Beale Street on NYE

There is always a pretty notable New Year's Eve party on Beale Street. Each year when I was growing up I faithfully watched the drunk and nearly drunk revelers as covered by the shivering local celebrities of WMC-TV Channel 5 and FM 100. The partygoers all seemed giddy and raucous standing beneath the neon lights of the clubs wearing those glittery Abe Lincoln hats and vying for a few seconds of airtime on local television.

Then I turned 21 which was as good as having an engraved invitation to the craziness that is New Year's Eve in downtown Memphis. I must have grown up (at least a little bit) because it suddenly seemed very unappealing to stand outside in the COLD crammed into a relatively small area (ever been to Beale Street...not real big), waiting too long to pay too much for drinks, and heaven forbid I end up on television engaged in this nonsense. Oh yeah, and guess what? Party City sells those glittery hats.

Tonight we are going to a little get-together at the home of a friend from pharmacy school. Kids are even welcome, because we all have young kids. Also, they are just cool that way. I think there will be a toddler party along with the adult party until the toddlers retire to their napping room.

My attire? Probably some really comfy jeans. Ringing in the new year with dear friends, relaxed and chasing kids...sigh, it makes me happy. Somehow I am insanely comfortable (there's that word again) and cozy and even comforted that all of us are in the same stage in our lives, our careers, our child-rearing. Maybe fancy parties later...or maybe even never. Who knows? But tonight though I am very happy, and apparently quite introspective. Happy New Year, y'all.

More photos here

Hard Candy Christmas

Playing with toys.
Laughing.
Eating.
Going to church.
Listening to other people sing Christmas songs beatifully.
Singing the off-key version myself.
Kissing Mr. Lipstick without mistletoe.
Very, very happy.

I hope y'all are happy too.

4 Minutes Away from Goose Green, Falkland Islands

We are watching Santa's progress thanks to the good folks over at Norad. You can even follow Santa on Twitter and Google Earth. Merry Christmas, y'all!

The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever...Really, the Greatest

Well, alright I guess I've got to come clean and admit that perhaps there is a certain degree of commonality among elementary Christmas plays. There are those who would argue that all Christmas plays are all the same and it is hard to argue with those arguing folks, what with all the Silent Night-ing, the Jingle Bell-ing, and the kids in bathrobe style clothes. There is one grand exception to this and it is that the Greatest Christmas Pageant ever is the one in which you see your child sparkle and shine.

Mr. Lipstick, Pretty Girl, and I attended such a pageant last week. JBB wore khaki pants and a snowman sweater (that I swear to you was not stupid). He and the other kindergartners rang bells and sang songs in German, French, Spanish, and Latin along with the other elementary school kids . Everyone was beautiful, poised, and remarkably well-coordinated. It was a grand affair.

I had an excellent view of the entire play. It didn't start that way. We were sitting on the second row of the church which seemed to be a great idea except that we were on the faaaaaar left and JBB was in the exact center. As the children ceremoniously took their assigned places and the proud parents and grandparents rose to snap pictures, I realized with much horror that we wouldn't be able to see JBB. At all.

I decided to inch forward. I moved toward the center and since everyone was still standing and engaging in much adoration and flash photography, I kept creeping along. Abruptly and without any notice, everyone sat down and became orderly. I was suddenly in front of 500ish people with nowhere to go. So I started crawling on my hands and knees towards the center aisle. Yes, I did say that. You did read that right. Crawling. Hands and knees.

I was crawling along as quickly as I could and suddenly looked up to see the headmaster and five teachers looking down at me in complete surprise. "I, uh, couldn't see my child," I said, smiling, and just kept going. I figured there was no stopping now. Then I looked up and saw JBB's teacher. "Oh, hi Mrs. Jonas," I said nonchalantly, going for the same-voice-I-would-use-if-it-was-the-grocery-store-voice. She looked surprised too.

