In Which I Surrender To The Need For A 108 Ounce Jar Of Peanut Butter

12 March 2007 by

Today has been one of those days where I’ve felt like I needed to run to the computer and type, “INTERNETS, HELP ME!” about five different times.

No kidding: something seems to have come undone in my brain over the last couple of weeks in terms of taking care of household business that is normally pretty effortless for me (see: stocking the pantry, shopping for toiletries, making sure we have plenty of detergent, etc.).

Lately I find myself in a constant state of “oh, I forgot such-and-such,” even though I go to the store armed with a list. Even though I keep a magnetized notepad on the refrigerator so I can jot down a note when we run out of something. Even though I’m a fairly organized person.

But y’all, I feel like I’m running back to the grocery store ALL THE TIME. And when I got home from the store this afternoon, I realized that I still needed to buy toilet paper AND peanut butter AND Pop Tarts AND cream of mushroom soup AND wasp spray (which will not be used in the preparation or presentation of any particular meal), and how in the world could we be out of any of those things because OH MY WORD DIDN’T I JUST BUY THEM?

So after some serious overthinking, I’ve determined that the time has come to call in the Big Boys. The time has come to let go of my why-would-anyone-want-a-case-of-brownie-mix mentality. The time has come to indoctrinate myself in the Costco culture, and trust me when I tell you that I wish I were kidding.

Honestly, I’ve never thought it was that much cheaper to buy the larger sizes or to buy in bulk. But now I’m starting to believe that the people who buy in bulk are buying it because they need every last bit of what they buy, and oh sweet mercy if buying 400 rolls of paper towels will keep me from having to buy a two-pack every single week for the rest of my life, then sign me up because I think I’m way past ready. I’m just tired of what feels like constant re-stocking.

So tell me, oh wise ones: do you shop for your family at one of the big discount clubs? Sam’s and Costco are the ones we have in this neck of the woods, though I know there are different ones all over the country (and Canada! I certainly don’t want to leave out Canada!). And if you do shop at a discount club, here are my questions:

1. Do you buy all your groceries there? Or just a select few items?
2. What do you think are the best Sam’s / Costco deals? For example, if I only wanted to spend $100 of our grocery money there every month, how could I get the most bang for my buck?
3. Is it even worth it to join? Or would I do just as well to buy the bigger quantities at, say, Walmart?

And then one last thing:

I’ve really slacked off in the last six months in terms of planning my menus in advance, and I think that’s yet another reason why my grocery shopping feels so disjointed. So if you’re a consistent menu planner, how far in advance do you plan? And do you have any sort of “system” for your planning (a calendar, an online helper, etc.)?

I can’t wait to read your comments because I’m hoping that they will make the crazy go away, and my, what a happy day it will be.

Thanks in advance for your help.

Y’all rocketh (and rolleth, to boot).

Filed Under: Out Of Control

Me And My Hair-Brained Ideas

13 February 2007 by

Y’all, we really, really need to talk about my hair.

I mean, I know you have other stuff to do like “making cookies” and “eating chocolate” and “cutting out paper hearts,” but I’m having a bit of a hair crisis, and I don’t know what to do.

Here’s the deal.

The natural color of my hair is dark blonde. At least I think it is. I really can’t be sure since I haven’t seen it since around 1998, but as best I can recall, it falls somewhere along the darker end of the blonde spectrum.

And for many years, I have enjoyed the luxury of going to the salon, sitting in a chair, and letting a talented color specialist apply golden blonde highlights while I thumbed through the latest issue of InStyle.

Sure, there were moments of home hair color weakness, moments when I couldn’t bear to fork over the big bucks, moments when I convinced myself that I could do just as well with a $10 kit from the drugstore.

And then, last year, the most unexpected thing happened: I did just do just as well with something from the drugstore when my friend Tracey highlighted my hair. I LOVED IT. The color lasted until the beginning of summer, when my hair gets naturally lighter anyway. When I got ready for some touch-ups back in the fall, I coerced someone else into giving me highlights with a home highlighting kit. It didn’t look quite as good as it did when Tracey worked her magic, but it was fine.

