There are a few things that make me feel glam, but today it was about dressing up in a pretty outfit and heels (although you can’t see the heels, KNOW they ARE there), putting on my best makeup and adding a sparkly flower in my hair.  I mean the sparkling flower alone is glam, right?  Right.  Also, thinking about the man you love while taking the photos?  Extra-awesome.  Just sayin’. *wink*

I was happy with these shots – I’m not normally a fan of my own portrait, you know, because there’s that desire to pick apart every little flawed detail until there’s nothing good left.  But today, I said the hell with it, I’m going to take shots and like them, really like them.  And I do.

These were taken earlier today with my Nikon, no flash, just using the natural light coming in through my bedroom window.

Click images to see full size.

Not bad for an old broad of 42.

Today, I feel glamorous.

Now, if YOU want to participate, go on over to Secret Agent Mama’s.  Do it!  You could win a $100.00 Gift Certificate to use towards whatever your heart desires at Eden Fantasys.

Did I say I turned forty-two? I meant twenty-seven because I lied last year and said I was 26 twenty-seven comes after 26. So, yeah, right.

Some of my family forgot it was my “special” day yesterday. Yes, I said “special,” because clearly it is if they forgot to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY. That’s just how “special” it was. Especially SPECIAL.

To the person who sent me a gift, woot!, thank you, LOVE getting mail that doesn’t require me to drain my bank account or my “services” will be shut off.

To the people who called me, thank you… means more than a present (but, uh, if you WANT to send me sompin’, yeah, DO IT).

To the handful of people who wished me HAPPY BIRTHDAY on Facebook, I do thank you – luckily, I get the messages in my email or I would not have seen them. I don’t do Facebook – much. Maybe once every few months I’ll get the gumption to sign-in, but other than that, I honestly don’t use it anymore. To those of you who are waiting for me to “friend” you, I will, the next time I sign-in. Like next Christmas or something. And to two of the Facebook birthday-well-wishers, I will SEE you in TWO WEEKS. Woot!

To the e-card birthday-well-wishers, spanx muchly (yes, totally real words, with real meaning, y’all).

To the email birthday well-wishers, thanks but I’m not sure I believe you when you said you TRIED to “attach” cash in the email, but it just wouldn’t work. Hotmail and Gmail were “not working properly” you said. Uh huh.

To the person who said they loved me so much (and will love me MORE once I make my first million), thank you for letting me know you are shopping at HOOKERS ACCESSORIES AND MORE for me. I bet it’ll be something special. And probably glittery!

So,you’re asking yourself, what has this clearly insane chick learned in forty-two, oops, twenty-seven years? Let me put you out of your misery.

1. When your daughter tells you, “Mommy, you don’t even look forty-two, you totally look, um, like you’re twenty-four (she’s really pushing it) and when my brothers tell you that you’re ‘old’ I give them dirty looks, just so you know mom,” what she really means is, “I’m totally sucking up bitches so I can get my own cell phone at the age of nine!”

2. When a 20-something dude calls you ma’am, he means it.

3. When you hear yourself say, “Oh, so-and-so and I have been friends for twenty-five years,” you want to bite your tongue off.

4. You probably shouldn’t wear the “JLo” glitter lotion you own, but fuck it, I’m going to anyway. See? At *cough* 42, you don’t care.

5. When your growns sons (see # 1) call you old, they absolutely mean it.

6. You’re at an age where you will most likely attend more funerals than weddings. Sad, but true.

7. It’s possible to become a grandparent (providing you have children), but don’t call me grandma.

8. It sucks when your doctor is way younger than you.

9. It scares the shit out of you to know you have been watching a particular soap opera for twenty-seven years. I mean, I don’t watch any soap operas. Like srsly, EVER.

10. You realize you haven’t learned as much as you thought.

Happy Birthday to anyone who is having a birthday this year. Ha.

A few weeks ago, I was shopping and wanted to buy some new perfume. I like having different options – sort of like my obsession with handbags, you know, you want different looks for different days of the week and so forth. Same goes for scent – some days you may want to smell flowery, others, you may want to smell like onions. You get my drift.

