Call Me Mrs. Jones

I’ve made it clear that I love my husband.  And I do.  But now.  I really love him.

You should’ve seen it.

We’re in the kitchen last night, cooking a late dinner.  A late late dinner.  Like, 9:00 late.  I know.  But sometimes it’s just like that.  It’s called kids.  And dogs.  And maybe a big, late tortellini lunch.  That was scrumptious and alfredo-y and mmm mmm good.  With garlic bread.

What was I saying?  Oh, right.

So we’re in the kitchen last night, cooking a late dinner, when a moth flitters by and goes into one of those spaztastic freakouts that moths have, on the wall, above the stove.  It was shooting around, jumping and dodging that invisible bat that must be chasing it when all of a sudden BAM!

My husband, out of nowhere, in one, swift, gallant movement, pinned the moth to the wall with the tip of a pearing knife.  By its wing.

Me:  Dood.  That was like Indiana Jones in real life.

Chris:  What?  Heh heh.  Nah.

Me:  No, seriously.  You’re like Indiana Jones!

Chris:  Heh heh.

*head begins to inflate*

Me:  That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen you do.

*head is getting bigger*

Chris:  Heh heh.

Me:  Just call me Mrs. Jones!

Chris:  Heh heh.

*Man your stations, Men!*

He vacuums, he cooks, he wrestles the kids, he plays ball with the dogs, he’s a tattooed Hoss of a man and I love every single molecule of him, but that?!

Wuz seksi.

Sometimes It’s Just Too Easy

Ignorance runs rampant around my workplace.  It often runs in the form of half-shaven, mullet-rockin’, twangy country boys who display their own, personal vocabulary and farmin’ sense of style.  And by sense of style, I mean a discernation between the wadded up pile of jeans and flannels that is clean versus the wadded up pile of jeans and flannels that “smeals lak a hurse cum along an’ dropped a turd onit.”

Now don’t get me wrong – we have a handful of gentleman-ly country boys who are so uber-cute that you could just eat their boots with a spoon.  And some tall, dark and handsomes that bee-bop around these parts looking like they just jumped off the bull and into your dreams.  With chaps.

Unfortunately, they are the minority.

Our company recently filed Chapter 11 bankruptcy.  This caused the Uprising Of The Country Boys, not to be confused with Deer Season.

“Wut does this mean?  Are we gunna get paid?  Kin I still take muh vaykayshun days fer huntin’?”

Legally speaking, Chapter 11 leads to a reorganization of the company and a restructure of budgetary allowances.  However, this is what one of the genius country boys came up with:

Country Boy:  Erebody’s wurred ’bout erething, talkin’ ’bout this an that and bankrupsee.  I told ‘em ta be calm; that it wasna a bankrupsee, it was a reconstrukshun.

Me:  But it is a bankruptcy and it’s a restructure, not a reconstruction.

Country Boy:  Yeah.  Das wut I tol’ ‘em.

In addition to these kinds of regular conundrums, we also receive calls from those lovely call centers in India or Bangladesh or Ookabooka or wherever the hell they’re at.  Today, I received one of those calls:

Caller: Hello.  This is Rrrrrrrrrryan.  Can I please speak with your complaint department in rrrrrregards to a home I am investigating with water damage?

Me:  Both of our service representatives are on the phone at the moment, Sir.  Would you like to hold?

Caller:  No.  Could I please just get your mailing address?

Me: 4055 US 401……….

Caller:  Could you spell that please?

[crickets]

Me:  *snicker* Sure. *snicker* 4-0-5-5-U-S-4-0-1

Caller:  OK, thank you.

I love where I live.  It’s never boring.  My daughter’s selection of suitors*, however, has me a bit worried.

*I special-ordered mine from Denver, CO.  Worth every penny.

Hot Topics Friday……On Tuesday

Boy, this “regular posting on Friday” thing is really going well……..

TOP STORY: I MIGHT BE A WEINER

My favorite city girl rancher wild horses socialite EVAR, Ree Drummond a.k.a. The Pioneer Woman, has been giving away some uber-awesome tidbits over the past couple weeks that have had my mouth salivating at cow-chewing-cud levels.  And if you don’t know who I’m talking about, then you need some serious overhauls on your outlook on true love, cooking, Basset Hounds and calf nuts.  Seriously.

First, it was the RED KitchenAid mixer.  I didn’t win it.  Then it was the Nikon CoolPix.  I didn’t win it either.

