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(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Hairspray haze, a couging mess.
Squinted eyelids shield me from the fog of beauty!
UGH!
Do you think it’s easy to get this beautiful?
Hair dye.
Shampoo, Conditioner.
Shave my fricking legs. Timberlines on either side of the razor. Holy Crap.
Lotion, “Slick me up like a greased hog! Whew Doggy! I want to get beautified, Momma!”
Right.
I hate lotion.
No dang lotion, okay?
Mousse.
Mineral freaking make-up.
8 cleansers.
Scrub.
Toner and 9 cotton pads later.
Eyeliner.
Shadow.
4 kinds of shadow, so you think I have some depth here.
I’ve got some friggin’ depth, okay?
Shadow primer. Give me an f-ing break. What a sales pitch.
Foundation. Yeah, we’re building a mountain here.
Conture color.
Bronzer.
Rouge.
Dusting Powder.
11 different expensive brushes. You’d think I was her highness, Oprah right?
Mascara on my puny, insignifigant eyelashes. Trying to make them more signfigant.
Okay, screw the lashes.
Blow dryer with a comb, and cone on the end. Makes it look like a blow horn. Helps me to yell at my kids. “Get out, I’m trying to frickin’ beautify myself. This is serious and dangerous business. Save yourselves! Get out!”
Whew.
Brush.
Hot Curlers.
ouch, Ouch. OUCH.
And, those ridiulous pins that are supposed to keep them in? Who the heck designed those?
Asshole.
These feel like hot coals in my hands. Burning, burning. Melting. Melting?
Aaaaah! Screaming.
“Get out I said!”
Bend all the way over in front of me and toss my hair around.
Toss, shake . . .
All the way forward . . .
Toss, and shake . . . open eyes
Ooops, forgot my underwear.
Where’s my freaking underwear?
“Who’s got Mommy’s underwear?”
Silence.
Cricket. Cricket.
Forget about it.
Today, commando.
Yeah! I still got it . . .
Stand up.
Spray that mop that I call hair.
Nice.
Hard, like a rock.
Hair should be hard like a rock, right?
Human . . . once again.
“Get out! I’m not ready, yet.”
Perfume. Which perfume am I to wear today?
Yes . . . there it is . . . “Eau de Bee-atch.”
Nice.
Okay, kids. You can come in and see Mommy now.
“Are you sure?” they ask.
Don’t worry, you won’t turn to salt . . . again.
I think.
See. See what I have to go through . . . ?
Do you appreciate me now?
—–
Be well,
Belle
A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
TO GET THINGS STARTED AGAIN, we’ll back track a little or you can get the whole prior parts of the story by ******* CLICKING HERE *******
So in need of FA… (Farmville Anonymous).
“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…”
“Go ahead honey, you can say it… you’re in a safe and accepting place…”
“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…FARMVILLE!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying).
There is a rumble in the audience. People twisting in their chairs. FA is a tough crowd, man… they have all survived… FARMVILLE! WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying again — can you hear the addiction in that cry?).
Sad, huh?
Sad. Sad. Saaa-aaad.
“It’s okay, Belle. How many times did you go on ‘the game that shall not be named?’”
And, I mutter through my sobs… I turned on my computer… and I never… I never got off!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying still more).
My husband and my parents are sitting next to me for moral support… they are shaking their heads…
“We lost her. She’s our only daughter… And, she’s… well, you heard her… gone… to Farmville.”
My dad pulls out a hanky and blows his nose. My mom… suffers in silence. Slight whimpering, her only evidence that she hasn’t fainted… My husband twists his wedding band around his finger… questioning his 2-year old, “I do.”
The tragedy.
Belle…. Lost to Farmville…
So my life has now hit a new level…
I would like to say it hit a new low, but that may be aiming too high.
It wasn’t that long ago that I scoffed those that posted their Farmville Photos on Facebook.
Ha!
Ridiculous!
Like, whoooo would ever want to do that? Right?
Well…
Hmmm…
Maybe I was a little too judgmental.
Yes, my husband reminds me that a mere month ago, I giggled at the thought of people taking pictures of their cartoon farm.
So, in response to that, I am here to show you pictures of my farm keeping skills…
Enjoy!
Here… You can appreciate the sense of order that I have here on the farm.
All my animals shoved to nicely into a row.
