I’m a total sucker for Julie Andrews, and no, I’m not one of those cultured types who loves musicals. In fact, despise them. Once the singing commences I’m ready to grab my ears and run screaming. I’d rather shove sharpened rusty spoons into my eye sockets. You get the idea. However… I love, love, love Victor / Victoria. Julie Andrews, James Garner and Robert Preston (who is an incredibly under-rated actor in my opinion). The cast was fabulous, the story was touching and humorous, but Julie Andrews was FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. So now that I have explained why “J is for Julie” I’ll move on to the real question.
Has anyone else noticed this chick lately? Like recently. Is she a vampire? She is 76 years old. For real. Seventy-Six. I think she drinks baby’s blood. (And I’m wondering where I can score some, I don’t think I could stomach bleeding any myself, I’m not THAT sociopathic).
I’d love to say that I believe when I am 76 I will look as smoking hot as Julie Andrews, but to be perfectly honest - at Thirty-(mumble) I don’t even look that good. And Julie Andrews, if you read this, shoot me an email, let me know about the baby’s blood thing…
Stop, collaborate and listen…
Sorry… I cheated on this one a bit. I really just wanted to talk about Vanilla Ice, or Rob Van Winkle (had to Wikipedia that, does anyone actually know him by anything other than Vanilla Ice?)
So this guy has been popping up on my tv for years. All because of one song. Now, I won’t lie, I knew every step in the Ice Ice Baby video, I could do it all and rock a mic like a vandal. I tore up some living room dancing back in 1990 to him on MTV, but what I’m curious about is why he keeps doing these celebrity shows. I’m speaking particularly about the recent one I caught on DIY Network where he's flipping houses.
Somehow he has a business where he buys property, renovates it and then sells it. It’s all very high-end, million dollar homes (Maybe on A1A, Beachfront Ave). Now, I didn’t give the entire show a chance, but I did manage to catch the demolition process of a media room where it appeared his drunken and or slightly stupid friends took sledge hammers to every surface. Is this business of his valid, or is this for entertainment/reality show purposes only? I’m so intrigued I may have to give the Vanilla Ice Project another chance. It’s all I can do not to fly down to Florida and beg him for a marketing job. How easy would it be to make the business cards and billboards for his remodeling company? Buy a Vanilla Ice Home: Anything Less than the Best is a Felony.
OK, I’ll stop with the lyrics, but I think I am going to go dance around my kitchen kicking it old school to some Vanilla Ice. Maybe even some Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch or C&C Music Factory.
Word to your Mother.
Halloween is my favorite holiday. I love getting dressed up and scaring small children. I’ve always had a wonderful time at Halloween. From the early years of begging for “treats”, then the teenage years of pulling the “tricks” it’s never failed to make for a memorable event.
My most momentous Halloweens were always spent with my friend, Amanda. One year we spent the majority of the evening trying to find a boy who was a year our junior because he hit me in the back with an egg. We never did find him, however, I was fully prepared to torture him in ways that would make serial killers cringe. I still vividly remember the stinging pain of the egg hitting me in the small of my back. It was a surprisingly biting kind of hurt. Who knew eggs packed such a punch?
Around four years later, a few offensive costumes, and several dozen eggs, Amanda and I went to a Crazed Hillbilly-themed Haunted Forest with our college beaus. Mine sold me to the cast of Deliverance for a bushel of taters, two gallons of moonshine and a couple goats. In my defense, he did negotiate for some time, and from what I understand it wasn’t a bad deal. Afterwards, I was chased by another hillbilly with a chainsaw. I think I was supposed to be his young bride. Could’ve done worse…
In recent years, since I’ve become a mother that is, I dress up and humiliate my teenage son. Every year he has a giant Halloween throwdown, and I dress up. Always zombie themed. Miss Kentucky 1956 (zombie), Joan Jett (zombie), Cheerleader (zombie), you get the idea. He acts like he’s appalled, but I’m pretty sure he secretly thinks I’m the coolest. At least I’m going to assume that.
Gone with the Wind has to be one of my favorite books of all time. Not necessarily because of the romantic elements either. Let’s pick it apart for a moment. Scarlett O’Hara is a woman who exists during the time of the Civil War. A time when women weren’t supposed to… well, do anything except look pretty in some uncomfortable, giant dresses. Instead she is a strong, capable and an intelligent protagonist. All characteristics I loooove reading in a female character. Yet, to sweeten the story (for me anyway), she is also vain, self-centered, spoiled and obstinate. A lady after my own heart. Rarely do you ever read of a main character with such obvious flaws, but for me, it made her realistic… Very realistic.
Then you take her love interests… Her first husband, the idiot boy. We all had a teenage boyfriend like that. The second husband, the dull old coot, yep there’s always one of those in everyone’s closet too. Then the illustrious Ashley Wilkes, the perfect man, the boy next door who comes from a good family. He does everything right, he’s handsome and smart and charming and… Blech… the one you realize is a complete bore in his own right and so not the one you actually want. Finally Scarlett makes the realization she actually loves Rhett. The quintessential bad boy, and one of the original ones! Professional card player, blockade runner, drunk, brothel-visiting, bar fighting bad boy. Oh yes, Scarlett and I have so much in common.
The book may be almost a century old, but the themes are still relevant. Women like those swarthy types.
How does that saying go? A friend bails you out of jail, but a best friend is sitting next to you saying, “Dang, that was fun!” I have one of those. I’m not sure that would be her response though. She’s a twisted sort. I have a feeling she’d be looking around for the toughest broad in the holding cell to beat down and prove herself the ‘Alpha.’ Or she’d use a plastic spoon to start tunneling out all Shawshank style. Either way, I have no doubt she would have a shocking response to the situation. She always does.
