A Pirate’s Life for Me…Not.

June 18, 2011 § Leave a comment

I know loads of people who sweat Johnny Depp like it’s their job.  I get it, sort of.  I mean he is brilliantly talented and mysterious and unassuming in the sincerest of ways.  His life with Vanessa and the kids in France sounds magical, and I’ve still never gotten over “Winona (Wino) Forever.”  But I can not look at Captain Jack Sparrow without being utterly skeeved.  I just want to hide in the gallows with some makeup remover and take care of business.  I suppose this makes me a loser at suspending disbelief.  My apologies to Rob Marshall.

Pirates have been a longstanding favorite of the wouldgies, always rekindled with the release of a new “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie.  We have dress up, all kinds of books, action figures and soon to be the newest Lego series, since Wouldgie big has birthday money to lay down.  We went to see the latest one at the theater tonight, which means that I  will awaken to swashbuckling before I can hit the coffee pot.  This also means that Wouldgie small will dig out one of his favorite nonfiction doozers, which shows page after page of gangrenous pirate limbs.  Jealous much?

Certainly, I’ll hear the quotes from one pretty cute pirate book that I’ve read at eleventy hundred bedtimes.  Make that the embellished quotes, now that they are 9 and (almost) 7.

“Pirates don’t brush their teeth.”

“Pirates don’t eat their veggies.”

“Pirates can fart whenever they want!  And they don’t have to say excuse me!  And their Mama never tells them that she’s getting ready to get all 70119 up in here.”

“Boys, that’s because pirates don’t have Mamas.  They are ALONE at sea with NO ONE to make them snacks or pack their swim bags or tuck them in.  Not to mention help them with their syphillis and scurvy.”

“We still wish we could be farting pirates who don’t have to wear unders.”

Happy Father’s Day, Mister.  Today, the credit’s all yours.


If your maiden name is Joubert, and there’s a Saint’s helmet on your car…

June 16, 2011 § 1 Comment

It’s said that if you pay close attention, the universe will send you messages.  You need to be open, of course, but there is a theory that if you are presented with someone/something over and over, then perhaps it warrants investigating.  If this is true, then the universe is telling me that I need to start watching “Swamp People“.  It’s positively Eckhart Tolle, I swear.  Now, this might be because my people come from South Lousiana.  And since NO ONE here knows anyone from South Lousiana, it’s fair to assume that the toothless alligator hunters trolling the bayous in John boats are my cousins.  So then of course, I would find this program so enjoyable that I would become overwhelmed with the nostalgia of my childhood, and call up ole Gaston (if he had a phone).  I also probably could get by without the subtitles.  THERE ARE SUBTITLES FOR THE CAJUNS!!  I might have perforated an organ sprinting to the DVR.

Now I don’t think I have an accent to speak of, but I do sort of feel like a fish out of water.  Living here, everyone has a MUCH more pronounced drawl than me, so I’m usually asked if I’m even from the South.  When we moved to Northern Virgina when I was in high school, my new friends sounded like polished East Coasters (even though we were technically beneath the Mason-Dixon line).  I spent a few years there picking up little nuggets like “you guys” and “soda” (and also peg-rolling my black jeans, dear God Allmighty).  By the time I found myself in Bloomington, IN, I somehow earned the Southern Belle reputation.  This had less to do with my delicate constitution, and more to do with the fact that I had Aunt Jules as a sidekick.  Now while she’s lovely and literate and so very competant, the fact remains that she sounds like a South Philly steelworker.  So in comparison, I’m sure I seemed more the Scarlett of the two.

I have a feeling that this show may become highly quotable in the immediate future.  Lucky, lucky mister.

My so-called blog

May 11, 2011 § 1 Comment

I know I keep taking these blog-cations, and it’s really bothering my follower.  Sorry Trey!

(I’m pretty sure my Mama has even given up on me by now.  There’s always Farmville.)

Lucky for me (and Trey), I’ve decided to revisit these parts.  These are the things I’m crushing on this very sec.

1.  The Bravo network.  Anything the Real Housewives are selling, sign me right up.  The New Jersey premiere is Monday, AND it’s 90 minutes long.  I’ve never taken an Ambien, but I’m pretty sure I’ll need one after that.  Plus, Andy Cohen is my gay, celebrity bf.  The Mister needs a moment.  Perpetually.

2.  “Bethenny Ever After” (also courtesy of Bravo) is my happy place.  She’s my kind of crazy, and I think I’ve really made some breakthroughs with her shrink.   Not to mention her Skinnygirl Margarita.  It’s the shizzle for rizzle.

3.  HIIT (High Intensity Interval Training).  After years of pounding the pavement, I’ve decided to try mixing it up.  It makes me cuss out loud in the gym, but it’s over in about 18 minutes.  And I’ve only fallen once!

4.  Pandora Radio…Let me clear my throat.  Pandora is my life.  Pandora takes me back to Bloomington, IN and my Kurt Cobain dye job.  Or, if it’s not that kind of party, it can find me recreating this number in the study.

5.  Kombucha.  I stumbled onto this drink 2 years ago, and I’m hooked.  I haven’t met another soul who can stomach it, but I’m stoked that it’s back on the shelves since the recall.  Good talk.

Hoo-boy, I’m on a roll now, n’est pas?

Randy Jackson called…

February 8, 2011 § 2 Comments

He wants his glasses back.

Sorry, Dawg. 

