DALLAS MAVERICKS SWEEP LAKERS 4-0!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dallas, 122
Lakers, 86

With raucous cheers and even a happy tear in my eye (I know, I know, I couldn't help it), my mom (who got a little teary-eyed as well...see, it runs in the family), dad, and I watched our Dallas Mavericks sweep the defending champion Los Angeles Lakers in spectacular fashion. I couldn't imagine a better time to watch our Mavs advance to the Western Conference Finals than on Mother's Day.

From the start, this game felt different...magical, even. The long-range shooting was something to behold. Jason Terry had a mind-numbing nine 3-pointers. The Mavs were 20 of 32, tying an NBA record for the most 3-pointers in a playoff game. Beautiful stuff.

I'm proud of how the Mavs maintained their cool when Odom took a cheap shot at Dirk and, again, after Bynum speared an airborne Barea, sending him hard to the floor. Really? Absolutely ridiculous to tarnish the game in that way. I believe it was Tirico who called the hit on Barea "disgusting."  It was a scary few moments, watching him motionless on the court, but, thankfully, he's okay.

Odom and Bynum were ejected from the game for their dirty play.  Kobe Bryant, both during and after the game, was a class act--maybe Odom and Bynum need to take a page from his playbook.

Mark Cuban--he looked so happy and proud of his team! Love how he loves the Mavs.

The whole team played with such heart...I gotta say it...I'm gonna say it...sorry in advance...

I love you, Mavs--always will, win or lose.

Um, I kinda want to hug 'em all. *hides ever-blushing cheeks*

Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas out there! Much love and respect for all you do!

WAY TO GO MAVS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Mavericks WIN GAME 5!!!!!!

Whoop! Whoop! Despite my slightly tight tummy...that is churning...with lingering game-time nerves...and too much chocolate...I'm bouncing! Now the series is 3-2, Mavericks.

I KNEW they could overcome Saturday's loss--that game was a gut check game, and they checked, cleared, and cashed in. Way to go, MAVS!!!!!!!!!!!! That's heart! Man, I WISH I could be there. Did y'all see those empty seats? Dang!

My mom called during the 4th and this is what I get:

Me: "Hello?"

Mom: "Shhhhhh."

Me: "Huh?"

Mom, whispering: "Have you seen the score?"

Me, whispering back: "Oh, yeah."

Mom, still whispering: "Okay, now, shhhhhhh. Maybe if we don't cheer loudly, they won't realize they have a massive lead."

I just burst out laughing. Only my mama.

Dale, Dallas, Dad, and Dumbledore

Dale Jr.:  You would have thought Dale Earnhardt Jr. had won the race Sunday at Talladega...and he kinda did. He and teammate Jimmie Johnson stayed paired up all day long, even leading for a time. By the end, everybody was looking at Jeff Gordon/Mark Martin, Clint Boyer/Kevin Harvick, and Edwards/Biffle for the win...then, on the inside, a bullet 48 car was being pushed like hell by another bullet, his teammate, Dale Jr. If it wasn't for some strong hands and good pushing, Jimmie probably wouldn't have won that race. It was a helluva finish.

After the race, Jimmie credited Dale for the win, even handing him the checkered flag. When he finished 2nd to Harvick at Martinsville, all of the talk was how Dale should've shoved Harvick out of the way for the win.  Anyone who has followed this sport knows that Dale is not that kind of driver--he's a gentleman driver, much like Mark Martin.  People love to point out his winless streak, intimating he should have been someone he isn't just to get that win.  That's not him, and I hope it never will be. There are more important things.

Now, as far as this two-car tandem-style racing? Not really sold on it. Yes, it made for a fantastic finish, but it's just not the same as the old style. I dunno. Just my gut reaction. 

Dale finished 4th and moved up to 3rd in Spring Cup Standings.

Dallas Mavericks: Gotta tell you, I, like many Mavericks' fans, am annoyed by players and even a coach (I'm looking at you Karl) dogging my Mavs! So, it was sweet satisfaction to see the Mavs win the first game against the Trail Blazers. I know we've got a long way to go--and I know it's been a tough go here for a while--but that first win was a step in the right direction...and a boot up the bums of the smack talkers. Game 2 is tonight.

Dad & Dumbledore: I loaned Dad my copy of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince the other day. He wanted to refresh his memory before watching Deathly Hallows, Part One.

Dad: "This one's about Dumbledork, right?"

You read right.

Me, eyebrows raised, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk: "Dumbledore, you mean?"

Dad, smirking: "Yeah, Dumbledork, that's what I said."

This is a time-honored tradition, or so it seems.  When I was a toddler, it was Mickey Moose.  I'd stomp my footy-pajama-foot like there was no tomorrow.  My love of Scooby-Doo prompted him to turn Scrappy-Doo into Crappy-Doo, guaranteeing wild amounts of foot stomping. 

This is my daddy. :) Characters run in the family.

American Idol--Rock & Roll HOF Week & A Drive With Dad

Tonight, the Idol contestants belted some iconic Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame tunes. How did they do? Overall, I thought it was a strong night for them.

My top picks of the night:

* Scotty, singing That's Alright, Mama, by Elvis. Honestly, this kid brought it tonight. Little country boy can sing Elvis! I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Scotty will be huge in Nashville. I have no doubt someone is just waiting to sign him up.

* Casey, singing Have You Ever Seen the Rain?, by Creedence Clearwater Revival. One of my favorites of the night. Playing the stand-up bass, Casey delivered a smooth, relaxing rendition of this classic song.

* Pia, singing River Deep, Mountain High, by Tina Turner. Pia finally turned up the tempo, and it worked. Vocally, she was strong, but she didn't appear as comfortable singing up-tempo as she does performing a ballad. Still, she has the complete package.