About three weeks ago, I pushed my luck and tried to go the home hair color route for the third time in a row. I talked a friend into doing the whole pull-my-hair-through-a-cap deal, and the results were, well, iffy.

With “iffy” being a really generous term.

Because now my hair is way too blonde on the ends, way too dark on the top.

In fact, I look like someone dipped my head in light brown dye, flipped me over, and then dunked the bottom half of my hair in a vat of bleach.

It’s a really attractive look, in case you were wondering, and it’s especially convenient when you’re trying to coordinate your hair with an ensemble (as I know so many of us do), seeing as how you have the bottom way-too-blonde part, which is great for those cooler-toned spring clothes, and then you have the dishwater-brown-etched-with-gray top part, perfect for those warmer-toned winter separates.

(I’m trying to rationalize. Indulge me.)

But then. But then.

But then you catch a glimpse of yourself under the flourescent lights in the Lifeway restroom. And you realize that OH SWEET MERCY, something has got to give, because OH SWEET MERCY, there’s no way to ignore your the horrific state of your hair affairs for even one more second.

And that’s exactly what happened to me this afternoon.

So do you know what I did?

I made my way to the front of the store, quickly paid for my Lifeway purchases, grabbed my child’s hand and said, “Come on, baby. Mama’s got to get her a little hair color at the Walmarts.”

Because no kidding, people: I look like the “before” picture in some gigantic magazine spread entitled “OUR MOST CHALLENGING MAKE-OVERS EVER!!!”

So here’s my dilemma.

I bought some hair color at Walmart today. Not highlights. COLOR. It’s some kind of temporary deal – Natural Instincts Coastal Dune. Clearly it’s a high-end product because it does make reference to the beach, and I’m certain that if I use it my hair will instantly acquire an artfully-tousled look, almost as if I’ve just walked in from, well, the coastal dunes (not to be confused with the non-coastal dunes, those piles of sand that have magically appeared in densely-populated metropolitan areas).

And here’s what I’m thinking.

It’s pretty much a given that I’m going to have to do the Home Haircolor Walk Of Shame into my salon at some point in the near future. The guy who cuts my hair hasn’t seen me since I received the latest round of ill-fated highlights, and you can trust me when I tell you that he. will. be. mortified. if I walk in there with the color looking like it does right now.

Which leads me to think that maybe I should try this Coastal Dune business, primarily to see if I can’t get everything a little “evened out” color-wise. I’ll still have to the do the Walk Of Shame the next time I get a cut, but maybe the Coastal Dune-age will cover up everything nicely enough that R. (my hair guy) won’t immediately throw me in a colorist’s chair and charge me an arm and a leg so that he can get everything back to normal.

(And by “normal,” of course, I mean, “my usual totally fake color.”)

OR – should I just go ahead and be a big girl, make an appointment, confess my home highlighting sins, and let R. fix it? I SO don’t want to spend the money. But girls, you KNOW – especially if you’re a big-haired girl from the South – when the hair doesn’t look good, it wears on you. Oh yes ma’am it does. It takes a toll on the ole self-esteem, and OH MY WORD I know that as Christians we’re not supposed to be concerned with self-esteem, we’re supposed to be concerned with God’s esteem, but I am not kidding when I tell you that what’s going on with my hair right now GRIEVES THE HEART OF GOD.

CAN I GET AN AMEN?

Come to think of it, we might need to have us a hair tragedy altar call, y’all. Can’t y’all just see it? First we’d insist that every head be bowed, every eye be closed, and then we could minister to the hurting: “YES, Sister. You right there in the back. You tried to perm it yourself, didn’t you? And you, sweet sister. Over to the right. Thought you’d trim those bangs on your own? And ooooh, sister. A banana clip? Really? Bless you.”

