Not Very Extreme Makeover

We are officially more than halfway done with 2014, and I am so happy to be on the downward slope of this dog turd of a year.

Seriously, is 2014 the worst or WHAT? For me at least, the first six months of this toilet bowl was lined with nothing but bad news, bad luck, heartache, headaches and overall foul-smelling refuse. NOT TO BE DRAMATIC.

But now that we are over the hump, I am DETERMINED to make the second half of 2014: The Dumbest Shit Known to Man, a real winner.

I’ve started out my quest for better times with a bit of a makeover of sorts. Let’s see if you can tell what I had done.

Here’s a before shot:

Just me, always classy.

Just me, always classy.

And here’s an after:


I almost look like a decent human here.

Other than the fact that I’m not chin-deep in a pint glass, can you tell the difference??

Can ya??

I’ll give ya hint.

I had that red mole cut off.

(I didn’t say it would be a good hint.)

Yes, I went under the knife with a plastic surgeon, as women of a certain age and class do in their lives. But unlike any of the Real Housewives, I can still blink and breathe through my nose after my procedure, so take THAT LuANNE! (is she even still on there? No clue.)

So yea, I finally had it done. It’s weird, I mean, as much as I focus on my make-up and hair (basically 75% of my waking time, TBH), the mole never really bothered me, even though it has always been a pretty obvious thing. I remember in college once, I was eating at Applebee’s (because POOR) and this idiot waitress made a beeline to my high-top bar table to tell me I had ketchup on my head. Girl, no. I get ketchup on my SHIRT, not my face. I’m not an animal, FFS.

And don’t even get me started with kids. Kids LOVE pointing out the Big Red Dot. The toddler crew is always like “You got boo-boo?” “Boo-boo hurt?” “You need Band-Aid?” And since toddlers are always on repeat, I would hear this every day when I picked up Simon from preschool about 65 times.

This year, I got to experience it with Declan’s kindergarten class, and boy, let me tell you, if you have a flaw, 6-YEAR-OLDS WILL LET YOU KNOW ABOUT IT. Toughen up, Class Moms and Dads, because a class of kindergartners will dash your self-esteem for good!

A couple of his classmates would ALWAYS ask me about it, point blank. “Hey, Declan’s Mom! What’s on your head, that is super weird.” I finally told one boy it was my Power Button, which he found funny but then always wanted to push it, which meant everyone else wanted to play Poke the Grown-Up in the Face, and that is typically disruptive to the school day. So that needed to stop.

Anyway, I guess after a solid school year of being told my face was weird, I got to thinking about why I was walking around with a glob of ketchup on my head, so I figured I’d get it sliced off. It took about 15 minutes, and the plastic surgeon was nice enough to inform me that the “scar will blend right in with the other lines on my forehead,” which I think was his way of attempting an up-sale, but either way, it’s gone now.

Here I am, all tattered and torn. And numb, which made me have sad eyes for like 5 days.

Here I am, all tattered and torn. And numb, which made me have sad eyes for like 5 days.

The OTHER big makeover news is the growing out of the hair is now done and will never been seen again.

I’m really pretty angry at all of you for not stopping me at some point. Because guys? My hair has looked like a pit of despair for a good year, and none of y’all said a THING. I finally came to terms that no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to look like this:

Never me.

but instead will always look like this:

Not even that good, honestly.

So I’ve accepted my fate as being the Girl Who Looks Better with Short Hair, and I am so ok with that. You gotta know what works and what doesn’t, and my hair does best the less of it that there is. Here’s the before and after hair from last week:





Pardon the Bitchy Resting Face.

Pardon the Bitchy Resting Face.

So now that I’ve got a whole new look, I’m going to make sure I have a whole new OUTLOOK to go with it! I plan on making the rest of 2014 much less horrible than the first part. I hope I don’t have to keep cutting things for that to happen, though. I’m not really into that.

Southern Living

You guys, living in the South cracks me up. I love the random Southern Fried cast of characters you run into on any given day in the South. Every region has their own flavor, I know, but ours is just SO endearing.

