A Fairy Tale…

December 19, 2010

Once upon a time, in the far away, wild land of Utah, there lived a REALLY geeky boy with REALLY unfortunate eye wear:

And a dorky, chubby girl with REALLY unfortunate hair:

(The boy and girl weren’t princes or princesses or anything glittery and high brow like that. No WAY would either of them qualify. I mean…LOOK AT THEM for Pete’s sake! They were probably more in the stall mucker and scullery maid category, but since this is a fairy tale, we’ll just skip the drudgery of THAT reality for now.)

Anyway…

They left their dorky chubbiness and geekiness behind got married:

$Piper down! There\'s a piper down!$

Well… the scullery maid left her dorky chubbiness behind… (AND she still looks pretty damn awesome if she says so herself)… eyes

…The stall mucker is still TOTALLY A GEEK. With a lot less hair. Which is fine as the scullery maid TOTALLY thinks geeks with receding hairlines are HAWT.

(The scullery maid TOTALLY wasn’t intimidated or threatened into making aforementioned declaration about geek hawtness. Or punished for the crack about receding hairlines or anything. For reals.)

The scullery maid and stall mucker were awarded the great honor of being stewards of some of the finest lads in all the land. Even though they can be total weirdos at times.

the boys

In addition to the two fine lads, the family became complete with the birth of a fine, red-headed little warrior.

scan0013

They were a humble but happy little family in their snug little cottage.

All was well-ish.

(I mean, they WERE still scullery maids and stall muckers and well..scullerying and mucking is a dang hard life at times. Still, the little red-headed warrior made everything as happy as it could be.)

Until one very sad, tragic day when a great curse was put on the snug little cottage and the valiant red-head was taken from them.

They were smited and brought low by a great and terrible grief.

There was nary a joyful sculley nor a happy muck to be seen for a very, very long time.

All was dark in the land.

Still…they had the two fine lads that they loved fiercely and they managed to piece their lives back together, though none of them would ever be the same again.

family

After six long years passed, full of tears, tissues and way, WAY too many grief-consumed-chocolate-covered marshmallows, something happened.

Despite getting, um…up there in years, the scullery maid grew globe-like and the good fairy of the woods granted the little family in the cottage a miracle.

A wee babe.

37weeks

Thanks to the fact that the stall mucker is the ONLY SINGLE CHROMOSOME STALL MUCKER IN EXISTENCE THAT IS INCAPABLE OF PRODUCING ANYTHING FEMALE LIKE, EVER, a sweet little baby boy was born to fanfare befitting royalty.

Little Prince Butterlump brought joy to all.

redhat1

He made everything much brighter for the maid, the mucker, and their fine lads.

He filled their little cottage with love and laughter and more peace and happiness then any of them thought they would ever feel again.

Their hearts began to heal.

They were a family.

And at the end of our tale, the scullery maid and the geeky hawt stall mucker managed to stay married despite rabid dragons, tulgy woods, evil wizards, foul smelling monsters, hideous trolls, pits of despair, piles and piles of manure and all their mucking baggage and scullery-laden issues.

(Which is pretty damn awesome, frankly.)

The scullery maid and the stall mucker have been through many trials and tribulations. Wouldn’t it be lovely if their fairy godmother or Gandalf or someone decided they could just live in a land of gold sundrops and diamond ponies and live happily ever drowning in riches and eating bon-bons considering all the sludge-slaying, scullying and stall mucking they’ve done?

YOU’D THINK, HUH?!

The reality is that they will probably just have to keep on scullerying and mucking till the end of their days until they find out that Social Security has been depleted long ago and they will have to supplement their meager retirement by working at Wal-Mart as door greeters and selling wrapping paper door to door at the holidays.

Yay.

Stupid fairy tales.

The End.

(THAT was a freaking FAIRY TALE???? WHO WROTE THIS THING, ANYWAY?? They SUCK at it!!! Boo on them! BOO! Rubbish! Filth!! Slime!!! Muck!!! Boo! Boo!! BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Although…that end part about Little Prince Butterlump was pretty damn awesome and all warm and fuzzy and happy n’ stuff, so…you’re forgiven.)

Seriously, though.

Happy Anniversary, Jonathan.

You’re my very favorite stall mucker.

I love you.

DSC_0220-1

Love,

Your scullery maid.

P.S. Forgive me for posting your high school year book photo. I WILL agree that the glasses in your photo are nifty because they are made of Titanium, but I just can’t bring myself to qualify them as “Totally awesome”. Sorry. Twelve (!) years doesn’t get you THAT much, babe.

P.P.S AND now I am having regret that I didn’t call myself a buxom serving wench instead of a scullery maid. If I went to the trouble and expense of surgically reclaiming my bosoms, I should pick an outfit that is flattering to them, right?

P.P.P.S. No, you can’t be the buxom serving wench, Jonathan no matter how much you beg! You still have to be the stall mucker. Watching you do manual labor is hawt. Also, hairy man cleavage is just WRONG. Like wrong, wrong, wrongity-wrong.

