"The next-best thing."

I've become obsessed with finding some original nail colors. For years I've worn light colors in the summer and dark in the winter (I've especially enjoyed the really dark purple-black). Now I'm looking for something different - specifically, I've been searching for a flat, wet-concrete gray and a midnight blue that doesn't have sparkles. You'd be surprised how difficult this is to find, given that they are all over the internet. I'm also anxiously awaiting the winter colors from Essie because I'm dying to wear that mint candy apple.

But girls, what ALWAYS happens when you know what you want but can't seem to find it anywhere? That's right, you buy what you believe will be the next-best thing.

Only it never is, is it?

I bought an OPI color (Moon over Mumbai) yesterday that was the only gray I could find. I thought it would be, if not concrete gray, at least gray flannel, and I went in today to have my nails done.

Now, this will probably come as a surprise to you, but I get my nails done at the salon in Wal Mart. I KNOW!! Here's why: several years ago, when I used to go to a she-she salon, I broke a nail right before an important meeting or business trip or something. So I called my nail girl from the she-she salon and said, "If I come by your house, can you fix my nail?" and she said, "Sure, but I have to tell you my son has mono." Oh-ho! No thank you then. In desperate measures, I went to the nearest salon to have it fixed - and that was the one in Super Wal Mart by my house.

And you know how that old business adage goes: "Speed. Price. Quality: Pick Two." Well my Wal Mart nail salon is the only exception to that rule that I have ever encountered. They work twice as fast and cost half as much as the she-she salon. So I went back. And I've been going to them for years and I've never had a nail break. So sue me. I get my nails done at Wal Mart.

Plus, you can't beat the people-watching while you're drying, right?? The oh-honey-no moments alone are worth the price of admission.

Although, there is a problem with going into Wal Mart on October 31. It's rather hard to tell who's in costume exactly. I'm not sure whether she actually came out in pajama pants, house shoes and rollers or if she somehow thought that would make a fun Halloween costume.

So anyway, I had the Moon over Mumbai applied and it was...not what I expected. It was rather light. And not very opaque. I withheld my judgment until he applied a second coat, because that can make all the difference. But it just didn't come out as I'd hoped at all. It's very pearl-colored. In fact, it's very pearl necklace-colored, if you know what I mean. In fact, I'm taking it off right now.

"Where they remain for weeks."

This weekend, we attack the clothes. Those evil, multiplying clothes. You know the ones - they simply refuse to stay put away in dark drawers or closets and insist instead on slithering out onto the floors where they much prefer to spend their days lounging around out in the light of day.

I kid, of course. The clothes don't actually escape to the floor and every available sitting surface in my home. That's just where we keep them.

It starts one of two ways: Either I have to be out of town over a weekend and so do not get the laundry done on my regular laundry day (Sunday, the day the lord made for laundry), so in a desperate measure for clean clothes, Chip will put a load or two in the washer. They will make it through to the dryer and then into a pile on the sofa. Where they will remain several weeks - if not MONTHS - later.
OR. I will do the laundry on my chosen laundry day - sort, haul*, wash, dry, fold** - allowing my self-righteousness to build up over the entire day, until by evening, I simply refuse to put the clothes away for grown men who are completely capable of putting their own damn clothes away. And you know how this story ends: the clean clothes end up sitting (at least folded this time) on the sofa for weeks...if not months.

I try to occasionally tackle it all but there's so much that it's overwhelming. Especially when you add sheets into the mix. And so, I have declared this Saturday as The Day We Will Take Care of The Clothes. Bag up the stuff that doesn't fit for Goodwill, box up the summer stuff, put away the clean and God help these boys if they try to throw clean clothes back into the laundry (the chosen strategy in this household for not putting clothes away).

Because let's be honest - part of the problem is that we just have too damn many clothes. Way more than we need. And when you've got so many clothes that they spill out into the room and you go for months without ever wearing them, it's time to do some scaling back.

