It is so fascinating to me that those two eyes can produce this:
And that this:
Plus This:
Can produce this:
Well, you’ve of course already heard about the most, um, “interesting” part of our trip, but in addition to our Dragon*Con adventures, we had a completely packed-with-activity Atlanta weekend.
We stayed at Twelve Hotel this year, and in spite of their apparent naming chosen by a Twelve Year Old Boy (besides the name of the hotel, the restaurant was called “Room” and the bar was called “Lobby”), it was a great hotel.
Chris doesn’t feel like he gets his money’s worth out of a hotel unless we use the pool. I’m not so much of a hotel pool kind of girl (I don’t know why – just a random quirk), but being the good wife that I am, I joined him.
As it WAS afternoon rush hour, the sun wasn’t exactly still high in the sky, and it was an overcast day as well. So, in his quest to get his money’s worth, it took Chris about 20 minutes to get this deep into the frigid pool, one centimeter at a time:
Yes, that smile was frozen on.
I, however, was perfectly satisfied getting our money’s worth on the lounge chairs. At which it didn’t take Chris too long to join me.
Friday night, we took our traditional trip to Taverna Plaka. Our waiter was especially enthusiastic and convinced us to get up and dance, arm in arm, with most of the other patrons around the entire restaurant.
I would have a picture, but my arms were tied up with Chris on one side and a very bouncy lady on the other.
And Greek dancing can really take it out of you. It was the first of many times during the weekend that I was thankful for Jillian and her Shred for getting me in shape.
At any rate, all of us patrons either wore out or wanted to get back to our dinner (they were just delivering ours as our waiter was dragging us to the other side of the restaurant), and so ALL of the waitstaff joined in and did their own very fast, very impressive crazed dance around the restaurant:
It was NOT a good time for anyone
to need a drink refill.
And eventually, the lone bellydancer came out to see us:
Don’t get a neck cramp, honey.
We were sitting outside at plastic deck furniture, so she (fortunately) couldn’t get up and dance on OUR table.
The next day, after the Parade of all Parades, We headed to Gameday and all of the fanfare at CNN Center and Centennial Park:
Yes, we were very shiny. It was a long walk. Note: second time of the weekend that I was grateful for Jillian and her Shred.
And, of course, I had to check out a bit of the latest Atlanta fashion (things always hit there a bit earlier than they make it to Birmingham, thereby giving me much fodder to be amazed at).
Obviously, leggings are in style with the force of a spandex brigade, and are still as bizarre as they were last year when I tried on the Gold Lamé Leggings of Shame.
Except this year, the styles are apparently a bit lacier.
You could purchase Lace Peek-a-boo paneled leggings:
But why stop with panels when you can just Completely Commit to Lace Peek-A-Boo?
But if you’re really wanting to add a bit more class to your leggings, definitely go with Victorian Ankle Buttons:
Oh – and football. I suppose you might have thought I had forgotten about it by now. But we had a great time at the game – our seats were higher than I had ever sat in a stadium – LITERALLY the last row.
Note: five hundred and sixty seventh time of the weekend that I was grateful for Jillian and her Shred.
I really love heights, so I enjoyed our seats, but it really did feel like the stadium went straight down from beneath us, so I can imagine that people who don’t like heights so much might not have been able to stomach our vantage point:
However, another benefit of the back row is that no one is behind you to spill beer in your direction. LOVE it.
AND, there was a shallow space between the back wall and our seats, so had I felt the need to sleep through the game like the olden days, it would have been much more comfortable for me, and MUCH less constricting for Chris:
I definitely discovered my calling at this football game: real-time tweeting. Admittedly, I often have trouble staying focused on the game, but I had SO much fun tweeting the game from my perspective that I actually paid MORE attention to the game than ever before.
I felt as if I were on the very cusp of social media news reporting…as if I were making history with my many Hokey Jokes. I mean – how cool is it that the NCAA almost banned tweeting at games? I almost wish that they had so that I could have felt like an underground, forbidden, repressed reporter.
But I pretended, anyway. And, if you have any interest in reading these ground-breaking tweets, I preserved them for all of social media history to come at B-Sides.