P.P.P.P.S. I know, I know. Throwing in hairy man cleaveage, tulgy woods and (falsely) implying that you have a desire to cross-dress into an anniversary post is not normal. But look at it this way…at least the last 12 years being married to me haven’t been boring. :)

(Yes, dear readers…you’ve heard this story before. But like all good stories, this one should be told again and again. )

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Filed under: Every Day by loralee

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The talk with my boys on cell phone and online safety.

December 17, 2010

This is sponsored content from
BlogHer and LG Text Ed

Remember when y’all asked me questions for my boys about online and cell phone safety?

We had the interviews.

I asked them a LOT of your questions and it garnered a really great conversation. We didn’t do just one sit down, we’ve been talking about it off and on for a week or so. Their answers both surprised me (“What is sexting”?? NEVER SO GLAD TO HAVE MY KIDS NOT KNOW SOMETHING IN THEIR LIVES), made me sad (James told me about a girl that had to move to a different school because of photos that had gotten out online) and made me laugh buckets, “when I asked James Sandi’s question of “can you be cool without being online/with a phone” his answer was “At my age? Probably. Down the road it’s looking MIGHTY IFFY, THOUGH.” HAHAHAHA!).

I wanted to keep this last question of mine a secret and get it on film to get a true response from them. I gotta say–I am hugely proud of my kids.

My 14-year-old James is up first. We filmed this at 7 am, so they are still a wee bit tired, but they were great sports.

And my sweet little Christopher. I, and many adult people who function online in the blogging community should take note from him about what to do with negativity online.

I love my boys.

They will be excellent men.

So, whaddya think, all?

I’d love a discussion, if you don’t mind. Roll your eyeballs down to see why and how you can help a really great cause just by talking in my comments section. :)

Because this topic is so important for our kids and their futures AND because BlogHer really wants to get the conversation about texting, sexting and safety going – both with our kids and among parents, they are matching LG’s donation of .50 to dosomething.org for every comment on this post, (which means $1 donation a comment to an organization that exists solely to help teens get involved in giving back. It’s“a community where young people learn, listen, speak, vote, volunteer, ask, and take action to make the world a better place. Currently, only 23% of this generation actively volunteers. Our hope is to create a do something generation: a world where more than 51% of young people are involved with community action.” )

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Up on the housetop. (Dickens style) *Edited (Y’all won. I posted a solo clip.)

December 15, 2010

*Edited. Video of me barking out a tune is at the bottom. (For being sick it’s not too bad.)

Many of y’all have been asking me to post something with me singing on it.

It’s not a solo, and really–it’s the silliest song the Dickens caroling group I perform with every year sings, but I like it. And I was on a deadline to submit it for Neil’s annual “Christmahanukwanzaakah” bloggity concert. (Which means a whole bunch of bloggers dork around on video and submit holiday musical selections.) SO, I asked the lovely people I perform with if they would let me grab a quick video clip after tonight’s performance.

So, here ya go:

P.S. That was hot, no? Especially the beginning where I’m asking about having a garbage bag in the shot.

P.P.S. And when I say “hot” I mean that both literally and figuratively.

P.P.P.S. It gets TOASTY in that getup.

P.P.P.P.S. It probably didn’t help that I was wearing the faux-fur “Svetlana boots of shame” underneath that get up.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I mean, if I chose to wear such warm foot wear I probably should have chosen to go all “traditional” like Scottish dudes when they wear kilts with the rest of my ‘under apparel’.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Which is probably way too much information for everyone, so I will move on to something else.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Like how those bonnets are a bitch to sing in. You can’t hear anything but yourself.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Driving in a hoop skirt isn’t exactly easy, either.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Nor is trying to don all that gay apparel by yourself, either.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I won’t even get into how hard it is to get out of.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Especially while you’re trying to get out of it in a car.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Especially if that car is a Volkswagen that has a flipping WHEEL for a reclining mechanism.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Because, really, nothing can make me feel more bitter and BAH! HUMBUG! than having a hoopskirt half over my head and blindly trying to fumble to CRANK A WHEEL to recline my seat so I can get a bit more room to maneuver the piles of material around my face. (Or, you know, breathe.)

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. But in the end, it’s an HONOR to perform in such a fun, gorgeously-clad group of singers, so it’s all good.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I need more cowbell.

*So much feedback on Twitter/Facebook and email asking for a bit of just me singing that, against my better judgement, I whipped this little Latin ditty out. It’s in my low voice because I have a raging sinus infection and sore throat still. And bedhead. And my dishwasher is going. Over all? This is just a HOT VIDEO, Y’ALL. (I seriously may regret this.) (If there are crickets in the comments and my fragile ego is bruised I will hunt each of you who asked for this down and give you my bricks of the hideous cake filled with bits of rubber passing as fruit in them that I inevitably get every year!) ;)