Even Baptist Women Want To Know....

This is a family blog here and I suppose it's not fittin' for a Southern Baptist woman, such as myself, to be asking such a question in a public forum, but, I must.

These commercials they run for Viagra and it's ED prevention bretheren....the one where the guy is watching the big game on tv and the Mrs. gets a little randy and heads towards the bedroom and he has to decide whether to continue watching football or using that groovy invention called the VCR and go for a shag.

Then, they cut to Dr. Richard Edwards (not his real name. Just a little joke from me. Heh. Get it? No extra charge for that one) the one where that doctor, with a straight face, goes over all the possible side effects of Viagra and then warns of possible injury and for the love of Ron Jeremy, get straight to the ER if you experience an erection lasting longer than 4 hours.

I didn't know it was possible for something like that to go on for 4 hours. I mean...does that happen?

Frankly, I'm glad we've come around to discussing personal things about the menfolk in our advertising. We've had to endure those horrible, feminine hygiene product commercials forever. Ugh...all those horrnedous "Mom...do you sometimes not feel fresh?" commercials.

One Of The Best Movies Ever Made?

Now that I'm unemployed, I've reverted back to my true, nocturnal nature. I'm getting back in the habit of staying up late. Mr. Smiff and I are a good match that way. He keeps more Elvis hours than I do, being a musician, but, he and I both are into some staying up late. The decade I spent working regular people working hours, I could barely make it to 11 most night, but, now, it kinda reminds me of the days when our big kids were little, before they started school, before I started working and it was not unusual for us to stay up very late.

Last night, I pulled a late nighter. Mr. Smiff had a late night showcase for IBMA (late as in they played at midnight) and he got home about 1:30 or so. I went to bed with the intention of sleeping, however, I was sidetracked by a fantastic movie that I had never seen, but, had always wanted to see.

As I started watching The Last Picture Show, it appeared to me to be a story about Cybill Shepherd and Jeff Bridges characters wanting to get laid and that was it. If you've seen this fantastic movie, you know it's about so much more than that.

The cast in this movie was unbelievable: Very young Cybill and Jeff, Timothy Bottoms, Ellyn Burstyn, Randy Quaid, and it's no wonder Cloris Leachman and Ben Johnson won Oscars. I don't know if it was cause it was the middle of the night, the black and white film, the amazing soundtrack with people like Hank, Sr., Hank Thompson, Eddie Fisher....the brilliant direction of Peter Bogdanovich and writing by Larry McMurtry..this movie is perhaps one of the best movies ever made.

It's very rare I think about characters in a movie the day after, but, I've found myself thinking about the characters all day today. Unusual.

Rent it if you haven't seen it.

Ben Savage is NOT Dead

My site meter shows that I'm getting a ton of hits of people trying to find out if actor Ben Savage is dead.

I'm going to say this one more time...Ben Savage is not dead. If he were dead, he'd have been on the cover of People, The Star, all over every cheesy entertainment magazine that exists.

That poor boy of Anna Nicole Smith's did nothing to be famous, except for having the poor fortune to have been her kid and dang if I saw his last photos, supposedly taken minutes before he died, under strange circumstances, in a hospital room. So trust me, if Ben were no longer with us, we'd have had it in our faces and be sick and tired of the whole thing.

There was a rumor years ago that Jerry Mathers, aka "The Beaver" had died, as well as Butch Patrick who played Eddie Munster. Both of those guys are still live and kicking, albeit, they've turned into middle aged guys that look like somebody's Paw Paw.

I haven't had this many random hits since I posted about Paul Eels death a couple months ago. I've had more hits from all over the country, including Hawaii, of people looking up Paul. I have a lot of new Arkansas readers because of that.

LIveblogging-Babysitting

Me and Mr. Smiff are babysitting our 16 month old niece today. It's been awhile since I've had to keep up with a toddler. Mattie reminded me, as soon as I walked in her house with her, what it's like to change a poopie diaper. I mean, this girl wasted no time in reaquainting her Auntie Sista with diapers, wipes and Desitin.

It should be interesting today to see how much we've aged. I hope we have the energy to keep up with her.

