Too School For Cool

I can't stop thinking about this piece.  I really appreciate her honesty, especially considering that she is incredibly successful and has a large online following.  It's a good reminder that we all are human and suffer from our own perceived inadequacies, whatever they might be, and it ties in nicely with my post about motherhood a few days ago.

Her story reminded me of my own experiences in high school, a time I haven't thought about in many years.  I was always really smart and really shy, and hid amongst the fringes of the Advanced Placement kids at school.  I was a good writer, and my teachers would sometimes read my essays (anonymously, thank goodness) to the class, but other than that, I didn't really stand out.

I always struggled a bit with math, but could usually do well if I applied myself.  When registering for senior-year classes, I had the choice between Pre-Calculus, which most of my peers were taking, if they weren't among the cream of the crop in AP Calculus, or the more practical, but embarrassing, Math of Money, which focused on real-life skills like interest rates, mortgage, stocks, car payments, budgets, etc. Too proud to admit that I probably wasn't cut out for Pre-Calculus, I signed up for it and muddled through the first weeks and months.  I already knew that I wanted to be an English teacher, and I knew that I would never need the skills I was supposed to learn in this math class.

When I was in fourth grade, we were supposed to memorize all of the states and their capitals so we could label them on a blank map of the United States, and I remember thinking, as a nine-year-old, what a complete waste of time this was, since, if I ever needed to locate a state or its capital, I could just pull out a map and look at it.  So, when everyone else was studying for the test, I was playing outside.  Of course, I failed, and I didn't even care.  My grades were good enough to pull me through, and, as I predicted, it has never really mattered that I can't identify New Hampshire on a map.

That was definitely my attitude when it came to Pre-Cal, so I wasn't really surprised when I failed the third six weeks.  This was my senior year of high school, though, and nothing like this had ever happened in my academic career before.  I was pretty devastated, and since I was academically ineligible to participate in extracurricular events, I had to miss one of my beloved speech tournaments, which meant everyone (or, the five people in my speech class) discovered my huge mistake.

What's hilarious about this story is that, not only did I immediately switch to Math of Money, where I sat among gang members and learned real-world skills, like how to balance a checkbook, but I also spent the entire rest of the year praying that none of my fellow AP students found out which math class I was actually taking.  Also ironic is the fact that I was already dating Ryan, who was in the AP Calculus class, and who would have been an amazing tutor, if only I had asked.  Pride definitely comes before a fall, and I learned that lesson the hard way.

 ***

Then today, I read this story, and it reminded me again of my old high school days.  I also, much to my own surprise, really enjoyed dissection in Freshman Biology.  At the end of the year, we dissected a fetal pig, which is supposed to look very much like a human body on the inside, and it was absolutely fascinating.  Our teacher asked us to remove the entire small intestine and stretch it out to its full length, and since my group's pig had the longest intestine, well over six feet, we won a bag of candy!  Talk about cool.

And, much like the girl in the story, a female student at my school also removed the head of her poor, dissected pig, stuck it on a ruler, and paraded it around the classroom, Lord of the Flies style.  And who says teenagers have no imagination?

Later, as we sat in our class labeling the parts of the pig on a diagram, the cute boy in front of me turned and asked if I could help figure out a body part he forgot to label on his pig.  I looked down at my diagram, took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and said, "That's the vagina," because it was, and I decided not to be embarrassed about something as basic as a body part in Biology class.

***

I also read that Shaquille O'Neal earned his doctorate in education yesterday, and that impressed me very much.  It seems he's been hard at work since he retired from the NBA, and as someone who struggled to write my master's thesis, I have nothing but respect for anyone who completes a doctoral program.  It is a long and arduous task, one I realized I am not equipped to tackle, and they usually give you seven years to complete it.  I'm also partial to Shaq because he went to high school in my hometown of San Antonio.  Congratulations, Dr. O'Neal!

Fun While It Lasted

We are not iPhone people.  This is what my husband reminds me every time I express an ounce of jealousy over something available to iPhone users, but not owners of Android phones, which describes us.  Ryan would quite literally give his life for the sake of open-source software, and I respect this belief and do my best to live with it.  Just imagine writing a master's thesis in Open Office, saving it, converting it to Word, saving it, and emailing it to ancient professors in another city, week after week, for months.