Now, if you know anything about me or my life, then you know that either one of these would have MADE. MY. YEAR.  Especially that awesome KitchenAid mixer.  Did I mention it was RED?  YES, RED!  (Cuz The Cakery cakes taste soooo much better when made with a RED mixer.)  I don’t know what it is about me or my mother, but WE LOVE RED STUFF IN OUR KITCHENS.  And in my case, black or stainless steel.  Mind you, red doesn’t exactly match my Tuscan winery look I’m going for, but I love red kitchen appliances nonetheless.  One day I will have a black, red and white kitchen and it will be FABULOUS.  Complete with that hip black/white checkered linoleum that takes it to that 50’s diner-esque world that encompasses all things fried and greasy.

My cup of tea here, people.

THEN the Nikon CoolPix.  My husband brought his work camera home (that just so happens to be a Nikon CoolPix) and I fell in lurve.  It puts my Canon PowerShot to shame.  This camera is all HD and ZOOM and BOOYAH I SEE THAT BOOGER FROM OVER HERE! and I might want to hide it so he can’t take it back to work.

So, as I was saying, I didn’t win either one.  Poo.  But I know she’ll have even more awesome giveaways in the near future and I, for one, will be all over that mess like white on rice on a paper plate in a snowstorm.  Also, calf nuts.  So, yeah.

IT’S DECEMBER……LIKE, CHRISTMAS IS IN TWO WEEKS…………..DID YOU KNOW THAT?

So I’m not at all the type to do early Christmas shopping.  In fact, I love the urgency of shopping mere days before Santa graces my chimney.  However, it just occured to me that it is approximately 17 days before Christmas and I haven’t so much as ordered Christmas cards. (I know I never send Christmas cards, but it was totally on my 2009 New Year’s Resolution List so I have to at least do it so that the WHOLE list didn’t go to shit.  I need at least ONE thing to get done.  I didn’t lose weight, I didn’t write, stamp and send thank you notes, I didn’t quit cussing and I forgot that I was trying to be all glass-is-half-full about things like toddler temper tantrums, dog poo in the carpet and kid poo in the……..carpet.)  I haven’t bought the first present. (In fact, I still have my mom’s Christmas present from LAST year because I held it hostage in an attempt to lure her below that aforementioned Mason Dixon line.)  I’ve not even planned my baking list and that’s bad.  Because all my gifts to coworkers this year are supposed to be baked.  Says me.  And my 2009 New Year’s Resolution List.  Oh, and the bank.  Cuz the money you were supposed to send?  Is missing.  Send more.

Crap.  I’m gonna have to consume a lot of wine in order to complete that list.  Crap.

MATT LEFT FOR AFGHANISTAN

Who is Matt, you ask?  Matt is Jen’s husband.  Matt is an Army platoon Sergeant.  Matt is obsessed with his yard.  I”ve seen Matt edge out his front sidewalk on his hands and knees with a small handheld garden spade.  Matt is dedicated to grass.  His grass.  Do. not. walk. on. the. grass.

Matt is also brave.  And courageous.  And fighting for our freedom.  So say a prayer.  For him, while he’s defending our country and for his safe return.  And for me and Eddie, Amy’s husband, when Matt comes home in July to find “Welcome Home” sprayed into his yard with RoundUp.  :0)

CHRISTMAS IS IN, LIKE, TWO WEEKS!

Did you realize that?

THE TWISSION

Be not disheartened.  I shall crack him.  He will respond.  I will be relentless.  (insert “Eye Of The Tiger” here)

If you don’t hear from me for a few weeks days, don’t worry.  I’m probably 6 bottles of Zinfandel in and trying to bake peanut butter balls.  With hershey kisses in them.  For Christmas.  THAT’S IN TWO WEEKS.

HO HO HO!

S*&ts and Giggles, Er….Googles

I Google everything.  Like, everything.

What is a home remedy for dog poo in carpet?  How many raisins is two scoops?  Where can I (or a certain someone I know coughAmycough) buy a camouflage men’s thong?  Do women in Africa really run around with their boobies exposed?  What hotel are the NKOTB staying in and where can I find a map of the building?  Can you OD on macaroni and cheese? Can you OD on coffee?  What does it mean if you pee blue?  What color are albino polar bears?  If I run over a student driver, how many points will go on my license?  What the hell is a disco stick? 

Now Google has this great new feature.  All you have to do is type in the first few words of your inquiry and a bunch of suggestions will appear in a drop-down menu to help you decide what it is that you really want to find out.  Ya know, the stuff you’ve always wondered about.