Intoxi-Blogging?

I don't think I mentioned here that Twisted Mister, I mean Mr. Smiff and the Grascals will be playing at the World Famous Station Inn tomorrow night at 9:00, following an appearance on the Tuesday night Grand Ole Opry. Tomorrow is the first Opry appearance for the week cause they go back Saturday night to be on the televised portion.

I'll tell more about this Thursday,but, your Sista will be live blogging the IBMA Awards show for my friends at the Bluegrass Blog. Those guys might be sorry they let me do that. Those awards shows make me a little on the nutty side. I was so wigged out last year, I had to have a little alcoholic beverage and I'm not a drinker. If I feel the need to partake at the pre-awards reception for the nominees, it should be an interesting read. "Drunken Blogging With Sista Smiff." I can barely hold one beer so maybe it might be in the best interest to stick with Diet Something or another.

Dishwashers and Hell

If you've been following the saga of the passing of the Smiff Dishwasher last week (may it rest in peace), you can sleep well tonight because there is a new dishwasher on its way.

I did my research on dishwashers and decided to go back to whence I came and went with Sears since the Kenmore we had performed so nicely all that time. I got tickled at Mr. Smiff testing the salesman on the whys and how to's of dishwasher installation and we came to the conclusion that the Sears Guy did not know diddly shit about dishwashers.

While at the mall, the Daughter was pumped to go spend some birthday money and a gift card. The store that she had a gift card for, Hot Topic, appeared to be the sort of establishment where Satan himself lives. Nothing but t shirts and crap with skulls on it. I think my favorite t-shirt was the one with the symbol for satanism on it. I was really hoping my beautiful baby girl would choose that one. I'd have been one proud mother, for sure.

I would prefer spending a day locked inside Abercrombie anyday over the Hell Store. I don't know why somebody thought this was the store for the daughter. She told Mr. Smiff as we approached Hell Store, "Now Dad, this is an Emo and Goth store" to which this Star of Bluegrass replied " A WHAT store?" I don't think either word meant a thing to him.He sat outside while the Daughter perused the aisles of skull paraphanalia, body piercing jewelry, tattoo magazines...

The only two things in the entire store that I would have bought was a Willie Nelson t-shirt and a copy of Johnny Cash's autobiography, which I have already read. I guess Cash is something of a patron saint of the Goth and Emo kids. I wondered if the girl working there had any idea that the Cash book that she was selling told of Johnny Cash's deep, persnal, relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ AND had pictures of Billy Graham in it?

I was quite relieved when the daughter said to me "There is nothing i want here. Let's go to American Eagle." Thank you, Lord.

It will be about a week before the new dishwasher is delivered and installed though. That means another week of washing dishes by hand. Have I mentioned how much that sucks?

While You Have The Chance...

I have done it again. I'm mad at myself for once again not following up on a chance to let somebody know that I was thinking about them.

My dad's first cousin, Libba, passed away yesterday at the age of 86. She had taken a bad fall earlier in the week and I knew that the outlook for her was probably not so good. I did go out and get a card to send to her as soon as I heard about her fall. I filled it out, signed it, put her name on the envelope and had every intention of looking her address up, getting a stamp and putting the card in the mail. It's not like I've been extra busy now that I have plenty of time during the day.

This is not a relative that I was very close to, in terms of communicating regularly or being close to her when I was growing up. In fact, the first time I remember meeting Libba and her wonderful husband, Frank, was at Dad's memorial service in 1992. I was so touched at the time that they drove up from their home in Chattanooga and they were just the nicest, warmest people. I instantly felt bonded to them.

Libba's father and my grandfather were brothers. They were very, very close. They suffered through a difficult childhood with an abusive father and up until they were old men and as long as they were able to, they made regular visits, in spite of the many miles between Chattanooga, TN and San Antonio, Texas. They were tight. They made a pact that whoever died first would go to the other's grave and "christen" it. Use your imagination as to what that meant. My grandfather followed up on that pact after Uncle Homah died in 1973.

