These Kids!
Every weekend,
They lay siege to the Central Point of the Kingdom,
An area known as The Couch,
And make demands of Pancakes
(with chocolate chips).
The Poor King.
He has no recourse.
He is forced into hiding,
An iPad and a small television -
His only links to the Outside World -
Until the tyranny ceases.
Or The Queen banishes The Tyrants
up to their room.
Keeping The Couch all for herself.
Poor King!
| | | |
|
I recognize that I should be doing my daily writing. Should be doing my daily workout. I should be doing my twenty minutes of daily meditation, conveniently emailed to me by the Oprah Winfrey Network.
But I am not.
Of course, it is not MY fault.
(Very few things that go wrong in my life are EVER my fault. Obviously.)
The culpable party is The Four-Day Weekend.
Few are ever able to stand up against the wiles of The Four-Day Weekend. Much like the Sirens that would lure sailors into crashing their own vessels onto jagged rock, The Four-Day Weekend beckons with an enchanting lullaby of "Staaaaay in beeeed. Plaaaaaay with your aaaaapps. Eaaaaat more iiiiice creeeeeaaaam."
The Sirens cannot be deterred.
And, of course, once all your willpower has been lost to the call of The Four-Day Weekend, there is absolutely no chance of scraping together any semblance of a productive week in the days that remain.
Willpower has been reduced to shredded bits floating atop a dark sea. A better plan of action is to just take a nap and wait for Monday morning to reappear.
Here in Honduras, Independence Day is celebrated on September 15th, a date that fell on a Sunday this year, causing local schools to observe the holiday on Monday the 16th. Apparently, the tradition also calls for a Teacher Inservice Day to immediately follow. Hence, The Four-Day Weekend.
And here, I am compelled to add, that I have no remorse for my lazy dayzz this past week. No pangs of guilt over my neglected workout sneakers. No sense of disturbance over my dusty keyboard.
I have to admit, I rather enjoyed it!
So, despite turning down a potential lunch-date, excusing myself because I "hadn't written anything in almost a week," I instead sat around all afternoon Photoshopping pics on my iPad.
Languishing.
With nary a thought as to any sense of obligation to make one single keystroke.
Now, without further ado, I give you a Pictorial Essay of......
Our First Honduran Haircuts!!!
(Isn't it truly amazing that I ever graduated college??? I know, I can't believe it either!)
As you can imagine, I had been nervous about instructing a hairdresser in a language that I barely had a grasp of. Fortunately, our neighbors here at the hotel are Latino, and were kind enough to let us tag along on their own hairdressing appointments.
First up, my Baby Girl, Lil' Miss Sunshine...
This photo is titled "Pensive in Red." They should really put it in the dictionary next to the definition of the word.
Miss Priss quickly followed, starting off with a shampoo....
.....followed by a haircut.Next up was Yours Truly. Unfortunately, I have no photos of myself at the mercy of that same shampoo lady in the above photo. But I can help you achieve your own "true-to-life" experience with a Honduran Shampoo Lady.
First, you're going to need a vegetable brush.
You know, the kind you use to scrub potatoes or carrots.
Then give that vegetable brush to the strongest man you can find in your immediate vecinity. Husbands will work, but (fair warning) they might find you a little crazy. Again.
Lay down on your bed (warn the Husband first that this is NOT what he's hoping it is) and hang your head over the side, face-up. Then, direct the Husband to scrub the back of your head with the vegetable brush using the same enthusiasm and virility he would employ to scrub the skin off of a potato.
And there you have it, your very own Honduran Shampoo Lady!
She washed. She rinsed.
Dare I say, she repeated.
(Oh, yes, you read that right. I was shampooed not once, but TWICE, by a sausage-fingered woman who has the ability to scrub her own vegetables using her BARE HANDS!)
And here was a first in my book - A Conditioner Scrub.
By this third bout with Señora Sausage Fingers, I wasn't sure I was ever going to make it out of the shampoo chair. I wasn't sure I'd even have hair left on my head if I ever did.
But as with all things, they must come to an end. My head was gift-wrapped in a white, terrycloth towel, and I was escorted to a chair where I would wait until the Hair Stylist was ready for me.
