We're Coming To You Late, Cuz I'm Really Really Tired.

HA! Fooled ya.

I'm thinking that lots of people read my blog yesterday and thought to themselves, "That ol' Melissa. Look at her getting all political and news savvy. She is really growing and broadening her horizons. I am so proud of her."

Gotcha.

Just to show you that I, indeed, have not grown or matured in any way. And that I am, in fact, still the same shallow twerp you all have come to know and love. I give you today's post....

Tonight I will be partaking in what can only be described as pure bliss. I have waited for this evening for four lloonnnngggg weeks now. And so four weeks ago, when the plans were put into action, I became all giddy and excited and maybe just once I accidentally wet myself a little. (But I blame that more on old age than anything else.)

And so tonight I will make my way to a restaurant where I will be meeting six other lovely ladies who are just as STOKED as I am...

And once I am there I will be eating dinner with them. And there will be much laughing, gossipping and the such. And when we are done eating...

We will promptly go into the restroom to place our TEAM JACOB (only one of us) or TEAM EDWARD (the other 6 of us) t-shirts on...

Where we will then make our way to a 9PM showing of Twilight...

Followed by a midnight showing of New Moon...

And I will then throw myself into bed around 3AM and sleep in late the next morning thanks to a husband who has agreed to get up with children and do all the things Mommy is supposed to do but can't, due to her illogical obsession with vampires.

(And there is a sentence I thought I would never write.)

So please, before you send yesterday's post in to some place like The New Yorker, Time Magazine or Fox News and ask them to print it or read it on air, remember...

When all is said and done I'm still the girl wearing a t-shirt with a fake vampire on it. I'm sure my mom and dad would be so proud.

How Do You Solve A Problem Like Newsweek?

I'm not one to make too many political statements. It's not because I don't have any thoughts on the subject, I do. I just don't know how to state my point very eloquently. And also, the first year I was legally able to vote I voted for Ross Perot, so I feel to some extent I should forever remain silent on the subject.

I mean, I make little comments here and there like: "Wow, how about that Health Care Reform. (long pause) No seriously, can someone explain to me what Health Care Reform is."

Oh, and just the other day I made a comment about Nancy Pelosi and how even though I am proud she is a woman in office and all that we are women hear us roar crap I can almost guarantee you that this would be the kind of woman that were she to teach my English and Grammatical Language class my Freshman year of college my head would have spun around and I would have ditched a lot of class. Seriously, is she annoying to anyone else?

See how fancy I can be?

So pardon me for not being super grandiloquent, comprehensible and magniloquent on the picture above when I say: WHAT THE???

Are you kidding me? I mean, I'm no Sandra Day O'Connor or Dianne Feinstein but give me a break here Newsweek. Are you really wanting me to believe it's okay that you took a photo from a completely different photo shoot and used it for your own cover? Your own nationally recognized political cover?

Granted, I am not personally friends with anyone who has ever graced the cover of Runners World magazine nor do I ever intend to be (nor do I trust runners in general), but I do know the difference between right and wrong - and this beez wrong.

But if I'm hearing you correctly - and I think I am - then that means the next time Joe Biden is photographed at Lowes pricing toilets then we can expect to see him on the cover of newsstands with your caption reading THE REAL JOE THE PLUMBER. Cool!

Or if Madeline Albright were to be photographed at a Krispy Kreme with jelly donut running down her chin we would just plop that picture right on the front and title it, "SHE'LL EAT YOU FOR BREAKFAST." Really? Madeline Albright? Really? Yeah, I thought not.

But what I'm waiting for, what I'm holding my money back for, is the day they show John Edwards on the cover with his shirt off.
Dick Cheney posing with a gun....in his tighty whitey's.
Or Senator McCain in a pair of roller skates.

But they would never do that.

Because they like those men. And they hate her.

Sarah, I am not your biggest fan nor am I your harshest critic. But even I know that's wrong.

And I voted for Ross Perot.

Your thoughts? Give 'em up.

Randumb.

1. I saw Sarah Palin's Oprah interview and was neither impressed nor unimpressed. In fact, I was about as blah about the whole thing as Oprah appeared to be. Anyone else notice that she seemed to have been forced at gun point to do the interview? That's my take on it at least.

