This is probably a throw-back. Some may even consider it to be a take-back if they were there, but with the entire hubbub about The Wiz Live! this last week, I just have to share… Continue reading
Category Archives: No-Take-Backs
Throw-Back-Monday: Just Like Ball Pits
Ball pits are the best. There’s just something about throwing yourself with complete abandon into a hard sea of multi-colored plastic balls. It brings out the child in all of us. Same could be said for foam pits and leaf piles. You lose all inhibitions and trust that your fall will be fine. You know that something is there to break that fall, catching you and comforting you until you do it all over again. Those are the moments that make life worth living.
We all love these moments.
Happy Birthday Big Sis!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JENNIFER JANE!!!
Birthday Girl
Pretty “Lady”
Owning those Betty Davis eyes since 1976…
Much love and gratitude from your rotten little sis.
The Music Challenge #15: I Fail
So I am failing miserably at this whole 365 songs over 365 days thing. However, through this journey I’ve realized a few things about myself (that I probably already knew deep down in the depths of my musically challenged soul).
1. I know nothing about music. I like it a lot. I think things sound nice or cool or have a great beat, but apparently over the years I’ve rarely invested in music enough to care about song titles or the bands producing them. This means if it’s not Madonna, CCR, Green Day or The Beatles, I likely have no earthly idea who is singing let alone what the song is titled, thus making compiling a list of 365 songs much more tedious than it should be.
2. My interest is short-lived. Maybe it’s because I’m tone deaf, maybe it’s because I personally have no rhythm, or, just like a performance piece showcasing unintelligible visuals like poems being pulled from an artist’s vagina, maybe I simply don’t understand the art form being presented to me, whatever the reason, I struggle connecting a musician to their work and quickly move on to the next tune that’s for me. I like a song or I don’t. I like a genre or I don’t. I want to hear more or I don’t. Who sings what? Meh … whatever.
3. I was much more invested in television and movies as a kid. While friends were spending all of their allowance on that Matchbox Twenty concert in Deer Creek, I was watching reruns of the Kids in The Hall or hanging on to every Pacey and Joey moment Dawson’s Creek could provide. Again, I like music a lot. Bought a lot of soundtracks so one sound wouldn’t get stale. I took the History of Jazz as a college elective because not only do I like music, I appreciate an array of melodies. Unfortunately, wide-ranging admiration doesn’t recollecting-a-specific-song-or-musician make.
4. For whatever reason (see point #2), the struggle with matching a song to its creator is real. Example – The Goo Goo Dolls.
My roommate in college was a huge music fan. Music was her everything and she literally knew everything. She knew albums, release dates, awards and artists like no one I’ve ever met and would always share them with me. She was my Mr. Miagi when it came to music. She’d explain the finer points and the histories or the inspirations behind various songs or soloists or bands, teaching me these little nuggets of information that gave me a new perspective on each piece being played. We’d be in the tiny kitchen cooking dinner and a song would come on and I’d say, “I like this one. Who sings this?” (which I did a lot) and she’d rattle it off right away. No hesitation. It was one of the ways we bonded… till I asked about the same song for the 17th time. I remember the day like yesterday …
We had just gotten in her Saab. Seatbelts were being buckled, she turned the key in the ignition and that song came blasting across the radiowaves.
Me: Who sings this one?
Her: (looking at me with the most exasperated expression one could muster)
Me: (puzzled) What? Do you not like this one?
Her: (continuing to stare, exasperated expression turning ino a death glare)
Me: I like this one. Who sings it?
Her: (quietly) The Goo Goo Dolls.
Me: (smiling and nodding) Oh yeah! That’s right! The Goo Goo Dolls! Well I like this one.
Her: (still glaring, now eyebrow raised) So you said. Like every other time I told you who sings this song. At least 16 times, Libs. Seriously! Did you really not know this was the Goo Goo Dolls? Better yet, how did you not know this is the Goo Goo Dolls? IT. IS. THE. SAME. DAMN. SONG. EVERY. TIME.
Yep. Couldn’t identify the same Goo Goo Dolls song at all- apparently multiple times. The song was being overplayed like every thirty minutes on every rock channel around. My three year old nieces would have known who sang the song. In my defense, one could argue that it sounded similar to all of their other songs and other 90s hits of the era, but let’s call a spade a spade. I’m a half-deaf idiot who can’t tell the Goo Goo Dolls from Collective Soul, or Third Eye Blind or Gin Blossoms or Smashing Pumpkins or Skid Row or Eminem or Yanni … Basically to beat a dead horse – I have the absolute inability to match a song to its creator.