Oh – and lest you think that Dragon*Con was the only place that Zombies were in abundance, that is not the case. Apparently, zombies are very stylish this year, and the Alabama Flag Core was proud to represent:
Because, of course, the entire halftime show had to be a tribute to Michael Jackson, which can’t be done properly without “Thriller”, which can’t be done properly without a Zombified Flag Core.
At any rate, the game was quite exciting (which means that it was QUITE stressful for poor Chris and for the guy in front of me that really needed anger management classes), but by the end, Chris had a smile on his face:
Notice the empty Virginia Tech side of the stadium? Yeah, they were hokey and left early.
Last year when we went to Alabama’s first (in my football watching career) Atlanta season opener, we were delightfully shocked when we found out that there were not only 80,000+ football fans in downtown ATL, but there were also 40,000+ fans of a VERY DIFFERENT variety, also within a one mile radius.
Dragon*Con, a convention for all things science fiction, fiction, or really anything that you can dress up like or make up a costume for was also going on.
Since my term “crazies” didn’t go over too well with a few of the Dragon*Conners last year (most of them really enjoyed the post, but a few didn’t, even though I used the term for both footballers AND Dragon*Conners and meant it in no more of a serious manner than I would if I admitted that I was crazy due to my need to have three perfectly clean napkins in my lap during all mealtimes and if one gets messed up, I must replace it before I can eat another bite), I have decided to replace it this year.
So, to be maximally fair in every way, I am embracing my identity as a Mundane (which is what they referred to me as – I think it is somewhat analogous to a “Muggle” in Harry Potter), and replacing the term of Crazies with a more politically correct term developed with the help of my hubby. Passionistas (Passhun-eest-as).
And believe me, there were PLENTY of Passionistas to go around.
This year, since we were very excited to get some people watching in, we decided to take a stroll around downtown late Friday night (11pm +) in hopes of seeing a couple Dragon*Con sights and sounds.
And we were NOT disappointed.
There were thousands.
We hung around the outside of the main hotel and walked through the lobbies and conference areas of all three D*C hotels. We saw everything from the extremely classy,
To the halloween-esque.
Yes, ALL of the elements were at Dragon*Con.
We learned a lot about these Passionistas between our Friday night walk and their Saturday morning parade, of which we were also in attendance. And so, here are:
The Top 23 Things Learned by a Mundane from Dragon*Con:
1. Airbrushed Abs rock. I think they should offer this service at spray-tanning facilities:
2. Freaky contacts are totally “in” this year. And I do mean really freaky:
(and no, they don’t just have red-eye).
3. If your costume is too boring or Dragon*Con, just Zombie or Vamp it up to add flair:
It worked for Alice in Wonderland,
Marilyn Monroe,
Michael Jackson,
Raggedy Ann:
And even two girls dressed up as themselves:
4. Just like us Mundanes have day wear and evening wear, there is a drastic difference between Passionista day wear and evening wear.
Evening:
Day:
Evening:
Day:
Evening:
Day:
5. Apparently, although Fred and Wilma are still happily together, Betty has been dumped and replaced with a stone-age dominatrix:
6. Plether is a unisex material for Passionistas:
7.Passionistas are just as amused and take just as many pictures of each other as us Mundanes take of them, and they are seemingly completely unaware that they are just as photographical material:
8. Most Tabloidable news story: Arwen appears to be sporting a baby bump:
9. Not ALL Passionistas feel the need to spend drastic amounts of time on their outfits:
I especially love the flair added by the pink house slippers.
10. Afraid to be a Passionista alone? There are plenty of duo opportunities:
”One Man, Two Retail Sales Opportunities”
“The Lone Ranger and Tonto Snot”
“Linked by Love and Robots”
“Every A is made better with a G alongside.” 
”A Tale of Opposites…in so many ways”: 
”A Bicycle Built for Two”: 
“The High Fivers”
“Me and my pet Triangle”
11. Darth Vader has a crush: one of the Fairy Godmothers from Sleeping Beauty. He tracks her…
He almost catches her by the wing…
But then she quickly scoots away, as he looks sadly after her magicalness:
(They really were there together, and they were, by far, the cutest couple I saw all weekend.)
