Happy Little Trees

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Beth who thought she might be getting sick. Her first symptom was waking up in the morning at 3 a.m. feeling like she had a fever and a sore throat. She immediately hit the herbal medicine cabinet and took an Airborne tablet. Then, in the morning, she started loading herself up on zinc.

She was hoping to go find Prince Charming tonight at the ball, but is afraid she might need to stay home and watch a Redbox movie instead. She wasn't having the best hair day anyway due to humidity levels, so everything might be working out just as it needs to be. Prince Charming can keep waiting.

I really hope I'm not getting sick. Come on, antibodies! Fight! Fight! Fight!

The more I try not to eat cookies, the more I want to eat them. First, I blamed my problem on the Girl Scouts. Now, I realize that the problem has something to do with me.

A few weeks ago, my friend, Lydia, brought some peanut butter cookies to our Young Life cookout. They were divine. I had to stop counting how many I was eating. I tried to pretend I was helping the kids out by eating the cookies.

Yesterday, I swore myself off of cookies, and then found a lovely pink one on my computer keyboard as a gift from a co-worker. It's rude not to eat a gift. The pink icing tasted very much like the icing that is on an Easter candy I like.

Last night, I ran two miles at a steady pace to help burn off some of the cookie crumbs that have stuck to my body permanently. After running, I came home and ate a veggie burger which was surprisingly delicious. I decided, maybe, just maybe, I could be a vegetarian.

While sitting and enjoying What About Bob?, I heard a noise from my frig. It was my good friends Ben & Jerry. Their voices were muffled because they were inside the frig, but I think they were yelling, "Help!" So I went to see if I could help them. They needed me to take a spoon and pick out the cookie dough bits from the frozen yogurt, so I did my best. They were so grateful when I ate out every cookie dough bit.

Next time I see them I need to ask them if the cookie dough inside the frozen yogurt is bake-able.

Reasons to get a dog:
1. They're fluffy.
2. They're cute.
3. They can be good friends.
4. They can help protect the household.
5. They can encourage people to walk.
6. They can help you meet other dog people.

Reasons NOT to get a dog:
1. They get sick.
2. They can eat your belongings.
3. They can shed everywhere to the point where you find a dog hair in your eye (this has happened to me).
4. If owners take a trip, they need a place to chill.
5. They poop. A lot.
6. Some friends might start to avoid you because of your dog.

If you are what you eat, I am slowly morphing into a cupcake with pink icing.

Sunday birthdays are okay. I really like a Friday birthday. Then, you can parade around all day at work and say, "It's my birthday!" and then, you can have a nice dinner and party.

On a Sunday birthday, things are a bit slower. And Sunday is God's day, so you don't want to steal any of His thunder.

I still think my best birthday parties was at Chuck E. Cheese. As a kid, we had to travel an hour to go to Chuck E. Cheese. There was also a place called Showbiz Pizza Place. Eventually, all Showbiz Pizzas became Chuck E. Cheese (just a little pizza party wiki-info-style for you).

My sister, Traci, was about 18 or 19, and my favorite Polaroids are the ones where you can see that she is obviously wishing that she really wished Chuck E. Cheese had gone out of business. My friends and I had so much fun. I think I got to take Paula, Jenny, and Holli. I remember us all teaming up at the whack-a-mole to get the most tickets. Yes, deviant behavior, but tickets poured out! Fun times.

I always dreamed of having a McDonald's birthday party. Every participant got a Happy Meal (back when they came in a box), but the best part was the McDonald's cake. My friends and I used to buy their birthday cakes for fun in high school. You haven't lived until you've eaten a pure sugar Grimace.

Now, I'm 34. And far from a party at Chuck E. Cheese or McDonald's. I guess now I have to wait to have children of my own, but then I'll have to be the adult in the situation which probably won't be near as fun.

Last night at the rodeo, I waited anxiously for one of my favorite events: The Chuckwagon Race. I picked out the Kroger Chuckwagon to win it all. My eyes followed that wagon closely as it made it around the bend, when suddenly...WHAMO! BANG! CRASH!

The wagon had a wreck. One of the horses had gotten tangled somehow and the horses started tumbling. Wheels on the wagon were bent, and several cowboys appeared on the scene rushing to help out.

The announcer kept repeating, "Folks, no need to be alarmed. We have lots of professional veterarians here that know just how to handle this."

One additional cowgirl almost got wiped out by one of the two remaining chuckwagons still tearing around the course as she ran across the dirt to be one of the horse heroes.

It was a scary time. I kept imagining what might have to be done. I remembered the episode of Little House on the Prairie that made me cry (alright, every episode made me cry!) when Laura's horse, Bunny, had to be shot.

I wondered if the announcer would say, "Folks, we're gonna have to dim the lights a bit, and you might wanna cover your ears, cause the Ol' Yeller horse ain't gonna make it. We'd like to thank you all for coming out tonight, and every person here will get a commemorative Rodeo cup for your troubles."

By a miracle, the horse stood up. The announcer thanked the audience for saying a little prayer for the horse. I felt a bit guilty for not saying a prayer, but felt better when I found out my friend didn't either. We don't believe in horse prayers.

Today, my co-worker who owns a ranch told me that if the horse had a broken leg, the vet would have to kill it right there. She said that a tent would have been brought out into the ring as a "cover-up." Most people wouldn't know what was going on, but those in the horse business would know. And now we all know.

Due to recent economic constraints, my lunch-loving office has made a consensus to only do a group eat-out day once a week. For the rest of the week, we've been bringing our lunches and competing over microwave usage minutes.

