Moon Over UHAUL

Tulsa has some weird architectural spots. This UHAUL truck on top of a building is one and the moon just happened to be out on a beautiful afternoon to add to the "weirdity' of it all.

Sweatpants: The New Birth Control

Recently I heard about an author who wrote how the ONE pair of sweatpants she bought led to the downfall of her sex life.  After being married for a couple of years she went out and bought a pair of sweatpants because she felt like now that she was married she could relax. Her butt needed a hug. First of all, I can't believe she didn't own a pair of sweatpants before. Didn't she exercise or ever go for a brisk walk in the cool morning air? Oh, I know. Sweats have a bad reputation. Who says you have to wear them all the time? The preferred Stepford Wife outfit in my neck of the woods is the sweet, but short tennis skirt. It's a far cry from the ugly grey sweat pants. I still wouldn't be caught dead in that skirt! What are these gals running around hoping to catch a pick up game of tennis somewhere? Anyhoo, I digress...back to the sweats. So this gal buys the sweats for comfort and before you know it her and the hubs aren't having sex anymore. Now was it really the sweatpants' fault? I think not. If it were that easy to discourage your man from the goods, well let's just say we'd all own at least 5 or 6 pairs. AND forget about taking birth control. We could just slip on a pair of sweats and call it a done deal. Our teenage daughters wouldn't own anything else. We'd fix their wagons! Whoa! Hold on here...it's not that simple. The sweats are getting a bad rap from a woman who was apparently tired or bored. We are each responsible for keeping our intimate lives exciting and inviting. Somebody in that relationship dropped the ball. Maybe they both did. But seriously, you can't blame the sweatpants.

Reading new author Gail Carriger

The newest author I'm reading is Gail Carriger. I don't just stick to one particular genre of novel. I love to read. Why else would I be a professor of English unless I enjoyed reading? This novel, Soulless, is self described as a novel of "vampires, werewolves, and parasols." It follows the doings and undoings of character Alexia Tarabotti. Carriger describes Alexia with a snappy Brit wit and builds a strong plot. The story begins with Alexia being attacked by a vampire. Now this Victorian spinster is not without her soulless ways and parasol for protection. The vampire quickly finds himself dead and Alexia finds herself in the midst of sinister plan--not to mention a romance that may also be in the works for her as well. I like humor with my writing and Carriger delivers. So if you enjoy tales about vampires, werewolves, and a quick witted gals this may be a novel for you. I'm currently reading her second novel Changeless. I'll let you know more about it once I'm done.

Spring has sprung

I know it's like the old saying goes Spring has sprung because I've a planted a few flowers and they are looking nice. When we lived in Iowa we didn't plant anything until after Mother's Day because there was always a chance of freeze until around that time and being from the deeeeep way down south this was torture for me. So here I get to plant a little earlier. Just wait until it's frying outside and these petunias won't be looking too great then!

Mommy Hysteria

I'm always paranoid about my children playing in the front yard. For years we lived in the country and knew for 10 minutes before someone got to the house because you could see their dust trail on the horizon, but now we're city folk. When I see something like this it just fortifies my belief that children aren't safe playing in the front yard anymore.

Also, there's been a ton of break ins and a couple of attempted child abductions in the area near my home--neither of which I've heard about on the news. My neighbor's home was broken into and the police told her there are so many break ins right now that they're having trouble getting to the homes quickly and sometimes it's hours before they can respond. Some of these home even had alarms going off during the robberies.

This morning on the Today Show there was a segment on "Mom Hair." It caught my attention and I decided to listen to it. I imagined there would be pictures of women with hair straggles hanging, hair thrown up into a clip or pony tail, or moms pulling their hair out, but what TS was really getting at was how women make themselves ugly after childbirth. I had to think about this. Did I do this? What do they mean short hair is making myself ugly? The more I listened to this segment, the more irritated I became. Yes, mothers do sacrifice their looks some days to make sure all the kids are dressed so they can all get out the door on time. I'm sorry all of us can't and have never looked like super models. We have hair and some of us are creative with it and try new styles while other women are content to wear the same hairstyle year after year. This past Christmas I saw an old college friend who I hadn't seen in years, but she was rocking the same helmet hair she had back in our college days. Oh and surprise! She managed to get a husband and a career with that hair mind you! I think it's crazy how "they" tell us we shouldn't let "Mom Hair" take us over and we should try to keep our lovely long locks flowing for our men. These are the same men who we love and adore, but bless their hearts they wouldn't take fashion advice or hairstyle advice from us. My husband has had the same hairstyle since kindergarten. He's not changing it because he has "Dad Hair." Why do you think it is women have to be held to a higher standard?

Corollas and Pintos

The topic of cars and whether or not you name your car was brought up to me a couple of weeks ago by a friend who's a journalist. She asked if we'd ever named our car and what kind of car it was. She later wrote an article about it. We've had a couple of cars we've named. There was one in particular I remember. We owned this car back in the day when we were poor...I mean really poor. In fact, my in-laws gave us this car because we needed a second car and couldn't afford to buy one. It was a blue Toyota Corolla. It was a stick shift and what really made it unique is that it was missing most of the floorboard. Driving down the highway, seeing the road zipping by under my feet was not something I found comforting. We named this car "The Mullet." This was after the fish, not the hairdo, but now that I think about it either reference would probably be appropriate.

Now all this got me to thinking about a car my mom owned in the 70s. This car is infamous today because of it's exploding gas tank. Yep. The Ford Pinto. My mom was a single mother raising me and she bought this car because it was a good buy and because it was a gorgeous shade of yellow. I have a life's worth of memories from that little car. We lived in Louisiana and the fire ants loved that car almost as much as my mom did. Every morning she'd had to sweep out the mound they had built in it overnight. No matter how diligent she was in sweeping them out, a few still managed to stay behind and bite us. This car also took me through my first tornado. Now mind you, the funnel of the tornado never actually passed over the car, but it came close enough for the car to be rocked and pushed around as it roared by. Last but not least, the Pinto took it's last breath on the street corner next to a Texaco gas station. I was probably 6 years-old and we were stopped at the light at the corner. I was fascinated by the goings on out of my passenger window, where I sat without a seatbelt because those hadn't been invented yet. A huge crane was erecting a giant new Texaco sign on a towering poll above the gas station. The crane swung around to get in position to lift the sign up to where two men tethered to the poll waited to help guide the sign to it's final resting place. The crane operator gunned the engine and began backing up into the street--straight toward where we were waiting for the light to turn green. After a few choice words of indignation, my mother laid on the horn of the little yellow Pinto. The sound was lost over the engine sound of the big crane. My mother luckily realized that we had to get out and get out fast. She grabbed me by my left shoulder and pulled me as she exited the car. Loud popping and cracking noises filled my ears as we made our way across the street to safety. We turned around to see to crane now stopped on top of the Pinto and a flurry of people making their way to us. The Pinto, well let's just say it was a flat as a pancake under the weight of the crane. My mom's legs were scrapped and bleeding, but I was without a scratch. Who knows? Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. At least the gas tank never had the chance to explode.