To be perfectly honest, my iPhone jealousy has very little to do with technology and a lot to do with fashion.  I really just want one of these or these, and all that's available for my phone is this.  So gross.  Don't designers realize that people with Android phones also have taste?

But last week, Instagram, the fun, instant photo editing app was made available to the Android market, and I jumped at the chance to try taking pictures and making them look cool, like I see on other blogs all the time.  I was a bit disappointed to realize that I can't post to Blogger or email my pics, once they've been made cool and 70s-looking, since you can only share via Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or Foursquare (what the heck is that?).  But it was still fun snapping random shots and instantly transforming them.  I felt a bit like a photographer, despite just using my Android phone in its wanna-be-cute plastic case.

Then, today, I read that Facebook is purchasing Instagram for a mere one billion dollars, so, in good conscience, I had to delete my pictures and my account.  There's no way I'm letting that squirrelly, little curly-haired guy near pictures of my boys.

You know I'm a privacy hound.  Plus, I'm pretty sure he's an iPhone user.

"Mad Men" Madness

Ryan and I gave "Mad Men" a try a few years ago right after finishing the entire series, "The Wire."  Maybe it was the subtle plot line or the obvious sexism, but after two episodes, we kind of gave up.  We don't have cable and mostly watch shows via Netflix, but even still, it was impossible not to hear the hype from mainstream media about the show's popularity and influence.  And, as I searched for inspiration for our recent home renovation, I ran across post after post referencing the revival of mid-century modern (MCM) decor, thanks largely in part to "Mad Men."

I'm not in the habit of jumping on bandwagons, but after exhausting the limits of reality shows currently available on Netflix, I decided to give Don Draper and his crew another chance.  And this time, I was hooked.

Right now, I'm in the middle of season three, as Don courts the eccentric Conrad Hilton and Betty takes a sudden interest in, um, local politics.  (Interesting sidebar:  Chelcie Ross, who portrays Hilton, is an old college chum of my dad's; they were in ROTC at then-Southwest Texas State together, and both went on to serve in Vietnam as Air Force officers.  My dad looks a lot younger than Ross does, though.)

As much as I like the show, I have to limit my viewing, because it's easy to get sucked into the sadness, especially right before bed.  Such beautiful people leading such vapid lives leave little to look forward to, and yet we all come back night after night.  I know I do.

Tonight is the premiere of the show's fifth season, and I can't watch for the reasons I mentioned above.  I feel a bit left out and a little panicky, because I know I will probably finish season three this week, and that leaves only the 4th season to watch on Netflix.  So what's a girl to do then?  I have read that some die-hard fans refuse to watch the show until they can see the entire season all at once, so I guess I'll be in good company.

And recently, I ran out of my favorite pressed powder, which is amazing, but on the expensive side and only lasts about two months.  To get more bang for my buck, I hunted down Coty's Airspun Face Powder, after seeing it in a scene from "Mad Men."  My grandmother always kept a container in her bathroom and I used it as a teenager and liked it, but now it's not sold in many stores (I know, because I called around), though I did find it online.  And, on a whim, I decided to order some red lipstick, just for the heck of it.   And, yes, I do understand how product placement works, though I'm pretty sure Coty's presence in the scene was just an accurate detail.

Estee Lauder also launched a "Mad Men" line recently, which consists of a red lipstick and a cream blush.  So, even if you can't watch Betty Draper on television, you can still look like her, ice-princess that she is.

It really is a mad, mad, mad, mad world, but it's a lot of fun, too.

She Did It Again!

My mom always says that a lady should only be written about three times in her lifetime: when she is born, when she marries, and when she dies.

But what about when she literally spews hilarity from her lips (and the keyboard) on a regular basis?

Without further ado, here she is, once again.

Dare I Say It?

I'm the oldest of three sisters and a self-professed nerd, so I'm used to my know-it-all reputation.  Remember this?  Well, I just have to add...

I told you so.

Operation Elmo Rescue

Spring Break is next week, and to celebrate, James is spending a few days with his Nana and Papa in San Antonio.  Since Rhys isn't quite ready for overnight trips away from us yet, I wanted him to have a treat, too.  He's quite an Elmo fan these days, so I found a stuffed version of the little monster on Amazon, and best of all, it doesn't require batteries.

Elmo arrived tonight, and I was shocked to find him in such a state when I opened the box.