There you have it – why I fail when it comes to coming up with 365 songs over 365 days. Will I reach my goal by year’s end? Doubtful, but we’ll see. That said, I give you several songs going into the holiday week that demonstrate why the struggle is real and the four examples that will never get mixed up in my mind.
Never to be confused with another musician or band, I give you Madonna, CCR, Green Day and The Beatles:
105. Madonna, Express Yourself (1988)
106. Creedence Clearwater Revival, Bad Moon Rising (1969)
107. Green Day, Basket Case (1994)
108. Beatles, In My Life (1965)
And here is the one that made my roommate crack …
109. Goo Goo Dolls, Iris (1998)
And here is the one that sounds just like it.
110. Goo Goo Dolls, Slide (1998)
Wait! This one sounds just like it.
111. Goo Goo Dolls, Black Balloon (1998)
Can we just say maybe it isn’t me after all … perhaps we really have been presented the same song repeatedly just with a different music video and title to throw us off their scent?
112. Goo Goo Dolls, Name (1995)
Sounds like Goo Goo Dolls to me.
113. Matchbox Twenty, 3AM (1996)
Goo Goo Dolls, is that you?
116. Collective Soul, The World I Know (1995)
Hmmm … you’re starting to agree with me, aren’t you?
117. Gin Blossoms, Til I Hear It From You (1996)
So obviously not the Goo Goo Dolls but, c’mon, folks. You’ve got to be feeling me by this point…
118. Smashing Pumpkins, 1979 (1995)
Throw-Back-Monday: Powder Puff
With football season in full swing, and because I have had a TERRIBLE Fantasy weekend against my bro, I thought I’d throw-back to happier times and one of my favorite high school moments – Powder Puff.
To me it was a right of passage but of course things have certainly changed over the years. Girls are now being allowed on football teams, they even have their own football leagues, but back in the day the only chance we had to partake in the sport other than in a few scrimmages in PE, was when you signed up for Powder Puff.
Powder Puff took place during Homecoming Week and was always on a Thursday, the night before the real game. We’d play on the big field under the bright lights and then we’d have a bonfire afterwards, throwing a dummy into the flames and cheering antiquated taunts that our upcoming opponents couldn’t hear. It was awesome. The girls of each class would get as many players as they could to outfit a team (it was iron man football at its finest) while any boys who had a good sense of humor and absolutely no shame would be the cheerleaders. Essentially one big role reversal for an evening, if you will.
It wasn’t tackle, it was flag, but we played like it was tackle. All of the classes above and below mine were much bigger in size, so they had more girls from which to pull a team together. Which is one of the reasons I was always so proud of our girls. We were hands down the underdogs every time. If we made a first down, it felt like a miracle. Though I will note we had several remarkable athletes on our wee little team, so I really shouldn’t have been so impressed with the little things. Just one more reason I loved my class and my Powder Puff girls. We. Were. Hoosiers. (any true Hoosier knows what means)
I honestly cannot remember if we ever won a game, but I remember the feeling of being on the field, of running the ball, of chasing a running back or blocking a wide receiver. It could get violent. Girls sneaking in shoves and hair tugs and elbows anywhere and everywhere. Pretty sure one of our players had to see a doctor about her jaw after some unscrupulous Junior kicked her in the face… but from our entrance to our exit, every pass, catch, tackle, huddle, and whistle blow was exhilarating. And we were a team.
To the girls in my class who stepped up every year so we could field a team, and to the boys who put themselves out there in short skirts and pom-poms, you have a special place in my heart now and always. Thanks for making my football dreams come true…
I think this was senior year. Regardless, these were some kick ass young ladies and I was proud to call them my teammates.
Running onto the field was the BEST!
The boys who had no shame … you were perfect in every way.
Cheering their little hearts out.
Something great was happening …
Libby V Clifford (part 2)
The game is afoot. I have three of my best players sitting a bye week and it’s time for Move #2 in Clifford’s and my War of the Roses .
Move #2: With Great Risk Comes Great Reward
Thomas Jefferson better be right. I have never researched my Fantasy Football picks as much as I have this week, delving into stats and predictions and theories and injury lists, etc. It was a bit beyond obsessive. I settled on a lineup at 8:25PM (our league locks in on Thursday’s kick off) willing fate be on my side.
Clifford had one player live last night. Only 3 points went his way. Granted it was his Tight End, but I’ll take it. Beggers can’t be choosers in a scenario such as this. Of course this is the week the Seahawks score 13 — on my bench. I have all my eggs in the Cardinals’ Defensive basket for Week 7 and it had better pay off bigger than the Easter Bunny.
