scraps & lagniappe

ugly Christmas lawn decor contest: entry #1

Let me preface this entry by saying: I have never in my life.  

Seriously.  

This is Jennifer C's entry and she has outdone herself.  This house is somewhere in Mandeville, LA.

Readers, behold the ugly.

 
 Yes, those are gift-wrapped columns, stuffed animals, and gift boxes.  I don't know what's up with the tigers.  I'm thinking LSU fans.  Or maybe it's Seigfried and Roy's winter home.

Another view.  I think the gift boxes bring the Christmas joy.  I like stockings in the window and Elmo, because nothing says happy birthday, Jesus like Elmo taped to your shutters.  Yes, that's the finest packing tape money can buy on the siding.

To fully appreciate the tacky, Jennifer took shots at night too!

 

 

I'm glad this homeowner has home security, you wouldn't want anyone to break in and steal those stuffed animals.  

Okay people, send in your pics for the Ugly Christmas Lawn Decor Contest to kerrybee7@yahoo.com.  The winner will be announced on Christmas Eve and I'll send you a $25 Starbucks giftcard.  So, get our your camera and go find the tacky!  

in which Kerry convinces herself of things she already knows

There have been many pets in my life.  My first pet was a dog named Shine who "ran away."  Then we had a dachshund, Otto, who also "ran away."  Next was a cocker spaniel, Sam, who was the best dog ever -- you guessed it -- "ran away."  My parents then got a chow we named Bear who "went to live on a farm."  At some point between dogs, I had a gerbil, Penny.  I put Penny on the back steps in her cage while I cleaned my room in the middle of the Louisiana summer and when I went to get her later, she was deceased.  Once I had a fish that committed suicide by jumping down the garbage disposal while I was cleaning the fishbowl.  When I turned 18, my best friend gave me a kitten (Figaro, the best cat ever), who a year and a half later my mom took to the humane society when I was in college (at least she didn't tell me it went to live on a farm).  Lastly, the kids had a cat named Tinkerbell who actually did run away almost two years ago.  Seriously, why would I lie to you people?  The cat ran away.  She was declawed, so she was probably met with an unfortunate end with a big dog or some creature from the woods or an alligator.

I have not had the best of luck with animals.  Most of that was due to my crazy parents who were obviously not pet people.  My family now has a basset hound, Lucy Dog.  She's a half inside/half outside dog because she still acts like a puppy and lives for knocking down Andrew, the smallest member of the family.  I know I do not need to take on another pet.

So, why am I looking at kittens and puppies in the classifieds of Nola.com?  I have obviously lost my mind. 

Maybe it has something to do with the kids getting older.  It's been an adjustment having Andrew in school everyday, even though it's only two full days and three hours a day on the other three days.  I can't deny that it's been a little weird for me now that the baby isn't a baby anymore.  Knowing we're not going to have anymore babies, that mothering thing in my head wants to hold on to the baby.  That mothering thing in my head has been rather loud lately, saying, "get another pet."

I do not need to take on another pet, I say.

But you love the animals.

But I'm allergic to the animals, I say.

You're already on allergy stuff, it's cool.

But I don't want to take care of another breathing thing, I say.

Oh, but puppies and kitties are so cute.

They are cute, I say.

Remember how great Figaro the cat was?

Yeah, but Tinkerbell the cat was insane, I say.

And she ran away, so that took care of that.  You need a pet of your own.

I would really love a cocker spaniel, I say.

Cockers are great.  Remember how great Sam was?

That was one great dog, I say.

There are cocker puppies on Nola.com.

Oh, look how cute THAT puppy is, I say.

At this point I realize I have said the last statement out loud and three children come running to the kitchen table to look at the puppy. 

I want this puppy.  I would name her Sadie and I would let her sleep in my bed.  I've never let a dog sleep in my bed, but look at that face.  I am in total puppy love with this puppy. 

I do not need to take on another pet.

in which I call fowl on "roostergate '09"

So, a good friend of mine who shall remain nameless because there is a good chance once this gets out she'll be spending the rest of her life haunted by PETA, sends me this email after being kept awake very early in the morning by a neighbor's rooster:

You know I'm not getting enough sleep if I am googling "How can you kill a rooster".  But guess what?  I'm not the only one with this problem; there's a link called "How to kill your neighbor's rooster" (score!) 

