It's my bag, baby.

As a wee Duff I was always intrigued by my mother's purse. I was certain her hand bag held treasures untold, like mountains of Smartees and craft supplies aplenty. You know, all the things she would need when one, if not all, of the seven kids couldn't stop wiggling during church. My poor, sweet, precious mother. What a trooper.

   Now that I am a grown woman, and a mom, I realize that the things we carry in our purse can say a lot about how we function. And since I'm a hot mess, my purse ... well, whoa man - It can get scary. Really, really scary. 

Now, I love purses, but not the purses/bags that Coach would sell. Those are boring and as I have said a THOUSAND times: my perception of pretty is not "normal." (I find most "season must haves" or big trends totally yawn worthy. Give me something cuter, with googly eyes and mayhaps a theme and I'll be happy as a lark.) Anyway, I like purses. I have a few bags/purses that I have made and few thrifted finds that are staples in the fun fashion of Hannah. I switch back in forth every month or so to ensure that I will, at least, clean out the beast every now and then. But in general my purse is frightening. We call my bag, whatever one I am using, the Sarlacc monster. I assume you know what that is, but in case you are pondering what is a Sarclacc - here ya go: 

This. This is a Sarlacc. It's like a meat-eating, plant like monster found a few planets in the galaxy of Star Wars. A Sarlacc slowly digest you after you have fallen into it. (It ate Boba Fett, but worry not the beloved bounty hunter escaped.) Anyway, this is the image, Doug thinks about when he is asked to get something out of my purse. There are few scarier things to my husband than a group of cackling ladies and my current purse of choice.

Anyway, the adorable Rita over at http://suburbsmama.blogspot.com/ posted a picture of the contents of her purse and then posed the question of what is in yours?

I have decided to answer this with my own picture and a brief explanation. Not that it will help to understand what's going on there, but whatever.

Now, what the what? Right? Okay, so my purse choice is a zipper/pocket friendly denim find that I scored for a dollar at the DAV. Win. I have added tacky buttons and a wee Captain America figure to the dangley chain - because I am awesome. Now here is the list of innards of my Sarlacc:

*A lace collar. Cause you never know when you might want to spruce up that Elvira tee. (I dunno.)

*Light saber/New Kids On The Block key chain. Whatever. Haters gonna hate.

*Tickets from the train ride we took in Branson.

*My wallet. Full of everything except money. And I always carry band-aids in my wallet. Always.

*Nail clippers. I hate hang nails and I like to keep my nails teeny. I suppose that's why I have it in there?

*Stick on tattoos.

*Small candies

*A teensy rubber ball. Why not?

*A clippy barrette.

*A lone battery. What the hell?

*Coin purse

*My business card holder with business cards ready to go. (These are delightful for when I am not willing to sell the bows of my head - I hand out cards.)

*An ink pen.

*Birth control. Yeah, buddy, I always have it with me, because I always leave the house before I remember to take it.

* Ibuprofen bottle with Ibuprofen and Allegra in it. Because I am old and one sneezy SOB this time of year.

*Silly Putty. Now hear me out here: Silly Putty has been a staple in my purse/bag/lunchbox since I was not old enough to curse. I love Silly Putty. It makes even the waiting the doctors office good times.

* Lip Smackers Dr. Pepper lip gloss. My favorite lip gloss hands down. Keep your snootie department store lip plumbing blah, blah, blah brands. I'll take my Wallgreens 1.50 special, thank you very much.

*A lighter. I burn incense a lot. Because I loved the 90's. And since my husband a lighter thieving smoker - I never have a lighter. Now I do, because, like I said, he fears my purse.

*An '84 Sweet Secrets Baby Doll locket. I don't know. Why not?

*Tic Tacs

*Trash (receipts, gum wrappers, half of a plastic Easter egg.)

And not photographed: My phone - I took the picture with it. Obviously. 

Okay - so what's in your purse, really, ladies? I wants to know. Post a pic, send me a description or write your own blog. And have fun with the contents of your bag. You carry that weight - it might as well be fun.

 

 

The sad offended owl. Or how most Christians troll and tirade over opposing opinions.

