Three Mutts Photo Album

...and on the twelfth day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: Snooki as a Pickle Princess!

Three Mutts Photo Album

On the eleventh day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: Five grown men dressed as Care Bears!

via WTF Costumes

Words Men Should Never Say

Are you ever having a conversation with a male co-worker, or perhaps on a date, or listening to a coach speak in a press conference after a ballgame, when a man says a word that makes you go "chicka-chicka-wha?!" It just sounds so...wrong.

I'm not referring to vulgarities or politically incorrect language. I'm talking about regular words in the English language, that when I hear a man say it, I want to tap him on the shoulder and say, "Excuse me, sir? Yeah, I'm gonna need you to hand over one of your 'Man Cards'. I'll give it back to you when you know how to use it." I used to work with a guy--he was such a sweetheart--but I was always having to confiscate his Man Cards and teach him how to talk. I think he appreciated my help.  

I find it very off-putting when I hear a grown man use the word "crap". "That's a load of crap!" It's so emasculating, it's like, profanity by Nickelodeon. I get that you don't want to say "shit" because you're in mixed company or on national television, but saying "crap" makes you sound so inarticulate. "Crap" is what a third grader says when they can't say what they really want to say. Use your words, and say what you really mean. Was it "ridiculous"? "absurd"? "a lie"? "an excuse"? It was not a load of "crap". Find a better word.

There are other words [heterosexual] men should never say, either because they're too feminine, or too specific, or they make a guy sound like a tool. I had some help from my husband and my brother in answering the question: What word do you never want to hear a man say? Oh, and they have actually heard other men say these words, that's their source material.

• crap
• cute
• outfit
• weep
• bro
• boink
• mommy
• blouse
• terrific
• [hair] product
• exquisite
• peep toe
• mojito
• mani-pedi
• fabulous
• taffeta
• yummy

What words have you heard a man use that made you pump the brakes?

Three Mutts Photo Album

On the tenth day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: A baby Chippendale!

via Awkward Family Photos

The Tales of my Drunken, Cocaine-Fueled, Porn Star-filled Rampage Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

...says Charlie Sheen.

I tried to imagine how I would react if such an outrageous and horrifying story were circulating about me on the national news. I quickly decided that my reaction would not be to casually brush it off like, "Oh, that? It's been blown way out of proportion!" And then I go back to smoking my cigarette. Then again, I earn an income of zero dollars, and Charlie Sheen is the highest paid man in television...or is it network television...or he's the highest paid actor in television. I think all of the above. So yeah, we're pretty different, Charlie and me.

Who watches Two and a Half Men anyway? Nobody I know. Except maybe my Nannie. I think I once heard that it's a big hit with the Memaw and Pepaw crowd. Donny Deutsch told me (via the Today show) that if I want to make a statement that we should not reward Charlie's hot-mess trainwreck behavior, I should spearhead a letter-writing campaign to each of the show's sponsors and tell them that I will no longer purchase their products if they continue to advertise on Charlie's show. Since the show attracts the highly coveted 65-109 year-old demographic, I would assume that it's sponsored by Metamucil, Boniva, and Colonial Penn Life Insurance.

I'm a little worried about how Charlie's daughters are going to reconcile their father's attitude and behavior towards women when they get older. "Your daddy admires and respects women SO much, that he pays them by the hour to play with him!" That's not a healthy message.

Oh, wait, let me back up a few ticks. If you don't know what [allegedly] happened because you have a "job" and you only watch the "real news" and you are more concerned with "the upcoming election" and the "war" and the "financial crisis", let me give you the abridged version of what is being reported:

Denise Richards is in New York to do some interviews to promote her new reality show (which is just what the world needs.) She brings her two daughters, and Charlie Sheen joins them for some family vacation time. They do tourist things, including stay at The Plaza hotel. Denise and her girls are in one room, with Charlie and the porn star in the room across the hall. [Allegedly] drunk and high on cocaine, paranoid Charlie accuses bewildered porn star of stealing his watch. He goes ballistic and begins inflicting tens of thousands of dollars worth of damage on the hotel room. Allegedly. Terrified porn star, determined that today is not her day to die, locks herself in the bathroom and calls for help. Allegedly. Allegedly.