Libby V Clifford (part 1)
Week 7 is Libby V Clifford. My team plays my husband’s in our league. Some might think there’s a conflict of interest in that, I just see an enhanced competitive spirit that keeps our marriage alive.
Big BYE week for both of us and we need substitutions. This is a week for bold moves.
Move #1: We’ve both been talking about the Cardinals defense, hardly waiting till today to pick them up. I may have set my alarm for 3:14AM to secure them. That’s 14 whole minutes I gave Clifford as a head start. He chose to sleep. Nothing I can do about that.
This.
To be continued …
Fantasy Football – My Happy Place
I know it’s been over a week, but I have had the flu. The honest-to-God flu, people. It’s as bad as it sounds. I’ve had horrid flashbacks to the food poisoning from hell along with an ultimate battle of remaining-coherent-while-a-sledge-hammer-has-decided-to-play-“Test-Your-Strength”-with-my-head unfolding not far behind . Just as it sounds… I also figured after devoting an entire month to my love life, you guys could use a little break.
What I want to talk about today is a new love in my life. I love Fantasy Football, and I want to shout it from the rooftops or jump on a couch with Oprah – that’s how in love with FF I am.
I was surprised, too.
Where has it been all my life? Better yet, where have I been to have only joined a league this year?
There’s definitely been a little bit of a learning curve because I’ve never played before, but it’s become an obsession for me. Clifford would watch The League on FX — I feel like I might be becoming those people. It’s also been fabulous because Clifford is playing with me. My husband, who I remind you is not from North America and has never been interested in football or particularly any other sports since moving to the States, has finally invested in one. And that sport is football. This. Is. Huge. It has sincerely taken our relationship to the next level. Watching him shout things at the TV about offside and holding makes my heart grow three sizes too big.
Yep.
And I’ve gone from interested to completely engrossed. I’m suddenly more involved in NFL stats and player performance and injuries than I’ve ever been before. I’ve always been a college football kind of girl and now I find myself living for Sundays instead of Saturdays (though I’ll still catch any college game to watch Notre Dame lose or Michigan win).
Fantasy Football is like the ultimate school yard pick-up game of kickball. There are captains and there are players. In Fantasy Football, you’re guaranteed to be a captain and you get to pick your team. Your choices have consequences, but you get to watch those consequences be played out on your hi-def TV instead of on a dirt field behind an old smelly gym.
I’m not leading my league by any stretch of the imagination. It’s my rookie year; cut me some slack. But the highs and lows of winning and losing week to week have brought back my competitive drive with a vengeance. Though it’s a much more mature competitive drive than what I had during school yard kickball. It’s healthier… Instead of pounding the nearest teeter-totters like a two year old after a heartfelt loss, I just pound a bottle of wine like my liver could care less (we’ve struck an accord).
Fantasy Football is my happy place. Living the dream …
The 10 Year Anniversary
Ten years ago today, I wed Clifford Stanislas Geiselmayr in a little white church at the bottom of a mountain near Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It was probably the best weekend of my life and not just because I was marrying that silly South African I met the second day of orientation, but because I was surrounded by love, not just Clifford’s, but our families’ and our friends’ as well.
I wanted to write this amazing post dedicated to our day, divulging every detail, but words really can’t articulate what I want to say. When I think back to that weekend and our wedding day, my heart just fills – with what? I can’t really explain. It just fills…
I thank God for my now brother-in-law who documented the whole weekend because it was such a whirlwind that when it was all over, I couldn’t remember much at all. Thanks to him, I have proof that it wasn’t a dream. And pictures do say what words can’t convey.
So with that said, I’m going to give you the Cliffs Notes version of events. It’s the version that my Cliff would prefer anyway.
There was a rehearsal.
The rehearsal was short and to the point.
There was a rehearsal dinner. With a lamb roast. It was an all day affair.
Preparing the lamb.
The lamb roasting.
The lamb still roasting.
The lamb finally done.
And then this happened. The best wedding gift ever!!! My Stylist Extraordinaire gracing us with an acaplla version of Sweet Transvestite. Love this man!
The Big Day.
My amazing mother-in-law the morning of.
Chelle mentally preparing for her speech that night.
Two beautiful sisters preparing to decorate.
Getting Ready.
Getting ready to get ready.
Still have a phone glued to my ear.
Makeup check with my sister-in-law.
I’m a sucker for suspenders and he knows it.
