Truth be told...

This is how I know I'm old...

1. I was at the mall tonight, walked through the 'juniors' section and thought, "Oh my gosh! What is up with that style? What are girls these days wearing?"
2. Walking throught the same section, I saw some brown pajamas with gingerbread men on them, and candy canes, and all things Christmas-y. They were so cute and I thought, "Wow, I'd love to put those on right now and climb into bed with a cup of tea and a good book." I also secretly wondered if they had 'footies' on them. Footies are perfection.
3. Tomorrow is Friday night. Instead of planning an outing with a guy or friends that includes dinner, drinks, dancing, and partying...all I'm hoping for is to cook a good meal, get a good work-out in, and attack the pile of ironing that is growing and sporting dust in the corner of my bedroom. I'd absolutely be thrilled to be in bed by 10pm. No regrets about not going out to live it up as a single 27-year-old. None.
4. I went to dinner with some friends and the daughter wanted to "SIT BY MISS ROSE...MISS ROSE WILL YOU TAKE ME TO THE BATHROOM?...MISS ROSE YOU DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I type in all caps because she talks in ALL CAPS. ALL THE TIME. She's precious. Anyway, she's 3 and asked if "I could be her mommy next time." She doesn't quite realize that her mommy is absolutely wonderful and surpasses anything I could ever be. But she made my ovaries hurt a little when she asked and it made me feel old...like I should have a kid or something. Or at least that I could try it out for a while. Until it got too hard and then I'd give her back. LIKE WHEN SHE TALKS IN ALL CAPS. ALL THE TIME.

These are just the things that make me feel old today. I'm sure I'll have an entirely new and comprehensive old-timer list tomorrow. Complete with Ben-Gay and Metamucil.

My New Favorite

I hope you will watch this video (take five minutes) and are as blessed by it as I was.

At church this past weekend, the 'drama department' reenacted this little skit. Normally, when the 'drama department' comes out, I roll my eyes and watch the girls flit around and pretend to be ballerinas. This time, it was an actual drama and it was FABULOUS. The skit I have linked here is not from my church, but this is the video they adapted it from. However, my church did it better but they're not posting it online. Perhaps I shouldn't say my church did it better...I'm sure that's viewed as some sort of wrongful comparison in the eyes of church-going-folk and perhaps God. But it's true.

ANYWAY.....................most importantly...WATCH THIS. This video came to me at a time when I most needed it. I hope you feel the safety net of God like I did.

http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ee73e63418003b47d7d5

PS - The song is called "Everything" by Lifehouse and it's My New Favorite.

Done and Done

It's time to put my big girl panties on and deal with it.

White suburban and Mexicans inside not included. And when I say 'Mexicans,' I'm not being derrogatory. They are straight up from Mexico. It's part of the charm of my city.

I'm a hugger!

My cousin didn't really like to give hugs every single time she saw one of our friends in college. Really, this is a reasonable request...or phobia. She'd always say, "Rocks now, hugs later." It was the message that you save the hugs for a special time and then it means more. If you just hug everyone all the time, you become a hug whore. That's just how it goes.

I hope you're asking yourself if you're a hug whore. If you are, don't run from it. It's okay. Embrace it. Hug yourself.

Well, it is safe to say that my brother dated a lot of girls. I don't really know how seriously, but I just know that he was a nice guy and always landed nice girls. I always liked them. He'd bring them home, too. That fact alone is absurd and beyond my comprehension, but he'd bring them home for holidays and family gatherings and birthdays. It is almost comical to remember all the occasions. There is a picture of me and my family at my sorority initiation banquet (don't judge) and there is a random girl in it. There is a picture of me at my college graduation with a random girl in it (a different one). This particular girl was so sweet and I really liked her and she gave me really nice presents for graduation.

Not only did she give me presents for my graduation, but she gave me ANOTHER present a few days later when she was with our family for Christmas. That's for real, y'all. Looking back, I was trying to make friends with these girls that I thought could maybe possibly perhaps be part of our family one day. I have all sorts of walls up and don't really want to get close to random people. But I thought this one girl and I could be friends and I liked her so I let her 'in.'

Until my bro broke up with her a few days later.

Less than two months later, he wanted us to meet 'the new girl.' I remember that my dad and I had a conversation in which I said, "Well I'm not getting close to any more girls. I've been through too much. I will be pleasant and nice but I'm not getting close again. I don't want to get hurt."

