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?

Just Say "No"

stuff
Noun

1. any collection of unnamed things
2. substance or material
3. a disease common to the packimus ratimus, characterized by a colossal collection of unnamed things made of substance or material

Have you ever noticed that certain people have a knack for knickknacks? They seem to naturally attract "stuff." As the north end attracts the south end of a magnet, as a proton attracts an electron, or as an Asheville hippie attracts a Volkswagen bus, a Nalgene water bottle, and a banjo.

Well, never fear! After a lifetime of research, I have discovered the cause of this dreaded disease.

It's called "Yes."

The reason that so many packamus ratimi have such an abundance of stuff is that they have become a dumping ground for all of their brother's, neighbor's, and brother's neighbor's gobbledeegook. They're jest a gurl (or boy) who cain't say "no."

So, if the disease is caused by "yes" and the cure may be found in "no," how do we teach our friends and loved ones to embrace the "no"? Here are some things that you can do to help.

1. Don't give them any more stuff. If you do, you are officially what 12-step programs refer to as an "enabler." If you must give them something, give them something perishable, like a box of Godiva chocolates. Or, if that is still too much for them to handle, give me a box of Godiva chocolates.
2. If they try to give their stuff to you, receive it with a smile and a "thank you" and then... promptly take it to Goodwill.
3. Unless, of course, you yourself are a packimus ratimus, in which case "Just Say No" to the substances that are being offered to you. If need be, you may call your sponsor for moral support.
4. Engage them in mediation, or what my hubby refers to as "positive manipulation." This is where you lovingly plant sneaky little seeds of "no" in their mind regarding their stuff or their potential stuff. For example, "Mom, having a giant Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pin hanging on your kitchen wall isn't quirky. It's tacky and weird."
5. Finally, if you are a packimus ratimi, let the cycle of addiction stop with you. Admit that you need help, and seek the assistance of a trained professional. Don't allow this disease to be passed along to the next generation.

King Kong and the Almighty List

An old friend of mine has a brother who was obsessed with King Kong. It's all he could think about. King Kong, King Kong, King Kong. The words echoed endlessly around in his head.

We've all been guilty of King Konging. There is that important something we need to remember to do, that crucial item that we must buy the next time we are at the place we buy things, and that certain place we are supposed to be on a certain day at a certain time to meet a certain person.

These thoughts hit you without warning, like a run by fruiting.

You see the plant. The plant is wilting. Poor, poor plant. If only someone would water the plant. Water the plant, water the plant, water the plant...

What am I going to make for dinner? Meatball grinders. But wait, I'm out of spaghetti sauce! Spaghetti sauce, spaghetti sauce, spaghetti sauce...

It's her birthday? Why didn't she tell me! How am I supposed to get her a card with a whoopee cushion in it if she doesn't let me know! I can't forget again! December 10th, December 10th, December 10th...

Are you catchin' my Frisbee? You are?

Well, never fear! The Almighty List is here!

All you need to do to take your King Konging captive is WRITE IT DOWN! And not on something that you are gonna lose, wash, or blot your lipstick on either.

Put it in its home, for Pete and Pete's sake. In your Palm Pilot, in your day timer, on your listy list list paper. As a fellow King Konger, I love me some lists and here are some reasons why you should love lists, too.

1. A list saves you time by answering the one question that of all my fellow seniles ask themselves upon entering a room: "What did I come in here for again?"
2. A list saves you money because you won't have to wander around the big box store pretending to look purposeful as you wrestle with the aforementioned question. We all know that as you do, you will inevitably fill your buggy with all kinds of things you never knew you needed before. All I can say is Sham Wow!
3. A list gives priority. Rank the things on your list so that when you find yourself wondering what you should do next, you can just remember what my favorite Spice Girl Elizabeth Elliot would say: "Do the next thing."
4. A list gives you focus. Hey, look at that bright and shiny object! Exactly. See why you need the list?
5. But, most importantly, a list saves you from yourself. It clears your mind, eliminates "King Konging," and helps you to accomplish the task at hand.

So, stop whatever it is that you are doing, and make a list! Unless, of course, it is not the next thing listed on your listy list list...

The tardy of my party

I inherited many things from my parents: a Roman nose from my dad, a tendency toward risque commentary from my mom , and hobbit hair from both of them.

However, I also acquired their addiction to tardiness.