I told Elijah not to plan to go anywhere Saturday morning until it was done. But I started my room tonight so that I can help him tackle his room on Saturday. Then the two of us will make our way down to the illegal alien clothes making their home in my living room. I estimate our house will be three big black garbage bags lighter come Sunday morning.




* Can somebody please explain to me why the washer and dryer can't be UPSTAIRS? You know...WHERE THE LAUNDRY IS??

** I know, I know. I got it so hard. What with the MACHINES to actually do the washing and the drying FOR me. Gone 20 years and I still hear my daddy's voice.

"They're a pain in the ass."

Teenagers. Man.

Even when they're good, they're a pain in the ass.

Cause look, my kid, he's not a bad kid. He doesn't drink or smoke or do drugs. He works pretty hard in school and gets decent grades. He doesn't miss curfew or sneak out at night. So what right do I have to complain, right?

Oh please. You know me better than that.

Geez, HIS ATTITUDE. I ask him to take out the trash and he acts so put out. As if I've expected him to repave the driveway before he can have any supper. Cinderfuckingella, that's who. Cinderelijah.

I text him to remind him to empty the dishwasher before I get home from work but when I get home it's still full of clean dishes and he forgot. He had too much homework. He has zero time management skills and the memory of a flea.

When I get angry because he blows off a chore, I yell, "You're not going anywhere tomorrow!" which to me meant, "You're on restriction for one day for not doing what you're told." but he heard, "Come straight home from school tomorrow but feel free to go out later on with your friends." Sadly, I don't think he was being manipulative. I think he really just doesn't get it. And I swear I'm not being niave. He didn't run off to commit helterskelter; he went to church. He goes every Wednesday. It never occurred to him that I meant he couldn't go.

I'm torn between demanding that he COME HOME IMMEDIATELY YOU ARE ON RESTRICTION GODDAMMIT and asking him to bring me home a milkshake.

"I'm in Connecticut!"

Well look at this...I had to go all the way TO CONNECTICUT to get online. Fucking laptop.

Ahem.

Hi! I'm in Connecticut! It's a business trip so my apologies if I'm within an hours drive of you & did not swing by to say hi. My bosses are doing the Celebrity Chef Sundays at Foxwoods Casino which holy shit! This place is HUUUGE.

We flew up on Saturday morning. This is actually only my second trip with my bosses, the first being to Nashville and not requiring air travel. As the travel is paid for as part of their appearance contract, they fly first class but I am resigned to coach. It's not bad, though, since I check in at 1st class with them, then go through 1st class security and even pre-board with them.
I guess there's not a direct flight from Memphis to Hartford, so we had to go through Detroit. That was super-easy though, since our arrival gate and departure gate were directly across from one another. My flight to Detroit was horrendous, as the flight was full and the man next to me reeked of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. The flight from Detroit to Hartford was very bumpy, but at least my seat mates were clean-smelling women. Teenagers in the seats behind me were unnecessarily loud so yeah, flying coach still pretty much sucks. I didn't get any photos of pretty leaves from the plane because of the cloud cover. When we landed, it was raining in Hartford. Okay, I suppose I brought the wrong coat then.

A stretch limo picked us up at the airport for the hour's drive to Foxwoods. It was mostly uneventful except for the moment that traffic stopped in both directions on the highway because someone's dog had jumped out of their car and they were running around trying to catch it. (I do hope they were successful.) It was rainy and the limo driver was listening to NPR's "On the Media." I know this because I had listened to the same radio program that morning at 6 a.m. when I left my house.

The VIP escort met us at the casino hotel. She was wearing jeans and flip flops. Also? They said this was an Indian Casino but I've yet to see any Indians here. I'm pretty sure that's false advertising.

We did a walk through at the theater and in the kitchen, then went to dinner where we were treated like royalty with the chef sending out all kinds of appetizers and bottles of wine for the table. That almost makes up for all the people who just walk up to the Celebrity Chefs AND HUG THEM. I'm sorry but I do not want to be famous if it means strange people coming up to me and invading my personal space. That is just so weird. I would never do that. I can't even imagine.

