I’m going to be completely honest, Kindergarten is crushing my buzz.

All summer long Caroline and I would lay in bed until 8 a.m. which is an hour I only dreamed of for the first four years of her life. I had finally trained her in the art of a leisurely morning only to see it destroyed by the educational system.

So, my point is that I am tired. P has been waking us up awfully early but I think I’ve already figured out that we can sleep at least fifteen minutes later every morning. And those extra fifteen minutes will add up to an extra hour and fifteen minutes at the end of each week.

I just did that math in my head.

Who says you’ll never amount to anything if it took you two times to pass Algebra II?

Anyway, I am totally going with a list format because I have several points I would like to make and no energy to voice them in a narrative form.

1. Back-combing is just a fancy way of saying TEASING. If you were alive in the 80’s and older than six, then you’ve teased your hair.

If you’re from Texas there is a good chance that you received a sterling silver teasing comb at birth.

The one I bought is a fine-tooth comb that comes complete with a pick on the other end. It’s exactly like the comb I used in 1987-1989 to separate each curl of my spiral perm after I doused it in Aussie Sprunch Spray.

2. Hot rollers are intended for use on dry hair only. You will immediately regret any attempt to use them on wet hair. To get an idea, imagine your hair after eighteen days in a tropical rain forest.

Now multiply that by 150.

It’s also important to note that some people will mock you for toting around hot rollers in 2008, but those people are called people with flat hair.

3. I volunteered in the cafeteria at Caroline’s school today and let me assure you that nothing will make you lose your appetite like watching some kids use their straw to slurp up leftover juice from their pinto beans.

Disgusting doesn’t begin to cover it.

But it served as a great diet tool for the rest of the day.

4. One kid actually brought sushi in her lunchbox. Girlfriend sat there and rolled her own sushi in some seaweed wraps.

I just pray Caroline wants to buy her lunch for the rest of the year. I can’t take the pressure

5. Our dryer is broken. I’m supposed to sit at home between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. for the Sears repairman to grace me with an appearance.

It would be a great time to catch up on laundry, except for the fact that my dryer is broken.

Truth be told, the dryer is eleven years old. I don’t have high hopes for a comeback. Do y’all have any dryer recommendations? Is one dryer really better than another? Should I just hang a clothesline across the backyard and go old school? (the neighbors would be so pleased)

Any dryer wisdom would be appreciated.

Y’all have a great day and I’ll try to be back with a coherent thought tomorrow.

So, I’ve been so wrapped up in the start of Kindergarten and crying while looking at Caroline’s baby pictures that I haven’t even talked about what a great weekend I had.

It started out with a little bit of a glitch when Sophie called to let me know that the extremely helpful Continental Airlines had decided to cancel her flight from Houston to San Antonio.

Well done, Continental. Way to establish trust and consumer loyalty.

Sophie was trying to figure out what to do and I just tried to be helpful by continually yelling into the phone, “JUST RENT A CAR AND DRIVE HERE! JUST RENT A CAR! IT WILL ONLY TAKE 2 1/2 HOURS! RENT A CAR! IT’S JUST A TWO HOUR DRIVE!”

Needless to say, she got off the phone with me and went in search of someone who could provide an actual solution.

In the meantime, I was able to spend some time visiting with Amanda and we had more fun talking about life. She’s just starting to potty train her little boy and I offered helpful tips along the lines of “POTTY TRAINING IS SO HARD! GIVING A TODDLER CONTROL OF ANYTHING IS A NIGHTMARE!”

Seriously, I’ll put that pep talk on DVD and make millions.

Sophie finally arrived in San Antonio around 3:30, which gave us just enough time to go in search of chips and guacamole before heading over to the Alamodome for Living Proof Live.

Right as it started, Gulley met us there and I got to see all my worlds collide. Hello internet world, meet real life world.

What ever happened to that sweet girl who was afraid to use the email?

Travis and the praise team were awesome. I mean, ya’ll, they can flat sing. Every single one of them is so incredibly gifted and I could have listened to them all night.

Beth spoke about our inheritance from God and if we would only realize that we are all heiresses of God we wouldn’t give ourselves away so cheaply. It was so incredible and God used it to continue to speak to me about how much He values us. In fact, one of Beth’s points was that not only is God our portion, but we are His. He delights in us.

I love when God uses a theme.