I see all sorts of fragrance bottles – Paris Hilton even has her own stink (that’s for you Karl) and as I’m browsing, looking at all of the choices before me, something catches my eye. It’s in a black box with a sparkling silver cover. It’s JLo’s “Glow” and surprisingly, it smelled nice. In the box, besides the perfume, there was a purse-sized roll-on “JLo Glow After Dark” and scented cream. It was reasonably priced, so I bought it.

Later that evening, we were going out for supper and after I showered, I decided I’d wear my new perfume and try out the cream. I am a freak about moisturizing and hope to have subtle skin well into my 80s. Sure, I’m probably delusional, but that’s another story. I rub the cream all over my neck, chest, arms and legs (and maybe other areas, but this is not that kind of post) and spray some of the perfume. I decided to wear a semi-low cut blouse (not trashy, because I don’t do slutty and my kids, particularly my grown sons, would be terribly grossed out. Pam Anderson’s fashion sense I do not have), put on my pants, jewelry, and I’m ready. Of course I’m making it sound like it was a time frame of about five minutes, but technically, it was more like 2 hours. What can I say? I’m a girlie wench.

We arrived at the restaurant, and while we’re waiting to be seated, I take off my coat. I’m sitting there, minding my own damn business, when one of my adult sons, clears his throat and says:

I don’t mean to be creepy and I wasn’t looking, but it’s kind of hard not to notice – why is your cleavage glittering?

My cleavage is glittering?

Yeah.

Um, seriously?

Yeah.

My family starts laughing. Not sure how I didn’t notice my chest glittering before we left, but somehow I missed it. I looked down and yup, I was covered in glitter. All over my arms, hands, neck, chest and boobage area. Luckily, I was wearing pants and shoes, so at least my legs and feet were saved from the embarrassment.

When we got home, I checked the cream container and sure enough, it reads ‘night glow body lotion’ which apparently means CONTAINS A SHITLOAD OF GLITTER. The ‘night glow’ must mean, when you’re in a low-lit area such as the restaurant we were in, the glitter really pops out. Needless to say, I was slightly horrified.

Did I throw it out? Hell no, I’m wearing it again tonight. That’s the way I roll folks, that’s the way I roll.

Thank you, Jennifer Lopez, for making my chest glitter.

Since we now live on a street where we’re on the sidewalk side, we have to make sure it’s shoveled or I guess someone comes kick your ass if you’ve not cleared the snow. Plus we have to make sure our walkway is cleared off or maybe the newspaper person comes to your door and falls on your step because it’s snowy and slippery and you get your ass sued. And of course we have to shovel our driveway or it’s hard to park our vehicles. All this bullshit shoveling is a bit of a problem for me. I only own nice boots with nice high heels and usually they’re not lined. I mean I’m looking for style not freakin’ warmth or practicality. That’s for the birds. Or the something or other.

Since my husband was going to be gone all day working, it was up to me to get the shoveling done. Or at least most of it. What do I wear on my feet? I can’t go out there with high-heeled ankle boots, I’ll break my bloody neck and get frost bite to boot (ha, see that play on words? Ya!) so I have to find something else to wear. I can’t wear sandals. I can’t wear pumps. I could wear sneakers – if I owned any. I hate sneakers. Well, I do have a pair of Guess sneakers (OH MY GOSH Y’ALL, LOOK AT ME NAME DROPPIN’) but they’re for working out in style and they’re really not sneaker sneakers because they have sequins and are all pretty with matching laces, not fug, plain white laces (no offense to plain white laces). Anyway, the only thing I could do – was put on my 12-year-old son’s boots. Mind you they were too big, but they were practical and warm. Perfect:

Yes, I had nice black dress pants on (because that’s what most people wear to shovel snow) and my son’s boots. Stylish to say the least. Uh, ya.

