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Sweetness And Light

6 Mar

A few days ago I told my nephew I was going to change it up a bit with the blog. I decided to write about something I loved rather than document rampant asshattery. BUT THAT SAME DAY, as if The Universe was in a particularly jokey mood, Ben Carson informed me that prison turns people gay. So. He’s pulling back a bit now because hopefully someone he loves smacked him upside the head, BUT he’s not going to address “gay issues” anymore. This presidential candidate. In 2015. Won’t be talking LGBT rights. 

Yeah.

But whatever. I don’t have time for him because I’m still busy castigating my husband because he thought that dress was white. And there’s four inches of ice and snow in my yard and we’re still in danger of waking up speaking Russian and ISIS is destroying an entire culture and someone knifed our ambassador to South Korea and some moron thought a water taxi from Mud Island to Bass Pro Pyramid was a good idea and…

There’s this polar bear.

Memphis Zoo has a daddy polar bear named Payton. He’s from the Chicago area originally and, you know, a polar bear, so he’s not so much born for Memphis weather. The zoo was closed yesterday, but posted a video of Payton hanging out in the snow. LIKE A BOSS.

Payton is named for Walter Payton, also a Chicago Bear. Much like watching his namesake on the field back in the day, Payton will give you joy. That video? Fifty-two seconds of unadulterated bliss. My goal in life is to be as content as that bear. My parents were here for a couple of days and we’ve all watched that video a million times. It’s bookmarked so when we have a crappy day, we can go straight to Payton. If reincarnation is for real, I want to come back as that polar bear at that moment. Either that or one of Martha Stewart’s chow chows. Those dogs have it made.

I’ve just been getting zen with Sweetness for a few minutes because I looked in the mirror. It was either Payton The Polar Bear or Jim Beam The Bourbon. Sweet Gussie, I’m getting old. Natural light is not my friend. Not. My. Friend. Because I don’t get out much, I have, um…I’m not…I don’t dress…I look like hammered snot all the time. Okay, are you happy? I said it. My name is Susan and I haven’t worn pants with a zipper since mid-2013. Bra? Yeah, I used to sell them. I have drawers full of them. They are full because they are not on my body. Makeup? Used to sell that too. I just threw out some Chanel eyeshadow that I know had to be at least 11 years old. It hurt my soul to do it, but one should not keep makeup as one keeps wine.

I decided a few weeks ago, as I’m looking to join the ranks of the employed before I’m legally able to draw Social Security, that I need to start getting dressed, putting on some makeup, not terrifying my husband when he comes home because I look like that girl from The Ring had a baby with Jonathan Winters. I need to start training, as it were. Now, here’s the thing. My friend Brandee used to make fun of me at lunch because after eating, I would line my lips, fill in with my base lipstick, then finish with a gloss or glaze. The process took a minute or two. Now? Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers are about the extent of my makeup wardrobe. Except for concealer. And you can pry my concealer from my cold, dead under-eye circles. I decided to do the makeup thing right and get what I wanted rather than what would make do. The foundation I got is a new formula from an old brand. I’d read good things about it and have always had luck with this particular line. So I ordered it in the color I wore the last time I bought that brand.

foundation

 As I said, I don’t get out much. But I soldiered on. I can make it work. It’s just too much drama to return it. So I did. I made it work. And I got this eyeliner that I’ve always loved. Some new mascara, because nothing breeds bacteria like old cheese and mascara. A lipstick or two. I put on my face Wednesday. And The Chuck came home and kept looking at me all

Not used to seeing me with makeup, he says. If you have known me for more than a few years, you know this is about the second to last thing anyone would ever say to me. Second to, “I think your exercise regime is too strenuous,” which is tied with, “You need to add more cheese to your diet.” I didn’t overdo the makeup, but I felt conspicuous. I felt I looked like this

sparkle

The truth was I really looked like this

realActually, now that I see the picture, I look a little washed out. But the point is, I do not look like a Vegas drag queen stripper after a bender.

And you know what? I don’t care that all anyone talked about this week was llamas and dresses and thank God Carson got off his duff and asked Mrs. Hughes The Question. You know why? I’ll tell you. We have a potential presidential candidate who believes you can convert to Gayism like you can convert a .doc to a .pdf and Alabama wants it to be okay for a Baptist not to perform a wedding ceremony for a Hindu couple. So, yes, while you read this 792 people died of toenail fungus, 201 sloths were forcibly declawed, 903,820 adult humans were denied the right to protest gravity in court, and my neighbor didn’t take his poop bag when he walked his dog.

