had really important questions on it, like, What did your prom dress look like and how often do you wash your bra? I am not making this stuff up people. How often do you wash your bra? Since I sorta have a thing about bras and most of my stress dreams are of me getting on a plane without my bra on, I quickly zoned in and thought, "self, you got bra on"? And of course, I did not. I may have been at work, but my current working conditions allow for this sort of apparel, you know, the into the sheets and out on the streets, black leggings with a favorite well- washed zippy? Last year, I sort of gave up on the athletic zippies and went for the more universal look. The way I figured it, I wasn't fooling anyone about my athletic prowess with the flip flops and all. And my prom dress, "What did it look like"? Well, it sort of looked like what I described above, a pack of Marboro Lite 100's (I wasn't ghetto- always got the slim 100's) and a shot of JD. Yeah, it wasn't until years after my prom that I got introduced to Cheetos. In fact, I think if the orange stuff had come into my life a little earlier, things could have worked out a bit differently for me. I could be the one giving "Mommy" advice. I mean, I know all about bras and I could make up the stuff about prom dresses. I'll just bet the next dollar I make (and when that time comes around, I will let you all know) that this, Heather, has no idea what happens when you are wearing a double D and then you, gulp get pregnant. Right? Yes, Heather, there really is a "Boob Santa" and he doesn't have MD in front of his name. Those of us that have had the pleasure of walking into maternity stores to a bevy of Heathers secretly thinking to themselves, "Shouldn't she be at the plus sized store"? And then having to ask if they carry any over the shoulder boulder holders that would work for these (pointing downward)? And then suddenly for the first time recognizing that you have a bit of a snack, now hanging delicately from your bosom. Of course, your first instinct is to wonder how in the heck did you miss that tasty morsel at lunch and then quickly eat it and savour the fact that the snack you'd been craving ever since you finished lunch has been right in front of you all this time. But of course, this sort of behavior would never do in front of this group of Heathers that have now gathered around hoping to get a glimpse of someone that could possibly be that far down in the food- err alphabet chain.

You got bra on?

Why is it that when I am drinking wine and I come up with hilarious ideas for a blog...the next day it is never quite as funny? Or, the next day, I sit there and look at the notes I scrawled and wonder, "What did I mean by, put your bra on"? I must really have a thing about bra wearing, that as of yet has not completely unveiled itself to even me! Ha, now I remember about the whole bra thing. I had to go through a metal detector at one of the courthouses and I set the blasted thing off. So, I did all the normal things like took off my shoes, my sweater (lucky for me, I planned in advance and wasn't wearing sleeveless) and I walked back through. Beep, beep, beep. OK, so now, I looked up at the guy and he said, "Do you have any metal replacement parts"? Now this, I had to think about...Did I? Was he talking like metal dental replacement parts? Like as in amalgam? Or did he mean like hip replacement parts? For just a minute, I had to think about it and I guess that was what me more suspicious then the guy standing behind me that was carrying (I kid you not) all his worldly possessions in two paper bags. So, I was pulled aside for a "Body" search. Now typically, I am not one that would shy away from "special attention", but come on, this is my body we are talking about here. While I may not have metal replacement parts, I have all sorts of things holding other things in place. Some are balanced rather precariously and I don't relish closer inspection by a stranger. So, there I stood, with my sweater off, my arms held out by my side and he began ravaging me with both his eyes (I swear, he sort of liked me, thought I was cute in a "like his mother way") and this foot long wand. Really, he must of thought I'd hidden some sort of device between my legs- even my masseuse knows better then to go near the inner thighs, come on people- some areas are just off limits! Just about when I was beginning to weakly protest a female guard walked over and whispered something into the young studly guards ear. He straightened up and backed away from my thighs and told me, "You are good to go". The female guard leaned over to me and said, "It's the under wire in your bra that is setting off the metal detector". Bright red, I quickly redressed and walked over to where my companion was patiently waiting and told him, "It was my stinking bra, the under wire set of the alert". My companion looked at me sort of puzzled and said, "Wow, how much wire is in there, because my metal glasses didn't set off any alarms, I'm just saying"...

