Just sitting around

Recently, a case of mistreatment has surfaced in the state of Kansas that is so bizarre that it cannot go without mention. This isn't a case of horrible child abuse or neglect. This is a case of a woman left on the toilet for 2 years. Two years?!? The "victim" is a 35 year old woman, that is supposed to have no form of mental illness. Her boyfriend is 37 and supposedly, he shows no signs of mental illness. Hmmm...

There have been many questions raised about what kind of people these are. Since I am not one to judge, or at least, will pass on this couple, I am going to just pretend that I was left on the toilet for 2 years and try to figure out what I would have missed. Here is a brief list of what I would have missed, in no particular order:

American Idol-Who won last year?
Harry Potter movies-I'm not sure he has a spell for the removal of a toilet seat from one's arse. Bloody hell, Ron, get off the pot!
Shopping-There is no need for a Coach or new shoes when you sit on the potty all day.
Family birthdays/holidays-If there is cake or something tasty, I need to be there. Open mouth,insert food, now.
Calliou-Wait, I hate that whiny, little dork!
Peaches-I would have missed the evolution of a sweet, delicate canine into something we could butcher and eat for a year. Not really. I don't think she would be too tender. Nothing like a tough, beagle fajita.
Seeing the sun-This is kind of iffy as I am a white as a ghost and hate the heat bearing down on my pale flesh. Unless your bathroom has a window, you would need one of those lamps that people with seasonal affective disorder have.
Cooking-Not just eating is fun. Cooking something new and exciting and then waiting for your husband to clean it up can be fun too. Come to think of it, I think my husband's reason for not cleaning the kitchen was because he was in the bathroom. Better wait til he comes out.
Flat screen, HD TV's-I don't watch much TV but it is infintely more interesting when you can see the hair on Christi Lee Cook's lip as she battles to sing some lame country song, as well as to see the red pupils of Paula Abdul's eyes. Drugs are bad!
Target-Need I say more? I don't know anyone that doesn't like a little retail therapy at Target. I know women that go multiple times per day. I am not one of them, as far as you know.
Showers-I'm not sure how you bathe while sitting on the toilet. Toilet water is not the same as eau de toilet, that is for sure. Do you just stretch over to reach your toothbrush? I would be willing to skip Target, but not a daily shower, sometimes more.
My sweet girl-My guess is that if Mia saw me sitting on the potty for 2 years, she might have gotten the potty training thing a little earlier and maybe even easier. Her little Elmo potty seat would have probably made my buns feel better also.
Taco Shop-We are a family of Taco Shop lovers. There is nothing better than a mess of tacos, all of which sends us to the bathroom, so we may have been ok stuck in there for 2 years. Bring on the Tums.

Now, of course there are things that I wouldn't have missed. The summer heat, cleaning the house, going to the dentist for a crown, laundry and the whole Hillary/Obama business. They are both full of crap so maybe we should stick them away in a bathroom somewhere. There is probably room in there for Mccain too. Better them then me.

The aftermath of this weird bathroom predicament is that there is a woman stuck in ICU because she can't walk. Her legs are probably atrophied and one wonders what else is wrong. Her man was charged and adding to those charges is indecent exposure. Only in Kansas...

Lipstick Whore

It has been pointed out, probably more than once, that I am a lipstick whore. When one sits through the Monica Lewinsky interview and is only curious about what color her lipstick is, you know there is an issue. Kind of gives lipstick and whore a new meaning, sorry couldn't resist! If given the pleasure of defining this term, I would say that a lipstick whore has more than, say, 10 lipstick tubes in her makeup collection, including those in her purse. I know, 10 doesn't constitute a Clinique counter by any means, but how many lipsticks does one woman need? Well, a bunch is the best possible answer.

I recently counted all of my lipsticks/lip balms and ended up with the rather large number of, are you ready for this? 71! What the hell? Why, oh, why does one woman, that doesn't even work, need 71 lipsticks??? I don't know. I can't answer. The only answer that I can offer, and even this is kind of iffy, is that I LOVE lipstick. Lame, I know, but in order to understand, you have to examine my makeup habits.

I wasn't allowed to wear makeup til I was 15. I don't know if that is some magic age in which a young teen channels Mary Kay and is able to apply cosmetics with the precision of an artist or what the deal is. I think that I was allowed to wear foundation, probably in some color that made me look too peachy, eyeshadow, that was probably metallic baby blue, and lipstick, in some tarty shade of sparkly pink. Whatever the colors, as a young girl, I probably looked like I had enrolled in an after school prostitution training program. It couldn't have been good, especially with a bi-level haircut.

