The Dog Ate My Pants Defense

So, after a fun-filled night in Athens for Kinger's engagement party, I groggily awoke and after consuming enough bacon to make me feel like a human being, I decided it was time to struggle into clothes and get on the road.  I pulled on my tee and cardigan, rooted through the clothes scattered around Kinger's childhood bedroom, and slipped on my pixie pants.

Which were quite drafty.

"Oh my word!  I have eaten entirely too much bacon and split my damn pants!" were the first thoughts that flew through my bleary brain.  Hmmm.

I was a bit relieved when I removed the air-conditioned britches and discovered chew marks.  Kinger's devil dachshund, Lula, had eaten out the seat of my pants. I was faced with a conundrum- I could wear my gold and black full skirted cocktail dress, bottom-less pixie pants, or my lime green and fuchsia cotton pj pants.  I chose the latter, and prayed I wouldn't have to get gas or you the facilities on my four hour drive home.

In case either of the above became a necessity, I chose to go home through the mountains- a bit longer than driving through Atlanta and Chattanooga, but far less probability of seeing anyone I know.

Zooming on up the highway, rehashing all the gossip from the night before on my phone, I was completely unaware that the speed limit had changed from 65 to 55. However, the cop that was behind me was quite aware.

Now, I was just too worn out to even attempt to get out of the ticket.  I merely queried when the limit had changed, then settled down to read my new Town and Country while he wrote the ticket.

Of course, I did have to explain to him that I was speeding for a perfectly legitimate reason.

I had to go to the restroom and the dog ate my pants!

Yeah, I still got the ticket.

Halloweenie

Our first fire was lit, a scrumptious assortment of candy was purchased and ready to be gifted to small children adorably costumed, and chili was made.  The chili was about the only positive aspect of this first Halloween in our new house.  Adapted from Jenna's recipe, this white chicken chili was delish.

White Chicken Chili
1 head cauliflower
2-3 tablespoons of olive oil
1 rotisserie chicken (or cook your own fryer)
1 inion
3-4 cloves garlic
2 cans great northern beans
14.5 ounces chicken broth (plus an additional 1/2 cup)

2 7-ounce cans chopped green chilies
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp cayenne
1/2 cup half & half
8 ounce reduced fat sour cream

Heat the oven to 400.  Break apart the cauliflower and toss with a couple tablespoons of olive oil and sprinkle with kosher salt. Roast on a baking sheet until browned- about 25 minutes.
Heat the oil in a large pot over medium high heat. Add chopped onion and sauté for about six minutes, or until the the onion is translucent. Add the garlic and cook for another three minutes. Add chicken and stir.

Add the beans, spices, chicken broth and green chilies and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for thirty minutes.

Meanwhile, remove the cauliflower from  the oven and put in a large bowl.  Add a 1/2 cup of chicken broth, and puree with an immersion blender (or put in a blender).  Add to the chili and cook another 10-15 minutes.
Turn off the heat and add the sour cream and half & half. Serve with cheddar cheese and additional sour cream to top.


I also made Seven Layer Brownie Bars, so great was my excitement.  This is not for the faint of heart or the watcher of the waist.  But it's good!

1 box brownie mix
1 stick of butter
1 heaping cup of coconut
1 cup butterscotch chips
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 heaping cup pecans
1 can sweetened condensed milk

Preheat the oven to 350
Melt the stick of butter and spread it along the bottom of a 13x9 pan
Sprinkle the brownie mix on top
Sprinkle coconut, then butterscotch, then chocolate chips, then pecans on top.
drizzle the milk all over the pecans.
Bake for 45 minutes.
let cool completely.

Sounds awful rich!

I know, that’s why I serve it over ice cream to cut the sweetness.*

So I got all cozy in the living room, wearing my slippers and rabbit ears, reading my new magazine and anxiously anticipating my first trick or treaters, ever!  Growing up, our house is down a long windy then-country road, so we had to go to our friends' neighborhoods, and never had trick or treaters.  But now was the time!

Or not.

This is about 9 O'Clock when I got teary-eyed realizing we were not going to have a single child knock on our door.  Not even a lackadaisically dressed teenager. Laughing, Hubs comforted me (I was laughing too, as my reaction was ridiculous).  But I was SO disappointed! 
Our new neighborhood is connected to two major trick or treating hoods, so I think you just toddle over to those if you live in our area.  Boo.