Ahem…….allow me:

What I typed: Why can’t……

Google result:  …..I own a Canadian?

What I typed:  Why won’t……

Google result:…….my parakeet eat my diarrhea?

What I typed:  How come I……..

Google result: ……..can’t miss a woman like I miss court dates?

What I typed: Why does…….

Google result: …..poop float?

What I typed:  Is there…………

Google result: ………any way I can get this popular guy to get me pregnant?

What I typed:  Why………..

Google result: ……….is there a dead Pakistani on my couch?

What I typed:  How many cupcakes…….

Google result:  ……..can I eat before my lungs collapse?

What I typed:  How often…….

Google result: ……can I take Plan B?

What I typed:  I found some…….

Google result: …..pills and ate them.

What I typed:  How come my……..

Google result: …….poop smells like moth balls?

What I typed:  The baby……..

Google result:  ………is not mine.

What I typed:  I………

Google result:  ……like to tape my thumbs to my hands to see what it would be like to be a dinosaur.

What I typed:  Every so often…….

Google result:  ……..I like to stick my head out the window look up and smile for a satellite picture.

What I typed: I picked……..

Google result: ……..the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.

What I typed:  My mother said…..

Google result:  …..not to put beans in my ear.

And so on and so on.  So, you see, I’m not the only one who goes to Google for everything.  And by everything, I mean everything.

Team Boy In The Lobby

New Moon, Oh Em Gee.

All I have to say is Chris Weitz can give Catherine Hardwicke a big, fat “Nah nah nah nah nah” because he? Is gifted.  He managed to prop me atop the fence, one leg on both sides, questioning my vampidelity.  Cuz that werewolf? Can roll around in the woods with me any day.

Any. Day.

The plot was coherent, the acting refreshing, the abs were…..galore.  And not just any abs.  The screen covers the entire wall, so……..BIG abs.  Big, tanned, shiny abs.  And biceps.  And calves.  Even the fingers looked like muscles.  GAWD, I’m sweating again.  Jen, Amy & I drooled puddles.  Michele still prefers tear ducts over sweat glands.

It was everything we thought it would be.

THEN.

You know how sometimes, on a really good day, you stop and think “Man, I’m having a really good day!” and then God gives you just one more little dollup of Cool Whip atop your Good Day Pie?  Well.  God gave us the whole friggin’ tub, Y’all.

We were coming out from doing the obligatory post-movie pee just before exiting the theater and walking the quarter mile back to the car when a mighty ray of sun shone down from the Heavens as if to say “Liz, please, have one more dollup of Cool Whip.  On me.”

Right outside the restroom door stood a replica of Taylor Lautner.  Complete with zip-up hoodie, iPod, bronzed skin and a chin cleft.  And Folks, he wasn’t cardboard.

ME:  “Holy Hell.  Did you see him?”

Don’t ask me who I was talking to.  Luckily, Jen was walking right next to me and yes, she heard me and yes, she saw him.

Insert the hormones and giddy laughter of two 15-year-old girls.

ME & JEN:  “Amy!  Did you see him?!”

AMY:  “Mmm hmmm.  Sure did.”

(She was so nonchalant, like Coooool Amy.  On the inside, though, she was all “Oooooooo, Sookie!  Come to Mama!”  Trust me.  It’s just that, unlike Jen and I, Amy and Michele like to wear their morals on their sleeves.)

By now, not only have we turned around to catch another glimpse, but we’ve noticed that he’s no less than 5 feet behind us, walking in the same direction.  Close enough for our insides to turn to Jell-O.  Jen, Michele and I left the rest of our party to get the car and pick them up at the curb.  I had to glance at my left ring finger more than once on the way as a reminder that I am not in any position (or age bracket) to be swooning like this over a teenage boy.  But GAWD HE WAS PURTY!  The kind of purty that makes you want to slap your mama.  Twice.

No lie, we all but ran to the truck, blazed down the parking lot and whipped through a U-turn just to see if he was still standing there.  All 17 years of him.

He wasn’t.

We decided his parents must have picked him up already.

So, yes, New Moon was scrumptious and yes, we’ll be at the midnight feature when Eclipse comes out and yes, we’ll be going to the same theater and yes, I’ll totally get a stalker pic of him with my camera phone if I see him again.

Good God in Heaven, I love Cool Whip.

 

A List Of My Blessings – Which Don’t Include Money – So Send Some If You Want To

Turkey Day, Turkey Day

Full O’ Pie And Yams And Beans

I Shall Stuff My Pretty Face

‘Til I Can’t Zip My Jeans

By: Liz

 

I lovelovelove the holidays.  They have always meant more to me than just food and presents.  OK, that’s a lie.  They have always meant more to me than just presents.