So there I was, out in freeze-your-balls-off-below-humanly-acceptable-temperatures, shoveling snow off the walkway so the freakin’ newspaper person doesn’t slip. Hey – we don’t even get the newspaper. At least I looked stylish from the neck up, you know, in my $10 sunglasses, $12 fake fur hat and $19 Gap scarf that doesn’t even belong to me:

Nothing will ever make me love snow. No person can ever change my mind about snow. I don’t like one thing about it – except when it melts.

In celebration of my hatred of snow, I bought a tee-shirt. The caption pretty much sums up what I’d like to say to snow. I let my gingerbread men speak for me:

Oh and I just realized – it’s only December 16th. Winter hasn’t even officially started. SUPER.

My BFF Miss Sugarpants her-talented-self did it for me. I gave her an idea of what I wanted and then said, ‘do it betch’ (we talk dirty like that to each other ALL THE TIME). And she did it! She knows me and knows what I like and I say you give her a pat on the back for her fantastic work or send her bags of twenty-dollar bills (actually you can send the bags of money to me and I’ll make sure she gets it *wink, shopping spree here I come*) – or if you need something designed, hire her! She’s worth the million bucks I had to give her. Oh I’m kidding – I just gave her a wet willy and we were even. Ha.

Oh, and I now have an Amazon Wish List, yup, it’s right over there and up, yup just click the button (is it wrong to beg?) —–> so yes, strangers can buy things for me! How awesome is that? I only have six items on my list, but I promise I’ll add to it. I want you to have choices, duh.

Thank you again Karen, I love the new me, it’s so me, pink and all. xo

I have been ordering photos for family back east to send in Christmas cards and wanted some new ones of my daughter since I had quite a few recent ones of my three boys. Plus, photographing my daughter is just so fun – not that my boys aren’t a hoot, but seriously, they usually hate getting their picture taken and let me know it, every single time. My girl, well, she’s like me – loves dressing up, getting her hair all prettified, nails done, the works you know? So we played dress up and went to town, took about 150 shots and settled on about 20 that I was happy with. Initially, I was going to have a nap, but like I said, dead = sleep.

In other news, my children made up words today. They decided they wanted their very own language and I suppose a way to make fun of me without me actually knowing it. Damn they’re smart.

I bought the new Nickelback cd Dark Horse and I love it, it’s my favorite yet. Yes, I still have the hots for Chad. Call me sick, but I don’t care. I have a thing for dirty rockers. Well, only two (Kid Rock is my other obsession) and technically, I hope they’re not dirty – because if I were to ‘hit it’, ‘it’ had better be clean. Squeaky clean. Yes, I know, you’re thanking me for the 411. Glad to help.

A man came to my door today with a beautiful little girl – she was about 4. All decked out in a long dress coat with faux fur on the collar and cuffs – she was just precious. He was here to promote whatever religion he was selling but I wasn’t buying. I’m sorry, sell me Girl Guide cookies at my front door but religion? I hate that. I’m guessing he thought by bringing his child, people are more apt to open their front door and listen to what he has to say. Like people are dumb. Okay, some people are dumb. Trust me, I’ve shopped enough at my grocery store to know that there are some of us on the planet who are a few fries short of a Happy Meal.

I would love to have some chocolate right about now. However, all I have here that resembles something yummy, is semi-sweet chocolate chips which, um, do nothing for me. I could get in my SUV and drive to the store, which is 30 seconds from my house, where they do sell all kinds of chocolate bars, bags of cookies, hell, probably even have a cake there too, but that would require me getting off my ass and that’s just asking too much at almost 9 p.m. Plus, my ass is probably saying, ‘bitch please, do not eat more chocolate, I’ll cut you’. Mouthy friggin’ ass.

