HOT POTATOES

Some of my very most favorite songs~"Boo Boperetta." And "Pay the rent collect." Oh, also, "Hot potatoes." Just to name a few. Not familiar? Hm. Well, maybe you don't listen quite so carefully to your radio, like I do. Maybe music doesn't speak to your soul as eloquently as it does to mine. Or maybe my ear is just a little bit more 'fine tuned' than yours. But whatever. I don't judge.

And yes, now that you mention it, they do seem kind of...unlikley names for songs. Pay the rent collect? Not sure where Prince was going with that, but I guess "baby" is "much too fast." Who knew? And listen, HE is the artist, (formerly known as)~not me. I just interpret his work, according to my own experiences.

And Boo Boperetta, by Sade? It might be a special language that only she understands. Once again, who am I to question? Does she owe me an explanation for speaking in tongues? No. No she doesn't, people.

Hot Potatoes? Well, that one's a little bit more perplexing. But it's repeated over and over again, so I know for sure that's what they're saying~ "Hot potatoes, hot potatoes...hot potatoes. Hot potatoes, hot potatoes...hot potatoes. Hot potatoes, hot potatoes...oh, oh, oh, hot potatoes." You can look it up. Falco sings it. And it says, "Rock me, hot potatoes." If that helps.

Anyway, obviously, I'm a connoisseur of lyrical gems, and have a very broad mind. I let the creative genius speak freely, never invoking reason or thought to the equation. As clearly, they have very strong feelings for potatoes, if they're willing to write an entire anthem about them.

So the next time you hear me belting out a tune, at the top of my lungs, like~ 'SHE'S GOT ELECTRIC BOOTS, A MOHAWK, TOO'~(Elton John~duh) feel free to sing along with an open heart...and an empty mind.

It's synergy, people. Synergy.

HEAVE

So, I can't be positive, but it's highly likely that Gerard Butler probably has a crush on me. I know. Sort of embarrassing, since I'm a middle aged woman and stuff, but the way he looks at me through the television screen when he's on talk shows is really, really intense. Plus, when he tossed Kelly Rippa over his shoulder this morning and carried her off the stage, he gazed right. at. me. And clearly, that was code for, "Should be you, Lisa. Should be you." Clearly.

But don't worry, pumpkin pie honey. You're still ma man. Even though you haven't been able to carry me since, well, ever. But that's not all your fault. Just mostly. You know, I'll never forget the time I hopped up for a piggy back ride, and you collapsed to your knees, screaming~

"GET OFF ME! GET OFF! OH MY HELL, YOU'RE KILLING ME!"

Ahhhhh. (head tilt, heart pat) Good times. Good times. And surprisingly, just that quick, the honeymoon was over. Too bad it was actually ON our honeymoon. But it's OK. I understand. You'd courted me and I was yours. Well played, dear.

Anyway, It's not like I'm going to pursue the Phantom of the Opera. It's just nice to know he cares. Deeply. About me. Princess Lisa. And he thinks I'm enchanting, and would that he could toss me over his shoulder effortlessly, to carry around everywhere he goes, instead of having to substitute stupid Kelly Rippa and Jennifer Aniston.

I was just thinking that, you know, when I'm on my book tour? Well, I'm going to "mention" in passing, to Oprah, that I would JUST LOVE to meet Gerard~that I have a secret crush on him. And it's probable, as Oprah is known to do, that she'll make arrangements to have him on satellite to say a simple, "Hello" to me, and I'll act all surprised and flustered, being excited to meet him over the waves, but then without warning, the satellite will cut out and go to static, like they lost the connection, and I'll be all disappointed and pouty. But suddenly, a roar will erupt in the audience, turning louder and louder and they'll start SCREAMING AND SHOUTING AND POINTING, and THEN...THEN...HE WILL COME WALKING OUT ON THE STAGE BEHIND ME, PUT HIS HANDS OVER MY RIDICULOUSLY BLUE EYES, AND I'LL TURN AROUND AND SEE THAT IT'S THE PHANTOM, AND I'LL HAVE A TOTALLY ADORABLE MELT-DOWN!!! And he'll GRAB me, toss me over his shoulder effortlessly, and carry me off to his lair...and that's where I leave you to use your imaginations...

Just as I've evidently been doing waaaaay tooooooo muuuuuuuch this morning.

