I hate to harp on weddings all the time, I really do. Maybe I'm burned out. actually - I'm not, but the truth might hurt a few feelings, so we'll carry on without all the usual self-examination. So if you're currently engaged or recently married or if I was in your wedding - stop reading here.

why has Vera Wang come out with her own set of MATTRESSES?

In business class we learned about the concept of co-branding, so the concept itself isn't new to me. It's the actual coupling that is. I can understand Gillette razors and Duracell batteries (hello! they're owned by the same company!) but mattresses and wedding dresses???

What's the target group here? I mean - there's the obvious. But come on guys! In this day and age? Are couples really buying their first bed for their first night together?

I didn't mean for this post to reach soapbox proportions and I don't usually like to bring my fundamental beliefs about things into this, but even as an evangelical Christian I know the truth. I saw the pregnant teenagers last night at the movie theatre (btw-GO see Hairspray. Maybe that's why they're pregnant. All those movies with sexual innuendo).

What I'm trying to say (but am ending up chasing rabbit trails instead) is that weddings and mattresses don't go together. Bad idea, Vera. AND to make things worse, Vera, you are promoting the wedding mania that I am adamantly against. The idea that says that to achieve the ultimate in blissfulness you need a three thousand dollar dress and 8.6 bridesmaids bedecked head-to-toe in either 1)dresses they hate 2)dresses they'll never wear again or 3)dresses the bride-picked-out-and-didn't-pay-for-even-though-the-bridesmaids-hate-them-and-will-never-wear-them-again.

Vera, you were my friend. I wanted to wear a Vera Wang dress (purchased off of eBay, of course). But, you and your little mattress empire are too much for me.

...and the miles that separate us...

A recent conversation between your two favorite letters in the alphabet:



Ms. B: So, I talked to Audra today and she's headed up to Ponca City to check things out. You know, we should go camping.



Mr. A: Yeah...we should. You owe me for that one time you stood me up.



Ms. B: *snickers* yeah... you would not stop asking me out! Come on!! camping?!?!



Mr. A: How about cabin-ing?



Ms. B: YOU.ARE.MY.SOULMATE.

bridesmaids=ex girlfriends?!?!

I experienced an epiphany this weekend. Actually I experienced more than one – if that’s possible. The first was seeing my brother drink beer. Weird. I’m sure he felt the same way once he realized that I wasn’t toting around punch in an awkward brown bottle, but Shiner.

So–I’m watching the scene unfold. Preacher and groom walk in. Groom is fidgeting nervously with his cuff links. Then, the processional starts. Bridesmaid….after bridesmaid…. after bridesmaid. All awkwardly smiling and secretly cursing the bride for choosing a color of dress so awful that Elle McPherson couldn’t even pull it off.

The groom is anxiously watching each girl traipse/plod down the aisle, all the while thinking,
“When is the right one going to get here?”

And then it occurred to me! My aha! moment came so swiftly in the sanctuary of the First Methodist Church. Those bridesmaids represent every relationship he had to suffer through before arriving at the right one. This also explains why the groom usually casts disdainful eyes upon the bride’s friends. Isn’t my theory coming together nicely?

When an acquaintance of mine was married, she had something like thirteen bridesmaids. The funny (and ironic and weird and sad) thing is – she probably had that many relationships before meeting her husband.

I realize that traditional thought says that bridesmaids/groomsmen are there to stand in support of your marriage. They often represent remnants of your past, or are what brought the two lovebirds together or better yet, they’re siblings that will be around regardless to listen to your woes as newlyweds/new parents/empty nesters.

Maybe I'm pregnant?!?

Even pregnant you wear heels? Always. Louboutins. I’ve worn heels forever, and my feet are just more comfortable in them. I’m not bragging, but when I wear flats, my back hurts because I’ve relearned how to walk—I walk on the front pad of my foot instead of on my heel.

So that's the reason my back was hurting today! I'm pregnant! Not really...that's how rumors get started. But I can totally sympathize with this chick. I wear heels 6 days a week. I noticed several months (maybe more like a year or so) ago that when I wore ballet flats my hips and lower back would have a dull ache. I chalked it up to old age or the early on-set of arthritis. (I can't believe I even just mentioned those two terms... it's like I already have one foot in the grave.)