I think the biggest surprise out of this whole thing is Denise Richards' reaction. She had several interviews scheduled to promote her reality series prior to Hookergate at the Plaza becoming the breaking news story. (I know, Capri Anderson is a porn star, and she's offended that news outlets originally reported that she was a hooker, but I decided that "Hookergate" sounded catchier than "PornStargate".) Denise honored all of her scheduling commitments and fielded all of the interviewers' Charlie-related questions with a level of grace and class I did not think Denise was capable of. Well played, Denise. Well played. It makes sense that she would be careful with her words, for the following reasons:

1. The whole "protecting her daughters" thing.
2. There is probably some sort of "You're not allowed to talk smack about me in public" clause in her divorce settlement.
3. She probably collects a sizable chunk of Charlie's paycheck, and Denise is too smart to bite the hand that feeds her.
4. If she plays nice in public, she stays in Charlie's good graces. Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer, eh?
5. Charlie Sheen will choke a bitch (allegedly).

Audrina Patridge's Mom is an Exquisite Lady

I was really rooting for Audrina Patridge on Dancing with the Stars. But not enough to bother to vote...and apparently nobody else bothered, because she was eliminated on Tuesday. In case you're not watching--the rhythmically challenged Bristol Palin is still on the show. Sidenote: I may be stereotyping, but as a teen mother, I expected Bristol to be a little more...I dunno...sexy. She's really not. Bless her heart.

Any-cha-cha, after the elimination show, "celebrity photojournalists" from Hollywood.tv caught up with Audrina's mom Lynn squatting outside Eva Longoria's restaurant, Beso, smoking a cigarette and sipping what I would calculate to be her seventh or eighth glass of wine. I'm so not interested in paparazzi-filmed videos of celebrities out on the town, but I was a little curious what Lynn Patridge looked like, and her face was obscured by the "Play" button on the video. I watched the full five minutes, and left feeling like:

A: Dina Lohan has some stiff competition
B: Audrina is miraculously classy and well-adjusted

If you hang on, you can listen to Audrina's mom hurl slurred, profanity-laced insults at Lauren Conrad's "pissy-ant little fashion shit" and the "Hills Tramps". At one point, a friend with hair that's reminiscent of a Corky Bell School of Dance annual recital circa 1988 makes a feeble attempt to take her away from the cameras to prevent further embarrassment. Her friend failed. Great hair poof, though. In case you haven't got time for this NSFW video, I've lovingly compiled the greatest hits. (You're welcome!) Oh, but if you don't watch the video, you don't get to see the Beso employee pick up Lynn and carry her back into the restaurant.

"When one door closes, another door opens"
"'drina is gonna f*ckin' RISE!"
"Fuckin'-A, she's a Polish-Catholic, f*ckin' full-on Italian!" [Audrina]
"Audrina coulda won Dancing with the Stars, but it wasn't God's Will."
"You think Kurt Russell and Sarah Palin's daughter did good?"
"She ain't no second-class actress, she rocks!" [Audrina]
"I've been a celebrity mom eight years through this Hills bulls*it"
"She's gonna be so pissed I'm talking to you idiots"

"At Jimby Kimbell...it was really good...I drank my first three glasses of wine...I usually don't drink"

Un-Break My Heart

No, I'm not making a reference to Toni Braxton's financial woes. (You filed for bankruptcy twice, girl? Seriously?! The first time taught you nothing?!) You know what does suck, though? To be a Grammy winning, multi-million album selling recording artist with a career spanning nearly two decades, and an autism activist, and when your name is typed into a Google search, it autofills with the word "bankruptcy".


Ask me how much I hate this dress. Answer: "sooo much!"

 Life FAIL. She shoulda thought about that before she spent $50 million she didn't have. And she's already appeared on Dancing with the Stars, so now what will she do to make that money? Meh, girl can cry me a river.

No, "Cry me a River" is not a reference to Justin Timberlake's reported dalliances with Olivia Munn behind longtime girlfriend Jessica Biel's back. The only person I find more boring than Olivia Munn is Jessica Biel.


yawn.

Of all the famous Olivia's right now (Wilde, Palermo, Munn, Jerseylicious) Olivia Munn is the one I find least intriguing.

I actually had to Wikipedia her. She hosts a show on G4. It's a channel devoted to video games, and the only reason I know about it is because late at night they air re-runs of my favorite trash show, Cheaters. She has a gig on The Daily Show now, and Maxim and FHM have honored her for her hotness, so I guess she's sexy. Timberlake, I expected more from you. I liked you better when you were being Punk'd and crying for your mommy.

No, no, no! This post wasn't supposed to be about any of these jerks! It is about my sadness over the end of true love! October is my favorite month. It means my birthday, Jarred's birthday, Halloween, college football, autumn leaves, and everything I hold precious; but this year, it represents broken hearts and broken families. I thought we were through the worst of it, but I. Was. Wrong.