I think the closeness between the brothers and the immense love those two had for each other is what made me feel like I knew Libba and the times I was able to visit with her were very special moments. I had the same experience the first time I met her daughters. Their personalities, sense of humor were just like the girls in my family. It had to be cause of the Brothers. Had to be.

I wish I could've spent more time with Libba. I last saw her two summers ago. She was the epitome of what one would think a lady would be. She had four wonderful children, all extremely succesful people (one son was a dentist for one of the President's even), a number of grandkids (also high achivers). Her husband, Frank, is one I will one day do a post about. He was a Prisoner of War during World War II for several years and his escape was something that would make a killer movie. Great people.

Just another reminder to follow up on those stirrings and not let them slide.

Times Haven't Changed

Two thirteen year old girls...one in 2006, one in 1982.

Being the mother of a nearly 15 year old and now a 13 year old, I hear lots of interesting stuff. Just when I find myself at my wits end in dealing with them, something happens that reminds me of when I was that age and that we're not totally living on different planets.

There has been a rumor floating around My Space that Ben Savage, younger brother of Fred, known for his role on Boy Meets World was killed in a car accident. My son tells me last night "Mom...Corey Matthews died." (Who the hell is Corey Matthews? Ah, the character on Boy). Then, this morning, the daughter says "Momm-eh....Ben Savage died." Even 8 year old #2 got in on the action.

Apparently, Ben Savage is alive and well. I am glad. I was always partial to Big Brother Fred, who was on The Wonder Years as that precious Kevin Arnold.

Why is it kids like to make up stuff like this? It's nothing new. When I was in 7th grade (same grade my daughter is in now) the big rumor that went around was that Belinda Carlisle, from the Go Go's, had overdosed and died. We didn't have the internet then and I have no clue how it got started. I was so relieved Belinda wasn't dead because I loved me some Go Go's.

This whole Ben Savage thing reminds me of how crappy middle school can be for another reason. 7th grade, I had this thing all year for Andrew Savage. I mean...I dug him. Finally, when summer came, we got to talking on the phone a little bit. (to me, that was serious business. He was probably just being nice) Then, I went off to church camp and my best friend moved in on my man. I laugh now and say "That's 13 year olds for you" but boy, at the time, I was crushed. Not so much at him, but, at my best friend. She was this beautiful, blue-eyed, blonde and I ......was not. She had no trouble getting the attention of the male set.

Oddly enough, this best friend, who I had been friends with since we were 4....we were never close again. Maybe that was just the regular course of things, but, I always thought it had to do with that stupid boy, who was, like, not all that.....We did resume communication though and even though I haven't seen her for years, we do email from time to time.

Oh no...I'm surrounded by Middle School drama and I'm reverting. It all just shows how with parenting, you get to relive your Sesame Street phase and your Awkward Phase.

So What Are YOU Doing This Weekend?

Guess who is guest blogging over at Nashville Is Talking this weekend? Y'all come by and see me.

Does This Mean There's Something Wrong With Me?

I went to the mall this morning to get a pedicure and while sitting in the chair, the radio was on 92.9 and they played the theme to Flashdance and it set my heart all a twitter. Why is this? Yeah, I'm 37 and a grown up, but, dammit, I love that song. It makes me feel good and always has.

Funny how a song can instantly transport you back in time and you can remember where you were, what all was going on, how you thought about and saw things...this song is like instant time travel back to the latter part of 8th grade for me.

Flashdance was one of the first R rated movies I ever saw without sneaking in. Cousin Sharon took me and Mandi and we saw not one, but, two R rated movies back to back. The other was Trading Places. Talk about Heathen Heaven...I was in it that day. That was the summer of 1983 when I was 14 and had taken my first plane trip alone to Houston.

I want you to be happy too because it's Friday and a little on the dreary side so go get your own Irene Cara Fix. (I hate that this Beta Blogger doesn't let me put the You Tubes up like it did so you have to take a link.)

Enlightenment (Warning: Heavy, Middle of the Night Subject)

Washing dishes by hand sucks. I want my dishwasher. It is perhaps the best invention ever.