I reached the center aisle, curled up like a cat, waved a tiny little wave at JBB and watched the Christmas pageant. He was beaming. Later on several people vowed they did not see the, er, fiasco. I think they were actually being honest too. Of course, they may have been just too busy watching their own children. It really was the best Christmas pageant ever. Really.

Fifty-two Thousand

I don't think you ever really get too old to have a slumber party. In college my roommates and I would couch out in the living room and watch a movie we had seen a million times, quoting it until our words slurred into sleep. One of those movies was Clueless. I am sad to say that I never knew until today that it was Brittany Murphy who played the adorable girl that Cher and Dionne take on as a "project!".

I remember curling up with Mr. Lipstick one night and watching 8 Mile. I really liked it. I thought Eminem was cool and actually quite talented. I thought that blond girl was really gorgeous too. I am sad to say that I never knew until today that it was Brittany Murphy.

It doesn't really matter though that I have only a vague sense of familiarity with Brittany Murphy because most of all I am sad to hear of a young woman's death during the week of Christmas.



*number of google search results for "brittany murphy death"

The Little Drummer Boy Beats on the Tom Tom

I have a wicked good sense of direction. I mean, all you have to do is point me the right way and then hold my hand the entire time and I will arrive at my destination just fine. I suppose then that it's a real wonder I've never purchased one of dashboard-mounted interactive navigation systems. Maybe it's because I have two fool-proof methods for dealing with being lost. The first is to call Mr. Lipstick and ask him where I am. The second is to not get lost.

I am surprisingly good at the second technique since I drive like a little old lady. I go to work and church and the kid's school and the mall. Publix, Starbuck's, and Target are all en route to the other essentials. Maybe it is a little misleading to say that I drive like a little old lady. Until just a few years ago I drove a black Mustang GT. It was a five-speed with Flowmasters and also leather seats, so you know, it was a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. It was loud. People found this either very desirable or a public menace largely based on their actual or perceived social class. The entertainment value of that was only surpassed by the daily kicks and giggles of reaching zero to sixty faster than anyone else. People also found this very desirable or a public menace as well, but I digress.

Despite my relatively narrow driving range and therefore complete lack of need for a Tom Tom, I have been trying to conjure up a reason to purchase one. For me, that is. It turns out that now the navigationally-challenged do not have to be held prisoner by that boring and benign voice with the generic and generalized accent. Rap (and marketing) impresario Snoop Dogg has recorded all of the voice commands and you can now purchase his voice skin for your Tom Tom. I would buy this.
It's just like he's riding along wit ya.Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fo shizzle. And now for some Christmas cheer...
Merry Christmas, y'all...and happy shopping.

The Mall Parking Lot Makes People Crazy

Sunday I went here...and I did a little shopping. The calender has warned me that Christmas is fast approaching. I am completely nervous about it because I am not really ready. It seems like Thanksgiving was just last weekend, but the calender disagrees with that too. All of this arguing with the calender and circling for a decent parking spot like a hungry buzzard has left me feeling like this...Another side effect of this Christmas anxiety is blog withdrawal. Back soon, y'all!

Surely I am Not the Only One...

Please tell me there are others. There must be others like me. I have one Christmas tree that is beautifully appointed in an award-winning fashion. Well, alright it has lights and ornaments, but whatever. Our other tree...the one that graces the sunroom, the one that is visible to the entire neighborhood...is still wrapped in the protective plastic cocoon that Mr. Lipstick devised to keep it semi-dust-free in the attic. And here is where I air my dirty laundry folks: it has been that way since...Thanksgiving. Oh, yes.

I have either been going to work or coming home from work or too tired from work or too sleepy after church or going to Mommy and Daddy Lipstick's house or just bored or playing on the internet or doing laundry or thinking about what to twitter. Of course, Mr. Lipstick has already done his part. Last year he put plastic around the tree and this year he brought it down from the attic.

