You're out of the woods, You're out of the dark, You're out of the night

My blogging activity has experienced a steep decline in the past couple weeks. I tend to write about marriage, motherhood, friendship, light-hearted observations, pop culture. I'll write about any little thought that crosses my mind, but I keep it upbeat. The past couple of weeks I have been met with an onslaught of sad events, and while I wouldn't say that I'm overly affected, I would say that my blogging inspiration has been temporarily extinguished. I mean, really, how could I joke about dogs humping babies and adventures in Netflix at a time like this? I'll return to blogging, just as Dorothy returned to Kansas, but consider this my attempt at a graceful segue: Things that happened while I wasn't blogging, that kind of made me feel like I have nothing to blog about.

North Texas is spellbound over case of missing woman: for the local reader, I could sum this up by simply saying the name "Susan Loper", but I'll recap for my non-Dallas readers:

A beautiful mother and local fitness instructor is kidnapped in the early morning hours from the local country club where she teaches Pilates, leaving behind only her phone, her purse, and signs of a violent struggle. A touch of irony: this was to be her last day of work at this country club before realizing her dream of opening her own Pilates studio. She is found a day later, brutally murdered, in an open field off a major road that I drive every day. Adding to the tragedy: she has an eight-year-old autistic son. As our peaceful suburb comes to terms with this shocking tragedy, police finally name a suspect. News outlets show his photo and photos of his home...and he lives across the road from me.  Authorities announce that they have located him. In the Grand Canyon. After he jumped into it. And lived. It's just awful, piled on top of tragic, smothered in horror and sprinkled with bizarre. Family and friends of Susan Loper are asking donations be made to help secure her 8-year-old son's future. You can assist by sending donations to

Jake Loper Trust
c/o Ferguson Law Group
2500 Dallas Parkway, Suite 260
Plano, TX 75093

Make checks payable to Jake Loper Trust


Tornado devastates Tuscaloosa: The level of devastation throughout the state of Alabama following this tornado is really beyond comprehension and I'm deeply saddened by it. At the same time, I feel kind of disconnected because I am all the way in Texas. We don't have to be in Tuscaloosa to help, though. Anybody can make a donation (every dollar helps) to the American Red Cross.

This picture touches me because those kids look just like my friends and I did when we were in college. I'm so sad for them over what has happened to their college town.

The Royal Wedding Happened: The coverage began around 3:00AM, as did my dutiful DVR, but I didn't press "start" until about 9:00AM. My mom's house was without power, so, being the good daughter that I am, I took photos of the television screen with my camera phone and sent picture messages of Kate's wedding dress, and I downloaded photos from online gossip sites and texted those to her, so we could discuss the hideousness that was Princess Beatrice's Fascinator (also, I'm proud to have learned the difference between a hat and a fascinator), and debate just how little effort we believed Chelsy Davy put into primping for the day.

It's my personal belief that her messy updo was the product of an all-night bender with the boys, and that her hangover hadn't even kicked in yet. Takes one to know one. Not for nothing, the girl's as cute as a button and would look good in a paper sack, so I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just sayin'. Also, if there had been a betting pool for being able to best predict Kate's wedding gown description, my mom would have a fistful of cash right now. The day before the wedding, since she was bored and without power, I indulged her in a little game of "What do you think Kate's dress is going to look like?" Her prediction: full skirt, strapless bodice, long lace sleeves, plunging v-neck, "very similar neckline to the blue dress she wore to announce her engagement". Well, how do you think my mom did?