OK, time for a shower and a quick glance in the mirror to bring me back.

Hmm. Wow. Now that I stare reality in the face, it's no wonder hubbie can't 'toss' me anywhere. Girth doesn't toss. It heaves.

And in truth, I'd take a heave from my hunky husband over a toss from a fantasy phantom any day. :)

BOOK!

Okay, so HERE'S SOME FUN NEWS!!! Wonder why I haven't posted yet today? No, it's only partially because of sloth. The BIGGER reason is because...

I'm writing some submissions for a BOOK! (GASP!) That's right, A BOOK, I SAY! Go ahead, rub your eyes all you want. It'll still say the same thing.

How? Well, there once was a beautiful, talented girl named...yes, that's right, Lisa. Aw, you're so good to me. But that's not where I was going with this...named Jesse Clark Funk. And SHE was under a witchy spell that convinced her that Princess Lisa would be a great collaborator for a book she was publishing. What she didn't know is that Lisa can't. be. trusted. to be refined. And putting her alongside Jesse and others in this book is akin to polishing a turd, then comparing it to real diamonds under seer stones.

Fortunately, the average citizen doesn't OWN a seer stone, so unless they sniff really hard and figure out something is amiss, they might be fooled into buying this book.

I won't bore you with the innards of this story. Suffice it to say that I'm working on my submissions, and if you have any favorites, speak now or forever hold your noses. Just sayin'.

By the way, kind of pathetic "comments" lately. Only a few stalwarts to give me love and esteem. To which I give a sweeping THANK YOU, DEAR LADIES! But to the rest of you, another raised eyebrow. Cuz remember, I'm going to be famous, soon. And you'll WANT to know me then. This time right here is payin' your dues for the glittery connection that is to come. Union dues, people. Or blog dues. Whichever.

Anyway, get some comments a comin'.

Kisses! (that was an insincere Hollywood type farewell. gag)

AFRO

You know how all the experts (Oprah) say things like, "Follow your passion!" "If you want to be a success, you need to do what you KNOW!" Stuff like that? Yeah, well, guess what ladies? Guess who's going to make the most out of her ENORMOUS, GIRTHY PASSION?! That's right! MOI! That's French for me. I know. It looks like you'd pronounce it, "moy," doesn't it? Kind of like when I kept reading about having a paradigm shift, but I pronounced it "pair-a-diggim." Or like when I read about the girl named "Foe-ebb." Yeah, that would be Phoebe. I amaze even me. Or moi. Anyway, where were we...

Here's what got me thinkin' like this. See, this morning I once again got on the "you've got to exercise, dammit!" bandwagon, and thus flopped down in a sullen pudding puddle on the floor of my bedroom. I yanked the stupid 5 and 8 pound weights out from under the bed~(couldn't find the 3's)~and got to work. For a full 20 minutes. Only two or three breaks in between, so determined was I. The moment I hit my numbers, I rolled the weights back under my bed frame and using the covers as leverage, pulleyed myself back into bed. Then went into a snory slumber, within like 3 seconds~not even shizzing. It wasn't my fault. I'd put my body into shock and that was all it knew to do.

"WHAT THE CRAP WAS THAT?! Did she...did she just EXERCISE?! Before noon thirty? What the...?!! Seriously? Does she think we'll just RESPOND to her demands, like a ransom note for her kidnapped figure? News flash, honey~just because the word "mini-eggs" is behind the word "CADBURY" doesn't make it a baby portion of protein. It's not muscle you've been building with that diet...it's chin. And CHIN looks hideous in yellow gingham dresses."

Body is really kind of snarky and abusive. But he's all I have...and I LOVE HIM...HE NEEDS ME! WE LOVE EACH OTHER! AND HE'LL CHANGE! HE TOLD ME SO!!!

Anyway, body went into recovery mode, and I went unconscious. But when I awoke, all blurry eyed and wiggly armed, I remembered a great conversation I had with some "ladies who lunch." Somebody brought up the intriguing medical procedure of FAT HARVESTING, where they take fat out of somewhere like a rump, and inject it into wherever you're lacking. Like for me, it would be my "only thing on my body with a high metabolism" lips.

So basically rump lips.

Which gives fresh meaning to "talking out of your..." well, you're familiar with the verse.

