Our Creative Director keeps blasting emails about our needing to post anecdotes that encourage Christian women. I dunno. We may need to switch genres to "things that frighten Christian women." That's more of our niche.
Many disturbing things happened today. It's a lot to process. Ponder this:
1. Early this morning Big Viv and I embarked upon a fitness regime with our new personal trainer, Aaron Who Does Not Smile. I can no longer navigate stairs, and will have to sleep on the downstairs sofa. During this odd little number called "the pec fly" we discovered that Aaron--while he does not smile much--is nonetheless capable of barking out a laugh.
2. At lunch, well-deserved after this morning's trauma, Viv's cousin David announced that he is planning a video blog, which he will film while sitting on the toilet. The camera will face David, straight on, as he sits and ponders life aloud.
Can you even believe it? (Not a Christian project BTW.)
3. Vivian's husband, driving his work van, happened to see us in my Honda on Clement and chased us down the street honking his horn and waving a fistful of cash. Evidently it was pay day. Although Big Viv yowled about needing the money for her hair appointment, I was not about to pull over for any man waving a fistful of greenbacks while honking the horn at us. (We dusted him. BV not currently speaking to me, since her roots are still showing.)
So as far as posting something spiritual, I don't know? "Hangeth thou in there" works well for me.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Danger at Discount Dan's
God opposes my pride by allowing humiliations into my life almost daily. Many I do not even bring upon myself. Some just fall upon me, or roll right up behind and blow an air horn.
For example: Hot French Bread.
If you have known me long, you know that I periodically blitz through my favorite blue collar discount retailer, an iconic store containing acres of bargains and a few blown gaskets.
Last week I decided to peruse the aisles of said store in peace, as the man had our children at a Chinese buffet. As I was quietly attempting to choose new pajamas, an older man rolled up behind me on a little girl's purple bicycle, beeped a loud clown horn, and hollered--I kid you not--"Hot French bread!"
You may be assured that I jumped out of my skin. Haven given birth to two chubby babies, I even peed on myself a little bit.
This guy proceeded to roll all around Discount Dan's beeping his horn at folks and shouting about "hot french bread!" By the time I got to check-out, I had a massive headache.
You know that I do not seek out crazies. They find me.
So as Bouncer Lady was checking my purchase receipt against bagged items in the cart, I mentioned that the horn, bike, and pepaw had to go; unless Pepaw were unhinged, in which case grace could be extended to a store willing to hire the challenged.
Bouncer Lady blinked at me and said, "That's the assistant store manager. He just like to have some fun."
I suggested that he lock himself in his office and have fun alone, because the air horn, bike, and bread-shouting were obnoxious.
Bouncer Lady primly recited a toll-free number, which I could use to report my lack of appreciation for "the bike experience."
Does anyone have the toll-free number for the Nut Magnet Help Line? Because that's what I really need.
Happy mall shopping, and stay away from Discount Dan's.
God opposes my pride by allowing humiliations into my life almost daily. Many I do not even bring upon myself. Some just fall upon me, or roll right up behind and blow an air horn.
For example: Hot French Bread.
If you have known me long, you know that I periodically blitz through my favorite blue collar discount retailer, an iconic store containing acres of bargains and a few blown gaskets.
Last week I decided to peruse the aisles of said store in peace, as the man had our children at a Chinese buffet. As I was quietly attempting to choose new pajamas, an older man rolled up behind me on a little girl's purple bicycle, beeped a loud clown horn, and hollered--I kid you not--"Hot French bread!"
You may be assured that I jumped out of my skin. Haven given birth to two chubby babies, I even peed on myself a little bit.
This guy proceeded to roll all around Discount Dan's beeping his horn at folks and shouting about "hot french bread!" By the time I got to check-out, I had a massive headache.
You know that I do not seek out crazies. They find me.