I'm no photographer, as I've mentioned before, but you can see from the picture that his eyes are blindfolded, his hands are wrapped behind his back, and he's literally gasping for air inside that plastic bag, which had the usual warning printed on it.

I'm thinking that, for less than $15 and free shipping, I might need to rescue some more innocent plush dolls.

Get Your Hate On

Just have to share, because this site is hilarious!

And as an aside, I still get random comments on this old post.  It seems it's fourth on the list when googling "private Pinterest."

Small World

After buying my Marie chair last week and a wagon for the boys on Saturday, I finally got around to selling our old living room rug on craigslist this week.  It sparked some interest right away, and a woman came by tonight to check it out with her husband.  As soon as they got out of the car, her husband walked over to Ryan and shook his hand, and it turns out that they work together!  He said that he shops on craigslist often, but this is the first time he's ever known someone on the other side of the transaction.

And to top it all off, they technically live on our street, though the two sides have yet to be connected, across a large field and a four-lane road. So, we are neighbors.  Sort of.

I love happy craigslist stories!

My Marie Chair

When we redid things around the house, part of the purpose was to create a more relaxing office-slash-"man cave" for Ryan, since he works from home and also hangs out in the same space.  That meant that our giant green chair, which had been slipcovered and living in our bedroom for months, was relocated to the office, and I was without a comfy place to read, talk on the phone, and nurse Rhys.

I like the idea of having a lounge chair in the bedroom, because there are times when I need privacy, but don't want to sprawl across the bed.  I've been combing craigslist for weeks in search of a chair that would work, and yesterday, I finally found it!  Tonight, we picked it up, along with a small ottoman that actually goes well with the green chair, since Ryan needs a place to rest his feet when he's relaxing in his new man cave.

My mom is always saying that my taste is like Marie Antoinette's, which isn't really true, since I'm not a princess, don't live in a palace, and have a very limited income.  Really, I just like that fluffy, blue, tufted style that Sofia Coppola so beautifully captured in her movie, Marie Antoinette.

So guess what I found?

A fluffy, blue, tufted chair that is most definitely vintage and still in great condition.  And, even better, there's a story to go along with it.

The ad said that the seller was moving and selling all of her furniture, so naturally, I was curious.  Once we found the little garage apartment near campus, climbed the rickety stairs, and saw the chair, I asked where she was going.  It turns out that she's moving to Alaska with her boyfriend, and she has to fit everything she owns into two suitcases.  That's a journey far from here, and not without its risks, and I hope that she will be safe and happy.

As for the chair, I am already in love with it, and it's found a cozy new home in my bedroom.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I was folding some clothes in the bedroom tonight, listening to this song as I worked.  I might have let slip a single, "Fever!" when I heard James ask Ryan, "Did Mama make a noise?"

Time for a Change

I don't take well to change, and I try to avoid it whenever I can.  Just ask my poor husband about the time we switched cell phone companies a few weeks after Rhys' birth.  But I know that change can be a breath of fresh air, and sometimes, it is desperately needed.

This year, for the very first time ever, our little family of four is going away for Thanksgiving, all by ourselves.  We've never done something like this, especially with two small boys in tow, and despite the lists I'll check and recheck, the separate bags I have to pack and repack, and the mounds of diapers, pull-ups, and baby wipes we'll stow in the trunk of our car, I am so excited!

And before we leave next week, we're meeting with a real live contractor to make plans for new flooring and a kitchen renovation.  That also scares the you-know-what out of me, but I'm excited to see the end result, whenever that may be, because it's time for a change.  And this time, I am ready. 

Stay Golden

Raising two boys has opened my eyes to things I once ignored.  That's why this is such a powerful reminder.

Poor Kate

There's an interesting article about Kate Middleton on ABC News' site today.  It seems she's taking a lot of heat for wearing the same pieces of clothing over and over again, and critics are also tired of her hair and eye makeup.

I've been beating the "no black eyeliner" drum for months, thank you very much, and I definitely agree that it makes her look hard.  She's a beautiful woman, but not many girls can rock the Cleopatra look.  Snooki can, because she has large eyes (and, well, she's Snooki), but Kate can't, and she needs to listen to those who only have her best interests at heart.  Interestingly, Kate's mother and sister also line their eyes entirely, so I see a family fashion intervention in the works. 

I do personally like that the Duchess recycles her outfits, because that's what real girls do, and she certainly seems like the genuine article.  Plus, she's on Vanity Fair's Best Dressed List, and that's no small accomplishment.

