I Feel Pretty & Witty & Bright!

Do you ever have thoughts that you just can't stop thinking, and you know you won't stop thinking them until you get them out of your head and write down on paper?

No?

Well, too bad because now you are going to be subjected to my listy list of things that have made me prettier than I used to be.

Maybe you think I'm shallow. But, I think you are going to read it anyway because you want to be prettier than you used to be, too! So, what do you think of them apples?

(What in the world could that phrase possibly mean?)

Anywho,

-Exercise: Let's face it - most clothes are made for Amazonian girls who lack both butt and boobs. So I might as well shoot for best two out of three and be able to wear most of it. Or, since they are generally also short and lack the latter two, at least the children's version.

-A padded bra: Speaking of boobs, a good friend once informed me that ladies and gentleman and children of all ages could easily perceive that I was cold...all the time...and not just because my knuckles and knees were purple, neither. It's okay, though, cuz I love makin' mountains out of molehills...

-Not eating everything all the time: The Bible says to pray without ceasing. Well honey, I could eat without ceasing, especially anything involving a chip, be it potato or chocolate. Uh-oh. Let's all pray without ceasing that no one ever invents chocolate chip potato chips!

-ProActiv: It's the only thing I've ever ordered off an infomercial, and it's the only thing that has ever worked for me. Ever. And believe me, I've tried everything.

-Dihydrogen monoxide: What's not to love? It can exist in all three states of matter without much ado, it's the universal solvent, and it makes your pee clear. If that weren't enough, it's so cheap, it's practically free. Break me off a piece of THAT!

-Hydrogen peroxide: Speaking of cheap liquids, I love me the one in the brown bottle. Let's do some chemistry: a half a cap of hydrogen peroxide + a half a cap of dihydrogen monoxide + swish, spit, and rise = pearly whites and fresh breath. Don't believe me? Read the ingredients on those fancy pants tooth whiteners. For real - you should try it.

-Sunscreen: It must be working because my face has yet to even remotely resemble an Italian leather purse.

-Sleep: You'll never know how important it is until you're not getting any. Having had bouts of insomnia that have lasted for months, I can vouch that there is indeed such a thing a “beauty sleep.”

-Waxin' & tweezin': I come from a long line of hobbits. Nuf said.

-Finally figuring out how to do my do: Only the other sistas out there sportin' their jheri curl can sympathize: naturally curly hair is hair is picky and fickle. It's pickle, y'all! And if you don't treat it right, you might as well dye it red and start singin' “Tomorrow!” cuz it's gonna be a hard knock life.

-Wearing clothes that actually fit: As opposed to diving into the size 14 husky pants I used to buy on sale at Gap Kids. True story.

-Jesus: Now, I know that this is the Vacation Bible School answer, but that doesn't make it any less true. There is a beauty and confidence that can only come from knowing that you are right with the Almighty, that He loves you, and that He has amazing things planned for you.

-Learning how to wear makeup: This is not a skill I acquired from momma Olive. I do believe that she is still sportin' the olive green eye shadow and coral lipstick she bought out of guilt upon attending an Avon party in 1974.

-Braces: They fixed my teeth just enough to keep Buffy from slaying me, but not enough for me to be able to bite into a sandwich, or consequently, my finger nails.

-My husband: Let's face it – being in love makes you pretty. Especially if you are in love with a metrosexual who likes to take you dress shopping.

I'm sure that there are many more, but that's about as fer as I can go. If you think of any that I forgot, feel free to share. Because, as my husband and the Care Bears always say, "Sharing is caring." The more you know.

Yet Another Reason That Barney Sucketh

Do you remember that song that Barney used to sing, "The Song That Never Ends?" No? Well, allow me to refresh your memory:

This is the song that never ends.
Yes, it goes on and on my friends.
Some people started singing it not knowing what it was,
And they'll continue singing it forever just because this the song that never ends..."

Now before you get all hatin' on me for getting that catchy tune lodged in your cranium, I will tell you a story.

The other day, my hubby finally finished editing all the pics on our digital camera. I thought to myself, "What a relief! Now we can check this suckuh off of the "To Do" list and move on with our lives!"

But, when I went to cross it off, I realized that I couldn't actually check it off. I could only modify it to "Order the pictures."

