Advice

I have determined, after nearly 17 minutes of reflection, that I would be an awesome advice columnist.

People are always coming to me and saying,   "Hey, can you help me?"  Sometimes they only say it with their eyes, but the intent is clear.  Because I am that kind of person, I never let someone's shyness keep me from giving them what they clearly want from me: expertise and wisdom.

Perhaps because of the psychic connection my readers feel with me, several of them have already begun sending in letters asking for advice.  Here, then, is the first installment of the Folksy Folks Helping Folks Advice Column Blog.  (I'm thinking of shortening the name.)

Dear Folksy Deb,

I am an attractive, eligible man in my late 30's who hasn't found love.  By "attractive," I mean that I have long hair around the edges but nothing on top, but I wear colorful bandanas that I think have everyone completely fooled.  By "eligible," I mean that I have, personally, rented a bus.  By "late 30's," I mean "pushing 50."  I have tried to find Ms. Right by starring in several seasons of a reality show in which I choose several tattooed and scantily clad current and former "dancers" and pretend I like some of them.  What am I doing wrong?

Sincerely,

Dear Penicillin Consumer,

I have watched your show, and as far as I can tell you are a completely sincere, emotionally vulnerable, culturally relevant superstar.  It's not your fault the girls go wild when you walk through a door!  I have three words that express your problem: location, location, location.  You've tried finding love in a house, and then in a bus, so I suggest next time you try a luxury yacht, or perhaps a double-wide trailer you can set up behind your parents' house.  Perhaps a different time slot.

Deb.

Dear Deb,

I used to be a reasonably attractive but shrewish television personality who offended humanity with my very presence.  Knowing that my television show is coming to an end and facing nothing more than a life of being married to the stupidest man alive, I decided to up my notoriety by getting extensive plastic surgery for no real reason.  While I still look vaguely human, I can no longer perform basic human functions like crying or giving meaningful looks while club music plays in in the background.  What kind of future is there for me?

Thanks,

Dear Unrecognizable Until You Start Talking:

Fear not.  That crazy cat lady can't live forever!  You should make a lucrative living starring on such shows as "World's Craziest Plastic Surgeries" or "Ten Biggest Celebrity Mistakes."  Please pass on my love to your dear husband, unless you think that would make him start hooting uncontrollably, in which case please simply blink in his direction and think of me.

Deb

Dear Deb,

I am one of the world's most wealthy and successful entertainers.  I am an Oscar-nominated actor, a producer, and I host a television show that is viewed as a major religion in several countries.  I have single-handedly made and broken authors, actors, and musicians.  I have a successful magazine and appear on the cover of every issue.  I am not married but enjoy a long-term relationship, I have a wonderful best friend, and no children.  I am ending my television show soon, and want to know what I should do next.

Sincerely,

Dear Overachiever,

Here's what you do: in your last week of shows, you do a show about Blog Life and feature several amateur bloggers.  If it will help you, I will gladly volunteer to be featured on that show.  After that, you will sign a publishing deal with at least one of the bloggers featured (again, happy to serve) giving that blogger a three-book deal.

You're welcome,

Deb

Dearest Deb,

I'm considering retirement, but have not yet found someone who can take over my job.  It is rather an important one, and no one who has applied is quite up to my standards.  Might you know of someone who is interested in relocation and an exciting new career?

Hopefully,

Dear Your Majesty,

I'm pretty sure I know of someone who would be perfect for the job.

Deb

Random Confessions

Confession: I don't care for Michael Buble.  I know I'm supposed to like him, but the truth is, I don't trust anyone who was born after 1970 but claims to be "nostalgic" for the 1940's.

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Confession: I love real butter.  Salted real butter.  Salted, ORGANIC real butter.  I have been known to bake a tube of pre-made biscuits and consume at least a half a stick of butter with those biscuits over the course of a day.  (Okay, it was yesterday.)

*******

Confession: I cried when I read about Jesse James cheating on Sandra Bullock.  I really thought they were the real deal.

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Confession: I think tattoos make a person look unprofessional, unless the tattoos are on the face.  Then the person just looks insane.

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Confession: I talk to myself, and occasionally say things that really surprise me.

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Confession: I have never dusted anything voluntarily.  When I was younger, I was firmly convinced that dusting accomplished nothing, and I have not changed that view.