Did I tell you it snowed here the other day? What the hell? Sure, it’s not like it’s a surprise, we get some out here in Cowtown every year but I hate it. How much hassle would it be to move to Florida? Maybe Karl would let me bunk with him? I do want to go to Florida for a visit though. We have friends in Miami and I’ve always wanted to go. It looks so pretty there – at least on CSI Miami it does. And we all know TV shows are real. Like super real. Plus, I could meet Horatio Cane. I don’t know what it is about that guy, but he gets to me. He’s not even attractive – well not in a Brad Pitt sort of way – but seriously, I think I have the hots for David Caruso. I’m sick. But really, I know a certain someone who has an ‘old man’ crush on Grisham – won’t mention any names – but she knows who she is. She’s just as sick as me. Ha.

I wanted to get more Christmas shopping done today but that would have meant I’d have to drag my kids with me and let’s see, take two children to a busy, packed mall with other crazy mothers dragging their kids out to the mall just didn’t seem like it would be a fun time. I’m about 75% done anyway – and it’s all wrapped (sick AND anal). My goal is usually to have it done by November 30th. I’ve done that the last two years and it’s great. I still remember the days of having zero money until December 23 – and hubby and I rushing out at the last minute to shop for our kids. That was fun.

I bought a new black bra. Uh, that’s about it, nothing more to say on that. It fits like a glove – or a bra. Whichever.

I want a new cell phone for Christmas. I was hoping to get one for my birthday, but let’s see, I DIDN’T. I’m still waiting for a birthday present from my husband. HINT. Maybe he’ll read this. HINT. When was my birthday? In July. Four months ago. As in, it’s a bit past belated. Perhaps he’s going to make up for it at Christmas. I’d like a touch screen phone – maybe I’ll just come with you when you buy it. The phone I have now was fantastic THREE YEARS AGO. And my favorite thing about it? It usually says ‘NO SERVICE’ just about everywhere I go. Very dependable.

If you have a few minutes, you have to read my post (at work) about Rihanna pregnancy rumors with Chris Brown – sure my post is fantastic *cough* but it’s the comments that are truly hilarious. Seriously, most of them are hatin’ on Rihanna because ’she gotz wit ma boyfrend and mad a baby and I beez hatin’ her, dirty skank!’ See? Fun! Click HERE if you’re bored. Some people take their celebrity gossip super serious. Hey, ‘whatever floats yer boat’ is what I always say. Actually, I always say, ’send me cash – nothing less than 20s please’ but so far, no one has sent any dough. What up with that?

Okay, I must go put my daughter to bed before she turns into Nasty McNasty from McNastyville. Check the photos below from our fun photo shoot (click pics to enlarge) and I’ll be back soon to tell you the top five reasons I should stop shopping – and answering my phone.

Oh and speaking of flat irons, as we were walking through the mall, I was stopped by a guy trying to sell flat irons. That curl. Lemme get this straight (no pun), you want me to buy a flat iron that curls my hair? My naturally curly hair? That I straighten. With a flat iron. I said to the guy, ‘Listen, I have straight hair as you can see but it’s naturally curly. So that means I own a flat iron. I don’t want a flat iron that can curl my hair since I have curly hair and want it straight, hence the flat iron. That flattens’. He looked at me like I had a dirty diaper on, outside of my jeans. Whatever Jack Doofus in your white lab coat that makes you NOT look like a doctor trying to sell people flat irons. That curl. Good luck.

I may have spoken too soon and I am going to eat my words. See, the other day, as I’m walking through the mall in my own city, a girl approaches me from a kiosk and she’s waving to the display of flat irons. I’m all set to give her the big, ‘no thanks, got myself a flat iron,’ speech and for whatever reason, I stop and listen to what she has to say. She tells me to sit down and asks me what kind of flat iron I have. I tell her I have a Chi. She tells me that Chi’s are good but they’re working on seven-year-old technology. Oh. Hm. She has my attention, sorta, but I’m not into slick sales people who think they’re smarter than I am. Don’t get me wrong, they could very well be smarter than I am, but I don’t like people who give me a ‘pitch.’ Anyway, girl says can I show you how this flat iron works? I agree and although my hair is already straight because I’d just done it a few hours earlier, I’m telling you the piece of hair that she ran through her iron – was way nicer than I could have imagined.