By now, Sunny had been long done with her haircut and was quickly becoming bored. So I handed her my camera, where she assured me she snapped only two pictures of this blow drying action.
Hmm, we may need to review her counting abilities a little more.
The Stylist, after drying each section, rolled the hair up as if it were wrapped around a curler, and pinned it into place. I was instructed to leave my locks in these imaginary curlers until it was time to go.
Prissy and our neighbors were still in the stylists' chairs, so Sunny and I had some more camera fun...
My mom always said I looked like Olive Oil!
(Must've been what attracted that muscle-y Sailor Husband of mine!)
"Hey, Baby! Let's take pictures of ourselves!"
"Or, you know, just you is fine, too."
And you can never go wrong with some good old-fashioned "Bet-I-Can't-Catch-You....In-A-Picture!"
After washing and scouring, clipping and cutting, blowing and drying, our Honduran Haircuts were finally finished. The pins were pulled from my invisible rollers, and a soft cloud of curls framed my face. Prissy's thick, unruly tendrils were forced to stay on the "straight and narrow." Sunny, well, still looked like Sunny.
After a quick stop at an Ice Cream Shop to reward all of our good behaivor, Honduras did what Honduras does best.
An Afternoon Downpour.
Fortunately for us, that's why God invented grocery bags.
| | | |
|
(And if you haven't had a chance to get over there yet, be sure to check out my latest post at Tidewater Women - On The Beach.)
| | | |
|
Hubby skipped town this weekend
to party it up at a friend's wedding.
Don't worry, Honey! I've got it all under control!!!
| | | |
|
And the name of the album would be...
| | | |
|
OK, first off, I have to relate to you that "hornswaggle" is, indeed, a word. No, it's not going to appear on Dictionary.com and yes, it's got a bright red line under it, per spell check, but I assure you, it IS a word. Because YPPedia's page on Pirate Language says so!
Now back to my original point.
I was scammed, I tell you. SCAMMED!!!!
I think we all know by now that I am NOT a nice person. I am mean and deceitful and petty and self-absorbed (I have a whole blog all about ME for crimeny sakes!)
But as I was doing a bit of Christmas shopping (code for buying MORE stuff for ME!), there he was. Some old, dirty homeless dude sitting in the median, smack in between Target and Wal-mart.
That's certainly nothing new. We're in California, after all, there's TONS of old, dirty homeless dudes hanging out on medians. And as a rule, I do NOT give people money out of my car window unless they deal in french fries or refried beans. There are a couple of reasons for this:
1) I do not believe in encouraging careers in panhandling.
2) I do not know where the money is going. For all I know, they've got an SUV parked around the corner. A donation to a shelter or food bank at least allows me the knowledge of exactly where my dollar goes.
3) In this day and age, you just can't be too careful. (I'm equally distrustful of well coiffed people as much as homeless ones - probably more so.)
But this scalawag (boy, pirate talk is fun!) had an evil and underhanded trick tucked up in the crook of his arm...a sweet adorable puppy dog!
Now I ask you folks, what could I do??? You know this is my Achilles heel. Cute little animals with their fates outside of their own control.
It didn't help that I once read an article about how homeless people will keep dogs as pets and feed them before they feed themselves.
But I stuck to my rule. No monies change hands while seated in my car unless a sack of grease is being handed back to me (mmmm, anyone else hungry for fried chicken?)
So I got a bag of dog food instead.
And I thought it might be rude (because, you know, ALL of humanity should be treated with proper manners!) to feed the dog and not the person, so I included a ham and cheese sandwich as well.
After all, a REAL pirate is known to work outside of "The Rules."
| | | |
|
I don't like to manipulate or play head games, but I'm going to do what every 16-year-old boy has been doing since the dawn of time!
"If you LOVE me, I mean, really, REALLY love me, you'll do it!"
OK, keep your clothes on, it's something MUCH easier then that!
Denise at RunDMT (because SHE loves me!) nominated me for Homecoming Queen in the brand new Dottie Awards over at MomDot.com. 
Having been a total nerd in high school (well, and college, and well, yeah) I am so unbelievably flattered to be considered Homecoming Queen of ANYTHING! It makes me feel pretty. And popular. And really, really cool!