Special thanks to Pippa Middleton for setting the bar for aspiring foxy bridesmaids everywhere. I have my work cut out for me if I want a chance to compete for the title of Hottest Bridesmaid 2011

Osama bin Laden was killed: Steve and I are watching TV in bed and simultaneously surfing the Internet on our respective phones. I know, it's good, quality time spent together, right? Steve catches a whiff of something on the Internet about an important announcement from Obama that will be taking place in moments. Of course we now know what that announcement is, and that we were kept waiting for over an hour to hear the announcement. Steve turns the channel to CNN, where the journalists, stalling as the press conference is pushed further and further back, repeat that they refuse to speculate as to what the announcement may be. Steve is all up in arms over this, but I'm all like, "Pfft, Barack Obama schedules press conferences more often than I schedule pedicures. He probably just wants to tell us that he saved a lot of money on car insurance by switching to Geico...or something." Steve insists, along with the news anchors, that this announcement is going to be major. Well, if this announcement is so major, where is my silver fox, Anderson Cooper? Steve gets bored with CNN and their refusal to speculate, so he changes the channel to Geraldo Rivera. I know, I know. Geraldo is so amped up, his voice has gone up a couple of octaves. He, of course, is not above speculation. He keeps shouting in a high-pitched voice that this announcement is going to be earth-shattering, etc. Not even looking up from my celebrity gossip, I nonchalantly mumble to Steve "The only way this is going to live up to the hype is if Obama is announcing that they've killed bin Laden." Steve gasps, "You think?! That could be it! You could be right!" "I've been right before," I say with a shrug. Moments later, Geraldo rips a printed email out of the hands of somebody off-camera and excitedly reads aloud on-air that Osama bin Laden is dead. This news comes as a relief, but I'm always going to kind of hate that Geraldo Rivera is the person who told me. I wish it had been the President. Or Anderson Cooper. Or Hugh Jackman.

So, throughout this flurry of events, my mom is living for six days like a pioneer woman--without power. This of course, is due to the aforementioned massive tornado. She calls me on the morning after her power is restored.

Mom: Well, I turned on the TV for the first time in nearly a week. I'm finally seeing footage of the tornado that has ravaged our state and only missed my house by about ten miles. Charlie Sheen is visiting Tuscaloosa to assess the damage. There was a Royal Wedding. Osama bin Laden is dead...

...My lights are back on, and it's a dramatically different world than when the lights went off.

Me: It's frickin' trippy, right? Did The Lollipop Guild greet you outside?

Mom: Pretty much.

It's Anchorman, Not Anchor Lady. And That is a Scientific Fact.

It was my girlhood aspiration to be a broadcast journalist; not an uncommon dream amongst girls my age. More specifically, we wanted to be Katie Couric. By my senior year of high school, I had become a bit more jaded. I recognized that there is only one Katie Couric, and that my future in broadcast journalism would most likely involve standing on an overpass in Missoula during a thunderstorm, wearing an anorak and describing the rain drops and gusts of wind to viewers of the local affiliate. This was not my dream.

Just because I allowed the voices in my head to discourage me from pursuing this "unrealistic" goal, doesn't mean I can't enjoy watching my local newscast. I rather enjoyed this segment I watched on my local morning news cast Saturday, about a dog named Valentine that was up for adoption. See if you can spot where I got the giggles. Non-essential dialogue has been omitted.

Anchor Lady: He's a cutie! Is he a Pu-- He looks sort of like a Pug in the face...
SPCA Guy: This, this is a Pug-Beagle, or better known as a "Puggle"
Anchor Lady: A Puggle? Is it bigger, is that why?
SPCA Guy: Well, it's just a Pug and a Beagle mix. A few years back there were these whole "designer breeds" where people were mixing certain purebred dogs, but uh...this is Valentine, and she's a two-year-old Pug-Beagle...
Anchor Lady: Is she normally this sort of...domicile?*
SPCA Guy: When you get her out and play with her, she's pretty energetic. She is Heartworm positive...She would prefer to be the only dog in the family. She's a very dominant dog. And her easy nature--
Anchor Lady [interrupting and condescending]: You can't really tell by her easy nature--
SPCA Guy: Yeah, well, I don't have another dog in my lap, either.