Today, for example, I had an appointment at the dermatologist office. At check-in, I was greeted by THE MOST made-up and bedazzled woman I’ve seen in weeks (I can’t say “I’ll ever see” because fair season is just around the corner). She had on at least 4 shades of eyeshadow, and that doesn’t include her eyebrow shade. Lipstick perfectly filling in the lines carefully drawn around her mouth. The brightest shade of purply-pink blush to go with her stiffly-coiffed and bright orange-with-bleach-blonde-highlighted hair. Her reading glasses were bejeweled expertly to match her tunic, also glitzy. Her acrylic nails were the perfect shade for summer: neon coral and 4 inches long and were a perfect compliment to her massive blue topaz (?) stone on one hand, and blindingly shiny diamonds on the other.

She was perfection.

Her accent was great, too. I’m sure people who have never spent time in the South think we either sound like Scarlett O’Hara or Boss Hog. Believe it or not, there’s nuance to our accents, and they are very distinct to us. Now, this lady was ALL Tennessee Business. Slopping sugar ALL over everybody. She spoke slowly and loudly on the phone, sprinkling in some “Honey” and “Sweetie” where she could.

I had to wait quite a while, so I got to listen to her banter with her coworkers. She was a hoot (see how Southern I am?) to listen to. Asking her other receptionist “Honey, how were those hot dawgs last niiiet? Were they SO GOOD?” Or “Miss Janie, THAINK EWE for making this CAWFEE! I was about to just fall out asleep!” And when she took a sip from her (purple, natch) straw cup, she did it with such focus, such determination to NOT SMUDGE HER LIPSTICK that I was in awe. It was like watching a flower bloom in reverse or something.

Sadly, I was finally called back to see about getting a mole cut off (good news! It requires a plastic surgeon so they don’t destroy my face) and all I had to look at in the exam room was the Wart Forms, which had almost NO bedazzling at all, and that made me sad.


The opposite of glamour.

The opposite of glamour.

So shine on, Southern Receptionist Lady. I may slap on an extra coat of, well, everything today, just to be more like you.

I’m So Vain That I Acted Like a Huge Butthole

So yea.

I’ve been really lucky in my blogging experience that I have never dealt with anger or “trolls” or any of the other negative aspects that come from pouring your life out onto the internet for the world to stomp through.

At least not to my face.

But I get hit HARD today when I shared my last post on The Powder Room, the Jezebel subblog I’ve been writing for.

I mean, HARD.

At first, I was defensive. Why were these women so mad?? I was writing about something GOOD. Loving ourselves! Self-esteem! Supporting women!

Then I was embarrassed. OMG, they think I’m horrible. They think I’m this narcissistic, navel-gazing diva who thinks all women should subscribe to society’s standards and if you don’t, you’re worthless. I wanted to just pull the post down. I didn’t want to address the comments. What could I say? I felt like I was being chased by a mob with pitch forks!

Me, like a million times today.

After that, I thought, well, welcome to the big time! Any writer who’s been doing it long enough gets destroyed by the commenters! Maybe this means I’ve made it!

Instead of ignoring the comments, though, I read them all (ALL negative. ALL.) and responded. I listened (well, read, but with an open mind) to what they were saying, I clarified when they missed something, tried to explain my tone/personality where I could and I considered each comment carefully.

Most of them were totally right.

I came off as smug. Unsupportive. Shaming.

The exact OPPOSITE of what I wanted. And rather than run from the comments, I’m engaging them. Responding. Apologizing where necessary. But most importantly, I’m learning.

Discourse isn’t a bad thing, especially with writing. And if the comments were a mix of bad and good, I’d say “cool, a discussion.” But the overwhelming negativity says to me that I missed the mark in a HUGE way. Now, people that know me personally would hopefully know that while I may be full of myself, I’m not about shaming people. But if you don’t know me? Yea, that post was a stinker. And many of my readers on this side of things may have thought the same thing. I wouldn’t blame them.

I could pull it down and hope it’s forgotten, but that’s just giving into my vanity. Instead, I’m going to keep it up (and own up to this) as a reminder that words can hurt, even if you don’t mean them to, and that I need to be more aware of my own privilege in this world.

This event happens at such an interesting time in my life. I’ve put a real focus this year on surrounding myself with positive influences instead of negative. I am trying to be kinder and gentler and more supportive. So to know that I just put something out there that ENRAGED a group of women hurts, but I think it’s important for my journey.

