Saturday, March 30, 2013

Doughnuts and crap!!

Do you know what these represent . . . besides an obscene amount of calories? 

The freaking brilliance of my children.  Yep.  It's true.  You're going to thank me for this tip . . . are you 'hot now?'  (Eeewww . . . )

The delightfulness that is Krispy Kreme offers a FREE doughnut for each 'A' or '3' (for the younger grades) on your kid's report card, up to 6 free doughnuts.  That's four times a year where we live!  Score. 
And yes, it is an effective tool to encourage your children to get good grades, at least for the Getz children.  They've had to hang their heads in shame as they handed their report cards over and received less than six doughnuts returned across the counter . . . and it's not because I snatched one first.  Geez, you're kinda harsh . . .
I do require each child to select a doughnut for Dad, kinda like a doughnut toll.  Krispy Kreme doughnuts are like kryptonite for Getzy (and the chirren), but I do not enjoy . . . they make me feel like my mouth is wearing a sweater . . . I'm thinking it's from all that hot glaze. 
However, do you see that middle box . . . the doughnut at the top right?  Well that one was the Mom toll.  Yeah, I pretty much threw my camera down as soon as I heard the 'click' and shoved that sucker in my mouth.  I could not get it in fast enough.  It was a 'Cookies & Kreme' cake doughnut made with Oreos, which could be my kryptonite.  Know what?  It was nothing like an Oreo and my mouth still felt like it was wearing a sweater.  Craptastic.   I'm pretty sure I ate it so fast the calories didn't count anyway . . .  
And speaking of craptastic . . . check this out . . . and you'll thank me later . . . because I'm going to gross you out now and save you from the doughnuts . . .
I exit my basement and see this . . . and I swear to you in my head I said, "Are you sh!tting me?"  And then I giggled.  Alone.  And left this for Getzy to find on his own and clean up.  And you wonder where my kids get their brilliance?   

Friday, March 29, 2013


I really don't know what the shiz I'm doing but I'm trying to be all blog smarterific and apprently I have to post this code here so I can switch from Google Reader which is going away . . . not that I know what that means but I'm on the "Blog for Dummies" plan so here goes . . . and that was a serious run on sentence . . .

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Thursday, March 28, 2013

I got worked over . . .

I'm all about some non-surgical maintenance these days . . . like we've discussed, I'm not taking this aging BS lightly.  I don't want anything injected necessarily . . . just a little light lasering . . . well, maybe a LOT. 

So I think I'm going for a facial today with Gary . . . he's fabulous and is supposed to be amazeballs at the skin care so I'm all like "bring IT!"  He takes one look at me and is like, "We have an hour, I think we need to tone down the red."  Mmmmkay. 

Now a quick little backstory . . . I'm the fairest person in the land . . . no seriously, like translucent.  I'd like to think 'fairest' in the Sleeping Beauty kind of way, except no, I'm not.  Damn.  When I was a kid, I hoped that all my freckles would connect so I would be tan.  Sad, I know.  Turns out freckles won't connect and any sun EVER will make me look permanently sunburned.  Awesome. 

True story.  I wouldn't even date a fair skinned person or a redhead because I wanted my imaginary future children to be tan . . . like savage, unlike their mother.  Getzy has a Lebanese heritage and sticks an arm out the car window and gets a tan.  Score.  Surely we would make brown babies, except again, not.  My genes are just too 'awesome' because we have three blue eyed, brown haired, PALE children with the most delightful freckles dancing across their noses.  Awww, adorbs.  Maybe next time, except there won't be a next time so I just buy a crap ton of sunscreen and SPF shirts.  I digress . . .

I'm pretty sure my voice gets a little higher when I inquire of Gary, "How do we 'tone' down the red?"  I mean, I want it toned down and all, but I'm a little 'askeerd.'  He's all chill and such, like no big deal, we'll just use the laser to go over the red areas, you know, like my WHOLE face.  No biggie 'cause nobody sees that.  Ever. 

He assures me all is well so then I figure it's time to 'just do it' . . . so I ask, "Well, what about my chest?"  Can he do that too?  (No, freakshow, not my boobs, the area from my neck to my boobs.)  But of course he can, because as stated, he's amazeballs so let's do this thang! 

