bang bang

What is it about a woman's hair that makes it so difficult to change? I am so not one of those fearless types, constantly experimenting with lengths, styles and colors. I say, make it natural and make it easy for me to style. Oh sure, back in the day I had my fair share of burgundy hair, blue black hair, purple hair, banana-colored highlights, bobs, perms, puffy bangs, all that good stuff. But now that I'm an old lady (yep, I just had a thirty-something birthday last Saturday--gasp!) and a busy mama with pretty much no time to spend on myself and the entire grooming process, natural is the only way to go.

I've been told I've got good hairrrrrr. I'm lucky that I can be versatile with it. Its not too nappy, not too frizzy, not too thick, not too thin, can be styled both curly and straight with the help of some mousse and a diffuser or my beloved flat-iron. It all depends on how much time I have and what the weather is like. There ain't no way I will stand there under a steaming hot flat iron in the middle of summer. It is not fun to sweat and try to look cute. Believe me,I've tried. If it was up to my husband, it would be worn down and curly and long every day. But that is why God blessed him with his own hair.

Are all men hair nazis? Michael gets all manly man when its time for me to get a trim. To avoid a trauma, I try to trim between a half inch and an inch of hair. Are you kidding me? That is basically nothing. He goes on and on about the hair being a woman's glory, how beautiful and sexy it is to see a woman with long, flowing hair, how feminine etc etc. Sigh. I have had long hair for my entire life, aside from a couple of bad, short hair episodes (I once got a short cut like a boy that was horrible and then about fourteen years ago I had a curly, chin-length bob that was ugh). I would most likely have my hair long anyway.

That is what I like to tell myself, anyway.

So I started toying with the idea of bangs. Something new and different. Youthful. I couldn't carry off the Bettie Page look, but this I could do. This time I fully committed to them, cutting a full fringe. I haven't had them in about five years. Took me a couple of days to get used to them. I already burned my forehead using the flat-iron. But the best thing, when my eyebrows get a little bushy, they can hide behind the bangs. Yessss.

I like 'em.


She walks

Finally. I was beginning to think I would never see the day. My daughter, the baby of seven children, took her first confident steps yesterday. So, some of you are thinking, so what is the big deal...kids walk all the time. Well, not this little chica.

She is going to turn 19 months next week. Yep, that's right. She is almost two years old. It's like I've been lugging around two ten pound bags of potatoes and then some for nineteen months straight. Not counting the pregnancy, of course. Sheesh. No wonder my arm is always sore at the end of the day.

Xixi is my latest walker. I had a baby that walked at 16 months. The rest walked at a year. In many ways, it feels like God has smiled down at me by giving me a child who is mellow, content to sit and play with toys, and has countless siblings to help me. The baby stage was stretched way out and I've appreciated it. A lot. All this time, I didn't worry about her slow progress. She is normal, bright and interacts well with others. Her cousin Isabella is two weeks younger than her but has been walking since she was eleven months. When she comes over Xixi will sit there and chase/crawl wherever her cousin goes. Then her other cousin Selah began walking right after she celebrated her first birthday (last month). Once again, Xixi would sit there and watch her cousin with her eyes and chase/crawl her everywhere. I do believe she got tired of all that! She finally decided, the heck with all this crawling business.
Xixi is just on her own time frame. Take, for instance, her birth. She was a full fourteen days late. This baby girl put me through alot. I was stressed, tired, hot (it was the beginning of August) and I felt like my butt was going to fall out. And she was big, just under ten pounds. Then she was late cutting teeth...she was nine or ten months before she got some teef. That did not stop her from eating like a bottomless pit. She only has about eight teeth right now. She started crawling just before her first birthday. Ask Mrs. Janie, she had to boot her out of the nursery at church to the Crawlers so Xixi could get the hint--start crawling kid! LOL Thank you, Janie, for booting her to the Walkers because once again, she got the hint. You have to see it from Xixi's perspective...the youngest of seven, with a lovely gummy smile and beautiful creamy skin, black hair and long eyelashes to bat at her brothers who have lugged her around everywhere, since she was about six months old. They brought her toys. Covered her with her a blankie. Brought her some juicy. Entertained her while she was fussy. Scolded me, her mother, when she wanted to be picked up. Mama, Xixi needs you! I mean, I wouldn't bother to walk either! Can you blame her?

