The Eve of Eve

I wanted to sit down and write one more nugget of love before Christmas officially arrives. Neal is off tomorrow through Monday and I anticipate lots of kitchen time, a fair amount of couch time, and maybe just a smattering of bed time. Not much blogging time. We are under the 30-day mark and if I don't think about it, I'm perfectly content. Once I start dwelling on the events Neal will miss and the shear loneliness that always accompanies a deployment, it's a total tailspin into multiple tubs of Nutella and bourbon. But I am making you this promise...there will be blogging! Magnolias and Mimosas burst onto the scene approximately a month after Neal arrived home from Kuwait. And what I regretted most about my decision to begin blogging was that I hadn't made that decision 13 months earlier. Not for the ego-stroking or self-gratifying posts about a military wife's struggles. It was more about providing the truest glimpse into deployment and the sorrowjoygrieffrustrationdelight that comes with it. I heard a pundit say once that only 5% of the American population is really affected by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The other 95% is at the mall. But what if you could read the stories from the front line? Breathe in the honesty? Translate that into action for our men and women in uniform and their families? We all sleep under the protection of the flag, sometimes blissfully unaware of the men and women who are providing that protection. I can be one story. From one perspective. I promise that over the next year, I will give my version of events...not for sympathy or even empathy...just to give a viewpoint.

But for now, the gifts are all wrapped and placed under a tree that is up and decorated only because I was bitten hard on the bah-humbug butt by the Christmas spirit at The Biltmore. We have more food than our base housing fridge can hold, a true testament to the blessings we are bestowed. And a wreath holds all of the Christmas cards we have received over the past couple of weeks. More blessings. We will spend the next few days baking, cooking, laughing, lounging, and being together. I will soak up every minute and store them in the footlockers of my mind so that I can pull them out when I see a movie that I know Neal would enjoy or bake a dish that he would lick clean. Facing a year without your best friend and life's partner is a daunting task, but why squander hours away on that thought when there are so many moments to enjoy now? Tiny, joy-filled moments that make up the length of life...that is my Christmas wish for you. Thank you so much for reading this past year; I hope you will stick around for the next one. Merry Christmas from the Miller household. I will see you on the other side, a few pounds heavier, but no worse for the wear!

xoxo and Cheers!

Champagne Friday: The Little Village That Could (with your all's help!)

A Christmas Story
by Mama Virgo

Most American school children, OK and some adults, would have a difficult time finding Zambia on a map of Africa. Hopefully, most would be able to point to Africa – “you know, kids, it’s the really big one between two big oceans”. Depending on their age and interests, they might have heard of Dr. David Livingstone who has a large town (pop. about 90,000) named for him in southern Zambia. But the vast majority of the world population has never heard of the Kazungula District of Zambia. And only a handful of people, including you folks who frequent this blog, have ever ever heard of a remote forest village called Namapande (you won’t find it on Google Earth). This geography lesson is intended as a reminder of how special you are! Not only are you aware of this village but some of you sent contributions to help put a roof on their school before the fragile bricks were destroyed by the rainy season. So settle in, grab the drink of your choice and listen to the Christmas story about Namapande and how a few good folks made a difference just by caring about people you will never meet; people who want their kids to have an education; people who are on the margins of the marginalized; people who can never repay you or do anything for you – except of course make you feel warm all over because of your generosity.

Many villages in Zambia were flooded during the rainy season several years ago. This season can last from about October until April with an average of nearly 40 inches of rain. Unable to rebuild their community after another flood, the government advised about 400 villagers that they would be relocated to a new area, Namapande, virtually flood proof as there is no water in sight. The villagers were allowed to take minimal possessions to their new land. One gift that they did not realize at the time was that they were placed in a part of the Kazungula District which is an area loved and served by two Kentuckians, Lonnie and Fran Turner. There is some discussion/debate about why the government chose land that was isolated; had no readily available water source; was at least 10 miles from a main road; was covered with bush and vegetation; and had no visible means of obtaining food. I prefer to think that they did not intend harm or hardship.

But these villagers are tough. They did not whine and complain (which is the American way…why did the government do this to me…nobody likes me…blah, blah,blah). Nope, they dusted off their machetes and started clearing the land by hand. Keep in mind, this is an area about the distance from the U.S. Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial if you squared it up. And if you think that’s not far, try walking it sometime in July or January and imagine clearing your way with a machete. For housing, the government gave them military style tents, which when we saw them were fairly tattered. These villagers, being more comfortable in thatch huts, started building their homes quickly. Soon, the government installed a well about mid range of the property. Helpful, but not sufficient for all these folks. Onto the scene arrived Lonnie and Fran, having heard about this remote cache of people who had few resources, a village now called Namapande Resettlement. Who knows how these things become known in a forest of no computers, no phones, a community not visible from the highway. Nonetheless, Lonnie and Fran’s humanitarian organization, Partners in Development, went to work and put in another well and started visiting the village on a regular basis, providing some resources, and developing a relationship with the people and the village president, Billy. Guess what, you must have a relationship with people before you can help them! Sweeping in, destroying their village, setting up a democracy, and arranging the village American style does not work.