As you can see, I have the ultimate “brown-nosing” farming techniques DOWN.
Yes… things are a’blooming!
Life is grand now that I have invested in fencing, yes?
It is that I have two types of fencing here. I have regular white fencing, and I have my new “scary” fencing that is termed as dreadful, that I dropped $48,000 of precious Farmville coins on.
Somehow no one appreciates the beauty of my “goth” gatekeeping skills. My only concern is that I might not have bought enough of these overpriced limited edition funky fake cartoon fencing pieces at $1000 a clip.
Me, being an 18-year veteran of real estate commercial development (no lie), it is imperative that I get this set up just right.
Frankly… I have big plans, but in the beginning, if you would have checked my farm you might have noticed that even my cows have a house.
Five of them.
Yes, my cows had a house, but I was sleeping in the tool shed.
And, not even the big tool shed.
The little one.
That I got for free… from Farmville… because I was so damn fricking cheap to buy it myself.
Well…
I DID have plans, and I was working real hard… saving up my Farmville dough… hoarding my money so that I could make a cool million and invest the beautiful Villa mansion on level 34.
What can I say, baby? Real estate is in my blood.
….
Please, pity me at this moment.
I am now developing cartoon real estate.
So, like I said, I’m working hard on saving up my “experience” credits for the big digs.
Yep, holding out for the Villa.
Million-dollar price tag…
Until I noticed that level 34, the people at that level had about 80,000+ Experience credits compared to my 27,000 Experience credits at level 25.
Well, I don’t need to be a brainiac (or maybe I do) to understand that to get to level 25, took an average of 1000 credits a level.
And, THAT was a pain in the ass.
Now, facing a difference of 53,000 experience credits to be made up in 9 levels — well, that makes my new average of needing to accomplish approximately 6000 experience credits PER LEVEL from now on.
Well… crap.
Uh… Holy crap.
Can you tell that I was a Math Minor in college?
Well, let just say that I easily can breakdown costs to benefits… and basically I would have about a billion “Farmville” coins before I would even be allowed to buy the freaking villa.
Yeah… like that’s gonna happen.
I’ve got a life, man!
I can’t sit here nursing a cartoon farm up the wa-wa!
I ‘ve got things to do…
People to see…
Places to go…
Oh, yeah…
And, crops to turn. Hold on… My blueberries are withering….
….
…. … .. .
Okay, I’m back.
The blueberries are fine. I am sure that you were concerned, so don’t be.
Well, like I was saying…
I can’t wait for dang villa and level 34!
I can’t sleep in the tool shed… the little tool shed until the end of time.
It’s time to spend some freaking Farmville cash!
So, yeah… I bought the Dreadful fencing pieces… And, the whitewash gates… and a house…
And, a barn… and a silo… whatever that is.
Bridal arches. Maybe for my daughter’s wedding there… 
I’ve got a bird house, and a lawnmower, three lakes, a harvesting machine, a tractor, and a seeder.
I have spent a whole bunch on money on arches and entries and mail boxes… and…
Oh, wait…
Look here… a little greeting…
Maybe a Hello… How thoughtful!
Uh… Oh My…
Oh Goodness… “HELP ME NOW!”
“Or the Cow is… ?”
My heavens.
Hmmm…
This is worse than even I thought.
Worse than you even thought, I am sure…
Or the cow is…
What?
Or the cow is… toast?
Or the cow is… finished?
Or the cow is…
What?
Steak?
This is serious.
Now you all saw it, right?
That poor cow…
But, wait… another…
Farmville back to normal… Where did the message go?
It’s as if it were never there… the plea… the hope… the warning…
Gone.
….
TO BE CONTINUED…!
Be well,
Belle
78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Okay. First, we need to set a few ground rules here:
1. I was never going to play Farmville.
I think that it is important to repeat that first assumption here, so I’m to give it a subheading, and going to call it 1A.
1.A. I was NEVER going to play Farmville.
I mean it.
Next…
2. I don’t know how I’m supposed to deny anybody wanting to give me “Free gifts.”
That’s just rude.
My Momma raised me better than that.
Well… she did…
I mean, if somebody wants to give me a free gift, who am I to deny them the intrinsic beauty of this sharing of two souls when one bestows a gift to me, and then I to them…
Of course, I am simply going to lovingly accept it.