2. In my preparations for Christmas I realized.......I'm broke.

3. This year I will be trying cranberry sauce for the first time. Thanks to this recipe. You did it again, Miss Deen.

4. I am giving up Dr. Pepper. I really am. And all who believe I can actually follow through with it please stand on your head.

5. The AG is watching The Dave Matthews Band on TV right now. Not only do I not understand one word the man is saying I also don't understand one word Dave Matthews is saying.

6. Why is NCIS such a big show? Did you all know it's number one right now? How did that happen? Is everyone over 60 but me?

7. I got my hair cut last week and it's toooooo short AGAIN! How do I stop this from happening? See, this is why moving is so much trouble. It's not the boxes, the change of address or the making new friends that's an issue - it's finding a new hairdresser.

8. Remi dropped/threw (depends on who you ask, me or Remi) my Granny's ceramic doll on the floor yesterday and it broke into a million pieces. After re-acquainting her with the TN Spankin' Spoon I realized her that the real discipline came when I tucked her into bed and she couldn't seem to get the image of a doll with a broken face out of her mind. (Insert evil laugh here!)

9. I'm tired of bathing. Constantly having to get wet, dry off, get wet, dry off. It's exhausting.

10. Remember how in the Peanuts cartoon Lucy was always so mad at her brother Linus because he carried around a stupid blanket everywhere he went? And she yelled and called him names and made fun of him and still he carried that blanket? Well, Linus says "hi."

She Ages Like Her Daddy.

She is at once...

Beauty

And Beast.

Are We Absolutely Sure This Wasn't My Mother?

First of all, Thank You. Thank you all.

The tips and advice and words of wisdom you all gave me concerning Rocco's penchant for getting up 12, 13 times a night were priceless. You may think I only got 13 comments but I assure you I did not. There were comments aplenty on my Facebook page and then there were my family members who feel they should email me directly due to some of the inappropriate comments they tend to leave ("like what" you ask? Like this, "Melissa, the last thing you need to be doing is getting up and down from off the floor, you're back is already so week because your boobs are too heavy. Less salt might help!")

I plan on trying several of them, maybe, if I get up some courage, or energy or my spanking spoon breaks in half (yep, the very same one from TN! It's like my licence or my Eat Mor Chiken gift card, I never leave home without them). I'm kidding. I don't spank him - he's only one year old. He's still a little small for all the power that my heaving bosoms can direct his way.

On another note...

My mom was M.I.A for about three hours on Saturday. She said she went to Target.
I think she went to Tampa.

Woman drives into aquarium at Tampa airport
Motorist, child OK after vehicle slams into 1,500-gallon tank
updated 12:33 p.m. CT, Tues., Nov . 10, 2009
TAMPA, Fla. -

The driver and the child in her lap survived when a pickup slammed into a 1,500-gallon aquarium at Tampa International Airport, officials said. The tropical fish were not so lucky.

Airport officials say 36-year-old Yamile Campuzano-Martine lost control of her truck and drove into the saltwater tank outside the American Airlines baggage claim Monday night. Airport spokeswoman Brenda Geoghagan said the driver had an unrestrained

6-year-old boy in her lap.

About 90 percent of the 30 to 40 saltwater fish in the tank

were killed.

Let us count all the reasons why this could have been my mother:

1. She detests flying on American Airlines. She's a Continental kind of girl.

2. Don't even get her started on baggage claim.

3. Hello! She was riding with an unrestrained child on her lap. It had to be her. This is the same woman who asks me every. single. time. we are in the car together if she can take BOTH of my children out of their car seat; "They have just been missing me and will probably calm down if I hold them." (They haven't been missing her, we live 67 steps from her home. I know. I've counted.)

4. I don't think she has one good memory in her lifetime that include saltwater fish.

So if you saw my mother, or an Elton John look-a-like, at the local Target on Saturday I'm gonna need you to fess up. Otherwise, I'm checking her purse for Kingfish.

Super Nanny Is Probably Really Super. We'll See.

So several months back I wrote this post about a tricky situation the AG and I were going to soon find ourselves in; family of four moving into a 2 bedroom cottage, kids (ages 1 and 3) having to share a room, bunk beds are in their room, whattodowhattodowhattodo. Remember?

