Tuesday, August 17th, 2010
Speaking of labors and birthdays (ala my last few posts), I can’t believe Karin and I are celebrating our 9 month Naked Thanks Anniversary. AND, what’s even crazier, I can’t believe she’s had to stop publicly writing it. I’m sad, yes, that I will continue on solo with actually publishing these notes (like she said, she’s going to still do it, but privately), but I AM extremely happy for her because she landed a fantastic new gig.
I think it’s ironic that we’ve done the blog for almost nine months now. Naked thanks has come full term and, to be honest, seems to have taken on a life of its own. Writing my daily gratitude notes to everyone from the mailman to my plumber to my husband to the inventor of Q-tips has changed me.
Now in my life I find that I’m constantly thinking of things I am happy about — little bits and pieces of my existence that I find joy in or that bring a smile to my face. Not that I was super negative before; I’ve always appreciated the power of positive thinking, but I truly believe that due to this blog even more good things have happened to me. Even the fact that my second baby’s due date coincides almost perfectly with the year anniversary of the blog. I pretty much know for a fact that one of the best days of my life will serve as the culmination for this whole year-of-thanks goal. That’s uncanny, at least to me.
So, like I said, I am sad Karin can’t continue on this journey with me (at least publicly), but so so so grateful to her for being my partner in Naked Thanks. I am at least happy I can continue to read her posts from the secret back-end realm of the blogosphere…I can tell you that seeing her posts (like the one she uploaded today but didn’t publish) will be incentive for me to keep writing even when I’m sleep deprived or just plain lazy. And, hopefully, the rest of you find me at least mildly entertaining enough to keep reading the site. Fingers crossed…
Ah, pearls and naked note writing...thank, you Karin for founding this site with me!
Saturday, May 29th, 2010
THREE DAY WEEKEND! I am so excited. Like shout from the rooftops and kiss strangers excited. BBQs, one-day-only sales, and my two favorite words: free time. I haven’t been at home for the past two weekends and am just thrilled to become one with some weed killer and turn my lawn from neighborhood eyesore into something that might not cause Martha Stewart to vomit.
I’m also looking forward to having some time with Craig. Lately, I have only spent quality moments with him while asleep. But that’s all going to change this weekend. He’s still at work, but I just bought a $100 worth of Cajun style chicken gumbo ingredients and plan on actually cooking something for us to eat, instead of making him live off party hors d’oeuvres. And I am also spending a great deal of time on my new favorite website, cosmopolitan.com. How on earth did a liberated gal like me not peruse this site before?
“The top 10 places to have sex (besides your bedroom!),”Today’s featured video – would you do him outside?” “My online boyfriend wasn’t real!” and “77 sex positions in 77 days.” Yes, those are all current headlines on cosmo.com. Wow! Who needs the A-section of the Washington Post. Clearly all the news that is fit to print is on cosmo.com.
As I read all about what guys think about my hair, I noticed two beige anatomically correct stick people going at it on an inner tube. What on earth? Well, it’s Cosmo’s position of the day – the Tawdry Tube! According to Cosmo, this is why I will love it: “This face-to-face position is seriously intimate. Since the tube is hollow in the middle, the splashing water created by your thrusting hits both of your down-there domains, adding to the titillation.” I mean, what’s not to love? Seems I will have to go buy an inner tube. But if I don’t have time, there is always the “Row His Boat,” the “Octopus,” the Cosmo Cat,” and 361 more to keep me entertained. Good thing it’s a long weekend. Let the games begin!
The Beach Ball Booty. A private-ish beach might be necessary for this one.
The Tub Tangle. A must do on a summer day in my opinion.
Thursday, March 4th, 2010
Somehow while on gchat today with Georgia, we got onto the subject of first kisses. I mentioned to her that my first kiss was sporting a rattail when we smooched, which she thought was the most wonderful piece of information since we found out the world was not going to explode in the year 2000. And it’s true, he really was. But the boy could have had a mullet (which my current boyfriend once had) or blue hair, I would have adored him still.
I really fell for him when I was nine. Yes, I was one hormonal piece of work already lusting after this new import from Michigan. I don’t know what I imagined would happen with us. Maybe he would sit next to me in class or we would brush elbows during safety patrol duty. That alone really got me going.
It was an epic romance, really. One for the record books. Our lips definitely locked more than once, though we did dabble with others in our intense games of spin the bottle. I guess you could say we were kissing swingers at 11. Then alas, in the seventh grade, he forgot about me and started dating a girl with bigger boobs. I was cast aside for a 12-year-old who did not resemble a boy with long hair, like me. But the passion never died! Well, the memories anyway. Ah, how lucky I was to have that rattailed 11-year-old-charmer.
My friends always make a very unfair amount of fun of me for being a hoarder. But boy has it come in handy for this blog! Here is Justin at 11. Rrrrrr.
Thursday, November 26th, 2009
I happen to love Martha Stewart. Adore. Believe her to be one of the greatest minds our nation has to offer. This is interesting because I am embarrassingly challenged when it comes to domestic greatness. I put cheese in my toaster. I used to keep sweaters in the oven. I will wear a bikini instead of underwear to avoid doing the wash. But still, I keep hope alive. I want to be one of those people who takes three cotton balls and a stalk of celery and creates 500 wedding favors for the most discerning guests. I want to make a Thanksgiving turkey that looks happier dead than alive and whip up potatoes so flawless guests wonder if they might be made of rubber.
And it’s not just me that hopes to live like Martha on this day of thanks. My own father has been watching her instructional Thanksgiving dinner video until his eyeballs bleed. He keeps insisting that he is going to “roll” the turkey this year, as that’s what Martha does and Martha’s turkey is never dry. Has the man ever broken bread with Martha? How does he know this?
One day I will be the kind of girl who hangs handcrafted pumpkins and pilgrims around her house and does not put dairy products in the toaster. I thank Martha for believing I can realize this dream and for bringing my family and friends together on Thanksgiving Day in our quest to create a more magazine-friendly meal.
I look nothing like this when I cook. I'm usually holding a fire extinguisher and crying. But one day, one day!