Are you there, God? It’s Me, Meemaw. We’re moving today – moving closer to the announcement for 2016. I’m so scared, God. I’ve announced before but suppose everybody hates me now because they’re not allowed to hate Barry. Please help me. Don’t let the electorate hate me.
But at least I have little Charlotte by my side now. Things just didn’t work with Chelsea. I could get her all the high profile internships and all graduate degrees and all the high salary jobs, but talk about your sow’s ear! I was distracted when she was a baby – by my role as the First lady of Arkansas lord love a duck! – but with this one I can devote myself full time , as my campaign schedule allows, to developing this future political superstar right from the start.
Hush little baby don’t say a word Meemaw’s gonna buy you a closet full of black pants and colorful suit jackets.
Peepaw is gone out looking for cigars. I guess he won’t have to look to far. Ha ha. If you know what I mean. BTW God – does Elizabeth Warren have grandchildren? Biden’s got a pack of ‘em and they’re all blondes, too. Please God let this little girl be a blonde and not a dark hairy monster like her father. So much more photogenic.
That’s all for now, God. Gotta run and set up my room in Chelsea’s apartment. You’d think for $10M they could have gotten place that already had meemaw quarters.
More later! Love, Hllary Rodham Clinton, aka Meemaw
I’m thinking of changing my tag line to the title of this post. I find that the phrase is unforgettable. Is it just me?
I mostly hate YouTube. I was doing my duty this morning and looking for anti-vaccination messages when I came across an entire genre I had no idea about before – the Don’t Eat [type of food] Again where the YouTubers show you the disastrous consequences of applying said food to various things that it was never meant to be in contact with in the first place. Frankly, I kind of like that Coca Cola is an effective toilet cleaner.
The anti-vaccination videos beat the same drum over and over but the anti-food videos are endlessly inventive. Irritating and misleading, but inventive nonetheless.
It’s me, the 5:00 pm version of yourself. Here are some things that I have learned over these past 9 hours that might help you. Trust me, I have been there and I know that experience is the best teacher. Sit down, buckle up and take notes.
First of all, stop saying yes to everything. I know it’s slightly more difficult to follow this directive because nobody actually asks you to do things- they just send an overnight email with a big !for your immediate action and expect it to get done.
Second, don’t take out your frustrations on the people you depend on. The dullards and incompetents will drive you crazy and make you want to scream, but scream at them not at your trusted partners. Know that sometimes it will be hard to tell the difference between these two groups. And of course, you are not so much a screamer as a wicked tongue that can burn bridges forever.
Next – brace yourself for this one – know that your job is not your identity. It’s your security and your means of providing food and shelter and you are probably not ever going to be hired for anything else again if you blow this one BUT DON’T LET THAT STOP YOU from acting out your frustration out into live conference calls, ill-advised emails and smart-assed instant messages that are monitored by Big Brother. Who wants to live forever anyway, amirite? You’ll feel better and that’s what’s important , isn’t it?
Finally always have a good breakfast. And have it at breakfast time. I know you didn’t eat at all until 2pm today, so do take the time to do it up right. Here’s the breakfast I we had yesterday. It fits all possible definitions of “good”. But you were there, weren’t you? In fact, you brought the raspberry vinegar didn’t you?
It was a big meeting full of blowhards. Of which I am one.
Early arrival the evening before meant time to scope out the local crab cake scene. Had two giant and delicious ones at a modest family restaurant attached to a Ramada Inn. Then came a group dinner at a fancier well-known crab house where the crab cakes were just as big but even more delicious and more expensive.
Not enough room for the side dishes. A single crab cake took up all the dinner plate real estate.
Since this was a business dinner, I had to stay sharp which means I had to forego my customary bottomless martini glass. So in summary: Crab cake levels are up; cocktail levels are down.
Speaking of shellfish …
Without confessing too much about my customary television watching habits, let’s just say that I became familiar with the bombastic creations of Sondra Celli through the American version of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. There’s one particular piece that I cannot stop thinking about and that is the Lobster Dress that she made for Miss Maine to wear in the 2013 Miss America pageant.