Every year, I’ve been blessed to have a huge family, whether the one I was born into or the one I’ve made for myself, to celebrate with and reflect with on all the things for which we are thankful.  It goes without saying, though Thanksgiving is about saying, that I’m so very grateful for my health, happiness, husband, children, parents, siblings, friends and pets.  All of them make my life worth living each and every single day.  Without them, my universe simply does not thrive and I do count these precious blessings on more than one occasion every year.  I count them every day.  I’m grateful for the many opportunities, both personally and professionally, that I’ve been given and an humbled by the love that I receive from every angle, everywhere I turn.

That said, here are some things that I don’t give thanks for every day, but that contribute to the thriving of said universe:

• Coffee.  Sweet nectar of life.  I rejected you so many times in my youth, yet you persisted.  You are there when I need you, never let me down and are seldom weak.  Unless Chris makes you.  Then you need an extra scoop in the filter.  If he can’t handle the heat, he needs to get out of the kitchen.  Amen.
• Size 12 jeans.  You are the most faithful friend I’ve ever had.  Even when I’ve left you stranded in the closet for, oh, a couple years.  Or four.  Please understand that I’m not ignoring you.  In fact, I’d love nothing more than to reacquaint my waist, ass and thighs with your lovely, devotional comeradery.  I know you believe in me.  You stare at me, longingly, every morning.  Waiting.  I’ll come back for you.  I promise.
• Twilight.  Oh, the passion we share, you and I.  You take me to another world when I need it the most.  You hold your grasp on me, even when the children are screaming and the house is on fire.  Your intense grip on my heart is blinding sometimes.  When I’m with you, I see nothing else.  Not even the smoke pouring out of the oven.
• Jonathan Knight.  RAWR.
•  Restraint.  You’ve taught me a very important lesson over the past year.  Without you, there would be one less self-absorbed, brash, arrogant, woe-is-me Receptionist Secretary at the office.  And one less Human Resource Manager.
• Autumn.  You brought me to my happy place, Sweat Pants, and rescued me from the deep, dark enemy, Bathing Suits.
• Smirnoff Green Apple Vodka.  When we’re together, I’m suddenly skinny, fit and ready to run a marathon.  You inspire me.
•  WalMart.  What would I do without you?  If it weren’t for your steadfast presence, I would have to drive to four different stores for all my household wants and needs.  And how could I turn my back on something that provides me endless entertainment in the form of half-dressed fat girls in denial and old men in go-go boots, thongs and black mesh tops?
• Harnett County School Bus Number 327.  You keep my blood pumping.  Every. Single. Morning.
•  Post-It Notes.  When all else fails, you are there to adorn my walls, desk, computer, notebook, lampshade, chair, peanut container, phone, paperclip holder and bottle of Germ-X in bright, colorful cheeriness.  You’re more than just office decor.  You’re like wallpaper with phone numbers.
• “Getting To Know Your Friends” Chain Emails.  Because not only do I know what all my friends had for breakfast this morning, but I also know what color of crayon they aspire to be.

Here’s wishing everyone a safe, happy Thanksgiving.  And a belly that’s about to explode.  And don’t forget the little things in life when you’re going around the table listing all the things you’re grateful for.  I know I won’t!

Subscribe!

The age months old question: “Why don’t you email me when you publish a new post?” because many of you want on-the-spot, minute-by-minute coverage of my insanely scattered verbal diarrhea.

And I’m all “Why don’t you just subscribe?”

And then I’m innocently playing around on the blog dashboard and realize that, Oh yeah, I guess I should put up a SUBSCRIBE BUTTON so people can subscribe and, thus, be informed of the minute-by-minute, insanely scattered verbal diarrhea.  That’s a big, fat DUH.

So, in light of my newfound stoopid, I have installed a subscription signer-upper in the right hand column, at the bottom. 

Over there ———>

And maybe down a little.

You’re welcome.

Hot Topics Friday……On Monday

So Friday was like a Monday, so I’m toasting a spiked Sierra Mist to a Monday that’s more like a Friday!

TOP STORY:  THE TWISSION

Alright, Folks.  We’re on Day 10 of The Twission with nothing to report but an apparently gratuitous picture of Jonathan Knight’s buttocks that I can’t see because of the stoopid server blocks that don’t allow me to access streaming media, proxies, personals or adult/explicit material.  Takes all the dern fun out of my workday.  I am, however, getting better at witty remarks that can be truncated to 140 characters or less.  I’ll get ‘im!  Whether I pique his curiousity with my inquisitive wit or scare him into a cross-country restraining order, I’ll get ‘im!