1. Ben Harper and Laura Dern divorce

I always liked Ben Harper. He sings about how "I always have to steal my kisses from youuuuuu" and I sure think that's sweet. Also, I always thought Laura was kinda homely, so whenever I would see them together I would think, "Wow, that's great. He must really love her." Another thing a lot of people forget is that Laura has already been subjected to a lifetime of heartache and humiliation, as she is the founding member of the "Angelina Jolie Stole My Husband Club". Yep, Jennifer Aniston pays dues to Laura Dern. Not only did Angelina marry Billy Bob Thornton (blech), she married him when he belonged to somebody else! That bitch is just awful.

2. David Arquette and Courteney Cox divorce

This odd-but-adorable pairing famously had their wedding bands engraved with the phrase "A deal is a deal". I would stare down at my inscription-free wedding band and then whine to Steve, "Why couldn't we think of anything charming and clever like that, so the whole world know that we are perfect for each other and we'll be together forever!" Then Steve squints at me and shakes his head. Courteney is a Birmingham girl and I was especially rooting for her. Yeah, they seemed mismatched, but she's smart. I trust her. They must balance themselves out really well and be super-compatible. It sounds like she probably balanced him out very well, but that this "deal" was no longer mutually beneficial. I suppose it's for the best...

This post is bumming me out bad.

3. Christina Aguilera and Jordan Bratman divorce

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, Christina divorces "The Right Man". I have her Back to Basics album, and every sweet love song is about him, praising him for being pretty much the greatest man she's ever known. And, I couldn't help but notice that he looks like a bat, so I said to myself "She must really love him." And now their love is gone, too. If they can't make it, what hope is there for the rest of us?

4. Billy Ray and Tish Cyrus divorce

I thought the divorce court trifecta was the end, but there's a cherry atop this hot fudge heartbreak sundae. The hillbillies responsible for bestowing Destiny Hope Cyrus upon the world are calling it quits. No, no, no, no, no! If we have to live in a world with Miley Cyrus, you jerks have to at least live with each other. Tit for tat, bitches!

I swear, if Ice-T and Coco divorce before the year is out, I'm getting wasted. Theirs is a love for the ages.

Three Mutts Photo Album

On the ninth day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: Skeeter, from the Nickelodeon cartoon, Doug:

for Jarred

via WTF Costumes

Three Mutts Photo Album

On the eighth day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: a family of bikers!

via Sexy People Blog

Three Mutts Photo Album

...and on the fifth, sixth, and seventh day of Halloween, I completely slacked off and didn't post a picture! Allow me to make up for it here with THREE pictures:

...a pair of poodles...

...a chunky child wrestler...

...a "Risky Business" tot...

via Awkward Family Pet Photos, I Beat You, and Mom Blog, respectively

Better With You

Last month, I gave a rundown of the TV shows on the Fall schedule that I care about. Some are new shows, and some are returning favorites. There were a lot of shows I committed to watching, and so following up with my reviews and insights would be quite the time-suck. Plus, none of you sons-a-bitches even asked for my opinion in the first place, so I'm pretty much doing this for my own amusement--and I am considerably less amused than when I originally took on this endeavor.

However, I do love the new ABC sitcom Better with You. As I wrote before, it's about three relationships at different stages within one family. Mom and Dad have been together 35 years and are committed--even if the spark seems to be gone. Big Sis and her live-in boyfriend have been together 9 years, and though the "honeymoon" is over, they have a great short-hand with one another that shows how in-sync they are. Little Sis and her Fiance have been together for 8 weeks, and they think everything they say and do is endearing and romantic. What drives the series is showing the way these couples interact differently in the same situations based on how long they've been together. They fight differently, they flirt differently, they ride in cabs differently. Well, if there was any doubt in my mind as to which couple was most like Steve and me (hint: we've been together 10 years), we had a little exchange last night that cleared it up:

[We're at home. As I walk into our room and past Steve, I flash a grin at him]

Steve: What was that for?
Me: [Biting into a fun size Kit Kat] Oh, I dunno. Sometimes when I look at you, I can't help but smile, 'cause you make me so f***ing happy.
Steve: [laughing]. Ok, now I know you're full of $#*!.

Robinson is Three Months Old!

I'm a few days late in posting, but on the day the Rangers won the American League Championship Game, Robinson turned three months old! Steve always has me dress Robinson according to the sporting events of the day, and I'm expected to take a picture and send it to him at work via text or email so that he can show people. I haven't had to do it for the Mavs yet, but I do it for Auburn, Cowboys, Rangers, and LSU (if Auburn isn't playing). Steve is very rigid about this.

