Snap!

Why?!

No, really. It’s like she has Fate by the short hairs and is all, “Oh, yeah. I’m doing this! WHILE WE ARE MOVING. Consequences and/or permanent blindness be damned! Because I have mad liquid eyelining skillz, biznitches! What up?! Now step off! I shall now floss and shave my legs before the next stop.”

Sure, it could be worse. I mean, at least she isn’t DRIVING. But whatever. Personally, I prefer to apply cosmetics when the ground isn’t shaking. Call it my wacky personal preference.

Hair Trek

This morning, as I waited patiently (I know, right?! Hush up… anyone who knows me. I DID!) PATIENTLY, I say, at the super secure Federal building at which I was to pick up my brand-spankin’ new (seriously, why “spankin’”? Who’s idea was that?!) super secure Federal ID, I couldn’t help but notice (okay, STARE, but you would have, too! It was mesmerizing, okay?! Don’t judge!) the ‘do on the older gentleman ahead of me.

Now, listen. I have nothing against bald people. Honestly. Bruce Willis? Patrick Stewart? Vin Diesel? Andre Agassi? Billy Zane? That guy who plays Lex Luther on Smallville? Britney Spears? And hello? GHANDI?! That’s right! Who’s shallow now, biznitches?! FACE!

Wait, so… what?

Oh! Balding dude! Or more acurately, Comb-over Guy. Oh. My. Lord. There was some SERIOUS comb-overage going on there, I tell you what. I fully admit to staring– just a little, mind you! or maybe a whole lot! whatever!– in wide-eyed wonder at the proficiency– nay, the sheer majesty!– of his crowning achievement! (ba dum bum).

And I thought, wow, that is a whole lot of hair he has going on there, to be able to trek from the base camp just above his left ear, traverse the summit, and make the LONG descent down the other side of his head, not stopping for a rest at the sideburns–oh no– or even the right ear–no lie– but making it all the way to just below his chin, where it fell exhausted and limp from the journey… not to mention what I perceived to be a healthy amount of hair product.

So, see? There were extenuating circumstances which obviously precluded me from any perception of rudeness. I’m only saying. Not rude! Just… mesmerized! By the majesty!

Of course, once all the Mount Kilimanjaro analogies dried up, all I could think was, “Oh, dear LORD. What does all that he has going on over there look like when he SHOWERS?!”

And, well, that just opened up another whole can of worms and gave me a (not so) funny, icky feeling in my tummy. Not to mention the scary visual image seared into my brain. But then I began to hum “Climb Every Mountain” and recalled that recent scene in “Pushing Daisies” where Kristin Chenoweth is at the nunnery singing her little heart out a la Julie Andrews in “The Sound of Music” and I felt MUCH better… until I could grab my brand-spankin’ new (really?! again with the spankin’?!) super secure Federal ID and get the HECK AWAY from the scary hair!

People, if you’re naked on top, but can weave a basket out of what you have going on on ONLY ONE SIDE of your head, please remember this… Bruce Willis shaved his head and got DEMI MOORE, okay? Are you hearing me? DEMI MOORE! Of course, her current husband has a TON of hair, but I think THAT relationship is less about hair and more about Demi’s obsession with staying freakishly hawt and young-looking forever and ever. And Ashton is ridiculously good-looking. And perhaps there is some sort of pact with the devil, but that’s just a guess.

In other news, it could be the Pop Tart talking, but I’m feeling spunky!

NaNoWriMo is ON!

But what geniuses planned a novel writing month RIGHT during prime tv-watching season?! Huh?! It’s almost as if they don’t WANT us watching television in our free time… Honestly. There’s only so many hours in a DAY, people! Good LORD.

See, it’s all about priorities…

Going on a Mini-Break!

Okay, so we’re breaking out! The stay-cation has morphed into a wicked cool mini-break! Woot! YES! Because stay-cations equal sadness for all. Honestly. Well, at least for DWM and clan. I’m just saying. Staying is NO FUN. At ALL.

So, now that I’m done with the filming (oooh, that’s what we call a “teaser” in the biz…) We’re off to NYC, all y’all. That’s right! New York City! All of us! Even TGIM! We’ve never been, so… EXCITING?! That being said, if there is anything we absoLUTEly need to do while we’re in the Big Apple (wait… do we still call it that? is that un-hip of me? Dear LORD! I don’t even KNOW!), let me know, mm’kay?

And now, I must pack. For the wicked cool mini-break I happen to be going on with the fam. Because we are done with the shoot. And we are no longer staying. We are mini-breaking. Which is way better.

In the 80’s, everything was copasetic.

(I originally posted this back in August of ‘05, but now with my 20-year reunion a’loomin’ and me feeling wicked nostalgic and whatnot, I thought I’d do a little DWM REWIND and post it again, slightly altered for timeliness. Because it’s my blog and I CAN, that’s why!)

Feeling nostalgic. That is all. Feel free to add to the list. In fact, I strongly encourage you to do so!

Things I Miss from the 80’s:

1. Seeing 95 pounds peeking out at me from my scale. *le sigh*

2. Cruising for boys on Gurley Street with my homies, blasting the remix version of Billy Idol’s “Catch My Fall” (killer bassline, y’all), sipping Sundance Sparklers (nonalcoholic!), screaming “Memory! All alone in the MOOOOONLIGHT!” every time we passed by the scene of a make-out or break-up. Of which there were several. Ooooh! And “Old Man Driiiiiiver!” (to the tune of “Old Man River”) whenever we passed by guys WAY TOO OLD to be out cruising. Of which there were several. Huh, Di?! Huh?!