[Anchor Lady changes subject, they discuss how it's more expensive to treat Heartworms than prevent it, but the adoptive family doesn't have to pay for Valentine's Heartworm treatment. They made a few "Valentine" puns]

SPCA Guy: We're open from noon to six every day

[More "Valentine" puns. They talk about a recent fundraiser]

Anchor Lady: We're glad you had wonderful fundraising for that Beagle! I mean, Beagle...Valentine! Which is...you called her a what, a "Peagle?"
SPCA Guy: A Puggle
Weather Lady: Puggle
Anchor Lady: A Puggle! And she's available for adoption today from twelve to nine? [SPCA Guy shakes head] Nine to six?
SPCA Guy: Twelve to six.
Anchor Lady: Twelve to six!

Anchor Lady thanks SPCA Guy for joining her, and then she challenges him to a push-up contest the next time he visits. This only makes sense if you listened to the banter that segued from the previous segment. Blogger's Note: SPCA Guy wasn't a horrible slouch or anything, but I'm guessing he hasn't done a push-up since Jimmy Carter was President.

*domicile: n. One's legal residence

Natalie Morales is Pretty

Ok, so while Steve is in our bedroom watching the Texas Rangers lose the World Series (I couldn't bear to watch), I was in the living room watching the Sister Wives Special, hosted by NBC's Natalie Morales. It was special indeed, and it turns out that the most "special" person of all...is Natalie Morales herself.

While interviewing Sister Wives patriarch Kody Brown alone on a rooftop, Natalie asks a question that makes me press "pause" on my DVR:

Natalie: You're sort of the--the moon, and they rotate around you. Is that a good way to put it?

No, Natalie. It is not a good way to put it.

Admittedly, I was not much of a science student, but even this question set off my "stupid radar". I attempted to verify my suspicions:

Me: Stayve! (That's how it sounds when I'm yelling)
Steve: Yuh!
Me: Nevermind. I don't wanna yell.
Steve: It's ok!
Me: Ok, so--planets orbit around the sun, right?
Steve: Uh huh.
Me: And moons orbit around planets?
Steve: Yeah, that's right.
Me: Does. Anything. Orbit. Around. The moons?
Steve: Don't think so.
Me: Natalie Morales thinks it does.
Steve: Natalie Morales is a dum-dum.

[I also ask Google. Google says "No."]

[Sigh]. Well, Natalie Morales is pretty. She has that going for her. I've been watching her on the Today show for years. I just love the way this "serious journalist" discusses celebrity gossip with more enthusiasm than she reserves for politics and current events.


The interview of a lifetime!

 I love when she reads the news while wearing a giant statement necklace that is so distracting, I can't pay attention to a damn word she says. I'm just wondering, "Are those semi-precious stones? Is it as heavy as it looks?"


One of her more understated pieces

I love when she covers stories that allow her the opportunity to wear lycra, demonstrate her athletic prowess, display her superior physique, and basically make the story about her.

Natalie doesn't just report the news. Natalie is the news! Like when she's preparing to interview actors on the red carpet at the Golden Globes, she did an entire piece on Today about her experience choosing a dress and getting glammed for the event. If Natalie has to try on a half dozen designer evening gowns and receive compliments from stylists on how super-skinny she is in order to get her story, she's not afraid to put herself out there or go that extra mile. I really admire that about her.

"The question everyone is dying to ask: How gorgeous do I look tonight?"

 One more thing: I love the way she overpronounces any Spanish word, so we can all be reminded what a proud Latina woman she is.

So yeah, if you can't already tell--I'm a big fan.

P.S. In the lengthy process of filming and producing the Sister Wives special, was there not a single cameraman, producer, production assistant, or editor who stopped to say, "Uh, Natalie, nothing orbits around moons." Why does this bug me so much?

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.

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.

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.

Credit Given Where Credit's Due

A while back, I took former First Daughter and Today contributing correspondent Ms. Jenna Bush Hager to task for her elementary school teacher style of narration. It's great for reading stories to young children, not so great for a national news program.

Her latest piece just aired and I must say, I noticed a marked improvement in her ease and style. She is doing a great job!