Here's the solution I like, and don't think I won't be calling feed stores today looking for coyote urine.  (One day, one of you will either: have to bail me out of jail or testify on my behalf or both!) This is insane!

 

 

HydroHarold

04-01-2006, 01:24 AM

First you need an A#1 long range water pistol.
Second, some coyote pee (available at better sporting goods stores everywhere).
Third, load the water pistol (with coyote pee) and shoot the area between you and your "neighbor". Really give the area a hearty treatment. Chanticlere's genetic memory will drive him to the farthest distance he can get from that powful pee pheremone plus make him a neurotic wreck.

If this fails give him the "HydroHarold Silent Treatment", a Wham-O Wrist Rocket slingshot propelled 1/4" steel ball bearing (also available at better sporting goods stores everywhere)... Cruel and so anti-PETA-istic but achieving effective permanance non the less.

No doubt I will be bailing her out of jail soon.  This afternoon, I get the following email from her:

So I called some local feed stores today, and guess what? Nobody laughed or hung up on me! The first store is out of coyote urine (must be a run on it these days).  Second store has both coyote and wolf urine-this could get intereting. 

I feel a covert operation coming on....stay tuned!

No doubt there is a run on coyote urine these days with all the roosters in suburban unincorporated areas of town.  One never knows when one may need coyote urine, so I've always suggested keeping some on hand in case of emergency. 

Now, as you may know, I've never been one to turn down a covert operation, so I replied to my friend, telling her we need code names as well as face paint, perhaps really cute outifts, and walkie-talkies for this operation. 

Stay tuned indeed.

self-portrait

For many reasons, I've never been one for self-portraits or seeing photos of myself.  Mostly because I -- like a lot of you -- am highly critical of myself , my looks, my skin, my hair, my anything and everything.  So, I'm usually the one behind the camera (or cameras, as the case may be).  I'm quite the amateur photographer, you know.  But when I'm the subject of a photograph, I see my round face and double chin, the two scars from when I had chicken pox in high school, and acne.  I see the complete lack of color in my face and lips that point downward at the corners.  I see eyebrows that must be dyed to be seen and barely-there eyelashes.  And over the years I've noticed my freckles have faded and my nose is getting bigger at the end, which is par for the course, really, isn't it?  At least I still have my sense of humor.  Lord knows where I'd be without it. 

So, those are the thoughts that are with me when I look in the mirror or see a picture of myself.  And please, I've only listed the issues I have with my face.  I'd go into the rest, but frankly, I have plans later this month and I don't have that kind of time. 

As I've mentioned recently, I've been in a funk.  The funk has lasted for a few weeks and I'm thinking of naming it.  Maybe Fred, I'm not sure.  Anyanxiety, yesterday I was having a particularly bad day.  We all have them, but a bad day when you're in a funk is really bad.  Among other things, I ran into the garage wall WITH MY CAR, the wall I've already dented and made a nice hole in.  Pretty soon it will look as though the Kool Aid guy has run through it and into the laundry room.  I realized what I had done, put the car in reverse, then park, closed my eyes and told myself to breath.  At that moment "You Are the Everything" by R.E.M.  came on the iPod and my scalp tingled like all my hair was standing on end and I exhaled and started crying.  Now, I'm not one of those I-never-cry kind of girls, don't think that -- but yesterday the dam broke and what started as a tear down one cheek and smeared mascara turned into The Ugly Cry. 

The Ugly Cry is best cried alone.   Fortunately, the three year-old bolted from his booster seat and into the house, leaving me to drench the steering wheel in peace.  Unfortunately, I am nothing if not cognizant of my surroundings, bordering on clairvoyant, and I wiped my eyes only to see in my rear-view mirror that the UPS man was standing curiously behind my van, a couple of feet from the garage.  Of course, I did what anyone would do in this instance and broke out into maniacal laughter, then got out of the car and got my package from Mr. UPS.  

Once in the house, I stopped in the powder room to look at myself and saw that I had cried every inch of makeup off my face, except for my Pixi lip stain in the color Love -- which looks very bright pink when you're not wearing any other makeup.  For the first time in never, I was okay with my naked face.  Pale skin, blonde eyelashes, out-of-control hair and all.  I made myself some coffee and sat down to my laptop at my kitchen table, talked to a friend on Facebook, and took a picture with the webcam.  I don't know why I thought to do this, it's not like me at all -- and even less like me to share a photo of myself without makeup with you.  After all, I was fully made-up when I was induced with all three babies, I don't leave the house without my eyes done and lipstick, and I sure as hell don't take pictures of myself without foundation, concealer, eye makeup, blush, and touched-up eyebrows.  