So as Bouncer Lady was checking my purchase receipt against bagged items in the cart, I mentioned that the horn, bike, and pepaw had to go; unless Pepaw were unhinged, in which case grace could be extended to a store willing to hire the challenged.
Bouncer Lady blinked at me and said, "That's the assistant store manager. He just like to have some fun."
I suggested that he lock himself in his office and have fun alone, because the air horn, bike, and bread-shouting were obnoxious.
Bouncer Lady primly recited a toll-free number, which I could use to report my lack of appreciation for "the bike experience."
Does anyone have the toll-free number for the Nut Magnet Help Line? Because that's what I really need.
Happy mall shopping, and stay away from Discount Dan's.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Vivian Carter's Blog
Shortly before being sent away for my “vacation,” I met with Greg the Graphics Man (and his wife Sue, a stenographer) to discuss branding my assorted entrepreneurial ventures.
On this particular day my focus was creating a Christian woman’s encouragement blog. I say this so you will know that I mean well. Sometimes, however, meaning well simply does not cut it. Example: the latest confab with Graphics Greg.
Graphics Greg has a brilliant mind, an efficient wife, and he navigates social media the way a teen navigates texting. I, on the other hand, tend to bumble. As I did this particular day, in a free Wifi coffee house near Greg’s home.
After reviewing my brand’s focus group results, Greg says to me (in an urgent tone), “To get where you want to go in media, you must immediately jump on top of bing, blip, and jason. Do you Digg?”
Sue took notes in her steno pad. I watched her write, “Have Viv do bing, blip, and jason.”
I go, “Yeah, Greg, I dig, but um, I don’t play that anymore.”
Greg gave palms up and a frowny face. His brain moves quickly, and he likes to make progress.
A quick glance around the coffee house revealed no eavesdroppers, so I leaned forward (which made Sue retract, interestingly).
I said, “Greg, something happened recently and I became this thing called an Evangelical. I don’t actually do people anymore. Let alone jump on top of them. God is not really down with that.”
Silence from the Graphics People.
Knowing I had done it again, but unsure of how, I stammered on. “Plus, Greg, I don’t actually know Bing, Blip, or Jason, and "Blip" sounds like he could potentially be a midget, and there’s an issue there.” I paused, then said, “For later.”
Greg’s face took on what can only be described as a hostile tone. No words, just a very severe look in his eyes and a flat-lined, mashed together mouth. You know the vibe.
He and Sue exchanged looks. She shrugged. Greg bowed his head and prayed.
The prayer went something like this: “Lord Jesus, I know you brought Vivian into our lives to shepherd as she finds her way, but today is particularly difficult for me. God help me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
My eyes welled with tears. Sue began to pack up their laptop, matrices, and steno pad. Greg removed a 3 x 5 lined index card from his shirt pocket and wrote firmly upon it in black Sharpie.
He left the index card on the table, and commanded, “After your vacation, call me.”
Through a fine haze of tears I read the index card. It said simply:
Jason.tv
On this particular day my focus was creating a Christian woman’s encouragement blog. I say this so you will know that I mean well. Sometimes, however, meaning well simply does not cut it. Example: the latest confab with Graphics Greg.
Graphics Greg has a brilliant mind, an efficient wife, and he navigates social media the way a teen navigates texting. I, on the other hand, tend to bumble. As I did this particular day, in a free Wifi coffee house near Greg’s home.
After reviewing my brand’s focus group results, Greg says to me (in an urgent tone), “To get where you want to go in media, you must immediately jump on top of bing, blip, and jason. Do you Digg?”
Sue took notes in her steno pad. I watched her write, “Have Viv do bing, blip, and jason.”
I go, “Yeah, Greg, I dig, but um, I don’t play that anymore.”
Greg gave palms up and a frowny face. His brain moves quickly, and he likes to make progress.
A quick glance around the coffee house revealed no eavesdroppers, so I leaned forward (which made Sue retract, interestingly).