I figure, I can't criticize somebody and then not recognize them for doing well, so there you go--nice work, Jenna!

A 'Miner' Observation

Ok, if you have spent any time reading my blog, you know I don't really follow the "news" per se. I view the television purely as a source of entertainment. I receive most of my information via Us Weekly, Ryan Seacrest and Joel McHale of The Soup. But, if I'm watching Oprah, and I happen to be too busy taking care of my baby to change the channel when the local and national news airs, well then I just might watch the news on accident. That happened to me today.

Here's what I knew about the whole Chilean Miner saga prior to today:

1. There is a South American country called "Chile"
2. It is pronounced "Chee-lay"
3. They mine for stuff down there
4. People who mine for stuff down there are called "miners"
5. They work in places underground called "mines"
6. A bunch of miners somehow became trapped in a mine.
7. They will be rescued, but only after being stuck there for 2+ months
8. As wives and children of the trapped miners held vigil, so did the miners' mistresses. Awkward.

You had me at "Miner Mistresses". I erupted into a fit of giggles and ignored any other details related to the story. You have to forgive me, I've been taking care of a newborn, and my husband and I have the sense of humor appropriate for a 14-year-old boy. I have since learned that this is the Apollo 13 and Baby Jessica story of this decade. I will try to treat it as such. I am super thankful everybody has been safely rescued. They really beat the odds.

So, today was the day they all got rescued. We would later hear news reports describing their state of mind and conditions down there, but earlier in the day we are focusing on the jubilant occasion and witnessing the rescue of the 33 men. Here were my observations:

1. I expected them to be emaciated. They did not appear to be.
2. I expected them to have long pepaw beards. They did not.
3. I expected them to be all dirty like Pigpen from the Peanuts gang, and covered in soot. "But Samantha, they were trapped in a copper mine. They're not chimney sweeps!" No matter. I pictured them covered in soot.
4. I expected at least one of them to be slapped by his wife while his mistress throws herself in front of him. Kind of like an episode of Cheaters.
5. The ABC reporter gleefully reported that this mine previously produced copper, and some gold, but today it produces men! Living, joyous men. I think to myself that I have a few gay friends who would be thrilled about a "man mine".
6. Then they discuss the thing-a-ma-jig that is used to rescue them. I've been married to Steve too long, and my mind is in the gutter. The rescue thingy is shaped kind of like a phallus, and they use the words "lubricant" and "shaft" in describing how it operates. I let out a chuckle.
7. All this talk of mistresses, lubricants and shafts gets me thinking of sex. I text Steve: "Do you suppose that they had a designated jerk-off corner? It's a valid question, albeit a sick, perverted one. I'm sorry. Steve is filled with pride that such a thought would cross my mind. I apologize for him too.
8. I only spent a few minutes watching the rescue, but these miners appeared to be cleaner than I was while watching it from the comfort of my living room. I was all hot and sweaty from running around, consoling a screaming infant, and scrubbing pots and pans. Then, I was covered in spit-up and scraping baby poop out from under my fingernails. I don't even want to tell you what my hair looked like. I'll just say, these guys looked better than me, and they've been underground for two months.

What's Wrong with this Picture?

This note was written on the arm of an 11-year-old special education student, by her teacher's aide, who wanted the little girl's mom to call her Special Olympics coach.

So I ask you, what's wrong with this picture?

1. Arms are not proper writing surfaces
2. The word "tonight" is misspelled
3. No phone number is included
4. There is no Special Olympics coach by the name of "Jayne"

When called into the Principal's office, the aide apologized for forgetting to write down the phone number. Despite her nine years of experience on the job, she didn't seem to understand that what she had done was wrong.