Our group, who was visiting with Lonnie and Fran, arrived at Namapande on Sunday, August 1, 2010 to an unbelievable welcome. The only indication from the main road (a two lane highway through the bush country) that a village is near is a road sign made from a log with Namapande carved its length.

The road that traverses about 10 miles back to the village is composed of packed and loose sand, one lane and barely passable in places. Its’ condition in the rainy season is unimaginable.

The road ends in a clearing where many villagers were gathering, cooking fires were burning and two large tents stood as the centerpiece with UNICEF stenciled across them.

These were the tents, equipped only with small wooden benches, which served as the school buildings for what appeared to be several 100 children of all ages. Behind the tents was a newly constructed brick building, a skeleton of a structure with no roof, made from homemade bricks and mortared with local material (not your Daddy’s bricks and mortar).

As we unloaded, we were surrounded by smiling, eager children who are unaccustomed to seeing pale skinned, pale eyed people. As we began to take their pictures with our legion of digital cameras, feeling so paparazzi-like, and then show it to them, they were aghast. Many, if not all, had never seen a picture of themselves. They pushed, crowded, all wanting more photos taken. That afternoon evolved into music, the performing of plays which they had written for us, dancing, laughing, eating familiar as well as new foods, and sharing, although we did not speak a common verbal language. The Turner’s brought $5000.00 worth of donated textbooks from the U.S. and presented these to the headmaster of the school and her two assistants.

Some of the children were allowed to hold the books and were visibly upset when it was time to return them to the teachers for safe keeping. As we toured the school shell, we were told how the funds had been exhausted and the danger of the bricks crumbling when the rains came if no roof was in place. There was no question that we had been placed there at that moment in time to serve a purpose. We could be the feet to make sure that school was protected; knowing in our hearts that Americans are generous and that we would not be alone in our commitment.

In many African countries, children complete Basic School which is comparable to our elementary education. If they are to go further, then families must pay for them to leave home and live in boarding schools. Understandably, few are able to further their education due to finances and the need to stay and help the family. At a minimum, children need that basic education and hope that they can go further. The intellect of these children is quite amazing. We were saddened to know that many will not be able to attend high school. But the building in Namapande is the beginning and prayerfully not the end for many of these children. The roof is now on and the building is protected. Plans are underway for finishing the building when weather permits.

If anyone dares to tell you that a few people really cannot make a difference, especially halfway around the world, tell them the story of Namapande. If anyone asks why you are here, what is your purpose in life, tell them the story of Namapande.

Writer’s note: This about the 4^th draft of this blog. I started out trying to be cute, caustic and comical, and a bit critical of the government. Entertaining, but stupid. It dawned on me, Duh, that this will be posted on the internet which means the government can see it which could result in consequences impeding the work of the Turner’s. So, a word of warning, if you care to comment on this piece, please be aware that if you Google Namapande, this blog will likely be there, as it was when I did so in preparing this post. Please be mindful of how your comments could be taken. It’s preferable to believe that everyone is doing their best to help these folks.

Champagne Fri...er...MONDAY!

OK, yes, I think my exact words were "and there will be a Champagne Friday this week! I promise!"

And then Neal came home from work.

And opened the bourbon.

Not just any ole nasty gut-rot redneck stuff, either. The Woodford Reserve. (Tip to the bourbon afficionado wannabes: Maker's Mark is for your wife to mix with her Diet Coke/7-Up/triple-distilled sparkling water. If you are asked at the office Christmas party, Woodford Reserve is your drink of choice. Ascot is optional.)

So we had a bourbon with dinner. And another with dessert. And then another while we watched Wall Street (the original, not the one where Charlie Sheen is trying to fit another movie in between jail terms). And then, well...I don't quite remember. A Christmas tree was definitely involved, though. Suffice it to say, the good Cap'n needed to blow off some steam. It was our first weekend home with nothing to do since the first part of September. And in just a little over a month, bourbon will be nothing but a wet dream for him. So, rev up the ice maker and pass the bottle!

Anyway, here it is Monday and while things have calmed down some, I still have a couple of projects I'm finishing up. But I wanted to spread Christmas joy through the WWW. So...first...