As if I'm dating her.

My dad agreed on this line of logic. He didn't want to get close to some girl that my bro was just going to break up with. Poor girl. She didn't even know what was coming. But I knew what was coming.

The interesting part is that my dad already knew this girl...and her entire family. He knew her brothers and nephews and wonderful parents. My dad had known this girl for years attending college football games. He said she was "super." I was skeptical.

I met her at dinner with me, my mom, my dad, my cousin, my aunt, and my uncle. My mom and I were the only ones at the table she didn't know. No pressure or anything.

She was nice. I thought she was normal until she pulled out the UT baseball schedule from her purse.

I think I cried a little to myself.

We were saying goodbye in the parking lot and I completely planned to give her a handshake and follow my self-imposed rule of: Must meet someone no less than three times before full frontal contact.

She hugged my dad (again, she knew him). Then she hugged my mom. I stood my ground. I may have even stuck out my hand. Then it happened.

She hugged me. She's a hugger. It was yet to be determined if she was a hug-whore. But she definitely hugged me.

I got in the car to drive away and said to my parents, "CAN YOU BELIEVE SHE HUGGED ME? SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW ME!" I think I even threw in the line, "She doesn't know what I've been through. She doesn't know my hurt."

Two months after that, my bro said he was going to ask her to marry him. Less than a month after that, we were there when they got engaged. She became my SNL and she's a keeper. She's perfect for my brother and they are making me an aunt. Happy anniversary bro and SNL!

And guess what? My SNL turned me into a jumpy and squealy and giddy girl. I'm still not a hugger and try to stick to my rule. But for some people, you can bend the rules.

One is Silver and the Other Gold

When I left college, I remember Pringle and I having a discussion saying, "I don't want to make any more friends." We were so sad to leave our safe cohort and couldn't imagine reaplacing each other's friendship. But I guess you're sort of forced to make friends when your true true ones are so far away...like clear across the state of Texas (and sometimes farther - GASP!). I love my friends from childhood (like, two of them), and cherish my friends from college (about a handful that are the life-longers). But as the years pass...oh yes, I keep forgetting that if I round up, I'm close to 30...one can't avoid making new friends. New friends that last forever. They share new experiences (some of which make me raise an eyebrow) and schools of thought. After college I made a good friend in the form of family, my SNL. I made new friends at my elementary school, and we continue to widen our circle and let some into our 'core group.'

And then you meet those people that you have no idea why they come into your life but they are exactly right. God could have brought anyone to you to get the job done. But He didn't. He knew that you not only would need someone to provide you the service, but someone that can offer support, guidance, a listening ear, and a similar experience.

Such is the story of me and my realtor. I loke her. I like her + I love her = I loke her. And yesterday, I re-loke her. She is just the best. Anyone could have helped me find a house; anyone could be my advocate; anyone could guide me and make this a fairly easy and quick process. But she isn't just anyone. At a time where I'm confused and broken about something that is completely unrelated to realty, God sent me a friend...a life-long friend...and a conversation to offer her story and hope.

And she's doing a dang fine job of landing me a house. And being patient with me because I am in the upper eschelon of real estate stupidity.

Monkey Business

I apologize now for my lack of blogging this week. Truly, it's because I have not had much funny to rehash. Weds thru Fri of this week had me wanting to pour vinegar in my ears so I wouldn't be able to hear the squeals of delight as I broke out the glitter and "holiday" crafts. We all know good and well that these were Christmas art projects, and I came home daily with glitter stuck in my hair (I'm not kidding) and marker covering my forearms. Oh and I don't know what vinegar would do to your ears but I was hoping for a burning sensation that would cause a lack of hearing. It would be better than listening to, "MIIIIIISS ROOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I CAN'T DO IT! THE GLITTER'S ALL MESSY AND JENNY STOLE MY BUTTON!"

Seriously? Seriously. 5 more days of it and then I get a nice break from the little Christmas angels who I'm sure will all be on the 'Nice' list.

Except for the PTA president's son who managed to irritate me enough to earn himself a one-way ticket to the principal's office. There's a proud parent for ya.

At the end of a harried week, I did what any good daughter would do that has been ignoring her parents: I brought them tamales. Oh yes. The white folk love them some tamales made by the bilingual teachers. Au-then-tic.