After it was over, several of us went to Mi Tierra to eat some late night Mexican food. It was just like being back in college except I hadn’t spent the evening drinking cheap, warm beer out of a plastic cup.

Throughout the weekend I was able to meet so many sweet women that I’ve met ON THE INTERNET over the last couple of years. It was so great to finally be able to hug people who have been such an encouragement and blessing to me. I loved every minute of it and can’t wait until we can do it again.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of the most important lessons I received over the weekend.

On Friday night before the event, I was talking to Beth’s daughter, Melissa, and I asked her exactly how she fixes her hair. We have similar hair but mine is missing something. She told me the trick is hot rollers (which I already use on a regular basis) and then asked me if I back-combed my hair because it looked like what was missing was some back-combing.

So not only did I get a word from her mama, but Melissa ministered to me with some valuable hair wisdom.

Although, Melissa has a backcombing advantage because she was not a teenager in the 80’s. I guarantee she has never used a comb to do this to her hair.

Once you have backcombed your hair to achieve a full, sassy mullet, it’s hard to pick up a fine-tooth comb again.

But I can’t be held back by the sins of my past.

I’m ready to try again. I need some lift and I’ll do what must be done to get it.

In fact, I am so committed that I even purchased a brand new comb yesterday at HEB.

As long as I don’t start carrying it in my back pocket, I think I’ll be okay.

When I went to the doctor on Monday to see about my rash o’ death, he prescribed a four day treatment of oral prednisone, which is a steroid.

It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was heading into full blown PMS at any moment.

I’m literally experiencing PMS on steroids.

And it’s not pretty, my friends.

In fact, a few moments ago, I killed an entire plate of chocolate chip cookies all by myself.

They never saw it coming.

Anyway, things can only get better because at noon today I’m picking up Annie, Sophie and Amy Beth from the airport and we’re heading straight for some of the finest Mexican food San Antonio has to offer.

Then later, we’ll get to go hear Beth Moore and Travis Cottrell at the Alamodome.

And even later, I’ll attack another plate of chocolate chip cookies.

I can’t help myself.

It’s the hormones.

And the steroids.

Oh, and the chocolate.

For the last year, Gulley has told me that she wanted to do a guest post on my birthday. You have to understand that this is a big deal because she always swears she would never have her own blog because all she would ever write is “Today I did laundry. I drove carpool. I cooked chicken for dinner and served rice as a side dish. Then, I went to bed.”

Personally, I don’t think she gives herself enough credit.

Anyway, the following is by Gulley. You will notice that there are 37 things listed because today may or may not be my 37th birthday.

37 Reasons to love Big Mama
by Gulley

1. We laugh hysterically every day.

2. If we skip a day, we make up for it by laughing doubly the next day.

3. She randomly hates things. For example, “I hate pizza.” “I hate chinese food.”

4. She will hate things on your behalf. For example, “I hate [insert store name here] for being rude to you.”

5. She has given me the benefit of Fashion Friday for 19 years now.

6. She will find clothes for you, even if they would not suit her.

7. We have an unspoken hierarchy of the type of therapy needed for certain problems: cookie dough by the spoonful, queso, or a margarita.

8. The girl can cook.

9. When she has made something you like, she will call and say, “Come over. I made ______.”

10. We have shown up to drop the kids off at school wearing the same thing more than once.

11. She’s not easily offended and all the sensitive people want to be her friend.

12. Many times one of us has picked up the phone to call the other while the other was dialing.

13. She makes everything more fun.

14. She rarely ever complains about anything.

15. She is very tender and will cry with you when you cry.

16. She gives sound advice.

17. She loves God and his word.

18. On Thanksgiving we say the same thing every year: “Of all the things I have to be thankful for, you are in my top 5!”

19. She will go Christmas shopping with you all over town even when she is done with her shopping.

20. On any given day our conversation pendulum will swing from questions like, “Is my faith thrilling and delightful?” to, “What color velour is best? What are the top fashion finds right now?”

21. She DID buy our entire Bible study group blue suede fringe bracelets to wear during Believing God. She did NOT spend more time deliberating on the fringe than on the actual Bible study.