And I seem to remember another famous Princess who had a hard time parting ways with her eyeliner, though, back then, it was blue, not black.

Let's give poor Kate time to learn the error of her ways as she adjusts to life as a member of the Royal family.  I, for one, wouldn't want to be in her shoes, even if they are really cute and affordable.

Worst Dressed List

It seems that Austin, our fair city, has found itself smack-dab in the middle of GQ Magazine's list of the 40 worst-dressed cities in America.  At number 18, we come in exactly one slot above the Jersey Shore, which isn't saying much at all.  Sorry, Snooki!

I grew up south of here in San Antonio, where making a trip to the grocery store requires full makeup and perfectly styled hair.  In fact, I used to wake up at 5 am each morning during high school, just so I had plenty of time to shower, scrunch my waist-length curly hair, do my makeup, and get dressed before the first bell at 7:08.

Back-to-school shopping involved a trip to the Clinique counter to stock up on makeup, as well as the purchase of several pairs of shoes to go with all of the new outfits we bought to start the year off right.

When I first moved to Austin and began teaching, I quickly realized that none of my fellow teachers wore pantyhose with their skirts and dresses.  That was beyond weird to me, because it seemed almost vulgar to let your bare legs show, plus how did they keep their panty lines from showing?  Where I'm from, it's not unusual for women to wear pantyhose with shorts.  It took me that entire year to get used to the idea of bare legs, but I finally started wearing open-toed shoes and sandals as summer rolled around.  The next year, I ditched the hose, and I have never looked back.

I also remember sitting in a teacher meeting and realizing that I had on more makeup than any other woman in the room, a fact that shocked me quite a bit.  That, I can't give up, and I still wear full makeup and fix my hair each morning, even if I have no plans to leave the house.

While my husband was on vacation from work recently, we made a day-trip to Boerne, a quaint little town just north of San Antonio, known for its historic district with antique shops and boutiques.  At the local Dairy Queen, the only restaurant my little guys can handle at the moment, I spied a middle-aged woman with the most beautiful long, blond hair.   It wasn't platinum-blond, in that past-my-prime-but-desperately-trying-to-fake-it way, but a natural blond that was perfectly styled to go with her perfectly applied makeup.

I remember thinking that I don't see many women her age who wear their hair that way, since it obviously requires a lot of time and attention, and then I realized that I was no longer in Austin.

Ta Da!

My living room is not the only place getting new curtains!

When my mom was visiting a couple of weeks ago, she talked me into wearing purple nail polish on my toes.  Even though I'm a cosmetics junkie, I'm pretty tame when it comes to color, and I never stray far from basic reds and pinks.  Purple is out there for me, but I tried it and it grew on me.

And guess what?  Now, my toes are blue!  Not bright blue, but a light, silvery color that actually looks nice with my skin tone.  So I figured it was time to update my blog again, too.

There's that whole movement now inspired by the Eleanor Roosevelt quote, "Do one thing everyday that scares you," and I think purple toenails have to count for something, at least in my case.

West Elm Shout Out

In my ongoing effort to re-feather my nest, I've been searching for some new curtains for my living room.  I found a possible contender at West Elm but, alas, they are only available online, and we all remember what happened the last time I ordered something without seeing it in person. 

I took the plunge and decided to order only one curtain panel, with the thought in mind that, if it didn't work, I could return it to my local store.  I emailed the company before I ordered, just to double check their return policy, and they promptly informed me that I could definitely return online only items to a brick and mortar store.

So I ordered the single panel Sunday and it arrived today.  It works well with my decor, but somehow, between Sunday and now, they have raised the price of the curtains.  They weren't on sale to begin with, so this is just a price increase for no apparent reason.

At my husband's suggestion, and with more than a twinge of embarrassment, I called their customer service line tonight, explained the situation, and was promptly given the lower, original price to purchase the remaining three panels.  As I thanked the representative, she told me I should always ask for the best deal and never be embarrassed about it. 

Thank you, West Elm, for sparing my pride and for saving me some moula!

Too Private for Pinterest

So I've been reading and hearing a lot about Pinterest, the hot new site that lets you "catalog the things you love," according to its homepage.  In general, I like the concept of saving pictures and ideas for inspiration, and it's how I've been using the Bookmark function of my computer for years.