So we go into the little white room with a hot pink table . . . it's pretty clinical . . . I think so we feel like things are all legit.  Ok.  He politely asks me to take off my shirt and just pull the straps of my sports bra down around me . . . because that's easy.  Not.  He is a man, albeit a fabulous one.  Surely he doesn't know that sports bras are meant to be supportive and tight by nature, not easy to just slip your arms out of . . . I mean I tried, felt like a sausage and just said to hell with it.  I took it off.  I'm a rebel.  And yes, they gave me this little bath wrap so he didn't get a peep show.

And here's my nemesis . . . or maybe my fountain of youth?

So he comes back in, after knocking politely, and gives me these cool metal googles to cover my eyes and very firmly tells me not to open them.  Yes sir.  I know a friggin' laser is going near my eyes and while I'm not a sci-fi girl, this can't be good, so I heed the warning. 

He tells me it's going to be like a cold burst of air and it really shouldn't hurt.  Well, if you don't mind getting whacked by rubber bands at point blank range repeatedly, then yes, it really doesn't hurt.  I only slightly jumped every time he pushed the laser button, but I really tried not to do it . . . I even apologized at one point.  I can liken it to that obnoxious glaucoma test they do at the eye doctor when you have to hold your head still and then they shoot that burst of air into your eye . . . yeah, pretty much covers it. 

So then he goes and gets these two ice packs and literally just keeps pressing them all over my face, neck and upper chest area . . . 'cause as it turns out, the laser makes me a little red.  Duh.  I'm so freakin' hot, he needs ice to cool me off.  Ba-bam.  I even noticed he was sweating . . . poor guy.  Between the tiny little room, a smokin' hot laser and me, he didn't have a chance.  Snicker.

So I have some time left in my hour and we got this laser on reserve, what else can that b!tch do?  Turns out, I can get some of these obnoxious spider veins in my legs lightened.  I know, I'm painting an amazing picture of hotness in your head.  Getzy is a lucky bastard.  Fact.

I've inquired about these veins before and seem to remember someone saying they could explode with a laser but since Gary is a profesh, I'm convinced I'm in great hands, and surely he doesn't want me to explode all over this tiny little room any more than I do.  So I hike up the yoga pants and he sets off on his laser journey again.  This wasn't so bad really, I mean, I did just get my face cooked . . . like a real girl on fire.   Meanwhile I was meant to be rotating the ice blocks on my neck and chest . . . cooling mama off and such. 

So he finishes my legs and moves back to my head . . . he slathers on this thick cream, arnica I think he called it, all over my face, neck and chest.  He says it's still red and asks if I wore a loose shirt.  Well, not exactly.  I wore a sports bra and one of those tight long sleeve wicking shirts, under my hoodie of course, just in case I had to go for a run . . . cause I'm almost a runner.  He's really wants me to let the cream set on my skin for awhile so like the classy broad I am, I simply zipped up the hoodie, stuffed my shirt and sports bra in my tiny purse, and let the 'girls' freestyle . . . 'cause that's how I roll.

So I just checked the mirror, assessing Gary's handy work.  My eyes may be deceiving me, but I'm pretty sure I now look like Heidi Klum, all tan and gorgeous, just after one laser treatment for my 'redness.'  That stuff is better than unicorns and rainbows. 

So here's my PSA for today:  Put on some friggin' sunscreen.  Like a lot.  Every damn day.  And you're welcome.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

I have a teenager!

My very first baby happens to be furry and adorable and a little stinky sometimes . . . but I LOVE him.  LOVE.

Let me introduce you to Petey Rascals . . . handsome little devil!  Can you freakin' stand it? 

He's 13 today so I guess that makes him 91 in dog years.  Dang, he looks good!  He's going deaf but that doesn't affect his beauty!

Here's the story of how he came into our life . . .


I grew up with dogs and cats (and a few other random farm animals from the fair), but they were all outside animals.  So naturally I wanted an indoor pet when I moved into my first house.  Getzy, not so much.  He didn't grow up with a dog so he thought he was more of a cat person.  I'm severely allergic to cats but kept trying to convince myself I wasn't.  But I am.  Aaaa-choo! 