We need a break, is what I’m saying.

Image

Yup

17 Feb

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You Proved Me Wrong

13 Feb

Mississippi, my beautiful home state, you proved me wrong. I’ve never been so happy about being wrong.

From US District Court Judge Carlton Reeves at the sentencing of James Craig Anderson’s murderers

2015

7 Feb

yeah and another thingI took a sabbatical that sucked. I left, almost totally, all social media. By that I mean I will always love to Facebook stalk. I just cain’t quit it. There was a little bit of method to this madness. A madness I will explain at a later date because I’ll be writing again, kids. Daddy and I have discussed it and Mommy is a much nicer person when she is vomiting all over the internet (See also: Nicer with Xanax). Okay, so much nicer is a relative term. Like jumbo shrimp. Or funny Jay Leno joke.

Point is, Yeah, And Another Thing will be relaunching next week. Don’t expect a makeover like how Abercrombie and Fitch used to sell hella good waxed hunting jackets, but now they sell clothes for prostitots. It will be better. But not like better like you upgraded from a 2003 Motorola flip to an iPhone 6. More like, um, you changed the oil in your ’77 Gremlin. Yeah. But you still have the original tires, no AC, and just an AM radio.

I know some of you regularly check to see if something new has posted and some of you have been kind enough to contact me to make sure I’d not fallen in a sewer grate. I really appreciate it. I DO THIS FOR YOU!

Blanche

10 Dec

this christmasPeople think that if you don’t work outside the home, all you do is lie around and eat bonbons and watch stories. First? There’s only like one soap opera left on TV. Second? I prefer Cheetos. There’s so much to do around the house even now that both Girl Child and Boy Child are out of the house. Chuck and I were both sick during Thanksgiving, and I’d just had enough of walking through the living room thinking about how it really needed to be dusted. So I hired an imaginary maid, Blanche.

Blanche came highly recommended from the tap instructor of my imaginary twins Sizzlene and Formicadinette. But it’s been a while since I’ve managed people, and I guess I’m out of practice. So here’s a thing. I said to her yesterday, I said, “Blanche, that Christmas tree isn’t going to decorate itself.” And she, cheeky thing that she is, said to me, “Missus, CTFO and drink your bourbon.” Now, I was totally on board for the latter, but I had to call a teenager to ask what a CTFO was. And I’ll just say this, I’m very hot-natured so I thought that was kind of nice.

We’re going to get that damn tree up today. Or maybe tomorrow. Point is, we’re getting that damn tree up. Just a little while ago while she was admonishing me for not polishing the silver more regularly and with more vigor, I told her I thought it would be nice if we had a fire in the fireplace. Actually, I was back in the bedroom going through the pockets of every jacket I own to find a freaking tube of Burt’s Bees or Lip Smackers or any of the 5,930,372 tubes of lip stuff I KNOW I own but can’t ever find, and she was in the dining room doing whatever it is maids do in dining rooms. So I called to her. I said, using my outside voice, “BLANCHE! FOR GOD’S SAKE GO PULL THAT LIMB THAT FELL SATURDAY OFF THE CARPORT ROOF AND START A FIRE!” Well, then I hear my text alert and was about to ignore it like I normally do, but I was hoping to hear from my friend who was having silicone injected into her earlobes today. She has always had the most leaf-like lobes. Just weird and thin and, well, unattractive. But it was Blanche! blanche

Can you believe that? Part of her contract is that SHE does my pedicures every Wednesday. I can’t believe she forgot that’s tomorrow. Much more of that and she can just go back to cleaning floor wax out of shoe taps.

Swimming To The Surface

25 Jun

2102_47438731251_2845_nI told you I’d be gone and then back. The “back” part has given me a little trouble. I just spent a long weekend with my honey. I don’t remember the last time we went out of town just the two of us. And this trip was to a magical place with no cellphone reception or internet. It was incredible. And I mean that in the true sense of the word. I actually didn’t believe we were there. It was so amazing, I only complained about bugs like ten times.

We did quite a bit of fishing. By that I mean we sacrificed many yummy worms to tiny baby fish. We only hauled up about three, only one of which was worth heating up the grease for. It was a 22 inch catfish. Yes, I know. I’m supposed to tell you its weight, not its length. We didn’t have anything to weigh it it and I am notoriously bad at estimating anything that requires a number value. “Oh, it’s about a hundred yards from here.” That means nothing to me. A yard, a mile, a hectare? All the same. Oh, and don’t get me started on stones. One stone equals fourteen pounds? You know what else equals fourteen pounds? Fourteen pounds.