And just so you know? I’ll be the sister up at the front. Holding a box of Natural Instincts Coastal Dune in my hands. Waiting for some divine direction from my bloggy sistah hair accountability partners about what to do next.

Preach it in the comments.

COME ON, NOW.

Preach it.

Filed Under: Out Of Control, Rambling

Everything Was Glorious Except For My Jeans And The Chickens

4 February 2007 by

I have a confession to make.

It’s something that completely goes against my ladylike Southern heritage, but it happened, and I might as well ‘fess up.

So here you have it:

I high-fived Emma Kate during the basketball game.

I did, y’all.

I’m not sure exactly what happened, especially since my friends from college would tell you that I have three hard-and-fast non-negotiables in my Sporting Event Code Of Behavior:

1) I do not pump my arm in the air while making barking noises.
2) I do not associate with team mascots, as I am terrified of them.
3) I do not high-five.

And so it has been for the majority of my adult life.

Until yesterday.

But oh, there was this beautiful three-point shot for the Bulldogs, and just as the ball left the shooter’s hands he was fouled, and in all the resulting commotion surrounding the possibility of a four-point play I raised my arm and found myself, inexplicably, slapping Emma Kate’s hand.

I would give anything if I could push a rewind button and make the whole cringe-worthy incident go away. But as it stands, I am forced to live with the memory of my actions. Sadly, I cannot turn back the hands of time.

But you may rest assured that it will not happen again.

Also.

I think that as sassy as EK and I felt in our cute jeans, I definitely learned a valuable jeans-related lesson.

My beloved $20 Faded Glory jeans cannot withstand my level of activity during a college basketball game. I stood up and sat down approximately 863 times, and by the end of the game the jeans were a full size larger than they were when we arrived at the coliseum. I would pull them up – and they would fall right back down, and the back pockets ended up somewhere around the tops of my knees.

Attractive? Oh I think so.

And did I mention that there was a contest to see who could propel rubber chickens into laundry baskets at halftime?

I’ll let that one soak in a bit before I continue.

Now I recognize that my alma mater is a land-grant institution with one of the nation’s finest poultry science programs, and I realize that my home state of Mississippi has a proud agricultural heritage. But I can’t help but feel that if my alma mater is as forward-thinking and progressive as they tout in their promotional materials (and as I know them to be from my first-hand experience), then perhaps eliminating the throwing-the-rubber-chicken contest is in order.

Of course, I am the same person who just said that I high-fived my friend and then wore jeans that, by the start of the second half, gave the impression that I was struggling with an overloaded diaper, so I may not be the most credible spokesperson for creating more sophisticated halftime activities.

However, if the gameday operations people decide that they want to have a halftime high-fiving contest, I’m certainly now well-qualified to judge.

Filed Under: Beloved Bulldogs, Out Of Control, The South

I Tried My Best. I Really Did.

24 January 2007 by

I’ve been trying to write a post on and off for the last couple of hours, but the fact of the matter is that I just can’t do it. I can’t concentrate.

Because my beloved Mississippi State Bulldogs are going up against the Florida Gators tonight in basketball.

Florida, by the way, is the NUMBER ONE TEAM team in the country.

And I’m as nervous in a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

The good news is that we’re playing at home. At The Hump. It’s gonna be rowdy.

Truth of the matter is, it’s gonna be rowdy right here in our living room, too, because I really do believe that if I scream at the television loudly enough, I can most certainly affect the outcome of the game.

So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go put on my MSU Basketball t-shirt. The one that I was wearing at this game, which, as I have mentioned, was one of the best days of my whole life ever.

In addition, I have a great deal of pacing to do before the game starts.

And a child to get to bed by 7:30, so that I have sufficient pre-game time to mentally prepare myself.

(You just think I’m kidding. But D. will vouch for my insanity.)