Fast forward a few years. I am now in my 30's, ok, late 30's, and have learned more about what colors are flattering on me and maybe even you. I can tell you that peach is a fruit and not a color that should be smeared all over your face. Metallic blue has been outlawed, or should be. Blending is a must and should be taken care of before you leave the house and not a minute after. I will say it again, BLEND! I still haven't figured out mascara. I know someone that admits she is a mascara junkie. It is a hobby for her as lipstick is a hobby for me. I don't do mascara. It bothers my contacts, makes them dry and how can you possibly look good while you are constantly messing with your eyes. Drops just make it run, so I just gave up. I don't curl my eyelashes either. That little grabber/curler/pincher scares me. I couldn't even tell that they curled when I used the little torture device. I do use foundation, only it is the mineral type. Supposedly formulated from all natural ingredients and includes a sunscreen property. No more yucky triangle wedges full of yucky, slimy foundation for me! I simply dip my cute, little Kabuki brush in a bit of the dust and swirl it around on my face and look better than Giselle. Well, not exactly, most of the time I can't even see it on, so who really knows what it looks like. I can still see the damn freckles, or age spots, as my doctor calls them (bastard). Haven't figured out how to rid myself of the spots without turning myself into the female version of Michael Jackson.

All of this cosmetic rhetoric brings me back to my original topic of lipstick. I really have no idea why I have so many. Oddly enough, many of the colors are similiar or a shade or so apart. I also have a few duplicates. One for my purse, one for the makeup drawer, another to store because I love the color and run out quickly. I am not picky about brands either. This is just a small rundown of brands. Lloreal, Clinique, Lorac, Smashbox, Calvin Klein, Victoria Secret, Mary Kay and Chanel can all be found. Some of these tubes are pretty, some are just ugly plastic. It really doesn't matter, I like them all. I am like my own mini-Sephora. The sad thing is, I have a few favorites so many don't even get used, except by Mia, who is finding her inner cover girl and deciding that lipstick is the most important part of her outfit. Let's hope she blends.

MySpace? Facebook?

Due to the unyielding pressure from mom's in my mom group, I created a page on MySpace. The page quickly grew from a couple of random pictures to a list of 60 odd people that I supposedly call my "friends." I was looking at my so-called friends and realized that there are a few that I have never met, will never meet and could really care less about, though I don't lump them all in together. For instance, who is this "Amy" woman? Oh, that is right! She was the winner of some FoodTv new talent show. Apparently, she has her own show. Seen it? No, me either. Do I care? Well, no.
There is "4 hours to go", in Oklahoma City. I have only driven through OKC, therefore, I have no idea who this is. Her page says she is having her baby in 4 hours. Way to go and congratulations! If I knew you, I might have at least sent a card.
Look at poor Fred! I have a great deal of respect for him, as an actor and as the potential president. Since he dropped out of the race, are we still friends? Would his wife be angry to know that he has a hot mama on his friends list? Did I say that out loud? Oh...
Sean Hannity. He is a hottie and I swear he and Ann Coulter are getting it on in a coat closet somewhere at the Fox studio. I would if I was her! Did I say that out loud? Anyway, if my husband would watch something besides the news, I wouldn't have to lust after the newsguy. And let's face it, Alan Colmes is yuck with a capital Y!
I also have some family and potential family members listed as friends. They have to be my friend don't they? I think it is some marriage rule, you inherit the family upon the "I do" portion of the wedding ceremony. I would be seriously embarassed if they didn't want to be my friend. Though I don't like it when my 30 something nephew calls me "auntie." Wait til I see him next time!
I also have included on my friends page, a few authors that I like. Haven't met any of them, of course, and they don't know that I exist, no matter that I received email from some of them. I figure they have some flunky answer their email and respond appropriately to the legions of fan crap they receive.
This leaves the people I don't like, why are they on my list? I can't answer that and won't try, lest I hurt someone's feelings or get my own hurt. Snot or no snot, I guess you are my friend.
Facebook is another "friend" site that I got sucked into. I have a mere 29 friends. Where is everyone? Frankly, I am appalled that Sean Hannity hasn't begged me to be on his. Maybe Ann told him no, I don't know. Maybe I will ask Allan, well, maybe not.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

