I'm not old, just "retro"

Because I have some sense of social decency, I did not proclaim the following things out loud today while out shopping, but MUST get them out before they implode my head.

1. A tunic is not a dress. Nylons are not pants. Please go home and put pants on.

2. OMIGOD I just stepped back to 1980.

Phew! That's better... now I just have to figure out how to stop the scortching of my retinas and life should be good.

Number one, I think, goes without saying... and frankly, I don't feel like reliving it if you can't put it together.

Number two: I went shopping for spring and summer wear today. I walked into H&M, and amazingly it was once I PASSED the Madonna line that things got shady... and frighteningly very "retro." But it was when I stepped into Forever 21 (because they don't make a Forever 29, okay!?) that I was completely horrified. My mother warned me that someday, retro would be what I used to wear... and there it was, the fabulously plastic jewelry, the unflattering shoulder pads, and equally unflattering ribbed waisted shirts with poufy tops and off the shoulder necks. There was a time when oh, I wished I could buy all that wonderful fashion and wear it how it was MEANT to be worn, sadly that was 20 years ago and today, I can afford it, but I simply cannot. The sadness of the moment was not lost on me as I dragged myself into Sears to buy some "classic" summer shirts... my god, am I really this old?

And with the shopping expenditure, I've found that no matter how much I try, I just can't hack going into Ambercrombie and Fitch. I know their pants might have a chance of actually fitting me well... NOONE shopping in there has hips either... okay baby got back and that might pose a problem in A&F but I can't even begin to try. The store reeks of cologne that makes me sneeze and I stepped in, saw the Daisy Duke shirts and turned and walked right back out again. And at least Jessica Simpson made that last reference relevant again, cause I'm guessing Catherine Bach is a reference enjoyed by those who wore one big loopy earring and some leg warmers way back before it was retro. And apparently, leg warmers are now called footless thigh highs... or so said the package in Hot Topic today... Yes, Hot Topic is one more place I'm slowly being edged out of... I mean MY GOD, when did Blondie make a come back? Oh, right, they didn't--they are just fashion fodder. They did make music, do the under 20-somethings know this? Do they learn these things in school?

Not your average superhero

It was a typical morning, sitting at my laptop, reading email, eating Cheerios, spilling coffee all over myself... and then it happened--the biggest jumpy spider I have ever seen emerged from a modem box I had yet to recycle. Quickly I sprint to the bathroom, only to discover that my Raid was used up last summer in battling arachnaphobia. It's true, I am not one for pesticides except those with long-range spider killers... but here I was with a gigantic beast roaming about my desk and no Raid. I grabbed the next best thing--hair spray and on the way back to the desk, a pair of kitchen tongs. Armed to the teeth, I was ready to face my foe. I sprayed the hell out of the modem box, however, there was no evidence that the spider was even still there. Nonetheless, I grabbed the box with the kitchen tongs and tossed it out on the balcony. Then best all the papers on the desk with the tongs--just in case.

I have no idea if the spider was tossed out with the hair spray covered box, or if it died of natural causes during the day... I just have to live in the hopes that it is no longer in my place--ready to jump at any moment. You just really never know.

Pink Bubbles

A friend of mine out west told me about Lush after I had trouble finding the bubble bath I wanted for the last full moon bath. So, a week or so ago, I finally got around to placing a ridiculously expensive order--which is way easy to do as the prices on the higher side--and today I picked up the package from my leasing office where it was left yesterday (even though I was home to accept delivery, but that's for another day).

The very pick up of the package was an event. I was nearly out the door when the man who had been on the phone yelled his devotion for Lush products and shared his favorites with me before proceeding to scream "You have a sex bomb in there don't you? I was smelling your box earlier."
I did not get a sex bomb on this order; however, one of the items I did order was a soap called Rock Star... it is pink, it lathers up pink, it is simply fantastic. One person reviewed that the scent was similar to cotton candy, however I find it a little stronger than that--but still very yummy. I look forward to my next full moon bath Monday evening--which, is so aptly named the Pink Full Moon this time around.

This might be the first Monday I've truly looked forward to in some time.

Sex or Chocolate?

That be the question d'jour... it is a conversation that began with some peoples last week, continued through the weekend and landed today on one of my SparkPeople teams. Until today, I thought I was the anomoly; preferring sex (even mediocre sex) to chocolate.