Tardiness an addiction? Heck, yeah! Anything that you do repeatedly for a high is a drug of choice, my fellow junkie.

No amount of tisking or scolding ("Being late is being selfish because you are essentially saying that your time is more important than everyone else's time!") could break me of my habit. And though my level of lateness might be viewed as much improved over my family as I tend to be only minutes as opposed to hours late for things, late is late no matter what the time frame.

So, one of my goals for 2008 was to be on time. And something that I have learned about goal setting is that there is a right way and a wrong way to do it. Done right, goals can be a blessing, bringing focus and purpose to my days. But done wrong, it becomes a burden, bringing all of the guilt, self-condemnation, and frustration associated with the New England variety of the Roman Catholic faith.

So, how does one do it right? Along with your goals, you need to outline what-the-poo-you-are-going-to-do in order to achieve the goals. And as it turns out, everything you really needed to know you totally learned in, you guessed it, Kindergarten.

So, here are my Top 5 Tips For Getting Yourself Safely and Stylingly Out o' yo' Pad in the Wee Small Hours of the Morning. Here's a hint: It has everything to do with what you did the day before.

1. Set out your school clothes. Pre-assembling an outfit to wear to work in the PM = your socks will actually match in the AM. Yay-you can dress yourself!
2. Pack your play clothes. These are for a little game I like to call, "Using my fear of getting fat to motivate myself to move keester in such a way and at such a rate as to cause all of the water inside my body to relocate to the outside" aka exercising. Get your gym clothes together lest the coach make you borrow someone else's.
3. Make your lunch. To make a lunch requires food. This may necessitate going shopping for Lunchables and juice boxes, as well as procuring yourself a "My Little Pony" lunchbox to put it in. And if you don't have one, I'll let you borrow mine.
4. Prep your sippy cup. It could be coffee, a water bottle, or a dirty martini with dry vermouth and an olive. Just get your drinky poo ready, alright?
5. Set out your Flintstones Chewables. In other words, divvy out your mornin' meds. I have a jumbo-sized senior citizen drug dealer in which I put my daily supplements. 10 million strong and growing!

Now, to wrap it all up in a neat little bow, set all of the non-perishables and non-wearishables you need to accompany out of the house by the front door - your play clothes, purse/manbag, can of Tang, etc. That way as you run out the door to catch the big yellow school bus, you won't leave home without it.

Now have fun, learn lots, and play nice with the other kids.

Yet another shameless plug

I don't even pretend to know what the boys are talking about as I sit in on my honey's Podcast, Chicken Pop Pod. Check it, yo'!

Tradition!

Yesterday we put up our Christmas tree.

'Tis tradition. The tree goes up on Thanksgiving and comes down the day after Jesus' birthday. It makes my happy hobbit hole smell like a Pine Sol Yankee Candle, with its glowing pearl lights, shiny red and turquoise bead garlands, and a hodgepodge of ornaments ranging from jingling bells to dangling balls to wild African animals.

But, there is a an expanse under my tree - a place where the presents should be. And, as a professional present-planner/list-maker/hunter-gatherer, one would think that all my shopping would be signed, sealed, delivered and yours.

But let me tell you somethin', Skippy Menendez. If you think that you have a tricky time with your Christmas shopping, try purchasing presents as a socially conscious minimalist with an iddy biddy budget.

The gift has gotta have purpose and meaning. It's gotta be something that they will like or that they will use. I can't get them another sit-around that they are just going to Goodwill after reading my blog. Or a do-hickey made in less-than-ideal labor conditions that will haunt my conscience every time I watch What Would Jesus Buy? Or something swanky that is beyond my non-profit budget.

So, let me help you help me. Here are my top 5 picks for Christmas gifts for this and all subsequent holiday seasons.

1. A Book: Some Smarty McFly said that the two things that will determine who you are by this time next year are the people that you hang out with and the books that you read. So, stop pondering giving the people that you hang out with that life-changing book that you just read. Give it to them. They just might read it, and it just might change their lives, too.
2. An Indulgence: Everyone has something that they love to do or buy or go to in order to treat themselves. The problem is, they feel a tad bit guilty about spending the extra dosh on it, especially during what some people are calling a recession, but what I like to call "learning to actually live within your means." So, find out what they love and take away the guilt by spending your moolah on it instead.
3. A Charity: As residents of the wealthiest nation on the planet, is there anything that we truly "need?" Methinksnot. So, find an awesome charity that empowers those living in poverty and honor your friends and family by giving a monetary donation in their name.
4. A Sweet: Fudge, truffles, toffee. Easy, yummy, cheap. Get thee to it, Julia Child.
5. A Gift Card: It seems like a cop-out, but here's the dealio-yo. The real steals are to be had AFTER Christmas has passed. So, instead of buying them that black petite merino wool crewneck sweater size XS from Banana Republic right now, wait until after the hollerdays are over, and they can get three for the price you would have paid for the one. And we all know how some people feel about getting deals on sweaters.
   