3. My ginormous Esprit and Guess? bags, which held everything from my Adventures in Literature textbook to my clunky cheer shoes to five or six really radical to the max cassette tapes to my assorted jelly bracelets and banana clips. And sometimes my lunch.

4. Rainbow-colored eyeshadow and blue mascara. And blue eyeliner, of COURSE. Duh.

5. Wham! The Wham Rap? Classic, y’all. CLASSIC. I still know all the words. Ask anyone. Go on. Try me. Do it. No, really. DO IT.

6. The Solid Gold Dancers. No, seriously. LOVED. THEM. Wanted to BE. THEM.

7. Saying “psyche!” Oh, and “freak!” Wait…

8. Star Search. When it was GOOD.

9. The Brat Pack.

10. Crimped hair, big bangs, strategically placed headbands, bangle earrings, and Swatch Watches with jelly Swatch Guards.

11. Cyberpunk Max Headroom. CATCH THE WAVE!! ‘Member, guys?! Do ya?! Dude. That was totally our Homecoming slogan one year. Go, Badgers!

12. Atari. I mean, c’mon… Frogger? Pitfall? GALAGA?! Hello?!

13. Spandex biker shorts under my paint-splashed, acid-washed denim mini. It just LOOKED COOL, okay?! Geez.

14. Debbie Gibson…. What?! I DO! And if you must know, it is possible that I miss Tiffany, as well. PERHAPS.

15. A time when I actually WANTED my MTV.

16. Echo & the Bunnymen, Cutting Crew, Scritti Politti, Tears for Fears, and Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark.

17. My acid-washed jean jacket covered with ENORMOUS, entirely superfluous silver buttons and an assortment of safety pins with multicolored beads strung through them. Which meant I was very popular and had lots of friends. Right?

18. Sleep overs with my girlfriends, at which we listened to KISS FM, gossiped about boys, experimented with our hair, traded comfy pink Esprit sweatshirts for zip-tapered, pastel-flowered Guess? jeans, and– contrary to TGIM’s much-fantasized belief– DID NOT engage in naked pillow-fighting. But TGIM? Said girlfriends DID teach me how to French kiss. That one’s all yours, baby.

19. Slap bracelets. Preferably neon. Lots of ‘em.

20. Freezing my ass off while cheering at home football games. In the snow. In a cheerleading uniform. With NO pantyhose or tights. Because that would have been TACKY.

21. Singing along to “Wig” by the B-52’s at the top of my lungs on the bus during away football trips: “What’s that on your head? A wig! Wig, wig, wig! Wig’s on fire! Wig’s on fire! Wig’s on… fire! It’s 2525 and we’ve got the most wigs alive!” Why does nobody REMEMBER this song?

22. Tanning on the roof with a fluffy towel, my boombox, and big-A bottle of Hawaiian Tropic Dark Tanning Oil. For the Tan of the Islands! Or more freckles! Usually more freckles! Whatever!

23. Every single solitary stinkin’ John Hughes movie. I mean, sometimes I used to watch The Dead Zone on USA just to see Farmer Ted (AKA: The Geek from Sixteen Candles) and reminisce. “I never bagged a babe. I’m not a stud.” Seriously. Who writes movies like that anymore?! No one, that’s who!

24. Jams with coordinating t-back tank tops.

25. Comfy, unlaced Keds.

26. First REAL kisses. Cheetos optional.

27. Boys in cuffed jeans and unlaced Reebok high tops. I don’t know why, really.

28. Slouch socks. Ooooh! And slouch boots! Because they totally hid my freakish chicken ankles, all right?

29. My mini black lace ra-ra skirt, a la Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan. HAWT.

30. Wearing sunglasses at night. Hey. Don’t be afraid of the guy in shades, oh no.

Sadly, I could go on and on and on…

Not that NOW isn’t good! Oh, I LOVE now! But your high school years, they stay with you, you know?

Which, once you think about it, is at the same time slightly comforting and absolutely horrifying. Especially, it seems, if you lived out your teenage years in the 80’s. Just sayin’. That’s a hard era to shake. The hair, the styles… I mean, just look at all the Mom-Pants out there. Totally 80’s! Honestly. It’s 2008! Lose the MOM-PANTS, ladies! LOSE THEM NOW.

And sometimes, guys? Sometimes? I have this almost overwhelming desire to poof up my bangs. You know, just a little. Like, “Oh, just an inch or so won’t hurt….” But it would! Dear lord, it WOULD!

Oh, NO. I just realize that the bulk of my childhood was spent during the 70’s! Don’t even get me STARTED on homemade polyester bell-bottoms, roller skating rinks, my Donna Summers fixation, tetherball wars, and hula hoops. PLEASE. Just… don’t.

That’s a post for another day, y’all. A post for another day…

Random Thoughts on a Friday Midmorning

The kiddos come home next Friday, so YAY! You know, I always miss them SOOO much more than I think I will. Honestly. What does that say about me– as a momma– that I think I won’t miss them?

Great. Now I have thoughts.

Speaking of Dr. Horrible, if you haven’t seen Felicia “Penny” Day’s webisode series “The Guild” yet, you should totally check it out! (What? I wasn’t speaking of Dr. Horrible? Well, there’s a mad crazy switch.) It won the 2007 YouTube Video Award and e’rything! I’m spreading the love because I think it is hilarious so I want to share AND because I absolutely ADORE being the one that points out fun, pop-culturally-relevant stuff to people. It makes me feel happy and important. Sometimes, even, I get tingles. Tingles in happy and important places. So, you’re welcome.