* James, singing While My Guitar Gently Weeps, by The Beatles. While I missed seeing him rock it out, especially during Rock & Roll week, James really tugged on the heartstrings tonight. His emotional connection to the song came through in his performance. 

Who were your favorites tonight? Who do you think may be going home?

A Drive With Dad

Not long ago, I went with my Dad to pick up some food for a BBQ he and mom were having that weekend. On the way back, he picked up some tacos at Taco Bell.

Me, watching as he flew by the main entrance to their neighborhood: "Um, Dad, why didn't you pull into the neighborhood?"

Dad: "I go in the back entrance now."

Me: "Why?"

Dad, in a slight Texas drawl: "So I don't have to wave and say 'hi' to neighbors."

Me, mouth dropped: "Dad! That's awful!"

Dad, major Texas drawl coming out: "Well, hell, I wanna eat my food while it's hot, and if I go through the front, I have to smile, wave, and maybe stop and talk. They're nice and all, but when I'm hungry, being nice back takes effort. I want my gosh darn food!"

Me, laughing: "You know, one of these days you are going to have to smile and wave to someone walking along the back entrance."

Dad, smirking: "Never happens."

He's actually really laid back and personable...just not when hot food awaits him.

Dale Jr. & Moments With Mom

NASCAR, Martinsville: After Dale Earnhardt Jr. took the lead from Kyle Busch late in the race, the crowd--both in my house and at the track--jumped to their feet. But with a handful of laps remaining, Kevin Harvick passed Dale for the win. Some drivers may have bullied past Harvick to regain the lead, but Dale didn’t…and this may come as a surprise, since it is racing, but I’m glad he didn’t.  He showed great self-control by not trying to turn or bump past the 29. 

After the race, Dale seemed a little disappointed—he wanted that win, tasted it…and he wanted that darn clock, too (the trophy for the winner at Martinsville).  He’ll get that clock, and much more, I have no doubt.  Why?  Because, once again, the 88 team showed consistent, competitive, strong, and cohesive teamwork.  Steve Letarte, Dale’s crew chief, is encouraging, supportive, and knows how to improve the car for his driver.  It’s great to see.

Highlight of the race: During an in-car interview on a red flag stop, Dale gave a shout-out to his mom, bringing loads of smiles to his pit (and everyone listening). Is it any wonder why he is so well-liked?  

Speaking of moms, I thought you might like a funny mom moment from over the weekend.  

The Crossbody Handbag: 

Mom: "Oh! Honey, you have to see this cute little handbag I got in the mail."

Me, my handbag buzzer sounding off: "Oooh, lemme see!!!"

Mom, holding something I can only describe as a crinkly mess: "See, it's just big enough to fit my essentials in when I pop over to the craft store! Now, I don't have to haul that big old bag of mine around everywhere."

Insert awkward silence.  Insert crickets.  Picture my eyes, glazed over, staring at the tiny wannabe-handbag-impostor. 

Mom: "Honey? What do you think?"

As she moved the bag to show me how it would look on her, a flash of bright white print caught me eye. 

Me, slightly alarmed: "Mom, what does it say on the front of...it?" I couldn't bring myself to call it a handbag...creature from wannabe-handbag hell, more like.

Mom: "AARP.  They sent it to me. Wasn't that nice?"

Me, vigorously shaking my head: "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no." 

Mom: "Honey?"

Me: "Mom, do you really want to walk around carrying a bag with AARP printed on it?"

Mom, contemplating things for a moment: "It's like saying, 'here comes the old fart,' isn't it?" I grinned and nodded. "Oh, Lord. You're right. I really did want a crossbody bag, though. Just something I can carry when I need to make a quick trip somewhere."

Me: "I'll keep an eye out for the perfect crossbody handbag for my mama...and it won't have AARP on it." 

Laughter ensued. 

Guess who will be getting a crossbody handbag for her birthday.

Thoughts & Prayers

Watching the cataclysmic destruction affecting Japan certainly puts life into perspective.  To witness such unbelievable loss makes "big stories" like Charlie Sheen's escapades and Lindsay Lohan's antics look terribly feeble, perhaps even shameful.

In times likes these, we should be counting our blessings and helping those in need.

Send love.  Send hope. 

Have faith.

When Mama Cooks

Yesterday, Mom, Dad, and I watched the Vegas race together and enjoyed some good southern mama cookin'.

Of course, there was an ever-so-tiny hitch.

For the first time, Mama made some Cajun french fries. She called us into the kitchen, but I was a little slow in getting there.

Now, keep in mind, my mom is very particular when it comes to her cooking.  She will not only listen to your reaction, but she'll watch your facial expressions very carefully. Like I said, cooking--oh so big for Mama.

Anyway, I walked in and Dad was already chowing down some fries...without difficulty. Mom handed me a fry, and...

...I shoved it in my mouth, bit into it, started coughing up a lung, spit the thing out in my hand, and asked for water.

Very. Bad. Reaction.

The dang thing was SO HOT! And I don't mean spicy. Spicy I can do. I love spicy.

No, I mean blistering-devil-burning-my-tongue hot.

Of course, Mom doesn't realize this.

All I heard was my Dad laughing hysterically. Meanwhile my poor mom is standing there wide-eyed with her little spoon-thing, staring at me like I'm a dementor of epic proportions.

Finally, I was able to articulate the hot-issue, and you know what my mom said?

Mom: "Oh, I'm a terrible mama. I should have warned you they might be a little hot.  Damn aging. When I was younger, I never would've forgotten!"

Isn't she cute?

Me: "No, Mom, totally not your fault. I saw Dad eating them with no problem, and just figured they were fine."

Dad, still laughing: "Pretty good trick, huh?"

