Oxi-Clean

Because I am quite fond of anything that costs $19.95 plus shipping and handling, I'm sad about this too.

By the way, today I watched the full length videos for "Billie Jean" and "Beat It" on VH1. Imagine that...VH1 actually living up to their name. Since both MTV and VH1 have been slacking on delivering music to us for a good twenty years, it's been awhile since I've seen those videos. Let me tell you, they are just as fabulous as they were the first time I saw them. No one dances like MJ. I like to remember him like that instead of...well, anything associated with 1990 or later. It's just like how everyone would rather remember the 1968 Comeback Special Elvis instead of the bloated 1975 Las Vegas Elvis. Please excuse my grouchiness. As you can tell, I still hold a pretty fierce grudge against VH1 for taking away Behind the Music.

Let's all relax and pretend that all of our backyards look like this one:
I hope everyone has a good and productive Monday!

Shocking

Michael Jackson 1958-2009

Newsworthy-ish

I keep seeing this headline, "Wal-Mart Courts Wealthier Customers." Legitimate recession-survival tactic aside, I couldn't suppress a giggle. Do they mean these folks?

HIETYHGIATYAMDAILYSVVVM

That long and seemingly random list of letters, dear readers, is actually an acronym for a favorite saying that Daddy Lipstick and I have for one another. We say it to each other at the end of phone conversations and sign it at the end of emails.

We also write it at the end of letters. Probably the most memorable time was at the close of a letter Daddy Lipstick sent during my junior year of high school. I was at cheerleading camp and he wrote a long letter-at least a few pages-about the little things at home that were occurring in my absence and how much he and Mommy Lipstick missed me. The other girls were incredulous. "Your dad wrote that?" one said. "My dad wouldn't have that much to say to me," another commented. The rest of the girls laughed and agreed. I was a bit sad for them, but still completely engrossed in my letter. I am still grateful beyond my ability to express it that my father has always had that much to say to me.

Daddy Lipstick has taken me on "Days Out" my whole life. What this means is that we would leave in the morning and go exploring for the entire day. We picked wildflowers on the side of the road; looked at Christmas lights; rode down the highway with the windows rolled down when it below freezing just for fun; watched movies; ate lots of Mexican food; met Mr. Greenhaw; listened to every song the Beatles ever sang; spent countless hours in the library and riding around Memphis and Shelby Forest; rode an elevator up thirty stories and when someone very snobby asked what we were doing, we replied, "we're looking for the restroom"; browsed lots of used bookstores and record stores; and rode around some more.

Perhaps the three most important things a father can give a child are his love, his patience, and his interest. Thank you Daddy Lipstick for all three.
Have I Ever Told You How Glad I Am That You Are My Daddy And That I Love You So Very Very Very Much?

Pharmagiggle

Spoken by an exasperated patient after finding out her insurance company wouldn't cover her blood pressure medication without a prior authorization:

"Ma'am, do you sell cigarettes here?"

Shoo Fly...Don't Bother Me

Have y'all seen this?

The news just depresses me these days...the Air France crash, the economy, the journalists being held in N. Korea...that's all it takes and I practically need chemical intervention to nudge me out of gloom and despair. That is why I love seeing the President of the United States successfully swatting a fly, and then picking it up off the carpet. I find that delightfully amusing, whimsical, and giggle-inducing. I will be honest and tell you that after that story, I turned off the news.

Lipstick but no Ink

I have no tattoos. For one simple reason. His name is Mr. Lipstick and he would have a colossal fit. He would probably require an emergent admission to an area hospital for an entire constellation of coronary and neurological symptoms secondary to my tattoo acquisition. So in the interest of the preservation of my dear Mr. Lipstick, sigh, I have no tattoos.

I am, however, a huge fan of tattoos and people who have them. I used to love Miami Ink and L.A. Ink on TLC until there were just too many stories about tribute tattoos. I cried every episode. I don't need that sort of thing, y'all; it screws up my contacts. I still love Ami James and Kat Von D though. Here they are in all their inked glory.
Here's a little sampling of Ami's art:Now I think that psychedelic samurai guy is pretty freaky too, but let's deconstruct. (I'm borrowing that word from Privilege, who is a master. Deconstruct-er, that is. Tattooer, I doubt it.)
Notice the vivid color, the intricacy of the design, the layers upon layers of detail. Then remember that this was created with a metal tool injecting tiny amounts of ink into a moving, soft, pliable, rounded canvas. Amazing.