Isn't this AMAZEBALLS?? I bet bourbon would be very tasty in an angel mug. Or Champagne. Or something non-alcoholic. Bwahahaha...whatever.

Anyway, as part of Shana's 12 Days of Christmas, this is today's giveaway item. Just by telling you about it I get 3 entries. Which is awesome. Unless 3 of you enter because you saw it here first. Or 4. And then I'm in the red as far as entries go. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on today's post....which you should do anyway because she is, once again, letting us live vicariously through her and Christmas in NYC.

Secondly, the children of Africa are singing your praises because the school in Namapandi has a roof!! Mama Virgo sent me these pictures on Friday:
Isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? Yes, well it's no Frank Lloyd Wright...but it's a fully functional school building. When you're comparing it to a tent, it may as well be the Louvre. If you have forgotten how the school looked when Mama Virgo and her team of IBC volunteers left, here's a refresher:
And then I did that annoying and pushy thing where I asked for money/prayers/a band of angels and *voila* we raised the roof! So, to all of those who sent checks, prayed about it, told a friend who sent a check, or told a friend to pray about it, THANK YOU! Here is proof that money and prayers work hand-in-hand.

To celebrate the completion of the school in Namapandi, Mama Virgo has graciously agreed to write a blog post about her experiences there last summer. She has been known to string a sentence or two together into paragraph form (and once, into book form...God bless the dissertation) so expect great things. No pressure, Mama Virgo.

Congratulations on making a difference, good luck on Shana's wing-ed coffee mug, and Happy Monday! Just 12 more days until Christmas!! I can hardly stand myself...

In This Moment

The dishes done,
the laundry folded.
Cleaning out the fridge,
the bread has molded.

Finding the time
to kiss goodbye.
Neal scurries out
with lunch and a sigh.

One vet remembers,
as many do not.
Each day is a bonus,
not an afterthought.

So I hug a little longer
and call a little more
and forget about revenge
or settling the score.

Each day is a bonus.
we mustn't ignore.
We aren't guaranteed tomorrow,
just right now, no less, no more.

This is part of The Scholastic Scribe's Tuesday Poetry Slam that she has just created. I'm certainly not ready for a microphone and a beret, but it does take me back to high school, writing poetry and pose to fit a picture. I feel like I'm 16 again. Maybe I'll have McDonald's for lunch and slip a note to Neal in study hall. Want to join in? Simply jot down a little something and then click over to Mrs. Scribe's blog and comment that you have done so. Easy as Cheese Whiz!

S.L.U.T.S. Tour the South

Before I even begin, I must commend Shana @ Fumbling Towards Normalcy on her most excellent recap of last weekend's festivities and buffoonery. And I suggest you hop over to read her blog, as I will only be giving the highlights with pictures and she does a fantastic job of providing you with the bigger picture.

Now, she is absolutely correct in saying that I picked her up with a small bar packed in the trunk because, really, what kind of southern belle and blog author of Magnolias & Mimosas would I be if I didn't at least greet her with mimosas? Although, just in case she preferred a little something harder (or softer) at 11:00 AM, I brought a variety. And my compliments to Class VI at Robins AFB for making all of this possible for under $50. Shana has generously posted photos of Georgia Aqurarium Parking Garage Mimosa Drinking on her blog. (And yes Mama Virgo, this was before we got out of the car and walked around Centennial Park for like 3 hours, so it's all good.)

Because we all know that Virgos love their lists, here's a top 21 from our S.L.U.T.S. (Southern Ladies Under Tremendous Stress) Tour of the Deep South:

1. When staying in Atlanta, may I suggest always staying in The Glenn Hotel on Marietta Street. Always. The staff is young and flirty, the decor is hip, and the views from the rooftop bar are spectacular. Plus, there is a frosted pane of glass between the shower and the bedroom...y'know...in case you are into voyeurism.

leading into the bar from the elevator

the bar (which was decorated for the Halloween party that we slept through)

view from the rooftop bar

rooftop bar with my lovah, CNN, in the background. kisses, Anderson!

2. It is 3 1/2 hours from Atlanta to Savannah. If you must make that drive with someone, I recommend doing so with someone who loves to swap stories as much as you. I love my husband. He does not swap stories. It is a very quiet drive. Sometimes I make up jingles for tampon commercials in my head.

3. Your first stop in Savannah should absolutely be at Savannah Candy, preferably on River Street, so that your second stop can be at some incredibly touristy gift shop to get your fortune told by Zoltar.