I would say that I am very aware when it comes to my body and I acknowledge that a couple of skiing injuries and a family history of arthritis make me a likely candidate for aches and pains at a young age. I also realized that on the days I was wearing ballet flats were the days that I wasn't feeling up to par, so it was to be expected that I feel a few aches and pains.

So, one day when I had worn flats all day and then changed into heels for an evening out I realized that the pain magically disappeared. Then... months later I read the above linked article in New York-The Magazine's Look Book I realized my problem. My body is so acclimated to wearing heels that it rejects anything else. Even super comfy Cobians. (Which, btw are the only things you should put on your feet save Manolos.)

So -mystery foiled. Just call me Matlock!

Rendevous then I'm through with you...

Have you ever made a really awful decision? I mean REALLY AWFUL?

I'm not talking about marrying the wrong guy (I almost did that), or wearing one of those "in style" outfits that you really thought you could pull off (done that), or saying hateful things to your mother (sad to say - I've done this too).

What I'm talking about is a little different. The aforementioned quandaries are really considered to be choices, in my opinion. Not so much decisions. With choices, there's an obvious good and bad. Not so much with decisions. Those are the tricky ones.

So I made a decision. And in making that decision I was, in my opinion, choosing between two goods. (Sometimes, in decision making it gets really yucky because you have to choose between two bads.) I made a bad decision. This decision led to a brief rendezvous with an establish that is good, just not good for me.

The light at at the end of the tunnel is this: even when we make bad choices or decisions - good inevitably comes from it. Without you even trying. Funny how that works.

I climbed into my gas guzzling SUV (did you realize that gas is $3.19 in Highland Park?!?!) and began re-adjusting the AC vents to my liking. Another driver had taken it upon himself to point ALL the vents on him in the previous excursion so that when I climbed into the drivers seat and started the car I was immediately transported to Antarctica.

The aforementioned driver stood on the street curb and waived good bye as I drove away. I began thinking about the fact that his leisure reading has more of a life than I do. Over the course of the next six weeks, his books (and a relatively small amount of other appointments) will travel a quarter of the way around the globe and experience the "magical place" that is Africa.

I reminded myself that the Africa he will experience is nothing like 'Hotel Rwanda'. That, in theory, he's only hours six away. That internet cafes exist on every street corner. And then I'm not sad. Really, I never was sad to begin with - but I wanted to allow myself that liberty if I felt so led.

We had talked about this for months. About the fact that if something happens he'll be air lifted out at a moments notice. About the opportunity for him to get flight time while he's there. About my zebra rug!

But it still felt eery to know that once he leaves the city of Windhoek we'll have no contact for 14 days. Nothing. Not even a little peep. That's a looooooong time for two people who talk every day.

And then I was struck with the awe of how small the world really is. It such an increasingly small place. But not so small - that two fiction books can take the trip of a lifetime.

Some special things are to be found in Longview. As if the example above wasn't good enough I, again, was asking myself, "Did I just see that?" last week.

A rather large banner said:

Acceptance

Insurance

I thought to myself, "Surely not." I mean, group this right in there with thigh creams and Midol. That stuff is a hoax. Have things become so bad that people will pay for acceptance insurance? And how, exactly, does this 'acceptance insurance' work? And for fun we're gonna call this insurance 'AI'. Working in the medical field has this weird way of making you turn everything into an acronym. But I digress...

Does this AI protect you from rejection? If a guy wants to ask a girl out that's waaaaay over his head (are you listenin' Andrew?) can he buy this acceptance insurance and it guarantee that she'll say yes?

By golly - I gotta get me some of this Acceptance Insurance.

With AI I won't get turned down when I ask for a raise or a mortgage or even for a date night. Man... who came up with this? They're genius!!!

You and I both know I'm joking around about this acceptance insurance - but how much do you wanna bet that if I were to take a MySpace ad and advertise 'acceptance insurance' I'd have a few takers?

It really makes one think about how much we all need to feel accepted now and again.