Of course, no monthly photo shoot is complete without the traditional "Rob and Laney" picture:

Laney gives good face, yes? She looks like Secret Service. I told her to get up there for a picture and she quickly complied, hopping onto the couch so delicately that Rob wasn't disturbed in the slightest. Clearly, he doesn't even seem to know that she's there.

I am surprised to see how red Robinson's hair looks in some of these pictures. In person, he looks so blonde to me...

And now, for a few words about the blessed child, since I've already begun to notice such big changes in him since last month. I better make a few notations before I forget:

1. He still loves to play with his hands, but he has moved on from "shadowboxing" and is now grabbing at things. This means he's enjoying his activity gym more than ever.

2. He extends his arms straight out in front of him with his hands in little fists, as if holding an imaginary steering wheel at the 3:00 and the 9:00 and turns the "wheel" back and forth. We call it "driving da bus". Between one and three months of age he did this a lot, especially on the changing table, and I would go through this whole thing with him where we're "driving da bus" to pick up "da kids" and I would act out opening the door to the bus, and then we would drop of "da kids" at "da school". Rob thinks this is the most fun thing ever. And I am an idiot.
3. I have recently learned that, when in the middle of a complete meltdown, if I hold him in front of something colorful and shiny he'll simmer down. At home, that means stand him in front of my baker's rack and my colorful glassware. Or is it my "gay pride" glassware?

4. He's able to roll onto his tummy now, but once he's there he's not quite sure what to do with himself. He can't suck his thumb while on his tummy, so he just gets angry.
5. As long as he's able to strike this pose, he's a happy baby (left hand placement is critical):

6. We're pretty much over the pacifier at this point. We've decided thumbs are better.
7. He's at an impasse at the moment. He's almost strong enough for his Bumbo and his Jumperoo, but just not quite.
8. He is now hypnotized by the TV, which makes him look like a total couch potato, but I realize it's the color that he's drawn towards.

Teardrops on my Remote Control

First, a disclaimer, so that I don't get bombarded with hate mail from people calling me "Kanye":

I heart Taylor Swift. She's smart, she's classy, she's talented. I have many of her songs downloaded from iTunes. I'm listening to "Picture to Burn" as I type. [full disclosure: I'm totally dancing in my chair.] I love her, from her crisp, cascading curls, to her artfully lined, piercing eyes, to her sequined mini dresses that reveal her spindly legs, which are anchored securely in a well-worn pair of boots. I think we all love seeing the world through her romantic (if a little naive) and optimistic lens. She's a vision, an icon, and if I said one mean thing about her, it would only be because I'm jealous. Then I would never be welcome to sit at the cool kids table, because if America is one big high school, Taylor is the most popular girl in school. I would NEVER say that she's "overrated" or that her voice isn't nearly as impressive when heard live as compared to her recordings. I simply wouldn't say it. 

Ok?

I recognize that the process of producing music must be lengthy. I'm sure each of Taylor's three albums were in the works for months or years before being released. I mean, Britney Spears can stumble into the studio on a Tuesday (frappuccino in hand), belch the alphabet, and her hit single "3" is released on iTunes in time for the weekend (thank you, auto-tune!), but the singer/songwriter's process takes more time from start to finish--one could assume. How else can you explain why an almost 21-year-old Taylor is still singing from the point of view of a high schooler dealing with puppy love, angst, and high school politics?

Taylor: "Oh, if you loved 'Teardrops on My Guitar', you're in luck! I totally have like, fifty more songs I wrote that same week! We could like, record them all for my next five albums!"

While we're at it, what the hell does she have against cheerleaders? I guess the ones at her school were a bunch of bitches and she hasn't forgotten. She sure showed them! Another thing about her angsty (spell check says "no" to "angsty") high school ballads--she didn't even have to stay in high school for the full four years like the rest of us. She got to leave early and go be a country music sensation, and she still has enough material to sing a hundred songs about the pitfalls of high school life. I have to say, I'm growing a little weary of it all. It's like, I keep getting older, and Taylor stays the same age.

Now she has a new album to promote. For me, this means that every time I turn on the TV, I am treated to a "sneak peek" of her "newest" single, along with an "exclusive" interview from Taylor herself, giving us the "real" story behind the song. [Sigh]. I realize that Taylor's unique in that she writes her own stuff, but it seems to me that more attention is paid to Taylor's songwriting process than that of any other artist. Why can't we just let her sing?