11. It is a bit surreal to be in a five star hotel and for no one to be flinching at seeing sights like this in the middle of the lobby:
12. Passionista Cheeks are definitely in. Or out, as it may be:
Even celebrity cheeks were there:
Although her Daisy Dukes aren’t quite the same size that they used to be:
And, if you don’t have a costume, no need to fret: Just wear a bra and a sheer shower curtain!
13. No matter how quirky and rare they are, you can always find your favorite characters at Dragon*Con: 
But sometimes, your hero isn’t as glad to see you as you are them:
14. The 80’s Pop-Culture has made huge strides to come into the 21st Century, including the Mod-Squad of Care Bears:
And the super-Dodge Ghostbusters:
15. It’s best to start training Passionistas at a young age:
16. And, in fact, miniature characters make a GREAT accessory for any serious Passionista:
And yes, even canine superhero miniatures. Of course. 
But then again, that dog could have just belonged to a yuppy-downtown-dog-dressing-up-Atlantian.
17. Speaking of which, NOTHING bad could have gone down in Atlanta this weekend. Superheros were in abundance.
18. The Passionista band’s alarm clocks simultaneously didn’t go off in time for them to get dressed before the parade:
AND they all happen to wear very interesting pajamas. 
19. Sometimes, every comment that you COULD make about a Passionista would just not be a good comment to make:
20.I was disappointed by a very low turnout of Princess Leias this year, 
But was so happy to see my Favorite Kilted Stormtroopers once again. Because it’s just not every day that you see a man that is half irish, half Darth Vader Loyalist. 
21. Just because you’re wearing matching crocheted caps, nightgowns and carrying parasols does not disqualify you from packing heat: 
22. Jack Sparrow was there, of course…
But his ship has been taken by the dreaded Pirate Dodge. 
23. And finally, NO pop culture conference would be complete without a (Monty Python) giant wooden rabbit! 
“….WHO’S supposed to jump out of the rabbit?”
***More pictures and video features from our Dragon*Con adventures will follow in the coming days, most likely on B-Sides. And don’t worry, football fans: I’ll blog about the REAL reason we went to Atlanta soon enough.****
First, a few announcements and shameless plugs:
Okay. Now, with all of THAT out of the way…
Chris and I are headed out today for our second biggest Super Date of the year!! Ali will be blissfully staying with Gramamma and Pop, and we’re headed to Atlanta for our Second Annual Season Opener Football Trek.
If you want to know what we will be doing, check out last year’s posts about our crazy Greek Restaurant belly-dancing tradition here, the other “fanatics” that we will be sharing downtown Atlanta with here, and the game itself here.
Yes, many adventures will be had.
However, hopefully no adventures on the road there and back. Chris is a very cautious and safe driver, so he always drives on the way TO a destination, while we unwind and relax. And I’m a very bat out of hell “efficient” driver, so I always drive on the way home to get us back as quickly as possible.
And I will never forget my “efficient” driving origins…
For the record, I come by it VERY naturally. My Granddad raced mini cars. My Dad builds antique race cars. Dad is also a tech inspector for the Le Mans series races.
But it was my older brother who taught me the all-important skill of cop watching.
I remember it fondly. I was 14 and he was 16. He went to the Christian School at our Church and I homeschooled. He had a track meet, and had wanted to take me along (he actually liked me!!), and we got our plan cleared with the school beforehand.
But, apparently the person who gave us said permission was the wrong person in the chain of command.
When we arrived at school, we found out that due to insurance regulations, a non-student was not allowed to ride with the team. AND that he wasn’t allowed to drive his own vehicle, either.
At the risk of leaving his poor little sister alone at school with no way to get back to our Mom, he fought for our rights. By this time, the team had long left, so when the Principal finally realized the Catch-22 we were in (and, since JC WAS a star member of the team, the Catch-22 that the SCHOOL was in), he decided to let him drive.
Of course we were running very late, and the meet was well out of town. So JC had every excuse in the world to do what all teenage boys do with or without just cause: speed.
Since we were in SUCH a hurry, he decided that to achieve our goals in the most effective way, it was time to train his little sister in the ways of cop watching. And so I became the wing-girl as he repeatedly put the “governor” to work in our parent’s hot, matte light blue, Nineteen-eighty-something Ford Aerostar Minivan:
And now you know why I have such an aversion to minivans.
