AMERICAN IDOL

AND THE WINNER IS GREEN EYED GIRL
Thanks to all those who visit my blog and entered my contest. I hope you come back every week. Now enjoy

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AMERICAN IDOL

Very few rules are spelled out in the marriage contract. Every couple must grope their way through the gray areas to define their own. In our household we have two absolutes.

Rule #1 If it’s my chocolate it’s MY chocolate. If it’s your chocolate it’s MY chocolate. Don’t think of coming close enough to even smell my chocolate and if your too dumb not to hide yours well enough, or eat it fast enough, I will.

Rule #2 Rick is king of the remote. I am the babysitter of the remote. If it gets lost it’s my fault, end of story. End of life if:
a) It’s not recovered quickly
b) The batteries wear out and there are none in the house
c) The dog chews, pees or otherwise initiates its demise.

The other evening Rick and I were lying in bed ensconced in our favorite activities. I was eating chocolate and he was fondling the remote. We were about to watch our latest DVR of American Idol. Life was good until...

“Stop. Go back. No further back.”

“Jane, the judges are just walking to their seats.”

“Honey, I want to see what they are wearing.”

Rick shook his head, and pushed rewind. “There, you saw them” he said and fast forwarded again.

“Stop. All I could see was that Jennifer was wearing something brown. Turn it back.”

He turned it back. “There she is.” He hit forward again.

“Wait, I want to see them walk to their chairs.”

“Are you kidding me!”

“Just do it, hon. I have to see what Steven Tyler is wearing.”

Rick has never once in our entire married life rolled his eyes at me even though I have given him plenty of eye rolling moments. He is a head shaker. But tonight he rolled his head and his eyes and his mouth dropped open so far I swear I saw his tongue roll.

“Honey, hurry up and rewind. I want to see his face. ”

“I thought you wanted to see his clothes.”

“I want to see his face too. I love the way he moves his mouth.”

“I can’t believe I’m married to a Steven Tyler groupie.”

I am an eye roller. I rolled my eyes up and into my head. But just for a second I didn't want to miss Steven Tylers parade.

When the judges were in their chairs Rick pumped the gas on the forward button again to see the contestants.

"What's the rush? I want to see what they say about the backgrounds of the singers.”

“Jane, you are ridiculous. We don’t need to see their family home, bedroom décor, or know what tune their toilet plays when they flush it. The point of the DVR is to drive forward through all the junk. We are not saving time.”

Rick was getting frustrated now. I could tell because he talked in paragraphs not his usual two words and a grunt.

“Honey, I want to be up on current events. I want to know the nuances.”

“Jane before this show you didn’t know any of these people. You didn’t even know who Stephen Tyler was. I don’t think he qualifies as a current event anymore.”

“Well, for the record, I think since he is on American Idol and now I know who he is that makes him current event enough for me.”

Rick gave me another record breaking roll of his head and eyes.

I mourned the loss of Simon Cowell all winter and it took time to warm up to Steven. Rick wasn’t going to ruin this for me. And I’m not saying I’m hot for Steven, just warm. But he sure makes one heck of a carnival act.

Chocolate, American Idol and Stephen Tyler, all rolled into one and covered with a little nuts. UM...MMMM.

HOW LOW CAN YOU GO

Sunday morning I sunk to a new low. I blame my fall into corruption on my daughter. It all began Thanksgiving Day and once you lower that bar...

Technically speaking it was Thanksgiving Night at exactly 11:03 pm when Ariana drug me into the pits of hell, our local Wal-Mart.

It has been my tradition to hit the stores at 4:00 am on black Friday for those spectacular sales that make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. May I take this opportunity to say that never in all my black Friday forays have I once been lured into Wal-Mart.

If you are not certifiable when you go in you are when you come out. I have seen the survivors first hand wandering around different department store chains, chunks of hair missing, eyes rolling around in their head. It isn’t pretty.

This year Ariana actually left hearth and home Thanksgiving morning to scope out our local Wal-Mart for the exact location of the items she wanted to purchase later that night and to brush up on the rules of the game. IE what time did items go on sale etc?

For years, I invited my girls to shop black Friday with me and they always vehemently declined while shoving long lists into my hands. Now that Ariana was a mom she had come down with her own case of bargainitis.

This was the first year I had absolutely nothing to shop for so why did I find myself boxed into an aisle in Wal-Mart, laboring for breath, my hands protecting my head and feeling completely sac religious for shopping on Thanksgiving Day.

I am going to take a moment to answer that question. “I am a completely unselfish, over the top loving and now, thanks to my Wal-Mart experience a little more insane, mother.” That is my only excuse for what happened Sunday morning.

While I hadn’t actually had chunks of hair plucked from my head in Wal-Mart, I was still having a bad hair day. I had gotten up early, dressed, applied my required three pounds of makeup and was fiddling with my hair.

I was determined to wear it up for a change. It went better with my chosen ensemble. At 8:40, ten minutes after we usually leave, Ariana and my grandchildren left without me.

Ariana couldn’t resist reminding me how anal I was about being on time. It wasn’t uncommon for me to remind my grandchildren they would be going to church in their underwear if they weren’t ready to walk out the door at 8:30. This was no idle threat. Ask Garret.

Not only was I a hypocrite but I was forced to ride with Garret who was always late. At least I was dressed so the underwear threat didn’t scare me. By nine o’clock, I had taken my hair out at least six more times.

It is not easy to make your hair look messy. It’s an art. You have to make it look like you threw it up without making it look like you threw it up. At 8:55, I decided to wear it down.

I ran to the closet and pulled my black boots on before I noticed my pantyhose were blue. My boots didn’t come up high enough to hide the blue so I pulled them off and changed my panty hose, careful to pull out a black pair.

I decided to give my hair one more try. After three more attempts it was the right combination of artistry. We walked out the door at 9:15.

Half way to church, I looked down. I was wearing navy pantyhose. I could have sworn they were black. I didn’t even know I owned blue hose until that morning. Apparently, I was inundated with them.

To make matters worse, in my effort to save time I had decided to forgo pulling my boots on and had opted for my black heels.

I was going to church wearing navy blue pantyhose that clashed with my brown leopard print skirt and my black heels. And who was I kidding, my hair looked bad. I was reliving my worst vanity and late nightmares all rolled into one.

This is what happens for trying to be a supportive mother and lowering the bar to shop on Thanksgiving Day. It was all Ariana’s fault.