Mid-career crisis

Last night, Mr. Sweetypants and I watched the Bill Hicks documentary, "American."

During the famous "Advertising and Marketing" bit, Mr. Sweetypants clapped and yelled, "Yeah!"

Bill Hicks on Marketing - watch more funny videos      

I was conflicted. Before MSP was able to get his green card after we got married, I made twice as much money writing ads as he did for measuring and preventing pollutants in the air we all breathe. All my creative friends and I just read briefs and produced messages, and I loved my job back then. And I miss miss miss working downtown with my friends.

But lately, I've been trying to figure out a way to update my resume and LinkedIn profile to say something along the lines of, "Look how experienced and accomplished I am! I never, ever want to do that again and want to work in a boutique."

We miss you, Bill.

Love, TGFS style

For Mr. Sweetypants's first birthday as a married man, and because he is an avid reader, I took him to Borders for a shopping spree. I reminded him to bring his Borders rewards coupon for a free slice of cake.

 And from that moment on, the joke was, "Don't forget your coupon!"

 So I planned ahead for the next one. I wanted it to be special and romantic, never one of my stronger suits, but his gifts to me were always mind-blowingly thoughtful, and I wanted to make him feel as special as he always made me feel.

 Mr. Sweetypants is a Limey and rabid West Ham (that's a socc-- um, "football" team in Engerlund) fan. I searched and searched E-Bay until I found a classic West Ham jersey from the 1980s, when the team's shirts were emblazoned with the Doc Martens logo (Doc Martens were manufactured in Steve's hometown of Northampton).

 He had also been wanting a 12-string acoustic guitar for his home recording studio. So I ordered one online and had it delivered to my friends Rex and Ray to keep for me until the big day.

 And so, on the morning of Mr. Sweetypants's 38th birthday, I got up early, snuck out to my car and retrieved his prezzies. Our quality time was sitting on the deck, smoking cigarettes in the morning before work, so I put the guitar in a deck chair with the rare West Ham jersey draped over it and gleefully woke him up with an exuberant "Happy birthday, Honey!"

 Steve got up and announced, "Today, I am no longer a smoker! I quit!"

 "Oh, good lord. Just go outside," I said.

 Five years later, Mr. Sweetypants is still cigarette-free. And he gets gift certificates from me for special occasions.

My Sainted Southern Mother is on a photo-scanning kick today

From: My Sainted Southern Mother
Subject: Precious Memories!
To: Me

My girls!
Luv you,
Ma



From: Me
Subject: re: Precious Memories!
To: My Sainted Southern Mother

My legs apparently got long before my dress size went up. This dress looks scandalously short on me!

From: My Sainted Southern Mother
Subject: re: Precious Memories!
To: Me

Well, my dear, bless your little heart. As I am sure you do not remember, but 'short' as above the knees (several inches) was the style during that period of time. Go have a glass of fresh southern sweet ice tea and enjoy your lovely view from your comfortable swing under the pergola!

Love and hugs,
SSM

From: Me
Subject: re: Precious Memories!
To: My Sainted Southern Mother

You know this conversation is going on my blog, right?

From: My Sainted Southern Mother
Subject: re: Precious Memories!
To: Me

Oh, this has been so much fun, but I have to 'sign off' now and get some house work done. My maid has a 'hang over' and could not come today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (You know - it's Monday - wild week-end!!)

Hugs,
Ma

Don't you ever stop being dandy

I got laughed out of the gymnasium when I spoke to the student body in 10th grade. Because of the way I dressed.

So I want to wrap my arms around every different kid in every small town ever and promise them that ridicule is nothing to be scared of. Then they'll roll their eyes at me and make fun of my old-people music. And I'll think they're adorable, but I won't tell them.



For JT, Butter and Kissy Fur

That's Mr. Junior to you

We are experiencing a baby boom in our group of friends. Over the past two years, 11 babies have been born to people we love. Every single one was a boy.

I'm from a family of all daughters, born in the days before ultrasounds helped parents plan their shower registries. Actually, there were no baby shower registries then, either. That would have been tacky...

So it occurred to me that my parents went to the hospital three times with a boy name picked out. Curious, I emailed my Sainted Southern Mother about it.

From: me
Subject: If we'd been boys...
To: My SSM
Cc: My sister
Date: Wednesday, February 1, 2012, 7:06 PM

What would you have named us? What did you have picked out?

Now that everyone I've ever stood next to is having a baby boy, I realized I never asked you that!

On Wed, Feb 1, 2012 at 7:53 PM, MY SSM wrote:

That is so funny that you asked. When we were expecting you the boy's name that came out of Pops' mouth immediately was Homer Roscoe. I'm serious - of course he was only kidding.

James Richard (your great granddaddy on Connor side)

I just asked your Dad about the names and he said, "Homer Roscoe." I told him I had already typed that then he said, "Jr." I said, "just Junior?" He said, "Junior Frink."

At this point we can't think of any of the other names.

Hugs,

Ma

Hands-down, the funniest person I know is...

My daddy. Period.

He and I have had a standing once-a-week phone date for the past 24 years. Each of those calls includes him telling me what he had or is about to have to eat, as I never learned to cook and survive on frozen food and takeout. All just to torment me for his amusement.

Today, my daddy sent me an email for the very first time ever (Go Pops!).

---------

Hey LA,

Things are pretty tough for your Ma and me and I was wondering if you could afford a $10.00 McDonald's gift certificate for our Christmas, for lunch.

Today we had to eat oysters and tonight will be chicken with pastry and collards. I'm going fishing tomorrow so I guess it will be flounder and shrimp for the rest of the week.

I know that $10.00 is a lot, but that would be five McChickens w/fries for a whole week!

Merry Christmas!

Love,
Pa

Everything but the oink

I had the honor and pleasure to sit down and talk with celebrity whole-hog pitmaster Ed Mitchell for a writing project.

I was a little starstruck at first, but Ed Mitchell is one of the finest, most genuine human beings you could ever hope to meet. I asked him to explain to me, from his perspective, why North Carolinians are so passionate about barbecue.

"It's our culture," he explained. "When I was a boy, North Carolina had two things driving our economy. The legal one was tobacco, and the illegal one was moonshine."

I asked him about the legend of cooking his first hog at age 14.

"Let me tell you something," he said. "It doesn't really take all night to cook a hog. Back then, men didn't drink or cuss around women, so staying up all night with the hog was an excuse to drink moonshine all night."

He told me the story: He was too young to drink, but was allowed to go out with his father, uncles, cousins and grandfathers to "watch the pig" one night. Apparently, the grownups passed the jar of moonshine around a few times too many and fell asleep. Ed stayed up and made sure the fire didn't get too high.

After a few hours, the grownups started waking up and panicking about having done burned the pig. When they checked it, it was perfectly cooked.

"My daddy asked me if I had done it," Mr. Mitchell told me. "Then he looked at the pig, looked at me, and passed me the jar."

Swoon.