No wonder that every tattoo is not the work of art that is showcased on Miami Ink and L.A. Ink. Here are a few examples for your entertainment:

Pounding the Pavement

Sometimes life is not fair. I am extra, super-duper, unreasonably, over-exhausted this evening. I haven't a strand of creativity remaining. My eyelids keep banging together like shutters in a storm and my head is bopping around like a buoy. This vaguely conjures up an image of a lighthouse in my fuzzy, foggy mind. I am probably committing a cardinal sin against the guiding principles of the blogosphere...thou shalt not blog while sleepy. The real problem is that I want to blog and I tend to allow myself to do what I want.

Oh yes, and back to why life is not fair. You know why I am enduring this extra measure of fatigue? I wore these today.Sorry to disappoint you...I did not accomplish fabulous things on the treadmill like reading Ayn Rand whilst burning 800 calories. I merely completed my activities of daily life. And I wore these shoes. When did I get so old that just wearing shoes is some kind of workout? Am I on the cusp of the ripe old age of being too feeble and frail to carry a purse too?

Happy, Happy

 

This happy couple is Mommy and Daddy Lipstick circa 1966. June 5, 1971 was their wedding day. Theirs is a funny and fun relationship, a lovely and delightful dance of acceptance and compromise, passionate giving and humble receiving; it is quirky and strange, strong and amazing. Most importantly, it works and it has for 38 glorious years. Happy Anniversary Mommy and Daddy Lipstick! I love you so very much!

Also, happy birthday to my super cool At Work Friend! She is gracious enough to visit Lipstick-land despite spending forty hours every week with me, is very punctual, extremely logical, and has excellent taste in restaurants. Her tiny waist is inversely proportional to her judgement and razor-sharp clinical skills. I am grateful to work beside her, and thankful that she visits Lipstick-land since you just don't say these sort of things in everyday conversation. Happy birthday, dear friend!

And finally, gentle readers, I must add in just a little tiny bit of TMI. On the afternoon of June 4th, Pretty Girl's teacher called me at work to let me know that she had gone "pee-pee on the potty!" Pretty Girl's teachers are acutely aware of how much I worship the ground that she walks on; they even called me last week when she made a valiant albeit unsuccessful potty attempt. I heart them. Way to go, Pretty Girl!

A Post That Must Not Be Missed

Today's offering from The Preppy Princess. I would salute you if I felt worthy.

I Am Posting This and Not That

I have been thinking a lot about gratitude these days...writing a lot about it too. My writings, unfortunately, are mostly ramblings, so in lieu of posting that, I am posting this. The following are a few random facts about me. The previous sentence actually reminds me of one of my favorite college roommates and sorority sisters. When I fell madly in love with Mr. Lipstick, I inundated every semi-willing ear with information about his life and hobbies and talents and...well, you get the picture. One day when I was in the midst of one such enthralling story, my dear friend interrupted and said, "Ding, Ding, Ding!!! Useless fact about Mr. Lipstick!" Then she paused with that always fabulous, did-I-just-piss-her-off-expression. I still laugh about that to this day.

Well, y'all...ding, ding, ding.
Here is a changing table I am going to sell on Craig's List.I hope someone wants it. I don't need it anymore. My babies are grown up. Sniff, sniff. We do not need a changing table at Lipstick Manor anymore.

I grew up looking across the road at this pond. I took this picture from Nonna's front room. It was a rainy, foggy Saturday morning, and it looked sublimely beautiful to me.

This old store is about 15 minutes down the road. It hasn't actually been a store in about thirty years. Nature is slowly reclaiming this site, and while it is sad in a way, it is also comforting too. It has looked like this for as long as I can remember. If it were cleaned up, torn down, or heaven forbid, housed something new like a strip mall, I would be very sad at the change. I took this picture on a recent visit with Nonna and Mommy and Daddy Lipstick. I figured this land wouldn't sit unchanged forever, and I would grieve if I only had my memory.

Mr. Lipstick sings to us in the mornings. Pretty Girl likes to stack dolls and stuffed animals on top of him while he sings. He has infinite patience about the whole situation, even while JBB tries to stop her, all the while creating even more distraction to our morning concert. It is hilarious and comforting and precious. See that pile of messiness to the left. That is a glimpse into my closet. It is big. It used to be a bedroom and Mr. Lipstick converted it into a closet for me. Basically I just have more room to make a bigger mess. My name is Lipstick and I have a messy closet. If you came to my house, I would not show it to you. It is your job to look this sort of dirt up about me on the internet.

And finally...summer is here. I cannot wait for some pool time!This picture is from our vacation last year. Of course, I can't believe how much the kids have grown in a year's time. And, by the way, that ladybug-pool-thing that Pretty Girl is sitting in...she really hated it.