And after we ordered the pictures, somebody had to pick them up, and then sort them chronologically, and put them in the scrapbook, but we ran out of glue, so I had to buy a glue stick, and then we ran out of room in the scrapbook, so I had to buy a new scrapbook and then...

Doesn't it ever seem like the more you do, the more you have to do?

I once read that the "To Do" list is a modern day rendition of the story of Sisyphus. To refresh your memory from your 7th grade studies of Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a king whose punishment was to roll a boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, and be forced to repeat this task for eternity. Today, the word Sisyphean is used to describe doing something that is unending, repetitive, or unfulfilling.

And now for the question: What tasks in your life are unending, repetitive, unfulfilling, and just plain Sisyphean?

Now, before you get all Greek tragedy on me, here is a ray-of-light.

Unlike Sisyphus, you have a choice.

You don't have to roll that boulder up the hill if you don't want to. Is this a task that you actually have to do, like paying your power bill, or something that you feel you should do, like maintaining a scrap book? If it's not necessary, and it's not bringing you fulfillment, stop doing it!

Also, as with "The Song That Never Ends," there was a point where some people started singing it. So, before you roll that boulder, think about the consequences.

Do you really want to start singing that song?

Dishin' out the dirt

I teach kids about dirt.

It's true. I teach 1st and 3rd graders about soil. They get to touch 4 different types of soil with their hands, look at them with their eyes, sniff them with their noses, and listen to them with their ears. They even get to learn all about the four ingredients that make the perfect soil, and then right there before their very eyes, we actually make the perfect soil.

And the kids cheer.

Loudly.

Every time.

I'm not gonna lie to you - it's pretty magical.

A couple of weeks ago, I took my show on the road. I drove an hour and a half away to teach 100 kids about soil. When I got there, I realized I had forgotten something.

My dirt.

Did I mention I was over an hour away from my museum?

Now, before you get so sweaty palmed that we could grow rice in your hands, I was able to improvise with some sand and clay I just happened to have on me.

But here is the question: How could this have happened to a seasoned professional like myself?

Let's get all Nancy Drew and investigate the evidence at the scene of the crime.

You see, that same weekend my honey and I were co-hosting a party, so I had to remember to borrow the card tables from the museum, and then the following Monday I was scheduled to teach a new program on the constellations of the ecliptic, and so I needed to remember to bring home the lesson plan, card stock, laminating sheets, and laminating machine. And then "this shark chased us, and we tried to, but we couldn't, and he 'Grrr!' and we 'Whoa!' and then we were safe. But then this seagull came and it was, 'This is this and that is that...'"

I had too much going on.

And it's in those times that I often forget about the most important things, like being nice to my husband, calling to say I will be late for an important appointment, spending time with my God, and even packing a ginormous orange tote full of soil.

And I know you. You're busy, too.

So I'd challenge you to pause a moment and ask yourself: Got dirt?

The Best Laid Plans OR Spontaneous Combustion

The first science day camp I ever ran was well-planned. And by God we stuck to that plan. And at the end of camp the kids were...well...completely exhausted. And so was I.

Since that first camp, I have learned that sometimes...most times...fine, nearly all the time things are not going to go according to my plans. Especially when one is trying to herd twenty excited 7-9 year olds who are hyped up on Yogos and Capri Suns. Things are inevitably gonna happen that I could NEVER have planned for. And then I have to do something I was not originally wired to do: Be "spontaneous" and "flexible."

That being said, we recently had a snow day here in Downtown Asheville aka the driest region in the entire state of North Carolina (scientifically speaking). My plans for the day - doing my usual educational stand-up comedy shtick for elementary school children - were completely kaput. So what's a Connecticut Yankee living at the top of an icy hill to do?

I'll tell you what.

I found me some long johns, a cookie sheet, and a friend just crazy enough to join me and proceeded to tear up my corduroy pants, give myself road burn on my belly, and scream with laughter as I flew all the way down that icy hill.

That's what.

And it was so worth it.

Tongue

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

HA!

Whoever came up with that pile o' poo must have a clothing budget dedicated solely to trousers, because they be a lyin' and their pants be a burnin'.