Shana gets caught with her hand in the taffy bin

fortunately, when we woke the next morning, Shana was exactly the right size

4. If Zoltar repeatedly rejects your $1, perhaps you don't want to know your fortune after all.

my fortune: "You talk too much. Close your mouth and open your ears. But you are always willing to be helpful to others." So, I guess there's that...

5. There is a difference between sexy witch...
and slutty witch...
It is important to know the difference.

6. When presented with the choice, always spend the extra $15 for a set of really good fangs. You'll never regret it.

7. Halloween weekend is precisely the best time to take a hearse tour around Savannah. Someone else drives your drunk ass through the entire city while you get to see everyone's costume from a seat that is sort of like what the Pope rides around in the PopeMobile. I highly recommend it. (Again, Shana has the best costume pictures posted on her blog)

8. If your tour guide happens to be Wes, a firefighter with the Savannah FD, he may take you into a burned out building that is supposedly extremely haunted. If you are, by your very nature, a total horror wuss, you're going to need to be pretty toasted when you tour this house. In effect, by the time you see this:
everything should look like this:
Trust me. Especially if Wes tries to take you into the basement. And my sincerest apologies to Shana, who kept getting snagged on my bracelet and instead, was sure she was being violated, repeatedly, by the black vomiting ghosts of Savannah's Yellow Fever epidemic.

9. This is Wes, the firefighter tour guide (in the black t-shirt, not the fishnet. Although, I would not have been particularly shocked if he had been in fishnet).
Even if you dress like this for your hearse tour, Wes will not take you home at the end of the night. He has standards, after all.

10. If you tour the burned out house that Yellow Fever built, you will be plagued by the first sign of Yellow Fever, black vomit, even if you have only consumed 1 mojito and 3 LIT's through the course of the evening. To prevent black vomit, may I suggest avoiding River Street's "Savannah Tea" and not eating beef tenderloin bruschetta for dinner. Also, watching Paula Deen on TMZ will only make you sicker. (Again, my sincerest apologies to Shana the Good Witch for not being able to hold my liquor. I blame the Savannah Tea. And the Yellow Fever, of course.)

11. Hell yeah, Y'all...Paula Deen will cure that hangover faster than you can say "fried chicken makes my liver sing a lover's ballad."

ain't nuthin' wrong with dat

12. The Shalom, Yall Jewish Festival will completely destroy any hope you may have of getting a decent shot of the beautiful fountain at Forsyth Park.

Well, one without tables, people, and tents, that is. But you will get to see and sign the pink fire truck, if you so desire. Ruby the fire truck, dedicated to Breast Cancer awareness.

13. If you absolutely feel called to build a house, the least you could do is build it in Savannah. They just don't build 'em like this in Jersey. Can I get an amen?

14. Leopold's Ice Cream Shop is famous. And a perfectly acceptable substitute for lunch.

15. May you never say a negative word about the Holiday Inn Express on Bay Street. The staff is helpful, the price can't be beat, and they also boast a lovely rooftop view of the river. No bar up there, but I think I will suggest it when I write my review on TripAdvisor.

Holiday Inn Express...not just for the Griswolds anymore...

16. Someone (who shall remain nameless, but has been to Savannah numerous times, unlike the other traveler) may try to tell you that The Pirate's House restaurant is absolutely, definitely, and without a doubt on River Street. She will then force you to walk the entire length of River St. 4 times in search of this illusive and supposedly haunted touristy spot.
It is not actually on River Street. But a simple phone call from your fancy new Droid will tell you that.

17. When you finally make it to The Pirate's House, you may feel obligated to choose between shrimp n'grits and pecan-crusted chicken. May I suggest refusing to choose and ordering both?
And the veggies are sliced and sauteed. Not from a Bird's Eye bag. I asked.

18. New Yorkers understand a lot of things...what a bagel is supposed to taste like...where you can find a purse that is easily mistaken for one from the Valentino collection...how to travel in large crowds without actually having to touch someone. But what they will never understand unless they leave New York is shrimp n' grits. This is a Shrimp N' Grits Virgin getting her first taste of the explosion of flavors that is only possible down here in the Land of Milk and Honey.
Yeah, J...you want to see that face more often? Give that girl grits! And a bottle of wine wouldn't hurt, either.

19. Bonaventure Cemetery is worth the short jaunt over to Thunderbolt, GA. Made famous by the movie, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, it used to house the famous Bird Girl statue. Now, you must give your $20 to the Telfair Museum's Jepson Center in order to see Bird Girl. She is probably miserable. Wouldn't you be if you were uprooted from acres of silence and Spanish moss, only to be plopped down on cold tile, surrounded by electronic eyes? Yes, I thought so. But many other statues are still located in Bonaventure. I propose you get your photos now, before someone else makes them famous. Also, if you start seeing mobile homes and chickens running through the yard on your journey to Bonaventure, you haven't gone quite far enough.