The older I get the fewer true “old” friends I actually have. I only have a few, and the ones I do have I’ve known since elementary school. The above mentioned psychotic who knows all my deepest darkest secrets and still manages to love me, a skinny little gal I met on the school bus in third grade who has been through everything with me, and a my cousin, who I have absolutely nothing in common with, yet love dearly, maybe partly because I have nothing in common with her. If I had to fight for my life, there’s no other three I’d want on my side. Mainly because they’re all three a little insane in their own way… after all they are my best friends.
Who doesn’t have some fleeting fantasy about life in a post-apocalyptic world where plague/aliens/meteors/gamma radiation/Nibiru/World War III has wiped out all the douchebags? I know I do. It’s a lovely thought sometimes. Thinking how all those who are too self-absorbed to know how to do simple everyday tasks will be the first to be wiped out. The Real Housewives, the Jersey Shore, the idiots who call electricians to flip a blown breaker. Or, better yet… The guy who drives like crap in front of you, riding his brakes. The teacher who gives your kid a C when clearly they deserve a much higher grade for being the best and brightest child at the school. The lady in the drive-thru at Tim Horton’s who has to have each donut explained to her before she can choose her dozen, all the while holding up a line of cars behind her. I could go on… Basically, everyone that you find annoying (to me that’s 90% of the population on some days). These people all gone. It’s Red Dawn Time. Survival of the fittest. Yes, I’ve had this fantasy since I was a child when Patrick Swayze made it seem cool to go live in the forest. To this day, decades later, I still daydream about smearing grease across my face and yelling, “Wolverines!”
Now for reality. The people who would survive this type of extinction event, would be like the critters who are claimed to survive the end of the world. The cockroaches. It’s not some romantic idea of you as the last man/woman alive with your dream mate and the last remaining bottle of red wine. Do you really think when the end of the world comes it will be you and Brad Pitt / Megan Fox? No, not hardly. Life is never that lucky. You’d be stuck with the nutjobs. The Doomsday Preppers. Not the cool ones who stockpile guns and have ‘bugout’ plans. (OK, I’ll admit I’ve watched that show a couple or ten times.) The dirty hippies who think after the apocalypse everyone will want to band together, sing Carpenter’s songs and have a community garden. That would be my luck. And they would assign me the job of weaving baskets and tie-dying. Extinction event, no thank you. I like running water, getting my food from the grocery and being lazy.
Particularly, Type 1 or Juvenile Diabetes. This auto-immune disorder has had a devastating effect on the lives of millions, as well my very own family. At age six, my son was diagnosed. Now each and every day he gets a minimum of FOUR insulin injections and has to check his blood glucose by lancing his fingers at least five times. Type 1 diabetes is a life-changing event. It isn’t something that children will grow out of, it isn’t something that could have been prevented, and it isn’t something that was caused by the child or the parents. It is an auto-immune disorder, like rheumatoid arthritis or multiple sclerosis. The body’s immune system mistakenly attacks and destroys healthy tissues or cells. In this case, it destroys the insulin-producing cells in the pancreas.
There is an absolute lack of insulin, unlike Type 2 diabetes, Type 1 diabetics cannot reverse the condition by diet and exercise. This is a common misconception, and one that drives every parent of a diabetic child absolutely insane. A poor diet or sedentary lifestyle did not cause this disorder which affects our children.
More than likely you either know someone with Type 1 Diabetes, or in your lifetime you will. Below are some interesting statistics and symptoms. Please take the time to read these, someday you may find this information helpful.
Chicory Root is sometimes used as a coffee substitute or a coffee additive in many countries, even here in the U.S., particularly New Orleans. Actually, the first time I drank chicory coffee was last year while vacationing there. Located on Decatur Street is the Cafe du Monde, or as I like to think of it, my favorite place on earth. With a very limited menu of coffee and beignets, this place has managed to perfect both. The beignets are fried and covered in powdered sugar, and the coffee goes down so smooth with no trace of bitterness that I can't imagine a more perfect meal. I can only describe it as something similar to a near-death experience. Angels sang, a light shone down upon the coffee mug and I knew I had tasted heaven. And to make it even more perfect, they are open around the clock. beignets and cafe au lait at 3am? Yes, Please.
Someday, I want to own a bakery. I’m sure I’d probably hate it, when making tasty treats for fun turned into work, but I like the idea of it right now. Walking in from a long day and smelling of powdered sugar and vanilla. I can imagine giant glass and silver cases of confections lining my store, me buzzing around in a cute frilly apron as I bake in the wee hours of the morning to blaring heavy metal music.
And now I think of the twenty pounds I recently lost by staying away from all things laden with flour. I can hardly imagine owning a bakery with all those wonderful things to eat, because after only a couple months, EMS workers would have to call in someone to cut the wall out of my bakery to remove me.
I’ll bake in moderation until they come up with a diet pill that will allow me to eat cupcakes by the truckload.
Or as I like to think of it, that good friend that doesn’t mind accompanying you to the state penitentiary. I have one of these. We’ll call her “Mo.” (Mainly because that’s her name.) Mo and I have this deal worked out. You see, we both have teenage sons, and we’re both overprotective mothers. Eventually these sons, or more accurately the uncouth little skeezers who keep calling and texting them, may drive us to commit unspeakable crimes. Mo is my alibi, and I hers… and should that not work out for us, Mo is my fake prison girlfriend. She’s tougher than I am.
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