"Such a Pretty Fat" and Taking Pictures of Lip Gloss

I have no less than five books going at the moment, one of which is "Such a Pretty Fat," by Jen Lancaster.

I am more motivated to finish this book because it is on another member's wish list on my PaperBackSwap.com site.  

And I'm a whore for book credits on PBS.com now, especially since my sixteen year old sent me a list of like, THIRTY, books he must read over the summer for school.  (Only ONE of which ~ Soulless, by Gail Carriger ~ I own. )

"Take him to the LIBRARY," you quip, all innocent of my devastating personality flaw which prevents me from returning ANYTHING to ANYONE  in a reasonable amount of time.  

(Note to YOU:  Don't loan me anything.)

Thirty books is a lot to barter  and/or  buy, however,  so I think that I might  drop him off at the front door of the library with some I.D. and a piece of mail with his name on it and pray there won't be a "responsible adult" question on the library card application form.    

I'm really enjoying Jen Lancaster's book.  Mostly because she has as many ~ if not more ~ character flaws than I do.    

I'm about half way through it and in it, she attempts to lose weight in order to write this particular book.  And  while attempting to do so, does a lot of introspection and talking about shoes and her highlights.  She is acerbic,  neurotic and funny.      

Actually, this excerpt grabbed me because the idea about "having one's shit together" by 30-something is something that I TOTALLY thought would happen, too.

I'm still waiting  for it to happen...and now that 40 is looming, I am thinking that "getting one's stuff together" might be not so much the passive thing that I had thought it would be.  Perhaps it something that requires much more work than I had originally anticipated....  

"I'm almost out of my thirties.  I always thought I'd have my shit together by now; I'd be thin, I'd be out of debt, I'd be nice out of habit and not just when I wanted something, and maybe I'd own a home.  Yet here I am hurtling toward the big four-oh in an overpriced rental with student loans and a paltry savings account, and when someone calls me a fat bitch, I simply accept it as a fact.  

Right now, I can live with being a renter.  I can live with being broke and fat, and I can live with being a bitch,  but the minute you add "middle-aged" to the equation, I'm afraid my world is going to collapse on itself like a dying star."    Jen Lancaster ~ Such a Pretty Fat

I'm still flailing and flopping around like a fish out of water with this damn weight thing, too.  

I did well for about two weeks about two months ago, but I hurt my foot and literally limped for a month.  For two days I was able to put no weight on it at all.  I thought it was gout at first, then the doctor thought it might be a stress fracture.  

After x-rays, and examination, she declared it to be neither.  

"So how's that imaginary foot thing going for you," Chris likes to ask.  

"It's not freaking imaginary, CHRIS,"  I shoot back.  "I hurts like a mo-fo, and I can't exercise."  

So, my weight has creeped up again, and I am looking at styles of clothing and ticking them off in my head  as unwearable.   

"Belted.  Can't wear that." 

"Jersey cotton.  Clingy.  Can't wear that."  

"Flounced waistline.  Will look effing BOVINE."  

So, I am tired of it.  I really am.   

I sucked it up and joined Weight Watchers online tonight.  The ONLINE thing is a baby step, and I don't think it will go past that online part...but I don't know.   Doing nothing isn't getting me very far .  Left to my own devices, I will be the next one kicked off of an airplane.  

I am not to be trusted with food, alcohol, and credit at Sephora.  Or any cosmetic counter.  

Any lip gloss display will do; I turn into the Tasmanian Devil.   

My el freako thing lately is that I have been taking   pictures of my lips wearing the lip glosses/lipstick and writing reviews on MakeUpAlley.com.  I take GREAT DELIGHT in doing so.  It makes me SO happy.

Why, in fact, here is one of my newest pictures ~ a Bare Escentuals lipstick in Sherbert.  

As you can see, as a nude color,  "Sherbert" barely shows up on my skin.  But then you add Pink Prosecco lip gloss, and VOILA!  

Wearable!

Dudes, seriously.

I know I am all worldly,  completely sane and intriguing and all.  But I'm taken.    Today was my eleven year anniversary.  I KNOW, right.  He's made it that long, married to me.    I'm sure when he reads this post, he'll question his decision to marry me for the millionth time in eleven years..

