Thank You, Lady Bird

My bluebonnets are looking lovely. And sorry again about that time at camp when your granddaughter almost got a concussion in my soccer class. I swear I said, "Heads up." Really, I did.

Yo estoy aqui, I swear

I was looking for a Blogthing to post, because the well done run DRY over here, y'all, and I happened upon this:

Your Theme Song is Back in Black by AC/DC

"Back in black, I hit the sack,I've been too long, I'm glad to be back" Things sometimes get really crazy for you, and sometimes you have to get away from all the chaos.But each time you stage your comeback, it's even better than the last!

What's" Your Theme Song?

So, apologies all around, dear reader(s?). I seem to have checked out this past week, but I'm back now, and, apparently, ready to RAWK. We'll see.

That said, here's something I've been pondering: Do the waving Uncle Sams and Statues of Liberty standing in front of tax places make you want to stop there and get your taxes done? How about the waving oil change guys? And, more importantly, when did this become THE go-to method of advertising for these places? I just think it's so random. And sad. I guess I can ALmost understand the tax places, what with the costumes and all, but Jiffy Lube? You know those poor bastards dread having to leave the comfy confines of the garage for two hours of sandwich board duty. Maybe it's just me.

Speaking of me, if you ever wanted to scare the shit out of me, kidnap me and take me to this.

P.S. And if ANYone can tell me how to keep stupid Blogger from screwing up my spacing every friggin' post, I'd be ever so thankful.

Update: Ok, so I DO totally rock, Back in Black, and all that. I just edited my template my ownself and fixed that shit. For reals, y'all. Me, who doesn't know Html from a hole in the ground. Suck on that, stupid Blogger.

Damn You, Target

I was only going in for bread and lightbulbs. That's it. So how is it that I left with four bags of crap totaling over $100? You do this to me EVERY time. I try to be strong, I try to stick to my list, but you tempt me and tease me with your bright lights and snappy merchandising. And how do you ALWAYS talk me into buying at least two of everything? Do you really care that much about me or are you just preying on my compulsive nature? I'm so confused. Your giant red logo pulls me in like a magnet, and I am helpless. I know it's wrong, I do. But no matter how much I fight it, I keep coming back for more. Because I love you, dammit. Even though you never even call me afterwards, you greedy bastard. Until next time ...

The Name Game

But first, a quick re-cap:

Spring Break

• We spent the first three nights at my grandmother's house near Galveston. Highlights included rolling around in her bluebonnet-filled yard, strolling through one of TWO cemeteries(!) down the street from her house, eating entirely too much food, and taking Peach to see this. Quite wonderful, BTW. I also completely organized my cousin's nursery for her 3 month old twins. How can such little people have SO many clothes?


• We spent the next two nights at my cousin's new country house in Round Top. Highlights included rain, playing every board and card game known to man, rain, eating entirely too much food, cleaning up muddy dog prints, and, let's see, what else? Oh yes, rain.


• We spent the last three nights lounging about Casa de Bone, which was lovely. Highlights included my first SXSW event in forfrigginever with Karla May and T-Bone, getting Peach her first real haircut by someone other than my mom, prepping another huge ass flower bed in the front yard, and eating entirely too much food.

Which brings me to last night. My brother and SIL are expecting their first bambino next month, so I spent the better part of 6 hours yesterday putting together and organizing the nursery. What is it with me and the wee folks' rooms? Anywho, this is before:

And this is after:

Can't you just picture the lil' buckaroo snoozing in the crib? My SIL and I have similar taste, and she was very tolerant of my insistence that my nephew have a cowboy room. She was happy to put her swollen feet up for a while and let me go crazy, and she and my brother both were thrilled with the result. We're still shy the real bookcase and chest of drawers that are on the way, a twin bed for the tired mama, and a rug, but other than that, that girl is sufficiently nested.

In other news, they told us the baby's full name, and I am pleased to announce that my brother strayed away from the tradition in my dad's family of naming first born sons after their dads. My parents didn't fall for it either, and while being a "Jr." is not a bad thing necessarily, my dad's "people" don't call anybody "Jr.," they call them "Little," or, more accurately, "Lil." And thus, the dads are called, yes, "Big." My dad is one of five kids, so I have 17 first cousins, and here's just part of the roster: Big Johnny, Little Johnny, Big Dave, Little Dave, Big Mike, Little Mike, Big Robby, Little Robby, Big Tommy, and Little Tommy. And mind you, some of these Littles are over 40. Also, my grandmother had a brother called "Son." I grew up thinking his name was really "Sonny," but it was Joe. And his wife's name was PeeWee. And guess what - she wasn't.

Top O' The Mornin'

From the pasty white side of this family, Happy St. Patrick's Day, y'all! And BOO to all you snakes!