Yeah, she got fired.

via KHOU Houston

Keep it Classy, Duke

Duke University graduate Karen F. Owen was a cleat chaser in college.

cleat chaser: (n) A person who seeks-out and prefers athletes for romantic interludes. (see: Alyssa Milano, Elisha Cuthbert)

As I was saying, Karen likes to bed members of Duke's athletic program. Mostly lacrosse players (I hear they have a sterling reputation as fine young men), with a few baseball players and a tennis player thrown in for good measure, usually on the same night she meets them, typically in a bar where binge drinking has taken place. 

In fact, Karen had the honor of sharing intimate encounters with thirteen such gentlemen. Rather than gab about it with her girlfriends over boxed wine while watching The Bachelor, our delicate, lovely Karen decided to turn her sexual escapades into a mock thesis in the form of a 42-slide PowerPoint presentation she forwarded to three friends. As any reasonable adult could have predicted, this thing went viral. It seems that Karen Owen is not a reasonable adult.

Anyway, this PowerPoint Presentation includes the name and photo of each conquest, along with a painstakingly detailed retelling of how she met her subject, details of her sexual encounter, praise and criticism of the experience, and finally, the subject is scored on a scale of 1-10. Bar graphs are involved. As a bonus, she is not bashful about disclosing details about each man's...equipment and aptitude.

I am a fan of Chelsea Handler's books, some of which are nothing more than anecdotes chronicling her sexy times. It seems hypocritical for me to praise Chelsea and condemn Karen. The difference between Karen and Chelsea is that Chelsea has a flair for storytelling. Karen, for all her efforts and her fancy Duke education, isn't too terribly clever and isn't much of a writer. "PowerPoint" implies a concise presentation. Instead, it is lengthy to the point of tedious, long-winded and self-indulgent. Also, Chelsea didn't share the photos and real names of her partners.

I am also familiar with Tucker Max, whose writing of his sexual escapades is so filthy, I would find him completely despicable and devoid of any redeeming value if not for the fact that he's sharp as hell and knows how to tell a story. Karen's PowerPoint is like a cheap re-make of Chelsea and Tucker's work and shows no imagination, while at the same time leaving nothing to the imagination.

Duke University, the young men detailed in the "thesis", and the families of all involved are pretty unhappy. I read that one of these guys is getting married this weekend. "Umm, Honey, there's something I have to tell you..."

I'm posting a link here if you really want to see this for yourself, but it's pretty detailed...and by "detailed" I mean "embarrassingly gross".

Predictably, parents and internet watch dog groups want to make this an opportunity to discuss internet security and teaching our children to use technology responsibly. Psychologist-types want to explore this topic further and discuss the evolution of women's sexuality, the erosion of morals, and the effects of social media. You can Google that sort of thing if you're interested. I don't feel like getting that deep with this subject matter. 

Oh, and when reached for comment, Karen says she regrets it and never meant to hurt anyone. I hope there's a family business she can go to work for. I can't imagine this looking good on her resume. I mean, it's not even a good PowerPoint presentation.

Babies and Bandits

I am running on four hours of sleep, and today is Robinson's two-month check up. For those of you without children, this means my boo is getting vaccinated. For those of you thinking "So?", this means my boo is gonna be a sad little man. I've been warned that fever and fits are to be expected. It's been recommended I strap on a helmet, because it's gonna be a rough ride. With only my sense of humor and a triple venti nonfat vanilla latte to help me, I started my day at 5:00 am. As I'm feeding Robinson his first bottle of the day, I am greeted by my local meteorologist, whose name is Jennifer Lopez, with an enthusiastic "It's Fall, y'all!" She isn't usually this excited, and I can tell she's been waiting months to be able to say that. Good for you, Jen. Good for you.

Next, I got a chuckle from this local news story about a local "Bathroom Bandit":

The guy on the right is Tyce Von Franklin. He was arrested on September 1 for robbing the Texas Trust Credit Union in Arlington, Texas and making off with $183,000. The guy on the right is Kyle Lightner, a bank teller who (allegedly) helped plot the heist, and assisted Franklin during the robbery through helpful text messaging.