She said you only have to run your hair through it once and it’s pin-straight and super shiny. She wasn’t kidding. My hair is so thick, long, naturally curly, that it takes me an hour to flat iron my hair and I usually have to run the iron over and over and over it. It comes out nice and does look shiny but this was amazingly shiny and amazingly straight. A lot of amazing.

Then, sales girl says, ‘it also curls.’ I’m all set to laugh in her face, like dude, I have curly hair, why do I want a flat iron that curls? Makes no sense. But then, before I could get the words out, she takes a piece of my hair and curls it. Oh my god. I wanted to date my hair. I was stunned. Shocked. She saw the expression on my face – she knew I was in love and would purchase the flat iron that flat irons and curls. Her eyes turned to dollar signs and mine turned to my hair – where I fell in love with it. Okay, so that’s dumb, but really, I was impressed. Then, panic sets in. I’m thinking if this flat iron is a double whammy, then it’s got to be really expenisve. I gulped and asked her how much. She shows me the price on the box – $250.00. Lord, no way am I paying $250 bucks for a flat iron no matter how much it made me want to date my hair.

But then the world turned right again – she told me that’s how much they retail for but, they don’t sell them for that much and my hopes got all excited and shit. So, how much then? Would it be a price I could justify? Kinda – $130.00. Well now, I paid $135.00 for my Chi over 2 years ago, so hell ya, I’m willing to fork out a hundred thirty clams for something that is going to make me drool over my own hair! Confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling, people were clapping and half naked men started dancing for me. Okay, so that part was only in my head, but still, it was a great moment. I was so happy, that I rushed home to try my new lover out. I say lover in a pure way, not in a creepy, I need medication way. And guess what else? You can buy any color you want – even zebra stripes if that’s what floats yer boat. I opted for – ready? PINK.

Here is my new friend and her name is “amika,” and no, I didn’t make that up, it’s the brand. Isn’t she just beautiful?

And do you want to see what this lovely pink lady can do? Okay, I’m sort of weirding myself out calling my flat iron a ‘lovely pink lady,’ but I can’t help myself. This is how my hair turned out – I flat ironed it and then put some curl at the ends. The shine alone gives me goosebumps. Trust me – if you’re someone who has thick, coarse, semi-curly, super wavy hair – you’ll understand what it means to have shiny hair!

So, to the dude in the fake doctor coat in the mall almost 3 years ago, I’m sorry that I called you a dork (I’m not sure if I said it loud enough for you to hear, but still) for trying to sell me a flat iron that curls. Obviously I was wrong (happens once a year or so) and although I still think you need to lose the white lab coat, you aren’t a toolkit and I probably shouldn’t have punched you in the ass. Lawsuit still pending?

Anyway, my BFF called in and although she made Karl ask about my ‘raccoon meatloaf,‘ , and then I had to dish (no pun) the details, and let the world know I suck at cooking, I’ll probably still send her a Christmas gift. It’ll be a lump of coal (aka shit) but it’s the thought that counts. No, I’m kidding. She’s building me a wing at her new mansion, so I’ll at least send her a gift card from the Mercantile – maybe some fake teeth or a whoopi cushion. Hey, maybe both.

It’s Karl’s birthday next week and I’m pretty certain he said to send all birthday gifts and/or cash to me – you know, just to hold for him. I’m cool like that. I’ll post my deets later. Nothing less than a $20 mmkay? And I’m 100% positive that Karl likes silver and precious gems and designer handbags. Oh and pretty shoes. Size 6 1/2 women’s. So? He’s got small man feet – let’s not judge.

Thank you to all who joined in, in the chatroom and I appreciate losing my radio talk/phone/show virginity with such a sexy bunch. Mind you, I couldn’t actually see any of you, but I’m sweet, and will assume you are all hot. Whew, just thinking about it makes me want to have a cold shower. Rawr!