Also, I am very weird.

Horrible Evil Sidekick

What? Like I could resist doing a TechnoGeekery episode about this?! Please, biznitch.

Or, you know, refrain from composing a song to Dr. Horrible…

Shut up! It’s a sickness! Enjoy.

(This is also posted at YouTube, so feel free to click over and give me some luuuuv… or a video response! Whatev.)

Cheap China Balls

So someone actually chatted me up, right? Using the Chat with Cat feature I added to TechnoGeekery (and DWM)?! Fellow by the name of Jim, it was. I was all helpful and stuff because dude’s audio made his voice all Gobot-like and whatnot, right? So after singing a few bars of the Transformers theme song (More than meets the eye!) and a few obligatory references to Decepticons, I sussed out that his podcast was indeed formatted in the proper, uh, format, so I was like, “Hey, I have no idea why your audio is all jacked up! Why don’t you contact Podango, yo?” and he was like, “Okay! I think I will! Thank you, Chassy Cat. You are so very awesome!” Except I may have added that last part, but who knows?! It all happened so fast, and it’s sort of fuzzy now, but I’m pretty sure he thought I was helpful and awesome because guess what? He totally emailed me to thank me and to offer some constructive technogeeky advice regarding the lighting for my oh-so-humble podcast o’ TechnoGeekery.

Unfortunately his email went straight to my Junk Mail; fortunately I often skim over said Junk Mail, so I totally caught it amongst the offers to increase my… er, girth… well, whatever!

Anyway, I SO appreciated the advice. I mean, I’ve been told before that I should look into lighting, but I was like, “Dude. No way am I spending that kind of money! That’s a whole lot of Taco Bell!” Except, I totally don’t ever eat at Taco Bell. Their beans are DEHYDRATED. As for filming TechnoGeekery, I’ve tried moving around a bit, and my best lighting has been up in my room facing the window, but the natural light can be a little too harsh. Like, “Hello, freckles! How you doin’?” But my new TechnoGeek friend suggested I forgo spending what he called “a butt load of money on studio lighting” (which, HA! he said “butt”) and invest in a type of (cheap) lighting (totally inexpensive) he called China balls (which don’t cost much money at ALL).

Apparently, China balls—those paper globes with the metal ribs and a light bulb inside—are perfect for creating natural soft light. YES. Hello softer shadows! My freckles and I thank you, TechnoGeek Jim. No, really. From the bottom of my photoprotective melanin-deprived heart. Or skin. Oh, you know what I mean.

And I mentioned the “not expensive” part, right? Like, Blue Light Special cheap? That’s all I’m saying.

So… China balls! I didn’t know that is what those were called, but my aunt had several of them hanging in her bedroom in the early 80’s, so I am familiar with them. Hmmm, come to think of it, now that I know they are generally used to create natural soft light and pleasing skin tones… well, frankly, I’m a little wigged out. I am also forcibly reminded of her totally radical boyfriend back then, however, and I suppose the need for softer lighting would come into play… boyfriend had a perm AND a ’stache! Couple that with his trendy 80’s fashion sense, and well, I’m not surprised. Honestly.

So, a big shout out to my new TechnoGeek peep, Jim! Thanks. I will definitely try to implement a new lighting arrangement as soon as I can get my hands on some cheap China balls!

Oh. Oh MY. Well that just sounds dirty. How embarrassing. I shall now call them cheap China lanterns.

Heck. I may even devote an entire TechnoGeekery episode to the benefits of cheap China ba– er, lanterns! I mean it. Ain’t technology grand?…

… Transformers! Robots in disguise! 

Ha! That never gets old.

Think Positive

Is it normal for me to be MORE nervous than TD? He’s the one singing all of Charlie Bucket’s songs and performing all of Charlie Bucket’s lines in the 6th grade Willy Wonka Jr. musical tonight! It’s out of control!

I’m a wreck, that’s what I am… A wreck, I say!

Aaaaaand TD just rushed by me, belting out “Think Positive,” complete with wild gesticulations that I certainly hope are a part of the choreography. Because if not? EMBARRASSING.

“You’ve nothing to lose so why not choose to think positive?”

Well all righty then. I’m off to the show.

And TD? Break a leg, kid.

Aerosmithsonian

When you’ve been together a while, it’s bound to happen. You know, the whole ending each other’s sentences thing? Accordingly, one shouldn’t be surprised by the following conversation I recently had with the DWM padres who have traveled all the way from Podunky Small Town Arizona to see Numbah One Grandson (Yeah-huh! Okay, Numbah TWO Grandson… happy Kim?! SHEESH.) in his musical theater debut as Charlie Bucket in Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka Junior Ramma Lamma Bing Bang Extravaganza!

Do you follow?

So we were sitting down, having a nice little chat, when my dad leaned over my mother to ask if it would be difficult to get into DC to visit some places.

I asked, “Where do you want to go?” while mentally conjuring the Metro transit rail map.

“Well, I wanted to go to the Smithsonian…” he began.

Ah. See, there is a common misconception out there in the aether that the Smithsonian is one particular building in DC. This is not, in fact, the case. Let’s see…. you’ve got the more well-known Natural History Museum (check out the Hope Diamond!), the Air and Space Museum (ooooh! IMAX and Planetarium!), the National Portrait Gallery (don’t step too close to some of the exhibits… the sensors are freaking sensitive) and let’s not forget the National Zoo (Giant Pandas! Giant Pandas!). Then, of course, you’ve got your American Indian Museum, African Art Museum, your Postal Museum… and quite few more that I am much too lazy to look up, so there.

