Other

Well, since it’s Valentine’s Day which is King of All Made Up holidays, I might as well start by sharing my tale of lost love.

Especially since it just happened five minutes ago.

No, P didn’t pack up and move to the ranch forever. He’d miss me and the way I can heat up a frozen pizza like no one else.

It’s almost as tragic though.

I just realized I dried one of my oldest and most favorite pair of jeans in the dryer. I’m going to be honest, it doesn’t look good for them. Mainly because they now appear at first sight to not be a whole lot bigger than a pair of Caroline’s jeans.

At some point I guess I’ll have to try them on and assess the damage and the muffin top ratio, but my self-esteem can’t take the hit right now.

I know it’s just a pair of jeans but they were my very first pair of 7s. It was the first time that I decided to give in to the madness of paying too much money for a pair of jeans and they have served me well. I’ve worn them at least once a week for the last FIVE years. Which means they basically ended up costing me less than a penny per wearing.

(Disclosure: I have no idea if that’s real math or if it adds up. Just go with it. I’m trying to prove a point.)

(I have no idea what that point is, but I think it has something to do with paying a little more for quality.)

In other stories of true love, I need to share that Gulley finally bought Will a bearded dragon for his birthday yesterday. His name is Hank.

She texted me that picture earlier and asked, “Is it just me or do you think he’s smiling at me?” I think she’s smitten. Which is remarkable since I’ve never known Gulley to really care about a pet that much.

However, she has let me know that I’m basically the one responsible for the bearded dragon since I told Will about them in the first place. And I didn’t ever feel bad about that until I went over there yesterday with Caroline to meet Hank and realized having a bearded dragon as a pet also requires maintaining a cricket habitat because you have to feed Hank live crickets twice a day.

Which means you have to feed the crickets. And apparently you also have to sprinkle them with vitamin powder to keep Hank healthy.

Honestly, it might have been easier if she’d just decided to have a third baby. At least that doesn’t require insects living in your home. But I’ve assured her it will all be worth it once Hank sits on her shoulder every night while she watches T.V.

I also need to mention that the expected lifespan of a bearded dragon is ten years. Gulley said, “That means I’m going to have this situation until I’m fifty years old.” She and Hank are going to grow old together.

(Not that fifty is old. I didn’t mean to imply that. Especially since I’ll be there in nine years.)

(Now I feel kind of depressed.)

Anyway, I had big plans to write a post and make a list of the worst love songs ever in my opinion, but now it’s late and the only song I can think about that really gets on my nerves is Sergio Mendes “Never Gonna Let You Go”.

I can’t explain why. I just know I’ve never liked it.

And, while we’re discussing love songs, I was looking at various lyrics on the internet and did you know that REO Speedwagon’s song “Keep On Lovin’ You” says “You played dead, but you never bled. Instead you lay still in the grass, all coiled up and hissin'”?

How have I never known that’s what it said? I mean, dude, he calls her a snake. That is rough. REO Speedwagon isn’t messing around. And I have no idea why I just called you dude.

Anyway, I think the problem is that I’ve always been a sucker for a good love song, especially a power ballad. I’m looking at you, “Forever” by Kenny Loggins.

But I know there are some bad ones out there. However, all I can think of at the moment is “Shake Your Love” by Debbie Gibson. Which you have to admit is a terrible song and I’m not just saying that because I did a pom-pom dance to it in high school.

So you tell me. What are the love songs you don’t care for? Which ones really get on your nerves?

And, most importantly, will you be singing “Shake Your Love” in spite of yourself all day?

I know.

I didn’t post yesterday. I am the worst.

But I have to tell you that at some point on Monday I began to come down off of some sort of high I’d been on since Thursday afternoon and ended up almost comatose on my couch. I needed twenty-four hours to just spend with my people and decompress a little bit.

It was like I was just tired down to my bones. Like that kind of tired like little kids get when they just burst into tears for no reason. And so I stayed in my pajamas most of the day until I decided that maybe the reason I wasn’t sleeping had to do with my pillow.

Here’s the thing about me: I am a picky sleeper.

I need to have my pillows arranged just so. In a type of nest configuration. I have a body pillow on one side and a king size pillow with a standard size pillow on the other side. Which is really the same as a body pillow but makes me feel like less of a bed hog since I can say I don’t sleep with two body pillows, just a body pillow and a king size pillow with a standard size pillow and that’s not selfish at all.

