Fun Monday-Celebrity Crushes

Jo Beaufoix is hosting this week's Fun Monday, and she wants us to tell about our first celebrity crush. Here are her instructions: I want to know about your first ‘celebrity’ crush. You know, the one you fancied from that band, or that film, or who read the news, or who won Gold at the Olympics.
Did you have their pictures on your wall or in your locker?
Did you dress like them, style or colour your hair like them, follow them, meet them, marry them? (It could happen.)
Photos of THEM would be good, photos of YOU at the time you liked them would be even better.
Also, if you have time, I’d like to know whether they had any influence over your life, the person you became, or if they were just an embarrassing blip you would kind of rather forget about.

Okay, this is a topic I can yak about for hours because I had soooo many celebrity crushes as a preteen and teen. When my brother reads this post he is going to roll with laughter at all those memories of me pasting posters from Tiger Beat and Teen Beat on my bedroom walls. It was bad, really bad. There were too many celebrity crushes to list them all, so I'll just focus on a couple. First of all, let me set the stage. Here's what I looked like back then.

How about that cheerleading pose, hmm? As Fergie says, glamorous...or so I thought. M*A*S*H was one of my favorite television shows, wide pants were in and saddle oxfords were back...for the third time. We took Pringles chips in our lunchboxes, and you weren't cool if you didn't have a Trapper Keeper. I had a crush on about half the boys in my class, but I saved my biggest crushes for the stars that graced my TV and radio. I flirted briefly with a crush on the Fonz. Happy Days was pretty new, and he seemed cool. But then my cousin from "up north" came to visit and informed me that the Fonz was old hat in her neck of the woods and anybody who was anybody liked that newcomer, John Travolta, from Welcome Back Kotter. So as not to appear a country bumpkin, I switched my alliance immediately. It didn't last long though because pretty soon I discovered the pop king that would make me swoon, cause me to watch The Hardy Boys religiously and cover my bedroom wall with dozens of posters....Shaun Cassidy.

Oh yeah. I was hot for Joe Hardy. I spent every spare dime I had on Tiger Beat magazine. I pored over his vital statistics. I could tell you his birth date, the names of his family members, his height, his weight and the name of his pets. I played his 45's over and over and sang Da Doo Ron Ron 'til my voice was done gone. It was bad. Almost as bad as my mother's cousin's crush on Elvis. Although, I never had to fight over my celebrity memorabilia in divorce court like she did. Just for fun, I zipped around the web to see what Shaun looks like today. Here's a little before and after action.

Hmmm. Not too bad, but what happened to that cute little backside? Well, I guess teen heart throbs get old too. Old videos of him singing his three hit songs are on YouTube, and by the looks of the comments, I wasn't the only one with a hankering for this Hardy Boy.

My Shaun Cassidy crush started to fade when my hormones really kicked in. I discovered a new man, one a little edgier and a little more dangerous. Ain't that just like a woman? Always falling for the bad guy. This guy rolled across my radio one day with Tonight's The Night and I fell hard. In fact, I never looked back. I dumped Shaun for Rod Stewart and his naughty music....his sexy butt (are you seeing a trend) and his spiky hair. My best friend, E., fell too. We worshiped at the Do Ya' Think I'm Sexy alter for hours, picking up the needle on the turntable and repeating the dirty parts of his songs to squeals of "Can you believe he said that?" Here's what my boy Rod looks like today.

He's holding up pretty well for sixty. I can't believe he's that old. And to be honest with you, I still have the hots for him. After all these years, and after those wrinkles set in, I'm still in love with this bad boy. I will be sad when he stops singing. I finally saw him in concert about twenty years ago. I was so into the show, I hardly spoke to my date all night. I'd like to see Rod one more time before he quits touring. I've been combing Ticket Master the last couple of years, trying to catch him close to home. He's getting close. He has an August show about five hours away from me. I may catch a little Hot Legs before the summer is over. In the meantime, I'll make do with my current celebrity crush. Have you seen his butt?