It’s evil I know, all show-offy and whatnot, but of course I asked, “Which one?”, and blinked innocently at the confused look on my dad’s face.

To his credit, I think he must have remembered my lecture on the Great Smithsonian Conundrum (yes! I’m a horrible geek! duh!) because he was only fazed for a moment.

“I wanted to see–”

And then it happened. The finishing each other’s sentences thing. (See? I’m focused! HA!)

My mom leaned over and butted in– er, interrupted– I mean, lovingly finished his thought, “Oh! He wants to go see the Aerosmith Museum!”

I blinked again, but this time in confusion. “The Aero…Smith… what?”

There was one of those pauses where it is completely silent except for the almost perceptible sound of cogs whirring and twirling in the collective brains of those assembled. As my dad and I began to snicker, my mom blurted out, “Oh! Air and Space! Air and Space!”

But it was too late. Oh, yes. Much too late.

My dad grinned. “Yeah, hon, I really wanted to hit that rock and roll museum… see all that rock star memorabilia?”

“Oh, sure! I’ll tell you how to get there! Just walk this waaaaaaay! talk this waaaay!”

My mom, adopting her patented I Totally Meant To Say That blasé attitude, was all, “Oh, you knew what I meant!” And just in case that wasn’t enough to save face, she quickly added, “Although an Aerosmith Museum would be pretty cool, come to think of it…”

My dad and I gave her a hard time of it for a few more minutes, after which I assured my father that I would make sure he got to see the Air and Space Museum.

Then I launched into my Smithsonian Conundrum spiel one more time for good measure, naturally.

Aaaaaaand now you know me better. You see? I can’t help how I am. It’s like the magnet my parents had on their refrigerator as I was growing up:

“Insanity is hereditary. I get it from my children.”

Wait… Hey!

Presenting Gravatars! Again!

Yay, y’all! Now we can JUDGE each other!

I dedicated a TechnoGeekery episode to this topic back in August last year, and then Gravatars went all crazy on me and everyone was like, “O. Em. Gee. Where is my stinkin’ Gravatar?! LAME!” But in the latest upgrade of Wordpress, they threw caution to the wind and built in Gravatar support! I know, right?! SWEET. Accordingly, the following information and TechnoGeekery video may be familiar to you, but watch again. (I’m testing out mdialog– as suggested by new TechnoGeek Gail Rivett– by creating a channel. Let me know how it works for you, especially those PC users out there!)

IF that doesn’t work for you, try this:

With no further ado…

In our day-to-day lives we can judge others by what they look like, what clothes they wear, how they talk, oh, all sorts of ways. But blogs and boards are so… anonymous. It’s not as if we can actually see each other, right? So how the heck are we supposed to judge each other?!

Fortunately, that’s where gravatars come in. With gravatars, we can create custom images that represent us. A personal logo, if you will. Gravatars identify us and say something about our personality. Which… ah-ha! Okay, what I meant to say was… ah-ha! Now we have something to work with!

Think about it. What can we infer about a person who creates a gravatar image featuring a fluffy white kitten perched atop a pink pillow? Um, cutesy, much? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Conversely, what can we assume about a person whose gravatar features an image of Jude and Tommy during that scene on Instant Star when they were totally making out in the rain? Aaaw! Hopeless romantic, that’s what! Eh? Eh?

Take a gander at some random gravatars:

So if you frequently find yourself commenting on blog posts throughout the blogosphere, I strongly suggest you create a gravatar. You know… so people can judge you? Then your gravatar should appear whenever you post a comment to a gravatar-enabled blog—like Technogeekery.com, for instance. Hey, it’s easy and it’s free, that’s all I’m saying. Do what you want. I don’t even care. Much.

So… do you have a gravatar now? Well, what are you waiting for? Show off the darn thing by commenting on this vidcast, for heaven’s Pete sake. Do it, do it, do it!

Do it.

*UPDATED I’m Thinking!

There are thoughts being thunk. I promise! But I’m in a funk. Not to mention the fact there are, unfortunately, not enough hours in my day to plunk out said thoughts being thunk…

Aaaaaand now I’ve gone all Theodor Seuss Geisel on your ass– er, bootays. How incredibly lame.

I need a vacation.

That being said, I have a story. It’s a good one. It involves six impatiently eager children, six gaily wrapped presents, one tinsel-covered Christmas tree, and a dream. Oh, and Uncle Ron. We can’t forget him. This story spans years and years and has recently come to a rather interesting conclusion. Or beginning. I don’t know…

When I gather the thoughts I’ve thunk, the keys I will plunk.

Oh, dear lord. I’m LAAAAAAAAAME.

Until I get my blog on, feel free to click over to TechnoGeekery for my latest shows:

TechnoGeekery Show #29: What the Widget?!

*TechnoGeekery Show #30: Send Videos…One Click!

Seriously. What the widget?! Did anyone ELSE know a person with Safari and Leopard could DO this?! SWEET.

* Plus, to prove people watch, I need your videos now! Send whatever you want, except porn ain’t allowed! (Hey, that sounds like a song…)

Legendary Music Video

Okay, so I created this song using my mad Garageband skillz… also, by using a Media Converter to grab the karaoke version of the song off YouTube, but whatever. Still cool!

A legendary music video is in the works. I’m hoping to enter it in a contest and win some sweet prizes. Because I’m a huge geek?

Enjoy!

Or not. Whatev.

(BTW: Any thoughts on how to MAKE said Legendary Music Video would be much appreciated! I’m envisioning RockBand instruments… oh, AND a strobe light. Because, AWESOME?)