I hope this helps. And I hope you are not into surprises, because now all y'all know what you are getting from us for Christmas.

The Crying Indian

I have this friend.

He is a slob.

If you think this friend is you, you are right. It is. But he is also eight other friends of yours.

I looked up the definition of "slob." The primary definition came as no surprise: "a lazy or untidy person." But what caught my attention was the thesaurus' take on a slob. A synonym for slob?: "A litterbug."

Interesting.

So I looked up "litter." Litter is defined as "a disorderly accumulation of objects; a pile; carelessly discarded refuse."

Where does the modern-day slob litter? Why, in the comfort and convenience of his own home, of course. His home is a disorderly pile of carelessly discarded refuse.

How and why does this happen? Because the slob doesn't have the maturity to put things away.

I realized at an early age that life can be entirely defined by putting things away. Putting food in your mouth, putting knowledge in your brain, putting dirt in the vacuum cleaner, putting words and thoughts on paper or within hearing, and putting loving kisses on the cheeks of family and friends.

The cure for the slob's pile is simple. After you are done using something, PUT IT AWAY. I'm not saying to HIDE it away. Do not throw it in the junk drawer, hide it in the spare room, or shove it in your shoving place. Put it away where it belongs. Put it in the dishwasher, put it in the recycling bin, put it in the Goodwill box.

If you are "too busy" to do so, that only points out another layer of immaturity within you. It's called the inability to say the word "No." "No" to playtime, "No" to naptime, and "No" to the three other jobs that no one forced you to take on in the first place. Stop behaving like a child who doesn't want to clean up his toys and put it away.

The Crying Indians in your life will thank you.

Going postal

Christmas time is here,
Happiness and cheer,
Fun for all that children call
their favorite time of year.

How do I know?

Is it the snowflakes in the air? The carols everywhere? The olden times and ancient rhymes, and love and dreams to share?

Nope.

Well then, is it the Trans Siberian Orchestra's version of Carol of the Bells that makes Target feel less like peace on Earth and goodwill toward men, and more like the panic associated with impending nuclear holocaust? Or maybe the presence of TMX Elmo Extreme-to-the-Max-Times-Infinity with extra batteries included? Or is it the creepy Christmas decorations that have already invaded the neighbors front lawn?

Uh-uh.

It's catalogs. It's lots and lots of catalogs.

Now don't get me wrong. Christmas is good times. LOVE giving. Big fan of Christ. But, when I open my snail mail box, I ain't finding the good Lord inside. It's more like a colorful cornucopia of card stock in there. I'm talkin' Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, LL Bean, IKEA, Delias, Urban Outfitters, Fossil, Godiva, Sephora, Sundance, and Archie McFee.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Who the poo is Archie McFee? Wouldn't you like to know...

It's not till the season of shopping and returning that you realize how many catalogs you are "subscribed" to. I say "subscribed" because I know I never asked for these catalogs. Your catalog "subscription" is launched whenever you place an order.

And what are the majority of them good for, besides kindling?

Hello: lavatory literature.

Now let's be honest. Some of them you just like to have lingering in the loo. Not because you are going to order anything from them, but because you want the other people who use your potty to know that you are the type of person who would order something from that catalog.

It's an identity thing.

And it's a waste of paper. So when the mailman cometh, as you make the trip from your mailbox to your front door, open up your cell phone, call their customer service representative and have them take you off of their mailing list. Better yet, have them put you on their "suppression" list if you can. That way, when you place another order with that company, they won't just automatically throw you on their mailing list again.

They'll at least think about it for a minute before they throw you on their mailing list again.

Or, if you would like to be removed from a bunch-o-lists at once, check out the DMAchoice website. It's too legit to quit and will cut your mail significantly.

And if you are wondering what to get me for Christmas, here's a hint.