This Time I am NOT a TEASE!

I had an awesome Valentine's weekend complete with our first (and probably only) snow of the year, basketball games (1 kid won, other kid lost), Nana and Papa took the boys for the rest of the weekend, dinner, movie, Sunday lunch, and peace and quiet. Ahhhh...all is well with the world. 


As I was waiting for the prince to park the truck and join me in waiting for a table at a swanky downtown restaurant on Sunday, I saw something that caught my eye. I thought to myself, "Blog material! I must get a picture!" 


But if you've been reading me for a while, you already know I don't have much luck when it comes to capturing the moment with my camera! If you are a newbie, see examples of my epic fails here and here.


But this time, boys and girls.....I GOT IT!! 


*insert raucous applause and whistling*

That's right...the old toilet paper on the shoe schtick. 

I WAS however, nearly busted AGAIN! I didn't even consider that it was dark and that the FLASH would give me away! 

I played it off and didn't look at them when they stared at me. If they had confronted me on it, I was planning to tell them I was a moron and trying to learn how to text on my new (not really) phone. Luckily for me, right at the same time I was taking the flash photography...MIITB texted me. So I had a legit false alibi with that story. 

And I knew I had the women in their party on my side because I caught them being envious of my furilicious boots when I walked in. (Chicks will ditch anyone for awesome shoes.) I did manage to get another pic without the flash. The first pic didn't show you how ridonkulously long the toilet paper was!

There was, however, one other pic I wish I had gotten. While we were finishing up our lunch, the owner came over and turned on a nearby flat screen. He asked if we all wanted to watch the Olympics. The table of little old ladies requested Nascar. (Dear Lord please shoot me.) 

I didn't really think much of it at the time...since I live in the South, it's something I deal with quite a bit. Everyone around here loves Nascar...except for me...and maybe 3 other people. (Though I'm still searching for them.) 

I couldn't see the people at that table very well until they got up to leave. I was shocked to see the little old ladies file by in their FULL LENGTH MINK COATS and their botoxed faces wearing their diamonds and pearls! Not your typical Nascar crowd!!!! 

Welcome to my town. 

*sigh*

Happy Birthday MIITB!!

Today is Mommy is in The Bathroom's Birthday!


*insert party horns and strippers*


Join me in wishing her a very happy birthday.


Feel free to tap your foot, clap your hands and sing along.

 A song for Mommy Is IN the Bathroom.  Our resident Gambler. 

Sung to the tune of the Great Kenny Rogers " the gambler'

  Now go wish her a happy birthday !! 

Supah did all that. She's amazing. I'm getting pretty good at riding her coattails. I'm pretty sure she just keeps me around for party tricks....


Ya'll have a great Valentine's weekend!

*smooches™

The Skew - The One Where My Prince is My Hero

This week on THE SKEW!

 <a href="http://princessofsarcasm.blogspot.com//" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://i148.photobucket.com/albums/s27/dperry_2007/The-Skew_big-2-1.png" /></a>

Romance.....

It means something different to everyone.

What does it mean to you?

Tell us. Grab the button. Post your opinion on your blog. Come back and link up with us.

This week I will be wearing head gear (but not the kind from the orthodonist) so that I will be protected from FLYING OBJECTS! Thanks to Amber for the industrial strength bubble wrap. *smooches™

The prince has made many romantic gestures over the years. 

He wasn't exactly Mr. Romance in college. At. all.

But MY HOW HAVE TIMES CHANGED!

The prince romances me everyday (unless he's out of town) when he gets up in the morning and gets the boys ready for school. He lets me sleep until it's time to douse the rooster tails with water and make porcupine tines with gel brush their hair.

He romances me  if  when I cook dinner by helping me clean up...even if I try to get him to go sit down for a bit.

He romances me by quarterbacking the neighborhood football game in our backyard in his khaki's and dress shirt.

He romanced me by holding me while I cried and vowing to take me to the best specialists anywhere in the country and stand by my side no matter what happened to my body when I had a false health scare thanks to a moron neurologist a couple of years ago. (That's a story for another day.) He also romanced me by being so fiercely protective of me to the point that when said idiot neurologist had to give me a spinal tap, he would not do so without the prince stepping outside the room. (Dr. Idiot was scurred!!!)

