The Tim Riggins Fan Club

I haven't had time for blogging in awhile, mainly because my evenings at home have been consumed with watching Friday Night Lights a.k.a. The Best Show Ever. I'm sure many of you have been watching for years, but I'm new to the party. Thanks to Netflix, Dillon, TX feels like my home away from home these days. And Tim Riggins is like the boyfriend I never had ... with a serious drinking/crying problem ... who my parents would hate. Don't worry, my husband is concerned fully aware about my new crush. And I'm definitely not alone. One of my friends, who shall remain nameless, proclaimed she would take a bullet for Tim. Another friend said she would move just so she could put a trailer in her yard for him. (You have to watch season four to understand this reference.)

But let's get real gals ... the cast of this show, Riggins specifically, will remind you of the days when you bought Tiger Beat so you could hang up pictures of Dylan McKay all over your bedroom door. Except now you're old enough to buy anti-wrinkle cream. Whatever...

Man Spanx: Do or Don't?

Here are two words I'd imagine most men have zero interest in hearing or experiencing: Men's Shapewear.

Yep. That's the polite way to say "man girdle". And those bad boys are selling like hotcakes. Companies from Spanx to Insta Slim are literally banking on beer bellies.

Guys don't care if it means wearing something that could double as a wetsuit under their button down. "Compression shirts" (eek!) are the quickest way to tackle a gut without doing a single sit up.

Personally, I think this sounds like the clothing alternative to gastric bypass surgery. If he eats more than 6 peanuts at a time, could he explode? And it must get hot in there. I definitely wouldn't want to be around someone trying to rip that sucker off at the end of the day.

Unless of course, you're this happy guy:

Satisfy Your Sweet Tooth

I'm writing this post for 2 reasons.
1) To push the nauseating grilled cheese picture below further down the page.
2) Because I have discovered something magical ... that comes in the form of small chocolate peppermint candy.

While I was waiting in line at CVS the other day, a bag of York Pieces caught my eye. Apparently, some very smart candy executives realized that sometimes you just don't want a whole peppermint patty. So they made them tiny and told you that it's okay to eat a serving size of 50. This is genius.

Plus, the resealable bag is perfect for on the go. You can pop peppermint pieces all day long -- on your walk to work, during important meetings, when you're picking up dry cleaning and walking the dog. Who cares if you're the girl with bright blue stained fingertips. They're delish (especially when you freeze them).

What are your favorite sweet snacks?

Don't Say Cheese!

Why would anyone want to eat a bazillion calorie sandwich that looks like it's stuffed with octopus tentacles? Denny's, your Fried Cheese Melt (mozzarella sticks and American cheese between two pieces of sourdough bread) is really giving the Double Down a run for it's money. I need a celery stick, ASAP.

The Beast is Back...

A few weeks ago, my husband and I decided to throw a theme party ... but without the pressure to dress in costume. After a little bit of brainstorming, we came up with an idea that I really think has the potential to sweep the masses ... a high school drink happy hour. Come on  - you know if it was socially acceptable to sip a hot pink wine cooler or swig a 40 out of a brown paper bag (it's very efficient!), you would.

Preparing for this party was interesting to say the least. We strolled into several liquor stores asking for Mad Dog 20/20 and perhaps a nice chilled Strawberry Hill Boone's. The responses varied from horror, to laughter, to a very frank, "Only homeless people drink that S*%!". Apparently malt liquor is so 1998. Therefore, our high school drink party had to go on without a few important, life defining beverages. 

From Franzia to cases of Milwaukee's Beast - err - Best, our guests arrived armed with booze fit for a party at someone's parents house. People got "iced" left and right, jell-o shots were passed, a 90s mix was blasting, flip cup lasted until 2am .... and no one got grounded.  

Our friend Ben Mundel (hi Mundel!) brought the most delicious sweet tea flavored vodka and lemonade combo. Definitely a bit too upscale for high school, but a real crowd pleaser nonetheless.

The only thing to note if you do plan one of these shindigs --  although people think it's funny to see Mike's Hard Lemonade, no one actually wants to drink it. I am reminded of that every morning when I open the fridge...

The Best Round Brush

My round brush broke in half last week. Any woman who likes her hair frizz-free knows how traumatic that can be, especially when faced with hot, humid110 degree weather. So, rather than go with the "I just stuck my finger in a socket look", I beelined it to the nearest salon (Axis for my DC friends) to combat my hair emergency. Even though I bought the first brush I could find, I'm in love. I don't care if I sound like an infomercial. It smooths, it straightens, and it adds volume to my roots. If you're in the market, pick one up:


Olivia Garden Ceramic + Ion Mega 65

You Know You're Old When...

Friday night. Georgetown. Prepster Central. After a fun dinner celebrating my friend's 30th b-day at Hook, we went to Saloun, a dive bar next door packed with collar-popping dudes wearing khaki pants covered in embroidered whales.

Mid beer sip, a tall, skinny guy that barely looked old enough to drive frantically tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Yo, I need your ID to pass back to my friend."

I haven't passed back my ID in at least eight years. And I certainly had no reason to start those shenanigans up again. (Oh, the days of showing an ID of someone that clearly wasn't you and offering up a Blockbuster card as a 2nd form of identification.)

After I stared at him for a few seconds trying to process this request, I said with a little bit of embarrassment, "I'm kind of old. I don't think it would work to pass back my ID."

He asked, "How old?"

"29."

His eyes widened. He motioned to my friends and exclaimed, "Really??? Are the rest of them that old?"

In a very serious tone, I replied, "Yes, some are even older. The two blond girls are 30."

Gasp.

At this point, his bewilderment was getting old. It was as if he saw the freaking Golden Girls at the bar.

Then my young friend asked me to help him find someone else that would offer their ID to help get his 18 year old cousin into the bar. I decided to go with the grandmotherly vibe. I took him by the arm, and walked him over to a table of drunk girls who were probably a better fit.

So what if 29 sounds old. At least someone thought I looked young enough to "pass back an ID".