“Thank you, Dahhhling, for the fabulous Banana Tree. It does so come in handy when my husband is away…” ;-)
Yes… I will love and adore… cherish, even… every gift.
Even if it’s a lowly apple, cherry or plum tree (lowly as in Farmville standards, of course).
No offense, Dahhhhlings!
By the by… neighbors and friends… keep those Olive and Pomegranate trees coming, ya hear!
Sorry, I had to put in a plug for which free gifts I prefer now.
How sad is that?
Well, so the Lord Almighty, and my Farmville neighbors all know that Belle (that’s me) is a loving and generous receiver of all gifts great and small, and likewise I am a loving and generous gifter.
Shut-up… I am, too.
Everyday, I make a list of the people that give me the Farmville gifts just to make sure that I reciprocate and don’t accidentally skip anybody.
I need a fricking virtual assistant to keep up with the stress of my Farmville.
Yeesh.
Next…
3. I have never played an electronic game beyond “Guitar Hero.”
And for the record, I play a mean freaking guitar that has buttons on it, okay?
Don’t try to convert me to the ”real” guitar.
Not going to happen. No way. No how.
I would never cut my acrylic nails, and besides I think those guys are just showing off. The guys playing with the wire stringy “old-fashioned” guitars. They might think that they are more talented than we…
The true heroes of the guitar… the guitars with color-associated buttons on them.
But, we know better… don’t we?
Yeah… guitars with wires on them are old news.
Get with the program, man!
Buttons are “in.”
Just give me a guitar with buttons on it any day… and a couple of double AA batteries, and a Wii that’s plugged in… and I play a mean three-fingered colored-coded guitar.
Oooh, Baby!
Yeah, I know it’s got more than three buttons on it… give me a break.
I can count.
It’s kind of like painting by numbers… but for the guitar… with three to five colors… of buttons.
But, I play on the EASY level — which means that I only play with three buttons… and that since I am a woman, it further means that I am entitled to believe that the EASY level means “Easy Listening.”
And, nothing else.
Got it?
Don’t try to correct me.
We’d all hate for you to get on the “bad list” today.
So, let’s just understand here… just so that we are all on the same page and everything… I play on the “Easy Listening” level with three fingers, three buttons, and three brain cells.
Oh, yeah… And, I only play three songs… But, I am damn good at those three songs.
Right.
I digress.
So, I am trying to apologize in advance that my field of play in the electronic alter-universe is limited, to say the least… and even with that analysis, I am being generous… even to myself.
Next…
4. I’ve never liked any of those electronic games.
My son plays them with unbelievable expertise.
Not that I’m thrilled with that knowledge, mind you.
I know this because if he had his druthers, he would be playing his Electronic Games every hour of every moment of every day.
Without pause. Without food. Without oxygen.
Heck, let’s face it — the whole world could be caving in and he would still be shooting out power blazers on a level 39 “Alien Cucumbers Battle Mario’s Speed Racer and Godzilla Fireballs.”
His mad pounding of the keys… well, I just don’t understand the hopping and jumping around and disappearing exploding fire-gonzos and stuff like that.
Big deal, right?
So what, that he hasn’t eaten… done his homework… or blinked his eyes in four hours…
Mere details.
He can’t be bothered.
So, no… I was never really good with the game thing.
But…
Then all my peeps and buds on Facebook started sending me all these gifty things for Farmville…
Who knew?
A Pig here.
A Goat.
Two people even sent me some elephants.
Elephants?
Yeah… like those belong on a farm.
Right.
Guess what they make?
Circus Peanuts.
They make circus peanuts.
Hmmm…
I hate to break it to you… but those are awfully large “circus peanuts” that come out of a cute little elephant, if you know what I mean.
And… I wouldn’t recommend eating any of those so-called peanuts, okay?
Eeeeeeuuuw.
It’s just wrong.
Well… I had 82 (eighty-two) gifts sitting on my Home Page of Facebook.
Go figure.
82.
That’s quite a bit, right?
But… remember, I was NEVER going to play Farmville.
I have got no time.
Right.
My son nearly died when I told him that I had DELETED THEM ALL.
Yes, I deleted all 82 gifts.
I mean, what hell am I going to do with a pig that finds truffles, right?
I don’t even freaking like truffles.
Gag.