20. It is impossible to take a picture of the Spanish moss that captures its true and mystical form. Case in point...
The only person I know who has been able to pull off a truly spooky Spanish moss/cemetery picture is Salt.

21. Finally, even when you are completely sober (albeit still suffering from an alcohol/fried bacon grease hangover), you will still try to tell your northern traveling partner that the Spanish moss growing in the trees is an "orgasm" as opposed to an "organism," clearly indicating that the next deployment is going to be extra rough.

A city girl and a southern belle walk into a bar...and the town is never the same. And I'm looking so forward to bringing the south to the north this spring. If I come home saying "youse guys" though, I may just have a come-apart.

Taking Inventory...a Couple of Years After the Fact

It's an azure, cloudless day with temps topping out around 80. A perfect day for betting at Keeneland (which just opened yesterday. There is very little that I love more than opening weekend at the horse races...) or tailgating at the UK vs. Auburn game (yes, we will get our asses handed to us in our helmets, but whatever. Defeat is best served with a keg of Miller Light...), or checking out the World Equestrian Games that end this weekend. But I'm camped out in my courtyard, covertly watching the neighbors and their 3 daughters from Alabama unload everything that you move from house to house. It's a voyeur's game...peeking out from Audrey Hepburn sunglasses to see what bedding they brought or how much you can actually squeeze into the trunk of an Infiniti. But, it's Saturday afternoon and I'm also catching up on blogs. This is the perfect place to be.

And while getting caught up on all things blog, I ran across Shana @ Fumbling Towards Normalcy's post, "I'm older than 30, but..." Glamour published an article ages ago about everything a girl should have before she's 30. Since Shana and Krysten @ After I Do have been taking stock this weekend, I think I will, too. Somehow, not accomplishing an item on a beauty magazine's list of what I should have accomplished by the age of 30 goes down better on a sunny, temperate day.

1. One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to and one who reminds you of how far you've come.
I actually have this one in spades...and by "spades" I mean ex-fiances. I have an ex-fiance who, I think, could have worked out if we had been older when we met. I also have several who remind me that I'm not a punching bag or a back-up plan or the other woman. I am actually more grateful for them...as painful as the entire experience was.

2. A decent piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone in your family.
The only decent furniture I have ever purchased myself was a bed when I moved to Arizona, and really, it was not that decent according to normal people's standards. It was the mattress, box springs and frame for a twin bed. Hardly luxurious. As a married woman, we have purchased loads of beautiful and expensive furniture (thankyouverymuch, Operation Iraqi Freedom) and now, family heirlooms are actually in the minority.

3. Something perfect to wear if the employer/man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour.
Unfortunately, my body is clinging to those last 20 pounds like Bret Michaels is clinging to his last last last 15 minutes of fame. So, yeah...no. I don't have either of these. I have some fantastic jewelry, a couple of pairs of pants that either give me muffin top or camel toe, and a rockin' new haircut. That's what I have right now. Cellulite and highlights.

4. A purse, a suitcase, and an umbrella that you are not ashamed to be seen carrying.
I have all three of these, thanks to our Italian vacation...which required an umbrella and a suitcase and scored me an Italian leather purse. And my PSA for the day: Apparently, you can take a lighter to real Italian leather and it does not scorch, mark, or otherwise destroy your handbag in any way. Also? I will never again buy a suitcase that does not have 360 degree-turning wheels.

5. A youth you're content to move beyond.
Yes, yes, a resounding YES! I was a brat and a bitch.

6. A past juicy enough that you're looking forward to re-telling in your old age.
I think the story of how I met and fell in love with our children's father is as juicy as my past needs to be. Well...that and that one time at band camp. No, seriously...there really was this one time at band camp...

7. The realization that you are actually going to have an old age - and some money set aside to fund it.
How funny that this pops up today, less than 48 hours after a lengthy conversation with my investment broker. One word, boys and girls...Roth. Not as in the David Lee variety. As in the "pay taxes on it now, reap the rewards later" variety. This is not as fully funded as I would like it to be, but as long as the Army keeps us employed, I think we'll be just fine.

8. An email address, a voice mailbox, and a bank account - all of which no one has access to except you.
Check, check, and check. I definitely think a credit card should be added to this list. Have your own credit card. Pay your own credit card with your own bank account...Miss Independent.

9. A resume that is not even the slightest bit padded.
Uh..well, it's not padded...but it's also not growing, either. I mean "starting a business from scratch" is definitely a strong addition. But I'm pretty sure it's more impressive if you show a profit at some point. So, let's say this one is in progress.