So we moved into our humble abode a few months back and I kept thinking to myself, "Oh, I have got to write a post on how well the kids are sharing a room and how well Rocco is doing on the bottom bunk and how no one thought it could be done and how everyone told me to keep him in his crib but how I - a parenting genius - can do the impossible, etc., etc., etc."

Thank God I never wrote that post.

Because oohhhhhhh how I would be eating vast amounts of crow right about now.

We have lived in Snow White's house for almost three months now and not once have we had a problem..........until Friday night.

And then, suddenly and without warning, Rocco learned how to get out of his bed.

And open the door to his room.

And escape from Alcatraz.

And by Sunday evening I was TiVoing all the episodes of Super Nanny I could find.

Apparently she has some really swell solution for things like this. She says that in order to get a child to stay in their bed you should put them in their bed and say "goodnight." Then you should sit on their floor, turned away from them, and when they get up you should put them right back in their bed without saying a word, until eventually they wear themselves out and fall asleep.

And to this I say? DOES THIS WOMAN HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO WITH HER NIGHTS??

It is almost 10 PM and I'm not gonna lie people, I'm tired and my back is killing me. And maybe I'm not reading the signs right, but he shows no signs of slowing down. None. None at all. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

I have one of those plastic rails on the side of his bed so he can't fall out, but lets be honest, falling out of his bed is the least of his worries. He has a sister who has all but held his head in the toilet and made him beg for life; I assure you a little tumble out of bed is a piece of cake for this brute. Besides, it doesn't stop him! It's like watching Micheal Scofield in an episode of Prison Break. I suppose I should just do what the experts say and let him free, if he loves me then he'll eventually come back to me. Right?

In the mean time I'm stuck in the middle of the floor in my kids room. Something stuck to my foot that was wet and I could have sworn I just heard several tortured toys scream, "C'mon! The little girls not in here yet - let's make a break for it!"

Ahhhh well. I suppose I shall just sit here quietly, with my back turned from my little man, waiting patiently for him to disobey so that I can get my old arthritic self back up off this floor, put him in his bed again, plop back down on the floor and then hit the REPEAT button all over again.

At least that's what the Super Nanny says. And at this point, I'm going with anyone who has the word "Super" as their first name. Oh wait, I have to go...there is someone standing behind me breathing heavily in my ear. Either I'm about to be the victim of a serial killing or Rocco wants to see me try to get up off the floor again.

FaceBook, Fried Dogs and Frenemies

What is up with you people and Corny Dogs? Ain't you never seen an East Texan pick up a dirty Corny dog and eat it? I have.

Sheesh.

I actually had one of my regular readers tell me, "I didn't even leave you a post. I had nothing to say to that."

Nothing to say? How about saying, "Don't worry about it Melissa, my son once ate poop. And he's 7." Don't tell me that hasn't happened to someone out there in bloggy land. You know it has. Fess up.

And the FaceBook comments. Oh, the FaceBook comments and the emailed comments. Some of you were so mean to me. And I don't understand why! They were all-beef for cryin' out loud!!

And haven't we been friends long enough that you know how I feel about people who think all high and mighty of themselves? Can't trust 'em. Can't trust 'em even a little bit. Not sure who I'm talking about? I'll give you a clue:

It's the woman who says, "I have been so stressed out this week that I feel like all I've done is work out."

Or the lady you over hear at church saying, "I got down on my hands and knees and waxed my floors this weekend and now I am completely caught up."

You gotta love this one, "I have to go out of town and stay in a hotel and eat out all next week. Man, I'm sick of that." (This was my husband and I might have accidentally punched him in the nose.)

And, of course, my all time favorite...drum roll please...

"I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!! And I'm craving organic vegetables and soy milk."

As I was typing this list I remembered an old post that I wrote many moons ago about things that annoy me (you can read it here if you're really really bored) and I can honestly say that the Lord has mellowed me in this area. HHHHHHAAAAA! I kid. He's done nothing to fix me. What I meant to say is that I could really add to this list.

So let me think on it, and I shall.

What about you?

It's Monday. Go crazy. What just drives you up a wall? (Other than pictures of complete and utter neglect wherein a child walks around eating a dirty Corny Dog. Move on, people!)

Live To Die Another Day, Corny Dog.

Here is the story of a little boy and his weiner...uh...a little boy and his dog...let's see...a little boy and his....okay, here is the story of Corny. It is a sad story. Corny loses.