22. She always knows what to say, or what not to say. Even if it means telling me my husband is right.

23. She will run something over for you to wear in a moment’s notice.

24. She will pour over photos and magazines with you to find the perfect hairstyle.

25. She will listen and listen and listen and listen……

26. She is witty.

27. She loves my boys and bonds with them by playing games on the Wii, Uno, and going to t-ball games.

28. We share a passion for Aggie sports, especially football.

29. We both complete NCAA basketball brackets.

30. This person you see on the blog, she is all that and more, oh yes ma’am she is!

31. We can talk baseball better than two guys ever could.

32. I believe we will all have hair like hers when we get to heaven. She has no self-righteousness about this.

33. We include each other in our big moments.

34. When I start trash talking at sporting events, she is polite at first but she eventually joins in!

35. The first time we saw each other after we were both married we stayed up talking about marriage until 5 am. Then we wished aloud that stores opened at 5 am so we could go shopping.

36. When we went to New York together, I literally spent my last dollar on a must have track suit. She paid for my cab fare to the airport and my headphones on the flight home.

37. Because big news isn’t big until I have shared it with her.

Happy Birthday Big Mama! I love you more than my luggage!

So I’ve pretty much spent every waking moment since Friday immersed in Olympic mania. I adore the Olympics.

It’s something about the purity of the competition, athletes that train constantly for an event that only happens every four years. The pride, the patriotism.

It makes me believe that if only I had stuck with my competitive swimming on the Westador Ducks swim team throughout elementary school that I could have been a contender.

Unfortunately I got tired of riding my bicycle the six blocks it took to get to the pool and, thus, ended my Olympic hopes.

However, I believe I have mentioned once or twenty times before that I was a UIL typist in 9th grade which was kind of like being an Olympic athlete except for the fact that I wasn’t a world class athlete, but rather a fourteen year old who typed more words per minute than twenty other freshmen in high school.

It was quite the accomplishment.

I was also a Mathlete.

Not really, but I like the term Mathlete. The real story is that it took me two attempts to pass Algebra II and even then I think I only earned a passing grade through the time-honored tradition of bribing your teacher with fresh donuts each morning.

Anyway, as I watch the Olympics, I’ve had a few burning questions and/or concerns.

1. Synchronized men’s diving. Thoughts? I mean I get the diving part, but who thought up the synchronized thing? It seems a little contrived.

Hey! You know what could make this dive even better? If we did it at the SAME TIME.

It has incredible potential as the premise for a Will Ferrell movie.

If your brother, nephew, or third cousin twice removed is a synchronized men’s diver, I don’t mean to offend. I’m just curious.

2. Female Chinese gymnasts. If some of those girls are sixteen years old, I’ll eat my hat.

3. Michael Phelps. I thought maybe I had a small crush on him, but realized I am getting old because my feelings are more along the lines of “Oh, he seems like such a nice boy and he loves his mama.”

But the burning question in my mind is what is he listening to on his iPod before races? Rumor has it that it’s Eminem or Young Jeezy.

See how I just threw Young Jeezy out there like I totally know who that is?

No idea.

If it were me (and I were back in the thick of the UIL typing competition) I know what I’d be listening to, a little “Bootylicious” by Beyonce and “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” by Michael Jackson.

It’s no wonder I was an award-winning typist.

So what would be on your iPod?

Please discuss all these (and any other) Olympic topics in the comments.

There is something that’s been going on in my personal life that I have been very reluctant to discuss. It’s been more than I can bear and has altered life as I once knew it.

It’s about my HEB.

For those of y’all who don’t know, HEB is a grocery store chain based in South Texas. The founder’s name was Howard E. Butt, thus, HEB. You have to admit HEB rolls off the tongue much better than, say, The Butt Store.

Unless you only sell hemorrhoid cream.

I spend over half my life at HEB. It is like my home away from home.

It all started about two months ago when I realized that my favorite manager, Dwayne, had been transferred to another store. I kind of knew it would happen eventually because Dwayne was the Michael Phelps of grocery store managers. (See how I just worked in an Olympic reference?)

Losing Dwayne was like losing a member of my family. He had been there for me since Caroline was a newborn baby, doling out Buddy Bucks and handing out balloons. Every time we went to the store, Caroline would look for Dwayne and run to give him a hug.

But Dwayne had to move on to greener HEB pastures.

The next thing I knew, HEB decided to quit carrying Tyson skinless boneless chicken breasts, which has required me to completely cut poultry out of my family’s diet because just the thought of raw chicken, or even cooked chicken with skin, makes me want to systematically rid the world of all chickens.

So, I’ve had my struggles with HEB as of late but, due to their South Texas monopoly, my only other option is to shop at Walmart and, frankly, I’d rather hoe my own garden.

