Growing up, I watched a great deal of made-for-tv movies.  Why?  I’m not sure exactly, but it could have had something to do with the fact that we didn’t have cable at my house.  Not because we didn’t want to pay for the service, but because the cable companies didn’t run cable “that far out” in the country.  We did eventually have one of those huge satellite dishes (where some channels were scrambled but you could catch glimpses of what was going on), but for the most part, we had 3 channel options.  So, made-for-tv movies were often the only thing available to watch.  And then came cable and the Lifetime Network – and I don’t care who you are (macho or not), if you find yourself 5 minutes into a Lifetime movie, you are stuck there for the next two hours.  Whether you want to be or not.  (Man who married 6 women and each of them thought they were the only one? Serial killer after babysitters?  A teen who kills to be in a sorority?  Hooked, hooked, hooked.)

There’s a common misconception about women from the south that has always irritated the heck outta me.  Generally speaking, most people who aren’t from around here think that southern women are meek and mild.  We’re the types who people think will look the other way when our husband cheats on us, wouldn’t dare speak their mind about politics or religion, and certainly wouldn’t disagree with a man about anything.

This couldn’t be further from the truth.  The “southern belles” of today are quite different than those depicted in old movies.  We’re still charming, we still make a casserole out of everything (even pineapples), we still believe in thank you cards, going to church and minding your manners.  We’re still the best hostesses on earth, and we still can’t stand for anyone to “make a scene” in public (that’s tacky).  We can still hate your guts while smiling so sweetly at you that you’ll never know it.  We love a big wedding and getting our nails done.  We don’t think ladies should drink beer out of a bottle (or can), after all, that’s what cups are for.

But, we do think women should hold political offices.  We love history, but we’re not stuck in the past.  We speak our minds – in public and behind closed doors.  We’re educated (we might talk slow, but we ain’t slow).  We raise families, run businesses and volunteer (did I mention we throw one hell of a party?).

As country singer Miranda Lambert would say, “We’re just like you.  Only prettier.”

Some trends I jump on with the quickness of a cheetah.  Others, not so much.  Twitter, for example, isn’t something that I’ve gotten into.  I’m not sure why, except that I don’t think I’m clever enough to keep my followers interested.  That, and I hate saying “tweeted.”  It’s just weird.

Anyway, Pinterest was something my friends started talking about a year or so ago.  They began sending me “invites” left and right.  I didn’t get it.  An online pinboard?  Like the bulletin board I had in high school…but online?  What the heck would I need one of those for?  I wasn’t sure why, so I politely ignored invitation after invitation to join the “inspirational board” site.  The more my friends talked about it, though, the more I wondered if I should give in and see what the fuss was about.  Finally, after hearing about the 900th recipe someone tried after seeing it on Pinterest and then seeing a friend’s adorable nursery that was mirrored from a photo she saw on Pinterest…I decided I needed to give it a whirl.

Skeptical but intrigued, I created an account and started a few “pinboards” – one for food/recipes, one for fashion and one for home stuff.  Before I knew it (literally like an hour in), I was a total addict, pinning everything in sight.  A new recipe?  Why not!  A holiday cocktail to make?  Sure!  Bedroom furniture for my hypothetical children?  Yes, please.  Tory Burch boots that I can’t afford?  Absolutely!  Pinny, pin, pin, all night long.

I went to work the next day and struck up a convo about my new favorite thing.  Surprisingly enough, one of my male co-workers also used Pinterest.  (To be honest, though, I wasn’t that shocked, as he’s an artsy kind of guy who’s also hip and cool enough to pull off having a Pinterest account.)  I turned to the other male in the room, who is also artsy/cool and asked if he was a “pinner.”  His response?  “No.  When my wife mentions something she’s seen on there I tell her that I’m not pinterested.”

Hilarious.

Even more hilarious?  On Monday (two months after our initial discussion) said “not pinterested” male confessed that he just accepted a Pinterest invite.  Well, well, well.  Welcome to the dark side.

yay for:
breakfast in bed compliments of (who else?) the hubs
purple blouses and skinny jeans
quality family time
50% off at ann taylor
sleeping in
a fresh manicure & pedicure
my mom learning to skype
sugar free dark chocolate and peanut butter
seeing “the goonies” on tv and watching 15 (ok, 30) minutes of it
a rainy, lazy sunday

I’m not dead.

