Saturday, February 11, 2012




Most Preferred Senior—Christian Bingham, son of LISA and Sterling Bingham
Most Preferred Sophomore—Seth Bingham, son of LISA and Sterling Bingham
(Ava, the escort, peeking out of the corner)


Because if we've learned ANYTHING from the selfless souls in Hollywood, you're NOTHING without a title to TELL people what you are...and an awards show for the self promoting trophy. 
(But in this case, a high school assembly will do just fine.) 

Thursday, February 9, 2012


Here's something kind of cool—I have two sons nominated for Most Preferred Male, which I believe, and don't correct me if I'm wrong, is akin to their mother being chosen Homecoming Queen! TWICE!

Listen, argue all you want, you won't change my mind—something about it being narrow and small, so really there's no room for improvement. Anyway, I think we can all agree that this is simply the universe's way of saying, "Their glory be thine."

Tomorrow I get to go to the assembly and find out if I...I mean Course, one of the sons is on a trip to California, which means that, should he-we win, I'll have no choice but to take a flying leap onto the stage, screaming, bowing and grabbing the acclaim for his behalf.  Because, say it with me..."I'M A GIVER."

But don't worry—I'll give it back.

When he asks for it...

...or, more accurately, when he pries the glittering, satin sash from my cold, dead fingers.

Thursday, February 2, 2012


I found a "trollop in training" dress for Jules at the local Ross. Now, I don't know if you are aware of this or not, but Ross industries are only allowed a limited amount of fabric on their production lines—about half the average dress. Some sort of rationing on account of depleting resources in the polyester-worm industry.  What? You thought only silk was made by worms? Anyway, because of this impediment, they're often unable to give the needed resources to cover the hooter region, and/or bring the hem lower than upper thigh. It's a plight.

Anyway, this wench-wear was redeemed by the fact that it was made of red and white polka dot tulle. I KNOW, RIGHT?!  Had to buy it. Which was kind of embarrassing, because the cashier thought first, that I thought I was a size XS, as she made sure to mention LOUD AND CLEAR THAT IF I GOT IT HOME AND FOUND IT DIDN'T FIT, THAT I HAD A LIMITED TIME TO BRING IT BACK WITH THE RECEIPT, OKAY?!


And second, she probably had the notion that I believed I had any business displaying my bidniz, as she didn't know I planned on altering the dress. Good thing I didn't mention I was buying it for my niece's baptism.

Speaking of my niece, I don't know if any of you have seen feminine perfection, but I think we all concur that the above picture is just that.

Here's another one~

Of course, you can't tell, but the dress is layers and layers of sparkly white tulle, with pearl accents and satin roses which cover the bodice. The matching cape has clusters of seed pearls in every rose bloom and the brooch once belonged to Great Grandma Wood, all created by my INCREDIBLY TALENTED MOTHER, owner of MaeBelle Bridal. Her latest hand sewn creation~

But I know what you're really wondering—Who made her pink flower? Um, he-lloooo? You're reading her? And it's not because her own mother can't, it's just that her own mother can't. But it's okay, because Boo and I have a really great arrangement—she makes me look good and I return the favor.

So like, when I have to make 70 plus shower invitations, and my idea is to go to All-A-Dollar and get the 20 for a buck cards, and type paper printed faintly with running-out-of-ink jets, cut with kitchen scissors and pasted with drying elmer's glue? When I think things like that? She slaps me good and hard upside the head, shoves me over with her, "Are you shitting me" eyeballs, fingers fly over her keyboard, she pushes enter, and it comes out as SPECTACULAR, DIVINE, SEVERAL FONTS PRINTED ON MULTICOLORED SCALLOPED PAPER AND TIED WITH PINK RIBBONS AND BOWS! And all my neighbors bow down as I walk the hallways at church, and I lift their humble chins with my cracked and bleeding fingers, giving them permission to look me in the eye, which they're reticent to do, because I might have had a recent rash of migraines, leaving one eye drooping of it's own accord, and they're not sure if they can stifle the snort.

Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes. Jules and her hooker wear and Kara's feminine perfection daughter on her baptism day.

Does anyone else notice the glaring discrepancies?

Me neither.