What confuses me most about the media's yearning for Taylor to decode her songs, is that Taylor's songs are all straightforward narratives. I mean, if she is in love with a boy named Drew, she writes a song...about a boy named Drew...who she is in love with. He doesn't know it though, because he's dating--you guessed it--a cheerleader! That bitch. The cheerleader, not Taylor. Never Taylor. Taylor Swift is not exactly Eddie Vedder, her songs aren't so steeped in mystery and metaphor that any reasonable 10-year-old couldn't unravel the meaning behind her songs and determine which song is about a Jonas brother and which is about John Mayer, and which is about that bitch cheerleader from high school who was mean to her. I'm not sitting with my ear pressed to the speakers and asking aloud "What does it all mean?" As much as I may care--and believe me, I do--I don't really require further explanation.

I've previewed her new album on iTunes, and every song is beautiful and catchy. I detect the suggestion of a high school setting in a few of the songs, and a few adolescent overtones, but nothing too overtly teeny bopper this time. I think the record label needs to pump the breaks and let this beautiful album speak for itself. I think her albums would sell millions without over-promotion and cramming it down our throats, but I'm not the one in charge here.

So tell me, Taylor, which song is about Miley?!

Three Mutts Photo Album

On the fourth day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: four collies dressed as fast food!

via The Quick and Dirty Dirty

What Do Mona Lisa Vito and I Have in Common?

What do Lisa Vito and I have in common? We both lament living in a place without access to good Chinese food. I've been thinking about it more recently because I've been really craving it. My cravings have gone unsatisfied, as I text Steve "Too bad the Chinese food is terr-uh-bull!" It's worth noting that I live in Dallas, a city with a rather high Asian population (as opposed to my previous home of Birmingham, Alabama). I believe these Dallas Asians are predominately Vietnamese and Korean. They're good people, but their bread-and-butter seems to be dry cleaners and nail salons, so I look great but I'm hungry.

Back to the Chinese food. I waved the white flag and surrendered my pursuit of good Chinese food in this town after a series of disastrous experiences with local restaurants who have at various times shoved delivery menus into my front door. I use the word "disastrous" because I'm a huge drama queen:

1. I called one delivery place where the woman who answered the phone must have been their grandma from the old country. When I say she spoke zero English, I mean it. I thought we could muddle through, since the menu items are in Chinese, but between her Chinese accent and my southern accent, we couldn't get it together. I finally gave up.
2. I tried a different Chinese delivery place. This one had the wherewithal to have the Chinese-American teenagers answer the phone. But instead of pulling up my billing information using the phone number I gave her at the beginning of the phone call, she used my number she lifted off caller ID. So, I went through the unnecessarily lengthy process of placing the order, only have her tell me she doesn't have my debit card on file. I'm driving, so I can't read my card to her. In frustration, I cancelled the order. Then I cried angry, hungry tears. I was PMS-ing real bad.
3. I've waited over 90 minutes for a delivery I was told would arrive in 30 minutes.
4. When the tardy order finally arrived, we discovered that instead of the two entrees I ordered, we received only one entree. Steve and I had to share (what a frickin' nightmare!) When I called the restaurant in a huff to inform them, I was not given a refund but instead promised a free entree next time I call. Pfft, like there'll be a next time!
5. I've received Mongolian Beef with no beef. Seriously, it was just sauce and peppers and one morsel of meat.
6. I've received Cashew Chicken with no cashews.
7. Not their fault, but in that same meal I received a fortune cookie with no fortune. *headdesk*
8. I've received Sweet and Sour Chicken with no sweet and sour sauce. Now it's just chicken nuggets. Seriously, I would have rather soaked Chick-fil-A nuggets in Polynesian Sauce.

Can I stop now? Have I sufficiently made my case? So...once a year, I get my Chinese fix at P.F. Chang's, and about once a year, I dip into a food court at my neighborhood mall (I loathe the mall) and indulge in some Manchu Wok.

Fantasy Hoops Draft: Time for Inappropriate Team Name Reveal

Big Announcement: Steve's Fantasy Baseball Team won the championship! He is the winner of not only bragging rights, but $150! Snaps for Steve! [snap, snap]

Steve's Fantasy Basketball Draft is today. He's way excited. I'm not sure how he's gonna manage the draft while he's at the American League Championship Series Game between the Rangers and the Yankees. The Rangers are just one game away from winning the Penant (is that what they call it?) and going to the World Series! It would be such a thrill!