Does anyone need any candy?  Lord knows, we've got plenty leftover.  Sob.

*What movie ladies?

Oh Dear, Country Wrong

For some reason Blogger decided to delete the entire post I wrote last night.  Not cool, internet.

Here's the gist of it-

Gywneth Paltrow is starring in a movie Country Strong, which comes out first week of January (clunker week).  She is totally weird casting for the part, rant, rant, rant about accents etc.  Her voice sounds fine, but she went to Spence!

It won't embed properly, so please go here.

Who do you think would be better? How great would Miss Cutie Patootie, Rachel McAdams, be??

Excuses, Grocery Store Feet, Cleaning, Liars, and Blowing Stuff Up

Dear Readers- have you abandoned me to to my terrible neglect?  I wouldn't blame you- it's been practically a week since I have posted a thing!

I could give you all the excuses in the world (work is insane, we close on the house on Friday, and I can't quit with social obligations, and have been going out on the boat instead of dealing with all of the above). . .but I think some random thoughts are far more in order.

1.  I can't stop munching on olives.  My fingers are horrendously swollen- in competition with the thousands of skeeter bites covering my white trash legs.  My trainer remarked on my flea market legs and enquired whether I had grocery store feet as a child.  Why yes, in fact I did.

2.  I am supposed to be cleaning the condo (a) in preparation for putting it on the market, (b) because it is so cluttery and messy that I can't stand it, (c) it's taking me an extra 15 minutes in the morning to get ready because my wardrobe is in such disarray, and (d)  Hubs comes home on Thursday and I like to lord it over him pretend that I am far neater and therefore genetically superior act like I am tidy.

3.  I had a pool party Saturday during the day, and then attended a different pool party Saturday night.  I wore this swimsuit and got tons of compliments from males and females alike.  As a Leo, I thrive on compliments.  Have y'all noticed much?  Hee.  Anyway, it was ideal because I made and partook in pool food (hot dogs, chicken fingers, fries, and watermelon) during the day party, and imbibed quite a number of white wine spritzers that night.  However, the pooch (y'all know what I'm talking about)  was covered by ruching- flattering and comfortable.

4.  Are y'all watching Pretty Little Liars?  It's my teeny bopper addiction which I am currently tuning into instead of hanging clothes and cleaning the kitchen.  For those watchers, is this teacher creepy or what?  Am I too old?

So- I am working on answering all your wonderful questions, packing and gearing up for my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE HOLIDAY IN THE WORLD!!!!

Yes, I love Fourth of July- lake, grilling out, drinking beers, and blowing stuff up.  Most American holiday ever, by damn.  Screw Thanksgiving, I'd take fireworks over turkey any day of the week.

So ladies (and my 2 male readers) fill me in!  What is going on-  4th of July plans?

Well, the Weirdness Continues

Oh law, I had so many reminders about all the other weird things about me yesterday.  Several friends expressed concern that if you readers knew what a freak show I am, then you would abandon me.  Thanks, ladies, but I know my readers are loyal.  Or at least I hope so!

First of all- the way I hold my writing utensil. It's very ungainly and awkward looking.  You have been warned.

That's my list of things that were brought up to tell y'all about.

1.  Pic of pencil holding- done.

2.  Love for J.Lo and Beyonce.  I think Miss B. love is not that odd, because, I mean- she sings, invents dances and is married to a gangsta superstar who introduced Pharrel into my life.  Perfectably justifiable.  However, J. Lo?  I don't know- I just adore her.  MOH and Tins share this extreme love of all things Jennifer Lopez. She's from the Bronx, what can I say?

3.  Ah, the dinosaur.  Like I said, I can't burp.  The air has to go somewhere, and it takes a while before reaching your, ahem, other end.  So my stomach makes this noise, which I refer to as the dinosaur.  It's a wonder I've ever kissed a boy, as my tummy tends to begin its cacophony just in that moment when you are about to lock lips.  One of the best moments of all time. . .ruined by the dinosaur.  One sweet boy was very concerned that my tummy was rumbling due to hunger, and started feeding me potato chips.  Mmm , Zapps salt and vinegar make-out session.

4.  I can't snap, whistle or do a cartwheel.  Yeah, coordination is not one of my strong suits.  Hubs can not snap either.  Our poor offspring are either going to be the loudest finger snappers in the world, or made fun of in elementary school.

5.  I am always thirsty and drink a ridiculous amount of water, tea, and any other beverage that's calorie free.  When I was in Africa I drank 12 liters of water a day. 