Me: "Oh, yeah, fantastic! Mom only thought I hated her cooking and my tongue still hurts."

Dad...yep, still laughing: "The look on your face when you spit it up was priceless."

Me, grinning: "It felt like it had a sort-of priceless pathetic-ness about it.  How were you able to eat them so hot?"

Mom: "Honey, when it comes to food, your father can do just about anything.  He's like Shaggy and Scooby all rolled into one."

Needless to say, I tried another one...after adequate cooling time...and they were delicious, which I promptly told her. 

Later that night she made beignets.  I knew to let them cool first.

And, that's just a typical Sunday with my family.  :)

Family Football Games: Mom Talks, I Choke

Watching football with my mom is an experience unlike any other. Oh, everything starts out pleasant enough, but as the game progresses--especially if she feels our team is playing poorly--her southern charm periodically morphs into this rabid, eye-popping, she-football-monster, a-la-Scooby Doo. Should they pick up their game and start scoring points, Scooby-monster-mom calmly settles back into her sweet southern self...until the next bad call, missed FG, or stupid playing calling tees her off.

My dad is a little more laid back in the football department. His definition of emotion is to shout in a moderately raised voice, "Get 'em" or "Sonuvabitch," followed by throwing up his arms in disgust or a fist pump in jubilation.

Between the two, you have me. I inherited both genes, which makes for...well...a fun time, I'm told. Toss in my slight tendency for rocking back-and-forth on the edge of my seat, along with nervous pacing, and some couch-quarterbacking, recliner coaching, and a whole lot of passion, and  I'd say my family can rival a sold out Cowboys' Stadium on Thanksgiving Day.

Case in point: Friday night; Cotton Bowl; LSU v. Texas A&M.

My daddy raised me to hate A&M. Why? Hook 'em horns. My mama, on the other hand, lives and breathes the LSU Tigers. So, come Friday, the electricity had mounted to something even I couldn't predict. My dad took to nervous snacking, while I sat calmly...drinking soda. Yeah, yeah, I know. I figure I get a pass on that one. I mean, hello? It's LSU!

My mom? Oddly quiet. Like the eye of a hurricane. I kept asking if she was all right; things were NOT going our way in the first quarter...in fact, LSU looked downright awful.

Mom, much too calm: "Fine, honey, just fine."

When my mom uses the word fine, she is so way worse than fine. 

Finally, Jordan Jefferson (LSU QB) takes it in for a touchdown.

Out of absolutely nowhere, my mom shouts: "THERE WE GO! FINALLY! Now, let's stop looking like a vajayjay out there and annihilate these hush puppies!"

I literally choked on my soda--we're talking soda up the nose, burning throat, gurgling gag--whole nine.

Me, shocked and laughing uncontrollably: "Did you just say vajayjay?"

Mom, wide-eyed: "Yes, why?"

Me: "Do you even know what that means?"

Mom: "No, but I heard it on MTV. I figured it must be slang for idiots or fools or something along those lines. Why? What does it mean?"

Yes, my mom watches MTV.

Me, unable to stop laughing, while nearly coughing up a lung: "It's definitely slang. It's slang for, um, the female private parts."

My mom's eyes widened even more, her mouth hanging open in shock.

Mom: "Really? You mean like the 'p' word?"

Me: "Really and yes, like that word."

Mom, after a brief moment, broke into a big smile: "Huh, how do you like that..."

Me: "What?"

Mom, giggling: "It was even more fitting than I thought!"

Me: "Ladies and gentlemen, my mama."

And the laughs continued through the the 41-24 LSU pummeling of A&M.

She called Cam Newton (she doesn't like him--google the controversy surrounding him and you'll see why) a vajayjay tonight after he said God uses him as a vessel.

I think she's found a new word.

Y'all should really watch a game with us sometime. :)

Preserving A Husband--A Funny.

This little blip came from one of my mom's cookbooks and I just had to share it with y'all. I have no idea which cookbook it is from because she typically buys old books just to cut out recipes, modify them, and place them in her sacred personal cooking binder.

Mom, handing me a slip of paper: "For future reference."

On the paper:

How To Preserve A Husband

"Be careful in your selection. Do not choose too young, and take only such varieties as have been reared in a good moral atmosphere. When once decided upon and selected, let that part remain forever settled and give your entire thought to preparation for domestic use. Some insist on keeping them in a domestic pickle while others are constantly getting them into hot water. Even poor varieties may be made sweet, tender, and good by garnishing them with patience, well sweetened by smiles and flavored with kisses. Then wrap well in a mantle of charity, keep warm with a steady fire of domestic devotion, and serve with peaches and cream.

When thus prepared, they will keep for years!"

~Cookbook Unknown.

A Most Illuminating New Year's Eve

Is there anything worse than being single on New Year's Eve? Yes. Being single and having a birthday on New Year's Eve. Anything worse than that? Yes. Being single on Valentine's Day. Can we top that one? Yep. Being single and celebrating a birthday on February 14th.  My deepest sympathies to any single forced to celebrate a b-day on Valentine's Day.

Now, what could possibly top the hideousness of a Singletonville-New Year's-or-Vomit Day-birthday? Being a single virgin on New Year's and having fate flip you the finger in the most illuminating fashion.

My New Year's Eve festivities are pretty predictable: hang around with family, watch some kind of innocuous movie/show marathon, eat cookies or ice cream, and wonder about the hidden symbolic meaning behind tons of people celebrating a giant ball sliding down a pole. Then, at about 3 a.m., I am forced to hear the 90-year-old neighbor come home from her date. Yes, her date. Every year she has a date. The sound of her heels clip-clopping along her porch is unnerving.

This year was no exception, but for one event occurring early in the evening.

About an hour after painting my nails, I heard my mom have some sort of meltdown in the kitchen.