When surfing the internet I often find people bickering back and forth about Lord knows what. It's usually over something vaguely religious and possibly political, and more times than not, it's not important. It's an opinion. That's all. I often like to scroll down and read comments by these huffy forums goers announcing how offended they were by so and so's post, picture, phrase or choice. I find that stuff hilarious. To me, when someone announces that they are offended it is as if they are stating, "I can't control my emotions, so please watch yourself for my sake."

I find this especially funny when all the hubbub is on something like facebook or pinterest. I mean, seriously, if you are that offended by post on pinterest - unfollow that board. If someones political tangents make you angry and seem to to make every facebook status - hide them. It's pretty simple. You don't have to fight and pick apart everything to prove you believe something different. It's like telling people they can't drink coffee, because caffeine makes you cranky.

And Christians: we were called to be peacemakers, not self righteous jerk wads. If you're offended, back away and avoid the drama. Don't dive in, head first, spouting facts you got from Fox News. I get you believe whatever it is you believe, but some people don't and you can't change them - especially by hateful bickering. I find it literally heart breaking that 90% of these overly tender and down right rude people are often "Christians." Trust me, I've tiptoed around Christians my whole life. And I am a Christian. I don't like to offend so I try to watch what I say and do around people I know will be offended ... those people are usually Christians. There is something to be said about the simple fact that I can be transparent to all of my friends and family - unless they are Christians. It seems as if American Christians have made an art over being always offended and continuously looking for the big, bad wolf in all things. (Read Proverbs 11:27 and think about the next time you what to point out all the things wrong, evil, and anything you decided you don't like.)

Also, get over yourself. Your religion doesn't impress anyone. No one has ever been saved, changed or helped by the ignorance or arrogance of a bully. Yes, bully. When you push your beliefs, morals and politics unto people and then get offended when they don't follow your lead - YOU ARE A BULLY.

I love people, but I can't stand bullies.

Now, if you want me to listen and take heed to what you're cookin' try this: Show me some love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self control. Show me that your faith isn't a religion. Show me that you really know the things you say you believe. You do that and I'll show you a person with an opinion I'll actually listen to. But, if all you have is bickering, hatefulness, bitterness and contempt - I don't want to buy what you are selling. And neither does anyone else.

I'll cheerfully quote John Lennon any day, so here is a thought from some Lennon lyrics that I feel fits famously: "I'm sick and tired of hearing things from uptight, short sided, narrow minded hypocrites. All I want is the truth. Just give me some truth. I've had enough of reading things from a neurotic, psychotic, pig headed politicians. Just give me some truth. All I want is the truth."

If you know the Way, The Truth and the Light - um, act like it. Act like His grace and compassion mean something to you. Show me you can distribute that to others, regardless of what they believe.

And you know - You can tell people what you believe. You can. It's great. Just don't expect anyone to want to be like you, if you are a harsh, hateful, fear mongering bully. And if you want people to love the Savior that you claim changed your life - be a decent human. Display Fruits of the Spirit (Galations 5:22-23) and avoid the fights, the bickering and the drama. Show love in your actions, joy in your life and kindness in your words. That is truth. Give me that truth.

So facebook trolls and posters on pinterest: If you are offended, don't expect others to cater to your beliefs, feelings and fears. Be a bigger, better person and walk away if someone steps on your toes.(Remember that whole turn the other cheek thing ... Yeah do that.) Use the self control you have to say, "Okay, I don't agree with that - and I am sorry you do - but I am not going to be mean about it." Do this by hiding post or people, if you must. Or, do as my daughter would say, "Put on your sparkly rainbow glasses and look at people the way Jesus sees them."

I have literally watched my daughter pretend to put on glasses and look at people differently when she was hurt or offended by them ... She didn't tirade over how wrong they were - and she's five, folks. Five. You can do this.

In my opinion: People need hope. And I get hope from Jesus, so yes, I feel like everyone needs Jesus, but they don't need my hateful attitude. So I challenge you to put on those sparkly rainbow glasses and look at people the way Jesus looks at people: with love, understanding and compassion.

And quit being so dang mean.

If you are always offended - hide it, unfollow it, and walk away. There is no reason to get angry and announce how tender you are about every little thing. Especially over the internet. We are all people. We will all have bad days, and say ugly things, but if you are proclaiming that you have it all figured out - can you please stop looking like this guy?