If you're thinking $183,000 is a boat-load of cash and an impressive, rare feat, you are correct. So says the FBI. We've got ourselves a regular Ocean's Two over here in Texas! They don't look like George Clooney and Matt Damon, so just how exactly did they pull this off?

Franklin hid in the bathroom until the bank closed, at which point he emerged, brandishing a handgun (I love the word "brandishing". I so rarely get to use it in a sentence) and forced employees into the vault where he loaded up on dollar bills. Ahh, yes, the ol' "hiding in the bathroom" trick. Works every time! The text messages proved critical. Lightner reminded Franklin of the layout of the bank, and warned him of a co-worker who "screams at scary movies, so be calm." Then, the local newscast flashes an image of a cell phone with the following text messages:



Lightner: "Don't forget yo sunglasses"

Franklin:  "Alrite"


Yes, leaving behind the sunglasses you're seen wearing in surveillance footage while robbing a bank would be a critical error that could blow this case wide open. Good lookin' out.
As the mugshots indicate, these two criminal masterminds didn't ride off into the sunset to live out their days with their stolen loot. Allow me to outline all the ways they went wrong:

1. Four hours after the robbery, Franklin was pulled over for speeding (54 in a 40)
2. Franklin had in his possession a bank robber starter kit: a handgun, a surgical mask, and a large amount of cash.
3. Also in Franklin's possession: marijuana. I guess that was for celebrating his windfall.
4. Franklin was wearing the same t-shirt he wore during the robbery.

That's just sloppy bank robbing.

via NBC DFW

6-Year-Old Cheerleader Kicked Off Squad, 28-Year-Old Blogger Sounds Off

What Does Nancy Grace Have to Say About This?

Six-year-old Kennedy Tesch of Madison Heights, Michigan, near Detroit, is sans pom poms today. This, all because her mother voiced her objection to what many would agree is a suggestive cheer.

Here's the deal: Duane and Jennifer Tesch don't want their little girl to wind up on the Rock of Love Bus, so when she was set to perform a cheer they felt was in conflict with those goals, they sought out all the avenues for having the cheer removed from the girls' repertoire--up to and including alerting the local media.

The Tesch family tried going up the chain of command through the coach and league administration. After their attempts at a resolution failed, they took their story to the local news. Outraged that the Tesch's didn't resolve the issue internally, and insisting that this cheer has been a 20-year-tradition and that the Tesch's are the ones with the dirty minds for finding the cheer inappropriate, the cheerleading squad voted unanimously to remove the little girl from the team. She is entitled to a full refund and allowed to return to the squad next season--on probation!

Apparently, the Madison Heights Youth Flag Football Team is so steeped in tradition that they felt it more appropriate to kick a little girl off their team than to perhaps reevaluate this ridiculous cheer. Let's see what all the fuss is about:

Picture your six year old little girl performing this chant in front of a crowd of grown men:

"Our backs ache, our skirts are too tight, we shake our booties from left to right." 

I have all kinds of problems with this chant. Allow me to enumerate them for you:

1. Why does your back ache, six year old girl? Mine aches, but I'm on the eve of my 29th birthday, just carried a baby the size of a chuck wagon to full term, and I'm having prolonged issues related to the epidural. I could really use a vicodin right now. So tell me, why does your back ache again?
2. Why is your skirt too tight? Are you trying to wear your uniform from last season? Are you starting the Master Cleanse on Saturday? Or do you just like the way it makes your booty pop? Why would a six year old girl wear a skirt that is too tight? And why is that something to cheer about?
3. You shake your booty from left to right? I suppose a little booty shakin' never hurt anybody. Heaven (and the DJ at the Five Points Music Hall) knows I did some booty shakin' in my day. For me, the booty shaking by itself isn't so offensive, but the first grade girls have already revealed that they are shaking their booties while wearing ill-fitting garments, which raises the Skanky Score on this cheer from Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders to Pussycat Dolls.