(By the way, if you don’t know what a governor is, it’s a speed limiter that was put on cars in the 80’s to keep teenage boys from going too fast. It actually CUTS OFF THE ENGINE if you get to the magical number. I believe ours was around 92 mph, but I’m sure that JC could confirm the exact speed of purposeful engine failure, since he and the Guv were best of friends.)
Anyway, we made it to the track meet relatively on time (and un-ticketed, thanks to my newly discovered natural cop-watching abilities), and I got some very important schooling that day, thanks to the principal who was able to see PAST the school rules.
JC – I hope that Mom and Dad don’t decide to retroactively ground you for endangering your little sister’s life in such an educational way. But now that you’re 30 years old (not to rub it in or anything), I think we’re safe to let Mom and Dad in on the “fun” we had as teenagers, don’t you? I see a weekly blog series coming on….
Or not.
I know that I’ve done enough talk about our small group to make you sick of it. So I won’t rehash and explain how it all works – I’ll just remind you of the stats, for the purposes of this blog:
We’ve been busy.
Here’s our group photo without the kids:
Don’t we look calm and collected?
(For those of you who read about these people all the time and want to put faces to names, we are, clockwise starting from the back left: Chris, Me, Christen, Ryan, Ashley, David (AJ’s Mom and Dad), Greg, Chuck, Lydia (of Mom Jeans and the Dreaded Long Butt fame), Julie, Christie, and Jarrod.)
At any rate, we’re losing one of our couples, Jarrod and Christie(one of the only dual-blog families I know), to New York, where Jarrod will be pastoring a Grace Community Church.
And, although we can’t deny God’s handiwork in the whole deal, we’re none too happy about them leaving us.
So, we have had a whole week of good-bye parties for them.
Before we met for our last get-together Tuesday night, the guys all wanted to go out for one last gluttonous feeding frenzy at Jarrod’s home away from home, The Golden Corral.
They didn’t have to say “No Girls Allowed”, because, well, none WANTED to be allowed.
So, us girls decided to make the best of our husbandless situation and all meet for dinner at a much more refined establishment, Richard’s.
Which means that our odds were 6 mommies (1/3 of which are pregnant) to 14 children.
No, you can’t see all fourteen children because the table was just plain too crowded. But trust me. They were there. If there could be audio with this picture, you would KNOW that they were ALL there.
The girl + Radford end of the table was pretty calm,
And was limited to quiet games like Ali teaching Radford how to play pee-pie (is THAT how you spell that?!?!? Sounds disgusting),
But the lessons being taught at the boy’s end of the table were much more nasal noisy.
At any rate, we managed to make it through dinner without a SINGLE drink being spilled, without our waiter going insane (although I think he might have been close), AND without the Fire Marshall coming in and shutting the place down due to overcrowding.
We got back to Lydia’s house and began the arduous task of getting all of the kids calmed down for bedtime.
When the men showed up.
The men, who had been on their own self-indulgent dinner out with NO kids whatsoever, showed up with TWELVE balloon swords.
In three seconds flat (which is how long it takes for 12 kids to grab a sword and take off), the house went from a low, sleepy rumble to ear piercing shrieks, screams, the irritatingly squeaky sound of balloon-on-balloon combat.
Even Zechariah got in on the action, despite his size-to-balloon-ratio disadvantage: 
The only one of the big kids to stay out of the mix was Abby, who was far too concerned with messing up her carefully coordinated bedtime ensemble:
Now obviously, us women were a bit, well, “curious”, as to how the guys just happened upon twelve balloon swords while they were at dinner, since they would know full well, of course, that we would be trying to get the kids to bed….ahem.
The story that we got was that it was Kid’s Night at Golden Corral, and they made friends with Spidey himself:
And, although they NEVER mentioned to Spiderman that they had kids, he just happened to come from the kid’s area with an army of children who delivered twelve swords directly and ONLY to our men, the EXACT number of sword-bearing-aged kids waiting for them to return home.
It sounded just a bit sketchy to us women.
So we cross-examined, in separate rooms, our husbands – subtly, of course.
And they ALL had the same story.
They obviously made sure their stories lined up before they left The Mecca of Man Chow.