For the very first time...

So, here it is. I am going to tell it like it is or was...I am no longer a virgin. Now that I have your attention, I know several of you are gasping for breath and maybe even feeling like I've let you down, but the truth can sometimes hurt. But in my case, it felt glorious! No, I am not going to regale you with stories of my wedding night (shut-up) but instead tell you about yesterday. Yesterday I had my very first massage session with a man and you know what, I am in love. His hands, his man hands, well let me tell you first about his fingers, they were divine, long and warm and strong! I am not going to lie, I was a little apprehensive at first. I mean these creamy white thighs have not seen the light of day in a long time, yet alone having been rubbed down by a perfect stranger of the opposite sex. I felt like I was dating again...Would he like me? Would he think I was cute? Would he try to sneak a "feel"? But I guess dating is much like riding a bike, you just get right back on it and go. I felt a lot like I think my single girl friends must feel like when getting back out there. A little insecure, a little jiggly (OK. A lot jiggly) but a new sense of freedom. Freedom that says, " I don't give a damn", just rub me. Yeah, it was quite liberating, with my eyes closed and the soft music playing in the background I could almost hear him breathing. Then when he started to lift my leg and I offered assistance, because I know how much those legs weigh, he softly said, "it is OK, relax, I've got you". OK. Talk about foreplay, "I've got you" as I collapsed on the table, he may have wished later that he hadn't turned down my offer of help as rolling me over was no easy task as I lie blissfully dead on the table.

So, this morning I started my day out at Starbucks, or as I like to refer to it...four bucks. Since we've slipped into this little thing called a "recession," I have been limiting my visits, just a bit. Not really because I want to but it is just a little embarrassing to stand at the counter and count out four bucks in loose change- especially since they know my name down there. But this morning I splurged and ordered up a venti non-fat, three splenda cappoo and grabbed the Times and a large overstuffed, well soiled green velvet chair and settled my ample self down. I have to tell you, before long I was only using the Times as a prop. I pretended to read the paper, but actually I was checking everyone out. Yes. I was a big fat lurk- it was so much fun! I think I like lurking more than anything- other than drinking, of course! I'd have to admit, drinking gets top billing, but lurking is right below a nice glass of red. As a matter of fact, I'd like to get a job as a lurk. No silly, a real job, one where I can cash the checks. Yeah. Lurking is something I could get real good at. It is interesting, most people that you end up lurking are far worse off than you are. Oh, heck, it doesn't matter that they are dressed and have a job and you are sitting there in day old sweats that you slept in (I call that Sleep to Street wear). You will sit there, all smug and content and find the snags on their sweaters and sometimes, just sometimes, you can still see the sheet marks on their faces. Hey, don't look at me, I did not make up this whole lurking past time. All I did was jump on board. So, back to the early morning humanity at Starbucks, yeah, most of them will come in all "full" of themselves, with their Blackberry's looking all self important, as if just because they have jobs they deserve their Starbucks. They come in asking for their soy lattes and such, weilding gold AMX cards. I want to stand up and shout, "Hey, I once had a gold card, I just like my Public Library card better." But, here's the deal, if you stick around long enough (which I have done) you will start to see the cracks. The cracks show up in the "hang" time. This is the time between when they come in all fabulous twirling thier Hummer keys in the air and then when they find themselves standing there, waiting for their fancy, smanzy drink to get done. They will grab the latest coffee thermos mug and read the fine print and then put it down like they read something really objectionable, (could it have been the price tag,) I dunno. They will pick up the latest CD that is on sale and read on how they can save Africa. but in the end, all they really want is for the following words to ring out... " Half Caf, Quad, iced Grande soy, Starbucks double shot on ice, for Seth." Ahhhh caffeine.

Don't look at me!