I guess now you're gonna tell me that I've got a filthy mind. (You wouldn't be the first). Or you're gonna tell me I'm an uptight prude who needs to lighten up (You would be the first.) What I find appropriate for women is not the same as what I find appropriate for little girls. But don't ask me, ask Nancy Grace. While some might find her...overzealous, when it comes to exploited children, hell hath no fury like Nancy Grace. See for yourself, as The Soup mashes up Glen Beck and Nancy Grace telling us what's wrong with America:

So, Madison Heights Youth Flag Football Cheerleading Program: are you telling us that if we as parents want to exercise discretion in determining what is appropriate for our young children, we have to either check our morals at the door or get the hell off your football field? Are you so proud of this adorable cheer that you felt it worth fighting for? Shame on you!

For the record, I did not officially begin shaking my booty until I was nine. And for that, I have the Corky Bell School of Dance and Wreckx-N-Effect's "Rump Shaker" to thank.

"All I wanna do is in my zoom zoom zoom and a boom boom--Just shake your rump!"

I just wanna give a virtual *hug* to all the mothers of little girls out there. Society seems to really want them to slut it up. You've got an uphill battle. I've said my peace. Your move, Nancy Grace.

*soap box dismount*

Hide Ya Kids, Hide Ya Wife

"...cuz they rapin' erry-body out herrre"

A warning to would-be rapists in Lincoln Park, the housing projects of Huntsville, Alabama: When choosing whose bedroom window to climb into, skip the Dodsons'. They've put you on blast! These are the sassiest, most indignant crime victims I've ever seen. I love them.

"You can run and tell that--homeboy!"

P.S. Between this news piece and Struttin' That Ass, Huntsville is quickly becoming my new favorite city.



Thanks, Jason!

An Open Letter to Jenna Bush Hager

Jenna Bush Hager. Sweet, smiling, bright-eyed Jenna Bush Hager. I don't know what to do with you! Being a contributing correspondent for the Today show can't be easy. Being the daughter of a librarian and a teacher yourself, it must be so difficult to speak on camera and not sound like you're reading a children's book aloud to a group of first graders. That said, please try to remember that when you're on television, you're speaking to adults, and a more relaxed, natural tone and demeanor is acceptable. Preferred, in fact. With no distinguishable journalism or on-air experience, and a father who was not regarded as a gifted public speaker, it may seem that you are an unlikely choice for this job. I am sure you weren't chosen for this highly coveted job a million young women would kill for just because of who your family is, but I think you need a little practice. And I would advise you against practicing in front of your librarian mom. She's no help in this matter. Consult your cousin, Billy Bush.

"They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said..."

So what do we think of Abby Sunderland, the surly teen sailor rescued from the Indian Ocean recently? As an indoorsy girl (spell check says "indoorsy" isn't a word) who is regarded as a poor driver, I have trouble wrapping my brain around the idea of a sixteen-year-old sailing around the world alone.

Leaving behind my family, friends, and extracurricular activities would never have occurred to me at that age. If I were to tackle such an endeavour, I would do so with cute sailor outfits, lots of waterproof eye makeup, and an iPod playlist filled with sailing music like Christopher Cross and Styx. Clearly, Abby and I have nothing in common. And I would quickly perish at sea. Watching her in interviews, she kind of reminds me of MTV's Daria. She's very sullen and expressionless...and unapologetically unglamorous. I can tell that if Abby met me, she wouldn't like me one bit. I can't get over how nonchalant she is about the whole thing. I wrecked my mom's car once at her age, and was apologizing all over the place. Abby's Indian Ocean rescue cost a million dollars, and she just shrugs like, "Ehh". She's mostly just pissed that she's back home. I'm thinking she's a little snot. Then, I met her family on the Today show, and I developed a new found sympathy for the teen. In addition to her older brother, Zac (who also opted for life on the ocean), there are six other small children in that family. Her mom actually just gave birth to their eighth kid. Thinking of life as a sixteen-year-old girl in a house of ten people, half of whom can't use a toilet unassisted, her choice to live a solitary life on the open sea makes a bit more sense. There's worse things she could have done.