Okay, must go to bed, the butt-crack of dawn comes way too early. *Remember – it’s Karl’s birthday on September 18th but he wants you to spoil me. Aw, shucks!*

In just about two hours, I’m going to be on SecondHand Radio with Karl Erikson and we are going to have so much fun. By fun, I mean I hope I don’t bore the man and his listeners. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

I wanted to put my best foot forward (PUN, IT’S A PUN!) so, I am wearing my prettiest new shoes, uh, not that anyone can see me wearing them, but I’ve posted a photo of me wearing them, so you get the idea. I also flat ironed my hair (I do that anyway, so that’s not special, but shhh, don’t tell Karl) and I’ve got new lipgloss on (See my Survivor post below) and my nails are done. Again, it’s radio so you won’t see me, but I’ve given you a good descriptive idea of how I’ll look.

I have to go feed my kids now and then banish them to the – attic?, somewhere, so they’re not asking me to wait on them while I’m busy chatting and boring mesmerizing people who are nice enough to tune in. I have no topics in mind, I’m going to wing it and hopefully Karl doesn’t ask me about the “incident with the eyeshadow and pens.” Not that he’d know about the incident with the eyeshadow and pens, but incase he’s some kind of freak who can see into people’s pasts, I may have to kill him. By kill, I mean deny, deny, deny. I’ll pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’ll just turn it around and make him look crazy, like he forgot his meds. Oh yes, I’m that evil. Muahahahahaa.

Show starts at 10 p.m. EDT – it’s linked above. If you call in, don’t ask me hard stuff – by that time of evening, I’m working on less than half of my brain power. Kthxbai.

Did I say 41? Silly me – I meant 26, seeing as I turned 25 last year. Duh.

You’re probably wondering what I did on my special day. Let me share the exciting details: I woke with a migraine, which, I thought, was a wicked awesome way to wake up and start the day, especially on THE DAY THAT I WAS BORN.

Then, my laptop must have been pms-ing because she (?) was slower than hell and royally pissing me off. My kids didn’t sleep in and my husband was home doing paperwork and small renovations that we are in the middle of, thus causing me to be in a funk because my usual morning routine was slightly disrupted.

None of my children or my husband realized it was my birthday – not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, because once you’re pushing the bone yard, 30, you don’t care as much as you used to about birthdays.

Around noon, my husband comes downstairs and asks me if it’s the 30th. Yes, I say. He says, really? Oh, I didn’t realize it was the 30th. So that means, IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY! Ya, great, it’s my birthday. Then each of my four kids came trickling in with their birthday wishes. My older two said it must be sad getting so old and that I must be depressed. Well I wasn’t but now that you point that shit out, sure, I’m now depressed.

My younger two then wished me a happy birthday, and then my daughter, who is a 55-year-old smartass woman in a 7-year-old’s body, says it must be awful to think you’re still young but when in reality, you’re basically old. Gee thanks. Thankfully my 12-year-old has the innocence of a angel and told me that I’m pretty. He’s definitely in my will. The other three – I’m gonna have to think about that.

I, after getting my work done, decided I’d do some house cleaning because nothing says ‘it’s your birthday and you’re special and you deserve a break’ more than sweating your ass off, dusting, mopping floors, doing toilets and cleaning the cat’s litterbox. Oh I feel like a princess!

I decided to take a nap around 4 p.m. ish as my head was about ready to explode at that point. I got a total of 12 minutes in before my kids decided that mom having a nap wasn’t acceptable and thus told me they were bored and I should really entertain them.

I got up, asked them to go play in traffic (OH I’M KIDDING) and then decided I’d get showered and do my hair, that perhaps I’d feel better. Which, surprisingly I did. And that’s the photo you see above – migraine slightly included. My husband called me – he’d left earlier in the afternoon – and asked if I’d like to go out to dinner, to which I agreed to. We ended up taking our daughter, which was fantastic because it was after 8 p.m., and by that time, she’s tired and crabby and complained the whole time we were out. It was a great way to have a nice meal – I don’t normally like WHINE with my meal but this was super. I had CHEESE with it.

I’m hoping 42, err, 27 is better.

Kthxbai.