A long time ago, in a land far away, Mel Gibson was very, very famous.  And I had more money than I had common sense.

My how times have changed.   For both of us.

However, I am left of a reminder of both of our glorious pasts in the form of an autographed “Braveheart” poster.    “Braveheart” was my FAVORITE. MOVIE. EVER. For such a long time.    I loved everything about it, the fighting, the sense of history (no matter how correct it was or was not) and …  THE ROMANCE.

I loved it so much, my husband surprised me with this gift:

Such a sweet gift way back when.  In our previous home before he came down with a really bad case of the CRAZY, Mel had a prominent place in our game room.     When we moved, he was sort of relegated to a back wall as the new house was smaller and had less space for our autograph collection….and I’m sorry but Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. will always be more important….and were probably as intoxicated when their picture was taken as Mel was during that really unfortunate traffic stop a few years ago.

I  hated Mel for his antisemetic remarks when he got arrested and swore to never see a movie of his again.   But to be honest, I sort of forgot the picture was there or you would have seen this post quite a while ago.    Last week, we got rid of our never used pool table in order to make a more kid friendly TV area upstairs and I noticed he was still there.

It was sort of a “What the hell are YOU doing here???” moment and Mel was promptly ripped off the wall and stuffed into a closet.

Now I have no idea what to do with him.  I have a few options:

• Try to sell it on ebay and hope there is an audience for autographs of extremely bigotted, male pigs with no hopes of ever acting again.
• Paint my face blue and white and while brandshing a sword and a sheild (and without undies under my kilt) yell, “You may take the pride of every human on the earth other than white Catholic males….but you will never take OUR FREEDOM!!!!“  as I stab the poster repeatedly.
• …or, replace the picture with this, which I think is far more appropriate and current:

Thoughts?

What is a Mmm Hmmer you ask?  It’s one of those people in movies that at a moment where the theater is silent offers her agreement with the movie plot by murmuring “Mmm Hmm”.    It’s the person who talks back to the TV as if the person can hear her when the question is asked, “Do you know what I mean?”   “Mmmm Hmmm”

You get where I’m going with this.    These people make me not only jumpy but stabby and angry.   So it was with great disdain I found myself sitting next to such a person the other night when I had the fantastic opportunity to go hear the creator of my favorite show, Mad Men, speak about his creative process, the thought behind the characters and most importantly where he gets his ideas.   He was fascinating.

She?  Almost landed me with a stint in prison.

Matthew Weiner spoke for over an hour and half.   I have to tell you, he is one of the most engaging speakers I’ve ever heard.     He was funny, genuine and seemed like a guy who probably wouldn’t call security or tase you if you were to profess your undying love for him in a public forum and possibly offer to sell your soul to the devil to spend one day on the set to sit  in on the writing sessions.

Or maybe getting to play dress up in Betty Draper’s clothes.

Or possibly the chance to give one tiny kiss to Don.

Or maybe play his mistress.

In a semi nude scene.

Yesssssss……..

Wait.  Where was I?

Oh yes, the story.  Don’t worry, I didn’t make it to the mic.      But instead of absorbing it all, this is what I heard.

MW:    “Bobby Barrett, one of Don Draper’s earliest mistresses character came from a conversation I had with a woman on a plane who said to me…”

Her:   “Hmmm”

MW:   “The scene where Betty Draper goes out and starts shooting pidgeons came from a story a writing assistant shared with me from her own youth.    She was the daughter of a single mother who…”

Her:  “Huh. Mmmm  Hmmm…”

MW:   “We got the idea to do the Kodak Carousel scene because someone once told me that nostalgia is when your heart hurts remembering a time that you were loved that you wish you could revisit.   The actual shoot for the pictures was difficult because we had to demand imperfection from professional photographers to make it actually perfect for the show and…”

Her:   “MMMMM.    MMMMM HMMMMM.”