If you have it all together, you wouldn't be so sad, mean, and rude. It's just something to think about before you get all huffy, puffy, feathers ruffled and all offended.

What are your thoughts? Are you offended? What do you do when you are offended? Share your stories and let me know.

Hugs!

Food court 90's glamour.

So I am limiting my time to on the internet. It has come to this. I mean, really, I love me some internet and I could literally spend hours looking at weird shit. Loves it.

Anyway, I am limiting my time because I am wasting a lot of it. Sooooo...when I do allow myself web time, after I finish grown up things like dishes and what have you, I look up important things. Like Glamour Shots from the 90's.

There is something so nostalgic about those soft focused dames, posing awkwardly, with loud make-up and big hair. I mean, I was never a fan of it - but it was like a train wreck you could not look away from. And almost everyone I knew back then had a Glamour Shot photo session done. It was like pat on the back for those with crippling self esteem. Oh you are feeling tragic about life - let's take you to the mall, make you up like a hooker, put a rose in your moth, pose you in a leather jacket and take blurry photos of your identity crisis.

As a kid, I wanted to have my photo taken all fancy like, but we were family of meager means, and food court glamour was not in the budget. As a wee, awkward homeschooler, I wanted to feel pretty, and my opinion of what was pretty was not Glamour Shots... but I wanted to be fussed about and told I was "fierce." But I just wanted the clothes to be cuter ... or at least include more floral baby doll dresses and Doc Martens. To me, that still is the prettiest look. And I will go down in fashion fails for this, but whatever. I like me.

So, lets take a trip back to a time where blurry photos, feather boas and big hair were the quintessential signs of you needed and got an ego boost at the local shopping center.

That's right mall rat, grab an Orange Julius from the food court, turn up that Kenny G, and lets enter that lovely place called 1990's Glamour Shots.

This lady's applied to the Dee Snider School of Hair Design. She was head of her class 

I don't think this is an actual Glamour Shot, but it's  a soft focus David Bowie  holding a cat. You needed it in your life. You're welcome.

Remember when people thought bikers were super  glamorous? Me either.

Lock up your husbands ladies, this lady has her glamour shot set for rape.

This one blows. Literally.

I got my nails did. And then found a sessy lump in my neck. Here take a photo, quick!

This dame has Michelle Bachmann eyes. That's not a compliment.

Special thanks to google search, Ellen's Oh Glam, Girl and the FUCKYEAH GLAMOUR SHOTS TUMBLR. You inspired me to spend my interweb time looking at photos and laughing like a loon.

OOOH I have an Olsen Mills photo somewhere that my friend's dad - who was a photographer, took as a kid. I have a floral vest and they gave me huge clip on pearl earrings to wear. I hated that picture as a kid. I must find it.

Do you have a tacky Glamour Shot or makeover story you want to share?  Send them this way! Until then-  Hugs!

Dinosaurs are the new feminist.

On my eleventh birthday my Dad took me to go see Jurassic Park in the local theater. The teeny Town and Country theater was pretty janky - but I loved the fact I was going to a theater with my Daddy.

 In the 90's movies ran for months before going to discount theaters or eventually making it to VHS, but at that point I still had yet to see what I knew was going to be a glorious movie. (Being an eleven year old my funds were limited and ways to get here to there were, well, my parents.) SO I waited. And waited. And I waited ever so anxiously for my birthday, because my parents couldn't say NO on my day. Dinosaurs were going to happen. I could feel it in my bones. 

That morning I waited patiently as our showtime neared. I don't think I moved from the kitchen table by the backdoor that entire day. I knew that when it was time to go, my Mom would signal my Dad, meaning the littler siblings were distracted and we could sneak out for enjoyable movie going freedom. One on one time with my Dad was rare. He worked beyond full time to provided for our huge family of 9. Yes 9. I am the middle of seven kids. (It all makes sense now, doesn't it?) Anyway, when you work to provide for your seven kinds - you work a lot - I could not wait to see dinosaurs eat people with my Dad by my side.