If you were a pissed off sixteen-year-old girl trapped in a house with parents intent on breeding a child army, how would you plot your escape? I think I would procure a fake ID and run away to Vegas to be a showgirl or a cocktail waitress. It sounds like something sixteen-year-old Samantha would have thought was a good idea.

Umm, That's What She Said...

Actually, that is what I said...like, a week ago. When I wrote about Joran Van der Sloot and his arrest for the murder of Stephany Flores, I suggested that BP use Joran to plug the oil well and explained that this would kill two birds with one stone.

Today, my Facebook news feed told me that two of my friends "Like" the page "Let's plug the BP oil leak with Joran Van Der Sloot". The description of the page: "KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE!" 31,500 people "Like" this. And counting.

I Google Chatted Jarred and was all like, "Hey, that's what I said!" and he responded: "31,000 people like your joke. Indirectly. I once made a joke that I don't like cocaine, I just like the way it smells. Turns out it's a Richard Pryor joke from the 80's. Repeats do happen*." Whatever, I know that I wrote the words before Facebook made a fan page out of it. I guess I should just be pleased that there are over 31,000 others who validate my feelings. One person wrote on the wall: "Absolutely brilliant." One could reason that they are actually saying, "Samantha, you are brilliant." And to that I say "Thank you. You are too kind."

Blogger's note: I have no idea what the kid was doing making a joke about cocaine. He couldn't tell an 8-ball of coke from a baggie of Johnson & Johnson Baby Powder, and everybody knows it.

How's That for a Birth Plan?

Jessica Taylor was being rushed to the hospital by baby daddy Jeremy Smith, when Denton County, Texas Deputy Jason Quigley pulled over their 2006 Nissan Armada for going 97 in a 55.

So Jeremy's all, "I was like, 'We got to go! She's pregnant, having the baby, let's go,' and he was like, 'No, hold on.'"

Typical men. During this time, Jessica takes matters into her own err...hands:

"They're still talking, so I just rip my pants down, he looks over, (and) the head's coming out, and he's screaming," Jessica said.

So right there, on the side of the road, Jeremy and Deputy Quigley birth this baby, 6 pound, 13 ounce Jayden Leigh Smith.

"He runs to his car and comes back with a police rain jacket. It's one of those black-and-yellow (ones), and now it's got baby all over it," Smith said with a smile.

That quote doesn't do this story justice. Read it again, this time with a southern drawl, the way I heard it on the news this morning:

"He ruuuuns ta his carrr and comes back wit a po-lice rayne jack-et. It's one a dose black n' yeller (ones), and now it's got baybee allllll oh-ver it," Smith said with a smile.

Gross. If the rain jacket is covered in "baby" I wonder how the upholstery of the Nissan Armada's looking right about now. It's condition will only improve in the Texas heat. That's going to look great on a Carfax report later.

The news anchors took great delight in bringing us this story today. They thought it was so funny. I know, because they said "This is funny." Maybe for you, homes. For me, this is the stuff of nightmares.

Source: NBC DFW

Van der Sloot Confesses

"I did not want to do it. The girl intruded into my private life... she didn't have any right."

Joran confessed to murdering Stephany Flores after she used his laptop and discovered his involvement in Natalee Holloway's disappearance. The article doesn't state whether Joran is a Mac or a PC.

This is like the plot of a horror movie. You just know her mom warned her about going off with strangers, and here she is in a hotel alone with this strange Dutchman. She must have gotten pretty nervous and suspicious in order for her to Google him* using his laptop while in his room. By the time she discovers the truth, it's too late. It's chilling to imagine.

Joran is also facing extortion charges in the U.S. for trying to extort $250,000 from Holloway's family in exchange for describing how she died and disclosing the location of her body.

Is there a more disgusting human being walking this earth?

*She may have Googled him, she may have Binged him. I dunno.

Source: MSNBC, New York Daily News