Anyways, back to the basketball draft. Once again, he enlisted my help in creating the logo for what is typically a politically incorrect team name for his fantasy team. Just to recap, the names of his past and present teams are:

Fighting Syphillis
Curious Mole
Temporary Paralysis
Box of Porn
Ramjetts
Curtains of Beef
The Two Steves

His 2010-2011 Fantasy Basketball Team Name?

Dumpster Baby

I usually get creative with Fotoflexer, but for this logo, I just lifted a picture from a Google Image Search. I'd say that's taking the "easy" way out, if you think that Googling the phrase "dumpster baby" is an easy thing to do. I beg you: Do not Google "Dumpster Baby". You've been warned.

Three Mutts Photo Album

...on the third day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: Baby Hitler

via Momversation

Three Mutts Photo Album

...and on the second day of Halloween, my true love gave to me: a drunk guy dressed as a fairy!

via Poorly Dressed

It Gets Better

All the recent news stories about teen suicides and school bullying are really upsetting. Celebrities and public figures have been reaching out by posting their own videos on the internet where they share their own bullying experiences and send the message to kids that "It gets better." It's fair to say that at one time or another, we were all either victims of bullying, or were bullies ourselves. If you're reading this and thinking that you can't relate to what I'm saying, you must have had a cop for a dad or a big brother to protect you. You're lucky.

In high school, I spent two years being intimidated, mocked, glared at and threatened by an upperclassman. At times I was in fear of bodily harm. The reason? Her best friend liked a boy who dated my best friend, and my locker was beside the boy's. Six degrees of separation = six degrees of hell. I didn't even know this girl. I had to actually look her up in the yearbook so I would know the name of the girl who made my palms sweat and my stomach churn everyday.

When I was twelve, my mom took me to the mall and told me I could get whatever I wanted for my birthday. I chose a black cord necklace that had beads of every color: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. I thought it was the perfect necklace. Since it included every color, it meant it would go with every outfit I owned and that I could wear it everyday. Twelve-year-old Samantha was practical like that. I've always been the kind of girl who finds something that I like fashion-wise (v-neck tees, maxi dresses) and I buy five of them and wear them all the time. That's what I did in sixth grade with this necklace and Gap pocket tees. I was a happy, yet socially awkward twelve year old...until somebody decided to make my life hell.

similar necklace

This classmate informed me that my necklace was a "gay pride" necklace. I don't know that she went so far as to call me gay, but it was implied. She basically let me know that by wearing the necklace I was sending a message that I was at the very least gay-friendly. This was apparently a bad thing, as indicated by the endless mocking from her and her friends. This went on for months. Unwilling to concede that she was humiliating me, I became indignant--I went from wearing the necklace just a few times a week to wearing it every. single. day. I wasn't going to let this bitch get the best of me. Why would I subject myself to further ridicule?

1. I was sheltered and innocent, and therefore unfamiliar with rainbows being a symbol of "gay pride." I thought they were a symbol of "God's Promise". Or they were just colorful beads. It's like comedian Demetri Martin says in his stand-up routine: "How can one group own refracted light?" Basically, I thought this girl made it all up to hurt my feelings. I reasoned that, if I gave in and stopped wearing the necklace, where would the torment end? Would she then tell me that blue t-shirts, or green dresses symbolized a social taboo or cause that I supposedly should distance myself from? It's a slippery slope my friends, and I was not giving this girl the power to take my wardrobe and style hostage. 
2. If I'm playing devil's advocate, so what if she's right? What if rainbows do symbolize "gay pride"? I'm twelve. I'm not gay. At this time, I don't know anybody who is gay. The necklace doesn't symbolize gay pride to me, but I'm not some homophobe who isn't going to wear my necklace for fear of what people might think of me. 
3. Eventually my mom caught wind of what was happening. My mom is one of those crazy lioness moms: if she catches you messing with one of her cubs, she will maul your face off. Here's the deal: kids are bullied when they are perceived as weak. Nothing says "I'm weak and defenseless" like having your mommy fight your battles for you. My mom's threats and intimidation tactics were effective in this case, but it was a risky move that I would not recommend.
4. I eventually did put the necklace in my jewelry box, never to wear it again. I told myself it wasn't because of her. I reasoned that enough time had passed, I had worn the necklace for two seasons, and it was time to update my wardrobe. I do the same thing with handbags.

Not long ago, I was shopping for a wedding present at Williams Sonoma. Near the register, a whisk caught my eye:

I was in a hurry, so I resisted to temptation to buy this whisk. I still love colorful things. But here I am, fifteen years after being bullied for wearing a rainbow necklace, and the first thought that crosses my mind as I hold this rainbow whisk in my hand is: "I wonder if what's-her-face would make fun of me today for buying this 'gay pride' whisk?"