Lest you worry, I’m not the only one suffering from the basketball crazies: Sister will be cleaning up a storm tonight at her house, as is her custom when the Bulldogs are in action. We both like to dust and vacuum during basketball games especially, as there has to be some outlet for all the nervous energy. Cleaning seems to work better than, you know, jumping up and down until we hyperventilate.

(I’m thinking our game-watching OCD is probably genetic. And I totally hope that Alex has inherited it.)

So I’ll see y’all tomorrow.

Unless the Bulldogs win, in which case I’ll be back here late tonight posting the score in a 72 point, chartreuse green font. Because I’m subtle and understated like that.

Go ‘Dogs!

Filed Under: Beloved Bulldogs, Out Of Control, The South

So A Vase Walks Into A Bar…

22 January 2007 by

As planned, the weekend found me participating in exciting activities such as washing clothes, folding clothes, putting away clothes, and hanging up clothes. I know you hate that you missed the minute-by-minute details of it all, but never fear: Us magazine came by and took some pictures and will be chronicling the whole Laundry Spectacular in their January 29 issue.

Just to, you know, remind Britney and Paris about what underwear looks like and all.

GOODNIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I’LL BE HERE ALL WEEK!

The weekend really was great, except for the part where D. and I had a bit of a disagreement Saturday morning after Alex started screaming crying because the FedEx man didn’t stay here long enough for them to have a lengthy conversation. I signed for the package, and when the FedEx man started walking back up the driveway, Alex started screaming “BUT I WANTED TO SAY GOOD MORNING, MAMA! I WANTED TO SAY GOOD MORNING!”

I tried (unsuccessfully) to calm him down and then he threw open the front door and tried to chase the FedEx man up the hill. So D. used Stern Voice to tell Alex to come back inside and I was all “don’t be too hard on him, he just wanted to be friendly” and D. was all “I think it’s probably a good idea to teach him that he shouldn’t chase after strangers,” which, in retrospect, is an excellent point, but at the time all I could think about was that my child was upset because he didn’t get a chance to ask the delivery man how he was doing on a fine Saturday morning, oh bless his heart.

Good times.

But I did get a few little decorating projects done around the house, and I did play trains with Alex, and I did watch lots of movies, and I did stay in my pajamas a shameful amount of time. I also went to TJ Maxx (twice!), Ross (back tomorrow!), and Old Time Pottery (want to go back right now!) because I’ve been on the hunt for some big, bright, funky vases to go on top of the cabinet behind our bar.

Now you may not realize this, because I certainly wasn’t privy to this information until we bought this house, but apparently people who built homes in 1974 didn’t even try to conceal the wet bar behind doors. They just put the bar in the corner of the living room and made it a focal point, hence the need for accessorizing.

To wit:

img_1440.JPG
     

And now that I’ve actually uploaded the picture of the bar and examined said picture closely, I feel that a few clarifications might be in order:

1) Yes, I do blog from the bar. And what you see on the computer is the draft of the post you’re reading right now, which really makes this particular image just like a house of mirrors, people. It’s a house of mirrors!

2) The brass thing with the pinecones in it (to the right of the computer) has absolutely no business being on the bar. But I was moving stuff around this weekend, and I didn’t really have anywhere to put it, so I just stuck it there. However, now I feel that it might give our guests the impression that, as they enjoy their favorite beverage, they should feel free to snack on not only pinecones but dried gourds as well. Which is neither very appetizing nor hospitable, now is it?

3) Yes, that’s a cross you see hanging behind the bar. Why? I don’t know – maybe I was trying to give the bar area a certain Baptist charm? Like yes, we’re Baptist, and yes, we have a big bar in our living room, but we have the cross hanging back there so it can make all the fire water holy?

Have mercy.

4) There’s an empty wine rack. What’s the point? Because it’s cute, maybe? But if there’s no wine, isn’t it sort of a needless accessory? Have I become more Baptist than I ever dreamed?

(Answer: no. Because if that were the case, I’d have all the wine hidden under the cabinets so y’all couldn’t see it.)