At any rate, their ringleader and Honored Man of the Night, Jarrod, who egged the kids on to the nth degree, got his just reward (I never insist on watching videos, but you MUST watch this video to truly understand the chaos of the evening):
After that attack, I’m pretty sure he’s ready to get his butt on up to New York, post-haste.
Yes, the attack was brutal. It was violent. It was deafening. The fun obviously must be ended. So we confiscated all swords, and all agreed that all children must be IMMEDIATELY rounded up, calmed down, and put to sleep as soon as possible, by whatever means necessary.
But there’s always the one that gets away…
Disclaimer: No ill will toward our husbands is intended or implied. After all, without them, this would have made for a dull blog.
In all seriousness, I very nearly had a parenting meltdown last week right in the middle of Gymnastics class. Granted, that class also had the misfortune of falling right in the middle of my state of constant meltdown due to evil allergy medicines.
At any rate, I didn’t blog about it because, well, let’s face it: I was in no state of mind to be blogging about issues. But the basic idea was that Ali was completely and totally contrary and nonparticipative, ESPECIALLY if I tried to urge her to do it.
And so, my conundrum was:
She needs to obey me. At all times. The words “I don’t want to” should not come from her lips. Especially 6,543 times in 50 minutes.
However, no one wants to discipline because of something that is supposed to be fun. Especially if she was really just intimidated by her male substitute coach, as her regular coach was sick.
At any rate, I left that class a total confused and frustrated wreck.
I got wise counsel from my Mom to cut her some slack since she is rarely a disobedient child (and so therefore she was probably intimidated or scared).
We also had MANY discussions beforehand with Ali about having FUN in gymnastics, obeying her coach and Mommy, and getting pink ice cream if these things were done.
Oh – and not “missing her chance” to obey, and therefore “missing her chance” to get pink ice cream. (She’s big about missing of chances right now. Those words speak to her SOUL.)
Although Ali was very positive about her prospects of obedience, I still approached this week’s lesson with dread.
The first few minutes of stretches and such were iffy. It looked like it was going to be a repeat of last week’s Mommy-Torture.
And then, after her coach set up an obstacle course and explained what to do at each station, something clicked. Ali was excited, cooperative, and more than happy to do everything I told her to do.
As long as the (still male) coach didn’t come by. When he did, she would completely freeze in place. Even then, she still obeyed my prior threats instructions to never say “I don’t want to” – she would just go silent instead.
(I guess she learned “If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all” early.)
But luckily, her coach also learned from last week that she did better if he kept his distance and talked to me instead of her, and was very understanding of my toddler’s diva-like demands for lack of communication.
He did score major brownie points with her for putting out the PINK balance beam. Which she walked without cutting off my circulation holding my hand for the first time ever: 
Pink. It’s a magical color.
She was nothing but a blur on the Olympic trampoline:
Which, by the way, makes toddlers go SCARY high.
And, she even stuck her legs out (semi) straight and pointed at least one out of ten toes while swinging on the bars!
Yes, progress has been made. And it’s a good thing, too, because if I’d had another gymnastics lesson like last week, I might have to find myself a therapist and schedule weekly appointments directly after her class.
Victory was sweet, for everyone:
Yes, that is a second straw for Mommy.
And yes, I MIGHT have twisted her arm and told her how yummy pink “ice cream” was through a straw because I was really craving a sorbet smoothie.
At least I still have SOME of my toddler-persuasion powers.
Chris has consistently sent me gorgeous flowers throughout our relationship. I have always greatly appreciated this, but have always been burdened with a good bit of guilt at each occurrence of said delivery, because there’s nothing comparably reciprocal to send to a guy.
Guys don’t want flowers.
Guys don’t want balloons.
Guys don’t want candy.
Guys don’t even want the newest in the delivered sweetness choices, fruit.
It’s just not how they’re wired.
Something needs to be done about this gross oversight in our American Culture. What are you supposed to send a man to show him that you love him? So, I decided to hone in one what really lights a guy’s fire and see if I could turn it into a deliverable.
MEAT.
Yes, that’s right. A MEAT arrangement. What guy wouldn’t want to answer the door, only to find a Bouquet of Animal Flesh waiting for him?
Just imagine the advertising….
You love your man.
You really love your man. How do you express it?
Why not a Vase O’ Meat? Or the sizey Pot O’ Meat?
