Double Knock-Out!

I love it when good works and good fun come together, especially at this time of the year!

Here's a charity event that I am really excited to tell you about. Let me say that again. I'm pumped about an upcoming mma tournament, [correction, Brazilian jui jitsu tournament] right here in Houston! I'm hoping my own MMA will throw his hat in the ring so I can watch him fight.

Elite Martial Arts, which is the only real game in town for serious students of mixed martial arts, is having a charity event to help one of their own. An Elite student, Mike DeAses, a father to four young boys, is the beneficiary of this tournament. The money raised will help with medical bills related to his pancreatic tumor. That's the good works part of the deal.

The fun part is getting to watch some fiery amateurs like my MMA grapple, scrap and throw down -- so close you can smell the sweat! Kids and women are also encouraged to participate! There will be a "bookie" on site taking wagers and winnings will go to the medical fund.

I don't know about you, but I haven't seen a good "girl" fight...I mean a REALLY good girl fight since high school. Maybe college. In any case, its been a while.

All the action happens Sat. December 13th beginning at 3:30 pm. The location is 10640 Westheimer Houston , TX 77042.

Tickets are just three bucks!!! You can't touch a diet coke at any kind of sporting event these days for $3.

There will be a Karaoke competition with some local champions in that sport. Also there will be a raffle for an X box and other cool stuff, followed by a potluck meal after all the fights.

Doesn't that sound like exceptional family entertainment?

Now I know that some people are against fighting, but this is a sporting and clean-cut way to do it. And as I am learning, men have all this extra pent up fizz that they have to get rid of some kind of way, lest they boil over. Or is that just in this house? Even the three year old needs serious exertion, although here's where my double-standard kicks in: no fighting for Only Child.

I'm not suiting up to fight either. One of these days I'll let MMA recount my attempted-suicidal girl fight back when we were in college. He probably saved me from getting double black eyes, as my opponent had a significant size advantage. If "less drunk" is an advantage, then that's what I had. And I had my Bonfire boots going for me. Does anyone else remember Hurricane Harry's as fondly as I do? Good times, I tell ya...

Ohh, I can't wait for this tournament; I hope to see you there! I'm semi-retired, but could possibly be provoked...

Free Meat...(at Arby's)

Mmmmm....beef....Homer-want-meat...


Hey, here's one for my male readership; that's you MMA, and I know you want some of this!


Go here for a free Roast Beef Sandwich at Arbys; it says you can print and use it as many times as you like until my birthday, December 14th. Happy Birthday, from me!

'Love myself today!

To give due props, this came from Money Saving Mom's blog.

Waxing and other forms of Female Torture

Does it make me masochistic that I like getting my eyebrows waxed?

I go to this place called Li's Nails that was recommended to me by a teacher friend. This particular friend used to be in the pageant circuit (yes, we're in Texas) and her nails, eyebrows and everything else about her is always perfectly poised for competition. (Those rambunctious middle-schoolers weren't going to make her look haggard.)

So Teacher-Friend let me in on this one beauty secret. Let me just get it out in the open, Li's is not one of your finer day spas. It is what it is. And what it is, is the kind of place where they ask if you want to do your "moustache, too." (The ambiance is about on par with the tact at this place.) But I keep going back for more.

I like to sit back in their ordinary black office chair and feel the slight burn of the wax before they rip it off my face. Li is usually speaking incomprehensibly to one of her co-workers. It might as well be Vietnamese; I can't understand a word of it, but I find it soothing. If the procedure lasted more than 2 minutes I'm sure I could fall asleep.

I know, I'm sharing all sorts of personal things and I feel so naked. But who doesn't love getting their eyebrows cleaned up? Maybe I should say, I don't find it very painful and overall it is a pleasant thing to do for myself. Is that weird?