6.  I refuse to listen to U2 unless it's raining, or night.  I have several other really weird music listening guidelines, but that is the only one which has been brought to my attention based on the former post.  If I think of any more I'll be sure to let you know.

I'm sure my friends will bring about eighty kajillion more quirks to my attention, but that's all y'all are getting.  Have a lovely weekend ladies!

Getting to Know You

So a lot of my friends have been asking me whether you dear blog readers know certain things about me.  Mainly quirky things. . .which it seems composes the majority of my personality.

1.  I never wear pants.  Seriously- pant suits and me look horrible (see Number #8).  I think jeans are extremely uncomfortable. 

2.  I can't burp.  Never have, and the doctors don't know why.  This makes drinking beer and my diet coke addiction rather uncomfortable at times.

3.  I refuse to drink beverages with calories besides alcohol.

4.  I read probably 3 books a week.

5.  I adore going to the grocery store.

6.  If I had my way, I would take a solid 2-3 hour nap every day.  Unfortunately, this lawyer gig gets int he way of my preferred napping schedule.

7.  I detest washing my face at night. . .then complain about my skin being bad.  Honestly, other than drying  my hair, this is my least favorite part of my day. 

8.  My body is shaped like a keg on toothpicks. 

9.  I am not a hugger or a cuddler.  However, I am a very friendly and loving person.  Just not a touchy one- although I've gotten better? 

10.  Hubs was my first serious boyfriend.  Up until the age of 25, I had a double whammy of commitment issue and a predilection for well, not-so-good guys.  Hey- girls just want to have fun, right?

Ha!  I almost forgot the biggest one!

11.  I can't hold my pencil, fork, spoon etc correctly.  My principal tried to hold me back in Kindergarten for this reason, but my parents got me tested and sent me through.  When I was taking the essay portion of the bar exam, the proctor came up to me and said "Samma?  I'm your third grade teacher, Mrs. Chambers!"  Ha!  She recognized me from the way I held my pen.  She said "Yes, when you came into my class, the principal told me you were slow."  (asshole)  "But once we started class I realized you were very bright, just really short."  Um, okay.

So- there's tons more, but it's actually very difficult to think about your own quirks, as they seem normal to you.  What's going on with y'all?  Give me the weird stuff!  I'll me checking and sharing, don't you worry!

Also, comment verification is back on, due to the 300 e-mails I had on my blackberry this morning from "Joe", some spammer.  Asshole.

The picture is from my trip backpacking across Europe with AK and Abby in 2001.  I think it expresses my feelings towards Joe well.

The Battle of the Pouffy Tummy Man Continues

So I live in a condo.  A condo which is about to be the death of me.  I was planning on having people over before the opera Friday (a plan which I ending up scrapping in favor of drinks at a college-age establishment, but that will be a story for tomorrow).

I'm walking into the place, when I start having Africa flashbacks.  Hmmm, I sniff the air, looking for that unusual odor of burning trash that pervaded my existence there.  Then I realize.  I'm walking through a damn jungle.

This vine, was completely covering the windows when I moved in almost a year ago.  I raised hell, and it receded from my consciousness.  Now it is back.  Please keep in mind that our HOA fees are out of control expensive, and that they are supposed to cover landscaping. 

So when I talk to the landscape guy, he says that the vine needs to come down.  Uh, yes please.  So in order to do that, I need permission from the chair of the grounds committee.  Okay, who's that?

My neighbor.

The one who told me I was six-seven months preggers.  The pouffy tummy man.

This is not good.  I have to ask my self-esteem nemesis for permission to cut down the swamp-like growth in my front yard. Grrrr.

But then it gets worse.

The landscaper tells me nothing will grow in a certain patch because someone uses that patch as their own personal brush pile spot.  Full of junk from their private garden.

This pile comes up to my hips, y'all.  It sits there for weeks at a time, and completely filled the back of the landscaper's huge pick-up.  Guess who put it there?

Oh, of course.  My neighbor, the chair of the grounds committee.

Now, he not only a woman-insulter.  He is also a grass killer.

So advice on how to handle this one?  I haven't gotten up the nerve to knock on his door yet, but my preliminary plan is do get permission for the jungle to be removed first, then plant a bunch of flowers where he leaves his trash?  Thoughts?