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Confession: Chocolate icing is wasted on cake.  Straight from the tub is the way to go.

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Confession: When I learn that a celebrity has undergone cosmetic surgery, I think less of that person.

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Confession: My inner monologue swears a lot.

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Confession: I judge any celebrity or politician based on their performance on Saturday Night Live.  I still don't like Michael Buble, but the sketch he did with Jon Hamm entitled "Hamm and Buble" was hilarious.  I am now lukewarm on the Bubs.

That is all.

Spring Break in the Valley of the Dinosaurs

Little known fact: dinosaurs once lived in Texas.  And I don't mean H. Ross Perot.

No, I mean actual, real dinosaurs.  They roamed freely throughout the Texas Hill Country, presumably until hipsters opened too many coffee bars and they became extinct.  Fortunately, Dinosaur Valley State Park in beautiful Glen Rose, Texas, memorializes this lost time in history for those with patience and a full tank of gas.

Here is Princess sitting in the fossilized footprint of a Sauropod, the class of dinosaurs that include Brontosaurus.

Here are Sven and Princess crossing the river to see more fossilized dino prints.

 Here is Dexy, sitting with me with his feet in the water.  That's as far as I got.

After exhausting ourselves at Dinosaur Valley State Park, we visited Dino World, which features hundreds of life-size models of dinosaurs on an outdoor path.

Welcome to Dino World!

 I don't trust that one, Mommy.

Run! Quick! I don't want to end up like Newman!

 You guys are funny.

 And we're done.  Home again, now!

Unfortunately, pictures cannot capture the way Dexy ran from dinosaur to dinosaur, screaming in fright when he saw each new one, but saying, "Bye, Dinosaur!" in a very friendly way when we moved on.

Neither can pictures capture the elaborate narrative Princess crafted, in which each dinosaur we approached told us, "You will not pass!" and then she would say, "Yes, but I am Princess, and I am a friend to all the unicorns!  You must let me pass!"  And then they would have a conversation about all of their mutual acquaintances, and we would leave as soon as the dinosaur had told Princess how beautiful she is.

It runs in the family.

Truth, Lies, and Burgers

Scene: Deb's car, after day care.

Players:

• Deb, a ravishingly beautiful yet understated working mom who manages to juggle home, family, work, and church without letting it show (other than that pesky facial tic and a nagging tendency to laugh wildly to fill silence), 23*
• Princess, Deb's adorable daughter, 4
• Dexy, Deb's impish son (non-speaking role), 2

Princess: Mommy, I have to talk to you about something serious.

Deb: What is it, my baby?

Princess: If you tell someone you are going to do something, and you don't do it, that's a lie.

Deb: That's right.

Princess: If you tell someone you are going to do something, then you should do it, because if you don't, that's a lie, and you're a LIAR.

Deb: Yes, honey.

Princess: And I don't trust liars, because sometimes liars will tell you that you're going to get something, and then you don't get it, and they lied to you, and you can't trust them anymore.

Deb: What happened, honey?

Princess:  Someone lied to me.

Deb: Who?

Princess: Someone who I trusted to do something good and nice, but they lied to me and I don't trust them.

Deb: What are you talking about, sweetie?

Princess:  If I say I want a hamburger, and they say I'm going to get a hamburger, and they give me chicken, then they lied to me.

Deb: What-

Princess: And then when they tell me, "You're going to get a cookie," and then they don't give me a cookie, I can't trust them.

Deb: Huh?

Princess: And not just me...they lied to DADDY.  Which is the worst thing of all.

Deb: Princess, what are you talking about?

Princess: We can't go to Whataburger anymore. They are liars who I don't trust who lied to me and gave me CHICKEN.

Deb: We haven't been to Whataburger in two weeks.

Princess: Because they are LIARS.

Deb: Okay, no more Whataburger.

Princess: Let's go to McDonald's.

Fin.

*32**

**35

Hanging on

I have a cold, again.  I'm coughing and not sleeping well and living on a constant diet of Fruit Breezers and water.  Time to count blessings.