I was heating up the tamales with my dad in the kitchen tonight and we started talking about Christmas. It is a well-known fact that I am quite possibly the worst gift-giver and I expect people to hand me a list. If you do not give me a list of things you might possibly perhaps like, then I may be forced to give you the equivalent of poop in a box (albeit, with a pretty bow).

Or at least a nice razor.

I asked my dad for the bizillionth time (yes, it's a number...look it up) what he would like for Christmas this year. He looked me in the eye and said, "A service monkey." When he finally accepted the fact that I would, in deed, NOT get him a monkey of any sort, I asked him again. He told me, "A pony." At this point, I wanted to revisit the monkey idea because a monkey (especially one providing a service) seemed better than a pony. Because truly, do you know who this present is to punish? My mom. She would have a monkey or donkey taking residence in her house or backyard. I told him that I would drive to my uncle's house that lives about an hour away and I'd go get his childhood stuffed monkey, "...wasn't Muggs his name?" Dad gave a combined look of euphoria and displeasure and said, "His given name is J.Fred Muggs but he goes by J.Fred. Calling him J.Fred Muggs would be like calling me First Middle Last Name, Jr. instead of calling me 'Dad.' Now, let's not make fun of J.Fred or his brother Zip." I think I gave him the look of, "WTF?" Then I remembered that I forgot about Zippy (formal name of J.Fred's brother). And Puppy Dog.

They all live safely with my uncle and apparently, my dad still loves them. A lot.

After Dad had settled down from the childhood memories of his ratty, little pals, I asked him what he would like for Christmas. Again. This time he said, "Well, I've had my eye on a 17-year-old Taiwanese girl that needs a good home here in America."

It is now where I should insert that my dad is a comical man. Strictly just for kicks and giggles. At this particular moment, I was doubled on the floor laughing. My dad would never actually order something like that off the internet.

Except for the time he ordered two pairs of 'mocasins' that were reminiscent of his liberal days as a college student at UT. Back in the day, he went months without wearing real shoes, and preferred his 'mocasins' that were oiled in dung. Let's be honest and call it like it is...the 'mocasins' are Jesus sandals. I would like to point out that while my dad was a member of student government at this particular university, they elected a dog as student body president. I always like to throw that fact in there to prove that the 70s were marked with insanity and nonsensical behaviors.

Insanity that I desperately wished I lived through.

As we sat and ate our tamales, chile, and Fritos, I had a couple of thoughts running through my mind: 1. On a scale of 1 to 10, how badly will I be 'tore up' later after eating this meal? and 2. What AM I going to get my dad for Christmas?

Right then and there, my mom knocked over her glass of water, spilling it all over my dad and the table and the floor. They scramble to start cleaning with napkins. Then my dad said, "See, if we had a service monkey, he would have cleaned up the water."

I'm not ordering a Taiwanese girl for Christmas. I guess I can check into a good deal on monkeys.

Good news...

Well I just don't have a lot of news this week. Not unless you count the fact that Jessica Alba got knocked up and the fact that Heidi and Spencer are STILL broken up as 'news.' That's the excitement in my life.

And since I mentioned it, can we just pause on the Jessica Alba tidbit of info for a sec? First of all, thank you to my SNL who introduces me to such important matters in life such as children out-of-wedlock. Not that she knows anything about that. She and my brother are indeed having their child fully in-wedlock. (Yeesh. Side note, it just made me squeeze my legs together to think of having a child in any kind of lock.) Anyway...let's just think about all the 'celebrities' with their out-of-wedlock children. Some might go as far to call them something that rhymes with plastered, but I wouldn't do such a thing. Let me start my list: Jennifer Garner, Michelle Williams, Gwenyth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie, REESE WITHERSPOON, Salma Hayek, Nicole Richie, Halle Berry...just to name a few. It's like it is some sort of goal out there. I really have no point here...just an observation that this is some sort of accepted trend in society. In my family, it would be more accepted if I came home with a chain running from a bone through my nostrils to my heenahaw. I hear they do that in some villages on other continents.

Clearly, I'm trying to make friends with this blog, seeing as how I'm blasting unwed mothers AND tribes in less-than-fortunate countries. My bad.

So, no news this week. But I guess no news is good news. 13 days until Christmas and I really should start the shopping. I think I'd rather attach a chain to my heenahaw.