We had a tech rehearsal at 10 a.m. this morning, so I set my phone alarm for 8 to give me plenty of time. Unfortunately, I hadn't noticed that my phone did not reset to Eastern Time. So I got up at 8 a.m. Central Time and began the day running an hour late. Ever the professional, that's me.

At least the sun is out, so I did get some leaves photos. (From the casino window. I haven't actually stepped outside since we arrived.)

And now? I'm about out of time on the computer that I paid $8 to use. So I will bid farewell. Hope your weekend is grand.





PS - People here talk funny.

"Reality TV is destroying our society."

So the whole Balloon Boy story was a hoax. Twenty years ago, I might have been astonished by that. But in a world where a woman would purposely give birth to octuplets solely so that she can get her own reality television show, the Balloon Boy hoax is just business as usual.

For the longest time, I refused to watch any reality television. Then I found myself sucked into The Amazing Race and yeah, I was pretty excited when Project Runway moved to basic cable so I could watch it too. So I guess now I would say that I'm a bit of a reality TV snob. I don't feel like the shows I watch cater to the lowest common denominator the way so much of reality TV does.

And that's where the problem lies really afterall - in taking people who we wouldn't ordinarily give the time of day AND PUTTING THEM ON TV. Like all those no-talent goofballs on The Hills who have no business being on television and the nutcases on Wife Swap who go to all kinds of extremes just for show. Reality TV is destroying our society and the people who watch are every bit as responsible as the producers. Being upset by the Balloon Boy hoax but still watching the trash television that inspired it is like complaining about the paparazzi who killed Princess Di but still buying US magazine.

I was shocked to find out that child labor laws don't apply to reality TV shows. I guess they're not technically "working" just because they have cameras following them around day & night. I personally think it should be against the law for children to be on them at all. Do we have any idea the long-term psychological effects it has on them? I can only imagine the exaggerated self-importance one must develop from such a childhood.

"You down with ppt?"

Last week I participated in something I've never done before: Powerpoint Karaoke. This is when you stand up in front of a crowd and present a deck from slides you've never seen. My friend Bob at One Half Amazing organized the whole thing and made up the decks.

The rules are:

1. The presentations last approximately 4 minutes each.
2. The slides are programmed to advance automatically every 20 seconds.
3. The participant must not have seen the slides in advance.
4. The last slide is noted with a red "L" so the participant can conclude.
5. Participants are judged on humor, execution and something else that I can't remember.
   

So I just went to the event one evening after work to watch. Some of my local twitter friends were going to be there. I thought it would be a fun evening and I wanted to support Bob. But he kept HARRASSING me about presenting. He had two empty slots to fill but I said no, no I just want to watch.

I watched several participants and I was surprised to see that the slides were not actual business decks. They were meant to be funny and sometimes the slides within a presentation didn't even seem to be related. I guess that's the challenge of it. For instance, a slide might have nothing more than a large pie chart that shows "88% Bears" and "12% Battlestar Galectica." I think the girl that got that slide said, "You have a better chance of getting laid if you're a bear than if you play Battlestar Galectica."

So after watching several people people make a go at it, I thought, "Well this doesn't look so hard." I mean, if anyone can talk out their ass, it's ME. So I said, OK, I'll try it.

Ahem. Let me just say, in my defense, it looks a whole lot easier when your sitting in the audience facing the slides than it is when you're up there trying to present.

I sucked it up, but it was my first time! No one ever does anything good their first time! Although damn. My hair looks good.

So here I am, doing my thang. Ya'll be nice now.





You can see all the videos from that night here.

"What I tagged"

I'm a little pissed that you guys didn't tell me about Lucky magazine before. I read the October issue while I was hanging around on the set and I got TONS of good ideas from just that one issue.

So let's get started on what I tagged.






I wouldn't wear this outfit myself, although it might be cute on someone in her 20s. But the shoes are really cute - I don't know if you can tell that each of the straps are studded. (Click on the photo to embiggen.) And I think they'd be really cute with TIGHTS. (Betsey Johnson, $100.) (And how great is that to find shoes in a fashion spread that don't cost $500??)