Or even our extra large Garden O’ Meat! The Garden O’ Meat, a veritable fantasy manland where fresh flesh flowers grow from a salty sausage soil… Mmmmmm!!
So, um, anyway…
I started with a nice, manly “vase” and some florist’s foam:
And then prepared my ingredients:
I enlisted a Princess Oversight Service (who also sampled all of the product to ensure top notch quality): 
And my own carnivorous husband’s help in creating this truly masculine masterpiece:
We set off to work. Our work areas were a man’s dream buffet:
Granted, some of my our attempts at turning meat into floral masterpieces didn’t work so well:
But the end result would make any man, anywhere drool (and any woman, anywhere, gag):
Included in this bouquet are:
All finished off with the best thing that compliments meat – cheese – of course.
Premium upgrades included dirt made of sausage, and a lovely bacon/cheese/cocktail wienie arbor in the back of the arrangement:
If men planned weddings, they would get MARRIED under an arbor of those ingredients.
And hold bouquets of meat flowers.
Look at the sheen on the pepperoni!
The bacon, practically still sizzling on the stem:
Yes, this arrangement is a Protein Packer’s Pinnacle of Perfection.
In fact, I guarantee that this arrangement would send ANY red-blooded man into the six stages of complete ecstasy (you will recognize the first five as eerily similar to a girl’s response to a REAL bouquet):
Stage One: Shock. “You shouldn’t have!!”
Stage Two: Thrill. “I’ve NEVER seen anything so breathtaking in all my life!!”
Stage Three: Puppy Love. For you, not the meat. Okay, maybe for the meat, too.
Stage Four: Beholding the Glory.
Stage Five: Smelling the Roses.
Stage Six: Complete Ravenous Chow Down.
That’s right,
Oh, and in case you were worried about our wastefulness in this grand experiment, the arrangement went on to live a happy second life that only increased it’s masculine glory:
PETA, eat your heart out.
Or don’t. That wouldn’t be very Vegan of you.
We are having a “Score For Your Team Football Carnival” at Alabama Bloggers, and I’ve got to make sure and get my point in for Alabama! And if you participate, you are entered into a giveaway to win one of TEN free lunches from my favorite restaurant, Zoës Kitchen!!!
I have not been a football fan since birth – I married into it. The only thing I recall about football in my childhood is being irritated about how long the games lasted, and so therefore how long our one TV was completely occupied with mind-numbingly boring sports.
My husband Chris and his family have had the same season tickets since he was 13 years old. And not only do they go to all of the home games, tailgating is just as essential of a part of the tradition as anything else.
I learned what I was getting myself into about the importance of this tradition early on in our dating relationship.
First, a little background: We started dating in the month of July, many, many years ago, and we typically went on dates during the day on Saturday. He slept later than I did, and so the agreement was that he would call me when he woke up and let me know when he would pick me up.
So I’d get up on a Saturday morning around 9am, and wait….and wait….and wait some more.
I would check the phone. Is it working? Yup.
…and wait some more.
Did he forget about me?
…and wait some more.
He’s had time to go on another whole date. Is he dating someone else in the mornings and me in the afternoons?
…and wait some more.
Did he die in his sleep?
…and wait some more.
Finally, around 1pm, the phone would ring. My groggy voiced boyfriend would say that he was up and getting ready, and he’d pick me up in a little while.
After a few months of these utterly boring Saturday mornings of waiting, the Season Of Football arrived.
All of a sudden, the tables turned. He would literally be at my house on Saturday mornings BEFORE THE SUN CAME UP to take me to Tuscaloosa, which is only an hour away.
And no, it didn’t matter that kickoff was at 6pm.
As a clueless teenage girl who didn’t even know what a first down was, I was completely taken off guard by the celebration of this boring, meaningless sport.
I literally SLEPT through at least three games that first season.
Yes, I really slept. In the stadium with 80,000+ raving lunatics screaming fans.
The people in the stands around us mercilessly made fun of me, and I’m sure thought to themselves, “THIS girlfriend won’t last long.”
And I’m sure Chris really appreciated me falling asleep leaning up against him, keeping him from jumping up and down, yelling, shaking his shaker, or basically moving in any way (since it’s not like there’s a lot of wiggle room in the stadium anyway.)