I'll keep you informed about the Weight Watchers thing.  And about the lip gloss colors, if you want to know.  Hehehe. 

So, since I joined tonight and will start tomorrow, I MUST finish off this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and tortilla chips.  Oh, and there was that peach cobbler I made for dessert last night.  OH...and that Godiva Chocolate mint candy bar that I was forced to buy because Maggie took a bite out of it at Dillards department store....and that Cadbury Easter egg I bought on clearance....oooooooooooohhhhhhh.

Everyone Hates Kate

Kate Gosselin showed up in this get-up at the Kentucky Derby yesterday.

I think people would be MUCH more forgiving of her fashion missteps if they didn't hate her so much.

As in, like, if you know you are a RAG who screams at your husband and kids, you try to do so in the privacy of your own home.

However, if someone would HAPPEN to show up at your door while you are screaming at your kids, well, then that is another story altogether...     

And golden rule numero UNO: Never invite camera crews into the family home to film as trainwrecks unfold.

I mean, is there a better recipe for a quick hoist up the "America's Most Hated" list with people to join the likes of Tonya Harding, Michael Vick and Kevin Federline?

I think not.

Except, perhaps, showing up at the Kentucky Derby looking like you stepped off the short bus.   That is getting a lot of negative attention today.

Poor Kate.

My Secret is Out.

Yesterday evening, our neighbor stopped by to drop off these little gifts.  A "thank-you" gift for picking up their newspapers and mail while they were away.  

   

When the rang the doorbell, I immediately thought it was Wesley's friends soliciting him to play since   no one else ever really comes to our door and it was too late for the Mormons (who we welcome ~ Chris LOVES to have them visit).  

Nevertheless,  I was annoyed;  it was 8pm. 

Wesley was sitting upside down on the couch with this legs swinging off the back.  I had told him several times to "sit correctly"  (like a hag mother would). 

I was mostly concerned, however,  because there was a full glass of wine on the side table.  

You see where I am going with this?

The doorbell rings.

Wes flies up to a seated position, legs flailing and kicks over the glass of red wine.   The wine soaks my Iphone, digital camera and the white carpet below.  

Mary Ann screams, "Wesley!!!!!!!!  Ohhhhhh EMMMM, GEEEEEEE!  Get a towel!  Get a towel,"  I yell. 

Red wine drips.  

Drips.  

Drips.  

I don't handle spills well.  I know that in life they are soooooo not a big deal, but I can't help it.  I come unglued.

"Chris!  Help me get this damn Otterbox off the phone," I screech as I claw at the contraption that is supposed to keep my phone safe.  

The problem is that my phone is never DROPPED, it is always SPILLED on.  

And I can never get it apart when I need to.  I claw at the phone cover hurling curses at it, remembering that my husband's sermon today was on swearing and not really caring.  

"And you tell Wes that HE IS NOT GOING OUTSIDE TO PLAY!"  

I look around, Wes is no where to be seen.  

"Wesley!  Wesley!  Get a towel!"

It was at this point where I heard a WOMAN'S voice outside.  

And THEN I saw it was our neighbor.   

And THEN... I saw she was bearing gifts.  

And then, I realize I am completely exposed for the bitch I really am.    

I hang my head, face burning, and walk to the door.  I also realize that I have stains down my shirt from the salsa I was just eating and since I've gained some weight I look particularly fats.   I'm a dirty fatty.   A dirty fatty beeyotch.  

And there was our angelic neighbor (of whom, depending upon who you speak to, could be sainted upon death) standing on our front step, presenting candy and bath fizzies.  

Maggie, who isn't friendly to anyone these days, ran over to her amidst the screaming and just looked into her face.  Our neighbor spoke to her calming soothing voice and stroked her hair.  

Maggie beamed.  

Which was amazing because Maggie had cried most of the day.  Her ears are bothering her again and she has croup for the millionth time.

I decided to be more conscious of keeping the bitch in check.  The phone is still working.  Wes did a good job at scrubbing the wine out of the carpet.  

And I'll just have to remember to see who is at the door BEFORE I come unglued.  