My friend's mom had an Epi-lady when we were kids. Remember those machines of female misery? They had a coil of wire that simply ripped the hair out of root off your legs; the logic being that it would grow back softer and less noticeable. We screamed like Banshees! Oh the pain! We were about eleven when we experimented with that thing and I decided right then and there that I'd rather have furry legs than participate in such self-loathing, ever again.

Here I am twenty years later, still torturing myself! I had a baby, afterall. He's three and I haven't gotten rid of him yet...some days that defies logic. The last two days he's been sent to time-out within a minute of getting out of bed. This is no exaggeration. Three can be torture.

I also tend to burn myself almost everytime I turn on the oven. If the scars on my hands could talk, they would say "either: chain smoker, or really, really clumsy in the kitchen." MMA is convinced its psycho-logically motivated, because burning one's self so frequently can't be accidental. (Even a monkey can learn not to burn its self if repeatedly exposed to a hot oven, right? My words, not his.)

Quick mention about my drug of choice: the flat-iron. When you take a shower, then sweat down your back to fix your hair, it can't be for pleasure...maybe with some therapy, I could get on board Team Naturally Curly Hair. Maybe.

Here's my favorite torture of them all. Some of you may be able to identify. You could tell me honestly and without hesitation to just stop the madness and in the next breath, torture yourself in the same way...get your bags packed, ladies, we're going on a GUILT TRIP! Is this a female universal, or am I especially gifted with the ability to burden myself with ridiculous, totally avoidable, and unnecessary guilt?

I'm guilty right now, because my little one is parked in front of the TV while I enjoy some "me" time...he's going through a difficult stage, after all, and needs my every fiber, every minute of the day. (TV watching = Bad mom)

....I'm back. Only Child went to the bathroom and my service was needed there. I would only share this tidbit with good, non judgemental people who would understand. I found myself saying "Anthony, don't flush the toilet, mommy needs to see your poo poo." I can't be the only one, er uh, the only mom who needs to see it...(ChaCha, your day will come.)

Be assured this is not another variation of mommy cutting herself...who else is going to stay on top of the stomach situation in this house?

How do you torture yourself? Misery loves company.

Hostile book report

I wrote this a while back for the Nuns as this was one of our books this year. Since it was a busy weekend, I thought I'd pull from the archives. This is my screenplay book report. It's a one scene jobby; Superstar carries the whole thing.

If I'm not available, I guess Reece Witherspoon could stand in. (Remember how brilliant she was in Election?)

A Hostile Book Report

by Woman Interrupted

[Read aloofly by know-it-all 11th grader, lisping slightly through braces. Catholic-school-girl get up; knee socks.]

So I read Love in the Time of Cholera, set in turn of the century South America...not the century that just turned, the one before it...and you know what??? It was stu-pid as love stories go. This guy is a Nobel winning author? Whatever!

So, as a teen, the main character, Florentino, sees a girl of fourteen from a distance and starts writing her secret letters, which she, Fermina, answers in secret. This is their only form of communication for years because of her over-protective father, yet they think they are in love [roll eyes]...until she wakes up and realizes how stupid it is to be in love with someone you've never even had a face-to-face conversation with.

So Fermina kicks Florentino to the curb, breaking off their engagement, and goes on with her life. She eventually marries up, snagging a rich-young doctor and they are the "Brangelina" of the So-Carib, if you know what I mean. Dad obviously approves.

But Florentino is a whiny baby who spends the next 50 years pining for her from afar. Or from as close as he can get. Hhut! He follows her life and pines so persistently that he can make himself sick just thinking about her. Maybe he is confusing the symptoms of IBS with being love-stricken. In any case, he hoodwinks many, many women over the years, but never considers marriage, because he's waiting to win back Fermina.

Then, (and tune out if I'm going to spoil it for you) Florentino grows into a dirty old man of the most vile variety. One word: pedophile! But as a testament to his love-letter-writing, we're talkin' mad skills, he manages to win Fermina over again at a ripe old 70-something after the good doctor falls off a ladder to his death...chasing a talking parrot...of all the ways to go.