Don't get me wrong, I do love a good piece of chocolate, but, um... it isn't choice number one.

And that's all you get today.

Busy weekend

It has been all kinds of crazy-hectic... saturday was an all day crop to raise money for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.... Scrapbook Memories in Chelsea is awesome and donated the space and crop fees raising $500 for the Walk. They are also holding a raffle for a great prize for another month if anyone is interested... proceeds for that will also go to benefit the Avon Foundation and breast cancer. There was a lot of prepping for the event--but in the end, it was worth it. Several women came up and told me their stories about survival, family loss; there were several emotional hours.

Today, was a beautiful day after the brief thunderstorms, and Jake was able to come and go from the balcony to the apartment at his leisure. He sleeps now, a happy kitty. The sunshine was good for all of us. I finally made the decision/leap to fill the application to belong to the community garden program. Come May I will be gardening my little half plot of land and volunteering with the community gardening group. Obviously, I will need a straw hat.

I also managed to hit the rec center today... got in a great workout and then went grocery shopping. I remember when I was a kid, Friday was the day everyone went grocery shopping, as such, I've ignored Friday's in the grocery for forever... but it dawned on me this afternoon that Sunday afternoon really is the bad day for shopping. And it only took me months of Sunday afternoons of standing on line in Kroger to figure it out.

And now, it is time to shut down the laptop for the evening and start winding down toward another Monday.

Religious Illiteracy

A day behind as I am on The Daily Show, I was catching the rerun from last evenings show and saw Jon Stewart's interview with Boston University's Stephen Prothero, who penned the book, Religious Illiteracy. I was amazed and appalled by the stats shared in the interview (i.e. that in an interview, intelligence agents were not able to appropriately identify Al Queda's Islamic affiliation... folks, that shouldn't be a guess (and an incorrect one at that) if you have declared war.

From the book description:

The United States is one of the most religious places on earth, but it is also a nation of shocking religious illiteracy.

Only 10 percent of American teenagers can name all five major world religions and 15 percent cannot name any.

Nearly two-thirds of Americans believe that the Bible holds the answers to all or most of life's basic questions, yet only half of American adults can name even one of the four gospels and most Americans cannot name the first book of the Bible.

Despite this lack of basic knowledge, politicians and pundits continue to root public policy arguments in religious rhetoric whose meanings are missed—or is interpreted—by the vast majority of Americans.

Sickening, but I recall from a college course called "Death and Dying" which was a survey course on how various religions viewed death, dying and various associated metrics. Everyone was all good and fine with the concept of religion as "myth" for the term of the class until, that is, we got to Christianity. Those who hadn't spoken a word all term suddenly had a lot to say... accusing the professor, me and anyone who argued that facets of Christianity were mythic stories based in faith (just like every other religion). That was true of all other "fake" religions, I suppose, but as we all know, Christianity is the real religion and our blaspheming the back-to-back creation stories as a leap of faith and mythologic in scope was not to be tolerated.

I might be an agnostic, heathen unworthy of the Rapture, but I can name the five major world religions, and a few more... I'm also fairly confident that I can come up with a few of the main gospels off the top of my head... and the first book of the bible... yeah, I can name that, too... along with the first few words, too. And folks, it doesn't start off with "Once upon a time..."

But part of Prothero's main argument is that if we are going to politicize religion, and it is unavoidable, perhaps the fine citizens of the United States, and especially those in government positions, should know at least the basics. And the basics, in my opinion, is not even sufficient, but it is a start.

Dance Fever

Oh my, inane headlines are rampant on thus slow news Tuesday... of course, a slow news Tuesday is better than coverage of Bush in Latin America (oy...!).

Heather Mills, of marriage to Paul McCartney infamy, debut her dancin' moves on a show I'm certain is something that would make my head implode--though friends and family swear it is terrific--Dancing with the Stars. I cann't bring meself to watch the video of the prosthetic high kick... and you know, how good a show can it be when they got Billy Ray Cyrus (you do remember him and his "achy Breaky Heart, right?)... If it truly is a good show, I'll take your word for it--I have no desire to see the proof in the puddin'.