A New TechnoGeekery: Hyperlinks and Hugh Hreffner

A new TechnoGeekery is up! You better mosey yourself on over to watch, if you want to be a part of the Super Secret HTML Club, that is. Just sayin’, the clock’s a-tickin’.

TechnoGeekery with Chassy Cat is brought to you by Aveeno Baby. Check them out!

In this episode– TechnoGeekery Show #27: Hyperlinks and Hugh Hreffner– Chassy Cat reveals all: learn how to make a hyperlink–a link to another web page, picture, document– in comment sections of blogs and websites using HTML, and become a brand new member of the Secret HTML Club! Which, of course, makes you super cool.

Woo!

Remember, Hugh Hreffner is the KEY… (and yes, I know it’s Hefner, but this is MY mnemonic device so step OFF me, yo?)

<a href=“URL”>Hyperlink Text</a>

That’s all she wrote, my TechnoGeek peeps.

Cat, OUT.

Videos Before Ho’s

“Hey, Momma, since you’ve never seen it, we should go see ‘Horton Hears a Ho’ tonight!”

*snorts of laughter*

“What did I say?”

………………………………………………..

And speaking of ho’s, Chassy Pimp makes an appearance on the latest episode of TechnoGeekery. And she RAPS, yo? Right?! I’m sayin’. Sweet.

TechnoGeekery Show #16 (actual #26): Blog Books and Blurb Raps

Please note that the latest episode of TechnoGeekery is also available in the DWM sidebar. Right over there –>. And by clicking on the “Toggle Full Screen” icon in the lower right-hand corner of the sidebar’s Podango player, you can watch the video–wait for it… wait for it– full screen! Just so’s ya know.

An Announcement and a Recommendation

Did you notice my new site?! Did it myself! I KNOW, right?! SWEET. And TechnoGeekery totally matches! Woo!

Okay, first of all, there is News regarding my video podcast o’ technogeekery, which I relay to you in my latest episode of TechnoGeekery with Chassy Cat (which I will always upload via my brand-spanking new Podango’s Flash 9 player in my sidebar here at DWM. I KNOW, right?!):

TechnoGeekery is Brought to You By…

On this Very Special Episode of TechnoGeekery, I announce the show’s very first Corporate Sponsor: Johnson & Johnson’s Aveeno Baby products.

That’s right! TechnoGeekery, along with the Mommycast and Friends Family Channel and Aveeno Baby, is making total podcast history! No, REALLY. Please feel free (and by “feel free” I mean, “do this, please, please, oh please…”) to click on the Aveeno Baby banner under “The Latest at TechnoGeekery” at my TechnoGeekery site to learn more about their products (and to show just how awesome we TechnoGeeks are, naturally!). Thank you so much for your support.

Oh, and buy Aveeno lotion. Then tell me about how awesome it is in the comment section of my TechnoGeekery site. And then click on the Aveeno banner again. Are you getting what I’m saying here? CLICK!

Also, if you haven’t visited me at iTunes, please stop by and leave me tons of positive feedback! Unless you have nothing nice to say, in which case, stay AWAY.

Thanks!

And FINALLY… the recommendation portion of this post:

Despite an unsolicited newfound intimate knowledge of Jason Segel’s manbits, Forgetting Sarah Marshall is laugh out loud funny. It’s got my girl Kristen Bell (Veronica Mars!) in it, and seriously, her British rocker boyfriends steals every scene he’s in. And there are PUPPETS, people! PUPPETS!

In fact, this movie was so laugh out loud HIII-larious, that I will probably have to see it again! Oh, because the packed theater laughed so loudly that I missed stuff, not because of the manbits. Sheesh. Get your minds out of the gutters. (Yes, I’m talking to YOU, William and Nils…)

Check it out! Hey, I meant the MOVIE.

Honestly. You people…

“… and a bag of chips.”

Over the weekend, I cuddled up on the couch with my kiddos and we watched Sydney White, a modern retelling of the Snow White story. As “the fairest of them all”– a beautiful sorority girl (because, duh, who better to play an evil witch, eh Disney?)– strutted onto the scene, Alli leaned over and tapped on my arm.

With an unladylike snort of disgust, she whispered, “Momma, that girl thinks she’s all this and that, doesn’t she?”

NEW American Idol Theme Song

If you can’t view a YouTube link (for whatever reason), and are therefore unable to enjoy the comedic stylings of Rhett and Link, it is quite possible you may be able to view the video HERE. And since I think these guys are freaking hilarious, I will mention that you can also subscribe to the Rhett and Linkast at their site or iTunes.

There! Don’t say I never give you anything.

Enjoy.

All rising.

Guess who’s TWITTERpated?!

Follow Chassy Cat at TWITTER.

That’s right, y’all. I’ve already jumped on board the Twitter train, but now I am determined to get off my lazy, non-Twitteriffic butt and rush full steam ahead! Or something. Crap. Yeah, I lost myself in my analogy, too.

Whatever! My point is this: I have installed a Twitter widget in my right sidebar. Seriously. Take a look. —> Over there! I can wait… See, I’ve decided to Twitter random thoughts as they occur to me throughout the week. For instance, please note today’s Chassy Cat Tweets:

Britney Spears totally cracked me up on HIMYM. Well, there you have it. Words I never thought I’d utter without a codicillary “Not!”

AND

I suddenly realized the only time I will ever “stop traffic” is during my funeral procession and basically my day went downhill from there.