At first I was willing to put up with it.   She’s a fan too, right?    But after an hour of this, I started flinching every time she started to even approach the letter M.   I began clinging to my friend April sitting next to me.   I noticed my friend Renee was starting to give me the side eye.   Wait.  Did she think I was the one doing this? And my friend James?   Well he was too immersed in the entire speech to hear any of it and thankfully far enough removed.   Lucky man.

So I clung to poor April and we both started laughing. But April…she can’t leave well enough alone. She looks over and notices the other thing I’ve been horrified about the entire time but dare not speak of for fear of losing my shit entirely. This woman, this annoying annoying woman, is sitting there with her legs wide open. In a dress. No leggings, no hose, bare legs…splayed open.

“Honey, this is not a gynocological visit…” she said at which point I gave up and pretty much just collapsed on her shoulder laughing myself to tears.

So much for listening to my idol.

But we aren’t done yet. After I recovered from the fit of giggles and continued to grab April every time another Mmmm Hmmm came out, Matthew Weiner said something really funny and the girl next to me with her legs spread wide open?

She laughed too…and then?

She farted.

THE END.

Billy Ray Cyrus called. He wants his mullet back.

Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not a full on achey breaky mullet but you are a mere scissor slip away from a full on disaster girlfriend. Also, I know it’s tough getting older. This aging thing is not for the faint of heart. And you had an especially difficult challenge ahead of you.

But girl, a mullet is just never the answer. EVER.

I will say you fared better than your brother, Bobby.

Since you are on the road shilling your new book, “Love to Love You Brady”, I assume we will be seeing more of you. I can only hope that at some point the Ambush Makeover Team on The Today Show gets a hold of you and tames that beast on your head. It would be so much easier to listen to you reliving the glory days of sex, drugs and *cough cough* rock and roll on the set of “The Brady Bunch Variety Hour” without the distraction.

Just a thought.

Yours,
TSM

PS: For any of you that never got the chance to experience “The Brady Bunch Variety Hour”, I sourced out this little gem for you. (The real dancing starts at the 1:35 mark, or you can zip ahead to the 3:46 when disco fever truly takes over the entire Brady Bunch.) Enjoy it, and don’t blame me when these songs gets stuck in your head for all of eternity.

Okay, good, all suited up? Let’s go!

Friday night was the big night, I had about five parties to hit. First off was the Hanes party, which was so fun. I could tell you that the swag bag they gave me contained a bra that actually made my boobs sing out of happiness because it was SO COMFORTABLE but that would be TMI. (Oh wait, I already went there…) They were serving Comfortinis, which btw…YUM…and I got to hang out with some Blissdom friends. Sarah and Cassie, who will never get rid of me now…sorry girls!

Later that night was the Nikon Look Good In Pictures party with none other than Carson Kressley. Which yes, I did meet him…and also managed to kiss him. I don’t have a ton of pics yet (because you know what would have been a smart thing to bring? A CAMERA.) I do have this one…me with Alli Worthington, who so kindly took me to this event, and if the Crazy Woman in the previous post ever wondered why I blog? Being able to count this wonderful woman among my close friends is a good enough reason to make me blog for the rest of my life.

But then, there was the next day….stay with me…I’m getting to the “bad naked”.

So, I wandered, and I wandered, and I wandered some more. And then I thought, “Hey! Let’s go check out the expo for more swag I don’t need!!!” so off to the expo I went. You can imagine my surprise when I saw a familiar shock of white hair at the Walmart booth and realized it was none other than Paula Deen…so I did what any true southerner and cook would do, freaked out, threw a few elbows and managed to score the third to the last position in line….directly behind Mrs. Potato Head. (Trust me, there is a reason you need to know this.)

The line moved fairly quickly but Paula (because I can call her by her first name now) had a serious hard stop to catch her plane. Finally, I got to the front of the line and waited patiently behind Mrs. Potato Head while they delicately navigated her between the table and the VERY EXPENSIVE LOOKING flat screen TVs that Walmart had put up around the display. To her credit, Paula (because like I said, we are totally on a first name basis) didn’t even looked alarmed to be talking to a giant potato. The only thing that seemed to concern her was making sure that the last three of us in line got our turn. (Bless her heart…and I mean that in a sincere and non snarky manner) She finally convinced Mrs. Potato Head that her turn was over and thats when the trouble started.