10. One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry.
I am amazingly blessed with many friends who do both of these exceptionally well. Sometimes, they let me cry and then they make me laugh. Those are the moments that make life so sweet.

11. A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.
While I fully appreciate the need for a woman to have her own tools (which do not necessarily need to be pink. C'mon women, unless it's a Race for the Cure toolkit, we need to man-up a bit), I don't really understand the black lace bra part. Why black? Why lace? Why not something with garters or a Mrs. Claus teddy? At the age of 32, I do not own a black lace bra and I think that is perfectly OK.

12. Something ridiculously expensive that you bought for yourself, just because you deserve it.
I can't think of a single thing I've purchased for myself that was ridiculously expensive. I think if you add up the money I've got invested in my scrapbooks, shoe collection, and hair, that is pretty ridiculous. But I'm OK with that because hell yes, I deserve it.

13. The belief that you deserve it.
I think I covered this in #12. But in case you skipped over it, hell yes I deserve it. I'm a good woman, a good wife, and mostly a good person (snark not withstanding).

14. A skin care regimen, an exercise routine, and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don't get better after 30.
Well, my skin care routine needs a little (or a LOT) of work and I should probably try to drink more water and less mojitos. And I should definitely be fitted for the proper bra. But for the most part, I exercise, I get lots of sleep, and I laugh on the daily. That should take care of most of it.

15. A solid start on a satisfying career, a satisfying relationship, and all of those other facets of life that do get better.
I have had 32 jobs in 17 years. I love, love, rainbows shooting from my eyeballs LOVE making jewelry and rosaries. I can't imagine doing anything else. I would very much like to think this is the beginning of a beautiful career. And my marriage to Neal is typical and magical, all at once. Satisfying barely scratches the surface.

Thank you so much to Krysten for starting it and Shana for keeping it going. This was not nearly as painful as I thought it must be. Now...my Nikes await and my mini-bottles of champagne beckon. Please feel free to play along! We may not be where we thought we would be at the age of 30 (or beyond), but we are where we are and that is the best place we can be!

Sip. Tweet. Repeat.

Think of today's post as a very un-blog post. Like a very un-birthday, but with less candles and more gifts...gifts of the 140-character variety. I follow a group of trendsetting mamas on Twitter and they have persuaded me to join their 2nd Friday festivities, which includes boycotting blogs in favor of hanging around on Twitter all day. I, personally, don't care for the word "boycott"....it reminds me of civil rights protests and sit-ins (OK, having been born in 1978, I've never actually participated in a sit-in, but I bet Mama Virgo has! And I'm her flesh and blood...so...). Anyway, let's say that I'm re-directing my attention to Twitter for today's Champagne Friday celebration. I know there are a huge chunk of readers who think Twitter is simply short for "a-twitter"...as in..."Mama Virgo is all a-twitter about her vacation coming up next month." But actually, it's yet another social media that we young'uns have developed to know exactly when our BFFF's have hit the Taco Bell drive-thru or found a bathing suit sale at Target. It sounds a little high-maintenance, but can actually be loads of fun! So, pop the cork on some bubbly and come find me @MagnoliaMimosa on Twitter. I promise, by the end of the day, you will be completely hooked!
Happy Champagne Friday!

Cheers!

The Pink Campaign Launches in a Browser Near You!

What's pink and sparkles and saves lives all over? The Pink Campaign I am launching today through Daisy & Elm! I know there are girls out there who don't go all weak-in-the-knees, stars-in-their-eyes gaga over the color pink. I'm not one of them. I think I used to be one of them, but then the allure of navy started to fade and, really, nothing showcases my eyes or my hair like the color pink. I'm also strangely attracted to items that sparkle in the sun (vampires are the exception...sorry TwilightLovahs) and little pretties that dangle delicately from my ear lobes. Thus the birth of my jewelry empire (that is less like an empire and more like a very large wheel that has been slow to turn). If you bring my love of pink and my passion for gorgeous, yet affordable, jewelry together, mix it with a splash of I wanna save the world and you get...
...which starts TODAY!! It's not a giveway, unfortch...there is money exchange involved. However, if you love it and if you buy it, I will send 50% of your check to the Susan G. Komen Foundation and 100% of your check if you review it on my Facebook fan page (but I will be tempted to keep it all if you write a negative review...although...there is really nothing negative about beautiful jewelry so I don't think we to worry about that).