Of course who am I worried about appearing selfish in front of? P? He’s the only one that knows my pillow situation and has to deal with it on a nightly basis.

But then I need a feather pillow to actually put my head on. And it can’t be too fluffy. It needs to be squishy. Truth be told, I don’t know that I’ve switched out my pillow in the fifteen and a half years P and I have been married.

I realize that Oprah says you should change out your pillow every six months or something but that’s easy for her to say because she’s a bajillionaire and can afford to buy multiple pillows stuffed with the essence of unicorn. Meanwhile, I have to wait for a 20% off coupon from Bed, Bath and Beyond.

Anyway, as I tossed and turned on Sunday night, I decided my pillow was to blame. It’s lost all its integrity and shape, much like my rear end. I blame advancing age for both. And so, while it has served me well, it was time for a replacement.

(My pillow. Not my bottom. I would replace my bottom but I hear it’s a very painful procedure.)

(I’m sure staying up until 1:15 a.m. watching two hours of Downton Abbey had nothing to do with my insomnia. Especially not the way my heart raced when we found out Thomas knows about O’Brien and the bar of soap.)

So I drove up to Bed, Bath and Beyond looking like refried blech and perused the pillow section. I ended up buying a new standard size pillow and a new king size pillow.

(I have now turned what should have been a twenty word story into 465 words. I apologize.)

The point is I was super excited to go to bed on Monday night. Like thought about it all day kind of excited because I just knew I’d found the key to world peace and the federal deficit with the purchase of my new pillows. And so I crawled my weary self into bed at 8:30 p.m.

Then I tossed and turned and fluffed and re-fluffed my new pillow until, sadly, I had to face the fact that it is too fluffy for me. I could feel a neck cramp coming on.

And so on its very first night, it got demoted to new standard pillow on the side instead of CEO of standard pillows. Which still leaves me in need of a new pillow. I’ve been so tempted to try a My Pillow but haven’t been able to commit. I was also intrigued by the Snoogle but part of my nightly routine involves fluffing and re-fluffing and shifting all my pillows around and the Snoogle doesn’t really allow for that since it’s all-inclusive.

Clearly, I am in the midst of a serious first world dilemma.

However, I did get a little more sleep on Monday night because by going to bed at 8:30 I managed to quit tossing and turning and worrying and obsessing by 11:30. It is super fun to be me in case you’ve spent this whole post wondering how it feels.

Then yesterday I couldn’t deal with the pillow situation so I ran a bunch of other errands I’ve been putting off for the last week or so, including a much needed trip to the grocery store. And then I came home and showered because last night was my first book signing and I didn’t want to frighten small children or even large children.

I walked in Barnes and Noble and it was so bizarre to say, “Hi. Um. Hi. Um. Well, I’m the author? That’s here for the signing?” And then sweet mercy there was a podium and a microphone which I was not really expecting. Apparently I was expected to say something.

So I read half a chapter because that was all I could manage without passing out.

But it was seriously fun and I got to meet some really sweet people that have read the blog for years and it just felt like I was with friends and family. It helped that my Aunt Rita, Uncle Carl and cousin Brian were there too. And even P’s uncle and daughter showed up.

Most of all, I had Beth Moore to help me through.

I’ve got another signing this Saturday, February 16th at 1 p.m. at Books-A-Million at Katy Mills mall in Houston. Would love to see you if you’re looking for a way to kill a Saturday afternoon.

I keep saying this but you have just been so kind and supportive. Thanks for spreading the word about the book and I’d so appreciate it if you’d keep telling friends and neighbors and your mailman about it.

I’d also love any pillow recommendations if you enjoy a flat, shapeless pillow filled with feathers the way I do.

I have started this post and stared at the screen and typed stuff out and deleted it for the last forty-five minutes and now it’s almost time for Downton Abbey to start and I need to pull it together and just write.

But sometimes there just aren’t words.

(This is usually where I will follow up with over 1,000 words and I don’t see why today is going to be any different.)

Friday will go down as one of the most surreal days of my life. Kind of like if you were walking through the forest and saw a unicorn run by. I am so appreciative and grateful to all of you for your support. And I know I keep saying that but it’s the truth. You bought the book and tweeted me pictures and sent encouraging comments and Facebook messages and I stayed in my pajamas all day Saturday and read every single one.