I’m one of those people who is just blind enough.  Like, I can wake up in the night and find the bathroom and the wouldgies and the valentine’s candy just fine, but night driving  is a no-no.  So is TV watching, basketball spectating and really anything that requires me to make out your face.  No, not make out with your face.  This ain’t that kind of blog.  Being that my glasses were 3 years old,  the peepers were in need of a serious tune-up.  And baby, I feel like the Mack Daddy of vision.  Eyesight.  It’s SO handy.

I realize I haven’t been so bloggy on the spot of late, but I can’t stop cleaning now that I’ve discovered all this dust.  And E. coli.  Any wonder wouldgie small has the flu?  We’ve been living in a petri dish of neglect for the past 365 days. 

Happy Anniversary, Creek. 

YOU were a good idea.

A love note

January 19, 2011 § 6 Comments

Dear Mister,

Please stop telling everyone we know that we are getting “just a couple” of longhorn cattle. 

Because. We. Ain’t.

Now I appreciate the fact that you’ve done some, um, research, and I’m stoked that the whole “charge at the color red” thang is just an urban legend.  I mean, since wouldgie-big is really partial to that Adidas hoody and all.  I’m sure they are just as “low maintenance” as your sources claim, and they would be clam happy in the pasture for evermore.  The pictures you showed me ARE adorable, especially since you know what a sucker I am for a big wet nose.  Oh, and the comparison to Pioneer Woman was rich.

Still and all, I’m afraid that I can not get on board with the idea of LIVE-FREAKIN’-STOCK in my front yard.  Period.  End of report.

(Although this would give me enough material to tell writer’s block to stick it.  Forever.)

Big kiss,

Your Betrothed

Live from the Pokey

January 18, 2011 § 2 Comments

Oh Universe, you’re an absolute laugh riot.  Today marks the return to life as we know it, didn’t you get the e-mail?  Of course you did.  You’re just enjoying this little game called “Let’s screw with Amy.”  Can’t you just watch Modern Family or something?  Sofia Vergara has a WAY better rack anyway.

The wouldgies have returned to school, and I’m ready to get back in the swing of things. (Translation–waistbands, concealor and children that don’t look parent-less).  My bum knee is on the mend, and Target is mine for the taking.  Howevs (and this is where the universe starts wetting its pants), guess who comes down with strep throat on Sunday?  And the Mister!  We ran some tag-team parenting maneuvers for a day or so, the meds kicked in and then off to the races.  Not.

Turns out, the shutters that were ordered back in November have decided to debut today, which means that I have to be home to sign for them.  Now these babies don’t come UPS or anything straightforward like that.  These guys are considered freight and delivered by a semi-truck.  That has to turn around in our driveway.  That has been covered in snow and ice for 8 days.  And I might have to be the one to guide him out of here, because the Jaxy girl is too busy chewing the shoelaces off of wouldgie-big’s new Pumas. 

It was July the last time this driver came out to the creek.   It happened to be the same day that 2 of the sweetest fellas were installing the HVAC unit upstairs.  I worried about them the whole time, because I could not live with myself  if these guys died in my attic.  I was forever holding up 3 fingers and asking them their Mother’s maiden name and squirting them with the hose.  They were awfully good, sweaty sports about the whole thing, and it was all I could do not to invite them over for Christmas.   (The Mister gets funny about these things, so I did it in my head).  So when the driver showed up, my heating and air besties helped him unload the beast of a box and directed him back to the road, without wiping out a single tree or boulder.  

Mister:  You know that truck is going to really mess up the driveway, right?

Me:  Mmm-hmmm.

Mister:  Maybe you could tell him to unload it on the dolly and wheel it in from the road?

Me:  Well maybe I shouldn’t get all up in this man’s BUSINESS and tell him how to do his J-O-B.

Mister:  Yes, because that’s SO unlike you.

Snow What?

January 12, 2011 § 2 Comments

Welcome to the 10 day weekend, folks.  Thanks to the 4 inches of winter that accumulated 3 nights ago, we the people of Lexington County have been waiting for the thaw.  Throw in some Teacher Work Days and a National Holiday, and you get hours upon hours of unstructured family time.  Par-tay!

Today the wouldgies and I braved the elements and left the creek.  When I went out to start my car, I realized that I don’t own an ice scraper or any reasonable facsimile thereof.  As I stood there karate chopping my windshield, I heard Nurse Emily’s voice in my head.  She would call it the voice of reason, but she’s a little show-offy like that.  She kind of lectured me about my weather ineptitude, and reminded me about the time (times?) that I had to dig out with a collander when I lived in the midwest.  

So this gets me thinking about creature comforts.  Everyone has their own definition of must-haves, and I’m endlessly fascinated at what makes the cut.  The Mister will wear the same sweat pants for 8 years, but collects baseball caps like it’s his job.  Nurse Emily?  Total weakness for THE MOST EXPENSIVE SOCKS ON THE PLANET, but won’t shell out for mascara.  I’m pretty picky when it comes to scented candles, printed napkins and handsoap, but I may not own an umbrella.  I have no use for a smartphone, a Wii or a proper sewing kit.   If it wasn’t for Greg, we would own nary a battery, flashlight, screwdriver or extension cord.  He’s a keeper, that one.

So we three made it out of the driveway and to the new Pubbers.  I might have twirled around the bakery like Maria in the Sound of Music, but only the wouldgies would know for sure.  And really?  I don’t think they even notice any more.

My Southern Snowmen

Can I have a cookie now?