Words are powerful.

And here is where it gets scary. We all have tongues.

All of us.

So, it's really up to us, isn't it?

Please check out this short film, Validation.

Because free parking really can change your life.

My DUI

Earlier this month, I decided to celebrate return your shopping cart to the supermarket month.

Not on purpose. And yes, this is a bona fide hollerday. Don't believe me? Well, take it up with brownielocks, you doubting Thomas.

Anywho, upon a recent visit to the market of super, I decided that instead of procuring a wagon from inside, I would retrieve one from the parking lot, or more specifically, the curb. The resulting injury may be explained according to the following equation:

Rotator Cuff + Shopping Cart = Sling-a-Ding-Ding

In order to expedite the healing of my injured cuff, my doctor recommended that I get a massage. And really, who am I to argue with a medical professional?

The night before my massage, my body, which was traveling from Downtown Asheville toward the West Side at a speed of 55 mph, was struck by a freight train traveling from Mucus Membrane to Nasal Passageway at speed of 90 mph. Suffice to say, I did not survive the impact of the word problem.

The day of my massage, I lay face down on the table and attempted to breath through my mouth as the therapist, a former baker, kneaded me like a loaf of Jewish Rye.

I arose from the massage to discover a solid string of snot that began at the tip of my nose ended...when it hit the floor. If that were not enough, I felt crazier than Vince Clortho Keymaster of Gozer. I was keenly aware of my own inability to operate heavy machinery, but lacking a designated driver, I climbed into my zippy little Civic and swerved homeward.

Although I arrived home reasonably intact, as I stumbled up the stairs of mi casa pequena and stared at my front door, a simple thought managed to permeate my drunkin' sailor stupor: I, Little Miss Naturally Organized Home, had lost my house keys. I lay down upon my front porch, wondering if this is what pregnancy brain would be like, and called the Gatekeeper, aka my husband.

What have I learned from all of this? Two things: 1. There is a very fine line that separates those who have a place for everything from those who throw everything all over the place, and on that fateful Friday, mine hung from my schnoz to the linoleum. And 2. Frig brownielocks and get your shopping cart from inside the grocery store like a normal person! Selah.

Nudists with raging bouts of indigestion and balding canines

Within our countries borders, there exists an inordinate number of nudists with raging bouts of indigestion and balding canines.

You've probably seen one today.

But you feel certain that you would recall a pantsless belcher toting a hairless hound.

Ah monsieur, it is not so easy. Yet, not only have you seen them, you may live next door to them, work with them, and have, like, totally sat behind them during the worst movie ever made ever.

But, you might not have recognized them...until you got into their car.

I'm not saying that the moment you established contact with their passenger seat they simultaneously stripped down to their skivvies, plucked their dog bare, and downed a Boneless Variety Bucket from KFC.

I'm saying the car looks like that is exactly what happened five minutes prior to your arrival, as their car overfloweth with dog hair, food wrappers, and an Imelda Marcos equivalent of wadded up clothes.

The scariest part is that the odds are pretty decent that you would find a similar fare were you to open their purse, or tour their office , or accept an invitation into their home.

So, here's the tough love question: Are you a nudist with raging bouts of indigestion and balding canines? In other words, are you (or should you) be embarrassed about the current state of your car, your house, and your purse? Pick a corner...

Parting thought: Do you remember the kid you went to school with that smelled funny, and then when you slept over his house, his house smelled funny, too?

Don't be that kid.

Uni-tasking

Last summer a local news station called my museum.

They wanted to do a piece on the (insert shameless plug here) science day camp that my museum has each summer. As we were talking, I was also attempting to cut and paste something within a Word document. As the conversation came to a conclusion, I said something to the effect of, "Great - we look forward to seeing you there. Paste!" And I hung up the phone.

PASTE?!

What could they possibly have thought I meant by that?

Now I realize that, as a female, I am supposed to be good at multitasking. We've spoken of this before, you and I.

But truth be told, if you try to engage me in a conversation while I am watching the little-people-who-live-in-the-box in our entertainment center, and you fail to say my name before you begin your monologue, you might as well not even be talking, toots, cause I won't hear a word.