So last night we were at the 777 Gathering at the Wallace Theater. She was on one side of the room with her big brother. I heard alot of commotion and I turned around to find her walking over to me! And it was a big room. She made it all the way across. Then she was off, walking all over the place. Wow. So it has come, the road to independence. Today is she walking all over the house like a little orangutan, with her baby doll in hand. I wish I had a picture to share how cute she looks. So big and grown up. I'm so happy she is finally walking!


I guess I'm young at heart

I teach five high school kids multi-media art. They range in age from fourteen to seventeen. I'm having a hard time distinguishing myself as the older, wiser adult. Sometimes I feel like I am in high school along with them. And I feel guilty. It is so hard to keep a straight face when they say all the funny and silly things they do. I am the same way with my kids. Yesterday we spent about a half an hour listening to this message on our voicemail and laughing, laughing, laughing.

A female voice on our answering machine says, "Hello? Hello? Ffffrrrrppppt." It sounded like a fart. Then she says, "Hello?" one more time like she is disoriented or something. Like, dang I can't believe I am making these solicitation calls and I let a fart escape. Oh, my kids laughed so hard they had tears in their eyes. We spent the rest of the day talking about the fart. Oh, and you bet we saved the message.

Then there are the days when I am beat and need a five minute nap. One day as I laid on my bed with one of my daughter's little blankets, Solomon climbed in the bed behind me to snuggle. He always loves to snuggle. I was just entering my sleep phase and was a little drowsy. He says, "Whoa, mama. Its warm back here!" and I told him, "Oh, its just my butt heater." We had a nice giggle about that one and then he ran off to tell his brothers that mama had a butt heater.

I remember some of my favorite teachers were the ones who liked to have fun alongside their students. So think I want to be that kind of teacher. When my students are working on a project I have assigned, I sit alongside them and work on the same project with them. I tell them it is my only chance to do art these days. In the process, I have to sit there and listen to all the teenage things they have to say. One of the guys told us that his cat just had kittens. Not knowing what else to bring to the conversation (this is the start of a new semester and I just met all these kids), I asked, "So, how did you know she was having kittens?" Because, when my mom's german shepherd had puppies, she went out to the shed, gave birth to one puppy and then carried it to my mom's back door to let her know the birthing process had begun. So I thought this was a safe question to ask. Well, the boy paused for a second and then he said, "Well, she walked into the livingroom with a kitten hanging from her butt..." And the entire class burst into hysterical laughter. And I tried soooo hard to keep a straight face but I couldn't. I sat there cracking up.

What can I say? I will never be one of those stuffy moms..or a stuffy teacher. And that is fine by me!


Ain't too Shabby

I grew up in a home filled with antiques. My mother loved to buy, sell, refinish, and collect them. There are two well-known rules that exist in a home that is decorated with antiques. One is never, ever put a cup with liquid down on a wood surface and two, never expect the drawers from your dresser to just open or close smoothly. It just ain't gonna happen. These are just two facts of life you live with.

I have vivid memories of my mom packing me and my little brother Eric into our red orange VW and driving into downtown San Diego at the crack of dawn to wait in line for an antiques auction. Being around six years old, I would walk around in awe at these huge warehouses filled with furniture. When the people would be let in, they would run frantically around and snatch tags off of things they wanted. Or they just planted themselves in front of a piece they were going to buy and their day was done. My mom would then have to figure out how to lug her spoils of the day home. I remember her wondering out loud how she was going to tell my Dad she spent $100 on that armoire, especially since we were on a one income, Pic 'N Save shopping limited budget. But Dad never seemed to mind because our home was filled with these treasures my mom would find. I remember playing out in the backyard while my mom was on her hands and knees stripping the stain off an old dresser, or sanding a chair or reupholstering a stool in our patio on warm summer days. She was always doing something to beautify our home. My mom still owns several things she bought when we lived in our little home in San Diego, so long long ago. She recently gave me a beautiful, mirrored buffet that I used to play Barbies on and that she stored her china in. It now proudly sits in my livingroom.