Me: "Mom? Are you okay?"

Mom: "I've destroyed the refridgerator."

Me: "Um, is that possible? How?"

Mom: "I don't know."

Me: "Is it not working?"

Mom: "It's drizzling."

Me: "Mom, you are making zero sense right now. What do you mean it's drizzling?"

Mom, opening the fridge door: "Come here...listen."

It sounded like something was dripping within the fridge.

Me: "Maybe something fell over in the back."

Mom, moving things around: "Oh my God."

Me: "What? What do you see?"

Mom: "Red. All down the back of my beautiful fridge. OH! It's running down three shelves AND down behind the SALAD DRAWER! I have to get my special quiche finished for tomorrow! I can't clean this mess now! This is a nightmare."

Me, trying not to laugh: "It's New Year's Eve, honestly, what do you expect? I'll clean it up, don't worry."

Mom: "Oh, sweetheart, thank you."

I began unloading the fridge to find the nasty culprit.

Me: "You have got to be kidding me."

Mom: "What is it?"

Me, holding a jar: "Cherries."

Mom, reddening in the face, trying to suppress the laughter: "Oh, honey. Cherry juice? My, that's..."

Me: "Typical. The virgin cleaning cherry juice on New Year's Eve. Doesn't that just beat all."

After a few minutes of silence, my mom and I broke into hysterics. Hey, what can you do? Ya gotta laugh. The irony is just ridiculous. And to put the icing on the cake, I chipped my freshly painted nail while cleaning cherry juice...my freshly painted bird finger. I don't know what it is with me and screwing up my bird finger, but I'm convinced it's fate's way of flipping me off.

In fact, I'm quite certain the whole event was fate saying, "Up yours virgin! I've got a whole lot planned for you this New Year." Cruel witch.

Fast-forward to the ball dropping hoopla--my mom insists on watching it every year. I usually try to escape the festivities, but it never works. I loathe all the kissing shots. And, HELLO, what's with the constant kissing TEN MINUTES after midnight! Classy. Get a room!!!

Though I do not drink, rare nights like these call for reinforcements, so I turned to Al K. Hall to help me out: ONE glass of wine, no more. I have ZERO tolerance. Heck, a glass and a half and I'm probably going to be taking my clothes off in some ridiculous version of a striptease. Can only assume that two full glasses would render me unconscious with face in toilet.

After said glass, I realized something: every year Dick Clark looks sexier and sexier to me.

Yes, one glass is quite enough.

Christmas Shopping With Mom

Christmas shopping is always an adventure, but when it's with my mama, the adventure morphs into some odd slapstick sitcom.

First Stop: Target for more wrapping paper, ribbon, and tape.

Me: "Mom, are you sure you need more wrapping paper?" I had to double check. Mom has a tendency to overdo.

Mom: "Oh, yes. I had a few very minor mishaps with some packages."

Me, perplexed: "Mishaps?"

Mom: "Oh, you know, the paper would start to rip, I'd get ticked, call it an a-hole, rip the paper off, and have to start over. And, of course, I was annoyed at having to start over, so when I'd pull a new piece off the roll, it would get all funky and I'd need another new piece, so...definitely yes to paper. Ah, here we go! I'll get the paper, you grab some tape and ribbon."

Me, laughing at the mental image of her wildly ripping unruly paper from the packages while calling each piece an a-hole: "So I'm thinking a triple pack of tape, then?"

Mom: "You are thinking right. Be back."

After grabbing the tape and some pretty ribbon, I turned to see my mom shuffling towards me under the weight of what could very possibly be the largest two rolls of wrapping paper I have ever seen.

Mom: "Look! Jumbo rolls! Plenty for me to royally mess up!"

Me, running for her: "Mom, you really shouldn't be carrying those! Here, give them to me."

Mom: "Nonsense, honey, I'm perfectly capable. Just need to get them in the basket. Where is that basket? Oh, there it is!"

While I was still mid-run to help her (she really shouldn't be carrying heavy things), she swiftly turned to put them in the basket and...

WHACK! The two rolls smacked me in the side of the head. Insert hysterical laughter by a mom and her daughter while everyone around us thought we were crazy.

Second Stop: Craft Store for yarn and other miscellaneous items for Mom.

Mom: "Ooh! I forgot a basket. Quick! Go back through the doors before they close!"

Me: "My luck they'll close ON me. I'll just go around the proper way."

Mom, very cheerleader-like: "You can make it! Go! Go!"

Me, already walking around to the other side: "Not gonna try it. Do we need reminding of what happened the last time I tried this very same thing?" We won't go there.

Mom: "Good point."

Me: "Oh! Here's one right here!"

Mom: "Great! Grab that one! I'll be in wreaths."

Of course, the basket had to be caught on a bunch of tray-like things that I didn't see when I attempted to move the thing. CRASH. All the trays went sliding down in front of the basket and across the walkway. I just rolled me eyes, made a face, grumbled a bit, laughed a little, and started stacking the trays back in place. Thank goodness they weren't glass or something. One girl was sympathetically grinning with her mom over by the cash register.

Me, heading for wreaths: "Um...Mom...whatchya got there?"

Mom, holding a GIANT wreath: "Isn't it gorgeous! I've always wanted one that looks just like this! Will it fit in the basket?"

Me, smiling: "Not easily, but we'll find a way." Dad has always said that Mama has a tendency to find and buy the things bigger than Texas hair.

Mom: "I don't want it to smoosh!" Suddenly, a large silver ornament fell off. "OH! MY BALL!"

Oh Lord. People peered around the corner, started snickering from nearby aisles, etc.After fixing the ball, my mom decided she needed yarn and I needed some art pens, so we split up. BAD IDEA.