I said, “Greg, something happened recently and I became this thing called an Evangelical. I don’t actually do people anymore. Let alone jump on top of them. God is not really down with that.”
Silence from the Graphics People.
Knowing I had done it again, but unsure of how, I stammered on. “Plus, Greg, I don’t actually know Bing, Blip, or Jason, and "Blip" sounds like he could potentially be a midget, and there’s an issue there.” I paused, then said, “For later.”
Greg’s face took on what can only be described as a hostile tone. No words, just a very severe look in his eyes and a flat-lined, mashed together mouth. You know the vibe.
He and Sue exchanged looks. She shrugged. Greg bowed his head and prayed.
The prayer went something like this: “Lord Jesus, I know you brought Vivian into our lives to shepherd as she finds her way, but today is particularly difficult for me. God help me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
My eyes welled with tears. Sue began to pack up their laptop, matrices, and steno pad. Greg removed a 3 x 5 lined index card from his shirt pocket and wrote firmly upon it in black Sharpie.
He left the index card on the table, and commanded, “After your vacation, call me.”
Through a fine haze of tears I read the index card. It said simply:
Jason.tv
Friday, May 15, 2009
A Word from the Incredulous
Dear Cafe Clientele,
He who must be obeyed will not be home for dinner, as he has arranged with his mischief buddy (not my brother, this time), to take an extended tour of the local wildlife preserve's hiking trails--on a Segway!
On a Segway, people. Have you seen the movie "Mall Cop"? I'm saying.
He who must be obeyed has committed this crime against sanity before, with me in tow. Explaining that he had come up with a great Love Dare date, he surprised me with a hiking trail Segway tour, which lasted four and one half hours, and which resulted in my turning prematurely gray.
Nonetheless, I stayed upright and intact the whole tour, much to the chagrin of our park ranger guide. The park ranger, whose name rhymes with Kevin, took pictures of me clutching the handle bar white-faced, and who admitted, after the tour was concluded, that he and his fellows at the ranger station had bet money I would bust it on "Middle-Aged Housewife Pass"--which is their nickname for a curved, steep, rocky gully through which one is forced to maneuver at full throttle.
That said, he who is toting his equally logic challenged buddy out to the nature preserve for a second attempt at self-mutilation and gross facial disfigurement.
I'll keep you posted.
Have a fun, safe day wherever you are, and on the off chance you are on the same tour with he who, tell Kevin to send me some pictures.
Much love,
Vivian Beauchamp
He who must be obeyed will not be home for dinner, as he has arranged with his mischief buddy (not my brother, this time), to take an extended tour of the local wildlife preserve's hiking trails--on a Segway!
On a Segway, people. Have you seen the movie "Mall Cop"? I'm saying.
He who must be obeyed has committed this crime against sanity before, with me in tow. Explaining that he had come up with a great Love Dare date, he surprised me with a hiking trail Segway tour, which lasted four and one half hours, and which resulted in my turning prematurely gray.
Nonetheless, I stayed upright and intact the whole tour, much to the chagrin of our park ranger guide. The park ranger, whose name rhymes with Kevin, took pictures of me clutching the handle bar white-faced, and who admitted, after the tour was concluded, that he and his fellows at the ranger station had bet money I would bust it on "Middle-Aged Housewife Pass"--which is their nickname for a curved, steep, rocky gully through which one is forced to maneuver at full throttle.
That said, he who is toting his equally logic challenged buddy out to the nature preserve for a second attempt at self-mutilation and gross facial disfigurement.
I'll keep you posted.
Have a fun, safe day wherever you are, and on the off chance you are on the same tour with he who, tell Kevin to send me some pictures.
Much love,
Vivian Beauchamp
Monday, May 4, 2009
I think I’m in love with Rep. Alcee Hastings from Florida, based upon the following two minute clip of his speech about the hate crimes bill.