I hope you can see all this great winter white through the crazy Star Trek fashion that bled through the other side of the page. Ya'll, I love, love, LOVE winter white. (Have you ever seen that movie where Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet trade houses for the holidays? So much great winter white in that movie. Kudos to that costumer.) I covet the cords in the lower right corner (White House Black Market, $88), which would be so cozy with my brown cableknit sweater.

This spread says, "I love the idea of wearing a summery-feeling dress under a heavy coat." I like layering a summery dress over tights or leggings and even a long-sleeved leotard or turtleneck, with boots and a cardigan or some other jacket.

You already know that I enjoy spicing up an outfit with a scarf. These "infinity scarves" look super cozy and are predicted to be everywhere this winter. (I saw some at The Limited today. I wasn't crazy about the colors they offered, but they may work for you.)

Not all the ideas I get from a magazine require me to buy something (thank god). Often I'll see something that I can put together with items that are already in my closet, like this:

Black turtleneck under a crisp white shirt with a pencil skirt, black tights & pumps. How sharp is that?

And not all the ideas come from the fashion spreads. There are a lot of great looks in the ads themselves.

This dolman sleeve boatneck tee over a turtleneck is something I would never have considered for myself. But look how great it looks in the ad. I mean, I KNOW - that's THE POINT behind placing an ad. So well played, Michael Stars. Well played.

And how savvy was Reebok to place an ad that resembles a fashion layout?

Because how many Lucky readers would even pay attention to an ad for team t-shirts? But as a fashion-conscious girl who also loves sports, I have always been at a loss for how to dress to watch the game. This ad gave three ideas - one for hosting at home, one for tailgating and one for a sports bar.

The magazine also had some great jewelry ideas, like the cuff bracelet in this spread (on the left):

Which I love for its rocker-chick edginess. And this one, too (upper right):

A make-up trend that I'm buying into this season is plum eye liner!

I picked up a MAC Eye Kohl in Prunella because I think it'll look great with brown eye shadow. (And I wear a lot of brown eye shadow.)

And this spot convinced me to try a new mascara, even though I really wasn't even in the market for one:


But the thought of GLOSSY mascara was just too much to resist. I'll letcha know how that works for me.

"I've had to find other things to do."

Perhaps you've noticed I've been MIA. Perhaps you'd deduce that I still do not have internet on my laptop. Perhaps you'd be right.

So I've had to find other things to occupy my time. Like coloring my hair.


And getting my make up done by a professional TV make-up artist.


And taking 94 self-portraits in the bathroom mirror.




Okay...my work here is done.

"The hardest-fought blog post ever."

It's taken me over an hour to get this damn window to open. My laptop has suddenly decided it will not connect to our wireless network. We have no idea why. My IT husband suspects that someone has horked our network and spoofed me (these are all technical IT terms) because my IP address has been changed. And Chip can't override it. So my laptop may be fucked.

Also, there's this strange man that we keep seeing in our neighborhood. He parks across the street and just sits there for hours. Chip thinks he's the guy from the sex offender web site. I think he's probably a vile internet thief.

Finally I was able to get Elijah to part with his laptop for a few minutes which OMG what is wrong with this picture? I BOUGHT THE DAMN LAPTOP. As long as you're living under my roof, mister, my blogging will always take precedence over you watching videos of people screaming cuss words over the Wal Mart intercom. Ya hear me?

Only geez louise, Chip's got all Elijah's settings set so that I couldn't log in to blogger. This has been the hardest-fought blog post ever. And well worth it for you so far, I'm sure.

So TWO HOURS AGO I was going to write a post telling you about my yoga class tonight. I was going to go into great detail about my congenital back problems and how I finally got around to doing something good for myself and how research shows that people with low back pain who do yoga have better results than those who take traditional drug treatments.

But it's late now and I think I'm just going to go to bed.