Now that I am married and am a mother myself, it seemed natural to decorate my own home with antiques and vintage furniture. I say vintage because I just can’t wrap my mind around precious wood that can’t be scratched or scuffed…that just doesn’t let the other inhabitants of the house live around it. So vintage suits me. I’ve long been a fan of Shabby Chic. Any kind of scuffed, worn, painted cottage or farmhouse furniture feels so wonderful and cozy to me. It just seemed natural to decorate my home this way.

Over the years I’ve discovered that being creative and artistic isn’t confined to a paintbrush and canvas. There are other ways I can express myself and my art. One of those ways is painting, restoring and distressing furniture. There are some pieces I've come across that were absolutely beautiful, but if the piece isn't going to function in my home the way it is, I am not afraid to paint it. I have boldly painted furniture turquoise, green, yellow, pink and of course, white. To me, it is the most fun to paint my furniture in different colors. I just counted twenty-two pieces in my home alone that I have worked on, from mirrors, shelves, dressers, and vanities to chairs. I just recently spent an entire week on painting a cream-colored chest of drawers and mirrored vanity for my daughter Maya's 3rd birthday. It came out beautiful. I'll have pictures to share soon.

It's a good feeling to clean up and sand a piece of furniture...and when the first coat of paint is done, you see how beautiful and refreshed it looks. Sure, this might sound like a chore to some. But to me, its relaxing. The bonus is I get really unique pieces of furniture in my home that no one else has.

And now its my children who are accustomed to seeing their mama pulling out various bits of furniture out in the backyard to work on while they are bouncing on the trampoline and playing on the swingset, all the while enjoying the warm afternoon sun.


Happy Valentine's Day

I've been slaving away all day, painting antique furniture for my daughter's bedroom. During this laborious task, I've been listening to slow jams for hours. Which got me thinking about my favorite love songs of all time. Today is a good day to post this, I suppose, since I don't have any cute pictures of myself eating some chocolates or having a yummy Valentine's Day dinner. And my man is working. Waaaaah.

All this combined with a distinct buzz from inhaling paint fumes all day. Heh.

Pearmama's Top 10 Love Songs:

1. Prince "Adore"~Hands down, bottoms up, this has to be my favorite. Takes me back to when my man used to make me mixed tapes filled with love songs. We had the pleasure of slow dancing to this when we saw Prince in concert, back in '05. He did an acoustic version. It was awesome. This has been my favorite love song since I was 14 years old, before I even had a love in my life!

2. Al Green "Simply Beautiful"~Everyone knows "Love and Happiness", but this Al Green song is so much more soft and beautiful. Michael played it for me one day while we were dating and it has been precious to me ever since. We wanted to dance to it during our wedding but it got buried in the details. We definitely want to dance to it for our 10th anniversary. I cry every time I hear it.

3. Mary J. Blige, "You Bring me Joy"~Pretty much everything off her "My Life" album is a beautiful love song.

4. Sade, "Your Love is King"~She is such a beautiful mermaid.

5. Erykah Badu, "Love of my Life"~Yes, you know you rock my world and you'll be boy and I'll be girl and it won't stop until the break of dawn..

6. Luther Vandross, "Never Too Much"~Personally, I prefer fat Luther over skinny Luther. Fat Luther had more soul. Skinny Luther just looked ashy.

7. Mary J. Blige, "Love No Limit"~Off her What's the 411 Remix cd, this song is the jam. She just knew how to convey what it's like for a woman to give her love to a man. Bring it, Mary.

8. Method Man & Mary J. Blige, "All I Need"~This is one of those ghetto love songs. Mary was singing...Like sweet morning dew I took one look at you and it was plain to see you were my destiny, with you I'll spend my time, I'll dedicate my life, I'll sacrifice for you, dedicate my life for you and Method Man spittin' his rhymes...Shorty I'm there for you anytime you need me. For real girl, it's me in your world, believe me. Nuttin make a man feel better than a woman. Queen with a crown that be down for whatever. There are few things that's forever, my lady. We can make war or make babies. Back when I was nothin, you made a brother feel like he was somethin. That's why I'm with you to this day boo no frontin. Even when the skies were gray you would rub me on my back and say "Baby it'll be okay". Now that's real to a brother like me baby, never ever give my (bleep) away and keep it tight aiight. And I'ma walk these dogs so we can live, in a fat ass crib with thousands of kids...Word.