He romanced me by NEVER complaining about changing dirty diapers.

He romances me by never needing a list or instructions on how to care for the boys if I'm gone. He also NEVER calls it babysitting. He wasn't one of those dad's who expected me to have them bathed and ready for bed before I left. Instead, he would pack a diaper bag and sippy cups and take them to do something fun. When I went to NYC on a girl's trip, everyone was talking about the extensive child care manuals lists they left for their husbands. I simply hugged and kissed everyone goodbye and headed for the airport.

He also romanced me by flying home from his month long assignment in Baltimore immediately upon learning my father was admitted for a heart catheterization and was home before we even knew he was going to have to have open heart surgery. He took over my duties with very limited contact from me during the week long process of surgery and subsequent hospital stay so that I could be with my mom and dad. When I came home on laundry day Thursday dreading what lie before me, I opened the closet door and discovered empty laundry baskets. I cried. Sobbing tears of exhaustion and gratitude.

He romances me by going to work everyday and providing for our family.

He romances me for standing up for what is right, even if it puts a target on his back.

He romances me by coaching for our local youth association.

He romances me by telling me I am beautiful even when I feel like a troll.

He romances me by respecting me. He has never ONCE called me a name. Ever.

He romances me by watching movies and trying his hardest though sometimes unsuccessfully to stay awake.

He romances me by making me laugh so hard I get rock hard abs my belly aches.

Sure, sometimes the prince romances me by making grand gestures like planning surprise parties, whisking me away on weekend getaways, giving me diamonds, telling me he was going to buy a geezer float pontoon boat but actually surprised me with a deck boat (that is actually an excellent surprise story....with elaborate planning...I'll put it on my "to blog" list.) But it is truly the everyday romancing that means the most to me.

The prince is my soulmate. No doubt. I adore him with all my being. I am so lucky to get to grow old with him.

He is my McDreamy...my McSteamy...my McPrince.

(Thanks for the photoshopping skillz Supah!!)

What I Meant to Say - 6th Edition

It's time for another edition of Chief's "What I Meant to Say."


Let me set the story...


I went to lunch and a movie with my girlfriends (Lucy, Serena, Peaches, Hugs, and until I think of a better nickname....LL Buff Chick) recently. The waiter brought my order and it was wrong. When I brought it to his attention, he asked what I had ordered. I replied, "The chicken ciabatta sandwich." To which he replied, "That IS the chicken ciabatta sandwich."


Me: "Ummm...nope. This is a fried chicken breast with cheese and marinara. The sandwich I ordered is a blackened chicken breast with grilled peppers."


Douchebag Waiter: "We don't have a grilled chicken ciabatta sandwich."


Me: "Uh, yes you do. I order it all the time."


My friend Lucy: "Yep. I've been here with her when she has ordered it!"


Moron: "You'll have to show me on the menu."


Me: "Fine. Bring me one. I'll show you."


Dumbo brings me a menu. I point to the left hand side of the menu to the chicken jack ciabatta sandwich.


Ignoramus: "Ohhhhhhhh...THAT chicken ciabatta sandwich. We thought you meant the chicken PARMESAN ciabatta sandwich."


He then proceeds to apologize profusely.


What I said: I'm not upset. I just don't want the chicken parmesan sandwich. I would like the one I pointed to on the left side of the menu and not the new item on the right side of the menu. Thank you. I will be happy to wait."


What I meant to say: "Get your hiney back there and start grillin' my chicken! And next time don't treat me like an idiot. Oh, and you might want to LEARN YOUR OWN STINKIN' MENU!! Hurry up because all my friends have their food already!"


The weasely waiter kept apologizing every time he passed by...and unfortunately, our table was near the kitchen door....which means he was giving me an update on the status of my food and letting me know how sorry he was every 40 seconds. At one point he put his hand on my shoulder as he passed by.


What I said: Nothing. *wide eyes at my friends who were all stifling giggles* Well, all except for Hugs. She was laughing out loud. 


What I meant to say: "Gross. Get your grubby little hands off of me. I bet you wouldn't have touched me if my mammoth sized Prince was with me."