I lost her. One missing mom in aisle five!

She wasn't in yarn or in any of her usual craft store haunts. Just before a slight case of panic set in, I heard, "HONEY! LOOK! I FOUND A PAN TO COOK BUTT CAKES!"

Yes. Butt cakes. She meant bundt cakes. She had a mouth fart and totally misspoke. More hysterics ensued as I tried, through belly-laughs, to maneuver the crowded aisles to reach her. 

Me, laughing: "Exactly where is your mind today? Balls and butts?!"

Mom: "Obviously that's one I don't need to answer.  I didn't even know my mind was there! And the whole store knows now. Let's get outta here before my face turns any redder."

Third Stop: God Help Me. Baby Clothing Store.

Mom: "I just have to pick up a little sweater or something along those lines. We'll get in and out in less than a minute, okay?"

Me: "I'm fine, take your time." I lied. Things I'll do for my mom. She loves baby clothes. Sigh.

Store lady approaching. Oh Lord. 

Store lady: "Can I help you with anything?"

Mom: "I'm just looking for a little green or red sweater to match an outfit from the ______ line."

Yeah, sorry, I don't remember the specific line or theme of clothing Mom mentioned.

Store lady: "Of course. Darling line, isn't it? Right over here. So, is this for your granddaughter?"

Here we go!

Mom: "No, no. I'm not a gran yet."

Me, in an effort to preempt the questions: "I do hope to make my mama a rockin' granny one day." 

Store lady: "Oh, well, not too soon I hope! You're far too young!"

OH HOLY MOTHER OF RUDOLPH.

Mom: "I think her age might surprise you." No, Mom, no, no, no, no, no!  "She's 32." Oh, bloody hell, Mom!

Store lady: "Really?! Wouldn't have thought that! Wow, well, you know, women are having babies later and later in life these days. It's nothing to worry about. And who knows, it's Christmas...maybe your boyfriend will pop the question."

Why does everyone assume I have a boyfriend?  Is it the age? If you're 30+ you MUST AT LEAST have a boyfriend? Ugh.

Me: "I don't have a boyfriend, actually."

Store lady: "Oh, well, I'm sure you'll meet him soon."

Her words said hope, but her tone screamed, oh you poor thing.

Mom to the rescue, in her southern drawl: "To tell you the truth, I might want to be a hip granny, but I want my daughter to be happy even more. I don't want her to settle for something because she thinks she should, or it's what everyone else is doing, or she thinks it would make me happy. It's a changed world out there. She's always marched to the beat of her own drum, and I wouldn't have it any other way. He'll come along when he's meant to...and he better deserve this one because he'll be getting a treasure."

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I LOVE my mama.

Store lady, smiling warmly: "Your mom is right. Wait for the right guy. I didn't the first go around and it didn't work out."

I survived the baby clothing store: The store lady was left with a smile, Mama left with a sweater, and I left with my pride (and uterus) still intact.

Cookie Confidential

I'm a holiday nut--I love everything about the holidays, from the music to the movies and everything in between.

I've pretty much been in the Christmas spirit since Halloween. But, last night, something happened. Out of nowhere, I felt giddy. Yes, I said giddy.

Said giddiness was followed by several instances of spontaneous giggling. It was quite alarming, but undeniably enjoyable.

I've lost some pretty decent poundage recently. Heck, even my skinny-can't-miss-the-tush jeans are a little roomy. Reckon it's due to all the stress and worry about my mom. So, at 2:00 a.m., I decided to work on getting those pounds back...in the form of Christmas cookies.

I indulged in 2 frosted sugar cookies, 1 little iced star cookie, and 1 reddish-pink, chocolate-filled leaf-shaped cookie.

Gawd, they were so good...until...

...major stomach issues. I honestly didn't think 4 little 'ole cookies would upset my tummy, but Mama always taught me to never eat sweets late at night or on an empty stomach. Did I listen? Nah. It's Christmas, I'm giddy, giggly, and single, and I'm gonna eat cookies like Santa. My brilliant giddiness lead to the next phase of the early morning hours...

...a new indulgence involving a Dramamine and Pepto Bismol.

Still, I don't regret it...the cookies were so yummy! Next time, I'll make sure I eat them after a proper meal. Live and learn, right?

Jingle Bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way....la la la la  la la la...

Weekend Round-Up...And It's A Doozy

What started as a nice, peaceful White Christmas-filled weekend, quickly turned into one mind boggling situation after another. By Sunday night, I really thought I had been thrown by several different bulls, each one significantly nastier than the last.

First up: Sports: Cam Newton won the Heisman--surprise, surprise. I really have mixed feelings on this one. Hey, if the NCAA will allow Cam to win the Heisman, shouldn't they return Reggie Bush's? Just sayin'. Mavs won--hurray! Cowboys lost to Philly last night--boo hiss, BUT they stayed in the game until the end; much improved team, despite dealing with injuries at key positions. Still proud of them.

Mom Turns Into A Werewolf: Okay, not really, but when she is hungry, part the dang waters and get out of the way. This is especially true since she has been sick--she can't eat as much, has restrictions on diet...and she has hit her limits, which I discovered firsthand.

Saturday Morning: My mom didn't expect me to be there, but I was talking to dad about some Christmas things. Mom walks through the hallway with a tray--on said tray is one type of food she CANNOT have. When she saw me, her face turned red, and her eyes screamed, "Aw, crap, I just got caught."

Me: "Mom, what is that on your tray?"

Mom: "Huh? What darlin'? What are you doing anyway?"

Me: "Talking to Dad about Christmas, but that's beside the point, and I totally see that you are trying to shift the topic away from what is on your plate."

Mom: "I'm only eating half. I'll be fine."