So, needless the say, “am-scray on the ig-pay.”
Until… my son showed me the Farmville light…
I never deleted any gifts again.
Eeeeek!
TO BE CONTINUED!!!
TO CONTINUE THE STORY ******* CLICK HERE *******
Be well,
Belle
78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Oh my gosh!
I have been working so for hard for this…
I am a winner in the 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition Winners – Memoirs/Personal Essay!
Aaaah!
That’s all I can say!
Tens of thousands of people each year compete in this competition — the biggest competition in the writing world, next to the Nobel or the Pulitzer…
And, I am a winner!!!
Aaaaah! Once again!
Double Aaaaah!
And, for me to not have anything to say except ”Aaaaah” … well, that’s pretty incredible!
Here’s the link to see my name and I came in pretty high on the list…
Aaaaah! Yeah!
Be well,
Belle
78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Okay, so I, @BelleKarper have to tell you about one of my twitter followers… and for the record, I am following him too… @BillZucker…
And, I don’t think he will mind if I post his new video which all of us tweeters I know can totally relate to.
You absolutely must see it.
I wish I had done it myself! ******* Bill Zuckers Twitter Song *******
Thanks a lot, Bill… it’s stuck in my freaking head!
I got it last week, but I had a lot going on soooooooo… Enjoy!
Love you Silly Billy!
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
So for all y’all 33,000 Twitter followers of mine ( @BelleKarper http://twitter.com/bellekarper – Let me know your twitter!) — I think it’s time that I share the secret (not really a secret), but the ease of signing up for FACEBOOK.
Now I know that some of you are avid Twitter followers, but it is so much more fun to communicate on Facebook because you can use so many more letters!
Like way more than 140…
First, you just go to the link here that I have for FACEBOOK and you type in your name, your e-mail, and give yourself a password.
Here’s where the scary part fits in for some people… you have to put in your birthdate.
Eeeek!
I know… I was bothered at first.
I mean… I am a woman, and am entitled to lie about my age, right?
Well, get your panties out of a wad.
Nobody does anything with this information and frankly when you set up your profile page you get to choose whether you want your birthday to be public information or not.
So… don’t be afraid of putting in the real date!
The fun part of putting in your birthday is that it notifies all the people who are your “friends” when your birthday is, and then you get a whole bunch of birthday messages from all your buddies.
So fun, huh?
Now once you get your account, you can fill out your profile… or not.
You can put in your picture… or not.
But, what you really need to do is put in a friend request for ” Belle Karper !”
Now, that’s not too difficult is it?
You can follow my Blog — Belle Karper’s Beauties and Beasts (I almost wrote Bastards there!! Ha!)
And, then click into my fan page!
You don’t even need to reveal too much, just friend me and then we can talk more over Facebook.
I’m digging it!
And… we can play Farmville together.
You can be my neighbor!
I’ve got an awesome farm — due to my son! He’s my Farmville Prince!
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Well, let’s just suffice it to say that I had to spray a lot of perfume on this morning. There was no time to shower, much less mascara my eyelashes. This game was just too dang early…
I’m not happy to admit this, and so I am not formally admitting this… but my husband informs me that I may not be a “morning person.”
Huh?
What does he know?
He is off riding the mountainsides in Utah right now.
He may or may not be right. I don’t have the freaking patience to find out at this early hour, but I did have a hard time waking up this morning.
Go figure.
My only incentives being:
A. To see my son play
B. To see my son play well
C. To see my son play well against ”dickhead.”
Now, I am not one to hold any grudges.
Like, I have almost forgiven that little bitch in high school… almost.
I don’t use the voodoo doll on her anymore… well, only semi-annually.
Heck, I have other things to do than live in the past.
And, that neighbor that I used to have living near me, emphasis on used to (and no, nothing mysterious happened to her… much to my regret. She just moved… how common, right?)
Let’s just say that when the book came out, The Devil Wears Prada, I thought it was about my neighbor.
Bee-atch, with a small ass and rock-hard boobs.
Yikes. I remember the first time she hugged me. I was bruised for a week from her plastic surgery stone tits.
Well, I am still in therapy over all of that neighborhood nonsense stuff.
No one here misses her dropping her garbage into other people’s cans.
Yeah baby, you can keep your dirty diapers to yourself.
Schtinky.