So, because I am nothing if not superficial and self-involved, I'm BEGGING you to got over to MomDot and leave a comment nominating me some more. I need more nominations if I'm going to make it to the final round!
Thank you in advance. I promise to remember all you little people as I traipse around the internet in my shiny Homecoming Crown!
And speaking of The Dotties, I have another special favor to ask! Rachel at Following in my Shoes really, truly DESERVES to win one of these Dotties! I've just nominated her for Class President. And since she's trapped in Houston, probably without power for who knows how long, I'm taking it upon myself to guilt all of you into sending in some nominations for her, too! It can even be done in that same comment!
OK, so here's what you do (don't forget, this is the ONLY way I'll believe you love me!) and please do it before SUNDAY, SEPT. 14th.
Click here and copy and paste this info into the comment box and then hit "submit comment." It's just that easy!
I officially nominate Jennifer over at Happily-Ever-After-Land for the title of Homecoming Queen (which she should SO TOTALLY win because she's the greatest thing that ever hit the internet). Her blog is located at http://happilyeverafterland.typepad.com
But who I REALLY thinks deserves a prize is Rachel at She's Following in my Shoes, who would be the best Class President EVER and not some manipulative, self-possessed fashion plate like Jen. Her blog's at http://followinginmyshoes.blogspot.com/
You all are the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
| | | |
|
It is the weekend, when some of the quirky, strange thoughts rattling around my head come out of hiding and ooze out onto my blog. And what has been lurking in my just-shy-of-normal brain lately?
The election, of course.
Kind of hard to get away from.
So, yeah, Obama and old white dude. Huh. Anyone else out there feel like The Bama has lost some coolness points here? I know the die-hard BamaMamas will say no. But as the Undecide-a-ling perched up on that fence, choosing whether to be kicked by an Ass or stomped by an Elephant, I think I'm the one all these pollsters and surveyors are trying to gauge the opinion of.
And true to my superficial, I-only-like-what's-cool-and-pretty decision-making skills, I go back and forth on who's my favorite. Obama danced on Ellen, and looked hot doing it. He was my fave. Saw McCain on Saturday Night Live, OK, he can be my fave, too.
Yeah, like leaves trapped in a corner on a windy day, my preferences swirl around and around and around.
So when The Bama announced his VP choice, I cringed. I understand the rationale. He can't look TOO hip, or old people won't like him. But was that worth disenfranchising the hip, young cats who DO like him? Now, he just looks like a politician. An I'm-going-to-manipulate-this-and-tell-you-what-you-want-to-hear-till-I'm-elected politician. Bummer.
And then McCain busted out his VP choice, and I was all, that totally ROCKS! Way to go chica! You've made previous old white dude look hip! Didn't think ANYBODY could pull that off. Coolness points have most definitely gone up!
Don't get me wrong, it was not lost on me that McCain's VP pick was equally strategic. McCain desperately needs some cool points and knows it. It's just that I already see McCain as a weathered politician who recognizes the game and knows how it has to be played. Part of Obama's appeal is the idea that he's new to the game and rebelling against it. A Rebel with a Cause.
Now a Rebel with an Old White Guy.
So I'm watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report last night (cause, let's face it, that's where superficial voters get ALL their political info) and they called McCain's VP, Sarah Palin, the naughty librarian in a Cinemax movie.
What?
Why?
Because she's pretty?
Because she wears glasses?
Because she's got poufy hair?
She is obviously an accomplished woman - she's a GOVERNOR for crimeny sakes - why does she have to be degraded by white men as looking like a porn queen? Why do supposedly "enlightened" men, who center their programming on being superior to the common news show/politician/average joe insist on bashing a woman, not for her political leanings or her experience, but because she's, well, a pretty girl. Why do we continue to perpetuate this idea that a beautiful woman can be thought of as nothing more then a sex object, and an emasculated woman can have her thoughts "taken seriously?" Why does it have to be one or the other?
I think you can agree, whether your blue or red, right or left, or something in between, as women we are multi-faceted. We can be sexy, smart, mothers, hookers, beer guzzlers, martini drinkers, bible thumpers, diaper changers, hair up, down, straight, curly depending on our mood that day. We are multi-faceted, where men seem to be pretty one-dimensional.
