What Color is Your Easter Bunny?

Aww, how cute!  And she's gray!

My Easter Bunny is brown.  I’m thinking perhaps a light brown hare.  Strong and wirey.  Able to truck lots of chocolate eggs about.

I’m not sure what color Megyn Kelly’s is.  Quite possibly white.  Angora.  Because isn’t that really what all bunnies look like.  All bunnies are just white.  And super fluffy.

I think Easter Bunnies come in all colors and it has little to do with the color of the Peep and Jelly Bean recipient.  There are gray bunnies, tan bunnies, black and white spotted bunnies.  Bunnies whose ears go up and bunnies whose ears go down.

I’m so glad that Easter Bunnies come in different colors.  Aren’t you?  How bland would this world be if all bunnies were the same color?

Now, what about the Tooth Fairy?  Mine is Caucasian, I think.  Her hair is dark brown with a bit of gray.  She is not Disney Princess young and gorgeous.  She is not wizened and old.  Actually, I think she looks a lot like me.

What color is your Tooth Fairy?

Five Pound Box of Bullets

Ho Ho Ho from the Lowcountry.

Here's what hangs on trees in Nikki Haley's state:

Yes, if a real gun isn't enough, we can hang an armed glass duck made in China.


And if you require more festive shooting accessories, just string these lights all about the house.

Ah, get the eggnog.  Get out the stockings.  Get your guns.  It's Christmastime in Charleston.  And that crackling sound you hear as you sit by the toasty yule log --- it might just be gunfire.

Merry Christmas.

Traditional Christmas Card Post

Once again, my Christmas Card complaint (formerly a request)

I love gifts.  A surprise in the mail makes my holiday.  In lieu of that, a festive card is almost as good.  I do love to know that I'm not alone in the world.  

If I am on your Christmas Card list, I'm delighted.  Whether you are a friend, an acquaintance, or merely someone who has repaired my furnace or cleaned my teeth, it doesn't matter.  I love a card.  I like those cards to be cute, glittery, gorgeous, filled with confetti, festooned with ribbon, city stylized, kissing kousin kountry, red and green, blue and white, black and yellow, and decorated with Jesus, snowmen, zebras, angels, trees, RVs, balls, bells, and whistles.

I also will read your newsletter.  If you care to send me the long form, I will happily read it because, chances are, I care.  And I really like it when you tuck in a photo of your kids, your dogs or your vacation home.   Especially the kid.   If I like you, then I probably like your kid.  I even want to know if they've made the honor roll or graduated from braces and headgear.

Just please, please, please don't send that one-sided, unsigned, undecorated photo of your dog, kid, or vacation home that poses as a complete holiday card.  And when you print out the envelope on your computer and your housekeeper then stuffs all of the envelopes, I'm going to want to tell you to stuff it.   Put a bit of ink on the damn thing or don't send it.  I'd rather you send me a picture on facebook of your middle finger.  At least that's personal.

Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas
Happy Kwanzaa
Happy Chanukah
and so on

Desperate for a new television show

I feel somewhat sad this morning.

I finished watching the final episode of Desperate Housewives on Netflix last night.

First of all, I am slow.  That's ok.  I don't need to be on trend or ahead of the curve.

The housewives have kept me company for more than two years now.  Once the hubby's travel picked up, his leaving town was not quite as bad when I had the housewives to keep me company after the young one went to bed at night.  We all had wine together and I could yell at them when they were being ridiculous and happy when life worked out well for them.  When things went south we could commiserate with another glass of wine and when there was joy and a celebration, we could celebrate with another glass of wine.  And when Bree was on the wagon, I actually felt guilty for drinking in front of her.

It took me a bit of time to find the right photo for this post.  Most of the photos were way sexy glamour shots.  While this was not uncommon on the show, most of the character were far more down to earth than "normal' folks on other television shows.  Often, they appeared on screen in sweat pants.  Sometimes they rocked them, other times not.