Me: "You really want to try it? I mean, you've been doing better, right? And you haven't had any of that crap, right? Why on earth would you want to shove some of that in your stomach, knowing it could cause a severe flare up?"

Uh, yeah, shouldn't have said anything.

Mom: "If this is how I have to live my life...I'm hungry. I want my junk food. I don't want to be good. It's only a stupid half! It won't hurt me! And I'm your mama, young lady--you shouldn't tell me what I should and should not eat."

Me, stunned: "Whoa, Mom, I was only trying to help. I don't want you to have to go through another episode. I just..."

Mom: "I'll be fine. And I'm gonna eat what I want. You can, so why can't I?"

Me: "Because you get sick!"

Mom: "Humf, just a technicality."

*Note: After making were-mom's acquaintance, I later learned she did NOT eat the culprit-food and she said later on: "Baby girl, I'm sorry for being so crabby earlier. I was hungrier than a bitch wolf. Had you gotten any closer, you might have pulled back a nub." We hugged it out.

BFF: Totally has a reindeer up his rear. Foul mood personified. I swear, he is the only person I know who cheers for the hot green house in Frosty the Snowman or gets ticked when the abominable snowman turns nice in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He is absolutely impossible to talk to right now.

Wasn't: Honestly, I'm tired of the whole thing. I've tried to be his friend, but it's hard to be friends with someone who has no clue what it means to be a friend. Did I tell you that he asked for my mom's advice on his "relationship?" Well, he did. So, as a friend, what did I do? Went to my mama and got her advice, of course. That's what friends do. She put a lot of thought and heart into her advice...and over an hour of contemplating what she feels is going on with them. That's what people who care about others do.  Wasn't...never called to get her advice, despite saying he would "in a few days." It's been about three weeks. That's not what friends do.

Mr. Bo Tangles: Oh, yes, I couldn't escape yet another humdinger.

Mr. Bo Tangles: "Hey, I just wanted to tell you...there are so many women who want to be with me, but I chose you."

Me, mouth gaping: "Uh...oh, well..."

Mr. Bo Tangles: "Let me finish. Now, I'm not going to argue why you are pulling back from me. I know the truth. What you are is no joke. I know you're an innocent. So, now, it makes complete sense. You're just scared to get involved with someone passionate, like me."

Me, nearly choking while thinking: Well, he's partially right, but it has nothing to do with my V card. "Honestly, I don't think I'm what you are looking for." Wasn't I nice? I could have said, "Honestly, I think you're a controlling, dull, a-hole." I didn't...that would have been rude.

Mr. Bo Tangles: "You're wasting your goods...you should be sharing them, enjoying them. I worry about your well-being. I'm here to help you with your predicament."

Me: "Well, thank you for your opinion and your concern, but I'm doing just fine on my own. And I don't consider my situation a predicament...it's a choice, and I'm content with it. So, thank you for your offer, but I'm good." What I wanted to say: "Well, having to change who I am to be with you just so I can say I've been there, done that, would be far, far worse than being a single virgin for eternity." Again, I stayed polite.

So, this is what its been reduced to: an offer from a not-so-nice man to help me with my "predicament." Fantastic. 

Yeah. Odd, odd weekend.

I Miss The Good Old Days...The Ones I Never Knew

Well, I think I've hit a love-life-brick-wall. I look at some of these dates that I've had and find I can laugh with fate--Thank goodness God blessed me with the family humor gene.  Seriously, what else can I do? Cry? Moan? Whine? Nah, not my style.

I just brush it off and keep on moving. But there are moments when things test your level of tolerance when it comes to this looking-for-love stuff.

Case in point: Mr. Bo Tangles apparently believes he was nothing but a perfect gentleman. When I told him that I just don't think it will work, he said, "Well, can we at least have one night of crazy, hot sex?"

God, help me. If it wasn't so pathetically irritating, it would be laughable. And perhaps I will laugh...tomorrow. I mean, he asked me for sex. Really? For real? So, he's a controlling horn-ball. Fabulous.

Is this all that's out there nowadays? Is this really as good as it gets?

I love watching old movies to escape today. Now, I know there were problems back in the day, but no one can convince me they were anything on the level of what we are dealing with today. A moment ago, an Amber Alert flashed across a news station. My parents talk about how they could walk to a friend's house, to school, to town, and not worry that someone is going to threaten them, hurt them. What the hell happened to that feeling? It's a feeling I've never known. When I was 12 years old, I was nearly abducted, not more than a few houses from my backdoor...in an otherwise extremely safe neighborhood and town. I got away, hiding in the garage of a neighbor's house. I can't possibly describe the fear running through my veins, but it's a feeling I have never forgotten.

Now, as a grown woman, I have to worry about things far more serious than some kooky dates; we always have to keep an eye on our surroundings, who is around us; constant vigilance is required to live in this world.

Take a trip back with me for a minute. Come with me to a time where the films were free of foul language and intense sex scenes (and, truthfully, do you really miss it when you watch them?); where the women were elegant and the men chivalrous; where humor didn't require obscene gestures or the f-bomb in every other sentence.

Now, please don't mistake me, I'm not a simpleton--I swear from time to time (Cowboys are my Achilles heel); and you won't hear me complain if Johnny Depp decides to strip down in a film.

I'm simply saying I miss the times I never knew. It would be nice to feel 100% safe day in and day out; it would be nice to go on a date with a man and have it be...normal...without feeling the pressure of having to address the sex thing, which is always around the third date. It would be nice to go on a date with a man who doesn't then ask for at least one night of hot sex. That's not the way it's supposed to be...it just isn't.

So, travel with me for a minute and tell me you don't feel even the slightest sense of longing for what you never knew. All you have to do is watch and listen to the end of White Christmas. "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas..."