People come and go from our lives, and we won't always remember the things they said or did, but we'll never forget the way they made us feel. I hope that school administrators work to put an end to the tolerance of bullying in our schools, and that the school bullies would have the foresight to realize that if they don't want their legacy to be that of an asshole, they need to stop making sport out of making other people's lives hell.

It gets better.

Three Mutts Photo Album

This is part of a little series I will call: The Twelve Days of Halloween...

On the first day of Halloween my true love gave to me: two cute Asian kids dressed as Mario and Luigi!

via I Beat You

A Day Without Makeup?

When I heard on the local news that a group of girls at Colleyville Heritage High School in nearby Colleyville, Texas made a "no makeup" pact to promote self-esteem, acceptance, and "redefine beauty", the very first thing that came to my mind was: whoever dreamt this up does not have blonde eyelashes. In high school, I spent roughly thirty minutes each morning applying makeup, only to be later asked by my classmates, "Samantha, how come you don't wear makeup?" [sigh]

In high school world, we can only wear jeans once a week, we can only wear a ponytail once a week, and on Wednesdays we wear pink. 

Now we should add "no-makeup Tuesdays" to the list. It's a sweet notion, really, like a child starting a lemonade stand to solve the national deficit. Going to school sans makeup highlights the biggest disparities between the haves and the have-nots in the looks department. Makeup levels the playing field.

This little girl with Heather Locklear is her 13-year-old daughter, Ava Sambora. Thirteen?! Imagine going to high school with her. I pretty much did go to high school with her, and I needed the entire Lancome counter just to keep up with her and be the "funny sidekick".

Another case in point: In the news package below, (that's what the pros call it right, a "package"?) reporter Susy Solis has a moment (around the :50 mark) where she decides to join the girls and bravely [eye roll] remove her makeup on camera with a moist towelette. Then we get to see side-by-side photos of her dark eyes and complexion and immaculately groomed eyebrows with and without makeup. I swear on Robinson's bouncy seat (which is sacred) that the woman looked exactly the same. I would also swear on Robinson's bouncy seat that half the reason she did it is so that her little interns and drones in the newsroom could inflate her ego with "Oh my gosh, Susy, you look exactly the same without makeup! You make me sick!" and Susy is all, "Oh, puh-lease! You are too much! Now go fetch me a latte. And it better be sugar free hazelnut this time! What do I have to do to get good help around here?" What I'm saying is, Susy is a princess. And about as subtle as a brick through a plate glass window.

Walk a mile in my abino ginger shoes and then talk to me about how "scary and liberating" it is for you to face the world without your eyeliner. Where my Accutane patients at? Holla! The only thing worse than having cystic acne in high school is being left out of the no-makeup club because you require two tablespoons of special Clarins spackle foundation (in color: alabaster whisper) just to leave the house.

If I sound bitter, I probably am. I'm bitter that I lack the Colleyville High girls' youthful optimism. On them, it's refreshing and lovely. And they really are beautiful. Plus, if 200+ girls are putting cosmetics aside, that leaves more mascara for my old crusty face.

Wingman

Jarred's been spending time with Kelly lately. I heart Kelly. Jarred doesn't need my help with the ladies, but that doesn't stop me from throwing in my two-cents:

Me: When you seeing Kelly again?

Jarred: Monday or Wednesday. Dinner or maybe drinks. I like the low key stuff with her. I'd like to take her to Salvatore's for pizza.

Me: When you gonna take her on a fancy date?

Jarred: Take her to Brio and get her drunk on wine?

Me: Something a little more formal, that's all. Or distinctive. Something that isn't a chain.

Jarred: Salvatores shares a wall with Subway ok, its nice.
Me: Some place that takes reservations...something that didn't used to be a Popeye's...just take her someplace that doesn't wrap it's silverware in a paper napkin.

Jarred: Just say Cheesecake Factory, we both know you're thinking it.
Me: I said no chains.
Jarred: You think you're all Johnny Depp, but you need to wake up and realize you're Skeet Ulrich.

Me: What does that even mean?

Jarred: I don't know, but it seemed like an insulting thing to say.

Three Mutts Photo Album

via Sexy People Blog

Paranoid Much?

Recently, I was lured to the Arkansas wilderness with the promise of fried catfish. Steve co-sponsors an annual golf tournament that takes place at DeGray State Park, and at the last minute he invited Robinson and me to join him. I really learned a lot about my own neuroses and paranoia through this trip. Here's a rundown. I'll warn you: it's embarrassing.