Have you ever read love scenes that describe the heroine as "smelling like an old lady"? If you don't mind detailed depictions of old people hooking up or reading about deviant sexual behaviors, then you might learn something from this book.

Or, you could just google "death by cholera."

A friend described this book as "plotless." [smacking gum] There is a plot, it just takes forever and a day to materialize. By the time the relationship finally comes to fruition, the fruit is ready for the compost-heap.

And why am I hostile about reading this book?

I kept pushing forward, waiting for the book to live up to the reputation of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, but it kept getting stranger and more perverse. I think the author has a few loose screws.

I was forced to admit by the time I finished three quarters of the book and nary a kiss had transpired in this "epic" love story that "spanned more than a half century" that the book was not about the relationship of Florentino and Fermina. No, this was a lesson in how even a creepy stalker, through persistence and patience, can get what he wants if he never gives up. And sometimes, after you work hard to get what you want, its not what you thought it would be.

[Smugly] If I'm not mistaken, there is a child's fable somewhere that teaches that same lesson in about 8 paragraphs.

[Did I mention that the Nun's dropped this book like yesterday's trash]

What He's About

Today is my last birthday shout out. I couldn't let the 37th birthday of my sweetheart go down without a holla. And I don't mean that Jewish bread, either.

MMA is out in the garage doing one of those grueling boxing workouts I told you about. I can hear the banging and beeping of his various apparatus clocking time and telling me that I have about 30 minutes to scribble.

We made last minute plans not to go out for dinner; no babysitter tonight. All he wanted was for me to make a batch of his mom's lasagna and invite a few friends over, with kids.

And as luck would have it, they can come.

He made it too easy on me. If given more time, (he knows) I would have managed to add 10 people to the guest list and I would have loved it, but crowds and parties are not what he's about.

He's about spending Saturday mornings watching cartoons in bed with little guy and then making us breakfast. I'll have to share the recipe for his House-Special eggs sometime.

He's about Community Coffee with half and half, no sugar, because "good coffee needs no sugar."

MMA's about taking his son to the museum or the zoo and patiently reading all the signs and explaining things to Only Child that I assume he's too young to comprehend.

MMA is about Whataburger, our own wonderful Texas-based-fast-food-for-the-gods: double meat, if you please.

MMA is about pizza, fried rice and sushi -- his three favorite foods. And Blue Bell ice cream. Vanilla or Butter Pecan, but only Blue Bell will do.

MMA is about regular jeans, straight let, slightly faded with age. You won't find him in trendy, dark washed, expensive jeans. He rejects anything stretchy or with contrived bleached out spots. And paying $50 for jeans is really pushing it.

MMA is about keeping things simple, but enjoying nice things. He and his Ipod are never far apart. He enjoys a glass of red wine or a cigar on occasion. When he found a pair of dress shoes that he loved, he bought one in black and one in brown. Now he's got all the dress shoes he's going to need for 5 years or more. He'll pay extra for Sony. He's a Sony guy if at all possible.

MMA is about taking charge when we travel. If we have a plane to catch, he's going to get us there on time, without exception. He can be counted on to keep track of passports and reservation numbers and cash...freeing me up to handle the fun stuff.

MMA is a about taking care of business. Although he's never been my boss, I imagine he's the uncool kind that won't shut down early on the day before Thanksgiving. He's the guy who will make sure the last customer is taken care of across town before coming home for the night.

MMA is all about setting a good example for Only Child. If I raise my voice or say a naughty word or lose my temper, he's there calm and steady, reminding me that little eyes are watching.

MMA is about keeping things good and real and down-to-earth around here. We've really grown up together over the years and I keep finding new reasons to love and admire him. If I get the chance to grow old with this man, it will be one of my life's greatest blessings.

Happy Birthday, my MMA. I love you with all my heart!

Doncha Wish Your Garland was Hot Like Me!