My dog misses them though. Evidently, there is something attractive with the scent of toddler diarrhea rolled in a Pampers disposables…
Eeeeeeuuuuw.
So, like I said I’m not one to keep grudges. So the fact that we are facing up dickhead and his team this morning is double-edged.
First off, I had to drive all the way back to my house because I forgot my chair.
I knew this was not going to be a good sign.
My sweet little sugar-coated ass would melt on the beauty of the morning dew if I were to sit on the ground. We can’t be having any of that wet dew sinking into my “down there” now can we?
Right.
So, I drove back to get my chair.
Gosh.
Secondly, I can’t help it that I express myself verbally.
Calling a kid dickhead seemed and still seems appropriate, and if the conditions arise again… and I feel the need to express myself in these and other matters, then I am bound by the “Mother Bear” Codes of Conduct to protect my little cub.
Regardless.
And… I am going to disregard the coaches messages left on my cell phone informing me of various muzzle supply shops.
A muzzle?
For who?
Dickhead?
That might be a little extreme for a 15-year-old, but I picked one up for him just in case.
I do understand the mouths of these babes, because I live with two teenagers and I could see how it could come in handy.
Like… everyday.
So, I bought him an extra-large.
Because he has an extra-large dickhead.
Du-u-uh.
I learned that from my kids… that “duh” thing.
Doesn’t it just make you feel good all over?
….
Well, right now… we are knee-deep in the second half and the score is one-to-one.
The kids are dripping with sweated competitiveness. Licking their teenaged chops for this victory that is due them. The tension hovers over the parents around me.
And me… well, I am in a catatonic stare… they are all navy colored enemies against our white shirted boys, and now those 15-year-old little penile wannabes threaten our good Saturday.
They have kicked two of our guys in the balls.
Hard.
One of their players received a red card.
And if that is not enough, they have tackled my son to the point where he was lying on the ground for literally two minutes.
Just lying there.
Unmoving.
And, I was not allowed to go on the field.
Mama bear does not like this part.
And, I’m going to tell you that two minutes is a very long time when your son is in pain, on the ground and not moving.
….
I would like to say that we won the game, but we did not.
We played a hard fight, but a clean one.
I left my comments until after the three tweets of the whistles were heard, signaling the end of the game.
Then I let a few “explicatives” fly…
A tough loss for all…
For us…
For other dickheads across the world…
And… for the world…
I don’t think that I am over exaggerating here, when I say that this IS a tough loss for the entire world…
Tragic.
And then of course, we all went to CoCo’s for breakfast.
Hug, hug, kiss, kiss, Y’all — Even you with hard boobies — Still love ya! xoxo
The is the final to:
If you don’t know who dickhead is … ***** Then Click Here *****
A must read story.
A follow-up story with pictures is ***** Here*****
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
I told you yesterday that my husband is away…
I am home sitting twiddling my fingers…
Doing housework…
Dusting…
Cleaning toilets…
Yeah, right.
Ah-hah! That’s that biggest laugh!
My husband would say, “Hello… who are you… and what have you done with my wife?”
And unfortunately (or fortunately), he would mean it.
Dang.
He knows me too well.
Well… like I said he’s off climbing mountains on the back of a ridiculously expensive bike.
Before I met him, I didn’t know that there were bikes that cost more than $150.
Naive.
I try to buy him something for his bike at Big 5.
Stupid.
“Honey… please, don’t…” he would say. And, he would mean that, too.
Well, he spends very little money on himself, and all of what he does spend is wrapped up in his biking “stuff.”
So… now I bike, too.
I’m great.
As far as you know.
Actually, I am pretty good, but not nearly as accomplished as he.
What do you expect? He’s been doing this for 20 years!
Competed internationally.
Man, he kick’s ass!
Yep…
So, here’s my honey. He’s riding in Utah, like I said.
Just look at his surroundings…
Evidence of beauty.
This is Utah!
Woah! Man... riding on the edge of THIS!
Don't fall, Honey! That rock stuff is actual ROCK. Hard. Not soft... like me. Miss me?
Just another beautiful thing. Gosh.
"Uh... Pardon me...uh, Mr. & Mrs. Cow... Did I wander onto Belle Karper's FARMVILLE?"
He took this picture to remind him that he is a Gooseberry when I am not around to remind him.