I am not one who washes my dishes before they go into the dishwashing machine. They go in pretty much as is. I know people who do the whole washing routine before they go in. Not me. They come out clean as a whistle. Every once in awhile, I might have to run something through again or there might be a little spot of dried something on a plate, but, rarely. They make them so good now, they grind stuff up really good.

My mother doesn't have a dishwasher anymore. She did while I was growing up and did until she moved into the stepfather's house (that sounds nawty doesn't it? Trust me, it wasn't). It's just her now so I suppose washing dishes for one isn't so horrible.

Mr. Smiff has an aunt that doesn't have nor desire a dishwasher and everytime we visit, she spends the entire time washing dishes for all the people that tend to gather at her house. That one baffles me.

I guess I'm spoiled. I like my dishwasher and want it noooooooooow. We're hopefully going to get one sometime over the weekend. I'm kinda partial to the ones they make now that have the silverware basket in the door. The new Smiff Dishwasher also must be in Bisque since the other appliances are that color. I would hate to make a potential fashion faux pas and get a black or stainless steel one and it clash with the others.

Country Cookin' Makes Ya Good Lookin'

Y'all are gonna be wishing you were eating with the Smiff's tonight. I'm becoming something of a Paula Deen fanatic and today we're having her Taco Soup. It's pretty easy and smack-yo-mama good. You can get the recipe here.

I made her Butterscotch Delight, too. I never make dessert. These Smiffs are going to be so spoiled with me at home all the time. I'll post that recipe later.

I'm about ready to make a road trip to Savannah for no other reason except to eat at Paula's restaurant. I also think a good pairing would be Paula and Hazel.

Sista and the Sweaty Guy

I was reading Dooce and she asked the question, referring to dating, "What are your deal breakers?" My Schishter told me just last week, that I really need to tell y'all the story of "The Sweaty Guy." I had forgotten about the Sweaty Guy. It was one of the funniest experiences I have ever had in life and I totally forgot about the Sweaty Guy. I don't even know that Mr. Smiff has heard this story.

I've mentioned before that Mr. Smiff and I went through a "rough" period some years ago and we actually weren't married for a little over a year. During that time, I went on a few dates that were very unmemorable. That is until the Sweaty Guy came along and he was memorable in a bad sort of way.

The Sweaty Guy was extremely fun to talk to/email with. He was quite intelligent, articulate, humorous, had a really good job. I went to meet him for lunch. He was reasonably nice looking...he was no Short and Fat or CeeElCee (but, who is?) but, he looked kempt and looked as if he probably had good hygenic habits. He was very warm and friendly. Everything was looking good...until we sat down.

As we began to eat, I noticed he seemed to be perspiring a little. Probably nervous...afterall, he was dining with me, Sista Smiff, all of my hotness and all would cause some nervousness. (I am being facetious here). Really, I chalked it up to a little nervousness. No big whoop.

The perspiring a little increased to out and out sweating. At first, he looked like he had been doing a little exercise. I kept thinking, "This will stop soon." No such luck. It kept on and got worse and worse. Sweat was pouring out of him like somebody had turned on a faucet. I had never seen anything like this before in my life. I've seen my father have night sweats when he was dying of cancer and it wasn't anything like this. I couldn't look right at him, for that would be awkward. He never slowed down his chatter for a second. It was almost as if he did not notice he was sweating all over creation.

He must've sensed my totally freaking out at the wonder that a person could sweat like this because he said "Don't mind me...I sweat when I eat." Oh ok. That TOTALLY makes sense. (?) The sweating continued and believe it or not...got worse. He was wiping himself with napkins, his shirt...I did feel bad for him but could not wait to get out of there.

He tried to smooth the situation over by telling me how he stalked his ex-wife. That made all the pool of perspiration around the table roll away. (Dating tip: Do not tell somebody on your first date how jealous you were of your ex-wife. It's NOT attractive)

Finally, it was time to leave. I was feeling like the Sweaty Guy was digging him some Sista. I was almost sure he was going to try to touch me in some sort of affectionate way, be it a hug or whatever.