Two weeks ago, I walked into HEB and noticed they had taken up all the linoleum. I figured we were getting some stained concrete floors and I was cool with that. I can handle change in reasonable increments, especially if it’s fashionable change.

However, over the last two weeks I have been to HEB about twenty-six times and each time the store is in a bigger mess than it was the last time I was there.

There is motor oil where the bread used to be, toilet paper where the Diet Coke was, and cereal in the middle of the produce department. I haven’t been this confused since I accidentally took twice the recommended dosage of some prescription cough medicine last winter.

I wander aimlessly around the store hoping I’ll find at least a few things I actually need. At times I stop and ponder why the wine is on the same aisle as the diapers and baby food, but then I remember Caroline’s first year of life and realize it’s just a clever marketing ploy.

The worst part is that every time I go back, the whole store has been completely rearranged again. So just when I figure out that the ice cream is across from the tampons (there’s that clever marketing!), they go and change it all around.

I kind of think they’re messing with me.

Yesterday, Caroline and I went to the store to load up on groceries. I was hot and tired because we’d already run about fifty-eight errands that morning and I just wanted the store trip to be over. Naturally, Caroline sensed this and decided she wanted to ride on one of the bench carts that create more navigational challenges than the Queen Mary in a swimming pool.

I knew it was going to be a special trip when I managed to knock over an entire display of Pecan Sandies before we’d even been there for five minutes. In my defense, it wasn’t really my fault since they weren’t on the cookie aisle but rather next to the charcoal and lighter fluid.

We went through the whole store like we were on a bad scavenger hunt while Caroline provided running commentary for everything. “WOW MAMA! YOU REALLY KNOCKED OVER A LOT OF COOKIES!!”

Finally, I had almost everything I needed, but couldn’t find the bottled water. I was desperate to find bottled water. Please, OZARKA, help me out.

I couldn’t find any HEB staff to assist me in my quest. They were all too busy unpacking boxes and arbitrarily moving around the stock. I was tempted to head back to the diaper aisle and load up a case of wine for immediate consumption.

About the time my blood pressure was about to shoot off the charts, I located the bottled water. On the dog food aisle.

Naturally.

We headed to the shortest checkout line I could find and just when I thought I was safe, Caroline yelled, “LOOK MAMA! THAT LADY IS SHOWING HER BOOBIES!”

I was too embarrassed to look around to see what she was talking about, but honestly I can’t blame that woman. She was probably hoping to attract the attention of an HEB employee to help her find the bottled water.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Every year when February hits and the weather warms up to 80 degrees, it makes me start thinking about getting some sun on the whiteness that is my skin. In college, this was always crucial because Spring Break was right around the corner, and I did not want to be the whitest girl on the beach…especially since I was already the whitest girl on the dance floor.

Anyway, the great thing about college, other than living off my parents, was that pretty much everybody I knew lived in an apartment complex with a pool, so we could spend our afternoons at the pool of our choice, reading magazines, planning the night’s activities and getting some sun.

Ah, sweet youth.

The point is that when the weather gets warm, I want to get a tan. Oh, I know ozone, shmozone…blah, blah, blah. The bottom line is that tan fat looks better than white fat. It’s a scientific fact.

And who am I to argue with science?

The nice thing is that since I have an Italian heritage, it only takes about 30 minutes of sun time to get a little glow in my skin. Of course, since my hormones went awry after childbirth, that is also the amount of time that it takes for the pigmentation above my lip to get dark and begin to look like a very bad mustache.

It’s a hot look.

However, I will take a hint of a mustache over white cellulite any day of the week.

And the fact that those are my beauty options, just confirms that the mid-30’s are a glamorous time in a woman’s life.

So, all these thoughts about getting some sun make me think back to the summer I was pregnant with Caroline. We were living in a rent house because our home was in the middle of major renovations that would hopefully be finished by the time the baby arrived. Anyway, one afternoon in late June, I was bored. P was working and I was home alone with nothing to do.

Then, in a flash of brilliance, I decided to put on a swimsuit and go sit out in the backyard and get some sun. And to maximize my getting sun efforts, I chose to put on my non-maternity bikini swimsuit.

Looking good.

I contorted my seven month pregnant body into a bikini and let’s just say that there was maximum spillage everywhere, but I figured no one would see me and really, wouldn’t a little bit of a tan make my pregnant body look so much better?