"My Doctor Is A Woman. Damn it."

Slowly, but surely, I'm catching up on blogs. My mom went to the doctor for a routine test. About an hour after my mom arrived at the doctor's office, my phone rings.

Me: "Hello?"

Mom: "Hi, honey! I'm at the doctor's office. You know, you're right, they really do smell...doctor's offices. Anyway, they did the test and we are waiting on some preliminary results."

Me, trying to keep the worry out of my voice: "How do they think you are doing? Have they said anything at all?"

Mom, gasping: "Well, I didn't have any pain or swelling or anything like that. Pushed all over me. Wasn't thrilled, but was very happy when nothing hurt! They said my symptoms sound pretty basic."

Me, relieved: "Well, that's good news! Basic is good, right?"

Mom: "Yes, but..."

Me, frantic: "But, what?"

Mom: "My doctor is a woman. Damn it."

Me, perplexed: "Um, what?"

Mom: "I was hoping for a single man, kind-of like Keanu Leeves--"

Me: "Reeves."

Mom: "Oh, yes, of course...anyway, you know, from the film Something's Gotta Give? But, no, I get the woman. She's very nice, though."

Me: "You wanted Keanu Reeves. How did Dad take that one?"

Mom: "Oh, sweetie, not for me...although I wouldn't stomp my feet, whine, and run at the prospect of him treating me...might be the only time I'd willingly slip into one of those hideous little gowns, but...no, no, for you."

Me: "For me? What?"

Mom: "Don't you worry, I've got my eyes peeled."

I just couldn't help but laugh. Only my mom goes in for medical stuff and makes it her intention to sniff the place out for a single man for her daughter. After receiving a new medication, my mom left the doctor's office and called to let me know she was unsuccessful at spying a single man. Alas, there weren't any single men that she saw. In fact, I believe her exact words were, "All women. Unbelievable. Not a man in sight. Very unlucky. If I have to go back, you can bet I'm asking!"

I love my mom. Not loving the need for her to try and set me up, but I think that's just Mom 101...it's in their DNA. Comes with the territory. 

Hark Go The Blog Awards!

I have two utterly amazing blog awards to give thanks for and to pass to other wonderful, deserving blogger buddies.

First, I know I am so far behind on blog reading--between everyday life, my seemingly perpetual sentence in Singletonville, cooking a Thanksgiving dinner, and worrying about my mom 24/7, I've had little time for much else...other than sleep, which I have tried to squeeze in when possible...but I do believe I'm taking on a zombie-like quality. Please forgive me.

Okay, first award: I'm A Shiny Turkey. No, really, I am. And I cooked one, too (yeah, I know, lame joke).


My wonderful friend, J. Day, over at The Ramblings Of Charlie Brown (Check out her blog--it is vastly entertaining and she is just a truly wonderful person) awarded me this yummy award--thank you so much. *hugs*

The rules are simple: Pass it to 3 or 4 bloggers and tell a story relating to any of the following--intoxication, food, kitchen, cooking/baking, or holiday.

Well, I reckon my recent Thanksgiving cooking adventure qualifies...especially the part where I inadvertently burned up my mom's stove top, rendering it completely useless. Or, maybe, I could talk about the time we had an ice storm in Dallas during the Christmas holiday. Ice storms happen in Texas, but for it to happen just in time for Christmas was pretty cool.  Hmm, maybe I could talk about friends. You know, how REAL friends call to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. My BFF called first thing at 8:30 a.m. Wasn't (who is quickly turning into He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a.k.a the snake-like Voldemort) doesn't. Nope. Pretty revealing, if you ask me. Heck, I wish everyone a Happy Anything every year--it's just...polite...and nice...and the human thing to do. Anyway, I digress.

Here you go fellow bloggers--a turkey award for you (I figure it still counts because turkeys are tradition throughout the whole of the holidays): Juliana, Alessandra, Ms. Caboo, Jewels, and Martha

My second blog award comes from another dear blogger friend: Average Girl (Tracy) at It's An Average Life. She is such a sweetheart and whenever she comments or blogs, she just makes my day a little brighter. You will want to visit her blog. This award is called...are you ready...love this...The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award. Thank you so much Tracy. Um, is it wrong that I really want a piece of that strawberry pie?

There aren't any rules that I could see with this one, so I will do what Tracy did and pass this forward to three bloggers (though I could pick everyone!): Yvonne, Jen, and Rebekah

Two yummy, delicious blog awards that, quite frankly, are making me hungry.

Thank you again for thinking of me. *hugs to you both*

A Happy Thanksgiving...With A Dash Of Panic And A Sprinkle Of Nausea

I hope everyone had a wonderful, safe, healthy, and happy Thanksgiving Day.

Ours was wonderful (minus the Cowboys loss--will cover in a moment).  My mom felt well enough to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. She was overwhelmed  and proud that I undertook the whole dinner on my own (with her as my coach, of course--really, the Cowboys should hire her) and actually pulled it off. Seeing her happy and smiling made my day.

The sweet potatoes turned out just right, thank goodness. My mom eyeballs the ingredients, so I didn't have real measurements to go by with this one...I had to guess--really not a good idea for me. Maybe I had Thanksgiving luck on my side or something. Whatever it was, I am grateful.

Turkey: Well, no one told me just how grotesque it is to remove the, um, insides of the thing. Ick. It took everything in me to keep from gagging. Couldn't stop the watery eyes and the slight curl of my lip, however. Anyway, when the moment of truth arrived....

He turned out just right.

Um, except for one nearly catastrophic mess-up. When moving the turkey from the oven, I bobbled the pan and some of the juices spilled over the edge and onto my mom's old stove top. More specifically, the juices went down into a fan switch on the stove. Next thing I knew, a strong electrical wire-like burning smell filled the kitchen area and smoke started rising from the stove.