I do, however, have a new job. Another dog. A husband. And two daughters. (But no stretch marks. I didn’t birth ’em.) Long time no chat, eh?

I often wonder what happened in someone’s life when they stop blogging. (Like did they for real die? I could’ve sent flowers had I known.) In my case, I entered a “blue period” – I loathed my job (Well, if I’m going to keep in real up in here, I have to correct that. It wasn’t so much the job as it was “the management.”) so much that it sort of (or did) turn me into a Negative Nancy/Debbie Downer. And who wants to be around one of those? Trust me, you didn’t want to be around me. I didn’t even want to be around me. I’m pretty sure my dog put himself in the classifieds.

So, since I needed a new job, I had to start applying and interviewing for ’em. Times being what they are, I figured most people would Google me upon receipt of the ole resume – and finding this blog might lead them to think that I was somewhat of a liability. Especially those uber cautious politicians. They can screw up every other minute, but their staff can not. (If they do, they aren’t staff for very long.)

At any rate, I made this blog private (and allowed access to only those who asked for it) in an attempt to combat that. Once I did, however, I didn’t feel like writing on it. For some reason, knowing who was reading really inhibited me. The very reason I like to blog is that I don’t know who reads what I write or even if they like it – something you don’t get from posts on Facebook or Twitter. I like that people can anonymously troll through and don’t have to “have permission” to see it. I loved it when I’d meet someone who would say they had been reading my blog for a few months because a friend of theirs recommended it. I guess you could say that’s what drove me to post almost every day. Not wanting to disappoint someone who used it as a break in their day.

Making the blog private limited the amount of users I could “allow” to see it. At the time, I didn’t have the time or energy to move this blog to another site that didn’t limit users. So, I would type a post and delete it – always thinking to myself, “What will so-and-so think of this post?” It turns out that my give-a-damn-what-people-think isn’t so busted when I know who’s reading.

Cut to present day. I have a wonderful job with the coolest people on the planet. They are creative geniuses, those people. I started working there in October, and time certainly flies when you’re having fun. It seems like my first day was yesterday.

There have been a few other changes in my life since I last posted, so I’ll bring you up to speed on all that jazz in the next post. You won’t want to miss it because it involves a stripper…and a bear.

Ok, it doesn’t involve a stripper and a bear, but I had to say something to make you come back.

I don’t care for text message shortcuts for words. Maybe it’s the writer in me, but when someone uses, “u” for “you” – I get a little violent inside. I mean, you left out two letters…was it that much of a time saver?

Confession: I occasionally use def. for definitely, but that’s only because I say it that way.

Many people have asked me “What gives?” with the privatization (ok, that’s a stretch for that vocab word, but I really wanted to use it) of this blog. I wish there was some big dramatic reason, but: No, I don’t have a stalker, and no, someone didn’t leave a nasty comment, no, my boss didn’t insist, and finally, no, my ex has nothing to do with it. Thanks for the offers of hunting the “person responsible” down, though. I like that you guys have my back.

I created this blog in July of 2008. I made a decision then to have it linked to my real name, a decision that was fine at the time. But, as I get a little older and a little wiser, I see that sometimes it’s not always best to put your thoughts, beliefs and life on display for everyone to see. Let’s say, for example, that a board member from the organization I work for Googled my name (highly unlikely, but I like my paranoia, thankyouverymuch). The first thing that would pop up would be this blog – and boy could they get the wrong impression of me. I write things I wouldn’t typically say or express in any other format, because, in real life – I know when to shut my big mouth. Usually. (Side note: It’s always a bit awkward for me if someone I just met tells me they have read my blog, because I feel like they expect me to perform on the spot. Like, “Say something funny. Go.” And then I can’t perform. I’m rarely witty without a keyboard.)

At any rate, I appreciate more than you know the kind comments and requests to be added to my “safe list” of readers. Time will tell if keeping this blog private will stick, but for now, I’m putting on my biggest Jackie O. sunglasses, covering my face with my hand and saying, “No photographs, please.”

Wow, I’m such a diva. Thank god I’m not famous.