Since I wanted this to be the perfect pet for my non-dog wanting husband, I took one of those on-line tests that determine the best type of dog for your lifestyle.  I can't remember what they recommended, except of course a Boston Terrier.  And I think a Daschund.  Those are my least favorite dogs . . . maybe because the only two times I've been bitten by a dog, it was a wiener dog.  Yuck.

I wanted a Bichon Frise but Getzy flat out refused to walk a little white fluffball.  As you can see, Petey is always dressed in his tuxedo and looks quite dashing.  Here's how the dog negotiations went down . . . well, if you get a new dog, what do I get?  Let's just say I really wanted a dog . . . because he got a new car.  I've since learned better negotiating skills.   

Petey was 11 weeks old when he arrived on June 18, 2000.  I wanted to call him Mr. Lewis after my neighbor growing up who always had Boston Terriers.  Matt declared him to be Petey because he reminded him of the Little Rascals dog.  Look at this little love . . . so presh.  His ears didn't stand up tall until he was almost a year. 

And here are my Top 10 favorite things about Petey, in no particular order:

1.  He was great practice on keeping something alive before we actually had children. 

2.  He farts a lot so if you are gassy, Pete's always around to blame it on!  Totally wasn't me . . .

3.  He loves to ride in the car . . . occassionally I let him drive.

4.  Vacumming and sweeping are optional . . . Petey's the original Hoover.

5.  When you are sick, there is no better companion to lay around with all day. 

6.  He's taught the kids about kindness and compassion and patience, especially in his old age. 

7.  He knows how to play hide and seek.  You tell him to stay, go run and hide, then yell out "free" and he comes running to find you . . . the treat might help with his motivation. 

8.  Over the years, he's helped me teach neighborhood children not to be afraid of dogs . . . there is no kinder animal than Petey. 

9.  He's taught Getzy to love dogs . . . a huge accomplishment. 

10.  He sleeps in the bed, under the covers, so you never have to worry about your feet getting cold. 

Petey still acts like a puppy . . . he jumps and 'talks' and gets super excited whenever we come home or any one comes to visit.  So being the competitive girl that I am, I'm trying to find the oldest living Boston Terrier on record.  There isn't one.  So it's on . . . he already eats better than my children and takes a bunch of supplements.  Here's to many more years with our sweet boy! 

Sidenote:  I did find a Boston Terrier with the world's biggest eyeballs.  You can check him out here if you're so inclined.  We're not going for that record . . .

Monday, March 25, 2013

Running . . .

When I get excited about something, I'm all in and will ask questions later . . . unless it's something I only 'think' I should be doing.  If that's the case, then I need to accumulate the gear, make sure my house is clean, research the best way to get started, wait for the proper moon phase, etc. . . . you get the point. 

Example:  Running.  Just saying it makes me cramp a little.  I'm convinced I should be doing this for several reasons.  

Getzy is a runner from way back.  He's obnoxiously fast, even when he parks it for a month or two, and then he takes off like the wind . . . into the sunset . . . or some sh!t like that. 

My kids have all turned into little runners, and I don't want to be the fat Mom on the sidelines.  They outnumber me and I gotta be quick on my feet to prevent a possible coup . . .

For health reasons . . . I think.  Seems like if you want to burn a crap ton of calories in the least amount of time, running might do the trick.  Since I quit donating to the gym, I don't have any fancy equipment at home to get in some cardio. 

I hear you can get a runner's high.  I've never been high, so this is intriguing.  Am I right?  And does anyone know EXACTLY how far I have to go until this happens.  Hey, I'm a numbers girl.

You can do it anywhere, anytime and at any age, or so I'm told.  All you need is a good pair of shoes . . . blah, blah, blah. 

And finally, I'm convinced I'm going to look like this . . .

So as you can image, I'm still in the gear accumulation phase . . . I got new kicks, some compression pants, and a BIC Band!  What is that you say?  Well . . .

A favorite blogger of mine, Mama Laughlin, recommends these for running.  I'm building your anticipation . . .

And boom! 

A headband that doesn't slip!  Do you love it?  Do you want one?  I know, right?  They had me at their name . . . 'Because I Can' Bands and they donate a portion of their profits to charity.  Love it.  Although I might have named them 'Because I Should' Bands.  Womp, womp!