BADA-BING! THANK YOU!

5) If you look very carefully through the glass on the second door from the right, you’ll see juice glasses. ORANGE JUICE GLASSES. Behind the bar.

Clearly I am undeserving of the bar amenity.

6) Check out the light fixture. It came with the house, and it makes me want to sing the theme from “Cheers.” As an added bonus, it has a dimmer, which really creates some romantic mood lighting when you’ve sidled up to the bar to drink a little OJ from one of those juice glasses with big yellow flowers. Or when you’d like a glass of pretend wine from the empty wine rack.

Never let it be said that we don’t know how to entertain with style, my friends.

Anyway. To get back to my point (just so you know: I had to scroll back up to the top of the post, re-read what I’d written, and only then was I able to discern what my original point was), I wanted some funky vases in bright colors to go on the top of the cabinet behind the bar. I mean, if I don’t have any wine to offer our visitors, the least I can do is to say “LOOK! PRETTY COLORS!”

And I found just what I was looking for:

img_1432.JPG
     

Thus concludes the most pointless post in the history of the internet, brought to you with pride by yours truly.

It has been my distinct privilege to assist you in wasting your time.

Filed Under: Out Of Control

Why, I Thought I’d Forgotten How To Meme

4 January 2007 by

For the second time in three and a half years, I’m going to be Home Alone tonight. 

I will pause so that you can whoop and clap as you celebrate with me. 

Now because I am by nature a planner, and because I have checked everything off today’s to-do list (including my walking for Nancy’s challenge), and because I believe that anything worth doing is worth doing well, I would like to share my lofty goals for the upcoming evening with you.

Thirteen Plans For My All-Alone Thursday Evening

1. I will not prepare any food substance that requires the use of the stove or oven. 

2. I will, however, consume large quantities of sushi. 

3. And homemade guacamole. Which I’ll be preparing as soon as I click “publish post.” 

4. Oh! OH! And diet Coke. I’ll be drinking copious amounts of that delicious ice-cold cola beverage. 

5. I will not be watching “Grey’s Anatomy.” Please don’t be offended. But a leopard can’t change her spots (side note: it took three attempts for me to get that colloquialism correct. First I typed “monkey can’t change her stripes,” then “leopard can’t change her stripes,” and finally I remembered that leopards have spots, so maybe what I really need to be doing tonight is trying to become, you know, smarter so that I don’t use expressions like “a monkey can’t change her stripes” and believe that it’s accurate).

6. Also, I will not be watching any programming that involves animated characters. In fact, I blame all the cartoons I watch for that embarrassing idiomatic gaffe in #5.

7. I will, however, flip the channel to Fox on occasion just so I can see promos for “American Idol” (side note #2: I am still trying to decide if I’m going to blog about every “AI” episode again this year. And since this decision is actually giving me pause, you can probably tell that I don’t have a whole lot going on right now in terms of extra-curricular activities. Except for cartoon-watching, of course). 

8. I will be giving myself a pedicure. 

9. I will be reading at least one issue of “In Touch” or “Us Weekly,” and at some point during my “reading” (oh, don’t kid yourselves: I’ll be looking at the big, colorful pictures), I will scrutinize the size of Nicole Richey’s legs and determine that yes, it’s true: my wrists are (considerably) bigger than her thighs. And then I will eat more guacamole.

10. I will fill a big glass with crushed ice and chomp on it to my heart’s content.  

11. I will watch the Saturday Night Live with Justin Timberlake for the seventh or ninety-fifth time. I will cackle at the sketch where the Turrrget clerk talks about hulliday cayn-dals (that was for you, Big Mama and Gulley) as if I have never seen it before. 

12. I will never let the computer leave my sight because why, why would I do that, why?

13. I will miss my family. But sleep like a log in that big ole bed all by myself.

See y’all tomorrow.

Filed Under: Out Of Control
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