One neighbor knows...I can't let the rest of the neighborhood be privy to my dirty secret.  They all think I'm a pretty nice person...which, of course, I mostly am not.   

   

Quelles Horreurs de Poop

I, among other billions of parents, believe my daughter is exceptionally bright.  

Maggie just turned three and has been reading for a few months now.   I accredit this to my slacker attitude to the Your Baby Can Read Program.

I started it at about 17-18 months with her and was faithful with it for a while, then would forget for weeks at a time.

What this program did for her was begin her mind thinking about words as symbols with bigger meanings than just scribbles on papers or images on billboards.

It sparked something in her brain that is going to be useful to her for the rest of her life.   Reading is now a game to her.

I often find her sitting and reading books to herself which warms my heart.

She is bright.  She is beautiful.

However.

She has a base obsession with poop that is more than disturbing to me than some of the things that come out of the mind of Eli Roth.

She   sticks her finger down her diaper, collects it, then wipes it on our couch.  Just about every chance she gets.

~I must take this opportunity to inform any of you who might visit in the future or may have visited in the past, that she does this with the SLIP COVERED furniture in the children's playroom.  Slip covers, thank GOD, are washable.   You would have not, or will not unwittingly sit or have sat on the poop, put your hand on the poop, etc. ~

In the past, when I heard  stories of children smearing shit on walls, I would die a little bit inside, then shudder, gag  and thank the Lord that neither of my boys had that issue.

I also used to question other people's parenting skills when they told me their children colored on walls, or escaped outside when mommy was in the shower.  

Now, I am sitting amongst poop smears and we are needing to install more J-locks to our doors because she still bolts at every chance she gets ~ sometimes partially clothed.   I have just recently painted over the neat, vertical pen and pencil marks that covered every wall of the loft area of our house.  

The exact MOMENT we painted the area a warm, happy gold color and framed an area with chalkboard paint for her to "express herself," she stopped with the vertical lines.

These kids, particularly Maggie, have humbled me.

Especially when I am dealing with this girl's shit ~ literally ~ on a daily basis.  In ways I never dreamed I thought I would.

Rose Pictures...Miscellaneous Pictures

I was away for several days, and came home to an explosion of roses in my yard.   

Thought I would share some pictures with you (had to take the pictures with my IPhone...couldn't find the memory card for my camera)! 

A Hybrid tea I picked up a couple months ago. 

Sally Holmes

Sally Holmes

Memorial Day Rose

Memorial Day

Mrs. B.R. Cant, Instagram Enhanced

Mrs. B.R. Cant, original Picture

A Closed Mrs. B.R. Cant

Snowy hanging basket!

Maggie and me, Easter Sunrise Service at the Beach.  <3

The Royal Wedding and Space Shuttles

 I said I wouldn't, but I did.

As Maggie screamed for Dora, I turned the Royal Wedding on just in time to see the kiss.

 Maggie was so pissed, she eventually bit me.

But I couldn't help it; my curiosity could not be quelled.

And since I'm watching the Tudors ~ a stunningly accurate portrayal of weddings and English royalty (cough) ~ I found the titles interesting as I watched the replay of the arrivals.     I teared up as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were announced.

As if that has ANY bearing or impact on my life, WHAT-SO-EVER.

As my life carries on today, my house will need to be cleaned because it smells like a gerbil cage again.  My parents are coming up from Orlando to celebrate Maggie's birthday.

Her birthday was actually on Tuesday and  we have been celebrating all week.  This  is becoming astoundingly confusing to my now THREE year old.  Her birth-DAY has turned into a birth-WEEK.   The gifts keep coming.

I will wear the new Mossimo top I found on clearance yesterday.    There is no hint of antique lace, and unfortunately there is no tiara.  We will go see the shuttle launch from the Intracoastal bridge.

Maggie, on the other hand, received a tiara for her birthday.

 Perhaps I will borrow it later, pop a bottle of champagne later...and pretend that I'm a Duchess, too.

Football is Stupid. Especially on Thursdays.

I had 3/4's of a good day.

Maggie went to school this morning.  I came home and worked in my garden.

I planted my antique roses I received from Rose Petals Nursery ~ a place I dream about in my pleasantest of dreams.