And just so you don't feel like you've completed wasted your time by coming here, I'll leave you with this news flash: You know that wireless charger where you just lay your ipod or phone on top & it charges? Big Daddy totally had that idea first.

You're welcome. Keep comin' back.

"It kinda freaks me out."

I don't like Halloween.

I liked it okay when I was a kid. Back when costumes were homemade and you ended up with enough candy hidden in your dresser drawer to last you until at least the first of April. Back when the scariest thing you might have seen was a pair of plastic Dracula teeth.

Back before masks used Hollywood film technology to ooze blood from the eyeballs. Back when costumes were just "nurse" or "cheerleader" or "witch" without the word "SEXY" in front of everything. Back THEN, I liked Halloween okay.

Now it kind of freaks me out a little bit.

If I'm going to put on a costume, I'm going to dress as Audrey Hepburn or That Girl. I won't use this holiday as an excuse to go out in public looking like a tramp. And if I'm going to a party where people will be dressed in costume, I want you to be dressed as Bonnie and Clyde, or Dorothy and the Scarecrow. I don't want to see any fake blood or other bodily fluids. Zombies make me want to throw up. Literally.

Call me chicken. Call me a party-pooper. Call me a bore. Just don't call me a Sexy Pirate Wench.

I know a guy in town who, rather than having a Halloween party, has "Rocktoberfest" where people are invited to come dressed as their favorite rock star. Now that's a costume party I can buy into. Especially if someone comes dressed as one of the Nelson brothers.

Course, what with all the pop starlets who refuse to wear pants these days, there are still plenty of opportunities to go sexy. If that's your thing.

If you came to Rocktoberfest, what rock star would you dress as?

"I have to do that?"

AS IF I needed a reminder of my rapidly advancing age, I often find myself starting out a sentence with the phrase, "When I was your age..." which is horrifying, really, because THAT'S WHAT OLD PEOPLE SAY.

I had one of those moments today, when I tried to check my son out of school.

(FTR, I originally wrote a post slamming mommy bloggers. But then I reconsidered whether I really wanted to piss off 25 million women. So instead, you get a totally benign post about trying to check my kid out of school. You're welcome.)

Now, when I was your age, checking out of school was easy: My mom would call up and say, "Kalisa needs to check out." and I was o-u-t outta there. Not anymore. Now you practically need a notorized court order just to get the schools to hand over your own child.

This morning, around 10 or so, Elijah texts me, "Is there any way you can check me out?"

(To be fair, I was surprised he even got up & went this morning. It was the last day before a four-day weekend and he was already laying the groundwork last night when he said, "All we're doing tomorrow is watching movies in FOUR of my classes!" So the fact that he made it a half-day was more than I was expecting.)

So I call up the school and listen to this very lengthy pre-recorded list of options, from which I select "Attendance," and when the woman answers, I say, "I'm calling to check out my son."

And she says - very mistrustful-like, as though I had just said, "My son won the Nobel Peace prize today" - "Okaaaay...why is he checking out?"

Uhhh, none of your goddammed business? Seriously, when is a parent saying, "I'm taking my child out of school" not good enough?

And then she says, "Are you going to come in and sign him out?"

And I was all, "I have to do that?"

And she said, "Yes. Or fax us a copy of your drivers license along with a note explaining why he's checking out."

And I'm thinking, "I'm sorry...fax you a copy of my drivers license???"

But what I, ever the bold boat-rocker, actually said was, "What's the fax number?"

Then - I guess because I didn't pitch a fit and she saw what an intelligent and reasonable adult she was dealing with - she apologizes to me and explains, "It's just that before a holiday we have a lot of parents calling up to take their kids out, and a lot of kids calling up trying to take other kids out." Which, I get what she's trying to say, even though I'm sort of offended at how she said it.

Because I don't understand what's changed. Have the students become more conniving? Or have the schools just gotten a lot tougher on skipping? And why all the focus on proving a student is sick, just because his mother has asked permission for him to leave? It makes me want to make up some horrible excuse like, "He needs to go to a police line up to see if he can recognize the man who murdered both his grandparents this weekend."