Hubby could be happy wearing the same t-shirt and shorts every day of the week.
I relish looking at my make-up tray (on days I feel like wearing make-up!) and deciding what I want to be that day. Natural or sweet or haughty or glamorous. Because I'm all those things at once, all the time. And I think it's a damn dirty shame when a woman is forced to apologize for that.
Forced to be as one-dimensional as a man.
I'm disgusted with these shows. And if their liberal slant was trying to turn my tide their way, they are sorely mistaken. Their little rants just make me want to vote for Gov. Palin MORE!
She's bringing sexy/smart back.
And I think that rocks.
Well, McCain, too, I guess, by association.
*Disclaimer #1: I do not advocate making important voting choices based on "coolness." Taking a closer look at the candidates' platforms** is really the best way to go!
**That's "platform" as in political thoughts, not shoes!
***Disclaimer #2: Before you yell at me, letting you know that I'll be over at Newsweek renewing my subscription. I don't want to tell my daughter, when she's in her teens and has to write a paper on this election, that I based my presidential decision on who danced better with Ellen!
| | | |
|
I am a TV addict, and I am totally OK with that.
I drool at the thought of the new fall season coming up. Especially the sci-fi shows and the murder mysteries.
But there must be a screw loose in the ol' noggin, cause I do NOT partake in Grey's Anatomy. Or Lost for that matter. However, if they decide to kill off Merideth and then try to solve the crime, they will have my full attention.
If a show seems even slightly interesting to me, 9 times out of 10 I will record and watch. Because I have this personal belief that ALL television deserves watching at least once.
Oh, and don't go assuming I record with just any crappy cable DVR. No ma'am, that's not good enough for a TV Elitist such as myself. It's Tivo all the way, baby!
I have used cable DVR's from one coast to another and back again, and NOTHING compares to the awesomeness of Tivo. Nothing.
If I could marry Tivo, I would.
And we would have adorable baby remote controls.
I'm pretty sure I've seen every episode of Law & Order ever made. And Murder She Wrote. Twice.
And I heart Magnum, P.I. I married my husband because he has Magnum's legs.
What's that? You didn't know I was 80 years old? Bite me.
So here's the real reason for all my fetish TV talk. I was tagged by Mary over at Everyday Baby Steps to list seven adorably weird things about me. If you read the above, you might have noticed about seven very cute weird things about my very bizarre television watching habits. (Shut up! Hubby thinks they're cute!) If you couldn't find seven, that either means I'm not as weird as I thought (yippee!) or you are not as normal as you thought (um, well... yay?). And if you found way more the seven, you need to loosen up. I order you to take a shot of tequila, immediately!
Now who am I going to tag to do the same seven weird things list? Hmmmm, I'm going to have to pass on that one. I never mind sharing my own weirdnesses, but I draw the line at making others feel obligated to share as well. Besides, I was tagged last month and I can't think of anybody who would do it!
In other news, I was awarded once again! You are looking at the proud recipient of my second (Yes, that means I got it TWICE!!!) Brilliante Weblog Award! Let's look upon its brilliance yet again....
This brilliante award was handed over to me by Amy, fabulous blogess to I'm Living On Sunshine Street, a brilliante blog in it's own right and totally deserving of this award!
Because I so recently handed this award out to several other brilliante blogs, I thought I'd take this opportunity to pass it on to blogs that I wanted to give the first award to, but couldn't because they had received it at the same time, or blogs that are WAY too big-time to care about getting such a thing from little ol' small potatoes me.
Please check these folks out. They are funny and honest in ways that I can only dream of. (What? You think that means I'm lying to you? Hmm, guess you'll never know.) And for my brilliante winners, you are totally off the hook! Well, yeah, I mean "off the hook," as in "you're the heezy fresheezy," but I really mean that you do not have to pass this on, if you don't want to. Several of you already have, and a few of you probably won't even read my comment to know that you got one in the first place.
But if my diabolical plan works, you Big Timers will know who I am. Oh, yes... yes, you will.... Any day now.....
| | | |
|
Posted with Blogsy