My MAN kicking back after a hard day of riding... the bike.
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
So, I’m sitting at the game. The soccer game. The sport that my son loves, and is “uber” talented at.
What a fricking irritating word that is… “uber?”
Since I’m not from Europe I don’t feel like I have the right to use it.
Uber. Uber. Uber.
Screw it. I’m feeling more European already. I have the unshaved legs to prove it.
Furthermore, my husband is sitting next to me… He reminds me that I neglected to shower today.
Dingleberry.
But, I love this dingleberry, but he still a little bit of a Doo-Doo… for reminding me.
What can I say?
He’s right.
This is the second day in a row that we’ve had to wake up so early in the morning after a Friday night and Saturday night of partying, but I just didn’t have it in me to wake up early enough to take a shower this morning.
Yeah.
So… I’m a little shtinky.
I want to make a formal apology to everybody that had to sit near me.
So here it is…
….
Did you hear it?
The apology?
It was faint, I know.
But, it was there. I assure you. I swear on a stack of Victoria’s Secret catalogs that I apologized… for being “gamey” at the game.
Will you forgive me?
I just want you all to know that I put on extra deodorant…
And, a lot of strong perfume spraying was going on in my bathroom before we left.
Only the strongest perfume, I might add.
And, only the best.
When I stink, I smell good doing it, at least.
And, I wore a hat, so that the strands of my hair would be tethered down instead of full flare in the bright of the morning sun.
No hair flaring, right?
I’ve got it covered, y’all.
I’m not going to embarrass anybody here.
People tend not to sit next to me anyway because I’m the loudest one on the field.
IS THIS A FRICKING SURPRISE HERE?
People from the other side of the field are still talking about some of my comments…
NORMALLY …. I am the person cheering the loudest for BOTH sides of the team. When someone makes an excellent play — I cheer for it, despite which side they are on. I am the token parent that is always yelling “Go! Team! Go!” Ever present for every move that they make on the field. I don’t care if they make a bad play, I just keep yelling, “Keep on kicking! Keep up the pressure! You guys are great!”
I can’t help it… it’s in my blood.
I was a cheerleader in Junior High, High School, and at the University of Arizona — Baby, it is in my blood!
However, today… something happened…
Babies…
Well, I tried to be polite by giving that kid from the other team the ball when it almost hit me, but when he found out that it was ”our” throw in, he kicked it away from our boys and me…
I can’t help that I happen to call him a “dickhead.”
Just like he can’t help being one, I suppose…
But, that was just a rude thing to do…
Here I was being kind, and all… to the other team, I want to remind you… and here, the little “dickhead” kicked the ball away from everybody when “nanny-nanny-boo-boo” he found out that it wasn’t “their” throw in…
Meanie.
They are in high school and old enough to know better…
My husband is still trying to convince me (in front of my son) and I didn’t actually mean to call him a “dickhead.”
And, I keep telling my husband, also in front of my son, that I DID intend to call him a “dickhead”… It’s just that I DIDN’T intend for the other side to hear it…
Including the parents across the field…
Evidently, they heard it, too.
Eeeeek!
Hmmm…
My son was laughing when he heard it, and shot the opposing procreators “a look” when they gasped at my social faux pas.
Pardon me… but my subconscious seems to have belched…
Oops.
I’m going to blame it on the fact that I didn’t shower today. That the little stinky part leapt into my brain, and caused me to do wild and unspeakable actions… even though they are irrepressibly true…
I can’t help it that my voice carries…
Dang, I hate that when that happens…
Yeah… Well, I just wanted to tell you all that my son’s team, that really does play a clean game of soccer (seriously folks, I am not making this up) that his team won the 35th Annual Best Sportsmanship Medal for the entire League today…
This is TRUE and they are deserving.
They are THE BEST.
Truly.
Despite my “dickhead” comment…
Now, I am going to leave it open here as to whether you think I am calling myself a ”dickhead” in that last line of relaying this story to you…
Maybe, I’m feeling a little bad here.
Maybe.
Maybe he’s a great kid… depsite me??!!
Waaaa-aaah-ahhhh … aaahh (this is me crying…) Sniff… sniff…
I can’t help that I am only human… a human mom… with feelings… and energies… and a fricking mouth…. Waaaa-aaah-ahhhh … aaahh (this is me STILL crying…) Sniff… sniff…
I am so proud of he and his teammates for rising above the name calling on… sniff, sniff… (and evidently off) the field…
Love me… in spite of me!…
My Star Player wearing his 35th Annual Sportsmanship Medal -- Best in entire League!