The two small humans around here are no help at all despite a magnificent amount of enthusiasm. Decorating this tree is actually a covert operation that must be accomplished while they are asleep. Any of you people who decorate your tree with your small children need to give me some tips because I have yet to figure out how having hundreds of small lightbulbs and glass ornaments everywhere qualifies as a safe craft project. Sorry, y'all. Maybe I'm just a little bit of a Scrooge because my tree is covered in plastic.

December 7...1941

Today is the 68th anniversary of the Japanese attack on the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor. I forgot. Until I got an email saying, "don't forget to remember what today is." I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I have never forgotten before, but today I was busy with the things that keep me busy.

JBB had a decorate-the-gingerbread-man project due and Pretty Girl's cot sheet and blanket for preschool were in the dryer. Our minds were cluttered with the minutiae that demand our attention and our energies. My extra synapses were solely devoted to remembering to take the styrofoam box in the refrigerator full of last night's leftovers of gourmet Mexican food to work so that I could reheat them for lunch.

I forgot.
Two thousand four hundred and three Americans died on December 7, 1941.

I remember.
I will not forget again.


Look at this excellent set of photos from Time magazine.Photos: The Attack on Pearl Harbor

For more info check out The History Place.

Forced Contemplation

Today I witnessed an accident. Isn't it disturbing how something as benign as gazing through the window of a restaurant can become the magnifying glass through which you see a gruesome tragedy? You are safely encased behind steel and glass, separated from the action by seconds and space, and yet you are close enough to visually digest the magnitude of the event, the injuries, and the consequences.

Lives are altered at impact. Help does not arrive immediately, and it is in those first few seconds that time seems to stand still. Bystanders are so wholly shocked at what they have seen that some people begin to cry, some gaze with a stone cold stare, some rush away, some continue to scream, and some make a frantic attempt to reach for their cell phones. I was in the stone cold stare category.

It is only a short wait until emergency personnel arrive. They are some of the most efficient people I've ever seen. That is, in an actual emergency. When there is no emergency (that is to say, the accident is too severe), things take on a slow and measured pace. It is the tempo of an investigation and it is eerie. Even in the absence of any emotional involvement, the images are ingrained in my mind, burned there like an old western scene on a leather wallet. It is there, and it's not going anywhere.

Santa Baby...Hurry Down My Chimney Tonight

Just an itsy bitsy teeny weeny little Hello Kitty wish list....
some earrings

a little ring

sparkly necklace


It's seems borderline reasonable, right? Hello Kitty is 35, I am 35. Well, ok, it's a stretch. But I do like those shiny, overpriced, impractical, and basically tacky baubles pictured above and if they were gifted to me, I would wear them with pride.

Twiddley diddley dee, Twiddley diddley dee, Tweet, Tweet

So I joined Twitter. Everybody is doing it. Actually it would be more correct to say, everybody has done it. I am so late to this party, it is just ridiculous. I think six people are following me so far, and this is my heartfelt thank you, hug, and kiss. It is also kind of an apology. It is hard to Twitter...or tweet (?). It is also difficult to select the proper verb.

Since there are a scant 140 characters available to me, I am at a complete loss. What witty and fabulous thing could I say? I have Tweet-anxiety. I think of things like, "Can you believe the price of gas?" and "Ground beef is on sale" and "I have to pee" and "My gum is stale." NO ONE wants to know these things.

Yes, I joined Twitter because everyone else has done it. This begs the age-old question, would I jump off a bridge if everyone else did? Well, let's just examine that. I probably would. I have jumped out of a plane at ten thousand feet and it was freakin' awesome. I think cliff diving, bungee jumping, hang gliding, and base jumping would be equally as exhilarating, so yes, I probably would jump off a bridge if everyone else did. The thing about sky diving though is that it is easy. You just stand at the edge of the plane's door and fall out into the sky. Twitter...not so much. Sorry, I have to end this post right now because I have to pee.

ETA: The great WendyB was kind enough to ask for my Twitter ID. *blush* It is lipstickmailbox and y'all...many thanks! I have been getting emails all day long about new followers! I am just giddy!