I didn't think anything about the picture.  I continued in my funk and forgot about it.  Last night I was blogging about friends and made the photo mosaic on bighugelabs.com (great site to do neat things with pics) and today went back to that site to play some more.  I love David Hockeny's work and his collages he's made with polaroids and thought I'd use the "Hockneyizer" and make my own.  And maybe it's Honesty Week on The Kerry Blog, but I want to share it with you.  Maybe I'm coming out of the funk, maybe I've finally lost it, I'm not sure  -- but here I am.  Naked, with lip stain. 

  

I'm hitting the "save" button before I chicken out. 

somebody better call freakin' PETA

I'll get to Tunes You Need Tuesday later, this couldn't wait.  You'll see why.

There are a few blogs I read everyday, from friends' blogs to scrapbooking blogs to more serious-toned blogs and one of my favorites is Manolo For the Big Girl, which I've written about before.  Today I went to MFTBG and found a link to what may possibly be the wrongest (yeah, I know it's not a word, that's how outraged I am!) site I have ever seen. 

Somebody better call freakin' PETA before I have a stroke.  I hate it when I see dogs dressed up in sweaters, so this made me nuts. 

WTF?  Now, I'm all about expressing creativity, but damn.  This is all kinds of wrong.  There is no explantaion other than this dog groomer never got to play with the Barbie Make Me Pretty Head when she was little and it taking it out on her dog.  No dog wants their ass fur turned into a sunflower!  I can't believe I actually wrote "ass fur" on the Kerry Blog; I've reached a new low, people. 

Groomer lady didn't stop with the flower, that dog has antenae!  She turned the dog into a snail in a garden of hell. 

Don't get me wrong, I love animals (cute furry ones anyway), but this is cruel.  And just when I thought I'd seen it all I scrolled down and saw this. 

Good Lord, now the poodle is a camel.  This dog is going to have and identity disorder.  For realz.  And groomer lady walked like an Egyptian for the award ceremony.  Poor camel/dog.  You know when they go to the dog park camel/dog gets made fun of by all the other dogs.  Even the chiauauas and those weird barkless dogs point and laugh at the camel/dog and tell all the other dogs to ask what King Tut was really like.  This dog is the Rodney Dangerfield of dogs, no respect. The dog is thinking "someone help me.  Michael Vick, anyone." 

Then when I thought it couldn't get any worse.

Oh hell no.  It's a damn Teenage effing Mutant effing Ninja effing Turtle dog. 

People, shut the back door.  Call the cops, it's all over.  I feel so deflated as a creative person, I'm going to get my scrapbook supplies out after the kids go to school tomorrow and get to work on making Lucy the basset hound the most glittery, blingged-out dog you've ever seen.  I may fold her long ears into some kind of origami -- forget those cranes!  I'm going for a damn helicopter or a bi-plane or something that will fly, 'cause damn if we're gonna be shown up by a poodle!

Stay tuned for further developments, I may have finally gone off the deep end since I've seen the camel/turtle/dog and a damn pink freakin' dolphin this week.  Dear Baby Jesus, please let life start making sense or I'm going to check myself into the looney bin.  Please don't tell me I'm seeing things, because that means either I'm on too many meds or not enough and I think we all know the answer to that one.  Plus, it's National No Swearing Week and I tried my best, but there was no chance of that with Fluffy the dolphin and this travesty of the dog world happening in the same week.  I'm going to head to bed before I see a damn unicorn in the backyard or a dragon circling the house 'cause no one invited them to this party, that is unless they do laundry. 

open letter to SJP

Dear Sarah Jessica Parker,

Can I call you SJP?  Good.  SJP, I feel like I know you -- I know you don't know me, but I know you because I've grown up with you, via the television greatness known as Square Pegs and the film masterpiece Girls Just Want to Have Fun.  I've kept up with you through the years and being BFFs in my head the way we are, I can't help but feel it's time to have an intervention.  I'm calling your friends Helen Hunt and Shannen Doherty from Girls Just Want to Have Fun and along with your hubs, we're going to get things right with you.  About what?  Have you not seen the photographs?  Well, I was going to leave the evidence for the intervention, but you've forced my hand.  Go ahead and look. 