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,but that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.
And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Nelson Mandela, 1994 Inaugural Speech, (a quote from Marianne Williamson)

so about that beach...

In the same breath that I praised the beach - I'll curse it.

I climbed on my old friend the treadmill today and was met with the hip hop tunes of the Backstreet Boys on my iPod. As if that wasn't painfully reminiscent enough - sharp pains began shooting down my shins. Hellooooooo shin splints! As if things couldn't get worse....

You see - deep inside I was disappointed with myself. I had watched an "I'm-getting-older-and-things-are-hurting-and-aching-and-sagging" special on Oprah and was beginning to think that 25 was the beginning of a loooooong road of Icy Hot, colonoscopies, and decreased libido. "Heck," I thought - "I haven't even been given the option to exercise my libido yet!" As if these thoughts weren't humiliating enough - I suddenly felt a slight wave of flatulence coming on.

Oh - don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. We all fart. Poot. Cut the cheese. Pass Gas. Toot. Whatever term your mother deemed permissible. It's a very natural thing.

So - I'm running and my iPod is blaring. I'm pondering such deep thoughts as: did I not say hi to someone in the hallway because I have crappy peripheral vision when I wear my glasses and I couldn't see him/her? I hope they don't think I'm stuck up! crrrrap - I don't think I called that guy back about that retarded luncheon tomorrow...

Suddenly - I feel the reverberations of aforementioned flatulence off of the cinder block walls. I want to look around and see if anyone heard - but that would immediately incriminate myself. The second problem is this: I have no idea if it was a noisy little bugger or not because my stupid iPod was blaring, "Show me the meaning of being looonely...Is this the feeling I need to walk with?"

and just like that... my world comes crashing down around me. I had kept it afloat for almost four hours. A record for the month of March.

yeah for the beach! and for learning how to of upload pics to my blog! I know... I know.... the rest of the free world has been at it for awhile now. But, you see, last time I tried to upload (before Al Gore went on his save-the-planet tirade....) one had to use PhotoBucket or some weird thing like that. It was oddly reminiscent of when eBay may you use MisterLister to host photos. Those were the days....

I remember late, late nights with my mom. We'd sit in front of the computer and upload photo after photo of the oldest books on the planet. I thought I'd always be doing that. But - lookey there! Mom has taught herself alllllllll about photo uploading and more. Ten years later, that online bookstore is still thriving. She (Mom) claims to be the first eBay-er in Laneville. I'm just waiting on her to get a MySpace account. And post pictures of Momma before she was Momma...smoking weed in Tijuana...

If you don't listen to country music - that last comment was so over your head. Bless your heart.

So - back to the beach. It was cold. And windy. I think I wore that all too itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny tropical bikini for a grand total of 30 minutes. And... another sad truth - the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny tropical wasn't that itsy bitsy when I bought it. Hmmm.... maybe I'll pass on that second round of sweet tea and/or Dr. Pepper at lunch tomorrow. And ship those blasted Girl Scout cookies to my sister.

You're Thinking TOO HARD!

Once again, I found myself browsing an article that dealt with the subject matter of being single and seeking a mate. I'm not sure what there is new to say on the subject - but apparently this guy thought differently. He gave a personal account of praying and fasting before he asked a girl out on a date.

This isn't something unheard of in the practices of modern evangelical mating (or in this guy's instance - the lack thereof). My heart was suddenly burdened. What if I chose my friends using the model that most uber evangelicals use to choose their potential mate. I know what you're saying....,"Beth, there is SO MUCH MORE at stake!"

But - is there really?

I am currently dating a very wonderful man. (I won't be the girl who gushes... so trust me on this one.) At the same time - I have a a best friend who knows more about me than Wonderful Man does. Part of the reason is that we've known each other for 12 years. She knows every dirty secret. Yep - every single one. And while physical intimacy isn't on the docket for this same-sex relationship - every other type of intimacy is.It could be argued that bestfriendships closely mirror marriages. Don't "they" always say that you should marry your best friend? While I can't (legally) marry my best girlfriend - I can discourage others from choosing a mate in a way that one chooses a friend.