My Youtube Debut

So I have so much to discuss with y'all- Saturday was a huge day- Tron's birthday, Abby had her baby, and Dixie Carter, our beloved Julia Sugarbaker, passed away.  However, all of these wonderful and sad thing will have to wait til later in the week because I am too pooped to pop.
Why?

Because I have spent all of Saturday night and Sunday putting together this video.  I entered this Real Women of Philadelphia-Paula Deen contest, and had to submit a video tonight by nine.  I got done in the nick of time.  Mama, MOH and I drank (a good deal of) wine Saturday and filmed me cooking my recipe I developed- which uses the pimento cheese that I love so! it's super cheesy, but a great recipe so I thought y'all might want to take a gander at it.  Please remember the wine intake, filmed on a point and click camera, and that I am nervous as all get out.  I think that's why my accent is so damn thick, because I swear it isn't that bad in real life!  At least I hope so. . .

An African Wedding

So, valiantly trying to stay up for Top Chef Masters, which aired from 11-midnight(eek!) Wednesday night, I caught up with a mindless guilty pleasure- Jessica Simpson's The Price of Beauty (I know. . .)  Anyway, she and her cohorts visited Uganda (which along with Kenya makes up East Africa.  OK, I just said that and realized I totally made that up, I'll get back to you on the verification of that geography).

The particular tribe they visited fattens their women up, as it's a sign of wealth and status to have a fat wife.  The fattening takes discipline, as you sit as motionless as possible in a hut for two months drinking milk.  To Jessica, this was completely foreign, as she is part of culture where all discipline is focused towards thinness.

One weekend when I returned from a weekend jaunt to Zanzibar with my 3 far-flung volunteer friends, my Tanzanian Mama said to me "Oh, you have gained weight!  I can tell!  You are getting fat, my daughter!"

Yeah- that made me feel great.  However, she meant it as a compliment, and proclaimed that I was fat with pride for it meant she was taking good care of me.  Still- a hard cultural difference to swallow when you're twenty-two.

So Jessica, Casey and Ken got to go to a wedding.  I stopped watching at this point, because it was finally time for my Top Chef Masters hotties.  However, I was instantly brought back to the wedding I went to in Tanzania.  I wish I had more pictures of this kind of thing, but I was trying very hard to not be a mzungu, and draw as little attention to myself as possible- trying being the operative word. 

Let me set the reception scene for y'all-  orange and pink and white tissue paper decorating every surface of the big meeting area.  On top of the dais was two large white throne-like chairs for the bride and the groom.  In front of the chairs was a dead goat on a spit, hooves dangling in the breeze, head lolling to the side.  Interesting.  Of course, I had a dead pig at my wedding, so looking back I can't say too much!

There was an MC on  a mike narrating the entire ceremony.  This was not uncommon- I also went to a fancy birthday party, and an anniversary party with MC's, which was pretty hilarious in all honesty.  I was kind of zoning in and out, which was my tendency when confronted with long uninterrupted quickly spoken Swahili. 

All the sudden something grabbed my attention.  The word mzungu.  I quickly glanced around, praying that another white person was magically in the crowd, and he wasn't referring to me.  Nope.  Then he starts speaking in English.  This is problematic.  Apparently, having traveled the farthest (Tennessee to Tanzania) to attend the wedding, I am now the guest of honor.  Shit.  I have never seen these people before in my life, now I'm their guest of honor? Then I see them to start to hack into the goat.  Double shit.

Tomato-faced, I have to tentatively make my way through the crowd to the bride and groom.  I unsurely hug and kiss them in the manner my Mama hurriedly whispered to me, beaming with pride (she was a bit of an attention lover, to say the least).  Then, a piece of the goat is hacked off, and fed to me by the bride via a toothpick.  Everyone watched expectantly as I blushedly chewed, and smiled, and chewed, and tried not to grimace, and chewed, and chewed.  That goat was cooked til it couldn't cook no more.  Good thing I'm not a picky eater.

Baaaa.

The College Years, MOH Tribute cont.

Judging by the lack of designer jeans, this looks to be at some point freshman year of college, at MOH's abode on Lake Avenue on campus at UT.  Although I was down at Georgia, football, summers, and random weekend visits allowed for plenty of visiting, driving around, swigging chardonnay and going to fraternity parties.

This is sophomore year in Athens- this weekend is memorable because the extreme amount of visiting UT students passed out on every inch of available space in VA's and mine townhouse.