Your Sista is not a touchy feel-ly gal and can't fake it, ya see, but that was not the issue on this day. I didn't want to touch the poor Sweaty Guy, not even the slightest fingertip. He was soaking wet and had to have smelled bad. (Never mind that whole Stalking the Ex Wife thing...I wasn't fillin' it) I pictured the Sweaty Guy trying to hug, or God forbid, kiss me and me trying to get out of it like Beverly D'Angelo tried to avoid Cousin Eddie's kisses in the Vacation movies.

We get out to the parking lot and I'm thinking "Oh crap..he's going to try to Cousin Eddie me" so as he is still incessantly talking, I ease my way away from him towards my car. "Ok..bye"...get in my car and git. I've never been so happy to get back to work from lunch as I was that day.

It didn't dawn on me through the whole lunch time how funny this experience was. It was not until I got back to work and was telling my co-workers about the experience. I got to telling the story of the Sweaty Guy and laughed so hard, I nearly wet my pants and had these people (who all mostly hated me and thought I was totally of the devil, for some reason) rolling.

The Sweaty Guy emailed me later that afternoon and said something like "Was everything ok? You seemed to leave rather quickly." Uh...yeah. He went on to tell me he had some sort of heart condition and that the medication he took caused profuse sweating. I felt so bad for the guy. I hope I have conveyed in this little story the amount of perspiration this guy eliminated. He was probably dehydrated afterwards.

He emailed me a few more times, hoping to get together again and I don't remember what I said to brush him off. I really didn't want to hurt his feelings because he was not a bad guy (except for his penchant for stalking).

It's a jungle (gym) out there in the dating world. I don't envy the single folks.

Do You Know...

How long of a lifespan does a dishwasher have? Ours is seemingly sickly. We've had it ten years and never once had to have a repairman look at it. It's been a dandy.

Anybody out there an expert on household appliances?

The Pitter Patter of Little Paisley's

I watched part of Father of the Bride II this past Sunday on TBS. It's an ok movie. One of those movies you can watch when nothing else is on. I think the first installment of the remake of this little series, Father of the Bride, was a lot better.

The original FOB was fantastic, with Spencer Tracy, Elizabeth Taylor and the sequel to that one, Father's Little Dividend, was great. Anything with Spencer Tracy is great though. He could've been in something like Jackass and it would've been a classic.

Anyway, as I suffered through the ridiculousness that is Father of the Bride II, I was looking at Kimberly Williams with her little pregnancy pillow on and I got to thinking "I wonder if Kimberly and Brad [Paisley] are going to have children?"

Well, whaddya know...the Mother in Law herself was the one to break the news to the world that Mr. and Mrs. Paisley are going to become parents for the first time in February.

Brad has been a good friend of Hazel's since he started getting famous. He calls her all the time from here and yonder and I believe he will be appearing on Hazel's new show Southern Fried Flicks soon. Even though they're big buddies, I have yet to meet the father-to-be. Maybe I could give him some baby advice. That is, if I can remember. I'm so strapped in Teen Hell at the moment, I have to remind myself these two were once cute little toddlers drawing on the wall with Sharpies and stuff.

I was reading in some blog yesterday (sorry I don't remember who it was or I'd link it) but the writer is a mother of four and was talking about how people ask her pregnancy/baby advice all the time and she has a hard time remembering details.

I'm sorta like that at times. I have been pregnant a total of 27 months and spent ten years changing diapers and carrying a little one on my hip. I love children, but, I'm not one of these that has to touch and hold every little person I see. I got wo' out from living on Sesame Street. I do kinda miss Mr. Rogers a little bit. I'm at the point now when I see pregnant women, I feel sorry for them and say "Woo hoo...glad that ain't me."

The mean part of Sista Smiff is secretly hoping Kimmy gets a stomach full of stretch marks.

Mr. Smiff Hits The Mothership

One good thing about being unemployed is that I had the rare opportunity to spend a day out with Mr. Smiff. It was quite romantic.

We stopped by the Hairdo Place and got haircuts. Mr. Smiff didn't get much in the way of style, but, I did. I wish I could make my hair look like this everyday.