Now of course I haven't actually RUN with it on yet, but it stayed like glue all day yesterday when I was on the couch

Mine is the "Minnie Sparkle Gunmetal." It's not all crazy big or too bright in color . . . it basically says, 'I want you to look at me, but not too much, because I'm kinda shy . . . and sparkly.'

I've also got a Garmin Forerunner 210 with Heart Rate Monitor in my Amazon cart . . . 'cause I need to know stuff.  Notice I said cart . . . I haven't bought it yet . . . all part of the 'process.' 
I will obsess over how far I've run, how fast I'm going, how many calories I've burned so I can know exactly how much extra I get to eat . . . and other important stuff.   

I've also downloaded the C25K Free 5K Trainer app on my phone . . . that's "Couch to 5K" for all you 'non-runners' . . . duh.  I'm sure it's going to work great . . . when I actually start running.  And I've got lots of music on my phone . . . so that's good too!

I also have some cool Iron Girl sunglasses . . . I love them because they are rimless on the bottom so you can see exactly what you are going to trip over.  I've got light blue eyes so I'm always squinting and screaming about 'the light.' 

Still feels like there's something I'm missing . . . what could it be?  Oh wait, I know . . . MOTIVATION!!!!!  Where do all these runners get it?  I want some of what they are eating (or drinking or shooting).  But I did happen upon some at Pinterest . . . motivation, that is. 

Uh, yep.  I'm a champion 'excuser.'  Suck it.  Or this one . . . 

No, get your facts straight.  I said Monday.  And finally . . .
 Well, maybe they are being chased?  Or have to poo.  We don't know the back story . . . 

So I'll let you know when it happens.  The running.   Not the poo.  I think it'll be soon because I'm running (pun intended) out of excuses.  I'll get there . . . maybe on Monday!

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Chicken & Waffles . . . Gladys Knight Style

So my b!tches and I set out on an adventure today . . . we've been dying to try out Gladys Knight's restaurant in Atlanta called . . . wait for it . . . Chicken & Waffles.  They call their food "Southern Soul."  Can you stand it?  Love! 

It was totally featured on the Travel Channel's Man V. Food show.  Gladys herself ate with the host Adam . . . perhaps we should have let her know we were coming . . .
Any who, we started with the signature drink, the Uptown, because we're classy like that . . . it was a delightful blend of lemonade and sweetened iced tea, or sugar in a glass.  I was super disappointed that no one had any vodka in their purse . . . I kid, I kid.  But seriously? 
We embraced the fried and started off with a traditional Fried Green Tomatoes appeteaser.  We are in the south afterall.  Tasty. 
Since we wanted IT ALL, we agreed to order a bunch of dishes to share . . . that's why I love these ladies!  We, of course, had to have the headliner, the 'Midnight Train' . . . four southern fried chicken wings and one original waffle.  Note the crevices filled with butter . . . cue singing angels!
Our fabulous waiter recommended his favorite, the Southern Sauteed.  Uhm, yes please.  A sauteed selection of fresh vegetables with grilled chicken served over a bed of rice . . . because we're healthy like that.   
And the 'Grammy Winner,' the smothered chicken - a tender, boneless fried chicken breast smothered in homemade gravy served over a bed of rice.  And to keep our trim figures, we also got collard greens and lima beans . . . our grandmas would be proud.  This was my personal favorite!
As you can image, it was terrible and we barely picked at our food.  NOT!  It was delicious.  You can't eat like this all the time, but it was a fun treat and some quality time with my ladies. 
And speaking of treats, we shared a delightful sweet potato cheesecake for dessert . . . delish!
So in summary, we give it a big ole thumbs up and would go again!  It may be a few years since it will take us that long to work off the calories, but it was so worth it!
On a side note, I tried out my new Spanx today.  Damn.  I'm not normally claustrophobic, but I felt seriously constrained just trying to slide that beotch on . . . like maybe once I got it up, I wouldn't be able to get back down. Definite moment of panic. 
I got the kind that is supposed to hide the muffin top, as in is stretches right up to your bra line.  Very complicated.  Basically I had to hike my shirt over my head to make room to heave that sucker up as far as it would go . . . you know, so I wouldn't have my shirt all accidently tucked in the back (kinda like a skirt stuck in the back of your underwear, which, btw, has never happened to me). 
I also had to be careful that my britches wouldn't fall . . . it sucks you in all skinny like but makes you feel kinda numb.  As in if your shirt was riding up or you pants were dragging, you might be able to feel the draft . . . not with this baby on - I was constantly on guard making sure everything was covered. 
The upside is I felt indestructible and constantly wanted to lift my shirt and tell folks to 'punch my stomach' . . . like a dorky teenage boy!
I think the lesson here is that exercise and diet might be a better option that wearing Spanx . . . dang it, I was hoping for an easy way out . . .