My mom began panicking, while my dad calmly went to shut-off the circuit breaker to the stove and lower oven.

Result: My mom's stove is now no more. Broken. Destroyed. The plus side? She's been wanting a new stove for a loooong time, so I guess, in a way, it's a good thing.

It's just not Thanksgiving without something to make your stomach lurch into your throat and out your eyes.

Speaking of lurching stomachs...

Dallas Cowboys: Well, we won the game...it was in the palm of our hand...then Roy Williams coughed it up.  There is a difference between smart football and selfish football. Roy Williams caught the pass for a first down, setting us up for a score.  Did he protect the ball? No. Did he just fall down after catching the ball and  getting the first down? Heck no. Did he carelessly hold the ball in one arm, continue fighting for unneeded yardage and fumble in the process? Naturally.

We won't even talk about our sporadic kicker.

So, all in all, the Cowboys put on a show and put up a fight against the defending Super Bowl champs. I'm proud of them...despite a little post-game nausea.

Survived cooking Thanksgiving dinner--Mission COMPLETE. And you know what? I actually enjoyed cooking. Maybe I'll audition for Hell's Kitchen next. Just kidding. Ramsay couldn't handle me...and I'd probably break his stove. ;)

Now we can officially say....HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Thanksgiving Cooking Part III: Swiss Green Beans; Sweet Potatoes; Fruit Salad

I'm done! Well, except for the turkey tomorrow morning, for which I am setting an alarm clock. Doubt I'll sleep in with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on so early. I LOVE LOVE LOVE the parade!

I panicked a little when the turkey wasn't thawing fast enough. My mom told me to add some water to the pan with the turkey--that seems to be working nicely.

Mission: Swiss Green Bean Casserole, Sweet Potatoes, and Fruit Salad. 

Swiss Green Beans: This yummy dish has it all. The green beans are cooked in a mixture of sugar, butter, pepper, onion, and sour cream. The mixture is poured into a casserole dish then topped with grated Swiss cheese and warm buttered corn flakes. (Note to self: Open sugar bags with caution. Had a most unfortunate incident with the sugar)

Note to self: Figure out the best way to cut an onion--started while cutting for the stuffing. Clearly didn't figure out a better way for this dish. We're talking seriously burning tears.

This one requires you to add the ingredients super fast, so I had a couple of issues with nervous hands, but managed getting it all together without spilling too much.  

Sweet Potatoes: My all time favorite dish (I was so afraid of messing this one up). After placing the sweet potatoes in a large, flat dish, I added a mixture of butter, brown sugar, pecans, and orange juice. It wasn't bad at all, although my mom doesn't know exactly how much brown sugar and orange juice she uses (she can eyeball it). We'll find out tomorrow if I got it right or not. It sure smelled good. I'll take a pic when I give it the final touch before warming it: marshmallows.

The last thing I did was a kid friendly fruit salad my mom told me about...um, yeah, it's pink--couldn't be a better color for me! It's fun, colorful, and a great way to get kids and non-fruit-eating adults to eat the healthy stuff. It has fruit...and marshmallows, whipped cream, and jello. Didn't I say it was kid-friendly?

Well, day one of cooking is done. No major catastrophes; nothing burned. I've had a fantastic coach: My mama.

Mission: Swiss Green Bean Casserole, Sweet Potatoes, and Fruit Salad--COMPLETED

Tomorrow: Turkey and final touches. I really hope I don't dry the turkey out too much--that's my biggest concern...a Griswold Turkey. 

Thanksgiving Cooking Part II: Stuffing

The stuffing was a massive undertaking.

The Mission: Sausage & Cornbread Stuffing

Tasks: Chop vegetables; cook sausage; cook veggies & sausage in melted butter; mix in large pot with dry foods (cornbread, toast, spices--sage), periodically add chicken stock.

Tricky Part: There is no real science to how much stock or spices/sage to use. I had to keep adding until it tasted like my mama's. 

After lots of trial and error....I finally got it! 

I give you Sausage & Cornbread Stuffing! Tomorrow, after going into the oven for a bit, the top will have a nice, brown, crusty top.

Mission: Cornbread & Sausage Stuffing--COMPLETE

Up Next: Swiss Green Beans, Sweet Potatoes, & Fruit Salad.

Thanksgivng Cooking Part I

Wake-up: Much too early after going to bed much too late. Will only sleep an hour more.

Wake-up II: Oh Holy Turkey! Slept over 6 more hours!! Very bad start to first Thanksgiving cooking spree! Will now be a cooking sprint!! Oh Gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh. Must not panic.

Haven't slept much since my mom hasn't been well...usually can go on very little, if any, sleep. Why my body chose today to pass out for extra hours I will never understand! Unbelievable!

Lunch: Mission-Cornbread for stuffing recipe.

Okay, so, I use Jiffy cornbread mix--it's what my mom uses for the stuffing; she makes stand-alone cornbread from scratch.

Directions: mix with 1 egg and 1/3 cup milk.

Sounds simple enough.

Will appear slightly bumpy.

Er, what's slightly bumpy?

Stirring ingredients...see bumps...um, okay, so, at what point is it just slightly bumpy? Reckon if I mix it a bit longer, that will suffice.

After about 5 minutes of stirring, mixture appears about right--little bumps, but mostly smooth.

Pour mixture into pan; bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

With my trusty Ove-Glove firmly in place, I approach scary oven, shaking ever-so-slightly. (yes, I have a fear of the oven...no idea why). 

Done. In. Cooking.

20-25 minutes later: Voila! CORNBREAD! Hurray! It smells delicious and is a perfect golden-brown. 

Mission: Cornbread--COMPLETE.

Next up: Stuffing.