Girls, Girls, Girls

Sissy and I are going out tonight with a couple of mutual friends she hasn't seen in years. It will be a Girls Night Out. Holy cow! I haven't been on a Girls Night Out since...well, since the first Mr. Bush was in office. No kidding. I used to love GNO. When I was young and single it was GNO every night, but when you become a spouse and mother that kind of thing tends to trickle down. In my case, it completely disappeared. I never minded though. That's just how the world spins when you have bigger things to worry about than your shade of lip gloss or the latest dance move.

My family has always been a bigger priority than my gal peeps. My weekends are spent with Hubby and Teen Angel, and I'm fine with that. Hubby is my best friend. We like to do things together. I think it's important for couples to spend time together. Otherwise, it's easy to drift. Some couples take vacations without their children. Not us. We're a family of three, not two, so where the family goes, she goes. We even took her with us when we went to Las Vegas on a business trip. I just gave her the whole don't take any of the porn they hand you on the street and look at the Grand Canyon while we fly over it, so your teacher doesn't think you're missing school just to have fun speech. We had a blast and brought back rulers with a roulette wheel on them for her classmates. We're thoughtful that way.

But since Teen Angel is fifteen now and often has her own plans on the weekend and since Sissy needs social time other than meals with her parents at (say it on the count of three y'all) CRACKER BARREL!!, me and Hubby figured a little gal time wouldn't be a bad thing for me and Sissy. Problem is, it's been so long since I've done this I'm not sure what to expect. Could you help me please?

1. What should I wear?
a. Something tasteful and appropriate for a 43-year old woman
b. Something with an elastic waistband and the word Sass stamped on it
c. The latest trend from Hot Topic
d. My margarita print tropical shirt and matching margarita earrings

2. What should we discuss during dinner?
a. The Presidential race, the escalation of troops in Afghanistan and the price of gasoline
b. Various middle age ailments including unwanted hairs, swinging hormones & constipation
c. Hubby's colonoscopy
d. An old classmate's recent boob job AND tummy tuck

3. What should we do after dinner?
a. See a chick flick
b. Go straight home so we can get to bed at our usual time
c. Bar hop and dance 'til 2am
d. Check out that scrap booking workshop at "Cuttin' Up"

4. For the single dames in the gang, should we?
a. Refrain from discussing men unless they bring it up
b. Offer to hook them up with middle aged men we know
c. Stop for drinks at a local bar to let them check out the available merchandise
d. Order them that hot, hot, hot 2008 Houston fire department catalog (you know you're going to Google it, don't tell me you aren't)

Any feedback you can provide would be most appreciated. I'm really out of practice, and I don't want to embarrass myself. And at the rate I get out with the girls if I embarrass myself I won't get another chance to make up for it until...well....until another Republican lands in the White House.

Just A Hare Old

I have several little concrete statues in my flower beds. Not those big tacky things that look like a bent over grandma, but small little critters tucked among the bushes, grasses and flowers. I like to place them where you almost have to stumble upon them to know they’re there. I’m all about surprises, ya’ know. Most of them are rabbits, and I’ve had most of them several years. You know how you look at something so long; you can’t see its flaws anymore? (I.e.…spouses) I think that’s what happened to my bunnies, because I realized this week as I surveyed the yard that most of them are really starting to show their age. In fact, they’re quite a motley little crew. I probably need to sort and toss a few concrete critters. Take a look.

This is Jack. He stands guard over my fourteen rose bushes. He’s a regal fellow, but he’s lost his features. The weather has worn him smooth. That’s okay. Who needs eyes anyway? He can stay.

This little fellow curled up in my weed covered peony bed has lost his features, too. And he has a crack on his bottom. Not that kind of crack, silly. A real crack. I’m afraid to pick him up. He might fall apart. I hope he goes peacefully in his sleep, and I hope I’m not there to see it.

This bashful guy looks good at first glance, but he has a big crack, too. Stop that! A crack in his foot. Not the kind…oh, you know what I mean. Poor guy. I’d hide my face too, if I had bird poop on my head.