I cried and I laughed and sometimes I just put my head in between my knees because I was overwhelmed. I spent most of Friday talking VERY LOUDLY WITH A LOT OF ANIMATION because I had enough adrenaline in my body to kill a horse. Or at least a Shetland pony.

Then at church Sunday morning we were in the middle of worship and it hit me. Just the goodness and mercy of God who uses flawed people to fulfill his plans. And, y’all. I went right into what was too ugly to even call an ugly cry. Right there on the fourth row of church. Because why cry in the privacy of your home when you can look like a lunatic in public?

P kept asking, “Do you want a tissue?” and I kept shaking my head no because I didn’t want to call attention to myself. Yes, because no one could hear me snorting and snuffling like an elephant with a head cold.

So that’s where I am. Emotionally unstable. It’s my wheelhouse.

Pass the Kleenex.

On Friday morning I had a hair appointment at 9:00 a.m. so I spent two glorious hours getting my hair cut and colored and styled. Originally I was supposed to go earlier in the week but my hair stylist called to see if we could move the appointment to Friday which was perfect since my friends were throwing a little party for me that night and it’s always a score when I don’t have to fix my own hair. I can never achieve the volume that my hair stylist can. Mainly because she knows how to use a round brush like a magician and when I use the round brush it just results in me having to cut some of my hair to get the round brush out.

After my hair appointment I came home and sat on my couch with the freshly-washed slipcovers for about two hours until my friends Jen and Jamie showed up because I didn’t want to risk getting my hair messed up and this is San Antonio and there can be humidity. They drove in from Dallas for the party and we spent the next three hours laughing and talking and catching up on life and discussing important things like Jen’s growing-out-her-hair strategy post-chemo. My other friend Kristie stopped by and we had a champagne toast with cupcakes because OF COURSE.

And then it was time to get dressed for the party. This is the part where you’re about to subjected to a bunch of pictures which is the blog equivalent of HEY, DO YOU WANT TO SEE THE SLIDES FROM OUR TRIP TO THE GRAND CANYON?

I apologize.

Oh wait. Before I show pics from the party, I need to show you a few pictures my friend Debbi took of the book all around town Friday.

It made a stop for a chicken biscuit at Chick-Fil-A.

And then a late night stop with some construction workers who may or may not have agreed that their next tattoo should be the book cover. Which makes sense because this is totally my target demographic.

It also made the rounds to the large cowboy boots outside of North Star Mall.

God bless Texas.

And now for pictures from the party. Here’s Jesus with the invitation.

This is Gulley, Jamie and me before we left my house.

And Jen and me.

Here’s some green punch. Please notice that no lime sherbet was used in the making of the punch. It was just prosecco with green food coloring which is the classier cousin of the green beer we used to drink in college on St. Patrick’s Day.

(Side note: Is it just me or do you pronounce it “sherbert”? I’m shocked there is no second r. My life has been a lie.)

This is my sweet sister. I know I needed to tell you that because there is no family resemblance and otherwise you never would have known.

At some point someone handed me that green boa and so I wore it and it caused my neck to sweat the rest of the night but I left it on because it’s what Miss Piggy would do.

Mimi was there. Bops made an early appearance but left it to the girls after a while.

Honey made the trip in from Bryan.

And here’s one at the little place we stopped at on the way to the Grand Canyon.

Oh no, wait. That’s just me laughing like a hyena. I threw this one in because it sums up Gulley and me. She’s yelling something and I’m doubled over laughing. And my poor friend Debi is standing there like “What’s happening?”

Then this is my sweet birthday club group that threw the party.

It was such a fun night and I loved being surrounded by so many people I love. Gulley even had such a good time that she decided to end the night with a little baton twirling.

She also may have signed someone’s copy of the book with “Stay Sparkly! Love, Gulley”.

We actually really did party like rock stars or at least very unlike forty-one year old mothers because I didn’t get home until 2:30 a.m. The last time that happened probably involved green beer which means it was over twenty years ago.

And it explains why I spent all day Saturday in my pajamas. Until 5:00 p.m. At which time I showered and put on a new pair of pajamas. Then I went to bed at 8:30. Because when you’re my age and party like a rock star one night, you go to bed like a senior citizen after a Luby’s platter the next.