So as we all discussed where we would TAKE the fat from, and where we'd have it INJECTED, suddenly, I realized that I AM A FAT HARVESTER! There was hardly a spot on my body in NEED of an injection, but OH SO MANY CHOICES of where to pull the necessary lipoid.

And THEN I had the epiphany, "OH MY HOLY COW! I AM A FAT SOD FARM!" That's right. A FAT SOD FARM! Just like a sod farm grows grass for the barren soil, I can grow FAT for the barren bellied! Almost like being a surrogate~which is incredibly noble! Which is kind of my middle name, if I'm being humble. (If I'm bragging, it's my first name.) And I KNOW how to grow chins, ladies! I have done it many, many times over!

See, I've been fooling myself into thinking I'll rock this whole "weight and nutrition" song. It's like the girl with the Afro who is desperate for stick straight. My body has an Afro, friends. And no amount of flat-ironing...or 3 pound weights...will give me long, flaxen tresses. Well, actually, it could, but that would take effort...and goal setting...and a shunning of all things Easter and joy. So it's best to just embrace that fro and wear big old gold hoop earrings to compliment and accentuate the look.

And just like the hoop earrings, we've come full circle to the original idea of making the most out of our passions! So THANK YOU, OPRAH, for not only supporting, but helping me to embrace my natural man tendencies.

I'm planting my fat seedlings now. It looks like a back to back harvest this year.

Or chin to chin.

NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD

Fun shower favors...lucky, lucky bride and attendees!

I just finished "clicking" an order to receive a darling yellow and white gingham dress in the mail. Isn't clicking wonderful? Like reindeer on a housetop...Click, click, click. Course, then there's that whole association with funds being removed from bank accounts. I imagine that sound is probably more like fingernails on a chalkboard. Or opening an ironing board. Or the sliding 50 pound increments on a medical scale. But we'll think about that tomorrow, Scarlett.

Back to vintage dresses~big giant lemon yellow and white checks! And I plan on looking EXACTLY LIKE THE TEENSY CHICK MODELING THAT THERE DRESS. Which is the only reason I bought it. If there was a chance I'd look like ME~SHEESH, no way! Don't you just love truth in advertising? What they really need is an app where you give them your waist, chest and chin measurements and the picture morphs into you wearing the dress. Course, that would mean a government bailout for the fashion industry when it does a crash and burn. It would also mean sobbing, screaming, angry Spanx hurling women rioting in the streets and...OK, yeah, now that I think about it, let's keep that anorexic size 2 as our catalogue mirror.

Speaking of well appointed and fashionable, (me) after running around higgedly-piggedly yesterday, I dropped by Bitty Boo's to pass off the shower invitations for her to mail. By the way, they were freakin' DIVINE, as she's the queen of all things photography and photoshop. THE QUEEN, I SAY! Check out her work here. Anyway, she does a quick up and down of my attire and says~

"Did you wear that just now to Hobby Lobby?"

And I said, "Yeah, I think I did."

And she said, "Oh."

Now just to put this in perspective, Kara is THE MOST EFFUSIVELY GRACIOUS AND COMPLIMENTARY WOMAN IN THE ENTIRE WORLD...NAY, IN THE GALAXY!!! She can find charm in a wart. So if she says, "Oh,"...well... that's Kara speak for "WHAT IN THE HOLY ROAST WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU GOT DRESSED TODAY? WHAT ARE YOU, A VAMPIRE? AFRAID LOOKING IN A MIRROR WILL STEAL YOUR SOUL?" Followed by a silent point and mouthing the words 'Ew. Gross.'

"But I was cold." I said.

"Oh."

And then I looked down.

"Oh," I said.

And THAT is why I'm willing to bear the screeching nails across the chalkboard visual as my funds deplete, in order to look exactly like that elegant creature in the magazine. Imagine if you will, the Hobby Lobby doors parting, as I make my HOLLYWOOD ENTRANCE in retro checks and pointy red pumps to match my fluffy, pouty lips.

It comes with the size 2 figure.

See page 14 for additional features.

PIONEERS

Oh my heck, Brian Regan ROCKED! PAPER, SCISSORS, ROCKED, friends! However, my children and husband...and OK, yes, me...have fifty hunnerd new one liners rolling around in our consciousness, just WAITING to shoot out of our mouths all willie nillie and misdirected. You might want to shun us for a few months, till the newness of the funny wears off. GODSPEED! Hahahahahaha!!! Oh my heck, see? There went one right there! Seriously, shun me for a while.