And it's not because I don't want to. What you say is valuable and worth hearing (husband of mine); it's just that I physically/mentally/emotionally/spiritually can't.

This used to make me feel bad. But I've concluded that I'd rather do one thing right than do two things wrong.

So friends, please don't choo-choo-choose to buy into the idea that you HAVE to multitask to be a productive member of society. If your version of multitasking is like mine, it involves filing and buffing your husband's nails during long distance drives, listening to Chicken Pop Pod while making an ice cream cake, and doing lunges while the photocopier collating.

Okay, so maybe I am the only one who does those particular things at the same time.

The point is, I call it uni-tasking. And it is the Ice Cream of the Future.

Soundtrack

I have a soundtrack.

It's called "Tidy Up," and I regret that you can't buy it at your local FYE or on I-Tunes because it's freakin' awe-some.

"Tidy Up" is my personal compilation of rock 'em sock 'em songs that help me bust a move as I clean me casa pequena in a fashion muy rapido. My lucky ball and chain was good enough to burn it for me, much like a disco inferno.

Why? Oh, Peter Cotton Tail, we've been down this bunny trail before: Because I'm down with ADD, and I struggle to focus on the job to be done without being distracted by objects both bright and shiny.

Thankfully, my dear mother figured out something when I was a wee lass that helped me to tune in to the task at hand: If she turned everything into a game, I did it - Fast! Be it brushing my teething or making my bed, it was all a race, which mysteriously I somehow always won.

As I no longer live with my parents, I have determined a means by which to harness my power of competition by trying to beat something else:

Songs.

Can I get the bed made and the random pile-o-clothes folded and put away before Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back is over? There is only one way to find out...

Here are some of the greatest "Tidy Up" hits:

Holiday by Green Day
Hey Ya by OutKast
Beating Hearts Baby by Head Automatica
Dancing with Myself by Billy Idol
Your Love is Better Than Life by The Newsboys
Here it Goes Again by OK Go (still one of the cleverest music videos ever!)
Lump by The Presidents of the United States of America
You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record) by Dead or Alive

My suggestion? Make yourself a cleaning CD and crank that baby up. Can you get your dishwasher loaded before the Spice Girls finish singing "Wannabe?"

There is really only one way to find out.

Substitutions, please

Prepare for jealousy.

I have a Tupperware Citrus Peeler.

It's true. It's the only tupper I ware. And I love it. It does the job and it's super sturdy, too.

I know this because I accidentally dropped mine in the parking lot behind the Double Decker Coffee Coffee Co in downtown Asheville...and then ran over it with my car. When I found it the next day, it was a bit dinged, but totally intact. Take that, Nalgene!!!

Anywho, thanks to its peel-piercing goodness, I no longer have to use my claws to dig trenches in citrus skin. That's right - no more residual rind residue beneath these nails, Nancy - I've got the tool to kick any pomelo's peel!

You see, I'm not one of these die-hard "if it wuz good enuf fer my momma it's good enuf fer me" types. Being a teachable gal sans a southern twang, if I find something that works better than what I have been using, I will totally make a substitution.

So, in honor of the 43rd Bowl of Super and Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl, here is a listy list of some o' my favorite substitutions:

-E-cards for paper cards : saves you money, saves the planet, & saves your butt when you forget someone's birthday.
-Canvas bags for plastic bags : tests the skills of your grocery bagger & are sturdier to boot.
-Binder clips for chip clips : office supplies with culinary skeeells.
-Real maple syrup for (insert syrup name here) : just better in every way.
-Spinach for romaine : contains calcium, something my body needs any way. . . I like that.
-Correction tape for white out : addictive without the sniffing.
-One part hydrogen peroxide/one part water for whitening strips : whitens teeth & freshens breath on the cheap. Jus' swish and spit!
-Microfiber dish clothes for sponges : easier to clean with & easy to clean.
-Butter for margarine : yet another way to avoid eating plastic.
-Scour pads for steel wool: no more dishwashing induced rust splinters.
-One classic purse for twelve trendy bags : Lasts for-ev-er & no more outfit dependant content swappage.
-Hankies for tissues : okay, so maybe what was good enough for my mother IS good enough for me.

And, unlike the Super Bowl/Puppy Bowl, I managed to do it without advertising specific brands. Unless, of course, you count my one piece o' tupper.