So mark this one down on the calendar: today is the day that rather than tell you how kick-ass I am (and you, too), this is the day I shut up and listen.

I’m So Vain, I Totally Know This Post Is About Me

So over the weekend, I posted this photo of myself to Facebook, as we are all wont to do on the regular now.

Humblebragging all over this place.

Humblebragging all over this place.

It’s a damn good photo, right? I mean, am I allowed to say that? Because don’t we all try to only post damn good photos? In the age of digital photography, there is almost no excuse to ever see a BAD photo of anything, especially of ourselves (and if you are one of those people continuously posting blurry and dark photos on Facebook, I’m judging you. Full on judgment.)  I mean, even if someone else takes the photo, if it’s not good, you can untag yourself or pull it off your wall, etc. No evidence of Crazy Eyes! Bad pallor is gone thanks to your fave Instagram filter! Weird hair sticking out? Crop it! Read More

Just Ignore Everything I Said

Good news, folks! I accepted a job offer today! I’ve only been out of a job for a month and haven’t really been looking, and BAM, a job. Buy me a lottery ticket, I’m a lucky, lucky girl.

The new gig? Well, funny you should ask. Remember how before, I was all “NO MORE SOCIAL MEDIA JOBS!” and how I was like “I don’t know what I want to do, but I know what I don’t want — social media!!”? HAHAHAHAHAHA you guys totally fell for that trick!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So yea, I’m back doing social media!! Read More

NPH says it best.

Let It Be

Recently, a friend asked me for some parenting advice (RAISE YOUR STANDARDS, PEOPLE) in regards to her young son, who will be attending a family wedding soon and wants to wear something “pretty and sparkly like his sisters.” She knows Declan is forever in a dress of some variety at my house, despite a 36-hour reprieve from doing so last fall, and wanted my input on the situation.

Even though Declan sleeps most every night in a dress and quite often puts one on the minute he walks in the door from school, we don’t ever deal with the issue of wearing one out in public. Read More

You Jezebel!

Um, I don’t mean to BRAG but my latest post can be found at a little tiny website called freakin JEZEBEL.

No biggie.

Yea, I’m pretty stoked. I threw my hat in the ring to be a contributor to Jezebel’s new sub-blog, the Powder Room.  It’s basically just a place where frequent commenters on the Jezebel/Gawker, etc. sites can publicize their thoughts more than just in the comment section. Anyway, I was pretty thrilled to be chosen just to do that, and had no real hope of ever making it to the main page. Even after posting this, I was reading some of the other Powder Room writers, and they were covering such meaty topics as gay rights, depression and an always-popular topic, Game of Thrones. I thought “Well, here goes nothing” and waited on the lead balloon to be a dud. Read More

When I Grow Up …

During a play date this morning, my two friends and I were discussing careers and how none of us have one (OTHER THAN RAISING OUR CHILDREN WHICH WE KNOW IS THE GREATEST AND MOST REWARDING JOB ON EARTH, haters), and how none of us have a clue what we should be doing. Which is a cute concept when you are 19, but we are all in our 30s, and just like short shorts and beer bongs, it just doesn’t work at our age. Read More

Don’t Be Afraid of Worms

Remember the movie Roxanne? Where Steve Martin has that huge nose and he’s in love with Darryl Hannah and there’s a hot firefighter and I’m not really sure what else… something about Cyrano de Bergerac. I’m not Ebert, ok? RIP, by the way. Anyway, there’s a scene that I do remember, and that’s where Hot Firefighter is trying to apologize for something stupid he said to Madison the Mermaid, and Steve Martin is feeding him the right thing to say, but he mishears him and proclaims that he’s “AFRAID OF WORMS, ROXANNE! I’M AFRAID OF WORMS!” Laughter ensues and I’m sure many, many Oscars were won because that is a stellar freaking line right there. Read More

Living Single — The B Side

So yesterday we all had a good laugh at the fact that my whole life is a lie and my marriage is a sham. Good times. And while I have to say, as far as shitty things go, this IS a pretty funny experience, in that it’s so unheard of, so random and so nonsensical that laughing is the only reaction that seems to make sense.


But there is a flip side to this coin; a more serious, a slightly romantic (ugh, I know) and somewhat poignant story that goes along with the laughing and the absurdity of it all. And I’d be remiss not to talk about it, too. Read More