My mom and grandmother and one of my nephews ready for the big event.
Best brother ever being my bitch for the day.
Stranded and forgotten on the mountain top. Saved by my father-in-law. Late to my own wedding.
Saved the day. Hauled ass up the mountain to grab my girls and me to take us to the church wearing his tux and some tennis shoes. Couldn’t ask for a better father-in-law.
He can wear a suit. The man can definitely wear a suit.
Walking down the aisle with my dad. One of my favorite photos.
The shortest ceremony in all Creation. (it was seriously like 10 minutes in all – there were witnesses and I’m sure my dad was looking at his watch, so he can probably verify it. It’s fine, the preacher had to get to a Tennessee game anyway. He had season tickets.)
Done. This is where the flute blasted This Will Be (An Everlasting Love). Yeah … the flute.
So it happened. The wedding party was thrilled …
10 minutes that have lasted 10 years.
I think we were in the middle of the road here … fake laughing or something?
Dudes being dudes.
My gorgeous sister-in-law.
Then we had the reception back at the lodge. The top floor for dancing, the main floor for food and the bottom floor for football. No matter your interest, there was something for you. So we ate, and we laughed, and mingled. Then it was time to cut the cake.
Now I’m going to pause for a second in my visual narrative because the cake cutting really shouldn’t be a Cliff Note.
It was time to cut the cake and feed each other. It’s tradition. Clifford was totally adorable. He was smiling so much and just so full of joy (which is not a thing ANYONE would EVER accuse my husband of being). He knew nothing about feeding the cake to each other. Every little thing about getting married was totally new to him. Bless his heart …
We cut the cake together and he carved out a small piece to feed me first. It was one of the sweetest moments I have ever shared with Cliff. Anyone that knows him, knows he’s not one for sentimentality, or feelings, or caring about anything in general really, but this moment he was so engaged and so happy. I loved it. I absolutely loved it. I ate the cake he fed me, smiling back at him adoringly. He looked down at me all starry eyed and glowing. Then he opened his mouth for me to feed him in return.
Now, I readily admit I am probably a very wretched wretched human being for what I was about to do, but I’d made a promise to myself when I was a girl that no matter who I married, this was going to happen. So know that if I’d married you, I would have done the same damn thing.
I took the cake and held it up to him. He leaned in … then I smashed it in his face. And then I smeared it all around after I smashed it. Clifford was STUNNED. He just looked at me with the most stricken expression I’d probably ever seen him wear. Everyone was laughing. After a moment, he laughed, too, but he kept giving me a look like what the hell? He never saw it coming. It was priceless. But because I love him, I leaned up and kissed him, getting it on my face, too.
So beautiful.
So sweet.
So naive.
I think the part that sealed it for me was when we were cleaning our faces in the bathroom. There was purple icing everywhere (I was going through a purple phase – don’t judge). As we were wiping things down, Clifford looked at me. He’s only given me sad puppy dog eyes once in my life and this was it. The saddest, most pathetic puppiest of puppy eyes were on me as he said, in his little South African accent, “Why would you do that to me? I don’t understand.” I just can’t with this one!
I started laughing all over again. He looked even more confused. I explained to him it’s a thing. It’s a tradition to feed the cake and shove it in their face. I watched his eyes as he was trying to process what I was saying and then as understanding set in. “Oh.” He began to laugh. Then he laughed harder.
Clifford, suddenly not laughing: “But wait, then why did I go first? Because I didn’t know…”
Me: “Because you didn’t know.”
Continuing on with the abridged version of events.
Chelle smoaking hot after giving a great speech.
Darewood being Darewood.
Our first and only dance. Ever.
My Stylist Extraordinaire once again demonstrating how he is seriously the coolest Cat I know.
Did I mention Stylist Extraordinaire may have had a DANCE OFF with my dad? …. Yeah. They did – and to all who know my dad, seriously, they did.
One word: Evidence
The only drink I had all day. I know, right? And there was an abundance of booze, let me tell you.
Dancing? Singing? I don’t know, but having one hell of a good time.
Did I mention my dad looking at his watch? Always with the watch.
It had finally come to an end. My last memory of our wedding reception was walking to Chelle’s cabin with my husband in tow. We were staying there for the night. As we peered through the sliding glass doors to the bottom level of the lodge. There was my father, Clifford’s father, and my uncle opening another bottle of wine. It was 3AM.
Just add my father-in-law to this exact scene and that was 3AM on my wedding night.
And that’s what happened ten years ago today. I love you Clifford Stanislas Geiselmayr.
That moment everyone should have.