Now that my boys are a bit older and I'm not stuck up to my elbows in diapers and midnight feedings, I have a bit more time to explore things like decorating and, dare I say it, crafts.  So I've considered joining the site, which requires either an invite from a friend or adding your email to their waiting list.

Still, I'm the only person I know who isn't on Facebook and I'm nervous about this new site, too.  Even though I'm opinionated and not afraid to express my feelings on a public blog, for the amusement of my two or three readers, the fact is I'm extremely private in real life.

I destroyed my boys' blood samples, which you all know loud and clear; I close my blinds at dusk so the neighbors can't see into my house; and I still shut the door to the bathroom in front of my husband despite the fact that he has witnessed me give birth twice.  I have a problem sharing things with strangers, too, and I'm of the "Question Everything" mentality.

I'm not on Facebook because, honestly, the idea creeps me out and there are exactly two people from my high school with whom I wish to stay in contact.  One lives in New York City and we see each other once a year or so, and the other sleeps next to me at night.  The very thought of people from my past rising to the surface after years of anonymity literally gives me chills, and if I want to run into an old classmate I will just walk into the H-E-B near my parents' house and wait a minute.

I hate to sound crass, but we live in a true culture of sharing, the very idea that Pinterest seeks to promote, and every neighborhood in my town is bordered by Target, Ross Dress for Less, and Pier 1.  If you see something you like at a friend's house, you can stop on the way home and get one just like it.  But where's the fun in that?  What happened to being unique and finding your own style? 

I'm all for sharing creativity with the world, and I do believe art and literature are the great equalizers, but it often feels like nothing is sacred any longer and, even though I live in the suburbs with two children and a two-car garage, I'd like to keep some things private.  I'm probably over-analyzing this way too much, but that's just me.

I never went to any of my high school's football games, even though attendance was practically a graduation requirement; I almost lost a job because I refused to wear a college sports team's shirt during College Sports Week; and I was the only consultant in my unit, during my short stint as a Mary Kay saleslady, who never wore a suit.  I don't have a problem with authority, I swear, but I'm also not quick to follow trends. 

I think the idea behind Pinterest is really cool, and it will rid the world of piles and piles of pages ripped out from magazines.  I'm just not sure I'm ready to jump on the bandwagon yet.  Maybe if they allow private profiles, but probably not even then.

**Update:  So, I received my invitation to join Pinterest, and you must login through your Facebook or Twitter account, neither of which I have.  Problem solved, I guess.

Say What You Mean

Tonight, I saw a trailer with a handwritten sign that read, "Emackulate Lawn Care."  When I told Ryan, he said, "That sounds medical, like 'he emackulated all over the floor.' I'm going to ask D. (our brother-in-law, the physical therapist) if that's an actual term."

I reminded him that it just sounds like ejaculate.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

We've been together since 2001.  I willingly followed when you quit your job, where we first met, and moved on to pursue a loftier goal of self-employment.  You encouraged me through the highs and lows of wedding planning, being a newlywed, and then two back-to-back pregnancies.

But lately, I've come to resent being stood up, month after month, and ignored.  I just can't take it any longer, and since it's unnatural for a girl to cut her own hair, I'm breaking up with you, dear stylist.  If you must know, I've already cheated on you with someone else, but she just isn't as talented as you, and that makes me so sad.  I've also started dyeing my own hair, something I thought I would never do, and you didn't even notice.

So, I've booked an appointment for this Saturday at a salon near my house.  It's a little trendier than I'm used to, but I'm giving it a try, and I'm hopeful that things will work out.  I'll always miss you and I wish you the best.  I hope we can still be friends.

Update: So the new place is awesome and I think I found a new stylist!  She's 21, covered in tattoos, and knows how to layer curly hair!  She said she's got my back, so I've already booked a cut and color for my birthday next month.  It was fun being pampered in a real salon again.  

"One if by Land, and Two if by Sea..."

So, Sarah Palin visited Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church yesterday and sang his praises in her own unique way.  According to Palin, Paul Revere was:

"He who warned, uh, the ... the British that they weren't gonna be taking away our arms, uh, by ringing those bells and, um, by making sure that as he's riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that, uh, we were gonna be secure and we were gonna be free ... and we were gonna be armed."

Clearly, her grasp of American history is so intuitive that she will make an amazing president and put George W.'s malapropisms to shame.

picture: http://tinyurl.com/3d5vmme