Sure, each character was a bit bigger than life.  Yet, I could relate to many of the situations on the show.  Why?  These characters were my age (or close).  These women weren't just being shown as some awesome cool teenager's bitchy, clueless mom.  Or some Wall Street executive's two-dimensional bitchy, clueless wife.  Or a running menopause joke.  Or a running PMS joke.  From kids to kidneys, I could relate.

Each trip for my husband was a poker game and a hit-and-run accident for me and my women buddies.  If I ever wanted to say or do something hurtful and completely regrettable, I knew they would do it for me.  When I wanted to move and hopefully improve my life, they moved with me.  And now they're gone.  Moved from Wisteria lane.  I went through the deaths of their family members and I could turn to this show when I was hurting from the deaths of my parents.

I didn't even know the end was coming.  I never bothered to find out how many seasons there were.  Those last 10 minutes of the final episode caught me by surprised. I found myself doing that backseat driver putting on the brakes movement.  My right foot could find no traction, no brake.  The screen went black and that was that.  I couldn't stop it.  Couldn't create a new season with my own desperation.

So, I've been through season one of Ugly Betty.  Good show, but it can't replace the housewives.  I am on the lookout for a new show.  It can't be a great show, because then my husband will want to watch, also.  So I have to find something good, not much man appeal, not full of phony Kardashians, and loads of episodes.  Any ideas?

What were once Perverts are now Addicts

Used to be, men that wanted to show their private parts to ladies donned a trench coat and roamed the evening streets looking for victims.  A bit of pre-planning was done, no doubt, to pinpoint the optimal location for privacy and largest pool of victims. The only thing separating Anthony Weiner from the stereotypical trench coat wearing perv is the inability to plan ahead.  There’s no skulking in the shadows for him.  Drop pants.  Take photo.  Press send.

Self-called “sexperts” are calling Weiner’s proclivity for snap and send a sexting addiction.  I’m assuming most people who think there is such a thing as a sexting addiction feel this term is a handful of notches above the term “mental illness.”  Is flashing women an addiction?  I don’t think so.  Hopefully some experts will weigh in on this labeling.  Regardless of what you call it, this man needs help from a doctor.  The compulsion to repeatedly expose one’s gentials to others is a mental illness.  Weiner says he has sought help for his condition.  He claims he has received help from his wife.

Enter stage right the schlumping Huma.  Supporting.  Smiling.  Speaking out on her husband’s behalf.  She’s sticking with it all so she can keep her family together.  She’s certainly free to do such a thing.  Perhaps she’s sticking until she feels better about a decision to no longer stick.  She seems as if she’s a deep thinker rather than a rash decision maker.  However, how sad would it be to see down the road, Huma explaining to her adult son how she felt it was best to be an enabler (she may use the term “supportive”)?  How it was better to let her husband do as he pleased and repeatedly humiliate her in public and private.  She may say in 16 years, “And now, Jordan, you have learned so much from your dad, go out in the world and show everyone what you have learned.  Don’t forget to charge your cell phone.  There are lots of young ladies waiting to hear from you.”

Recently, I’ve read several articles on Huma.  What we seem to admire most about this woman we have labeled “strength.”  Had this situation be reversed, Huma sexting and Anthony supporting, we would not be saying Weiner was strong.  No sireeee.  What seems to pass for strength for political wives these days is to withstand shit storms without an umbrella.  Strength seems to mean getting sucker punched in public and keeping your head up.

Had Weiner been able to keep it in his pants, unphotographed, he would have gone far.  For all I know, he still might.  But first, dude, back it up a little.  Drop out of the mayoral race.  Don’t force people to vote for a liar.  Get help.  Real help from someone with a certificate on the wall with seals, and signatures and all that stuff.  Stop talking about you for one damn minute.  Apologize to your wife.  In public.  Turn in your cell phone and check yourself in somewhere.  Give us a call (without photo) when you are well, in control of yourself, and ready to act like a man, a husband and a father.

Mad

Rick Perry will never end abortions in Texas.

Never.

He may end legal and safe abortions.

He will most definitely increase the death rate of women who will attempt "back alley" abortions.

He will most definitely increase the suicide rate among women, especially young women and girls.