Souvenir de la Malmaison

I planted a Maggie rose, a Souvenir De La Malmaison, two Clotilde Soupert, Cl. roses, and a Peggy Martin.  I still have a Maman Cochet to plant.

I moved a jasmine plant to make room for the Souvenier de la Malmaison, and dug out some other plants...moved things around.

And let me tell you~ summer has come to Florida.  Wow.  I was sweating like a stuck pig.  Not pretty.

I laid down and read a bit of this awesome book that I have been working on:

 Every book of Sarah Waters that I have read so far has been extraordinary, in a quiet sort of way.

So, I was reading, then I dozed off a bit.

And... after a shower, Wes and I went to Goodwill and some various fun stores (fun for me; not so much fun for him).  

It was "Take Your Child to Work" day and Chris took him for part of the day.  Then he brought him home to me.    I took him shopping and "browsing" with me, because that is what I do.  And you would have thought someone was killing him.   

I was looking forward to getting the kids to bed, and relaxing with a nice glass of Pinot Grigio and enjoying some Thursday night programming .

I didn't expect that the NFL Draft would be on tonight.

These little sports specials always sneak in at moments that kill my joy.    And this particular NFL draft is  an anathema to me anyway:  how can an association that may not even be FUNCTIONING this fall, have a celebratory and drunken fan draft?

At one point at the beginning, enraged fans began chanting and booing when  the NFL commissioner came onstage.

Now, **I** thought it would have been an entertaining draft to have all of them continue with their heckling and insults, only to have the police called and have them all arrested.  Now THAT would be something worth watching.

The commissioner kept saying "I hear you, I hear you,"  like a dumbass. Of course he could hear them.  The three hundred pound Packer fan with a hunk of cheese on his head in the front row is a tad hard to NOT hear.

It was shortly after this that I poured myself the rest of the Pinot and resigned myself to my room.

(Actually, I squeezed what was left out of the bladder.  We is BOXED wine folk round heah, y'all.)  

I'm going to find an scary movie on my Netflix instant queue and watch it, because I can.  

I hate football.

Monkeys Are From Hell

I came across this video on Stumble Upon.

So Many Monkeys

I know people are all, like, "ohhhh, monkeys are so cuuuuute," but this is so very, very disturbing.

I think about what I would have done in a situation like this.   I would definitely not have been sporting a smile.

Perhaps this dude was crying inside;  I would have been.

Firstly, to have that many live beings jump on me would have been the  tactile equivalent of an unequivocally caustic panic attack.  I mean, I don't even like Chris touching me that much, let alone crawling all over me.

That many monkeys jumping at me at one time would have put me in the funny farm with an I.V. drip of Xanax for at LEAST a month.

Secondly, who knows where those monkey feet have been?  Or mouths.  Or fingers.  They stick those things in unseemly places.

My dad's M.A.S.H. unit in Vietnam had its own monkey as a "pet."  It used to routinely drink beer and hop on the shoulders of people in the camp to pick for lice.

I don't have to say any more to get the point across that this video freaked me the hell out.

So Many Monkeys

Unintentionally Timely

Why, when I posted about the Tudors a few weeks ago and the easy-on-the-eyes cast, including the British actor Henry Cavill, I didn't realize how timely my post was.

Although I was, again, completely in the dark about his new role as "Superman" in the new flick coming out in 2012 until about two seconds ago, I'm UBER giddy.

Because, please admit it,  he just LOOKS like Superman.  And I can't WAIT to see him in a suit and dork glasses as Clark Kent.

As my friend Heather would say: "Meow."

What We're Watching....

This is what we're watching, only about three years behind.  

And I just love this picture.  For some reason.  

Jonathan Rhys Meyers is yummy....normally.

But he is totally a grease-ball this season.  And he has a gaping wound that festers maggots.  Yet he scored a Heidi Klum Look-alike.   I thought for SURE she was Heidi Klum.

But.... I IMDB'd her, and Her name is Charlotte Salt.

This is a really great show, though.... I recommend that you start at season 1 on Netflix or Blockbuster.    I learned a little bit about history, mixed in with a lot of rated "R" scenes.     In my opinion~ the best way to learn about history.  

I'm sure they weren't all this pretty....