Inventions for Prophet

Today, SK and I came up with a brilliant idea for a new item that we need to create, market and prophet from… so all you venture capitalists out there looking for the next great thing, drop me a line. What we are proposing is an Ask the Prophecy device. We envision this to be the head of say, Jesus, on a rudimentary handle made of pine or oak, or some other imitation wood with another piece of wood or imitation wood over the handle, you know, to make it a ‘t’ shaped handle—gives good grip! The head would be hollowed and filled with water (perhaps even holy water) and inside would be a floating die with answers to questions people may be inclined to ask advice of… a rough draft of sayings might include:

“So as it is in Heaven.”
“Amen.”
“Peace be with you.”
“Love your fellow man.”

These saying would appear when you opened the mouth of the prophet. Perhaps it is even contrived that when you turn the head back toward you after asking your question, the mouth pops open all on its own. Other prophets could of course be used, why limit the potential?

We are now taking orders.

Inspired

Just when I thought, "heh, I have nothing to write about here these days," does the universe slap me in the head with such utter stupidity that I am once again inspired. It seems that a big headline for about 15 minutes today is that a judge who played a minor role in the Anna Nicole drama was cited for smoking pot in a park. The only reason this made AP news, of course, was so Anna Nicole's name could appear in another headline, and as the media likes to do, put her name in a headline referencing illegal drug use. But, my favorite part of the story was the following line:

"...Korda was smoking marijuana while sitting under a tree..."

Clearly, not trying to hide as he was in a public park. And in Florida, as nice as it has been there (so many are telling me from the sunny warmth of their Miami-area homes), why not sit under a tree on a Monday and spark a bud?

That's right, folks, I am advocating a pot-fueled lunchtime extravaganza... especially on a Monday. Imagine, we pick a Monday about noon, and everyone heads out of the office, finds a nice sunny park with lots of trees and tokes a few to get them through the rest of the afternoon... and if you are like me, and don't like the Mary Jane so much, there is always the contact buzz in the air. Of course, being from the Ann Arbor area, we just call that Hash Bash - only difference is it doesn't happen on Monday... but visit us Easter Weekend this year and colored eggs are not the only thing you will be looking for!

The Sunday Sermon

Not so much a sermon as I haven't had much time since Wednesday... mom came in for the weekend on Thursday afternoon and just left a few hours ago.

Thursday evening, we went to see Bob Seger at Cobo in Detroit. It was a Code Red on the mullet alert; and I have to say, I never thought I would bear witness to such a thing, but there was a grey-hair man (okay, there were LOTS of grey-haired men) with not only a mullet, but somehow combined in a combover. The show itself was good... Seger is a great performer... Uncle Kracker opened for him, Kid Rock made an appearance to do the song they recently recorded together, but for a guy who can rock, he is the epitome of hard core white rockers--rythymless off a musical instrument. I swear, he did a lot of double Sprinklers and generally white man dancing--and not even to the beat of his own music. Thank god he came into his 40 years ago, he'd never survive now if he had to break into the scene. Still, I couldn't help but laughing between bouts of being horrified.

Last night, mom and I went to see Music & Lyrics... I can't remember laughing so hard. Hugh Grant is priceless and nails the 80s hairband has been. The "video" of him with his 80s band at the beginning is well worth the price of admission. It's Wham! meets Flock of Seagulls... and even Grant can't seem to make it through without laughing at the ridiculousness of it. It's a fluffy romantic comedy that you totally expect from Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore, and quite light on the romantic, too, but it's there. The plot, eh, who needs one with one-liners like "I'll show you the roof; it's upstairs" and "That Debbie Gibson can sure take a punch" who needs a plot. Besides, Hugh Grant gets his now infamous hip thrust "dance" in at every chance--and if you can't enjoy a middle-aged Brit doing his best Elvis, then up your medication.

And the cats have also survived a weekend of company... just barely. Seems grandma is not to be trusted and must be watched, hidden from and otherwise all the ills of the mistreatment they receive here communicated at every chance. They are now all sprawled out over the living room, sleeping and recovering from I'm not sure what... having to inspect bags, I suppose. Well, I did vaccuum, and that always requires that they take a nap... it's exhausting for them, you know.

As for me, I'm going to finish getting the rest of my laundry together so when I return from the gym and grocery shopping, I can get that done and outta the way for another week. Otherwise, that's all I got for now.

You don't say?

In a move that is pure Hollywood irony, screen writer Joe Eszterhas comes clean to say that sex in scripts doesn't sell. You may not recognize the name, but you might recognize the movies he's written: Basic Instinct, Basic Instinct II, Sliver, Flashdance, Showgirls... yeah, sex just doesn't sell.