I would LOVE to have brunch with this dude. If you need to laugh till you cry, watch the first 2 minutes. God bless America is all I can say.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VN1yl7OQHyY
EDIT to add this disclaimer:
Due to an outraged email from a family member, I wanted to make clear that Alcee Hastings is a Democrat. To the offended liberal contingent, Alcee is one of yours, people!
Plus, I know nothing about the man—being amazingly and intentionally uninformed—and am basing my awestruck reverence for him strictly upon the rhetorical flourish with which he reeled off a list of sexual fetishes.
Imagine what he could do with Shakespeare.
To all critics of both Alcee and myself I simply say: Toucherism!
Respectfully submitted,
Vivian Carter
I would LOVE to have brunch with this dude. If you need to laugh till you cry, watch the first 2 minutes. God bless America is all I can say.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VN1yl7OQHyY
EDIT to add this disclaimer:
Due to an outraged email from a family member, I wanted to make clear that Alcee Hastings is a Democrat. To the offended liberal contingent, Alcee is one of yours, people!
Plus, I know nothing about the man—being amazingly and intentionally uninformed—and am basing my awestruck reverence for him strictly upon the rhetorical flourish with which he reeled off a list of sexual fetishes.
Imagine what he could do with Shakespeare.
To all critics of both Alcee and myself I simply say: Toucherism!
Respectfully submitted,
Vivian Carter
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Giving Spirit
Visited a beyond the box new church yesterday. Pastor Real Deal gave a call to action at the end of worship to come exchange our shoes for a pair of spa sandals, the kind you wear while getting a pedicure. Our good shoes are to be given to the homeless.
High Maintenance Child at once went up and swapped out the shoes she was wearing for spa thongs. Problem was: HMC was wearing her sister’s shoes, and Diva Child wasn’t feeling the call from God to relinquish them.
It was awkward because Real Deal had already praised HMC for being the first one up to make the exchange, and HMC declared God had led her to do it.
I told Diva Child to get over it, because she has 14 pairs of shoes in her closet, but he who must be obeyed exchanged a volley of emails with Mrs. Real Deal, and a footwear swap-out is imminent. He who must be obeyed donated his shoes as well, and those monsters cost me $150 a pop.
Pastor Real Deal did stir my heart to action: I am donating a box of stuff to charity this morning. After much deep contemplation, here are the items this gal can live without:
Box of Crunch & Munch (birthday gift)
Coffee mug emblazoned with I Love LuLu (got no explanation)
Size 4 tank top (who am I kidding, right?)
Box of chocolate pasties (gift from hub in 1999, unopened)
Assorted thong underwear (thrift shoppers can have fetishes)
purple Crocs
gently used Yankee Candles
Please feel free to send any ideas to boost my karma. It's looking a little raggedy these days.
Love,
Viv
High Maintenance Child at once went up and swapped out the shoes she was wearing for spa thongs. Problem was: HMC was wearing her sister’s shoes, and Diva Child wasn’t feeling the call from God to relinquish them.
It was awkward because Real Deal had already praised HMC for being the first one up to make the exchange, and HMC declared God had led her to do it.
I told Diva Child to get over it, because she has 14 pairs of shoes in her closet, but he who must be obeyed exchanged a volley of emails with Mrs. Real Deal, and a footwear swap-out is imminent. He who must be obeyed donated his shoes as well, and those monsters cost me $150 a pop.
Pastor Real Deal did stir my heart to action: I am donating a box of stuff to charity this morning. After much deep contemplation, here are the items this gal can live without:
Box of Crunch & Munch (birthday gift)
Coffee mug emblazoned with I Love LuLu (got no explanation)
Size 4 tank top (who am I kidding, right?)
Box of chocolate pasties (gift from hub in 1999, unopened)
Assorted thong underwear (thrift shoppers can have fetishes)
purple Crocs
gently used Yankee Candles
Please feel free to send any ideas to boost my karma. It's looking a little raggedy these days.