Once upon a time there was a little Corny Dog, given to a little boy, by his mother who firmly believed that health, nutrition and wearing your pajamas until 1PM were vital to his development. This little boy was also teething so please quit being so judgemental on his wet clothes.

Apparently something else caught the little boys attention. It could have been anything really, his sister, a butterfly, even a molecule floating through the air - it didn't take much. And so his Corny Dog was tossed aside, much like his mothers responsibilities to her floors upkeep.

But just when Corny thought it was safe, little boy got hungry again. And who needs condiments when you get the crunchy flavor left over from daddy's muddy shoes.

But don't count Corny out just yet. It made an escape one more time. This time Corny ended up in the fireplace. Why the fireplace? Who knows. Ask little boy. He loves the fireplace. He puts everything in there, even himself. So it is quite likely he just wanted Corny to feel special.

But not that special. For little boy decides to have another go at it.

And then somewhere along the way Corny makes one final, somewhat fatal attempt to flee. "Maybe I will be safe here," Corny thinks to himself, "here on little boys bed." But silly Corny, don't you know that a little boys bed is where things go to die? Just ask his mommy's toothbrush, two spatulas, a bottle of White-Out, some fingernail clippers and a Pampered Chef invitation...they once tried to flee to the bed, too.

Only he couldn't track them down an hour later and polish them off.

May your weekend be as tasty as ours!

The end.

Our Very Own Tiny Dancer.

Sometimes you blog about something not because you want to, but because someone asks you to.

And hey, I gotta give the people what they want.

So today I am blogging this silly little post not because I necessarily want to hurt my mother - because let's be honest, I don't. But because several members of my family want to hurt her. And if you can't "be there" for family then really, what is it all for?

So here goes.

Oh, and mom, this hurts me more than it hurts you.

Uh....

How do I say this?

Do I just come right out and say it?

Okay, I'll just come right out with it...

My mom looks like Elton John.

And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Other people have said it, too. So now you know it's true. And it's not like she looks like him all the time; I wouldn't go that far. I mean, when she goes to the grocery store she looks just like any other woman who enjoys a good pair of capri pants and knee highs.

But when she plays the piano...she looks just like him.

For several reasons, really:
1. When my mom plays the piano - she really plays the piano. She gets all into it, moving her head and grinning from ear to ear.

2. She wears glasses. But not just your average pair of reader glasses, oh no. Last I saw she was interchanging her lion print glasses, her colorful YSL glasses and then there's the one pair that has miniature palm trees on them.

3. And last but not least...............................her arms. She has these really short arms. Really short. Did I mention they're short? Really short. Not like dwarf size or anything, and not so short that if you saw her in the grocery store you'd say, "Hey lady, can I help you reach that box of cereal on the top shelf" or anything, but short. And when she starts throwing them around while singing Ain't No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down and banging on those keys, well, it just makes you think of Elton in his I'm Still Standing days.

Which is why the first time my cousin Jimmy came to church he saw my mom playing the piano and leaned over and whispered to his wife, "You know who your Aunt Net looks like?" and she replied, "Yes, Elton John. We all do." To which he replied, "Yeah...that's pretty freaky."

And herein lies the moment my family has been waiting for me to write about. Like I said, gotta give the people...

A couple of weeks ago as we were sitting around discussing which one of us would wake up at 3am and throw the newspapers for my Uncle Donald while he is in the hospital my mom preciously volunteers herself.

Keep in mind this is the same woman who is on a first name basis with all the highway patrol in the 75904 due to her driving record. (Let's just say: It ain't shiny.)

Here is what we heard from those sitting around the table:

Meridith: "Aunt Net, you can't throw the route, you'd have to get up at 3AM. You don't wanna do that."

Bubba: "Aunt Net, it would be too hard to come back home and get Mallory ready for school."

Me: "Mom, you don't even know the exact route - it would be too hard to learn it at this point."

My dad: "Anette, I don't want you driving around town at 3 and 4AM."

But when all else fails, leave it to your mother to really tell you the truth:

My Granny: "Annette, how do you expect to throw those papers with those little bitty arms? You could never do it!"

Sorry, mom. I know this hurt. But I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues.
That wasn't really necessary, was it?