“We really went to town on the shoes. We wanted people to see them and have a heart attack,” said Sondra Celli, the Boston designer who outfitted the sea-inspired look
Love at first sight. What you can see of the ensemble here is most enchanting – the big ruffled skirt, the bead work on the bodice that has not just rhinestones but real shells and clear acrylic beads that look like water droplets, the headpiece that looks like a live lobster tangled up in a net with shells and seaweed, the sandy-bottom lighthouse heeled shoes … It is not an exaggeration to use the word fabulous here. Click the pic to get a real eyeful. But! You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Look at the back:
The lobster tail train is created with boning and wire bends and folds like a crustacean. “We went to bed dreaming … ‘What can I do to this to make it look like a gown?’” said Celli. And this is her genius. Most people would look at a gown and think “What can I do to make this look like a lobster?” Sondra’s looking at a lobster and picturing it as a gown.
My favorite part is the tail fins that drag on the floor. You can see them better in B&W:
I’m past the prime ballgown-wearing stage of my life but I’m telling you right now, if I should ever go to a pageant, a ball or get up on stage for anything, I am going straight to Sondra Celli for something outrageous and blingy. Like, I could be a big sparkly pieorgi or maybe a Meyer lemon tree with Christmas lights embedded in the train and a tiara made of fragrant and shiny green leaves and blossoms. Something that reflects the inner me. Maybe something queen-like done up in shimmering aqua and adorned with ice cubes and my golden hair is done up to resemble twisted lemon peel.
Now that it seems safe to assume that my little lemon tree has survived the neglect and torture of its early days with me, I am totally focused on its upcoming move indoors for the winter. I assure you that I have read every word the internet has to offer on how to be a successful steward of a container-grown Meyer Lemon Tree in Garden Zone 7A.
Take what you know about how thoroughly I can obsesses about vintage cocktail glasses or bedside table lamps and apply that to lemon trees and you will know what the last few weeks have been like around here. The decision about which citrus fertilizer to use was agonizing enough but when it came to choosing a new pot, I was practically paralyzed with indecision.
After a week+ of back and forthing, I finally settled on a 16″ lightweight stylish lime green creation. Because of the no-frills way I was raised, I was a bit uncomfortable with the design and had some lingering doubts about if I could live with something that was fancy instead of strictly utilitarian. So I took the pot out on the deck to place it next to the lemon tree for further consideration.
And it’s not bad but it’s also not final. I might still go around to a few places today to see what other options I have. But the pot is no longer my main focus. When I leaned down next to the tree to set up the pot, what do you suppose happened?
I won’t make you guess. The answer is I almost died.
… and I did not speak up because I don’t use Mr. Bubble. Anymore.
It’s the age-old struggle for cultural dominance between Mr. Bubble and Calgon Ultra Moisturizing Bath Beads.
Again with the stupid mothers and their stereotypical parenting wisdom. Now the mothers are trying to spend their valuable “me time” bathing the children in the family bathtub. How stupid are the mothers who think that one-on-one time winding down from the busy day and gently setting the example for life-long daily hygiene habits is actually “better” for the family as a whole.
Do the stupid mothers not realize that they could make better use of their time money energy and focus by having their own relaxing soak instead of catering to the hygiene needs of children every night? Children who are very likely to complain about bath time, having to use the SpongeBob shampoo because the stupid mother found replacing the empty Disney Princess shampoo was a disproportionate burden. And do children really need daily bathing? Where is the research group investigating the protective benefits of retaining a nice thin layer of body oil for two or three days.
It may be time to brainstorm more creative solutions for bathing the children. Perhaps we can consider the very successful model of mobile dog grooming vans and institute community Wee Ones Washin’ Wagons to roll through the streets. No prior commitment necessary – just run out and stand at the curb with your money in your hand whenever you hear “Splish Splash” playing on the next block. That would be far more convenient than filling your own tub with warm bubbly water better used for your self. The Washin’ Wagons could discount for multiple children hosed down at the same time – very economical and time saving.
There’s also the environmentalist-endorsed green solution of letting them stand out in the rain for a while. Could the schools shower the kids? This might go a long way towards releiving classroom over crowding. Keep them on the move between shower cafeteria and seats and you can enroll more children with less resource expense, except for the soap. Without creative solutions like these, suggesting that the stupid mothers strive good mothering, stable families, and the ideal of the healthy, productive citizen by bathing their children individually in the home will do little more than increase the burden so many women already bear.