9. Lauryn Hill, "To Zion"~This beautiful love song will always make me think of my baby boy, my first born. Noah Zion.

10. GQ, "I Do Love You"~This song takes me back to junior high...I have big hair and wear chinese mary jane slippers....I wrote all over my peechee folder and I rode the bus to school.

Normally, there would be ten in a Top 10 list, but since it is my list, I am adding one more. So make this my Top 11 Love Songs of all time.

11. Alicia Keys, "Unbreakable"~I like this song because she sings about these strong married couples that we all know (except Oprah and Steadman, who aren't married). The only bummer is that she sang about Kimora and Russell Simmons makin' paper...and they have now divorced, so they are makin' paper individually. Still, an awesome song. And Michael and I have enough kids to make a band like Joe and Katherine (Jackson Five).

Of course, this list isn't exhaustive. But these are the few that stand out and give me the warm and fuzzy feelings about love and my honey. So Happy Valentine's Day to me. And you! What are some of your favorite love songs?


Is blogging getting old?

I think not. We are just entering into a new season. The wheat and chaff are just now being separated!

People blog for a variety of reasons. There are some who blog to share where they ate dinner last saturday night. Some blog to share their day to day activities with friends and relatives. Some feel obligated to blog to let others know they are still alive. Others blog to vent about religion, politics, the state of the world. And still others blog to bring some humor into this life. And some people just like to write, period. Either way, know your place in this blogging world. Get in where you fit in, as they say in the ghetto, yo!

Blog for yourself. Too many of us blog like we don't want to step on anyone's toes. Or we blog like we know our "church folk" is reading it. I know I have readers that don't go to my church and don't go to church period. There is life outside of church. What is the motto of the place where I worship God on Sunday mornings? "Being real with ourself, others and God". That is what I strive to be. And it isn't always pretty, believe me. And if people don't like what they see and read, then by all means utlilize the autonomy of your free will and stop reading blogs.

I'm not saying its easy to blog about personal issues or struggles you're having. It isn't. There are two topics I tend to shy away from. One being marriage, because I don't want my man to feel like I am airing our dirty laundry. I respect him and his wishes. And two, money. Ya'll don't need to know I barely have two pennies to rub together (or is it can't rub together?). Either way, those two topics are ouch. If I approach them, it is with extreme care. Kind of like if I was walking through a land mine. Heh.

Speaking for myself, I blog because I have alot going on in my brain. I need to release some steam. Sometimes I write like I am a heathen. Other times I am giving all thanks to God. Most times I am working out this thing called motherhood. And every single bit of it describes me, who I am and what I am striving to do in this life. My dear husband has cringed more than once over the things I blog about. Isn't that a little bit much? He'll ask me. But if I didn't serve it to you raw and uncut, then I wouldn't be able to convey anything worth reading. And that is just me, whatever I am feeling, you can see it on my face. I am not good at pretense.

So blog the way you want to blog. Then you will find yourself a successful blogger.


Sweet Daddy

You know, sometimes a husband and wife forget how special and sweet they are to one another. We tend to take for granted the little things we do for the one we love most.

Our children have classes on Tuesday, and it usually a long and grueling day for me. Now that Michael has Tuesdays off, I asked him to take care of Xixi, so that she wouldn't have to be in daycare for the four hours the kids are in class and I am teaching. And I wouldn't have to lug around her stroller, diaper bag, etc. etc. I just prayed he wouldn't forget about her and as he went about his duties throught the day. I must have called him about three times. "How is Xixi doing?" "Have you fed Xixi any snacks?" "Is Xixi okay?" Geez, I realize how I sound like a paranoid mom that has no faith in her man. Its just Michael is usually hanging out with the older kids and Xixi is like my little partner, always by my side. Well, she survived the day fine. When I got home she was happy and smiling, eating little snacks her daddy bought her. They looked like they had a nice day of bonding.

