On Sesame Street

Have you noticed the Google header lately? I thought it was cute -- featuring Cookie Monster, Big Bird's legs, and today - Bert & Ernie. And then, NPR featured an interview with various actors and performers from over the years. And instantly - I MEAN INSTANTLY - I was back, sitting on my shag carpet in the den of my house on 206 Anglewood Drive, watching Sesame Street with my brother.

I'm sure I never realized it at the time, but later my mom told us that she sent us down to the den to watch Sesame Street in order to calm us down before my dad got home. Sneaky? Yes. Effective? Definitely.

I loved Sesame Street as a kid. Who didn't? I loved Oscar, and the Count, and oh man - the Cookie Monster. I know I learned the basics from other sources, but I can't deny that Sesame Street shaped and formed my early learning experiences. And while I'm not planning on my own family anytime soon, the idea that my kids will watch Sesame Street too is sort of neat.

Y'all have any memories from Sesame Street? Turning 40 is a big deal...

Also...

Not to overdo it on the wedding photos... but tomorrow is a big day for our family.
Good things seem to happen on the Third of November. K. swears that Grami is responsible for the FSU/BC 2007 victory. (Personally I think she may have been a little busy going through intake, but whatev. Let him have it.)

I miss my grandmother fiercely. And while I know it's been two years, it doesn't feel like it. And it's been nearly two years since I've spoken to or seen my parents, but that's really another post for another day.

This is about two of my favorite people in the entire world. I know Grami is aces. And I hope by mid-afternoon on Tuesday K. feels the same way.

The nose.

I was an awkward pre-teen (we were pre-teens then, not tweens). No really, I was. It took some time to grow up into my features -- my huge ears, lips and nose. I was super tall, and ridiculously skinny and dripping with wannabe attitude -- complete with Limited sweatshirts, sweater tunics and patterned leggings.

My family loved me through it - and that includes my no-bullshit Grami. I remember her failed attempts to pay me to grow my fingernails; I'm a still a biter. She would take me shopping, but refused to buy me black - telling me I looked like death warmed over. It took years to figure out whether death could be nuked in the microwave or required reheating in the oven.




During this period - affectionately called the Year of the Snoz, I found a picture* of my grandmother. She might have been in her early twenties - she could have been younger. And she was beautiful. Gorgeous. Lovely. And best of all - I realized I had her nose.

Not my father's slim nose or my mom's cute slightly upturned one -- I had Grami's nose. And I knew it was going to be okay. Just one of the countless times my Grami made my life okay.

I miss you, Grami. Thanks for the nose.

*Nope, don't have the picture. Wish I did. Carol was a looker.

October's Party

And with little time to spare - an October tradition...

October's Party
George Cooper

October gave a party,
The leaves by hundreds came.
The chestnut oaks, and maples
and leaves of every name.
The sunshine spread a carpet,
Miss Weather led the dancing
Professor Wind the band.

The chestnuts came in yellow
The oaks in crimson dressed
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in a rustic hollow,
at hide and seek they played
The party closed at sundown
and everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder
They flew along the ground
then the party ended
in jolly "hands around".

Me & Panther

me: (arriving this morning with hot Starbucks) I love the Starbucks on Monroe! (*and I do, Starbucks on Monroe, I do!)

him: why?

me: the cute girl with the perky hair always remembers me. She says, "Hello Friend!" She always remembers the soy milk and for some reason calls me graphic designer.

him: yeah, she usually calls me sweetie or honey or... [dead pan] sex panther.

awesome. good service is really hard to find.

No Flip Flops

I love flip flops (or flop flips*, or whatever). I wear them everywhere. With everything - formal, informal and everything in between.

Until yesterday, when the charm of my flip flop choice du jour failed to inspire confidence in my superiors. DANGER! NEED NEW SHOES.

NEW SHOES THAT GO WITH EVERYTHING. The thing about flip flops - I'm a tall lady. A tall, tall lady. Even taller when I put on shoes that aren't flip flops. I used to wear heels all the time - fifty pounds or so ago. At this point, piling all of me on the equivalent of two golf pencils just isn't all that appealing.

Yes, there are wedges. I know, I know. I just /hands on hips\ like wearing my flip flops. The toes need to be free!

Now that my treatise on flip flops is almost over, there was another punch to the gut -- my beloved dress code of jeans and polos/t-shirts will soon be a thing of the past. I'm headed to the land of business casual. How's that for a Halloween horror story.

So, now I'm flipping through Talbots Outlet, JJill Sale and some Lands End choices. I want a uniform equal to my jeans combo. I never thought I'd be less excited about shopping.

Wisdom, Hops & You

"I know less about life than most of these people know about beer."
- said while waiting in line at Brewfest Tallahassee

Or was it the other way around...

When I wish for more flu

I had the flu earlier this week - not swine, just normal flu. Or so I thought. Normal flu would have been gone by now... Right?

Nope, still dragging. Yesterday I took a "nap" around 6 PM, and woke up around 1 PM. It is the first time in my life I slept in later than K.

I wish I had more flu. It was easier.

FIRST!

I don't get it.

I enjoy read Dooce. As a matter of fact, her blog is probably my hands down favorite -- I like it so much I save it in my reader and then move over to her actual blog to read it. That's how I show respect bitches.

I don't understand, however, why people get all hyped up about commenting first. I simply DON'T GET IT. Yeah! You clicked there first! Whooppee! Now, I know I don't have hundreds or thousands of comments - maybe that's why I miss the thrill.

I'm super super confused by the d-bags that end up somewhere like #18 who are all thanking their respective deity for the honor of posting first. Um, Hi D-Bag. You suck. Not to be a hater, but why don't you go write your own blog where you get to be first EVERY DAY. C'mon - be proactive!

I get excited when I get comments. Period.

What did I do?

Since the wee age of 14, I've been coloring my hair. First, champagne blonde, then platinum, then red, auburn, brunette, espresso. You name it, my hair has been that color.

I heart hair. Even more, I heart doing things to my hair. Some are successful -- some are DISASTERS. Like the time Feria and I clearly did not see eye to eye and coloring over my highlights resulted in LAVENDER streaks through my hair. Or the time I left my foils on too long (yes, I did my own foils). Or the time the Southern Baptist gay man clearly did not understand that I meant honey blonde and not Clemson orange. I have more hair stories - all by myself - than most Southern chapters of Kappa Delta.

So, this past week I made a(nother) drastic change. I chopped off my hair in a longer-styled reverse mullet. Think Sienna Miller, not Kate Gosselin. And it's not bad - the new hair cut. It's super easy to fix and takes no time to dry.

Nonetheless, I was sitting in the chair when I realized what had happened. Several pounds of hair on the floor... AND OH HOLY SHIT BALLS. I look like my mother.