The season wore on, and I learned nothing about football. Finally, it was time for the Alabama-Auburn game. Which, of course, occurs in late November.
The weather was atrocious. It was forecasted to sleet and rain.
Surely they would cancel the game.
What? They don’t cancel football games?
Oh. Well then surely we won’t go. We’ll watch it at home with my parents or something, right?
Oh – you’re here before sunlight again – good morning.
So we head to Tuscaloosa.
We sit in the freezing (not yet sleeting) weather all morning, all day, and all evening, waiting for the beloved game.
I am reduced to a block of ice. I sit, perfectly still, unable to move, talk, eat, drink. I was not made for being outdoors during this type of weather.
Finally, after what seemed like days of torturous weather, it was time to walk to the stadium.
The game started and the score stayed close. And then, the sleet and rain commenced.
Sleet AND rain. So that you are hit with ice cubes and then doused with icy water. I’m pretty sure that this sort of torture results in death.
All I could think: “Well, surely this means we’ll leave early – right?”
Oh – Alabama/Auburn is different?
Oh.
I sat, my head looking down into my lap trying to keep the ice water out of my face, numb to my belly button, begging God to spare my life.
And then, we lost.
And the moral of this story is: This is how insanely in love with my husband that I was and still am. Although I do appreciate the sport a little more now that I understand what a first down is (and even a second and third and fourth and fifth down! Oh – wait…), I really just love BEING with him.
And if that means sitting in the sleet and ice and rain, well, okay, I’m just glad that we are married now, so that I can skip games like that and still see him at the end of the day.
Be sure to check out everyone else’s Football posts at Alabama Bloggers! And come join us and participate in the carnival fun and WIN lunch from Zoës!!!
Saturdays are made for random, right?
First of all, in case you missed my tweet/facebook status, the plaid epidemic that I informed you of earlier this month is getting worse:
Yes, it’s true: The Plaidemic has filled in every crack and reached the very scivvies of our society.
(Thanks, Tim, for adding “Plaidemic” to my vocabulary)
Now, on to an even more shallow topic:
It seems like I write an annual post bemoaning my boredom with my hair.
Well, I finally did it.
I actually, for the first time in my life, got my hair colored. Are you ready for this? Because it’s bold. It’s different. It’s extreme.
Here’s the before picture:
Now brace yourselves to be shocked….
Aaaand, the after picture:
Yeah. I know. I’m so drastic like that.
I admit it, I was a bit scared of the whole process, and really just wanted to shine, body, and vibrancy that coloring (without bleach) adds to hair. So I talked my wonderful hairdresser down a shade (she wanted to go darker but I’m deathly afraid of goth. Or looking really pale. Or worse, both.), and the end result was pretty much my own hair color, with the shine and without the gray hairs uniformity of color.
But now that I am comfortable with the whole process, next time I’ll TOTALLY go pink.
In other news, I am unable to move my legs a bit sore today because I bent to the peer pressure of EVERY OTHER BLOGGER IN THE WORLD and started Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred workout on Thursday. 
Well, actually Ali and I started it. And yes, when you’re two, apple juice bottles are perfect handweights to achieve the purpose of being like Mommy.
(I totally remember doing this with my Mom, except it was Jane Fonda with her super fad legwarmers, sweatbands, neon leotards, and Paula Abdul music…)
Ali intently watched the three women in sports bras do exercises and tried to participate. Then, about halfway through the video, she stopped, stared at them carefully, then lifted her shirt up to the level of a sports bra and held it there, looking down to make sure she looked like them.
Oops.
Yeah, um, kids learn from TV. A lot. Did you know that?
Speaking of which, I’m REALLY wondering what Curious George episode she picked this one up from.
After getting this coke bottle wrapped up just like she wanted it,
she announced, “I’m having a Birthday Bottle!!!”, and tipped it back:
Yeah. I’m not at all sure what that was about.
She’s a Toddler Wino.
And for my last randomnity of the day, Ali and I took a trip to Target yesterday. She was lucky enough to spot what she calls a “Gymnastics Buggy”.
I bet you didn’t know that they had Gymnastics buggies, did you?
Yeah, our Target is SPECIAL.