Junk in the Trunk!

No, seriously . . . check it out!  I'm on a cleaning spree which basically means if it's not nailed down, it may end up in my swagger wagon to get donated! 

Yes, donated.  We all know if the plan is to save it for a yard sale or repurposing, you will find it again . . . in a few years . . . under a pile of more crap.  Get rid of that stuff NOW! 

I'm convinced that decluttering your ass is somehow related to decluttering your home, which extends to you life.  That's deep . . . I know.   

Way back in the day, I checked out for some inspiration.  My favorite piece of advice is to clean your kitchen sink . . . something about a messy kitchen just doesn't feel right and if things are out of control, I always start with my sink and work my way out.  Brings me back to center, so to speak.  And keeps the bugs away . . .

I also love the idea of blessing others . . . meaning what I can't use, or just don't want, may be a total treasure to someone else.  If you look at getting rid of things that do not make you happy . . . like it doesn't fit, was from someone no longer in your life, or it's just not your style anymore . . . kinda makes it easier to let it go!

It's also a good lesson for your children.  I never get rid of "their" things without their permission . . . toys, clothes, video games, whatevs.  No sneaking it out here . . . I want them to own the same principle of blessing others and really just knowing when you have too much, it's time to share.  I ain't raisin' no hoarders!

And speaking of junk in the trunk, mine is getting just a wee bit smaller, or my pants are growing . . . it's debatable.  Check out my butt - photograph credit to Getzy!

Now I know y'all are 'super jelly' that your butt doesn't look this hot in some brown corduroy pants.  I know brown cords are totally stylin' Mom wear . . . I only rock the best!  I think it may be time to put these in the donate pile.  Or maybe they will end up temporarily in the 'I better save these just in case I get fluffy again and don't want to buy a bigger size' pile.  What?  These will never look good, you say?  Damn, you're harsh.  Ok, ok - I'll donate them! 

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Slow Down Universe . . .

The moral of the story today is be careful what you wish for . . . because when you put it 'out there' that you are looking for new challenges and get all sassy about trying new things, sh!t starts to find you!  Case in point . . .

All three of my kids are runners and track season just started!  Getzy is a coach so naturally I love this time of year - my husband and all three kids somewhere else for a couple of hours three times a week!  Well, technically I stick around practice to makes sure everybody is ok, but I usually park it in a chair and socialize!  Score. 

A crazy number of kids have registered this season and they are short on parent help for distance runners . . . you see where this is going, right?  So like somebody drops a Harry Potter levitation spell on my arm, it raises before the rest of me registers what's happening.  Surely I'm qualified since 1. I'm married to one of the coaches who has been running his whole life, including Cross Country in college (kinda like an osmosis theory); 2. I've done the Warrior Dash twice (note badass status earlier); and 3. I know I can clear a backgrounch check!  Bam.  Coach Amy!
And no, I don't think it's over the top that I now require everyone to call me 'Coach Amy.'  I mean it, everyone.  Neighbors, the kids' friends, my friends, Getzy, etc.  See qualifications above, I totally earned it.  And since my boob (yes, just one) has only slipped out of my sports bra once this week, I'm going to call myself a professional.  And yes, I had on a shirt on so it's not like I'm a flasher . . .
Since I love a free app for my i-products, I downloaded "AppsGonefree" which, well, offers free apps - duh.  Everyday I check to see what other suckers are paying for that I'm going to score at no charge!  I'm thinking that the Apple folks are trying to tell me something because it regularly has workout/weight/fitness apps featured.  I come across an "Ideal Weight" app and figured I may as well get confirmation that I am, currently, at my ideal weight.  I plug all my stats into that sucker and wait for it . . . I only have 27 pounds to loose before I'm ideal.   
My immediate thought was "B!tch please, I will cut you."  No, I'm not a violent criminal . . . sometimes you just have to channel your inner Bon Qui Qui.  Bon Qui Who, you say?  Check her out here . . . go ahead, I'll wait. 
Hysterical, right?  I'm sorry, what?  You don't get it?  Uhhmm, look . . . it's not you, it's me.  Things just aren't working out between us so I think we should break up.  That shit's funny or you're dumb.  Fact.  "Sa-kur-i-tee!"  I digress . . .
Now back to me . . . turns out I'm more at my 'happy weight.'  You know, the weight were you can mostly eat right and sorta think about exercise and then overindulge and not really see it on the scale.  Kind of like having your cake and eating it too - as long as it's not the whole cake.  Turns out that's not ideal.  Sucks. 
Fine.  I'm currently accepting challenges, and I don't want to be a fat ass at 40 so it's on . . . I haven't weighed my "ideal weight" since my early 20's, or ever, but let's do this.
I love new 'gear,' so in my quest to get fit and look ideal 40 years young, I went shopping this week . . . anyone else see the irony? 
Sneakers AND Spanx. If one doesn't work, the other will hopefully do the trick - that's the plan anyway!  Now go take on your own challenge . . .