Speaking of screenwriters, someone should tell the writers of tonight's episode of Bones that the following line belongs in the category of "things you should not and would not say to your boss: We just did it in the supply closet an hour ago. I couldn't he more pleased.

Yeah, sex just doesn't sell.

More shit that pisses me off

After two beautiful days, they are calling for SNOW in the morning. Today was in the 60s, so was yesterday, it is still rather nice out... and SNOW? Someone will have to pay for this.

Another thing is American Idol... can we just be over with that rot already? If I wanted to hear second rate copy cat singers with limited creativity and vocal ability I would pull out my Pussycat Dolls CD or hang out in Karaoke Bars.

There are some commericals, too, that have rendered me speechless in the last few days out of their sheer stupidity... but I really just needed to get the snow and American Idol off my chest. This should really just be a reminder to myself that I shouldn't get so excited to pull out open toe shoes in March and to charge my iPod so I don't have to listen to morning radio on the way to work.

Things that piss me off at 7 a.m.

As my usual morning routine is coming to an end, and I'm leaving for work... I read my email and eat my breakfast. This morning, as is typical, there was an email from SparkPeople -- their daily motivation email, which has a quote and someone writing about that quote... usually they are good, but this morning's reads: A pocket is no place for a smile. I have no idea why this infuriates me; perhaps it is the cliche nature, perhaps it just strikes me as stupid, perhaps both.

And, as ridiculous as that may be, it is not as wholly imcomprehensible as why the World Wide Wrestling Federation continues to send me emails. I know I got on their list when I had to go out and buy my dad and cousin their tickets, but I've since requested to be removed from future mailings... one of the last things a girl wants in the morning is wrestling spam.

Is it still rock and roll, and do we still like it?

Well, folks, it is official... hell has come down on us--none of us are safe, prepare for the Rapture to begin... the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inducted Grandmaster Flash. Has it only been 25 years since his Message ruined Regan's life? Making people aware that there were problems in the ghetto? It's no wonder Regan had to bring AIDS into the inner cities--who ever would have thought that it would travel from the ghettos and gay populations to affect white suburbia? Certainly not a guy from Hollywood... that just seemed like a stretch... a perfect plan backfired. So, I'm sure if Regan remembered, he rolled over in his grave.

My point was not to return to the "glory days" of Reganomics in all its sick and deranged forms and I'm pretty certain I will get emails about how Regan didn't bring AIDS on his own country, but just save it, you can't prove he didn't. MY POINT was that we have reached a new milestone in making me feel old--hip/hop has entered the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Aside from making me feel old, it also makes me sad. It deserves a place on the wall out of respect, and I'm all for not needing another Hall of anything, but the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a joke... yep, time for my yearly tirade... but I'll skip to Grandmaster's fellow inductees... because, it's a sadder state that culminates to my point that Grandmaster Flash deserves better.

After a lengthy article denoting the various Van Halen "issues" that are completely expected, old news and without any redeeming journalistic merit, the AP notes:

No such drama was anticipated for R.E.M., only a happy reunion...

Ya don't say... aren't these the Shiny Happy People? (Shiny Happy People who LOST THEIR RELIGION??)

Mr. Grandmaster Flash, sir, a word or two of advice... pull a Prince. Get in there, show up Tom Petty and walk off stage knowing that you are in fact the Grandmaster and fuck the rest of the disfunction. Ok, so maybe Tom Petty won't be there, but pick someone equally of high rank within the "community" kick their ass and call it a night... the rest of them are has-beens. You are not. You still have relevance and respect.

Poetry and Shoes

So, I was checking the forecast for the area today, as I’m eagerly waiting the arrival of sandal season… and yes, it is March, but early Daylight Savings Time has skewed my perceptions but I will get back to that momentarily. I came across the following headline to a video on the wildfires at weather.com:

Wildfire flames lick the back doors of homes

Hmm, I’m all for poetic license, but this isn’t poetry—this is a serious fucking fire about to lay waste to the homes of many folks, it is not a kitten pawing on the screen door looking for milk.