Woo! FUN! I mean, that is good stuff there. All I’m saying is that a person needs an outlet for all the randomness in life, and I think I’ve found mine. And all in 140 characters or less, to boot! That’s right… hollah!

*raises the roof*

So feel free to visit DWM to see my Tweets, or head on over to Twitter and follow me there. Oooh, and if you already have a Twitter account, we can totally Tweet each other! Right?!

Dirty.

Nathan Bransford’s Surprisingly Essential First Page Challenge

Oh, Bente… Have I told you lately that I love you? Hmm?

So, yeah. Yesterday I got an email from an Aussie/Canadian friend o’ mine, Bente, regarding a literary agent dude by the name of Bransford. Nathan Bransford. Apparently, said literary agent dude opened a contest looking for up-to-500-word submissions of a person’s manuscript’s first page. Right?! RIGHT?! Dude, I’m SAYING. I mean, limiting myself to 500 words? HARD.

However, hundreds and hundreds of aspiring writers had already bombarded the blog by the time I heard about this contest, so it is fortunate that said literary agent dude had the prescience to solicit the assistance of a co-judge– a non-publishing-industry type by the name of Holly Burns (author of the Nothing But Bonfires blog)– who, incidentally, has a British accent, but not like Gwyneth’s or Madonna’s or Britney’s, but a REAL British accent, having been born English and whatnot.

Wait. What?

Oh! Contest! Shut up. I’m totally focused.

So, without much more than a cursory glimpse at Bransford’s– Nathan Bransford’s– website, I proclaimed him legit, threw caution to the wind, took my chances, threw myself in headfirst, pinned my hopes on a cloud, took the leap, jumped in with both feet, grabbed the bull by the horns and freaking wrassled that sucker to the GROUND… er, okay, I’m out.

I submitted an entry.

Yay! *sarcastic jazz hands*

What can I tell you? I’m a crazy person. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. CRAZY. PERSON.

And now? NOW? Well, I’m all aquiver with anxiety and self-doubt.

So thanks for that, Bente. No, really.

(No, really.)

Take a peek at my 498-word-entry (and feel free to critique) after the cut:
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Driving in Cars With Drama Queens

We now join a conversation “between” Alli and Momma in the DWM car, already in progress…

“…and it wasn’t even a big deal, it was just one little mistake– are you listening, Momma?– but they wouldn’t let me help and we were getting graded on cooperation and stuff, so I told the teacher I wanted to help but they wouldn’t let me– and that’s not cooperating, is it, Momma?– I mean, it’s not my fault they lost points because we were supposed to cooperate, and it was just, like, one point or something, but then she was all like, ‘What’s that all about?! You ruined our grade!’ and she got all worked over and stuff and she told the other girls not to play with me at recess– which is so rude, huh, Momma?– and then guess what? She started to cry.”

“Wow,” I replied as I flicked my turn signal blinker and glanced over my shoulder at my blind spot. “Lots of drama in the third grade, huh?”

“I know! I mean, she got so worked over, Momma! For one teensy little mistake! And it was pretty much their own fault, anyway, if you ask me, so, you know…”

I merged into the right lane. “Well, hopefully by next week your project partner will have forgotten all about this.”

“Yeah.” Alli sighed heavily. “Man… what a drama queen.”

Pet Store Shenanigans

Pet stores. Exciting for the kiddos, smelly to the momma, and oh-so educational. For EVERYBODY.

The other night we were in the vicinity of the pet store, so we threw caution to the wind and went to torture ourselves by looking at the most adorable kittens and puppies and other allergen-riddled mammals (and some way creepy non-mammals) that we can never ever buy, not even in a million years, as my kids will tell you, “Thanks to Mom and her stupid allergies that could totally kill her, GOSH!” But they’re not bitter. They love me.

So, we browsed the store, marveling at the gecko’s eyes, giggling over the mice-in-the-wheel shenanigans, and freaking out over the ssslithering ssslinkiness of the snakes. As we approached the cockatiel cage, a favorite stop of my kiddos, we inadvertently stumbled upon an intimate moment between the two cockatiel residents.

Now, listen… I don’t care what anyone says, NOBODY wants to watch these pet store animals get their freak on. They’re shameless exhibitionists, openly exulting in braggy displays of unrestrained lust– all, “Oooh! Look at me! Look at me!” (and often in positions that put the Kama Sutra to shame)– displays which everyone knows are not appropriate for public and/or mixed company, and it’s exposed and embarrassing and gross, like karaoke.

But I digress.

“Oh, my,” said Hannah, pausing for one infinitesimal moment before hurrying past the cage, an embarrassed grin slowly spreading across her face.

“What?” Alli asked before looking into the cage. “Ooooh! Look! That one’s giving the other one a piggyback ride!”

Tanner and Hannah snorted.

“She doesn’t know,” Tanner said, turning away from the cage.

“Yeah, she doesn’t,” Hannah agreed.

But Alli was having none of it. She stood there, a thoughtful expression on her face as she shifted her attention between her grinning and increasingly red-faced siblings and the busy little caged birdies.

Thankful for at least one child with a shred of farmyard innocence, I began to shoo my kids toward the exit. Before we made it two steps, however, TGIM wandered over from the aquarium section of the store.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Okay. FINE. I giggled (because… dirty!) but only in my head. Duh. I have filters! Most of the time!

“Look, Daddy!” Hannah said, pointing at the cage.

So TGIM looked. Then looked again. It was one of those amusing little television moments where you could practically hear the double-take sound effect.