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Airing our Dirty Laundry . . . uh oh!

So I say to Getzy tonight, "Will you please take a picture of my butt?"  He's all like, "Uhhmm, why?"  And I look at him like he's an idiot and say, "My blog, duh."  So in his true supportive fashion he says, "I don't want to be complicit to this."  He takes the picture anyway . . .

To his credit, I did make the announcement that I thought I should blog about life's happenings when he arrived home from work one day and by the time we were ready for bed, I made the announcement that I was, in fact, a blogger - first post was up and ready for the world to see.  (Yes, I'm rather indecisive . . . part of my charm.)  I think he was concerned that perhaps I would air our 'dirty laundry' for all the world to see . . . what?  I'm totally not that girl . . . I keep my thoughts and feelings all bundled up inside.  I'm sensitive. 

For me, blogging is like opening yourself up to the world and putting it out there . . . "owning it," if you will.  So I took what I perceived as his concerns about our privacy and shot them a virtual bird.  Sucka!!  This is my own damn blog, and I'll put whatevs the hell I want on it.  I'm not ashamed of our 'dirty laundry' . . . errybody has some . . . ours just happens to currently be jeans. 

So my kids are mostly super supportive of the mommy blog!  Here's a real coversation with the Princess (my 7 year old girl), via text, un-spell checked . . . while we were sitting in the same room (she was allowed to read the chicken wing/Hooters post).  I know, I'm an awesome Mom!
7 year old:  Blogger!!  Hooters holla!!
Me:  {a pinky heart icon}
7 year old:  Getzy has an obsessin!!  mom thinks are what truss is Cute  Ewwwwwww!!  How's the graveyard doin
Me:  Full.  This is fun and you are cray cray.
7 year old:  No you are
Me:  No you
7 year old:  Cray Cray blogger. EWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!
So I'll take that as a yes, she loves it. 
I find it also to be an effective tool to keep the kids in line . . . like tonight, when I was folding a load of whites and took note that my oldest did not have enough underwear in the clean pile . . . as in it would appear he didn't see the need to change them all that often this past week.  So I say to him, "If you can't change your undies at least once a day, I'll put it on my blog."  I sensed immediate compliance but really, it's too late for that, he knows the "don't be a dirty butt" rules in my house.  Also a sucka . . .
And then there is my middle, sweet little darlin' that he is.  He just yells out "Blogger" everyone once in awhile at me . . . I pink puffy heart him! 
And it turns out Getzy really is a fan.  Sometimes he gets a little mouthy and I have to kick him in the teeth, but usually he knows just what to say!  Awwww . . .


Sunday, March 10, 2013

Sunday, Funday

I love me some Jesus and it's Sunday, so off to church we go on this beautiful (almost) spring day, being very proud of ourselves for remembering to 'spring' the clocks forward last night.  Win!  We generally have plans to go to church EVERY Sunday . . . so it's really a shame that we haven't been since Christmas - don't judge. 