Then, Mr. Smiff got his first taste of the Mothership. I was pretty excited to take him there, for he is a North Carolina boy that was raised around some good barbecue. His family raised hogs, for heavens sake...he knows what would be good and what wouldn't be. These were the exact words upon tasting the barbecue and ribs:

"This beats the shit out of Whitts."

My man may not have the fancy words, but, he do know what he's talking about. It was great there today, but, there I had me a good hairdo and there was no Dr. Funkenswine in sight. The new girl up front claimed he was there but I never saw him.

Mr. Smiff loved the bathrooms, too. Those ribs were smokin' today, as usual.

Gassy Barrel

We went to the Music Valley Dr. Cracker Barrel last night, along with the Mother in law and nephew. The service was soooo slow. Unusually slow. I don't remember ever having it take that long to get served at the Cracker Barrel. That was not the only first I experienced at the CB.

We were seated in the smoking section (it was quicker) at the first table by the kitchen. I was seated next to Mr. Smiff and we were facing the kitchen. There was a table full of people behind me. I didn't pay any attention to them. I was mostly noticing two tables near us with older people who chain smoked the whole time. At one point, I leaned over to Mr. Smiff and said "I'm so glad they brought them their food so they would put their ciggarettes down for a minute." I mean, these people were serious about their smoking.

Because it took what felt like 3 hours before our food arrived, I pondered and watched the Chain Smoking Old People, told #2 to sit down about 80 times and waited.

Suddenly, out of the blue, I hear two farts, followed by a dramatic pause and then another. These were not "Oops" kinda farts. These were deliberate, concentrated and well thought out farts. Whoever they belonged to had to think to themselves "I'm in a public place and I have gas that needs to be released. There are people all around me. Do I fart or not? I think I will fart." Do keep in mind the Fart Owner was directly behind me. I was showered with gas. Strange gas belonging to someone I knew not.

Mr. Smiff's first reaction was that it was me who delt said fart. Because he spends a large amount of his time traveling with 5 other guys who take great pleasure out of flatulence, it wasn't quite as disturbing to him as it was me. Welcome to his world. Mother In Law Smiff did not have the blessing of hearing the explosion.

I was so stunned. I was totally unbelieving I had been farted on by a stranger. I didn't want to turn around and look because I was just so shocked. The daughter thought it was me as well because she said my face turned red. I got so tickled. The Mother in Law also became suspicious that I had lived up to the saying that "The first smeller's always the feller."

Praise the Lord and pass the air freshener, the party containing the Farter got up and left. It was almost as if they left us a parting gift. I was still not recovered from the whole experience when Mr. Smiff pointed out that the Farter returned to the scene of the crime to leave a tip. Just as he pointed this out, I took a sip of my drink and proceeded to spew it all over #1 Son and Nephew Smiff. I have never before spit drink on anybody while laughing.

As Mr. Smiff said so eloquently, this guy put the crack in Cracker Barrel.

An Opry Poll

Next week is a busy week for Mr. Smiff and band as all the die hard, bluegrass enthusiasts will converge on Downtown Nashville for IBMA's(International Bluegrass Music Association) World of Bluegrass celebration. The week culminates in an awards presentation on Thursday at the Opry House.

Mr. Smiff and them are up for three awards, including the prestigious Entertainer of the Year. The people over at the Opry's website are doing an unscientific poll. Do us a favor and go over there and vote for them.

This reminds me I've got to get something to wear to this little soiree next Thursday night. Guess I better get on that.

By George

Mr. Smiff and Terry Eldredge are going to be visiting with Traci Todd on George The Bluegrass Show on WRVU. You can listen online or the old fashioned way by tuning into 91.1 FM.

Yoga + Sista = Wrongness

This is why I don't do Yoga. Sure's I'm a Sista, that is what would happen to me if I were to ever go to a yoga class.

M is for the many things my mother gave me. Besides the square, flat butt and no visible waist line (Mr. Smiff once tried to convince me I had the same sort of build, pre-children, as a young Esther Williams. HA! Liar.) unexpected explosions fall under the catgegory of Stuff I Inherited From The Sullivan Clan That I Wish I Wouldn't Have...along with low self esteem, allergies, thick eyebrows and short legs.

Yet, I smile anyway.