This guy isn’t so bad. He just has a chipped ear, but hey, none of us is perfect.

This guy is missing a little more of his ear. Ummm. Psst. Just let on like it’s hardly noticeable. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Well, Peter is missing parts of BOTH ears. WHAT is up with the ears? Did the ear fairy steal them this winter? Well, if we keep the last bunny, we have to keep this one.

Okay, this one is a little harder to ignore. This is Honey and Bunny. At some point, Bunny lost his whole dadgum ear. That must have been some honeymoon. That’s kind of symbolic of marriage, isn’t it? He only half hears everything she says. Hee hee. Okay, we’ll keep him around for a good laugh every now and then.

And finally, we come to the biggest heartbreaker of all. My dear sweet angel that sat under the old plum tree lost his legs. A storm blew him over and snapped his legs like match sticks. Bet that hurt. After his tragic accident we moved him to a spot where he wouldn’t be noticed except by the meter reader. Poor guy. I just don’t have the heart to do away with him. We bought him after my nephew died and named him Chance after my nephew. Wait! If we build a goldfish pond we could sit him on the edge like he has his legs in the water, and no one would know he’s missing his feet. Yeah, that’s it. Okay, he definitely stays, too. Is that it? Are there anymore? No? Hmmm. Well, perhaps I was a little hasty before. Perhaps, these little buddies have plenty of life in them, despite their handicaps. Maybe I should treat them as dear senior citizens who just need a little more care. And maybe I need to get my fanny out there and weed more often so I can take better care of them.

Allergies

If anyone needs me, I'll be out back ripping my face open, yanking out my sinus cavities and stomping on them. It's a shame I'm not wearing spiked heels. *($#@s&!!!!

This Quacks Me Up

We live in a somewhat rural area, but we are in a subdivision on the edge of our community, so we’re not roughing it by any means. The Pioneer Woman would love to be as close to a Starbucks as we are. We’re five minutes from Wal-Mart, seventeen minutes from the local mall and a stone’s throw from the closest gas station/Subway. We have a variety of small wildlife that roams through our neighborhood regularly such as squirrels, rabbits and birds. Most of those come because Hubby sets out food for them daily. He creates such a great spread for them we’ve actually seen squirrels lay on their stomachs and shovel in corn with both paws. One squirrel got so hefty at the Hula buffet last year that his butt cheeks hung over both side of the feeder attached to the tree. He was fat, fat, fat. A family of rabbits sets up residence under our shed each spring. Any day now we should see baby bunnies frolicking in the back yard. They are cute, cute, cute. Sometimes a possum or a raccoon will wander through the neighborhood, and last year, a coyote ran through our backyard. There are deer in the nearby woods, but they keep their distance, so we haven’t seen anything really wild. Until yesterday.

Yesterday morning Hubby was surveying the homestead, trying to figure out how much work the flower beds need (waaay too much), when he stumbled on these guys.

Now, this picture was taken with his cell phone, so forgive the quality, but look closely and you’ll see two ducks nesting comfortably where my peonies are beginning to sprout. Please ignore the abundance of weeds. He was so surprised he called me at work to tell me. I held my breath when he called because he usually doesn’t bother me unless: A-an elderly parent has fallen and can’t get up, B-Teen Angel is being obnoxious and in danger of bodily harm or C-something has broken and he’s about to spend major bucks to fix it. I was pleased to hear that it was just two wayward ducks playing in the yard. Surprised, but pleased. After paying taxes last week, we are broke, broke, broke. These guys hung out in the flower bed for a while and then toddled into the backyard.

When Hubby had his back turned they disappeared. He thought they were gone for good, but last night as we wrapped up dinner and I looked out a kitchen window, I saw them waddling down the driveway, just like they owned the place. They were in no hurry and appeared to be having a pretty good time. The dog scared them off before I could snap another picture, but they were sweet, sweet, sweet.