When we got to the theater it was dark. I remember feeling like a grown up - You know, being outside in the dark and going to watch a movie. It felt scandalous. It was awesome. I still remember the burgundy swirly pattern to the carpet and the glossy movie posters filling the walls of that tiny theater.


My Dad asked what I wanted from the concession stand. I was delighted! I was never allowed to get snacks at the concession stand! That was unheard of in my childhood. I mean, 7 kids, with concession stand prices. Sheesh. I can't even imagine. We usually snuck food into the theater like poor people who make good choices, but not on my birthday. Oh no, on my birthday, I feasted on buttery popcorn, Dr. Pepper and dinosaur egg gummi candies made for the Spielberg assured classic. It was what 11 year old freedom tasted like. It was delicious moment of perfect childhood.


We took our seats with arms full of overpriced goodies and ate ourselves into poor health. As light dimmed I remember looking at my Dad and smiling the biggest cheeseball grin, teeth speckled with corn kernels and gummi pieces. He smiled back with squinty eye joy, knowing, I am sure, at how blissfully happy I was at that moment. My birthday, my Daddy, snacks and dinosaurs.


The movie begins with Robert Muldoon (played by Bob Peck) holding huge gun, clad in khaki glory, awaiting a large raptor in a box. Obviously, this is where raptor eats a worker at the loading dock - and leaves Muldoon yelling "Shoooooot her!" Epic first scene.


The movie plays out introducing characters unforgettable and brilliant. Doctors Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler. The Newman of all Newmans, Dennis Nedry. Obsessive visionary John Hammond and his grandkids Lex and Tim. My personal favorite, Dr. Ian Malcolm, played to perfection by Jeff Goldblum. And who can forget Ray Arnold? The sassy, chain smoking techie - played by Samuel L. Jackson, who I am sure was tired of all the mother effin' dinos on this mother effin' island.


As a kid I was mesmerized by the effects and sounds of the dinosaurs. To this day, I stand by the statement that Jurassic Park change my movie expectations. Honestly, JP changed a lot for me. I no longer wanted to be a singer when I grew up. (I had this idea that I would be like Jem when I grew up. I would be truly, truly, truly outrageous. I knew it.) But that was not my concern anymore. No sir, I wanted to play in the dirt, get filthy and find dino bones. Bring on the paleontology!


It wasn't until I was older that I would realize that the T-Rex in JP was the first and, well, really only female character I ever really felt like I could identify with. Seriously. That T-Rex just wants to eat, breed on her own terms, frighten gawkers and have everyone else get the fuck out of the way. That's how I want to live life. Like a big, misunderstood T-Rex. Roar.


As a female I am downright pissed at females portrayed in media. Romantic comedies make me want to vomit in your unnecessary heels, ladies. And there are few things more infuriating that the photoshoped dolls draped in expensive and hideous fashion, altered and posed sexy to sell. And even when a character is written or platformed as a "strong" female - she is portrayed as just plain bitchy - because you can't have a vagina a do anything professional. I mean, you obviously can't be a strong, independent woman without being a total hag. (And if you add glasses to the mix you can only be two things: A nerd in need of a makeover, or a sexy librarian.) Them's the options, ladies. We are nothing more.


Or at least that is what I feel is being set out for us by current ads, film and fiction. We are a bitchy objects meant to sell things and compare others.


Society, media and anyone who really believes this codswallop: Here is my cyber middle finger.


You can't tell me when, where and how to procreate, Rick Santorum. You can't call me a slut for taking birth control, Rush. You can't sell me your overpriced trinkets by telling me it's a "season must have," Good Morning America. Cosmo, Vouge and every other magazine: I am not ugly because some dame, photo altered, is pretty. I am not fat, because models are size 2. And I am not gonna calm down cause you are flashing bright lights in my face, Dr. Alan Grant. I am an effin' dinosaur. My type was long ago extinct, but I am making a comeback and if you get in my way, I will eat your face.

So what you should have learned here is that a wee 11 year old left that theater with high hopes for a great future. I knew, even then, I am not going to be normal. I tried and dabbled in the world of normal girl and ended up heartbroken and miserable. Since then, I threw away magazines, turned my heels in for combat boots, started making my own clothes and stopped taking applications for drama. The position of crazy has been filled in my life. I don't need people telling me how to think, feel, eat, and live. I am a dinosaur, sugar. "Life finds a way," as Malcolm would say. I am going to live this example of dinosaur joy and fearless freedom to be me.