"Doncha wish your garland was a freak like me?

Doncha!?"

Those are the only two lines I know so I just kept singing them over and and over for the two hours it took me to put this lovely mess together. That one red leaf is bugging me, too. I'm going to pluck it out.


I was peer-pressured into getting a jump start on Christmas this year by my decorating friends. And the Nester was kind enough to put up a tutorial on how to turn 4 strands of that wimpy $1.99 garland and other stuff I already had into this garland. My only expense ($5) was all the grassy, feathery stuff which I picked up at 90% off at Hobby Lobby.


That picture will come down and be replaced by a big wreath. And I plan to put some bows on each end of the garland.

Two questions:

Those are my year 'round urns and I am aware that they are starting to look tired. I'll get to that after Christmas. In the meantime, should I leave them on the mantle or is it too much with the garland?

Any ideas about what I can use to camouflage the fishing wire that's holding the middle up? You can see it in the first picture.

UPDATE:

The Pussycat Dolls are trashy! You already knew that, huh? Imagine my surprise when my sweet little nine-year-old niece rambled off the names of the PD songs that she likes. They failed the chaste test when we tried to watch one of their videos on You Tube and we had to turn it off because those innocent eyes were entrusted to me for the afternoon. Apparently I've been under a rock for the last five years.

This here garland, though, it's family friendly! Thanks for the comments and compliments! I took the advice and made some changes.

I'll be putting the wreath and the pictures of Only Child up after Thanksgiving. But the garland is finished! (I raided all the arrangements in the house to find more stuff to stick in to there.) I can't promise I'll stop messing with it, but here it is.

Let me come over and help with yours?

Meet the Nuns

What do you get when you put 5 thirty-something women in a jam-packed theater with an average audience age of 14, to see the year's hottest teen-flick??

The Feisty Nuns: Twilight Edition!

It was like being at fun, silly, rock concert with girls cheering, screaming and going wild throughout the movie. We bought in to their excitement. Everyone there seemed to be with a group of friends, just out having the best time. And by the end of the movie, despite having not read the book, I picked my side: Go Team Jacob!

The movie itself was so bad we had to laugh to keep from crying. No wait, we laughed so hard we WERE crying. We were also sweating because it was like a sauna in the theater. But how can you have a bad time with these people?

Let me introduce you.

Picky-my longest running friendship
Picky and I go back to first grade and she is, as the name implies, very selective. I guess we share enough of the same taste to make it work. She's a single mom with 2 great boys and manages to do more for them with less time than anyone I know. She's funny, silly, sarcastic...alot like me, just pickier. Picky doesn't realize how strong she is and how far she's come and how much we love her. (She's in stripes.)

Red - so named for her long red locks
Red and Picky have been BFFs since birth. Before book club, Red was the friend of a friend. Since book club, we've become friends in our own right and I am convinced it was meant to be: we grew up around the corner from each other, went to the same college, both worked in the non-profit world...but book club and having babies just weeks apart sealed the deal. Red is the girl who always does things right (Picky pointed this out to me.) She organizes great parties, always looks cute, and has excellent taste in books...no one complains about Red's books. (Sarcastic and witty is a prerequisite for this group.)

M&M - the chocolate connoisseur
M&M is the woman who seems to have it all. (Only after having kids do we realize that's not possible, but...) she juggles it well. M&M is our ambitious and successful, go-getter -- and normally you want to hate someone like that, but you can't because she's so genuinely fun to be around. Her self-deprecating humor makes it work. We go back to high school and M&M has always had game. I don't try to keep up, I just bask in her pretty-popular-girlyness. (That's her with the big purse.)

Girly Stuff - I believe you've met
This is Girly Stuff's book club and she calls the shots. One wrong word and I could be on the outs. So I'll just say this; I am constantly learning how to be a better person by her example. And she's got me reading again. I thought I'd lost the ability, but no, I can still read!