He will not safeguard women's health in any way.

He has completely mislead himself and those that believe in him by calling himself pro-life.  Pro-life does not include women butchered by illegal abortions and babies found in dumpsters.

Rick Perry will NEVER end abortions in Texas.

No one will end abortions anywhere.

From Somewhere Else

but, Good Heavens, I've GOT to share this:


Margaret and Helen Awesomeness . 

Enough said? 

 Probably not.

This is my daughter's whiteboard.  Sometimes I wonder just who the hell she is.

If I were to write my schedule on a whiteboard, what would it say.

Get up
Seek inspiration
Eat
Shower
Seek inspiration
Laundry
Snack
Seek inspiration
Lunch
Seek inspiration
Laundry
Do something else
Snack
Seek inspiration
Walk dog
Snack
Laundry
Seek inspiration
Do something
Eat
Mess with stuff, things and crap (noun, not verb)
Snack
Drink
Television
Bed

It's quite depressing to see my day all written out.

Think I'll erase my whiteboard.


Get up
Seek
Eat
Sh
S

Domestic Bliss

Domestic Bliss has been achieved.


Side porch has been cleared of two tons of pollen and mopped.

A couple more boxes have been emptied and contents have been displayed.

The house smells of fresh laundry and that room spray that I got suckered into buying.

Some dusting done (that damn pollen).

Iced coffee run.

Going to doctor up some frozen ravioli for dinner.

Wine will be opened after kiddo goes to bed.

A date with Ugly Betty and Desperate Housewives (yes, I am slow to catch on to shows).

OH YEAH!  A GREAT DAY FOR HOUSEWIFERY!

(and, yes, bonbons were consumed)

Still Here (somewhere)

So, I hope these photos are proof enough that I exist somewhere.  Or at least proof that my cat does.

I haven't posted much lately.  I'm not sure for what reasons.  I'll list some possibilities.

1.  Lazy
2.  Busy exploring Charleston
3.  Taste testing iced coffee
4.  Lazy again
5.  In too good of a mood to bitch, and this blog has been mostly about bitching.
6.  Kind of lost and not sure what is going on.

My Dad died in early December, right when we were packing up for our move.  Christmas really didn't seem to happen for me.  Yes, there were presents and visiting my sister and her family.  But there were no Christmas trees and lights and other happy stuff.  Then we land in Charleston and start setting up house.  My daughter started her new school and I started getting to work in my new studio.  Yet nothing felt right.  Nothing felt valid unless I had a parent to tell.  Things are FINALLY starting to gel, yet I do not feel right with myself.  I do not feel the same.  I'm not sure yet how to feel.

This place is good.  The house, the city, the weather.  And I'm really at my best when I'm bitching about things.  I feel I have it too good when so many people are struggling (or worse).  Good God, am I going to bitch about having it too good!?!?!?!

I've completed one new piece and am almost done with another.  I was terrified of not being able to create, but so far, so good.  If an old photo of Charles Darwin can set me to work then my creative switch must be turned to "high."

I know there's plenty out there to bitch about, but since I don't subscribe to the local paper and don't get on Facebook as much as I used to, I'm just rolling along blissful and ignorant.

If anyone has any suggestions for something for the housewife to crab about, please let me know.

Archie and Edith Go South

Upon arriving in Charleston (ok, well before), I perused a handful (ok, stacks) of decorating books and magazines to glean ideas for decorating our "new" house.  I had visions of a lovely living room with a sofa and two matching chairs.

There are some things I did not consider.

I like a festive fabric.  My husband likes dark animal hides.

My husband likes to recline.  I prefer to remain upright.

Our butts are shaped differently.

I wanted a chair that would go with our new paint color.  I wanted to coordinate with the other objects that I had slated for this room.  I wanted the room to be light and uplifting.

My husband really didn't give a shit.  He thinks with his butt.

Perhaps I can work with this?  In a world where there are worse problems, I can't complain (much).  But the second he asks me to fetch him a beer, all hell will break loose and someone will have a serious problem.