The next day I was cleaning around the house and I spotted Michael's Dickies bag on the counter. Sigh. He forgot his bag again. This man would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his body. What am I going to do with him? Then when I went to look inside his bag, what did I find? One of Xixi's sweatsuits, a pair of socks, two diapers, some wipes and a banana. He packed her a diaper bag in one of his bags. I got such a tidalwave of love for this man. What a sweet daddy. I remembered why I signed up for this adventure of having six children with him. I know it seems silly, but it really brought a smile to my face. I really do adore my husband. He is a loving, wonderful father.


Pure and undefiled religion

When you host a small group in your home, there is a fair amount of stress to the day your group meets. Thursdays usually find me running around cleaning, buying/fixing snacks, making phone calls, trying to get my kids fed and out the door, etc. Something usually always happens. My husband comes home late and I get mad. My daughter pees on herself, the dog chews something up, someone drops a cup of grape juice on my freshly mopped floor, my baby poos all over her jeans.  


I try my hardest to prepare myself for the most important aspect to this study, which is, the actual study. I would like to say that every Thursday I have had sufficient time set aside to pray, read what we are supposed to be studying, and I am calm, happy and smiling.

I would also like to say that all eight of my girls show up on time, they all bring some munchies, we do worship, pray, do our study and then go home on time. Nah, it never seems to happen that way. We are all mothers, most of us are wives and sometimes life just gets in the way of this time. No Thursday is ever the same.

Tonight as we waited for the rest of the girls to trickle in, I got a call from Renee. My sweet friend has the biggest heart ever. So I wasn't at all surprised to hear her say she met a homeless couple at the shopping mall down the street and they gave her their two small children to take care of. Handed over their social security numbers, birth certificates, vaccination records and everything. The young mother also wrote a note saying she was allowing Renee to take care of her children.

Soon after, Renee shows up at my house with a two year old little girl and a six week old baby boy. The little girl was visibly dirty and she only had one small meal all day. It was now after seven. The baby was incredibly tiny, jittery, with that fresh, newborn cry that can make any mother's heart just ache. We comforted Renee who was, understandably shaken and then set about to work.

First things first, we fed the toddler and then the baby. Then we took them a bath. In my daughter's little room stood five women, dressing babies, rubbing baby lotion on their freshly washed skin, applying diaper rash ointment on the huge rash that covered the girl's entire bottom because she had been sitting in a wet diaper for hours. We climbed up into the closet and pulled down the plastic bins with old baby clothes I had. We were able to find several outfts, receiving blankets, towels, socks, etc.

We washed and dried the toddler's hair with the hairdryer and inspected her for lice. My heart just ached as we dressed the baby boy. He was so, so tiny. So obviously and painfully underfed. His fontanel (soft spot on his head) was sunken in, which is an indication that he was not eating enough. I kept on thinking about my own babies, and how I loved to bathe them and cuddle them while they were fresh and sweet smelling...and I thought of these two babies out on the street with their drug-addicted parents and this feeling of hysteria would well up in my stomach. I just wanted to bawl my eyes out at the depravity of this world. But I forced myself to calm down and focus at the task at hand.

Deanna ran home to grab some infant clothes that her grandson grew out of. When she came back, she brought diapers and baby lotion. Rita just happened to have a bag full of blankets, towels and bibs in the back of her Suburban. And I felt to thankful to God, thinking thank you God, for blessing me with this home so that it can be open to help people.

The baby calmed down immediately after he was dressed and wrapped snugly in a blanket. You could visibly see his relief as he slept peacefully in Deanna's arms. I was blessed to be able to put the toddler to sleep. I cuddled her in a blanket, patted her hair and forehead. She fought sleep for a while...would randomly call out for mama...but in the end, she fell asleep in my arms. Oh, we were also visited by a police officer, who came to survey the scene and check on the children. Add my husband in the driveway with our six children (who wasn't freaked out in the slightest that there was a police car in the driveway), Renee's own children and the two little ones and you had ten children in my home. But God put a calm and peaceful spirit over us like a blanket and the children played nicely and watched a movie in our back room. You wouldn't have known we had ten children under the age of ten here.