So, here's how it works....you have from TODAY until Thursday the 28th (I would run it until the 31st, but Shana @Fumbling Towards Normalcy and I have to grace Atlanta and Savannah with our presence over Halloween weekend and I don't think I should be drinking and crimping. That's how people lose an eye, y'know...so it ends the day before she arrives.). Each day, you have to come stalk me on my Facebook fan page (which is not my Facebook group page...look for the the featured item as the profile picture, not my logo, to make sure you're in the right spot) or on Twitter (@Daisyandelm) to see what the featured item for that day is. If you love it, gotta have it, or gotta gift it, email me to let me know. If you're first in line, it's all yours. Remember our motto at Daisy & Elm: There's only one of everything so...See it. Love it. Buy it. Make the other girls jealous. Once it's purchased, it's gone, baby, gone! When I receive your payment, either via PayPal or by check (or cash if you're in the Lexington area), 50% of it will go toward the big check I write at the end to the Susan G. Komen Foundation. If you love it so much that you feel inspired to review it on my Facebook fan page, I will send 100% of your payment to them. When Shana arrives on the 29th, we will have a grand unveiling of how much money you raised for this magnificent charity. Y'all came shining through for the children of Africa (which, by the way, Mama Virgo is writing her guest post...she's just waiting on some pictures of the school to arrive in her email in-box)...so let's do a little something for breast cancer research and pray to heaven above that we are never forced to reap the benefits!

This is not an Etsy event. Please don't go over there looking for it. With a new item everyday, I could go poor in listing fees. I hope you understand. Plus, that's less competition for your pretty pink something.

Get ready....get set....shop. love. buy. support.

The Neighbors Have Eyes

Introducing the lovely and multi-talented KLZ from Taming Insanity. Read her. Love her. Follow her. I would follow her to the ends of the earth, but then, maybe that's just me....

We recently moved out of a one bedroom condo.

By "we" I mean, my husband, myself and our 11 month old.

Out of a 700 square foot, one-bedroom condo in a high rise in downtown Chicago.

Yeah, good times.

But now that we're doing this suburban thing, I realize that there were certain luxuries about living downtown. For one? We were anonymous.

Sure, certain people might know us as those people who are stupid enough to live in a one bedroom with a baby but they lived on other floors. They had other schedules. They had other lives. In the condo, I could happily do whatever the hell I wanted and continue to be encapsulated in our suffocatingly small little place. The people living around us largely ignored us.

The neighbors were not the issue. Because in that condo, we had all the tension we could take already inside the walls.

So, now that we've moved to the suburbs, I'm slowly realizing that things are not so casual now. My neighbors know where I live. I'm no longer one of hundreds of people crammed into a four building complex. I'm one of three people living in a house.

This was never more evident than when I decided to clean out our fridge before garbage day. We had some Italian beef that needed to get trashed. I dump it into the garbage bag where it promptly begins to ooze out. Fantastic.

So, my new-homeowner self begins to freak. I crouch low to the ground and scurry with the bag so the mess will be kept in a confined space. I rush around the side of the house and hurl the bag into our garbage can. I fly back into the house to get paper towels to cleanse the beef juice from my garage floor.

As I do this I realize: the garage door is open. People are driving by. And I have enacted this insane garbage tossing ballet for the whole neighborhood to see.

While wearing plaid pajama pants. And turquoise knee-high socks. And an orange shirt that says "Don't need no credit card to ride this train".

So, yeah. Casual Friday is over. As is casual anytime they can see me. Because I have already established myself as the nutso of the neighborhood.

Or, I could just roll with it and prepare to host my own White Trash Bash.

KLZ

Purely to Announce Someone Else

You will have to excuse me in my brevity today. Apparently my laptop and my pinkie finger are conspiring against me in an attempt to end all blogging activities. I just typed an entire post, full of wit, wisdom, and sarcasm, only to have it deleted when my computer unexpectedly shut down to install updates. Normally, this not an issue as Blogger saves about every 2.7 seconds. Not today. It didn't save squat. Ever. And then, as I was mid-way into retyping everything that was no longer "off the top of my head," my pinkie reached over and deleted the. whole. thing. Clearly, it's time for a V8 or another cup of coffee or warmer socks. So, let me just say that tomorrow, I'm featuring a guest blogger who is going to discuss the very opposite of the predicament we find ourselves in. While we have gone from suburbia to the middle of everything, she has gone from the middle of everything to suburbia. And just the first couple sentences made me giggle with absolute understanding.

This guest post was going to be extra-perfect because I am supposed to be in suburban Chicago rightthisveryminute, were it not for the complete come-apart of a certain JennAir product in our kitchen. An important product...that keeps my wine and chocolate cool and my Weight Watchers ice cream bars frozen...and is currently being replaced by something other than JennAir.