They couldn’t get her back out.

So they scootched her this way, and maneuvered her that way and she almost knocked over the VERY EXPENSIVE LOOKING TV and the entire time Paula (I’m not even gonna say it again…) just kept looking at the last of us in line like she would burst into tears if she didn’t clear every last one of us out. I get the feeling she is every bit as nice as she appears on TV and if I ever hear differently, I think I may die of shock. Finally got to the front of the line and met the Queen of Southern Cooking herself…

To say I was on cloud nine would be the understatement of the century. But then….

..the bad naked happened.

Still with me? Stay, you want to hear this.

So I go up the escalator, and check my tweets only to find two bloggers I talk to on twitter a bunch have shown up, Church Punk Mom and her husband, Only Aman. I’m sitting there visiting with them and all of a sudden, Aman says, “Wow, is that lady taking her shirt off?” Now, normally, these words would not get a reaction out of me…or at least not a screeching one. However. The first night of blogher I heard there was a streaker at one of the parties. Apparently, this woman took her clothes off, calmy walked through the room and then went all the way up to the escalator while waving. From all accounts, it was not a good naked, it was a VERY BAD NAKED and boy was I pissed that I missed something that crazy. But here I was, right in the middle of it, so I started yelling, “IT’S HAPPENING!!! IT’S HAPPENING!!!” while running in circles which I think may have alarmed Church Punk and Aman but, you know, it’s part of my hazing ritual. Grabbed the iPhone and snapped this picture for you:

Now, if you haven’t taken me off your Google reader for this, Friday I will post just a ton of pictures of friends and good times…I may even say a few nice things along the way…just don’t tell anyone, okay?

Let’s call this: The One Where I Overpack And The Airline Tries To Turn Me Into A Professional Assasin By Losing My Luggage And Also Wherein I Meet The Craziest Woman At All Of BlogHer. (Long title with serious run on tendencies, but I like it so it stays.)

I’m not going to go into a whole lot of detail about the luggage other than to tell you many profanities were uttered at O’Hare airport in the two hours it took them to find my bag, but take a look at this picture and you will understand just how deep the emotial distress was:

Thankfully my roommates, Jen from Sprite’s Keeper and Mary from Unmitigated knew what they were getting into with me and no one was too shocked when I opened up my suitcase and a thousand shiny stilettos came flying out all over the room. Also, upon arriving, Sprite’s Keeper and I were greeted with this lovely gift from Michele at It’s a Dogs Life and I can promise you I have never needed a glass of wine as much as I needed it then…

Now I know you want to know the dirt. And I’m going to give it to you over the next couple of days but it’s going to take a while to process it all. So I’ll share this one story with you for now where I met the craziest woman at BlogHer (and trust me when I tell you that was a very high honor to achieve with some stiff competition).

The first day I was sitting at a table with Mary from Unmitigated, Amy from OutdoorDogs, Jen Lancaster (and if I have to tell you from where, you really should not be here), Cassie Boorn and Mrs. Fussypants herself, Alli Worthingon. We are all sitting there having a great conversation when this woman who clearly had a high dose of the crazy going on walks up and sort of stares at us until we stop talking. To give you a visual, on her head appeared to be something that was a cross between a poodle and a really pissed off cockatoo. We all sort of blinky stared at her for a few moments until she spoke.

Crazy: Are you guys mommy bloggers?
All of Us: Yes. (Well, except Jen who obviously is not and I think was still trying to process her hair…)
Crazy: Do you guys make money?
All of Us: No. (Well, except Jen and once again if I have explain why she is the exception to the rule…you need to leave now.)
Crazy: Then why do you do it?
TSM: Um, because we enjoy it and we all got to be friends through it.
Crazy: Pausing for some thought here as she looks at her food…then: Well, I guess I’ll still sit with y’all.
All of Us: *blink blink*

So we go back to talking and trying to pretend like craziness is not sitting right there with us. (Hello, Uncomfortable…so glad you could join us.) A few minutes later, she fires up again.

