February 2012

I helped out in Whitney's kindergarten classroom this morning, just like I do every Friday morning. That's right, I volunteer at my kid's school. Mostly, I do it because it makes Whitney happy. That, and I enjoy the way helping others makes me feel better than everyone else.

This morning, one of the moms brought in a guinea pig who I'm pretty sure wouldn't fit into a family-sized bag of Doritos. Not that this guinea pig would eat any of those Doritos because as this mom told us, her guinea pig only "eats organic food." Because, you know, she, "doesn't want her kids' pets eating any pesticides."

Of course not.

Also, she said the guinea pig was so large, because it exclusively eats said organic food.

Of course it is.

Everyone knows that organic foods are the leading cause of obesity in this country. You know what I'm talking about McDonald's, am I right?!

Anyway, here are monkeys drinking leftover cocktails at the beach. According to the narrator they're drunk, although, they're monkeys so you tell me the difference between a 'drunk monkey' and a 'monkey.' But, wild animals consuming alcohol - horrible, right? What's worse, I'm pretty sure those drinks weren't even organic!

While we were visiting Ben’s dad and step-mom in Texas last month, the girls got to hangout with their grandparents’ two dogs and one (mostly invisible) cat. This was by far one of the highlights of their trip. Dare I say thee pinnacle of their vacation? Sure, spending time with their grandparents was nice, but grandparents can’t do cool things like eat their own vomit.

The youngest of my in-laws’ dogs, Bobby, is just 18 months old. For those of you who’ve spent time with  large, full-grown, 18 month old puppies know they are just as unfocused and wild as a toddler in a ball pit after birthday cake. Bobby is no exception.

The kids loved Bobby especially when he’d run over their air mattresses or sniff their mom’s butt. These are things Bobby liked too. Bobby also liked pulling on his leash and wiping his nose on my pants. These are things I didn’t like. Still, I liked Bobby, and we got along just fine, although, I don’t think he liked it when I’d call him Robert. But, I only called him Robert when he sniffed my butt, which was always. So, I guess I always called him Robert.

Robert and I parted on good terms and will continue to work on our relationship, if only for the children.

This first photo is a homage to the 1990's, ubiquitous, Photoshop collage. We (as in designers) just thought they were super duper and liked them almost as much as the belabored drop shadow.

NO WAY! Is that photo floating above the paper? No, just a drop shadow? Whoa, what a fooler!

Back in the day, if we needed to design an insurance brochure, we'd stick a collage on it. Something with a puppy ghosted out over a house and then a kid on a bike and maybe a meadow in the background. And then we'd set it all off with a drop shadow. Cutting edge design...if you're designing for a nursing home.

Back to the 10's.

I've decided, I'm going to start oil painting. So far I've bought the brushes and I think I did a really good job at it.

Next, I'll start painting. I mean after I get some paint. Then I'll start painting. That's if I can find a smock.

But I mean really, painting, a four year old can do it so how hard can it be, right? RIGHT? What? Really?

During the two weeks we spent visiting family and working in Texas, this past month, I drove the surrounding Dallas highways two times. Two times...two times, I tell you. Yet, the twitch in my eye still hasn’t gone away.

I wouldn’t call Texans rude drivers, or even aggressive drivers, only that they drive with a lot of GUSTO! and VIGOR! Have you seen a Texan enter a highway? No, I imagine not, since you were probably wrapping your arms around your head, squeezing your eyes shut and looking for Jesus. When a Texan merges onto a highway, his gas petal rubs the floor, his pick-up blazes down the ramp, then just before he jerks the wheel and lays tires on the highway, he says a quick prayer and givesher hell! Driving on those highways is truly a religious experience.

Like I said before, Texans aren’t rude drivers, just ENTHUSIASTIC! and not unlike their southern neighbors, they conduct the business of their lives in a genteel manner. They are gracious and hospitable. They hold doors open, and smile, and are very, very friendly. So friendly that a northern girl, such as myself, can sometimes confuse all that friendly with creepy. See, in the north when a check-out clerk calls you “sugar,” someone gets slapped.

But it's all different in Texas. In Texas, I’m called ma'am, and I like it because it’s said with respect, and when a Texan says ma'am their voices sound the way a peach smells.

Texans also like to bless your heart. Whad ya’ll saay? Bobby forgot his fishin’ pole so he tried catching those fish with his hands? WELL, BLESS HIS HEART!

From what I can tell, blessing someone’s heart, in Texas, can be translated as -- WHAT A NUMBNUT -- in northern speak.

The other thing about Texas...it’s big. All of it. The state, the roads, the hair. My friend, Jen, who writes Seventeen-Fortyseven once posted something like: You know you’re a Texan when you have four bottles of hairspray on your vanity and you don’t have the kind of hairspray you need.

Texas is a nice place, with nice people, who don’t drive so nice. Like that not-so-nice-time, just outside of Dallas, when a woman almost t-boned the side of my car. She was driving fiercely fast and who knows, maybe even driving a liver somewhere to be transplanted. As my Texan driver swung her Texas-sized pick-up around the intersection, she almost slammed into me. Still, she was nice enough to have the courtesy to blare her horn AT ME so I could get out of her way!

That was nice.

Awwww, BLESS HER HEART!