Steve: Y'all come with me to Arkansas
Me: What will we do while you're on the golf course?
Steve: They have walking trails. You and Rob could go for a walk through the state park.
Me: Is it safe?
Steve: I'm not sure if the trails are paved.
Me: No, is it safe?
Steve: Safe from what?
Me: Serial killers.
Steve: [silence] I'm pretty sure.

[we roll into the state park at 12:30 am. It's pitch dark, and nobody is around]

Steve: Y'all wait right here, I'll get us checked in to the lodge.
Me: [looking around] How will I defend myself in the event of an ambush?
Steve: [laughing] An ambush by who, park rangers?
Me: [gravely serious] No. Serial killers.
Steve: Where is this coming from?
Me: [sigh] A man killed some women in Yosemite.
Steve: There is no serial killer in this state park.
Me: I feel fairly certain there is somebody, somewhere in this state park, who would be willing to kill me. The question is, will they find me?
Steve: Wow.

[Three days later]

Steve: I have a voicemail from Frisco Police. They say there were two noise complaints against us because the dogs were barking.
[I'm immediately overcome with guilt over leaving them, and anxiety that Laney and Libby have met with foul play].
Me: Laney has separation anxiety! What if she worked herself up into a frenzy and had a heart attack and died?
Steve: Laney isn't dead.
Me: What if the angry neighbor exacted revenge on the dogs because they wouldn't shut up?
Steve: What?
Me: What if somebody hurled rat poison over the fence, and the dogs ate it?
Steve: Nobody does that.
Me: Yes they do. And the fence isn't locked. What if somebody shot or stabbed them?
Steve: You need to stop.
Me: I have a shooting pain in my side. Why do you have to tell me they're in trouble when we're three hours away?
Steve: Relax, it'll be fine.

That night, while Robinson and I are home alone and it's dark outside, I hear a knock at the door. I never answer the door at night. Or when I'm home alone. Or ever. The last time I answered the door, I met a Biggie Smalls look-alike. He was a recovering heroin addict who had turned his life around and was going door-to-door collecting donations for the nonprofit organization he credits with helping him. I realized that under different circumstances, my friendly exchange with the large, imposing man could have ended differently. I'm fairly certain that all recovering junkies are not so courteous as he.

Two nights later, 8:00 pm. I had just arrived home from Target. Another knock at the door. Convinced it's the disgruntled neighbor coming over to air his grievances, I refuse to answer. The visitor lingers for an uncomfortably long time. He or she finally leaves, and I do what anybody would have done in my situation: I called the police.

Me: I have a bitter neighbor with an ax to grind, who may be stalking me.

They send an officer to my house. He informs me that it was he who rang my doorbell. I inform him that I have seen way to many episodes of 48 Hours Mystery and Forensic Files to answer my door to an unknown visitor (I have no peep hole, and there are windows on either side of my door, making it impossible to see who is at the door without them seeing me. I hid in my laundry room until he left.) Anyway, he said that during the one hour I was at Target, my neighbors called the cops on me again to complain about my dogs barking. In the end, I was glad I called the police (something most people would have considered an overreaction) because:

1. I got a little face time with one of Frisco's finest. He was super nice.
2. I got a little education on city ordinances
3. The officer told me my baby was pretty
4. I am no longer concerned that the lady next door hates me and my dogs. 
5. I don't have to be scared, because nobody is stalking me.

Three Mutts Photo Album

But What if He's NOT "Handsome Like Daddy"?

I mean, I don't have that problem. Robinson tested "negative" for Rumer Willis Syndrome, but...can't his cuteness just speak for itself? Why do I have to advertise the cuteness on his clothing?

Can a baby just wear clothes without announcing plans for future greatness, boasting cuteness, or projecting Mom and Dad's ownership of the baby?

My only baby is a boy, so I'll stick to what I know. The mothers of little girls have problems all their own, what with it now being fashionable to dress your little girl like a Yorkshire Terrier.

You have the onesies that boast the baby's cuteness:

You have the onesies that brag about the baby's parent's attractiveness:

Then there are the onesies that profess a baby's future talent:

Then you have the brutally honest onesie:

And of course, the onesie that shares a message that no baby would knowingly share:

Steve, for one, thinks it is hilarious to dress a baby in a onesie with a wildly inappropriate message.
I was going to go on a rant about how all little boys clothes are plastered in footballs, baseballs, and soccer balls, but after searching the internet for onesies for this blog post, I've discovered there are much worse things I could dress my son in besides a baseball onesie.