Crazy: So you guys really don’t make any money?
All of Us: NO!!!
Crazy: Then why do you do it?
All of Us: *begin collective banging of heads on tables*
Crazy: Y’all must not be doing it right then.
Alli: Excuse me?
Crazy: I said..If you aren’t making any money you must not be doing it right.
Alli: Do you realize you are sitting at the table with Jen Lancaster who is a NYT Best Selling Author of four books?
Crazy: Yeah? Well she didn’t make any money off her blog though….

At which point, Jen quietly got up and excused herself while the rest of us sat there with our mouths hanging open. I cannot make this stuff up people. Bitch be crazy.

Come back soon and I’ll tell about how in 24 hours I managed to have encounters with Carson Kressley, Paula Deen, Mrs. Potato Head and a streaker which truly taught me the meaning of “bad naked”.

…and I have the pictures to prove it, you have been warned.

Recently I’ve heard rumblings about a new fashion trend you plan to unleash on the world…the “Panty Skirt”. Ok, I get it, these ARE NOT see through as it appears:

They are actually PRINTED SKIRTS that make it look like you are *ahem* showing off your “assets” (pun intended):

In general, Japan, I think these are a really bad idea but I really don’t get this one…what’s up with the scrunchy panties? That looks UNCOMFORTABLE:

(Side Note: Something like this actually happened to me once at a client lunch at the very beginning of my career when I was in my 20′s. Back then I didn’t realize more than one glass of wine at lunch was a really bad idea…and four was even worse. At some point, I got up to go to the bathroom and I had on one of those big foofy 80′s dresses? Well, it got hung up in my panty hose….because we wore those back then kiddos…and I walked all the way through the restaurant with my “assets” on display, and also I think dragging a strand of toilet paper. One of my prouder memories to be sure.)

Wait, Japan…where was I?

Oh yes, this skirt issue.

I’m going to have to demand that you keep this particular trend to yourself because I promise you, if I wake up one morning and see my daughter wearing one of these, you will have me to answer to.

…and trust me, you really don’t want that.

Yours,
TSM

PS: If you guys want a quick smile today, head over to CheerUpNation by clicking HERE. It’s Brian Papa’s new site and it is awesome! Check it out…and submit some pictures of your own kids too!

I found this gem today and plan to officially start my exercise regime tomorrow…

Now if someone could please make me understand what she is doing around the :31, I’d appreciate it.

On second thought, my children could possibly read your comments.

Apparently, what is going on here is what went on with the famous leather pants that were all the rage on ebay in 2005. If you never read the sales description, click here now..it’s priceless.

ANYWAY.

This shirt has caused almost 400 people to post sarcastic reviews on Amazon and almost 6,000 people to read and review them. If you get a chance, go check it out, but until then, here is a sample:

“This item has wolves on it which makes it intrinsically sweet and worth 5 stars by itself, but once I tried it on, that’s when the magic happened. After checking to ensure that the shirt would properly cover my girth, I walked from my trailer to Wal-mart with the shirt on and was immediately approached by women. The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to ‘howl at the moon’ from time to time (if you catch my drift!).”

I had to know more about the men who would buy such a shirt so I looked into “Customers Who Viewed This Item Also Viewed…” just to get a better feel for the mindset going on with fans of that shirt because this is the way I spend my spare time. I’m going to tell you right now to swallow that coffee before going any further.

Done?

Okay good…because they also viewed these BLUE ZEBRA pants:

And because they would be wearing the ultra sexy Three Man Wolf Shirt along with the Blue Zebra pants, naturally the next thing they would look to purchase is this:

…I only wish I was making this up.

Have a great weekend y’all…and happy shopping!