The answer was literally a big, fat no, but God bless me for being so naive. The only thing that was going to make me look better at that point was childbirth and an ensuing maximum weight loss diet plan…oh, and for the fifteen pounds of water that I was retaining in my ankles to go away.

I was in the middle of gathering my crucial laying out in the sun supplies, such as InStyle magazine, water, and a towel, when the phone rang. As I was talking on the phone, I walked out in the backyard without realizing I didn’t bring any of my things out with me. I turned to go back inside and realized I had shut, and therefore locked, the back door.

I was standing in the backyard of a rental home, seven months pregnant in a bikini swimsuit with no towel, no t-shirt, and no tarp to cover my exposed pregnant self. I immediately began weighing my options. I tried all the back windows and they were locked. I contemplated hoisting my pregnant body over the chain link fence in the hopes that the front door might be unlocked.

Now, there is a mental image. A huge, pregnant woman in a too small bikini climbing a chain link fence. It would be enough to sear your corneas forever.

And seriously, it would have taken a forklift or maybe even a crane to get me over that fence.

After I quit panicking, I realized that I did have a phone (y’all know how your brain is when you’re pregnant) so I called P on his cell phone, explained what had happened, and after he quit laughing hysterically, he said that he would get home as soon as he could, but he was about 45 minutes away.

I spent the next 45 minutes talking on the phone to Gulley while intermittently drinking water out of the garden hose to keep myself hydrated, and hanging out of an increasingly small swimsuit. I’m sure it looked like a scene straight from an episode of Cops.

Finally, P showed up to rescue his waddling damsel in distress. I ran into the house and had never been more thankful for air conditioning and maternity clothing.

I don’t know what I was thinking going out there to get some sun.

Really, it all goes back to the inherent fact that tan fat looks better than white fat. I can’t fight science people, not even while seven months pregnant.

**This post was originally published March 6, 2007**

Gulley and I lived on the convenience store diet throughout college. We would stop at 7-11 on the way to class in the morning and start our day with a Big Gulp. Dr. Pepper for her. Real Coke for me. Most days we would each buy a package of powdered donuts to go with our 72 oz. beverage.

After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

We’d head to our Intercultural Communication class and daintily sip our carbonated drinks and eat our powdered donuts while we listened to Professor Gonzales lecture about you know, culture and communication. Obviously, all that sugar and caffeine was causing my brain to short circuit, because I actually made a 13 on a test in that class.

A 13.

I’ll never forget that he was about to pass out the graded tests and gave some lecture about how most people did pretty well, but there was one person who made a 13. Gulley laughed and wrote a note on my paper that said, “Maybe it was you. Ha. Ha.”

It was me.

Ha. Ha.

And after I got that test back, I gathered up my donuts and industrial-sized beverage and headed to my academic advisor’s office to let her know I was dropping the class. I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t recover from a 13.

Anyway, after a hard morning of academic achievement, we would drive back to our apartment and then go back to 7-11 with our roommates to get another Big Gulp. Everyone needs a little afternoon pick me up and what says pick me up better than 144 oz. of caffeine and sugar?

As we talked about our Big Gulp consumption, I had a few thoughts.

1. Did I drink even a sip of water throughout my college career?

2. Why could I not figure out that maybe part of what was contributing to my ever increasing weight was the fact that I was easily consuming 2000 calories a day in beverage alone?

And that’s not counting the Zima.

3. Do college students still drink Big Gulps or have they become extinct with the advent of the Grande Mocha Latte with extra whip?

4. It’s interesting that these days, unless I’m on a road trip, it would never even occur to me to drive to a convenience store for the sole purpose of purchasing something to drink. Sonic, yes. QuikMart, no.

I realize I have rambled enough about this entire subject, but during our Big Gulp conversation, Gulley brought up a memory that I had long forgotten.

Big shock there.

During my first senior year in college and Gulley’s junior year, we lived in a duplex right around the corner from a Quikmart. Needless to say, we were frequent customers making around 4-5 visits a day. It was our standard stop. We even knew all the cashiers.

One night, Gulley’s mama called and asked her, “Do you know somebody named Al?”

Gulley thought about it and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

Her mama said, “Well someone named Al called here looking for you and said he knows you from the Quikmart.”