1. Conan O'Brien has started a wonderful running joke on Twitter involving Justin Bieber.

2. Kevin Federline had a really important breakthrough on Celebrity Fit Club this week.

3. That horribly obnoxious girl on Sober House has been kicked out for punching a cameraman (on-camera!).

4. Lost continues to confound me, in a wonderful way.

5. Bret Michaels' bandana is getting its own show on VH-1, "Baldness Camouflage of Love," in which it must choose between 17 handkerchiefs to find its true love.  (Not really, but it's a great show inside my head.)

6. The guy on Tool Academy who cries all the time is still there.

7. Sven has not, to my knowledge, had an affair with a tattoo model with the nickname "Bombshell" who claims to have been "raised Amish."

8. New Moon: The Movie has been released on home video, which has proved to be a surprisingly effective sleep-aid.  Seriously, I can't stay awake through it, and I loved it in the theater.  Sigh.

9. The Princess and the Frog was surprisingly watchable.

10. Dexy has learned several new words and phrases, most of which I find encouraging rather than alarming: "Fire, again, dinosaur, one more time, help, knife, purse."  He also puts on Princess' shoes, grabs one of her play purses and hoists in onto his shoulder, puts on a pair of my sunglasses, and shouts "Bye, Mommy!" before tromping his way to the door, pausing, then announcing, "I'm back!"

Awesome.  I already feel better.

Living On The Line

Oh, how I adore teh interwebz.  (That's "the internet" to those of you who are LOL-deficient.)  I have found several ways to make modern technology work for me, in terms of wasting time.

(For the record, I in no way consider blogging to be a waste of time, so that is definitely not on the list.  Anything that makes me think this hard is not a waste of time.)

Yesterday I took Sven to an appointment with a "pain management" doctor.  Finally, I thought, we were going to get some answers about his chronic back pain, maybe even some relief!  Instead, we experienced a cruel irony: we did paperwork for over an hour, waited another hour, got into the office at 3:15 for our 2:30 appointment, sat back with a nurse answering questions we had just spent over an hour answering, all to have the doctor come in at 3:45 and announce that he wouldn't have time to do Sven's appointment, but they would call that afternoon and schedule a new one.  (For the record, it is almost 9:00 a.m. the next day, and they still haven't called.  If they haven't called before I finish this entry, there will be Deb to pay.)

So, by my reckoning, we spent nearly 4 hours (including driving time) with this doctor in what turned out to be a colossal waste of time.  Here, in order, is how I could have spent those 4 hours far more productively:

1. iPod Apps: I have several, including TapWord, My Town, Sudoku, Ask the Hoff, and Flashlight, but my favorite has to be Tap Fish: This is an app on my iPod that allows me to feed, breed, buy, sell, and flush virtual fish.  They die if I don't check in every so often.  (One can revive the fish for coins, just like in real life!)

2. Island Paradise: This has to be my all-time favorite waste of time online.  I can spend hours and several REAL dollars updating and rearranging my personal island, accessed via Facebook.  Here is a recent photo:

I'm so proud.

3. Happy Island and Happy Aquarium: These Facebook Apps cannot suck up as much time as Island Paradise, but they each require me to check in a few times a day to get the maximum benefit.  I have, thus far, resisted spending any real money on either of these, though Happy Island now boasts a Lost-style foot statue that I simply must have.

4. Kindle: Also on my iPod is my Kindle app, which lets me purchase and download Kindle books and read them on my iPod.  I love this, particularly downloading free books.  I've paid for a couple, but the majority of my library is free books.  For the record, I have yet to actually read an entire book on my Kindle, but I'm about halfway through Bram Stoker's Dracula.  (The book, not the completely awesome terrible 1992 film starring Gary Oldman and Winona "I Had A Future" Ryder, not to mention Keanu Reeves boasting a "British" accent.  Now I'm inspired to shape my hair into buttocks and drift about in a red housecoat for the rest of the day.  But I digest.)

5. Twitter: I recently coerced Paul F. Tompkins, one of my favorite comedians, to respond to a tweet I sent to him.  His tweet to me: "Agreed."  That's just the encouragement I need to continue cyber-haunting my favorite celebrities, hoping they will respond to me with just as much feeling and consideration as Humanitarian of the Year Paul F. Tompkins.

They still haven't called.

In Which Deb Attempts to Do the Dishes

5:30 a.m.: It's Saturday, I could sleep longer, but maybe I'll be good today and go downstairs and get some housework done.  The dishes haven't been touched all week...maybe I can load up the dishwasher before the kids get out of bed.