Do you see it?  Come on, SJP.  You know it's there.  You have a bad case of over-topping and side-boob. 

I know, I know.  It's the dress -- no, it's not.  It's the boobs.  You've managed to put on a dress than serves as a boob-tray and go to the Oscars.  You know the dress looked like that before you left the hotel.  Not only do you look half an inch away from a wardrobe malfunction, you're boobs look like they're fighting and running in seperate directions.  When you're boobs look like they've had an argument, it's far from being a good thing. 

In the second pic, Matthew looks like he's about to break into everyone's favorite Broadway number "Hello Booby."   Lord only knows what painful undergarments you were wearing to boost those babies up and make them look fake.  I don't think they are, but they're looking it.  SJP, there was simply not enough fabric in the bodice of that dress.  I know a thing or two about boobs.  I have two of them, I've had them since fourth grade -- I am an authority on the subject.  We've all had bad boob moments.  Lord knows I've inadvertantly flashed more people than I care to admit, but SJP, you have people. 

You have a stylist and a team of people who are paid to make you look good and make sure the girls are in place.  The girls did not behave.  I've never been so lucky as to have a team of people to help me get ready for an event, but I have had good friends to point out bad boob moments.  Once before a casino night in college, I put on a dress I'd worn before, a great black dress from Pier 1 (when Pier 1 carried clothing back in the day -- man, that was awesome) which had an empire waist in the front, a deep scoop neckline, and was more fitted in the back -- it was pretty cool.  Unfortunately, I had the wrong bra and I would have flashed everyone all night, so I did what any girl would do in the situation, I wore the dress backward.  And it looked great.  And no one knew I had the dress on backward.  And my boobs didn't fall out for everyone on campus to see.  True story.  Ask Kim, she will tell you (and she'll also tell you how her boyfriend Cody complimented me on my shoes that she said were ugly and didn't acknowledge how bangin' she looked, so she broke up with him.  Okay, so that wasn't the reason she broke up with him, but it was the last straw).

So, SJP, consider this your intervention.  Also, watch the final scene of your best work to date and remember the good old days before the Oscars when everything could be solved with a dance-off. 

xxxooo,
Kerry

stupid hormones

What the hell Friday

Forgive readers, I know it's not technically Friday anymore, but I think here on the Kerry blog I'm going to institue a new feature I'd like to call What the Hell Friday. This is way more personal than I usually blog, but I can't sleep and whatev -- it's my blog, i can change my own rules. Tonight was a night I had been looking forward to since we decided we were coming in for Thanksgiving. Not only did Scott and I have a night out, we were going to see my friend Will's band. Now, I haven't seen Will in 15 years, so I already had some anxiety about this because I'm me and I'm stupid. I've become friends with his wife, who is pretty fab and I would be seeing her and other friends I hadn't seen since I was a size 16, so my insecurity level was at Level Orange. No, that wasn't enough for my little brain. No. So, I forgot to pack undies for the trip and another pair of jeans. So, I figure I'd wear a dress I brought tonight because I didn't want my jeans to smell like smoke from the bar. No big. I put on my Spanx, new bra, and the dress and realize I'm showing WAY more cleavage than legally allowed in Caddo parish. So, I decide to wear my denim jacket and new scarf with it so I won't be arrested for indecent exposure. I decided I looked kinds cute, for me anyway. Then I called my dad to see when we would see him tomorrow. That was my first mistake. No, second. Like a moron, i'd told him we were going to see Will's band. Dad tells me he and the new girlfriend would be dropping by the bar so I could meet her. What the hell? Y'all, I don't go to bars. I don't drink, smoke bothers me, I was going to see my friend and hear the band. I haven't been in a bar since 1994. Do the math, people. So, Scott and I went to dinner, it was yum-o-rama. Then we went shopping (I had to have undies and something to wear home Sunday) and to Barnes and Noble and had coffee. My anxiety was rising like the flood waters during Katrina, and I'm on cleavage patrol the whole time. We get to the bar, talk to Molly, say hi to Will, band starts playing, it's all good. Not 30 minutes in, Dad shows up with the GF. Now when someone says they're stopping by, how long do you think that means? Not almost two freakin' hours! What the hell? Plus, no one told me it was bring your dad to the tavern night. I knew when he ordered drinks I was going to lose it. I was calm. The band took a break and I sat there trying not to think of breaking a pool cue over my dad's head. I so wanted to bust a ninja move. Really, I'm too damn nice. I wanted to talk to friends, but my dad wanted to make small talk and I loathe small talk. The band starts up again and dad gets the GF another beer. Perfect. Not only am I not wanting to play nice with them, I'm so not in the mood to hear about what a good man dad is when he leaves the table. What the hell? I have no words. Can anything in my life go half-way normal? Of course not. Can I have one anxiety-ridden moment at a time? Hell no. I may tell the rest of the story later on, right now I'm going to see if a John Hughes movie is on or something with Hugh Grant. It's 2:30 am and I need a comedy not based in reality, 'cause hell if I don't have enough going on here.