It was then that we realized that Al was one of the cashiers at our favorite stop. It seems he had gotten Gulley’s phone number off of one of her checks and wanted to ask her out. And no, Al wasn’t exactly date material for a variety of reasons, but first and foremost because he was about 35 which, of course, is ancient. Fortunately, the number on her check was her parent’s home phone number, not ours.

As were laughing about this story this week, I made the comment that, looking back, it’s kind of scary that Al got her phone number off her check.

And Gulley said, “I’m not sure what’s scarier, that he got my number off my check or that I wrote a check for 94 cents to pay for a Big Gulp.”

Hope y’all have a lovely weekend.

**Originally published March 30, 2007**

I don’t want y’all to think that I spent my entire weekend singing weepy versions of “Sweet Caroline” and “Sunrise, Sunset”.

Because while, yes, there was some of that, I was also fortunate enough to overhear this exchange between two college-aged guys while waiting in line at the pool grill.

“Dude, what are you doing tonight?”

“Man, I don’t know. It’s Saturday night. I just bought a new pair of shoes. The possibilities are endless.”

Oh, nineteen. What a sweet age.

Oh.

Hi.

I bet you clicked over here expecting to see a Fashion Friday post. It would appear that I have, once again, fallen off the Fashion Friday wagon.

Truly, I had every intention of answering a few questions. I even went so far as to begin some research on the internet.

But, you know what they say, the road to Fashion Friday is filled with good intentions.

The trouble began when Caroline decided she wanted to spend the night with Mimi and Bops. Mimi arrived to pick her up at 1:30 and I didn’t even wait for her suitcase to get loaded in the car before I jumped in my car and headed to my new favorite boutique.

Plus, P left on an overnight fishing trip.

I was in my house. All by myself. In charge of the remote control.

Here’s how my evening went:

5:00 p.m. Arrived home from shopping. Was actually empty handed in spite of the fact that the lady at my new favorite boutique offered to give me 25% off a beautiful shirt. What was I thinking when I walked out?

Clearly, I was delirious from all the freedom.

5:30 p.m. Checked email and Twitter. Looked at Fashion File Inbox to see what questions I should answer for Fashion Friday.

6:00 p.m. Stomach starts to growl. Called in an order for a crispy beef taco plate from one of my favorite Mexican food places. Okay, I also ordered a big tostada covered in chile con queso.

Giddy with the freedom.

Must celebrate by eating a lot of cheese.

6:37 p.m. Ate delicious plate of Mexican food. Whoever said “Food isn’t love” has never eaten a really good crispy taco plate.

6:48 p.m. Started the DVR to watch the latest “Project Runway”. I’m pretty sure the winning dress was the same one I wore to Homecoming in 1986.

7:52 p.m. Picked up computer to get down to the business of perusing the internet for fashion solutions. Decided to flip through the channels just one time. Lo and behold, “Sweet Home Alabama” was on. I can’t turn off anything starring Reese Witherspoon.

Or Patrick Dempsey, for that matter.

Other movies I can’t turn off if they are on T.V. include “Gone With the Wind”, “Steel Magnolias”, “The Philadelphia Story” (the one with Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant), “Coalminer’s Daughter”, “Lucas”, “Breakfast Club”, “Pretty in Pink”, and “Giant”.

I’m sure there are others but I can’t think of them right now.

9:06 p.m. “Sweet Home Alabama” ends and I wipe away a few tears. It gets me every time because I am a big sap.

9:08 p.m. Open computer to check email and get down to the serious business of writing Fashion Friday.

9:14 p.m. Check the T.V. again and discover “Smokey and the Bandit” is on.

Well, how can I turn off the Bandit?

People, I am only human.

10:00 p.m. Back to the computer. Must write. Must heed the fashion emergency call.

Decide to read a few other blogs first just to get in the writing frame of mind. And while I’m searching the internet, I might as well take the time to respond to some email.

10:30 p.m. Turn T.V. back on just for the background noise.

“The Holiday” is on and that part at the end where Jude Law is crying because Cameron Diaz just left for America? I must watch it.

I have no willpower.

Thus, I have no Fashion Friday post.

But, hey! Now I’m wondering, what are the movies that you can’t turn off if they are on T.V.?

And don’t be embarrassed if it’s a Lifetime made-for-television movie. I have been known to indulge in more than a few movies starring Tori Spelling or Tiffani-Amber Thiessen back before she became a serious actress and dropped the hyphen and the Amber.

I’m not proud.

I just feel like I need to be honest.

Y’all have a great Friday!