Then TGIM looked at me, and his eyes did that yelling thing, you know, where they are all, “Um, hello? Cat? WHAT the…?!” Like somehow I encouraged the birds to go for a quickie during store hours! Whatever. My eyes told his eyes to just STEP OFF.

Suddenly, Alli turned away from the cage, and in an ah-HA! tone of voice exclaimed, “Oh, I know! They’re mating!”

“Giddyup, little horsey!” Hannah blurted out, pitching Tanner into a fit of the giggles.

You know how you do that thing when you are trying not to laugh at something your child says because you aren’t quite sure whether or not it would be appropriate to encourage said child in questionable expressions of humor? You know, that thing? With the trying not to laugh? TGIM and I were doing that thing. Well, attempting to do that thing, anyway.

Hey, don’t judge. You weren’t there. You don’t know.

We turned to leave. Hannah grabbed her red-faced daddy’s hand and skipped alongside him as we headed out the doors and into the parking lot. “Hey, did you see the smiles on the birdies’ faces, Daddy?” she asked.

Tanner– trailing behind the two– scoffed at her ignorance. “Birds don’t smile.”

“Those ones were. Did you see, Daddy?! Those were happy birdies!”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me,” TGIM said and determinedly changed the subject. To dessert ideas, I think, which… brilliant?!

But at my side, I felt a gentle tug on my arm. I looked down at Alli, who grabbed my hand with her little one and said in an innocent, confiding little voice, “Well, that sure looked like an awkward way to mate, didn’t it Momma?!”

In an instant, sure knowledge of impending adolescence (times three!) struck me and wrestled the air from my lungs more quickly than that time my big sister slammed her end of the see-saw down so violently it launched me up and off… and down. THUNK.

Can’t…! breathe…! I remember thinking back then. I thought the same now.

I choked back the breathlessness. I powered through. There was time yet. Still time.

“Oh, absolutely,” was all I replied, as I squeezed her hand. “Absolutely.”

Validation! Concurrence!

Guess which new TV drama won the People’s Choice Awards?! Just GUESS! Gossip Girl? NO! Private Practice? UH-UH! Journeyman? NEIN! Could it have been… oh, MOONLIGHT, perhaps?! Hell, YES!

5UVqUqOXaGg
Be truthful. How sexy is that Australian accent? DEAD sexy, that’s how sexy! Not that I care. Just thought I’d point it out, is all. Ahem.

Man. I love validation. What can I say? I’m needy like that.

For William

Aaaw, man, William. I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family, big guy. I know it’s not the same thing, not really, but I wanted to share some thoughts I had when my grandfather passed on. I posted this back in 2005, but I still look back at it sometimes… just to remember, I guess.

I hope no one minds the repeat.

To Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil

My life is a tapestry characterized by elaborate pictorial designs. My childhood, though only comprising a small portion of my life so far, makes up a large, colorful corner section. Occasionally, I have been known to bask in the memories of a few of its more colorful parts. Lately, I find myself more and more often taking the tapestry out of its storage place in the attic of my mind, and airing it out.

The images are all there. I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, where the sweltering summer sun baked the days so fiery hot that the tarry goo in the asphalt literally bubbled in the streets; where sunburned, barefooted children in tank tops and Dove short-shorts rode their banana-seat bikes to the crispy, brownish-green lawn at the Digital; where hot air balloons occasionally and thrillingly made emergency landings on sprawling industrial park lawns; where dirty, stinky, disheveled kids played Keep Away or a loose game of kickball until dusk when Dad pulled the old aqua-blue Chevy into the cul-de-sac, threw one of them on his lap, and let the chosen one drive the car all the way into the driveway; and where Grandma and Grandpa Heedum’s backyard swimming pool, complete with diving board, water filter “snakes,” and pool sprinklers, was the oasis playground for me, my five siblings, and all the Heedum cousins.

You know, a large portion of the tapestry of my childhood revolves around that pool scene.

Childhood Scene 1:
I see Grandma and Grandpa Heedum’s house, air-popped buttery popcorn in enormous Tupperware bowls; the boisterous laughter of women playing cards; a crowded pool complete with inflatable rafts, orange floaties, and rousing games of Shark and Marco Polo; water filter snakes slithering and snaking across the bottom of the pool, stirring up the settled desert dust instead of cleaning it; peeling, sun-burned noses and green-tinted chlorine-hair; and too many wet kids in bathing suits slipping and sliding through Grandma’s kitchen.

I see my 7-year-old, wet, bathing suited self dancing around at the arcadia door, pounding on the glass, leaving behind oozing wet scrinchy marks as I cupped my hands to look in at the ladies sitting at the dining room table playing cards, trying to get my mommy’s attention. Shoot. Anyone’s attention, really.

“Mommy! Lookit! Mommy! Grandma! LOOKIT! Lookit me!”

When I could finally get someone to watch I would race to the diving board and execute some elaborate cherry bomb, or back flip, or twisty dive through an inner tube. When I would emerge from the depths of the pool, proud and spluttering, I would race back to the arcadia door and smash my face up against it, water dripping in my eyes, until I could see my mommy turn away from her cards for a moment to shout from inside, “Uh-huh! Good one, Cathy!” Then she would turn back to her game, laughing and joking, and I would return to the pool, satisfied.

I remember the feeling of walking into the cool, air-conditioned house from the sweltering Arizona desert heat outside, and how it would immediately chill the pool water in my hair and the damp swimsuit against my skin. I would literally freeze in the doorway before the grown-up chorus of “SHUT THE DOOR!” would spur me into action.