Our Great Team! "The Boy" Front Row, 2nd from Right
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)
So, it goes like this . . .
Well, really, I don’t know what I can say that goes much beyond that title, do you?
However, being the wordsmith-y (is that actually a word?) girl that I am… I am going to try… (Wink, wink.)
So…Sephora… my beloved, Sephora…
How do I love thee, let me count the ways…
I love the to the depth, girth and breadth my ass can reach.
I love thee… that you are in almost every blooming mall that I have ever shopped… and if that is not enough… you are helping me to spend more of my money by opening more stores in lucky select JC Penney’s across the United States.
Bless you, because I thought you weren’t really giving me enough opportunity to spend my money already.
Now, I have yet another reason to walk into a JC Penny’s for more than just the $12.99 sitting fee in your Photo Booth center.
I used to take my kids there for their baby pictures… but now I just go there to harangue high school part-time photographers by sitting in making ju-jee faces in the camera.
Trust me.
They love it.
Right.
I digress.
Sephora…
Ah, yes… my beloved, Sephora…
I love thee to the extreme that my credit card can reach…
I love thee for your precious vials of wrinkle erasers…
You are so kind to give me samples in little plastic cups to take home… sure to lock me into the use of yet another $130 an ounce wrinkle cream for the rest of my life.
Bless you… again…
I have no more counter space in my bathroom due to your generosity.
Thank you to you, beloved, Sephora… for the fact that every time I walk into the house from one of your stores I smell like a perfumery…
“Honey, do like this Gucci fragrance?” And, I stick out my arm.
My husband puts his nose above my arm, “No, not there, honey. That’s Chanel. You have to move your nose up 3 inches toward my elbow.” My husband still hovers his nose above my arm… “No, honey, not there, that’s a Britney Spears fragrance that I despise… Uh… How about this one on the back of my wrist — that’s the new Thierry Mugler… what do you think?”
Poor guy… he doesn’t realize that I have sprayed 24 different fragrances on the fronts and backs of each arm, behind each ear, and between each toe…
“So, which one do you like, honey?… Honey? Honey?… What, baby?… You don’t look so good…”
He has now turned a little pale, and evidently has sprouted a migraine from all the combined scents that will now reside for the next 24 hours on my little piece of “sumpin sumpin” that he was hoping “to get some” from later.
“Honey, I am only trying to make myself more attractive to you, baby.”
No response.
…
Whatever…
My beloved Sephora…
A rainbow of makeup choices for every type of skin, for every type of look, for every holiday… including Halloween.
Grandiose eyelashes, eyeshadows that you never think that you would actually wear…
“Just sit right down and let me give you a little demo…”
And, of course, after said demo, you are walking out of there looking like something out of a Cosmo magazine.
You are looking absolutely divine!
However, after you’ve spent $700 to get all of that absolutely divine looking stuff that will give you that absolutely divine looking “look,” you take it home and try to re-create that divine looking “look” and walk out of your bathroom looking something more like Frankenstein’s cousin… Frau Hosselheimerbrau… albeit, with great eyelashes.
My dear, dear Sephora…
You even let me take home little spritzers the perfume for my husband to try.
I love those little testers that you guys make up for him.
All different kinds of men’s fragrances. You are just too generous.
Of course, he has never tried any of these because I have never given them to him… those little darn fragrance sprayers are just too cute.
I have to hoard them for myself, even though they’re full of men’s fragrances. I think I have about 23 of them…
Those little baby perfume sprayers…
Eeeek! I’m in love with them!
What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? …
Honestly though, I could go on all day about the attributes of Sephora…
My knees get weak when I walk by their black-and-white striped storefront.
I get a little “oodle” in my “hoo-haw” just thinking about it.
Eeeek!
Yup, this is a Sephora “O!”
I just need about 30 seconds to myself…
….
Yes, it’s a fact…
I am happily a Sephora “Ho,” and I have the credit card statements to prove it.
Plus, I have 2473 Points in my “Beauty Insider” account…
So…
Let’s go shopping!
Be well,
Belle
S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!