When I was little, I was terrified by those enormous grandfather clocks. They were not only massive but the chimes could wake the dead. My grandparents had one that sat in the foyer of their huge house. I would sleep on the second floor, miles from where this clock sat and would inevitably be awakened at midnight by the chiming of this monster clock. I would cover my head with my pillow and pull up the covers to insulate myself from the ghastly clanging. It never really worked, so after I mentioned it, my grandmother rigged the chimes so they wouldn't chime. However, I still didn't like the big, scary clock in the foyer. It literally wrecked one of my afternoons.
My grandfather was a doctor. He was likely to write a prescription for a highball rather than an antibiotic. He was happy to give me cream soda and let me ride standing in the front seat of his big boat of a car while he went on a beer run. Eventually, I begged for a sip of his beer and he relented. Whatever beer he drank really hit the spot for this 4 year old! Fast forward a few days, my dad and I are getting some sun in my grandmother's gigantic garden. It seems a block away from the house. My dad asks me to get him a beer. I can do that. Off to the house I go to get the beer and a cream soda for myself. I get the beer and open it and drink about half. I take the half full beer, or half empty, however, you look at it, to my dad. He doesn't say anything. Later he asks if I will get him another. Ok, no big deal. I run the half block to the kitchen and return with another half full beer for him. He is starting to get a little suspicious of his 4 year old daughter. By now, I am getting a little antsy. Not in a falling down drunk stupor, more of, "I need to pee and I need to pee NOW." I ask my dad to take me to the bathroom because even at 4, I wasn't into peeing outside. He tells me just to go. I don't budge. See, the bathroom in the front hall sits directly across from the biggest, loudest grandfather clock in the world. Whether it is chiming or not, I am terribly afraid of this clock. What to do?
After mulling this journey of probable doom, in which I encounter the clock from hell, I decide that it is impossible to wait any longer, lest I have my young kidneys explode. I run as fast as my 4 year old legs will carry me, right past the evil clock to the bathroom with the ugly lanoleum floor. I lift up my dress and proceeded to pee all over the floor! Everyone got a laugh at the girl who peed on the bathroom floor after drinking too much of her dad's beer. Oddly enough, this story still comes up, 35 years later. Damn, clock...

Pen Ultimate

The other day at lunch, a friend gave me a piece of paper that set my heart aflutter! It was but a small paper but thrilled me nonetheless. What exactly could change me from a normal person to a woman with a burning desire to go to an office supply store? A coupon for retractable Sharpies! A pack of multicolored fun! Doodling for hours! All of this fun for $2 a pack! With a limit of 2 packs! WOOHOO! There are few things that are more fun than a bunch of cool pens. I was ready to head over to make the purchase right then, lunch or no lunch. Lest my excitement make my friend want to commit me to the nearest psych ward, I grabbed the coupon and anxiously waited to head across the parking lot to the office supply store. Upon our arrival, we found the shelves empty, apparently the pens are being phased out. After a few calls by a gracious store employee, we scored with the last 4 remaining packs in all of Wichita. Battling the Kellogg/Rock intersection proved hazardous as many a U turn occured. Then, there was the elderly lady that cut me off, but no worries, I was on my way for pens! I happily paid the $4 for my $50 worth of pens and went home. The possiblities are endless and I can't wait to try them all out. I'm not sure when I developed this odd pen fetish. If it looks cool, I will ask to take it. I have pens from all types of businesses, including my doctor's office. Dr. Gary was kind enough to give me a pen with a big, purple nose on it. I cherish each pen like it has some intrinsic value, which I suppose it doesn't. Luckily, I know others that are afflicted with this same pen weirdness that I posess, so I don't feel quite as bad. Pen lovers unite!

Art?

On our way to school each day, we pass an art school called Monart. The marquee says they can teach anyone to draw. Well... I have always wanted to learn to draw. Max went there for a few lessons and came home with some pretty neat drawings. I took art in school since you had to and that is the only reason. I have never been too gifted with a pencil or paintbrush. My mom is talented but I didn't inherit any of that gift and sometimes I wonder if odd shapes painted on a canvas is really art or not. Playing Pictionary with my dad and myself can be a challenge even for someone into abstract art. My dad actually tried to pass off a circle with a line under it for a tree. Not that I am a Rembrandt myself, my stick figures are even poor. So, maybe when I become rich, I will take some art lessons to improve my scary stickmen, or maybe not.