Honestly. I still love swimming, but somehow, the Olympic-sized indoor pool at our Rec Center doesn’t bring me the sublime satisfaction of hot-footing it across the foot-searing cooldecking surrounding Grandma and Grandpa’s pool and jumping into the cool, sun-heated water.

Childhood Scene 2:
Another large chunk of the childhood tapestry is in the section devoted to the awe the Heedum grandkids felt toward Grandpa Heedum. Seriously. He scared the bejeebies out of us.

When I think of my grandparents’ house I always see a stifling tobacco-smoke haze hanging in the air, as Grandpa, apart from his card-playing wife and daughters, would sit guarding the back door to the pool, watching television and smoking cigarette after cigarette. Now, in my mind I know that Grandpa quit smoking years ago, when I was in my late teens, but I still see him like that, smoking a cigarette, watching television, snacking on and presiding over the elaborate spread my food-loving mom, aunts, and grandmother laid out for their weekly card-playing get-togethers. To our dismay, his probing eyes, although seemingly riveted to Hee Haw or Lawrence Welk, never missed small hands trying to sneak more popcorn or another powdered-sugary lemon square or a Cuckoo Cookie, maybe even some M & M’s if we were… just… super-duper… sneaky…

He observed everything, Grandpa: the card game, the food-sneaking, the swimming, the joking, but he rarely joined in. He listened to his family’s laughter, his daughters’ silly stories, and their hilariously obvious cheating tactics. Occasionally he barked out a comment (often sarcastic), or laughed at a joke, or told us “Go ask your mother!” when we tried to grab food, but he sat apart, and that is just the way it was. We didn’t question it. Still don’t. He loved us, and we loved him. But he was apart.

I remember once when I was very young, on a Memorial Day, Grandpa went out and fired up the BBQ grill. He joked around with my Uncle Lyle while they drank beer and he cooked the hot dogs and hamburgers, and we were all so surprised because it seemed like Mommy and Grandma and the Aunts always cooked. But Grandpa apparently felt that grilling was a man’s job, so there you go. Then, after dinner, he got in a bathing suit, pulled the special, extra-large, Do Not Touch inner tube out of the heretofore unplumbed depths of the hall swimming closet, and HE GOT IN THE POOL. He floated around, a wet, floating Jonathan Winters (he is the spitting image, I kid you not), beer in hand, cigarette held carefully aloft, and you can bet none of us dared to splash or yell or pick up the water snakes or make waves of any kind. Because, dear lord, the world had gone insane and Grandpa was IN THE POOL.

Sometimes, when the tapestry gets cloudy, I think maybe it’s just the cigarette smoke.

Childhood Scene 3:
The last picture that captures my attention is the pinochle game. My mom and her sisters and her mother love to play cards. As far back as I can remember, when the Heedum women got together, they gathered around the dining room table, where cards were played and food was eaten. And, it goes without saying, there was the laughter. The Heedum women? Are Laughers. Loud Laughers. And Loud Talkers, as a matter of fact. Oh, ho, ho, yes they are. You know the type. So if you know me personally, you must understand: it is genetic! I had absolutely no say in the matter! Because, yes, you see, I have inherited the Loud Laugher/Loud Talker gene, which makes for good times in cubicle-land, let me tell you. Especially when I get phone calls. Or an especially funny email. I get shushed, y’all!

But the pinochle game and the laughter of the women in my family- the Aunts, Grandma, Mom- it is IN me, and a part of me, woven into my tapestry like black thread, bringing it all together. And though it can (and has) cause people to misunderstand what I am feeling, to doubt my sincerity, to think I am stronger or more resilient than I really am, I am thankful it is in me.

Because when I break my stupid ankle doing a simple cartwheel, I laugh. When I get viral gastroenteritis and hurl so hard I get blood-red bruising around my eyes, I laugh. When my husband hits me in the head with a racquetball going mach 7, after I cry like a baby and cuss him to bits, I laugh. When we get a lousy louse in the house, after I clean and clean and nitpick and scratch and clean and clean and CLEAN, I laugh. When I joke about someone hurting my feelings or breaking my heart, I laugh. When somebody close to me dies, I dig desperately into my mind and dredge up the funny memories about that person, and I laugh. I do. I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s a part of my tapestry.

Newest Scene:
Now, as a grown woman, I have yet another scene to add to my tapestry. Amongst the wedding day, and the births of my children, and the deaths of loved ones, there is this:

It is the image of the Heedum sisters and their mother sitting in a hospital room in the ICU of a Phoenix hospital, waiting for Grandpa to return from dialysis. Exhausted from the worry of feeding tubes and ventilators and Do Not Resuscitate orders and Medical Power of Attorney decisions to be made, yet there they sit, the Heedum women, crossword puzzles, novels, and TV remote thrown aside, brand-new gift shop cards dealt across an unused bed-table, and a high-spirited game of pinochle in progress.

Loud laughter. Silly stories. Blatant cheating. More than once a curious face peeks into the room, the face of another person sitting vigil in the ICU, fearing the worst and hoping for the best.

“Hey! You ladies are having way too much fun in here!… Can I play?”

They smile and scratch their heads at the women who can laugh when there are hard times ahead. Because Grandpa will not be doing dialysis anymore. And Mom and Grandma and my aunts? They know it. And they are dealing with it the only way they know how.

My life. This tapestry. As new sections of pictorial designs are created, I am thankful for the scenes that have come before, adding to the whole, bringing it all into perspective. Because even when someone leaves me behind, maybe shuffling off this mortal coil (if you will allow me to wax Shakespearean for a moment), they are always there, woven into my tapestry. In my mind and heart.

Forever.