In spite of this long list of warnings:
I, the good mother that I am, allow my child to stand:
Stand higher:
Jump off and swing with glee:
Oh, and climb even HIGHER:
All while I was pushing the buggy and shopping.
Because, you see, she’s a Gymnastics Pro. Those signs are just for the inexperienced kids, right? Nothing bad could ever happen, right?
Every now and then, since this is my blog and all, I decide to actually be serious on here. I know – not too often – I’d go into shock. But every now and then. Hope you don’t mind.
One Christmas when I was around 8 years old, me and my older brother got brand new bikes for Christmas. Mine was beautiful. It was deep purple with pink highlights – more than any girl could want.
However, a few weeks after Christmas, my bike was stolen. I was, of course, brokenhearted. ESPECIALLY since my brother still had his new, shiny bike. How unfair was THAT? (I was a bit hung up on fairness as a kid.)
However, not too long after that, my Mom pulled me aside. She sat me down and had a talk with me about being grateful for the things that people do for me – to realize the work that they put into them and even though it might not be as good as I would like, that I should be thankful.
At the time, I didn’t understand what the talk was for, but I knew it must be for something upcoming in my future. Later that day, Dad took me out to his workshop. He had bought a bike – yellow and older and broken – and had tuned it, fixed it, shined it, and prepared it just for me. He had obviously put a lot of work into it and greatly desired to make my eyes shine with excitement once more.
I was so thankful for my Dad – his heart had hurt for my loss, and so he invested his time into providing a replacement for me. I certainly hope that I would have been grateful with or without my Mom’s pre-talk, but I appreciate her preparation, even though it just seemed like another vague “Parental Talk” when she gave it.
In the same way, I think that God sometimes gives “pre-talks”. He will teach me a new principle from His Word in a very distinct and profound way, but I have no idea how it applies to my life. But it always seems to apply sometime in the not-too-distant future. Sometimes I’m excited to see how it will apply, and sometimes I’m very, very afraid.
At any rate, I decided to share a principle He’s been teaching me lately. I’m not sure how it applies to me, but I’m sure it will. And who knows – it might apply to you also.
It started when I read these verses in Isaiah 41:
17 “The poor and needy search for water,
but there is none;
their tongues are parched with thirst.
But I the LORD will answer them;
I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.
18 I will make rivers flow on barren heights,
and springs within the valleys.
I will turn the desert into pools of water,
and the parched ground into springs.
19 I will put in the desert
the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive.
I will set pines in the wasteland,
the fir and the cypress together,
20 so that people may see and know,
may consider and understand,
that the hand of the LORD has done this,
that the Holy One of Israel has created it.
At face value, they seem fairly obvious. God will help His children when they call on Him. No problem. But what struck me was HOW God says that He will help.
He didn’t say “I will deliver you TO the greener pastures.”
He didn’t say “I will let you win the lottery so that you can make a better life for yourself.”
He said, “I will make YOUR desert the lush land.”
This immediately struck me as an insight into God’s personality and His way of doing things.
He prefers to miraculously FIX situations, not deliver us out of them. He COULD move us out of our situation and into a better one (and sometimes He does), but He usually doesn’t CHOOSE to. He would much rather show His power by making our situation an obvious God-turnaround.
So many times, I am guilty of praying for deliverance from a situation. I want out – I want new – I want a fresh start. However, that isn’t how God often chooses to work. He wants to make MY situation NEW.
After all, what is the better testimony of God’s grace – “God allowed me to quit my former circumstances and choose these new ones!”, or “God came in and turned around my impossibly bad circumstances into amazingly good circumstances in a way that ONLY God could do!”
God doesn’t “move on and cut His losses” – thank goodness for us, or He would have moved on from all of us! He can see the complete and full potential of ANY situation. God likes to show “Springtime” – life and growth in previously dry and barren places and people.
Granted, this is obviously not an “all-the-time” principle – sometimes God’s will IS to deliver us out of a situation. I just see this as the way that God likes to work, more often than not.
And, so, when we choose to discount or write off a situation or relationship, we are blocking God from being able to show His power by transforming that situation or relationship in a way that only He could do. He wants us to ask Him, trust Him, and let Him blow us away with His abilities to turn deserts into lush forests.
Just a thought…