That said, the forecast for tomorrow is a high of 64 degrees in the Fahrenheit measure (because we all know that Centigrade sheeyat is Communist and highly suspect), but for my dear Commie friends—that would be about 17 degrees. And what this really means, if achieved, is the opening of sandal season. That is the rule… 60 degrees and sandals are allowed—OFFICIALLY. This in no way impacts my sandal wearing of this previous Saturday; it was in the 50s, I had put a good 18-19 miles on my feet already and they needed to be free. But mostly, I had just forgotten to bring fresh socks with me for when I left the gym, and as such, kept my flip flops on.

Now, I realize that beyond tomorrow, the weather seems a tad cold for sandals, being that there isn’t currently a day forecast to be warmer than say 43 degrees now through the 10-day forecast, but do not let this deter you should you wish to wear sandals. A few suggestions for this time of year in sandal selection, if I may:

1. For simply chilly weather falling below 60 degrees, you may decide to wear boots to the office and change into the sandals. Alternately, if this option does not appeal to your pedicure, park close to doors and walk briskly. Remember it may have been a while since you wore heeled sandals, so stick with the lower heels (1.5-2.5 inches) until you build back up to the 4 inchers.
2. If the forecast calls for a “wintery mix” I might suggest you opt for a shoe that is more of a platform with a thicker heel. This will provide a bit more traction should the sidewalks be a tad more icy than one might like. Of course, the tenets of #1 above still apply here and throughout.
3. Should the weather for the day call for rain, this is simple—you will want to follow the same protocol for rainy weather as you would anytime of the year when wearing a sandal. Given the air temperature, however, I might suggest a wedge—this will provide enough of a platform to keep the toe from flooding (providing the wedge is one with a platform toe, but that is the implied recommendation here) and the wedge itself will provide a safe barrier between your foot and the cold, wet ground.

Now, you may ask… why wouldn’t you wear a wedge in the “wintery mix” scenario…? and it is a good question—for the novice. A wedge does not provide traction, which you can get around in simple rainy weather. For the wintery mix, you will want something with more of a heel to be able to “dig-in.” Heels also, as contrary as it may seem, provide a good deal of traction by their very construction.

Later, a refresher on how to properly purchase sandals, strengthening your feet for the upcoming season, pedicure basics and of course, everyone’s favorite, how to actually walk in sandals.

Fever

Yesterday as I was leaving work, it hit me immediately--the scent of spring on the air. It was late when I got home, but it was also very apparent that the kitties were keenly aware of this as well and desperately wanted to get outside on the balcony to further investigate their suspicions. This morning at 5:45 a.m. they decided that it was also time that they needed to do some additional detective work on the balcony. When I did not move as quickly as anticipated, Bowie made a figure eight pacing pattern over my bladder and Calvin decided that his best course of action was to make a new bed of Kleenex on the floor. Almost needless to say, I was up by 6.

Jake has pretty much decided that if possible, he is staying out on the balcony today... Calvin, too, with intermitten checks on the happenings inside. Bowie and Vinnie concluded their assessment that it does in fact smell like spring and the excitement has rendered them asleep. Afterall, it is wet out there, and the other two may decide that they will tolerate that, but they are finding it rather disgusting, yet better than that cold, white frozen shit that plagued them in the last week. Now if I would only come to my senses and just leave the door open for them to come and go as they so please.

But, the cats are not the only ones excited about the warmer temps and the distinct scent that life is coming back to green... my perpetually chilled body and numb fingers are estatic. Besides, I love walking outside, and it is finally getting back to that point. It is energizing to me, and I want to go shopping!! Want to shed the winter ware in lieu of some springy dress that I know is still a bit too cold for yet, but optimism runs through me. Much like the enduring optimism Jake holds that if he presses enough on the patio door, it will somehow magically open for him... it has never worked, but he never stops trying it. And for those of you thinking, that is what makes humans smarter or superior, keep in mind I see humans do virtually the same thing all the time.

Pop goes the ... doll?

Innocently, I was shopping at Target today, as one might after working out for what friends would call an excessive amount of time on a Friday... getting the usual faire, sports bra (check), sports thong (who knew they made that?! Check), cat food and litter (check, check), variety of other random items I didn't know I needed (check), and a cruise down the bedding aisle, just in case... but it was on my way toward check outs that I decided I must have chocolate, and swung through the pantry aisles... and then I saw it. Hideously grotesque... BARBIE POP TARTS.