Donde esta la biblioteca?

Speaking of taking a trip to your local library, I have to share one of my favorite public library finds.

And no, I am not talking about the time I checked out "Belly Laughs" by Jenny McCarthy, which is freakin' hilarious yo, and you should totally read it, but only if you have an internal bleepidy bleeper, cuz that gal cusses like a sailor.

Truth be told, this blog has nothing to do with actually going to the library. Neither does it have anything to do with being preggers, so put a cork in it, Zane and stop being such a gossip girl! I'm not pregnant.

It has to do with calling the library. Specifically the "Library Storyline For Kids."

Now, stay with me.

For some wonderful reason, the Friends of the Buncombe County Libraries has a free 24-hour phone number you can call to hear a prerecorded children's story read to you, voices and all.

And who doesn't need one of those sometimes, I ask you?

This week's story is "Snow Buntings Lullaby" from "Tuck-Me-In-Tales" by Margaret MacDonald. I'm pretty sure that this one is a rerun, but who cares? You get to hear a wonderfully crazy lady read you a bedtime story about a baby bird whose mommy sings him to sleep, only to have the song stolen by a naughty raven...

I don't want to give away the ending, though. You'll just have to call and find out for yourself.

828-251-5437

One last teaser: "Whose little toes are these? Whose little wings are these? Whose little beak is this? Are you asleep?"

Reso-My-Lution Part II

Have you ever noticed that some of the people in your life haven't changed a bit?

I have a theory about them. Brace yourself.

They are illiterate.

Not illiterate in the sense that they cannot read, but illiterate in the sense that they do not read.

And I'm not talking about reading e-mails or magazines or incredibly inspiring blogs written by itsy bitsy girls from North Cacalacky. I'm talking about reading an entire grown-up book from cover-to cover. They ain't doin' it.

How did I come up with this theory? Like I said in my previous blog: I steals 'em! Well, more like I do a dorky word problem.

I heard about a study that revealed that very few Americans read an entire book cover-to-cover after they graduate from high school. This excludes cell phone manuals and "Hop on Pop."

I added to that a paraphrased quote by an oh-fer-smart dead guy, John Wesley, "The person you will be a year from now is determined by the books that you read and the people that you hang out with."

And voila! Those high school friends who seem to be cryogenically frozen have not picked up a book since they moved their cap tassel from starboard to port.

Hence, another one of my goals this year is to read one book per month. Here's what I've got on the listy list thus far:

January: "48 Days to the Work You Love" by Dan Miller
February: Reread "9 Things You Simply Must Do to Succeed in Love and Life" by Dr. Henry Cloud
March: "In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day" by Mark Batterson

So, before this sounds any more like a Reading Rainbow book plug, sail on down to your local library or bookstore and pick up a book today. Duh-dunt-dunt!

Reso-My-Lution Part I

Happy New Years, kiddos! And you know what that means: It's time for New Year's resolutions. Yippee - yet another reason for nerds everywhere to make another listy list!!!

Every year my darling dearest and I perch in front of our previous year's resolutions, basking in the glory of the ones we achieved, and plotting vengeance against the ones that slipped through our fingers. We'll get you next time, goals...next time...

What do we list?

-Things we want to do
-Things we want to own
-Places we want to go

Where do I come up with such insightful inklings? I steals 'em! Okay, so it's not from Bob of Bob's Discount Furniture, you're welcome very much. I totally stole this format from another Bob, aka one of my boyfriends.

So what does 2009 hold for the Varney clan? I'll give you a brief glimpse of my own goals in the hopes you will be inspired to write down some resolutions of your own.

Do:
-read the entire Bible in one year
-learn how to rock climb
-write a stand-up comedy routine
-drive "politely"
-get preggers
Own:
-a new dishwasher
Go to:
-The City Museum

It's very, very important to write your goals down. And it's very, very, very important to create a plan on how you are going to achieve those goals.

How important?

In a famous study of Harvard's class of 1979, researchers found that 10 years after graduation, 3% of the class made 10 times as much money as the other 97% combined. The reason? The 3% had written goals and plans to achieve them.

That's how important.

Would you like borrow my pen?