Lastly, (and then I’m going to shut up because, OH MY WORD, QUIT TYPING ALREADY) I will be signing books at the Barnes & Noble San Pedro location in San Antonio this Tuesday night, February 12th at 7:00 p.m.

(I realize the rodeo is also in town so if you have a chance to go eat a corn dog and watch some bull-riding you might want to do that instead. Also, I will sign as many books as you bring, but I’ve been told that they prefer if you buy at least one book in the store while you’re there since they’re allowing me to be there. I feel awkward telling you that, but I’d feel more awkward if I didn’t tell you up front.)

Okay. That’s it.

Except one last thank you from the bottom part of my heart and a promise that tomorrow is going to be about something that isn’t my book.

***I closed comments on Friday’s giveaway post. The winner of the book and Kendra Scott earrings according to Random.Org was:

Congratulations, Colleen! And thank you all for entering!

I watched The Bachelor last night and I’m going to tell you that I realized why I could never be on the show. Other than that I’m forty-one and happily married and wouldn’t get in a bathing suit on national television for any amount of dollars.

They would never get me up in a helicopter.

Those girls all “OOH” and “AAH” and “my boyfriend has a helicopter!” (Which NO he does not. ABC rented him a helicopter.) and they seem to have no qualms about getting on in. But I do not like heights. Therefore I would be all CHECK PLEASE.

And so that’s why I’d never go on The Bachelor. Other than I’m married and forty-one and also a little bit of a germophobe. Oh, and I wouldn’t drink goat’s milk. And before you’re all “Goat’s milk is delicious!”, I need to tell you that I don’t like cow’s milk either. I do not care for milk except sometimes if it’s chocolate and/or in a milkshake form.

I feel so much better now that I’ve got that out there. I’m sure you’ve all been wondering.

Anyway, I woke up yesterday morning as tired as I was when I went to bed on Sunday night. It was one of those nights where I know I must have slept but I think I was working really hard in all my dreams and so I woke up tired. And then I had to put together a lunch for Caroline using nothing but two slices of ham and a Jedi mind trick.

Normally I would have felt guilty about the sad state of lunch affairs, but I knew I was bringing in Krispy Kreme donuts that afternoon to celebrate her half birthday. I realize most people don’t celebrate half-birthdays but her sweet teacher makes sure even the kids with summer birthdays get to have a celebration at school.

So I pulled together a lunch that would probably embarrass our family name and then P took her to school. Then I went to Starbucks in an attempt to get some writing stuff done because I knew if I tried to stay home I would fall into a dead sleep on the couch in ten minutes flat and that tends to be unproductive.

My Starbucks friend (the one I make bets with about important stuff like Kate Middleton’s pregnancy and Johnny Manziel winning the Heisman) had asked for a signed copy of my book a few weeks ago. Although he informed me he probably wasn’t going to read it after I told him what it was about. Which, HILARIOUS. I admire his honesty.

But I brought him a copy yesterday and he thumbed threw it and declared he was going to read it after all. It didn’t look as “religious” as he thought it might. I have no idea what that means, but I’m going to go with it.

And so after I spent a few hours attempting to get something done which really looked more like alternating between checking Twitter and Facebook and reading about Downton Abbey, I drove out to Krispy Kreme to pick up donuts. It was Caroline’s idea to bring donuts instead of cupcakes because she’s not a big fan of the cupcake and she was very specific that she wanted Krispy Kreme instead of Shipleys.

So I schlepped across town to the nearest Krispy Kreme and ended up buying thirty-six donuts because have you ever been in Krispy Kreme? I was powerless to resist the smell. And even though there are only twenty-two kids in Caroline’s class, I decided that extras weren’t the worst thing that could happen.

Swarms of killer bees are.

I have no idea where that thought just came from. See? Tired.

I brought in the donuts during the last forty minutes of the day because Caroline’s teacher is smart enough to know to let those kids take that sugar high on home with them. And she turned up the music while everyone put on their Krispy Kreme hats and danced around the room.

This was before she’d even had a donut.

And this is after.

Then I tied her to the front of the car and she pulled us all the way home.

It was good times.

I’m a big fan of nine and a half.

***Edited to add that the mannequin head is Elvis. Not the real Elvis. Just an Elvis head. It got photographed at a bad angle, which happens to the best of us.***