But really, I would only do that if I actually went in to sign him out. So I could see her face.

In the end, they let him leave and I got a call from my 16-year-old son that went like this:

Me: "Hello?"
E: "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

So the moral to the story is, if you help your kid skip school, no matter what kind of hoops you have to jump through to do it, there's a good chance you might get some display of love or appreciation from him. So WIN!

"My head sure can get wound around some crazy shit."

"My home life...is...unsatisfying."
-- Allison (Basket Case), The Breakfast Club

Ever go through a period where everything just feels so unsatisfying to you? I'm feeling like that.

Everything in my closet is outdated, but new fashions this season are over-sized and I'm too short to wear them. I try to write but if I can manage to put together a paragraph, I hate how it reads and I throw it aside. A lot of mornings I drag myself out of bed unable to think of anything to look forward to. I told Chip the other day that I want to trade in my Mercedes convertible on a hybrid.

And it's not that I'm unhappy. Just...unsatisfied.

There can be any number of reasons for me to have these down days. First, I'm a woman: Could it be hormonal? Not to jump on the you're-cranky-must-be-that-time-of-the-month train, but I know hormones can play a huge role in my mood. Since I've been off the pill I have a harder time tracking it.

Second, I suffer from depression: Have I been taking my medication? Did I miss a day? If not, do I need to schedule an appointment to re-evaluate my prescription?

Third, I am alcoholic: Have I been to a meeting lately? Do I need to go to one? I'm blessed that I no longer have to fight the desire to drink, but my head sure can get wound around some crazy shit. AA meetings help keep all that straightened out, so I don't get to the point where I feel like I need to drink over it.

Then again, maybe it's external: Maybe it's the weather. We've had a ton of rain lately, and gray days can be gloomy for anyone - even someone who's not an alcoholic suffering from depression and PMS.

Maybe my yearly holiday blues smelled the cooler air and decided to rear its ugly head a bit early this year.

Maybe I haven't been eating very well.

Maybe I'm due a hair cut.

Maybe she's praying because the elastic is shot in her pantyhose! Who knows!

(Oh...sorry. Sometimes I find myself walking down a Steel Magnolias path and I don't even notice it.)

*Ahem*

So in short, blah blah blah and gray and whine whine and unsatisfyinggggg. I know I need to get my head in the game - I got it pretty damn good and I should be GRATEFUL, not hateful. What do you do when you get in a gray mood? How do you shake it off?

"I want to relocate to Stars Hollow."

I think I've figured out what it is that I love so much about Gilmore Girls. And it's not the rapid-fire dialogue (although it was extremely well-written dialogue). Or the pop culture references (obscure and yet so hip). Or even the cute boys. (Oh my, the boys, they were cute.)

It's Stars Hollow. Walkable, wacky, small-town Stars Hollow. It's the cafe under the hardware sign. The festivals in the town square. Town meetings. Front porches. Snow.

I grew up in a small town - not as small as Stars Hollow, but small enough that I appreciate the closeness that it offers. Small enough that I could quickly make the adjustment to life in such as a hamlet.

I say that I want to relocate to a beach cottage, but the secret truth is, I want to relocate to Stars Hollow.

I want to wear jeans and sweaters and snow boots and walk to the cafe for coffee where I greet the proprietor and all the customers by their first names. I will gladly trade my Super Target for a Doose's Market with just five aisles. I wouldn't even mind being the crazy lady in town.

The thing is, does Stars Hollow still exist? Are there small towns yet untouched by chain stores? And if I find it, will I only be let down because they don't decorate the trees in the town square with twinkling lights?

I don't know why I'm so focused on what comes next in my life. It's not like there's anything wrong with my life now. I'm perfectly content with my home and my job and my life. I guess as we near the time that Elijah goes off to college, I become more anxious about what comes next.

It just seems like there haven't been many opportunities to make an active decision about what my life will be. It seems like I've always just done the next indicating thing, as opposed to deciding "I would like the next thing to be THIS" and then making it happen.