You'll never guess what the message was about this morning . . . are you ready?  Can you stand it?  CHANGE!!  I'm sitting there all like, did the pastor read my blog?  Oh sh!t, I better clean my language up if he's going to be following me.  I know it's new and all, but I've practically gone viral with 78 page views (mostly spammers and my own damn self, but I'm counting them anyway) - talk about a Girl on Fire!  Woot! 

So the message is all about how change is really God's job, we just have to surrender to Him.  The pastor had a great Jesus quote (paraphrase, whatevs), "You're worth what your change is going to cost ME."  As in Jesus gave his life for us . . . wow, that's pretty powerful stuff.  And it seemed like he was speaking directly to me . . . it was an Oprah "aahhaa" moment - I'm worth the effort.  I need to make some changes to improve myself and some might be difficult, but it's not like I'm having to die for anyone, right?  I can do this.  Careful, I almost detoured into the serious there for a second . . . 

In other church news, the couple in front of us were all 'grab ass' when the lights went down for some singing.  No, like seriously . . . and they knew we were behind them because we did the whole, "Good morning, nice to see you" meet and greet.  His hand shake was a little weak (wait, I can't think that because I'm in church so in true Willy Wonka fashion, 'scratch that, reverse it'), but there was nothing weak about his rubbin' all up on her booty and hips . . . I guess she wanted in on the action so she did a full 'cupped hand' ass grab and then slid it up his back.  Sexy time up in church.  Can I get an Amen?  So I do what any classy gurl would do, I start giggling and my husband gave me his 'now that was funny' smirk.  Thankfully the music was blaring so they couldn't hear me.  Phew!   

And like any reverent family going to lunch after church, we take our kids to HOOTERS, where their motto is "delightfully tacky, yet unrefined!"  Classy, I know.  

Getzy (the husband) has a chicken wing obsession (it's serious) and he says that Hooters has the best hooters wings.  Today on the way home from gettin' some God up in us, he announced he wanted wings.  And let's face it, what he wants, he 'getz!'  Badum ching!  He's passed this unhealthy love of the chicken 'wang' on to our chirren.  I prefer my chicken OFF the bone in the form of a (all the gross stuff cut off) skinless breast.      
We started with the fried pickles . . . uhmm delish!  That should count as my kids' veggie serving for lunch, right?

Errbody order their wings, but I am so super healthy (I only ate like half of the pickles, so yes, healthy it is) that I got the Cobb Salad - the menu had a big puffy "NEW" next to it so of course I'm all into trying something 'new' these days.  Cray, I know.  

Once Getzy finishes off a wing, he likes a plate dedicated to the remains - it's called the "graveyard" and all the kids were instructed to put their 'remains' there too.  It's like he's in a competition to see how big the pile gets, except no one even cares, at all.   

And no, I did NOT contribute but I figured I'd take my own 'graveyard' picture.  Behold . . .

And a final note about our Hooters experience . . . we had THE BEST waitress EVER.  Her name was Suzette and I LOVED HER!  We are practically BFF's anyway because we both HATE root beer.  Eeeeeewwwwww.  She was so sweet and friendly to our kids . . . and she was gorgeous.  And I don't want to hear anybody hatin' on a Hooters Girl - this is her second job and she pays her own damn mortgage . . . sounds like she's a girl on fire!  Holla!


Friday, March 8, 2013

My ladies!

So I texted "my ladies" that I need to get my 'hooves' tended because here in the south, flip flop season is really year round.  I didn't want to go it alone and was double crossing my fingers they would join me.  In true keeping with their awesomeness, immediately I get responses that they, too, were desperate for a toe touch-up.  Appointments were made and off we went today for some well deserved pamperin' - de-lux pedis for all! 

So here's the before picture . . . can I get a collective "eeeeeewwwwww!" 

And when you see "eeeeeeewwwwww," here's how I want you to hear it in your head!  So freakin' funny!!


And the after pedi . . . color is OPI "Danke-Shiny Red!"

So let's discuss feet . . . starting with my own gorgeous ones!  Everyone has areas to keep under the wraps, but I will dance these piggies across the runway any day of the week.  Now they look a bit jacked up in this picture, but who knew it was so tricky to take a picture of your own damn feet - I had to 'tilt' my toes up 'cause you know you wanted to see the polish - it's fab-u-lous!  I love my feet because they don't change size when the rest of me does and they are better than my hubby's.  End of story.  He's got that taller second toe 'problem' and mine are perfectly symetrical from biggest to smallest, like they should be.  Duh. 