5:35 a.m.: Back from the bathroom, now both children are in my bed, fast asleep with Sven.  Yep, might as well go downstairs.

5:40 a.m.: Having stubbed three toes and bruised two shins because I didn't want to turn on any lights, I arrive in the living room.

5:42 a.m.: Ah, an empty recliner and an unoccupied TV.  I'll watch the end of this Law & Order and then do the dishes.

5:45 a.m.: Hello, children.  Yes, you can have cheese.  Let me get up to get it for you, then I'll sit in the recliner until the end of Law & Order and do the dishes.

5:47 a.m.: Yes, you may have some water, I'll get it for you, then I'll sit in the recliner until the end of Law & Order and do the dishes.

5:49 a.m.: I'll help you clean up the water, then I'll sit in the recliner until the end of Law & Order and do the dishes.

5:50 a.m.: I'll change your clothes after your sister spilled ice cold water all over you, and you can sit in the recliner with me until the end of Law & Order.

5:57 a.m.: There, nice and dry, and we missed the verdict.  Oh, well, another one is coming on...

6:47 a.m.: I must have dozed off with a nice warm baby boy in the recliner.  I guess I can get the verdict on this one, even though I have no idea what the case is.

6:48 a.m.: Oh, it's this one.  Yeah, it's a good one.  I'll watch until the verdict, then get up and do the dishes.

6:59 a.m.: I knew she did it.  Now to the dishes!

7:00 a.m.: Having put away one clean plate, something explodes/bleeds/cries/complains.

Repeat every two minutes until 9:30 a.m.

9:30 a.m.: Good morning, Dear, would you like some breakfast?

9:35 a.m.: Serve breakfast to Sven and children.

9:37 a.m.: Sit down with my breakfast.

9:39 a.m.: Clean up milk spill.

9:41 a.m.: Sit back down with my breakfast.

9:42 a.m.: Kiss wounded finger; insist child come to me so I can stay seated.

9:45 a.m.: Having enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, I now proceed to the kitchen to finish the dishes, having gotten a momentous head start by putting away most of the clean dishes.  In the bottom rack, anyway.

9:52 a.m.: Sven falls asleep in the recliner.  Children discover cache of fireworks in dining room and begin to quietly construct elaborate pyrotechnic display.

9:53 a.m.: Choosing to ignore the fireworks because at least they are playing quietly, I scramble to finish the dishes.

10:00 a.m.: Demands for cheese resume and continue for the next two hours.

12:00 p.m.: The dishwasher loaded, I retreat up the stairs for a solitary nap, knowing I have accomplished something in my day.

12:02 p.m.: Dexy joins me for a solitary nap.

Fin

My Secret Blog Entries

One of the nice things about blogging, one of my prime defenses of it, you might say, is the catharsis that comes from writing about things.  Putting your thoughts or feelings down, particularly when things are careening around my brain.

If you ever read Stephen King's "Firestarter," you are familiar with the concept of "Ricochet."  In the book, Andy McGee, who participated in secret government drug tests in the 1960's, has the ability to "push" people into saying or doing things.  The talent is referred to as "mental domination."  There is a danger, though, that someone who has been "pushed" can develop a "ricochet," in which long-buried trauma, obsessions, or secrets emerge and begin careening around the person's brain until the person goes insane or worse.

I can relate.

I am a worrier.  When something bad happens to me, or to someone I know, I get upset about it.  I worry about it.  I get physically sick over it.  It goes, around and around in my brain, until I would do just about anything to forget about it.  Of course, over time it lessens, and eventually goes away.  It usually stays away, too, unless an almost identical problem pops up again.

One of the ways I cope with this is to write wordy, sometimes scathing blog entries in which I detail every single thing I could say if I was allowed to.  Then I delete the entry, so I can't go back over and obsess over it.  The ricochet now quieted, I can go back to my life.

Unfortunately, that is no longer working; the past two weeks have been that hard.  (Nothing huge, but just a lot of things happening at once.)  I'm feeling the need now to talk to an actual human being, an urge I almost never have.  Someone who will listen to me, provide some feedback about what is reasonable and what isn't, and give dispassionate, sensible advice with just a hint of caring.

Oprah, here I come.