Just hear me out, okay? I met my best friend randomly. She was the first person to greet me as I arrived at the new fancy-shmancy church my parents drug me to. In the following days after our initial contact, I didn't pray and fast over whether or not I should attend the next youth event with her. In fact - I've never once prayed or fasted over whether or not I should be her friend. I wasn't sure about her personal relationship with Christ for awhile. Did I let that stop my friendship with her? No. Neither did I become her bosom buddy. That part came with time. Slowly, our friendship blossomed into one of trust. Never once did I worry she'd "get the wrong idea". I'm not saying that you should seriously date the next Potential Someone that comes waltzing your way. And neither should you develop a checklist of requirements for your next best friend. Just hear what I'm saying: stop thinking too hard about all of this!

the Have and Have Nots

I watched an episode of one of my all time favorite shows last night and it started me thinking. The whole show was making a semi-serious joke of the "smug marrieds vs. sad singles" war that rages unbeknown to everyone except those engaging in direct combat.

But - what ends up happening is this: someonw always ends up feeling like less of a person because of his/her relatioship status. This presents a completely different problem: Why, as human beings, do we feel the need to create a caste system within everything we do?

It's not good enough to merely have a Jaguar, husband, baby, or pair of Manolos... we have to let everyone who doesn't have a Jaguar, husband, baby, or pair of Manolos know that we do. In our heads, we create our own version Maslo's Hierarchy of Needs and begin to subject everyone else to our standards.

Can I tell you something? I don't want your husband - or one of my own for that matter, or your baby or Jaguar or Manolo's. They pinch my toes.

Lottie Moon is the reason for the season!

I ventured out of my usual nightclub-esque Sunday morning stomping ground and headed to an establishment that the upper echelon of society frequents. In short, I went to a different church this Sunday. The first thing I noticed when I pulled in the parking lot was, "Man, these folks drive nice cars!" I was parked between two gargantuous SUV's. A man in a golf car came by and asked me if I'd like a chaffuered ride to the sanctuary doors - I opted out because I didn't have any cash on me and was afraid that he'd expect a tip.

But - these are my roots! This is what I'm good at! This is where I'm from!

As I approached the throne...ahem, I mean...the sanctuary doors I was greeted by a harem of old men in grey suits. At first, I was thinking that an Ensure tasting was being held in the lobby but then I remembered! these are the guys that hand out the bulletins! Ah... yes... it's all coming back to me now. ::cue Celine Dion:: There were nights when the wind was so cold, that my body just froze.....

Oh wait - that's not a "church song". Whoops. Right - so I clomp down the cold, slate aisle (how the hell have these people not heard about heated floors?!?!? I later thought as the services ended and I couldn't feel my feet) and slid in beside a young guy, not much older than myself. He cast a disdainful glance my direction. I'm not sure if it was because I was wearing pants in a Baptist church on a Sunday morning or because I wasn't carrying a New King James Version.

As the service progressed (my original intent was just to go hear some Christmas hymns) I realized I was going to get so much more...

Today was the annual Lottie Moon Christmas sermon. Basically, the pastor waxes and wanes over how the only reason any one will ever get to heaven is because the Southern Baptist Convention exists. Blah blah blah. At lunch afterward, a friend asked if I found anything particularly offensive. I thought long and hard. Nope - it was the same song and dance I've heard on Christmas' past. Suddenly - he presented the idea that all missionaries aren't Baptist missionaries. I began laughing as I told him that until I was 20 years old I didn't know this. SERIOUSLY. Until I was in college at LeTourneau University I hadn't ever heard of MAF, JAARS, Wycliffe Bible Translators to name a few. For all I knew, if you decided to become a career missionairy you were Baptist. And for that matter - for all I knew, the Lord only spoke to Baptists. So for all you Methodists, good luck.

"to whom much is given"... I thought as I signed a check for $47.00 - the total for a haircut on my lunchbreak

"to whom much is given"... I thought as I popped into Jack's for a sandwich to go and slid $4.71 across the counter

"to whom much is given"... I thought as I haphazardly traded a swiped debit card for $30.00 in fuel


"much is required"... as I watched, unnoticed, a student at my University count quarters to purchase gas

"much is required"... as I watched a family, so proud of their son, brother, husband - live his dream (their future)

"much is required"... as I watched you - hurt and cry and mourn and carry a burden so disproportionate

'Tis the gift...