We have no idea where they came from or where they were going. Perhaps they just heard about the buffet. We didn’t see any evidence of an entire flock, and these guys were both males. I didn’t ask Hubby how he knew that. Maybe they just needed a taste of the city life. I don’t mind if they stay a little while, but I really don’t want them hanging around all the time because they will end up in the swimming pool if the cover is off and poop, poop, poop all over everything. They really are cute, though.

Evidence

1967

This photo proves two things:

1. I haven't always had skinny legs

2. I have ALWAYS had a problem keeping my hands off of cake.

A Little Rickie

You might meet me tomorrow, as all the lights are blooming green. And you’re feeling a little lonely, a little sad, a little mean.
Livin’ It Up-Rickie Lee Jones

Listening to Rickie always makes me want a drink and a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke. She wraps her boozy voice around lyrics written in shades of blue, indigo and midnight and hugs us with her hurt. It’s surprisingly therapeutic, and I like to hear her voice when I’m feeling a little lonely, a little sad and a little mean. I feel that way sometimes, even when life is good. Not in a depressed, hopeless way. Just in brief spurts that pop up when I’m craving the solitude I relish. When I’m in need of a little peace and reflection. When I need to reminisce and recharge. And sweep out the dusty corners of my mind. It’s at these times I like to sit in the hot tub after dark and soak under a swirling sky.

March 17th, 2008
I slip into the hot water, leaving off all the lights. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I want to be a silent observer, blending into the landscape as if I don’t really exist. To be a part of nature and its nocturnal beauty. I tilt my head back and look at the sky. There are stars tonight. They are beautiful, but I long for the tempest of clouds that usually holds court this time of year, fast moving clouds that race across the sky in search of a place to gather and weep. I smell the dampness of the air and catch a whiff of new grass. Before long the grass will turn bright green, and my friend summer will come home to stay a while. Until then I must be satisfied with spring’s teasing temperatures and pastels. The tinkle of tiny charms hanging from the patio umbrella whisper in my ears, and the dog in the next yard barks briefly at a distraction. My neighbors are tucked in their homes under the flicker of televisions and the glow of lights. All is calm. The wind sprays a mist of water onto my face. I close my eyes and drink in the quiet. I search for the source of my discontent.

The source does not come to me right away. How can I not feel good when life is so good? Why do I feel just a little bit empty on this day? My mind races back in time, and eventually I realize I am longing for my youth. It’s the changing of the seasons. Spring is a time of renewal. I want to be new again. Or at least newer than I am now. I miss the recklessness and optimism of my youth. The memories are flooding back. I am six and running under the cloak of dusk, chasing my cousins in a game of tag and then lightening bugs in my grandparents’ yard. I am ten and walking through the darkened yard to feed the dogs. I search for the big dipper in the sparkly sky above my head, wondering about the excitement in busier parts of the world and whether or not I will one day be a part of that. I am thirteen, reading by flashlight long past my bedtime and yearning for the beauty I find between the pages of romance novels. I am eighteen and sitting under another starry sky innocently swapping dreams with my first love. I foolishly imagine this feeling with last forever, despite the nagging doubts that are already in the back of my head. I am twenty-three and listening to the laughter of a lover who sits across the table from me in a darkened restaurant and captivates me with the stories of his adventurous past. I long for the same kind of adventure. I am twenty-five and rolling through the inky waves of the river on a boat driven by the bearded man who has captured my heart. We slow so he can pick out a path in the darkness, and I realize as I watch him study the landscape that I will marry him. It is an exhilarating and yet sobering thought.

It is here my memories start to jumble. They blend and sputter until I am tired of running down memory lane. I open my eyes and smile. The clock says twenty minutes have passed. All is still calm. The neighbor’s dog barks again. I see the motion light go on next door as Mr. R. lets his dog out for his 9pm walk. There is comfort in consistency, in the familiarity of my surroundings and my life. Sameness isn’t so bad, I think. Not as exciting as the unknown that follows youthful adventures, but reassuring. I decide to soak a little longer. I am not ready yet to be happy, again. Almost, but not quite. I tilt my head back up to the sky and hum a little Rickie.