After he FINALLY brought me my sandwich, he came over to the table (again!), squatted down beside me and apologized for the eleventy billionth time. (I stole that number from JenFab.) He then made a grand production of presenting me with a coupon for a free appetizer on my next visit.


What I said: "Thanks."


What I meant to say: "What a lame gesture after ARGUING with me about whether or not the sandwich was a figment of my imagination! How about you bring all my girls a dessert for THEIR trouble since they were all finished eating by the time you brought my food and had to sit around waiting for me to polish off my sandwich!"

Don't forget to participate in this week's edition of The Skew on Thursday. In honor of Valentine's Day....ROMANCE. What does it mean to you?

Tell us about it and come back to link up. If you don't, there will be no love for you!

Post It Notes: Edition #13-Facebook Edition

Tuesday....one of my favorite blogging days. Why? Cuz it's short and sweet. (Sort of.)
If you haven't tried it yet, you should. And check out Supah's Valentine give away.

Don't forget to participate in this week's edition of The Skew. In honor of Valentine's Day....ROMANCE. What does it mean to you?


Tell us about it and come back to link up. If you don't, there will be no chocolate hearts for you!

The Mean Green Machine

My first car...

"She was a fast machine. She kept her motor clean. She was the best d*mn car that I ever seen."

Nope. Not talking about MY car. THAT car belonged to my friend, T. She had a Fiero and a 5.0 Mustang in high school. She also had a mullet in junior high, but managed to still look really cool. I loved it when she drove us around. I think I remember her riding on the floorboard when I drove.

Here is MY first car. 

But it was in the following color.

I know, hideous sexy, right?

But even though it was no where near my dream car, I LOVED it.....because I was 16 and it was ALL MINE! (Probably cuz no one else wanted it.) 

Yes, it was puke green and the carpet had been dyed black to hide the murder evidence stains from normal wear and tear. And sure, it had a am/fm radio thumpin' stereo system. And OF COURSE I rode around with my windows down and the radio blasting Hall and Oates Beastie Boys. Not to mention the handy little hatch back feature for easy access so I could put my saxophone gym bag in the back. 

The best feature? I could fill the tank with $10 worth of gas and drive straight home from school after making a loop through the local college campus for two weeks before I would have to fill up again.

As much as I dissed my own car, I secretly loved how it drove. It was a stick shift and I prided myself on how I handled the transition of the clutch and the gears. My driving was smooth as buttah after many scary moments at red lights and on hills with stop signs that first month. 

I would drive that little green bean down Sheep Farm Road (yes, I grew up in a podunk town where one of the most heavily traveled roads was named after a sheep farm) and recklessly hug that windy stretch like I was riding a mountain road in a Porsche. 

Oh, how I miss that old stick shift. I'm glad I learned how to drive stick. I didn't own an automatic car until after I got married. But I am proud to say that if I were to ever go on The Amazing Race, I would fail at everything else, I would show up all those young whipper snappers who had no clue how to drive anything other than an automatic. 

Do they even make stick shifts anymore? Yes? No? I have no clue. But I know they don't make them like my old car anymore. (Thank goodness.)

Don't forget...this week on "THE SKEW"....

Just in time for Valentines Day !  

What is your defintion of Romance?

Does it differ than your significant others?

Has it changed over the years?

Write a post, weigh in and join 'the skew...the most dysfunctional blog show in the history of ever. 

We'll post on Thursday, but you can post your own skew:  ANY TIME.  We know there's a lot of great MEme's to do every day!  

Just remember to come link with us and grab our button whatever day you post it.

(And YES...I DID steal those words from Supah's reminder a few days ago. But I just got home from a snack-a-palooza Super Bowl party and I'm too tired to write anymore. So there. Sue me. I'm setting auto publish and hitting the hay. Nighty night ya'll!)

Super Bowl(ish) Preview

In celebration of tomorrow's commercial extravaganza pig out session Super Bowl...


Please click on the link and enjoy the following HI-larious preview:

CLICK ME


Oh and GO COWBOYS!!

What? Oh. Then go Steelers?

No? Really? 


Ok....Falcons? Dolphins? Bears?

Whatever. Who cares. *ducks bottles thrown by Saints and Colt's fans*

GO CHEESE DIP!!