Dear Maytag,
In case you missed my FaceBook post, JennAir sucks.
Love,
Disappointed in Da Townhouse

Thus, I am cleaning the previous owner's short and curlies out of my bathroom vents and not drinking Bloody Marys for breakfast with Queen Elizabeth. Sometimes life is ruthless. As I continue to clean, unpack boxes, and buy out Target's entire selection of lamps, please enjoy my guest blogger tomorrow and make her feel welcome! After all, she is one of us!

Cheers and Bottoms Up...just 48 more hours...

Roadtrippin' (which is not wordless. At all.)

I sort of dragged in on Monday night, less from the sheer exhaustion of a 5-hour drive and more from the hangover that lasts longer now that I'm pushing 32. But mojitoes were made and had to be drank...and then there were the margaritas. And Carlos. And Carlos making googly eyes at Salt...

Ah..I digress. So, I had every intention of writing this yesterday but as I was driving home from Sam's Club, I started crying through every country song on the radio (yes, even "All My Exes Live in Texas") and then remembered how I had given the stink eye to that lady in the frozen food department and I realized....I have PMS. It's been awhile so I had sort of forgotten how much joy this brings to my life for 5-7 days. I took that as a sign to take to my bed and Facebook stalk under the covers. But now, after several cups of coffee and a handful of macadamia nut Hershey kisses (Brooke, my supply is running low! Darn you, Hawaii, for controlling supply), I am ready to face the world.

Sunday morning came early after a cookout with my Air Force friends on base, but I was eager to reach Savannah where Amanda of It's Blogworthy and her hubs, K, awaited me. Brunch at Goose Feathers was fantastic and I cannot recommend it enough. The line was long but moved swiftly and the owner was actually working the cash register! I am not sure if that speaks to her dedication or her obsession with control, but either way, I was wildly impressed.

Amanda and K are the most adorable couple, him fretting over the space between her babybelly and strangers, and her giggling about his Mama Hen Complex. I could have sat with them for hours, chatting about work, blogging, and travel. K is sort of a diamond in the rough. You know how hard it is to find a man who will have an enjoyable and two-way conversation with you about something other than field goals...kind of like trying to find size 7 thongs in Victoria's Secret. But K does it and does it well. He and Amanda are the perfect compliment to each other. Kind of like us..

Many thanks to K for snapping the photo of us in Ellis Square, Savannah and many thanks to Amanda for unknowingly letting me hijack it from your blog.

I could have stayed until the junk in the trunk went numb from unyielding cafe chairs...but Salt of Salt Says was drinking beer and Mama Salt was pouring mojitos and the first sign of alcoholism is drinking alone with your mom. We couldn't let that happen, could we?

So, it started with a beer on Sullivan's Island:
And then progressed to margaritas at a Mexican restaurant (where I accidentally used my outside voice to order fish tacos. I think I insisted that they be so good they would make me bellow sex noises.)
And then the drunken photography ensued.
But at least there was no drunk Facebooking or drunk texting (this time). Just 2 girls and Mama Salt on the balcony, discussing Prop 8 and where we will all be on Judgment Day (tequila makes me very philosophical).

The next morning was a dehydrated haze of pain, but one latte and an egg/brie sandwich later, we were on the road to normal.
Salt picked up a little Jasper lovin' with her frap and then we hit the bead store, Beaded Venus, which we immediately renamed Bedazzled Penis. I've managed to put up a couple creations from my finds at the bead store, but more are on their way. Glass pumpkin puppy heads anyone?

Finding King Street in downtown Charleston, using only street signs, proved to be a little more dangerous than scavenging bead stores in Mt. Pleasant. Let's just say that Salt has seen the less desirable neighborhoods of Charm City and this area ranked right up there with them. We dialed the Preppy White Girl Look down and the Totally-Fake-Unconcerned-Look up until the windows with bars disappeared and no one would mistake us for Narcs. At this point, there were several hysterical "incidences" and I just don't think I want to squeeze them all into one post. Suffice it to say, those of you who read Salt's blog know that she has completely ridiculous stories and it's tempting to believe they are born in her imagination. I'm here to tell you this crap really happens to her! And to me when I'm with her. So, more later on that. Sorry to be such a flapjacking tease.

Salt covered our trip to the city's creepiest cemeteries in her post today, so I will send you over here to check that out.

And I'm headed out to the rest of you, who I've been neglecting in favor of fruited wine, Budget Travel magazines, and Pat Conroy's latest novel, South of Broad. Love and butt-bumps to Amanda, K, Salt, and Mama Salt for a weekend of buffoonery. Let's do it again, shall we?