OK, so here is my question...Am I the only one that is wondering just what they'd look like in this new airport screening method? I have seen several examples, but just like in the magazines, they are always using pretty, thin examples. I wonder just what I'd look like in the monitor? Would I be able to hear the gasps of the technician viewing the monitor? Or, like with c-scans, where I have heard if you are too grande, they can't get a good picture- would that be the case here? Oh, and God forbid, would they then pull me out of the line for a, gasp...strip search? It used to be that I hated to fly, not because I was afraid of terrorists, but because I was afraid that when all those incontinent people kept running to the restroom, they'd upset the equilibrium of the plane. Now, I have another worry, the screening process. I have to say in the past when I'd go through the screening process and they'd ask me to take off my sweater, I'd always lie and say it was one piece. I'd only say this because what ever I had on underneath was sleeveless and you have to understand this about me, I will stop only short of murder, rather then show my upper arms in a room full of strangers. And believe me, some of those woman in charge of the screening process, well, let's just say, they ought not be showing their upper arms either! So, this new screening method, what do you think? While I think we do need to do whatever we can to stop these zealots from blowing up planes, I have to say, I feel a little trepidation with this new process. You have to lift your arms up in the air, so exposed and what about my under wire? Will that present a problem? Great, next thing, they will make you take your bra off. And I have to tell you, that will stop me from flying. If I were to wake up in the middle of the night with my house on fire, that would be the first and last thing I'd grab. I'd let all those family keepsakes go up in smoke, but I'd never leave my armor behind. Haven't you seen those early morning stories on house fires? Think about it... The first thing you will notice is their lack of the bare necessities! Yeah, I picture myself running into the bushes behind my burning house and quickly slipping into my minimizer bra. I see myself emerging from those bushes, my hair on fire and my "girls" perfectly positioned for the cameras.

Bloggiedom

I tried to sleep in this morning, I really tried! Just couldn't do it, so I got up and put on the Today show and because it was only 26 degrees out (this is Florida?) I managed to snuggle back into my fabulous 500 thread count sheets surrounded by huge goose down pillows and I actually managed to doze back off. At some point I think I was somewhere between slipping on the grocery store floor, yeah, and of all places, in the ice cream isle, go figure. You know one of those, "sleep jerks"? Where you are floating off blissfully and then you slip in your dream and that "jerks" you awake? Come on, don't act like that doesn't happen to you too! I actually enjoy the little "sleep jerks", don't ask me why I do, but I always give a little chuckle when it happens to me and Oh boy, don't get me started if I see someone else do it. I used to see that happen in church. You'd see the guy ahead of you, his big head slowly sinking and then all of a sudden- JERK! Now that gives me a great big belly laugh and when in church, not the most appropriate of times! Anyhow, here it was, really cold outside of my comfort zone and I give a big jerk and come to. I hear in the background Meredith Vieira talking to this lady that took off a year of her life to basically follow Oprah's every bit of advice for the entire year AND then she wrote herself a little book about it, WWOD? For crying out loud! First we have the girl named Julie bake herself into a Beef Bourguigon and come out the other side with a movie- starring Meryl Streep and now this!

So now I have a dilemma, I have to pick someone with some celebrity status and mirror them for the year, so that I can get my book going. Who to pick...hum? I am thinking Tiger Woods is out and Charlie Sheen, well I can just see myself saying, "What would Charlie do"? Drink the entire fifth before or after he dons the handcuffs? Nah, I gotta get me someone better...Maybe Michele Obama, now that might get me the attention of the Secret Service and I have to say, because I will never achieve her upper arm strength, no. I need someone who spends a great deal of their time lunching and relaxing at the spa. Someone who thinks a chilled glass or two of sauvignon blanc at noon is the southern form of ice tea. But at the same time, I need someone who is not afraid to dirty their fingertips with a little orange Cheeto dust and someone who knows that Chik Fil-A is best eaten in the car. I need to follow the lead of a woman who knows that when you get a special little "something" at Publix, it is OK to stuff it into your purse when the bag boy is loading your groceries into your trunk. Yes, I need to channel someone who understands the despair you feel when the bag of Cameo cookies slips just outside of your reach and into the backseat. I need someone who knows that the weight loss drug Alli is poison and that Jenny is not their friend. I have to admit, it has taken me most of the morning, but I have come to the conclusion, I need someone like ME. So I guess it is back to the old drawing board again! Oh, and don't worry, the screen version of my story is not coming to any theaters near you anytime soon!