Me, MOH and AK on our way to New Orleans for Mardi Gras sophomore year.  This is what we wore on the plane, which subsequently broke down on the runway.  Free drinks for the (already) rowdy passengers!

MOH and I have a very long history of taking horrible pictures together- please note the following:

Senior year in Athens.

After BK and Jules wedding after college (a couple weeks after I returned from Africa). And yes, this picture was probably taken around 3 in the morning.

This is my twenty-second birthday.  Randomly, the is the night I met Hubs for the first time.

This is sometime in college- not too bad, and I still wear that pullover constantly.

Labor day this year- eh.

Maybe we just needed a professional?

Anyway, happy birthday friend!  Love you bunches, and can't wait to spend another 15 years taking really bad pictures and driving around! xoxoxo

The High School Years

So, MOH and I became best friends sophomore year of high school, thanks to a certain chemistry teacher named Doc Kendall.  Thanks to the wonders of tenure, Doc Kendall was completely senile (she called me the wrong name all year, even though I would not respond), yet was attempting to teach us chemistry.  Somehow, I figured out stuff on my own, but the rest of my friends did not have the spare time nor desire to teach themselves high school chemistry.  Dear readers, do not judge me on what I am about to reveal.  Please keep in mind we were fifteen and our teacher did not teach.

So an elaborate system of alternating rows, and a chain of sign language answers was set up.  I would turn to MOH and sign a, b, c, d, or e for the first answer, she in turn would sign to Jules, who passed it along to BK, and so on.  I know this is cheating and wrong.  Please don't e-mail me- it was 13 years ago and I no longer care.  Here's the kicker- we had the same grades on practically every test.  They would switch to the wrong answers occasionally to avoid detection.  My friends all received a "B"  in Doc Kendall's class.  Me?  Who provided the knowledge to pass the tests?  I got a "C".  I do not get C's, so I had to take my complaint (and spreadsheet of grades- I was secretly that student), to the principal.  Major drama at the time, but you better believe I got my "B+".    Friendship cemented.

Our primary activities included driving around, skipping school, going to the lake, talking to boys, trying to score beer, going to Sonic, finding the best parties, and strangely enough, dancing in parking lots.  MOH, what else did we do in high school?

This is the quarry where we used to go cliff jumping.  The MOH birthday tribute was going to be a surprise, until I realized I probably should ask her permission before putting up pictures of her at 16 in her undies.  Hee.

This is spring junior year in my Jetta, which MOH's little sister later bought from me and renamed Jetta Jamison.  Which is awesome.  Looks like we're at Sonic.  Cherry Limeade (sometimes to be mixed with whatever we could scrounge- never while driving, Mama!).  What I would give to find some of those mix tapes from back in the day.  MOH had a Integra that she ragged to pieces- after one instance of driving through a field in her 2-door Acura (!), we had to duct tape the bottom of the car to the rest of it.  By senior year she hated the car so much, that MOH would leave her keys in the ignition or on the hood wherever we were so it would get stolen.   No one wanted it apparently.

This is MOH, me, AMR, someone's date, Tins, Ella, Ames, and AK senior year prom.

There was a huge after prom party at my parents house that night- about 50 of us spent the night.  It was awesome (well, back then- now in the age of My Super Sweet Sixteen probably not so cool).  Also, please notice the lack of sluttiness in our prom dresses.  While shopping for my latest cotillion dress I was in shock over the mass amount of cutouts, slits, and general lack of fabric in the prom dresses offered.  Seriously?

So a brief snapshot of 13-10 years ago.  I can't believe it's been that long- I feel like I was just in high school.  It probably doesn't help that I see most of my best friends from high school at least once a week.  That's a little freakish.

I am a horrible blogger and FedEx Disaster

So I was anxiously tracking my Saks package full of dresses (on sale) that I could possibly wear for Men's Cotillion this Saturday night, until I found a cheapo from Dillards that is darling.  However, I still wanted to take a gander at the Saks dresses, just to make sure none of them were a life-changer.

Hubs was working from home yesterday, and I excitedly called him asking if my package had arrived.  He tromps outside, and finds nothing.  I check the tracking again- delivered to front door over an hour ago!  I call FedEx and they have put a trace on the package (very CIA), but no results for another 24 hours.  I am a bit peeved because (a) I obviously rush delivered these dresses for a reason (b) now I have a lost package full of expensive dresses I need to return and (c) WHERE ARE MY DRESSES?  Will I never be able to trust tracking (or my neighbors) again?  Has this happened to y'all??