But that’s not the point. The point is that I’ve been in a self-imposed news exile for several months. Lookit, I know. I KNOW. You don’t need to give me all the crap about caring what goes on in the world and how we’re all connected and being a clueless American. Suck it. I’ve got enough drama here in the Greater Metropolitan Standard Shed Area. I don’t need yours too. So I’m just going to get it out all in one fell swoop.

Let’s begin, shall we? In no particular order…

  1. SCOTUS knocks down a key piece of Voting Rights Act saying that because it’s worked, we no longer need it. Okay, I see where they’re going with this. Following this logic, The Supremes will ban birth control by ruling, “Hey, you didn’t get knocked up last year, did you? No. It worked. You don’t need it anymore. NEXT!”
  2. Paula Deen’s sons say she’s not a racist! She let us watch Hank Aaron! Y’all, stick some butter in your pie holes and be quiet. But even more? Gentle readers, stop assuming that because she’s a Southern woman of a certain age she doesn’t know any better or doesn’t mean anything by it.
  3. In Texas, according to State Representative Jodie Laubenberg, if you’re raped and report it, you get a complimentary abortion! Apparently, “in the emergency room they have what’s called rape kits, where a woman can get cleaned out.”  To quote my extremely profound husband, “Wow.”
  4. Twenty-three Seven years ago, I was denied admission to Bennington College. Why they chose not to accept my application is beyond me. Who WOULDN’T want me at their school? Who could possibly deny themselves the pleasure of my company? I shall now sue. Some kid gets denied admission to University of Texas and, I can only imagine, is then hounded by some lawyer wanting to make a (literal) federal case that she was denied admission because she was white. So, all I want to say about this is that she WAS admitted to Texas, just not the Austin campus. She then chose to go to LSU. I don’t know the ins and outs of all this, but I do know this: If she’d really wanted to end up on that Austin campus, she could have worked at it. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and whatnot.
  5. This really isn’t bad news, but I thought I’d include it anyway. Rick Santorum is going to head a “faith-based” movie studio in Dallas. First, moving away from politics is an excellent decision. But. I’m always skeptical of companies who make a big deal that they’re “faith-based” or “Christian”. To me if you’re walking the walk, you don’t need to advertise your talk. I find it in poor taste to use faith and religion in marketing. And by “in poor taste” I mean “desperate”.

As I Was Saying…

9 Jun

tweet yallYeah, so didn’t make it back quite in the time frame I imagined. I’m just not going to get into why because it’s really just not that interesting. I mean, I know I’m not generally interesting anyway, but this is like hearing someone else’s dream not interesting. It’s like listening to someone describe a dress not interesting. Have you ever noticed that when someone describes what she’s going to wear, it never looks like you think it will? There’s a lot of that going on in my world.

And yet here I am. IT’S ALL FOR YOU, INTERWEBZ!

I just want to say that I hate spring. I mean, I hate summer more. Especially August. But summer is at least honest. You know you’re going to be miserable in summer. You know you’ll spend three months peeling your thighs off hot car seats. You know you’re going to shower three times a day because walking out to get the mail makes you sweat through your caftan. And your mailbox isn’t even at the road. You know there are bugs as big as toddlers that are just waiting patiently to suck the life out of you by biting your ankles…just like toddlers with wings, in fact.

No, I hate spring because it’s too damned optimistic. Spring is all about promise, but it’s like the promise of that pub with the sign “Free Beer Tomorrow”. And now we’re into June and it’s going to be 95° this week with 876% humidity. You know what that means? There’s nowhere for the sweat to go. So you spend a little time outside and you turn into a Syracuse salt potato but without the creamy interior. Spring is crafty like a ninja. One day you’re sweating your bippy off and the next day you’re digging for wool socks. One day everything’s all green and fluffy and the next day it’s like Colonel Kilgore decided he wanted to smell victory so everything’s charred.

Also in Memphis, as in much of this part of the world, the hotter it gets, the more we all start sounding like Blanche DuBois. The heat turns our brains syrupy and ridiculous memories start oozing out our ears so then we’re like Blanche DuBois at the end of the play. And we start using the term “branch water” too much.

I’m going to be writing more regularly this summer, although I’ll just tell you up front I’ve got some obligations that might make that more difficult in the immediate future. BUT DO NOT CRY, GENTLE READER. For just like bangs and STDs, you’re pretty much stuck with me from here on out.