There was my girl--pink highlights pulled back into an ultra-fashionable style, gracing the cover of a box of pop tarts that also bear her likeness. Several thoughts come immediately to mind:

Has she reached that venture in her career where cheap and lame endorsements are all she has left to cling to? Have the Bratz wreaked that much havoc on her dynasty? Are Depends endorsements next? Isn't it ironic that Barbie would be the slinger of a pop tart--do you know how bad those are for your waistline?

It is somewhat interesting that this comes up now. Just yesterday as I was leaving the gym wearing my "Barbie Dumped Ken" t-shirt, which always garners commentary unsolicited, the thought occurred to me that Barbie gets a helluva bad rap. She is discriminated against for her looks and her figure in a society that perpetuates the myth... and she isn't just fodder for feminist these days, either. And then, I wondered, as I hopped in my car toward an hour of therapy perpetuated by my own eating disorder, shouldn't feminists defend Barbie? Shouldn't her choices be protected and her rights as a female icon preserved. Instead of dogging her image, shouldn't we help her?

Here's a thought to ponder: In a society where side one tells you that you need to accept your body image and love yourself for who you are, and side two pushes you toward starvation and binging, why does side one suddenly pull out the pick axes against those affected by side two? My opinion, pop me in a toaster if you must, but to some regard, side one is just as impacted by side two, they are just in denial.

What day is it, anyway?

They say, if we are going by cliches (and it would seem that is where we are indeed headed), that the road to hell is paved with good intention. Which is really, when you deconstruct it, a ridiculous thing to say... as such, and such that we have already covered that I don't believe in hell: the road to bedtime is littered with the intentions of laundry and indeed, that road is littered with laundry--from the bathroom, to the bedroom, the living room.... and well, just about everywhere. Yet, I just didn't have the bandwidth tonight to function enough to get the freaking laundry done. Tomorrow is another day--or IS it?

The week, I have to admit, is somewhat a blur. A LOT of meetings and being trapped in a conference room. Much was done. Much was accomplished. Mush was made of my brain--but in a good way.

As a result, I haven't had the proper opportunity to make note on the significant news from this week... news, admittedly, I don't care about and find repugnant in so many ways. Instead, I shall point out something even moreo disturbing that current headlines. The "reality" show that is searching for the next girl to join the pop girl group the Pussycat Dolls. I think we've gone beyond the realm of what should be on tv... actaully, we went beyond that a long time ago, but this is where I have to stop and say enough. The Pussycat Dolls need another member they should do what they've done in the past and troll the B-list club scene.

New Art??

Devil Chickie

The Lord Cake

Locating the Messiah

In a time crunch yesterday, I decided that instead of a jesus figurine for the cake, I would just get one of those candles they sell in the ethnic grocery aisles. It worked and provided the needed effect. I have pictures... I will post up a few later when I have more time. Right now, because I believe there is a lesson to be learned in most everything we do, I thought it would be of benefit to share with you the lessons learned in constructing a Jesus Lord of the Rings cake spectacle:

1. Red Hot cinnamon candies, when chopped in half, will make excellent devil horns for Peeps.
2. That layer of sugar on Peeps is not just for looks and cavities--it is a protective layer. My advice here, when torching a Peep is to use a mini flame thrower and not a lighter--it is more effective and your thumb will not ache and burn from trying to light one of those little bastards.
3. Contrary to popular belief, finding Jesus is not easy... believe me, I searched a lot of stores, and short of stealing one off the alter at a local church, Jesus is very obscure.
4. People are quite easily offended, so you really have to be careful in the party store when you say, "Hey, maybe they make a Jesus pinata!" that you don't show a lot of hopeful enthusiasm... because, as was pointed out to me, beating a paper mache Jesus with a stick for candy is considered very wrong.
5. Going off of number 4, it is probably best not to point out to too many people that an edible chocolate crucifix (which are widely for sale) is probably just as sacrilegious as selling a Jesus cake topper decoration. I'm not eating the Jesus, but you are eating a symbolic torture device. Think about it.
6. There is a trick to making the best possible Jesus cake--and because it is Sunday, during Lent, I will share the secret (NOT to be confused with the Oprah Secret craze!):
   1 - Box White Cake Mix
   1 - 12 ounce bottle of Diet Faygo Red Pop
   Red food coloring as needed
   Mix all said ingredients together, adding food coloring until you achieve the desired color of red (bear in mind that baking will dull the color somewhat). Bake as per directions on the cake mix box. (NOTE: This also reduces the fat and calorie content of the cake--you can use any kind of soda with a cake mix, but for this, the color of the soda was key.)
   