this is where I put my foot down

Word on the street is our Beyonce (aka Sasha Fierce) is begging to be the next Wonder Woman in the film currently in pre-production by Warner Brothers. 
 
I think I speak for all of us who grew up with Wonder Woman on television, when I say oh, hell to the no, Beyonce, you are not Wonder Woman.  This is where I put my foot down.  We simply cannot stand for this, people.  

Do I need to remind you who my friend on the right is?  This is Lynda Carter, the Wonder Woman of my generation.  She was Amazon Princess Diana of Paradise Island and became Wonder Woman on tv from 1975 until I was 5 in 1979.  She had an invisible jet and magic lasso, a boomerang crown and bullet-deflecting bracelets -- what I wouldn't give for some of those bracelets!  I've checked Macy's, I can't find them.  And the boots!  Those are crime-fighting boots.  If I had those boots right now, New Orleans would not have the highest crime rate in America.  Well, it would take more than the boots, I'd need the whole costume.  And someone to be my sidekick 'cause I hate fighting crime alone.  You know what I mean.  A girl's gotta have friends.  And an invisible jet wouldn't be bad either. 

Can you see Beyonce in that costume?  No. Plus, Wonder Woman does not sing and Beyonce has sung in the movies she's been in to stop you from noticing what a mediocre actress she is. 

Let's talk about this for a minute.  If you're my age you grew up with Lynda Carter, too.  I did not wear Wonder Woman Underoos in the late 70's for this.  That's right, the Underwear that's fun to wear.  Man, those were awesome!  Do they still make those, 'cause I'm so getting them.  Not for my girls, for me.  Okay, I'll get some for the girls, too.
Anyway, at no time when I was a little girl running around in my Underoos did I think "ooo- I hope when I have kids a big movie studio will make a movie version of Wonder Woman with a singer who thinks she's an actress and has an alter ego!"  No way. 

Have we learned nothing from Catwoman?  Ah, how quick we forget.  Halle Berry is great and all, but she's no Catwoman just like Beyonce's no Wonder Woman.

That's Beyonce in her finest crazy costume. Do you see Wonder Woman?  No, Beyonce is better suited   play, oh, I don't know, maybe C3PO's love interest in a future Star Wars film.  Or Mr. Roboto's love interest in the Styx reunion tour.  Here's what she had to say on her plans: 

"I would definitely have to keep it right for that costume. The way that Lynda Carter wore it, she was sooo fine. She was amazing. I saw her costume at the Met. Her waist was unbelievable. It was pretty crazy, actually, her proportions. But I love Wonder Woman and it'd be a dream come true to be that character. It sure would be handy to have that lasso. To make everybody tell the truth? I need that. It would come in very handy."

Say wha?  Why does she need the lasso of truth so bad?  Maybe it's because she and hubs Jay-Z won't actually admit they were married a few months ago.  I don't know, I'm just sayin.  I'll check in with y'all later, I have to write a letter to Warner Brothers Studios. 

another fashion crisis avoided

Every year I wonder what to wear for Christmas Eve and New Year's. I fret over fashion, in case you haven't noticed before.  And if you haven't noticed, you must be new to the blog. 

So, thank you Victoria Secret for inspiring me once again -- I'm sure I'll be the hit of Christmas Eve at the in-laws and for whatever we decide to do for New Year's.  I'm pretty sure I can make Heidi's sequined bow out of supplies from Lowe's and some sequins from my craft supplies. 

And if I learn to knit now ( like I've been talking about for 8 years) I may finish the scarf on the stick model on the right by the time Andrew's out of high school.  By the way, are knee socks back in or are those tube socks?  The girl looks like she rolled out of her boyfriend's bed and put on a mix of what she found rumpled on the floor.  Of course, her boyfriend is the Jolly Green Giant and that's why the scarf is so freakin' long.