 I want my daughter and all girls, really, to have an example that is real. Not a photoshop version of a female. Not a stereotype character. I want a better example, because my only example of female in media that didn't blow was a dinosaur.... A computer generated and puppet controlled T-Rex. Granted that totally owns, but I am weird. I want normal girls to have something real. Something tangible. Our girls deserve more than what society is offering. We all deserve a better.


 So friends, join with me, watch in fear or get the eff out of my way.

Muuumuus and the midwest.

I am getting my hair done, professionally, for the first time in over four years today. I am pretty stinkin' excited. My hair has been choppy, short and real dark for years. I am possibly growing it out ( I like short hair though, so I dunno.) But it is going light - really, really light. Eventually I want my hair to be almost white and toned/dyed lavender. Like pastel. (See above.) It will be awesome. It's gonna take awhile, because I refuse to fry my hair with bleach in one sitting ... I'll bake it slowly with chemicals until it eventually light enough to be lavender. It's happening.

In other news: Indiana has been asking to listen to ABBA a lot lately. A lot. Then today he asked for his "spooky mix." Spooky Mix is a cd I made for Halloweenie dancy dance time. It features, obviously, Monster Mash by Bobby Boris Pickett, Poe, Oingo Boingo, Jumping Gene Simmons, Thriller, and Love Potion Number 9. It's good times. Well, Missouri wasn't feeling the spooky mix - she wanted ABBA. So, in crafty brilliance - she tells Indie that Mario (from Mario Kart Wii, Indie's favorite game) favorite band is ABBA. I laughed. And inquired how she figured such info out? Her response ... "I saw a commercial. He said 'Momma Mia.' in it. That's an ABBA song. So Mario loves ABBA." Needless to say - we listened to ABBA on the way to school.

Oh and I re -purposed a muumuu. It's super cute and summery. I decided to make a fun bow to go with it - which obviously means a flamingo skeleton. Duh. So I wore muummu, dead flamingo bow with staples of my style - Doc Martens and denim vest. I thought it was fun. ... Surprisingly I got more flack for the vest than the muumuu or scupley dead animal bow. People are weird. I mean if you are gonna pick apart my choices - the vest, the vest was the thing that was just too over the top? Ha. Whatever.

I have decided that this probably why most people wear "normal" clothes. It's unbelievably obnoxious to have to stop and explain why you are a freak show to bystanders at a Price Cutter. I mean, I love the way I dress - obviously, I wouldn't do it if I thought it was lame, but I just wanna be me. Despite what others say about me - I am not doing this to entertain or gain attention. I'd love to look like me and blend in. That would be lovely.

Effin' midwest.

Speaking of good ole midwest - flyers aplenty are spamming the mailboxes of the community for various Easter celebrations. I appreciate the churches wanting to share with strangers the Gospel by big shows with "mind blowing lasers," but so often those church goers are dreadful, prideful people attending church for sheer entertainment and lasers. Where is the gospel in that? It breaks my heart. Sure, lasers are cool - but life is not a Pink Floyd concert. Lasers are not needed. I need Jesus. Real, personal, precious, peaceful Jesus. And I want my kids to know the Jesus I know. I want them to find faith that is personal, real and brilliant. I don't want religion flung like poo onto them. We attend church and we love our church family. I love the fact we are providing a good church experience for my sweet babies. Because my childhood church experience should have turned me into an atheist. But that's why I feel Jesus really saved me. After having my heart and religion broke into thousands of tiny pieces - I finally saw Jesus and realized that often most "churches" have nothing to Him. SOOO when my kids start to see and recognize the difference between religion and relationships - I get reeeaaal excited. Last night Indie prayed that he could have a "brave heart" like Jesus. That blesses me beyond words. To Indie - Jesus is brave. That isn't something we taught him. That's his own relationship with the Savior. That. Is. Awesome.

Okay, I am off too get my hair all sassy and what have you. Yey!! (I feel super scandalous spending money on my head, but it's been four years. I am allowed.)

Have a beautiful and brilliant day. Hugs.