Sooooo, Jules puked this morning. And I sent her off to school as soon as she'd blown the cereal out of her nose. (She was TOTALLY GROSSED OUT that your mouth and nose share the same tubes and they're not really particular about which path the barf travels. Therefore, Apple Jacks may just as readily come out a nostril.) Anyway, does sending her to school after that make me a "bad" mother? I prefer to think it makes me a "mother concerned with character development, because the Pioneers had to do stuff like that all the time, but they didn't have a toilet to hurl into, and then they'd use their skirts to wipe it off, and have crusted vomit on them until they found a river to wash themselves and their clothing in, which would usually have dung swooshing around in it, so it's not like it was a sanitary wash cycle like we have access to now. Plus, your pioneer program is today, so what better way to get in character than by hurling, wiping and carrying on in the work?" That's what I prefer to think. Don't call DCFS, and I'll keep my suspicions regarding your parenting skills between me and my "friend." But just so you know, we talk about you a LOT. A REALLY LOT.

And just like Jules puking, Second Son has gotten "relatively cool-ish car" out of his system, too. Which incidentally coincided with his first gas tank fill-ups that he had to pay for himself, as well as the realization that he could actually SEE the needle dropping as he drove around the block. A horsepill dose of reality is always good to rid a kid of the illness named Vanity. So he sold his sporty two seater and opted instead for the blank canvas called "Nissan with peeling putty job." The adoption process went remarkably smooth. All it took was eight cans of black and white (bi-racial baby) spray paint to make him feel like a proud papa. We're carrying on the great and admirable tradition of eyesores on the road.

Anyway, I'm off to tutor. I may send my kids to school barfing, but by DA%$, they're gonna be good readers! Buh bye!

COURT

I was summoned to court last night, as apparently, I was the defendant in a VERY STRONG CASE against me, for an intestinal infraction committed sometime between 11:00 and midnight. I felt entitled, as I considered it my bonus for finishing up daughter's County projects...not that I did any of them for her, you sillies...no, no, certainly not...because of course a nine year old child knows how to access and procure information for a brochure from several sources, including but not limited to Internet, pamphlets and information gathered from the original county seat, attain and display a product the community is known for, as well as design, edit and produce a float illustrating Garfield County, with all it's natural wonders, interesting but less known facts and miniaturized versions of National forests and Canyonlands.

Mmm hmmm.

That's right.

All her.

Anyway....

All night long, my stomach bore testimony against me.

"You're honor, exhibit A~a chocolate covered waffle cone, with freezer burn. Ms. Bingham ingested this~WITH NO THOUGHT TO BELLY OR ESOPHAGUS~expecting her actions would bring no negative repercussions."

The judge (Brain) looked at me with disdain.

Gut lawyer continued~"Exhibit B~the TUMS she chomped and chewed, thinking that would remedy the situation. Let's just say she might as well have taken an aspirin for a brain tumor, for all the good it did."

As the hearing wore on, I just hovered under the courtroom covers, growling, gurgling and emitting. There was really nothing to say. I done brung it on myself. My sentence was to be thrust out of a nightmarish sleep and forced to lay awake writhing. I deserved it...and I'm partially repentant right now...but in a few hours, well, we know what happens when you get me and a bag of Cadbury mini-eggs in the same zip code.

I PHANTOM OF THE OPERA CURSE YOU, stupid chocolate covered waffle cone and Cadbury mini eggs!

Anyway, I tried to go back to sleep, but it was futile. Too much useless and out of my control things to worry about. Brain Paparazzi, you know.

But here's some fun news...GOING TO SEE BRIAN REGAN TONIGHT! YEAH, BABY! 'Bout time for some fresh material, as the entire family can recite verbatim, AAAAALLLLLL of his old routines. Which sounds like it might be entertaining, but more often than not, makes a mother want to coral the children for "SLAPS ALL AROUND IF YOU ANSWER ME ONE MORE TIME WITH A ONE LINER!"

Anyway, it's past time for some hygiene, caffeine and Easter decorating. I'm off like a shirt at a rock concert! What? Who? Huh?

Shhhhh...nobody you know. (eyebrow lift)