We laughed later on in the evening, because we didn't get to our study again. But when I got around to reading my Bible, I discovered this verse: Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world. James 1:27


Cool movie

I saw The Departed last night. It was pretty good and I'm not into those murder-shoot-kill-curse mobster type movies. I guess I enjoyed it because there were good actors in this film, and you actually cared what happened to them. I was impressed. I didn't even fall asleep. I stayed on track with what is going on, I am so proud of myself. You don't understand, I am usually folding laundry or sweeping the kitchen floor or dusting or scolding someone (For the hundredth time, go to bed!) while a movie is playing. So this is quite a feat for me.

I think Leonardo DiCaprio is one of my favorite actors. Not only is he pretty to look at, he is just a good actor. He is very believable. I just realized this last night. Forget all them crusty old dudes at the Golden Globes like Tom Hanks and Clint Eastwood. Even Brad Pitt. Leo owns.

So if you get the chance, see The Departed. I give it two thumbs up. Even though the Irish/Boston cop accent is like nails on a chalkboard and there is endless profanity, I would recommend it for two hours of your wasted time. Right on.


man's best friend?

I have confessed this before, I am not much of a pet person. I know, I know, all you people who embrace and treat your animals like they are a part of the family. Put down your stones. I come from a long line of people who believe dogs are just that, dogs. Animals. And they have totally different instincts than we do. No wonder I can't understand why my dog Chellie does what she does.

Last night I went out to our backroom where Chellie's bed and blanket are. She wasn't there, which was strange because every night that dog is lounging on her bed and its practically impossible to get her out of it. So my nightly routine of letting her out to pee/poop so she can go to bed in her crate was put on hold. I called her name. Then I called it again. She will usually scratch the back door and let us know she is outside. And if she is in the house, she is very rarely anywhere else but in her bed because she knows she is only allowed in certain areas. Bedrooms are off limits. So when she didn't respond to my calls, I figured she was outside with an attitude, which isn't uncommon for her. When she does her nightly escapes into the neighborhood, she doesn't want to come in. So when she didn't come to the door, I thought, she's probably out on a midnight rendezvous. And no, I wasn't about to go outside in my pj's with a flashlight. I was ready for bed. I can hear you now, what a horrible doggie parent! She could get lost! She could be attacked! She could get hit by a car! And so, I went to bed.

Here is where paybacks a you-know-what. I woke up this morning and what do you think greeted me? A pile of tootsie rolls on my kitchen throw rug. Before I could even utter CHELLIE!! that damn dog, with her butt scooted down near the floor, came running down the hallway to try to escape to the backroom, to the haven that is her bed. Apparently she believes no harm can come to her as long as she is in her bed. Grrrrrrr. And not just one or two tootsie rolls, try SIX of them. Grrrrrrr.

Hmmmph. She must have spent the night in the house but I have no idea where. Usually I can easily track her by the sound of her nails on the hardwood floors. But she stumped me. She hid. That is what she must have done. She heard me calling to escort her out to potty and she didn't respond. Purposely.

In her maniacal little dog mind, she must have thought, ooooh so you wanna keep me locked outside all night in the cold? Well, I'll show you, you mean old lady with all these damn kids who are constantly picking me up and getting all the good treats and get me in trouble because I chew up their good toys. I'm going to hide and lounge in the house all night. Yup, I'm going to lounge my smelly dog ass all over the good sofa. Or maybe snuggle on one of the precious children's bed. Yes! The one with the allergies and asthma! Then I'm going to shit. Yeh. That's it. I'm going to shit all over the place. Weeeeeeee! Whatcha gonna do now, mean old lady, after I've already funked up the place first thing in the morning? Nuthin'. That's what you got. Nuthin'!!

Sigh. Okay. I know that may be a little over the top, and she most likely couldn't hold her potty until someone let her out so she had to do what she had to do. But I was still pissed. And annoyed.

After I let her out, I stomped around the house looking for pee puddles and more poop. Oh, and I found them. Most notably a big tootsie roll with the steam still comin' off it Ugh. Right in my son's room, on his carpet of course. Ugh. I don't know how the owners of those big dog breeds do it. I can almost handle a little tootsie roll. What about the mountainous crap piles of a Great Dane? Or a Rott? I don't think so.