So, while getting my Dillards dress out of my trunk for alterations, I notice several packages.  Shit.  It's your happy prizes, which I completely spaced on sending.  I am soooo sorry! So will the below please re-email me your addresses, at sammaharper@gmail.com.   Thank you so much!

Jackie
Kate
Alice
Bethany

Then I also realized I never announced the winner of the John Besh cookbook giveaway.  According to Random Number Generator- it's bum, bum, da bum-

Number 7!  Which is Tami!

So e-mail your address as well please! Once again, I am so sorry for my slackerdom.

Soooooooo, A Needle Pulling Thread!

"Ha, ha, why this old thing?  Oh, it's just something I whipped up the other night."

Since I apparently desperately need another hobby (reading, cooking, exercise, running, painting, and blogging aren't enough), I have gotten the sudden yen to learn how to sew.  I took home ec and learned the basics (ahem, fourteen years ago), but can't remember a thing.  However, if I could sew I could whip up all  the little shifts and sun-dresses I wear all summer, as well as basic sheaths for work! So often, I become incredibly frustrated because I have a specific simple dress in my mind, yet can't find anywhere to buy it.  Post-sewing classes, I will simple create it- voilà!

Then I started perusing dress patterns, specifically Vogue Patterns.   Well, that sealed the deal- check out these dresses, especially the vintage ones like above.  I am in love.

I could have MADE my Nine O'Clock dress.

How cute are these aprons?  Imagine as gifts in cute Amy Butler-ish or vintage fabric?

Yes, please!

Perfect lady lawyer attire, no?

Then there are the Vogue Easy patterns- surely I can do these with a little instruction?  Please ignore the fabric/styling on these and focus on the garment.

I could make these as short as I like (I'm petite and like to at least show a little knee).  The first two above would be great for work, and I would never have to spend money on dreaded work clothes again!  Just add a blazer and I am ready to roll.

So readers, who out there knows how to sew?  How did you learn?  Could a beginner produce any of these with a little teaching and practice?

Dear J.Crew

Please return to the era of healthy models doing things while looking fresh scrubbed and independently wealthy.  The following does not make me want to purchase clothes-

She looks like she is wearing the socks that shoe stores provide to give the effect of wearing a shoe with panty hose (or if you are not wearing proper socks?).  Here's Wallabies (J. Crew version) with the panty hose socks and a pencil skirt.  Blech.

There are no words.  I understand you are trying to push your new fashion forward image, but this is not Vogue, Elle, or even Teen Vogue.  You are a J. Crew catalog, and you need to start behaving as such.

"Cute!" I think.  Then I notice she is wearing shorts.  Ugh.

At least the website is not as bad.

I like this- and appropriately styled!

Then we get to this monstrosity which you can purchase for a billion dollars.

According to their relentless e-mails, if I spend the billion on this dress and can get free shipping!

Childhood Fashion Icons

While perusing my J. Crew catalog the other evening (that travesty is another post altogether- BOLO in next couple days for it), I started thinking about my childhood fashion icons.  Or rather, I suppose in today's parlance, my tween fashion icons.  After moving past Rainbow Brite as my muse, I desired to be the most fashionable 10 year-old in my class, emulating these lovely ladies.

 Clarissa

Can I tell you how much I wanted a phone like hers? Covered in junk, it was my dream phone in 4th or 5th grade.  I tried making one like it to no avail.  However, I rocked that look in the top right hand corner, sometimes with 3(!) layers of scrunched socks in various colors.

So fashion forward.

Next up is Blossom (rather more specifically I was into Six- she was much more me). And yes, I wore hats.

The bike shorts- yeah, there were a lot of those in the preteen Spice and Sass closet.

And finally the ultimate-

Lisa Turtle

Yeah, she's short, sassy, and still one of my style icons.  I mean hike up my rehearsal dinner dress about six inches, and it's a Lisa masterpiece-

I was never a Jessie girl for obvious reasons (too many button-ups and strident), nor Kelly (seemed fake nice and selfish, plus has Felicity/Joey Potter syndrome, aka whining about how many boys like you),  Lisa was my girl.  Am I alone?  Who was your Saved By the Bell alter ego?  I won't judge if it's Kelly (pinky swear!), because if you can rock too many boys liking you through your awkward stage, more power to you!

Do you think it's posts like these that make Hubs say my blog is kind of middle-school girlish?