Sidebar:  What's up with a French manicure on the toes?  Really?  Are people trying to accentuate the length of their TOEnails?  Eeeeeeeewwwwwww!

I love a day-to-day flop and just picked these cuties up at DSW . . . with my coupon they were only like $15 bucks - score!!!  They are my new favorite brand, Roxy.  I picked up a pair at the beach last year and fell in lllluuuvvv!  They make me feel skinny . . . I can't explain it, so I just go with it.

Oh, what's that?  You love my new swanky anklet?  Why thank you!  Me too - it's a great accent to draw the eye down from my ass!  Here's how the anklet arrived into my life . . .

My most fabulous friend (MFF) texts and says we are bringing back the anklet, stat.  No, like, right now.  So immediate plans were made to anklet shop and of course, luncheon (for the Downton Abbey fans).  We didn't want to go all low budge because we were committed - anklet haters be damned!  So we found ourselves at James Avery on the prowl for the perfect anklet.  It's all the craze, for reals, because they had a total of one style available. 

So said silver anklet is around $40 bucks and surely we should window shop first, since this idea arrived all of like 5 minutes ago.  We head over to Kay Jewelers (because sh!t begins there . . . whatever) and find an anklet display - booya!  Oh, we are liking these - fancy, plain, multi-metaled (is that a word?  I mean like white and yellow gold all mixed together).  We are all in on trying these babies on until the lovely sales lady points out that the one we like is $299.  Uhhhmmm, not. 

Ok - window shopping is over because frankly, we are getting hungry - back to James Avery and now that $40 seems cheap, so we add a charm for some extra sass.  We decided on a cute little heart and bam - proud anklet owners! And of course we all three got the same one - it makes me think of Rowley from Diary of A Wimpy Kid yelling "Matchers!"  If one is good, then three is freaking AWESOME!  Fact.


Thursday, March 7, 2013

Getz Girl on Fire

Getz Girl on Fire . . . pretty bad ass, wouldn't you say?  I mean, check out my fire jumping - that's no joke!  That was REAL fire, and I jumped it.  True story.  Why might you ask?  Because forty is creeping the hell up on me, and I'm not gonna take it sitting down, lit'trally!  

So we've already established I'm a bad ass, but as it turns out, I'm also a smart ass!  Wha???  Yes, sarcasm is an art form, and I've nearly perfected it.  I'd like to think that I'm more smart than ass, but probably not. 

Lazy ass!  That probably should have come first, but I was hoping bad ass would kinda suck you in - did it work?  I can definitely get some crap done but really I'd rather take a vacation, or a nap, basically anything OTHER than what I NEED to do . . . so now I blog - BRILLIANT! (refer back to 'smart' ass note above and hear me say "toldcha!") 

I'm totally adventure-ass, however contrary to lazy ass that may be!  I can't say no to something new and different (as long as that shit's legal), and of course I need a place to document the 'cray-cray' that's been known to happen.  I love a road trip, tackling a new challenge (blog - hello?) or re-working an old challenge . . . which brings me to my next point . . .

I've kinda got a big ass . . . now we aren't talking HUGE, just bigger than really it should be - health wise and fashion wise . . . so I should probably work on that, if my plan is to tackle 40 with a vengeance!  I'm going to get outside of my comfort zone (read: couch) and try some new things that sound fun and hope that sucker shrinks (fingers crossed)!

Finally, I LOVE to shake my ass!!  Woot, woot!  I am seeerrr-e-ous!  I will drop it like it's hot as soon as a big, bassy beat hits the sounds waves!  Boom!  It's like you're re-living Flashdance, and I'm the show!  I may have heard a time or two that I have some serious moves for a fluffy white gurl . . . my favorite compliment coming from my Virginia BFF's Vietnamese mother, "Amy dance good!"  Word.  Fact.  And true story.

The bottom (pun intended) line . . . Ima work on getting a smaller ass (and surrounding territory) and classin' my ass up!  Clearly that's not necessary (wink, wink), but I did say I love a challenge!  Perhaps I should start with my language . . . nah!  So it's on . . . let the adventures begin!