So I nag at the Man to clean up after his biatch. Funny how whenever the dog does something to displease me, she turns into his dog. My dear husband, interestingly enough, also bought me a pair of lovebirds for christmas named Lolli and Pop. When they spread birdseed all over the place like they are having a seizure, or they crap little black dots on my furniture, or they try to screech over the children's screeching, I tell him, "Clean up after your birds."or "Tell your birds to SHUT IT." And if I am being extra spicy, I might leave them out in the backroom, where there is a possibility they can freeze to death. I know, I know, report her to the humane society, horrible person, shouldn't own a pet, heartless, evil incarnate, etc. etc.. But then I told you, I am not an animal person. At least I am not trying to fake the funk.

See, this is why I will never understand why Chellie does what she does. And Chellie will never understand why I do the things I do. Because she is a dog. And I am human.


let's go crazy

I did not watch the Super Bowl. Just the sound of a football announcer's voice gives me the willies. I did, however, buy dip and chips and super bowl food just 'cause. Come on, it was on sale. I can't even tell you the two teams that played. Seriously.

But I did know that Prince was going to play the half-time show. So I asked my dad, "What time do you think half time will start?" so I wouldn't be afflicted by having to watch any unnecessary football footage. He said around five o'clock and he was pretty darn accurate. So I put down the craft I was working on, turned off KROQ's block party weekend (which sucked because I had to miss a block of The Cure) and sat down to watch his Purpleness.

This might cause some controversy but, I love me some Prince. Always have, always will. You see, he isn't an in between artist. Either you hate him or you love him. Ever since I was a curious, chubby prepubescent with hairy legs (cuz my mama forbid me to shave them) and furry eyebrows (cuz my mama wouldn't let me pluck them), I would flip through my Dad's albums and look at Prince's covers. So I knew I had to take time out of my day to watch this. I don't know what it is, but his Purpleness is sometimes too much for people. The weird hair, the symbol, the custom outfits (have you ever seen anyone walking down the street dressed like he does?)the high heeled boots, his overly sexualized lyrics...I can see how that would throw a person off. But not me.

You see, Prince is a musician. He makes good music, period. Tell me he doesn't rock on that guitar! Go on, tell me. He can play. It's too bad his eccentricities get so much hype. I saw him for the first time in 2005 at the Staples Center. He was awesome. I danced for like, two hours straight. He did not disappoint. He played all his own hits, and some covers, too. So me and Prince, we're likethis.

My first thought when the half-time show began was, oh holey smokes I hope his hair doesn't set on fire with all those silly pyrotechnics. Then when I saw him wearing his doo-rag, I was like whew. You go, Prince. You go with that doo-rag that matches your outfit. And that huge stage. Come on, there was no way he would be able to traverse that big ole thing in the short amount of time he had to play. And it looked really slick from the rain. I was praying Lawd, please don't let Prince slip on his tight little booty as he dances around on those high-heeled boots. And someone tell me who were those two chicks dancing on the stage.

They annoyed me.

The song selection was eh. I'm guessing its tricky with such a huge body of work such as Prince has. But come on. I just can't survive another Purple Rain soundtrack performance. I would have loved to hear "Black Sweat" "D.M.S.R" or "Adore" or practically anything off his Sign O' the Times album. But I give him much props for doing the Foo Fighter's cover "Best of You". What I thought was really cool about this is, if ya didn't know, was the Foo Fighter's did a cover of Prince's "Darling Nikki". So its like they did an homage of one another. I enjoyed it. Really I did.

Then as soon as it began, it was over. I turned off the TV and went back to my crafts. I turned the radio back on, just in time to hear a Sublime block. Sweet.


They are now in my hand, baby.

Yessssss. What was waiting for me today, amidst the bills, bills and bills? Yep. My Rage ticket. I seem to appear sad in the first picture but in reality I'm not. I'm puckering my lips because I want to kiss my tickets. I love my tickets. In the second pick I am looking like yeeeeeeeah babyyyy.
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