   Now, here is the trick... once the cake cools--freeze it. Frozen cake, especially one made with soda, it much easier to frost. I used a pure white frosting. It was heavenly.

Am I going to hell? I suppose if I believed in the conventional concept of heaven and hell, one could argue that this would give me an express pass... but as I don't, I'm not sweating it.

The God Store

So, as I posted yesterday, on my quest for a Jesus figurine (to be used as a cake topper for a cake I am bringing to a Lord of the Rings party--I will explain momentarily)... Mal and I went to the Christian Supply Store a.k.a. the god store. Interestingly, they did not have a jesus figurine that didn't weigh 5 pounds. So, the cake is done, just needs a topper... I will pick up either the bobble head jesus or the action figure jesus at the novelty store on my way to the party.

The party... a friend is hosting a showing of all three Lord of the Ring movies (directors cut versions) back to back. She asked for us to all bring something "Lord of the Rings" themed. As I am not a LOTR fan, nor have any interest in watching the movies, but want to stop by and show my support(?) for a little while... I decided that the best course of action was to bring a Jesus cake. Surrounding the cake are pink peeps, constructed to look like devil duckies. I'm not entirely sure why it is I felt that peeps were necessary to the decor, but I had fun giving them horns and torching them a bit.

But, the god store... talk about a truly frightening experience. First, you walk in and there is some blaring music about big JC. Then it is a maze of cards, stationary and music... figures for nativities, toys, dvds... and BIBLEMAN. I kid you not. I nearly burst something before I could get out of the store. There he was, this large superhero type on the wall... I was a little surprised at first, as he looks just like your average male superhero villian... and then I say the display and Bibleman blazing across the top of the picture... and the action figures and there was more, but I had to go. It was truly more than my psyche could handle, and I was about to bust a rib cage containing myself.

And that was the god store trip... I somehow feel slightly relieved that I came out empty handed, though I do still need a Messiah for my cake.

Reading Labels

Perhaps it is that I spend so much of my life reading labels… nutrition labels, warning labels, clothing labels, that when the dietician or doctor puts their own label on you, it impacts the rest of the day. A diagnosis is another label and I found myself struggling with what this new label means—I don’t like it, I know I have an eating disorder problem, it is why I’m working with professionals to overcome it. But when it is in your face, and when you spend so much of your days interpreting labels, words—it leaves you to wonder, and can hit you harder than you expected.

Words only have power if we let them. It makes me think about the story out of NY these days where they are attempting to ban a word… I don’t like the word they are banning; I think it is an ugly word; but I am fundamentally against the slippery slope of banning any words. Banning a word, concept, thought, is empowering it in such a way as to do the following: create other ugly words and give more merit to an abstract concept than it is worth.

With that in mind, I will accept the label, but know that it doesn’t have to rule me, it doesn’t have to have power on me, it is just there, sitting—meaningless.

Finding Jesus

For various reasons this week, which I will address in a later post, I have been searching for a Jesus figurine. In this age where Christians have injected pieces of their faith all over the place with not so subtle ingenuity, you would think you would be able to waltz into any local WalMart and find among the décor a Jesus. After all, your local WalMart carries Crucifixes (in both the wall and edible variety, as troubling as the latter may seem), posters of the Footprints poem, aisles of cards with Christian caring sentiments, not to mention the endless books, magazines and other paraphernalia with psalms written all over the place. But no Jesus’ that I could find. Must be that I don’t live in the South?

So, I will be heading to the god store after the gym… more to come…

Gross Excesses

Coming from a girl with several boxes of Cadbury creme eggs in her freezer and a plan to stockpile them for the year ahead, this might seem a tad out of line, but some things just need to be reigned in when it comes to the extravaganza of Easter treats. What I'm talking about here, folks, are KING sized Reese Peanut Butter Eggs. Someone, somewhere, has crossed a dangerous line.

First, I might start by saying that in general, I object to the KING sized candy bars. Not only does it support a dictatorial patriarchy in this society, it supports one of massive and unhealthy size. Secondly, I really have to object to the concept of a seasonal candy being made bigger. What ever happened to just buying two? You don't get a discount for buying one BIG one, and quite honestly, you aren't saving many calories.