This is why you always check your backside in the mirror:

Got to the airport two hours early for my flight. Could have caught the earlier flight but chose not to given the fact that the sky had opened and showered bright light down upon me when I was told I had been upgraded to first class on my return flight home. BOO-YAH!

The looming clouds in the sky should have been a sign I should get the heck out while I could….but no. I was too busy dancing the dance of the first class upgrade, imagining myself being catered to, well fed and rested upon my return home.

Flight. Choice. FAIL.

What was my first clue you ask? Well, the fact that there was no where to go and wait except for a tiny restaurant/bar with no seats for starters. Apparently, if you choose to fly American as I most often do being from Dallas, you get punished in Atlanta which is the hub for Delta. In this terminal there are two choices. First, Burger King which honestly I would have gladly chosen but it was closed and secondly, said tiny restaurant/bar…which was full. I finally found a place to wedge myself in and order a glass of wine. The man to my right was a nice guy, late fifties, very excited to tell me all about his mosquito killing products. To my left? Different story. Let me tell you, if ever find yourself sandwiched between a crazed DJ doing Jaeger bombs and a guy telling you about the latest in mosquito killing technology and can’t decide who to talk to? Choose the bug killer dude.

It all went well for the first hour or so. I learned more about killing mosquitoes than I ever have in my life and quietly read my book all the while counting how many Jaeger bombs this guy was going to throw back. (Lost count at five…) At some point during the second hour, the DJ (DJ Lou in case you were wondering) decided I was somehow interesting and started asking me a whole lot of questions about my sex life. I’m not sure if it was the wholesome pony tail or the velour track suit that screams “I Am Mommy” that started this line of questioning, but there it was. Still, there was exactly no where else to sit as all the flights were being canceled.

Proving that you should never utter the phrase, “I just don’t see how this can get any worse” the situation took at southward turn when DJ Lou ran out of Jaegermiester. Thankfully, they had tequilla on hand as well and he switched his liquor of choice. Still going strong with the sexual comments and questions, and now sweating profusely, I finally looked at him and asked what on earth he was thinking drinking like that and then asking me those questions.

“Well, for starters, the Valium I took earlier ain’t kicking in and you look like you can tell a dirty joke.”

Huh. DJ Lou had a point. I mean, I don’t know about the Valium and what not…but I can for sure throw out some of the raunchiest jokes ever heard and not bat an eye. But we weren’t done. DJ Lou wanted to spin for me and asked me what kind of tunes I liked in the tiny overcrowded bar. First answer: “Classical?” trying to throw him off. No go. Second answer: “Country?”. Still no go. Figuring out my age, DJ Lou chose to spin some 80′s tunes for me complete with the WHACKA WHACKA WHOOOO DJ sounds that I just don’t get because I haven’t been a club kid in a very, very long time.

As if this isn’t bad enough yet, all the rauchy LOUD sex questions combined with my personal DJ mix, at this point that I should tell you that DJ Lou was a big dude weighing in at at least 300 lbs. Starting to finally get a buzz on, he looked at me and said, “Hey Mamma…wanna earn some bucks tonight?” Not knowing where this might go, I immediately threw up in my chicken nugget basket and then took the bait.

Me: “Oh sure, I’m in need of a few bucks…what’s it gonna take?”
Him: “Just carry me to the plane if I pass out and I’ll pay you 20 bucks.”
Me: “Um…I’m pretty sure I can’t carry you…how about if I just kick you in the nuts when it’s time to go?”
Him: “Deal.”

Quite possibly could have been the easiest twenty bucks I’d ever make in my life. I didn’t get to kick him in the nuts (shame really) but we did race together to the jetway to make our flight an hour later. At which point I realized WE WERE ON THE SAME FLIGHT.

DJ Lou and I were seated pretty far apart on the plane and I finally made it home late that night having no more interesting run ins. The guy next to me on the flight fell asleep the minute we pulled back from the gate and I was so happy I wanted to hug him. Instead I just sat very still…listening to him snore, and thinking it might be the best sound I heard all day.

That upgrade? Totally wasn’t worth it.