Love,
Viv
Vacation: Survivor Edition
In hopes of supporting Vivian Carter's new sober lifestyle, we invited her along on our family's spring break trip to Mammoth Cave National Park near Bowling Green, Kentucky. Although L'il Viv prefers to experience nature through her car's windshield and laptop screensavers, she gamely agreed to accompany us to this dry county for a week's worth of exercise and fresh air.
Shout Out to the National Park Service: Mammoth Cave National Park includes nearly 58,000 acres of wilderness and hiking trails. The property's lodge includes a restaurant and cafe, and seems to be very green and eco-friendly. Very affordable also, since it's underwritten by tax dollars. This park is a testament to tax money well spent. If we voters could specify where our tax dollars go I would support the National Park Service.
And now back to relishing the misery of close friends.
We five bold souls took lovely cave tours, including the four and one half hour Grand Avenue Tour, which had us all hiking four miles, hundreds of feet underground. (That's a postive thing.)
The real karma-buster was our family's reaction to poor L'il Viv losing her hiking mojo after two hours, subsequently tottering and sputtering like a short-circuited Roomba throughout the last part of the tour. If the ranger guides had offered to bear her out on a stretcher, she would have sold her Beanie Baby collection to fund their tip.
In addition to being very steep and slippery with dripping water, some of the cave passages were extremely narrow. Warnings were given to the morbidly obese and chronically infirm to avoid this particular expedition.
That said, picture a weary and struggling (non-obese) Viv tripping backwards into a pair of nine-year-old twins and collapsing the back of our tour line like a strand of dominoes. I am hooting like a hyena remembering. This makes me a bad person, and I deserve to live the rest of my natural life without Velveeta cheese grits.
Not only did we hike underground, we also explored many miles of outdoor trails. Sadly the birdsong was drowned out by L'il Viv's huffing and puffing that the fresh air and brisk hikes were killing her.
Vivian Carter twittered that she is still searching online for a commemorative t-shirt that reads: I went to Kentucky and all I got was this lousy body bag.
Well, I'm off to jog around the neighborhood. Some of us want to maintain the good health habits we enjoyed on our vacation.
Have a great day!
Big Vivi
Shout Out to the National Park Service: Mammoth Cave National Park includes nearly 58,000 acres of wilderness and hiking trails. The property's lodge includes a restaurant and cafe, and seems to be very green and eco-friendly. Very affordable also, since it's underwritten by tax dollars. This park is a testament to tax money well spent. If we voters could specify where our tax dollars go I would support the National Park Service.
And now back to relishing the misery of close friends.
We five bold souls took lovely cave tours, including the four and one half hour Grand Avenue Tour, which had us all hiking four miles, hundreds of feet underground. (That's a postive thing.)
The real karma-buster was our family's reaction to poor L'il Viv losing her hiking mojo after two hours, subsequently tottering and sputtering like a short-circuited Roomba throughout the last part of the tour. If the ranger guides had offered to bear her out on a stretcher, she would have sold her Beanie Baby collection to fund their tip.
In addition to being very steep and slippery with dripping water, some of the cave passages were extremely narrow. Warnings were given to the morbidly obese and chronically infirm to avoid this particular expedition.
That said, picture a weary and struggling (non-obese) Viv tripping backwards into a pair of nine-year-old twins and collapsing the back of our tour line like a strand of dominoes. I am hooting like a hyena remembering. This makes me a bad person, and I deserve to live the rest of my natural life without Velveeta cheese grits.
Not only did we hike underground, we also explored many miles of outdoor trails. Sadly the birdsong was drowned out by L'il Viv's huffing and puffing that the fresh air and brisk hikes were killing her.
Vivian Carter twittered that she is still searching online for a commemorative t-shirt that reads: I went to Kentucky and all I got was this lousy body bag.
Well, I'm off to jog around the neighborhood. Some of us want to maintain the good health habits we enjoyed on our vacation.
Have a great day!
Big Vivi
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)