After all, Einstein said it best:  “You have to learn the rules of the game.  And then you have to play better than everyone else.”  I got my shoulder pads and shin guards on.  Bring. It.

MAMA’S COMING FOR CHRISTMAS!

For a whole week!  MAWM will be crossing that scary Mason-Dixon line to grace the Carter household with her presence and be Santa’s Helper in all things Christmastime and Muscadine.  Cuz the only thing better than a Turkey Breast from The Honeybaked Ham Store at the holidays is you and your mom drinking wine ’til the wee hours of the morning, waiting to catch Santa coming down the chimney so you can goose him and run.

NEW MOON, OMG

We haven’t seen it yet.  We’re holding out.  We didn’t want to be immersed in screaming teenyboppers and frenzied screen-licking, so we’re holding out for a week.  Little did we know – okay, we totally knew – that it would take God and a small stink-bomb to ward off all the spoilers that are friends, critics and news reports before we could see it.  We are currently holding our hands over our ears, chanting “lalalalalalalaIcan’thearyoulalalalalalala”.  In the meantime, I’ve prepared by stockpiling about 20 bibs to catch the drool.  Now I just need to find some for Jen and Amy and Michele……..

This has taught us one very important lesson, though.  We will be seeing the midnight showing of Eclipse come June.  Gotta get our screen-licks in before everybody else.  Cuz, well, germs, duh.

 KATE HUDSON AT THE AMERICAN MUSIC AWARDS

I love Kate Hudson.  But.  Did anyone see the almost-nip-slip from Kate Hudson on Sunday’s AMA’s?  Cuz I did.  And I’m a little confused.  Either she has no boobies – and no nippies – or her boob grew somewhere around her armpit.  The whole time she was talking I was waiting for it…….waiting for it……..waiting for it……..should have seen it…….but……nothing.  It’s like it’s not there.

Weird.  Just sayin’.

The Twitter Mission – The Twission

You guys?!!!?!  It’s destined to happen, I’m absolutely sure of it.  OK, maybe not absolutely sure, but pretty competently intelligent enough to assume that it could possibly happen.  If that makes sense.  Which it does.  To me.  Shutupthat’sallthatmatters.

So it’s happened twice in the period of, like, a month.  First, Anissa gets a DM (Mama, that’s “Direct Message”.  On Twitter.  Ya know, TWITTER.  C’mon, Mama.  TWITTER!) from Ralph Macchio.  Then Amalah gets a DM from freakin’ LeVar EFFING Burton!  LEVARBURTONPEOPLE!  We’re talking Reading Rainbow, Geordi LaForge LEVAR BURTON!  Am I jealous?  No, never.  OF COURSE I AM!

I am now on the mission of all missions.  I, LizTheWitFactory, do solemnly (solemnly?  no.  elatedly?  ah, yes.) swear that I will give every ounce of my non-obsessive, anti-screaming-girl dedication to persuading the gorgeous and talented and oh-so-normal Jonathan Knight to DM me.  OhyesIwill.

As you can see by that Twitter feed over there —>

the Twission has already begun.  If he actually DMs me, I……..God, I don’t know what.  I might pee a little.  Ya know, in the normal, non-obsessive, anti-screaming-girl kind of way.

 

P.S. Three posts in one day!  Iknowright?!

Christopher

Dear Studmuffin,

Three years ago today, I walked down the garden path, up the gazebo steps and into the new world we had chosen together.  Three years ago today, I told you that I loved you, that I would always love you.  Three years ago today, I vowed to devote the rest of my life to you.  To love, honor and cherish you.  For better or worse.  In sickness and in health.  As long as we both shall live.

And you vowed the same.

You cried when the preacher asked you to recite the last of your vows, “til death do us part.”  You said it was because at that moment you realized that you finally had what you had always dreamed of and would never have to give it up until the day you left this world.

Three years ago today, our life quite literally began.  We have, indeed, seen the good and the bad, the sickness and the health.  We’ve exchanged “I love you” each and every day.  And meant it.

We’ve created life from our love.  Two lives.  Two beautiful lives that reflect the good in both of us.

So again, today, I tell you that I love you.  And I mean it.

I would do it all over again.

Here’s to three years……..and counting.

 

Love,

Elizabeth