'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right

'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,
'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,
And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,
Then we'll all live together and we'll all learn to say,

'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be,
'Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of "me",
And when we hear what others really think and really feel,
Then we'll all live together with a love that is real.

not a Dr.Pepper in sight...

So I'm hanging out in LA for a few days and everything here is perfect. Perfect weather. Perfect lawns, people, homes, dogs. Perfectly clean freeways. Perfect stores. Did I mention the perfect people? They are all infinitely beautiful and perfectly coiffed, manicured, and dressed. One thing isn't perfect: there's no STINKIN DR. PEPPER to be found.

DQ Something Different

I just want to say, Thank you DQ!

All of those other fast food chains are succombing to peer pressure and adding healthy choices to their menu - but no! you're staying true to who you are and what fast food is all about by continuing to offer us fat laden choices new and old.

You give us the Chili Meltdown GrillBurger™

It'll Make A Man Out of You!
A guy doesn't have use for napkins with the burgers from the "other burger guys" but the new Chili Meltdown GrillBurger™ from DQ® could change things.

Get yours today in 1/2 lb. or 1/4 lb. sizes; the Chili Meltdown GrillBurger™ is topped with chili, cheese and onion and is served on a freshly toasted bun.

http://www.dairyqueen.com/en-US/Menus+and+Nutrition/Menu/default.htm

Check out this menu, folks! You've got your choice of - count'em - TWO SALADS! That's what I'm talkin about!

Lessons Learned...

So - I made a mistake today. I know this is shocking. I seem to have a knack for perfection. I hope I haven't let any of you down. I really don't know how it all started. I'm as disappointed with myself as you all are with me. I feel like a little kid who was told not to touch the hot oven and went ahead anyway knowing well what was in store - pain and suffering.

I did that today. Cruising around on the internet looking for a site to buy my facewash, (which is a completely dramatic story in and of itself. Let me just say - it involved a visit to the US Government's patent website.) I decided to pop on over to TheKnot.(Yes, I just tempted you with a hyperlink!) I KNEW deep within my innermost being that this was baaaaaaaaaaaaad. I've yet to have a visit to theKnot that was a pleasant one. Inevitably, I linger just a little to long and end up looking up exboyfriends, girls I hated in high school, and my waitress from Cheddar's the night before who was sporting a rock larger than anyone of her social position should be waiving around. She works in FREAKING food service!! I bust my ass everyday at an 8-5, I put myself through college, yet I don't see any hot, blue collared professionals knocking down my door. But I digress.

True to form, I tell myself that I'll just look up this ONE FRIEND's registry (forget the fact that I could just visit target.com and dillards.com like he told me too) and then get right on with business. I won't monkey around at all. No siree. Just on and off. Yeah. Right. I have NO self control (The size of my thighs only confirms that).

So I log on. Twee deedle dee. Hmm... there's the search box. Type in Mr. Groomsman's name. Cha-ching! They're got a webpage! They didn't tell me that! Okay - I'll just take a little look-see and then I'll get off. Oh wait! There's a guest book! I wonder who all has signed it?....

AND THEN - (this is where I've pinpointed the downward spiral begins) I have the thought, "What about my friend who my other friend told me was getting married? I wonder if she's on here?"

This isn't a big deal, right? I just care about my friend that my other friend told me about. Suuuuuuuure. So I do what I think is one, last little search. She has a webpage! Money! And a guestbook! Money! And my exboyfriends current, witchy GF has signed the guest book! What if she's marrying my exBoyF who I've yet to really get over? Search exBoyF's names. Search exBoyF's GF's name. And the madness begins. Run to kitchen. Open Diet Coke to ease the pain.

That, my friend, is a lesson learned. Finally.

You Are 26 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Think Once, Think Twice, Think Beth Rountree.

http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi

P.S. This post is dedicated to my soon-to-be-far-away-friend. Just remeber Lauren - email knows no state lines!