I want it to be different this time. I want to decide for myself what comes next. I want to make a conscious decision - set a goal - go after it.

Now...how does one go about finding a Stars Hollow?

Now Read This

Whether you know me personally or just know my blog, you will enjoy reading this post from Debbie. It will clue you in to my background from someone else's point of view.

(I would say "a more objective point of view"...but it seems to me that all that Aquanet may have blurred Deb's vision a bit. Although I totally agree with every word she wrote about our other friends, so I am forced to assume that what she wrote about me may have a grain of truth.)

Enjoy.

"I can't imagine a prouder moment in a daddy's life. "

Chapter 1 - The Part that Makes You Say "Awwww."

My niece, Alexandria, was elected sixth grade Homecoming Maid at her middle school.

I know, I know. Let's go ahead and get it out of the way: They have Homecoming in Middle School??? Apparently they do. Who knew. Although my old middle school (then a "junior high") now has a "Sweetheart" beauty pageant. I can't say there's a whole lot of difference really. Chalk it all up to they're-just-growing-up-too-damn-fast-these-days and let's move on with the post, okay?

So Alex's school is 5-8th grades. And Alex is in 6th this year. But I believe (and I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure this is what my mom said) that Alex didn't go to that school last year. I believe that she started new to this school this year. So after just two months at this school, Alex was one of three maids elected from her class.

Which is PRETTY FUCKING THRILLING for someone (me) who was never elected anything. I take that back - I was voted librarian of Concert Choir my senior year. Which meant I got to count and file away all the sheet music at the end of the year. But I was never elected by a class vote to anything. Because I was not popular. Thank god I'm not bitter.

Alex is the first Hobbs girl to be in a Homecoming court. And I think that's a big-dot deal.


I may have teared up just a bit when my brother escorted her to the field.


I can't imagine a prouder moment in a daddy's life. Except maybe the day he escorts her down the aisle. But come on! Everybody gets married. Not everyone gets to be a Homecoming Maid.



Chapter 2 - The Part that Makes You Say "Awww Crap."

I, of course, showed my ass at the game. I didn't mean to. It was an hour's drive from where I was (the set of my bosses' show) to the school's football field. And of course I got caught in traffic. So I'm trying like hell to get there in time and not miss the halftime presentation of the Court, because all I want to do is get some photos of this auspicious occasion.

And I show up at the game and there's a $5 admission, and I literally have ONE DOLLAR BILL in my wallet and that's it. (I had my uncashed paycheck and a David Yurman bracelet in my bag, not that either of those could have gotten me in.) So I'm standing there counting out change at the window, trying to get in to a freaking middle school football game since I drove a fucking hour to get there. I finally get in, find my mom and my SIL Jen and all her family, and they're all, "Yay! You made it!" and I'm all, "Yes, and OMG I have to pee." But Jen's SIL says, "They're about to start! There's only 15 seconds left in the first half."

So instead of going to pee (which I really, really needed to do), I unpacked my camera and grabbed a few test shots to check the lighting and then the music started from the loudspeakers - an instrumental verion of "Ice Castles" and I am not even kidding. Because I couldn't even make that shit up.

So I took photos of the presentation of the Court, and cheered really loud for Alex when they announced her name. Then when the 7th & 8th grade maids were being announced I clapped politely and asked Jen's brother, "What county are we in anyway?" Because seriously ya'll. I DROVE FOR AN HOUR. I was like half-way to the coast. And I'm driving down a windy country road with bean fields on one side and corn fields on the other, thinking my god I am so utterly lost and boom! The school pops up out of nowhere. I thought I couldn't possibly still be in Desoto County. But Jen's brother informed me that yes, indeed I was still in Desoto County and then I said something about the school being in the middle of a corn field then I snatched up my bags because it was time to go down to take photos of my brother & Alex.

Not only did I not say hello to Jen's family - whom I haven't even seen in more than three years - but apparently the only thing I did say to them was to insult where they live. All this came to me as I was driving home. I suppose when I see them again in another three years I will make my apologies.