Tomorrow has been selected as our eat-out day. Our HR rep has decided that we will eat at Hooter's tomorrow. I tried to speak up and mention that I'm not so into Hooters. And I also used the true excuse that my stomach has been upset, and wings might not be good for the tummy. I was overruled. The lunching ladies are scheduled for a Hooter's visit tomorrow and will be dragging me along.

I know all the hoopla of Hooters: "Great wings!" "Good food!" "It's so fun!"

Well, then why not just go to Buffalo Wild Wings? Or some place where the female body is not the fanfare? Or better yet -- why don't we just order a delivery lunch at Victoria Secret for the same type of effect?

More on Hooters: I just heard there is a Hooter's Hotel in Vegas. I'm sure people stay there, because the wings are great. I wonder, do the maids have to wear those outfits?!

1) I keep dreaming of buying elastic waist pants.
2) I forget my age. "Let's see...I was born in 1975..."
3) I asked my niece who the adult was on her mission trip, and she replied, "Well, technically, I am an adult."
4) I remember all twelve of Madonna's phases: the punk, the Marilyn, the blonde ambition, the domanatrix, the businessman, the Spanish princess...etc.
5) I still own tapes.
6) I like to stay home on Friday nights to rest.
7) I can't figure out new dance moves.
8) I graduated from college in the 90s.
9) I can count my age by the lines on my forehead like one would determine the age of a tree.
10) I have started liking the TCM channel more than MTV.

I know a little Irish family that lives in the mountains of North Carolina. Every St. Patrick's Day, the entire family has a big party. The dad dresses in a kilt, and the kids are dressed in head-to-toe green. It's completely fabulous.

Last year, the family was given a sweet gift. On March 17, 2008, a sweet baby girl named Maggie entered the clan.

When I went to visit them last year, the whole family was waiting for me at the airport. Maggie (at only about 6 months old) immediately dove at me to get a hug. And I immediately fell in love with her like I'm in love with the rest of this family.

Have a Happy St. Patrick's Day, Maggie! And enjoy your birthday!

It's spring in Texas, and I feel the need to plant and grow something. I'd like to grow some type of herbs, but they might need to be indoor herbs since I have a hungry creature in my backyard.

Does anyone have any herb container garden pointers?

If I don't have a green thumb, I'll just stick to growing mold on bread like in 2nd grade.

Sometimes, I'm afraid if I was in the right mood and was having twins, I might name them Chips and Salsa. But I'm neither in the right mood or having twins, but I always am ready for chips and salsa.

I’ve decided to make some changes in my life. They are small changes, but the results could be life changing.

Things I’m changing:

My part – I’m switching from a right part to a left. Currently this has left me with a bit of a dinosaur bump, but I have a feeling that in a few weeks, I’ll be looking more normal. If you train your hair the way it should go, when you are old, it will not depart.

My eating habits – Currently, I don’t eat too bad, but I could stand to eat a bit more lean meat and veggies and less cheese and crackers.

My cleanliness level – I am going to finally figure out a system for dealing with the ins and outs of clothing. I am doing a test run of a special post-clean laundry system. And I’m implementing more sweeping and dusting. (If these fail, I’m getting a maid.)

My Bible version – I recently gave away my favorite Bible which is a very noble thing to do, but it comes with a price, now I don’t have a favorite Bible. I’m switching from NIV and going to a new type to be determined when I hit the bookstore.

My wardrobe – There’s a little boutique that has some lovely new clothes for spring which I will be implementing into my wardrobe. I pretended I had embodied both Clinton and Stacy last weekend as I terrorized my closet, “Do you keep this skirt in case you get an invite to a flamenco class? Puh-leeze! In the trash!”

When I first moved to Houston, the rodeo kind of confused me. For starters, it seemed odd having the cows come to the city. Then, the people of Houston suddenly all morphed into cowboys. It was very bizarre watching all the city slickers turn into cowboys complete with boots and hats. It reminded me of the kids from the subdivision in Beaver Dam that would jump in mud puddles to get their workboots dirty so they could look authentic.

I didn't like the rodeo. I hated the extreme crowds--mainly because of the parking issues. I didn't get the concept of walking around munching on a turkey leg. The first time I saw the calf scramble (a rodeo tradition where teens chase calves around trying to catch them) I got scared to death, because a man assisting got knocked down and out by a runaway calf and needed medical assistance. The whole experience was very stressful, so I avoided the rodeo for a few years.

Then something very unusual happened...somehow, I became romanced by the rodeo. Perhaps the free tickets and parking passes had something to do with it, or my introduction to the fried twinkie, but whatever the case, now I am a convert.

I've already got one rodeo event lined up, and I'm hoping to somehow get to see Brad Paisley or Keith Urban, too. And this year there is a new event where toddlers ride sheep. What could be better?! I also have cowboy boots to wear, so I, too, can follow the herd in cowboy regalia.

YEE-HAW!

I worked out 55 out of 59 days, and I think I gained about 3 pounds. I feel stronger, but I know all the poundage is not muscle--unless it's soft muscle that makes my pants too tight. I feel like such a Cathy cartoon these days. AACK!

Reality television is pretty ridiculous. I miss the days of The Cosby Show and Family Ties. T.V. now has become a freakshow circus.

I am so glad I did not watch much of The Bachelor this season. The main guy on the show was a single dad who was looking for someone so he could have a family again. The game of love and relationships should not be a contest's prize. Marriage takes commitment and love and trust. Cameras cannot capture the status of a heart or a mind. Producers cannot stage the complexities of a human love relationship. Why is anyone shocked that after the cameras leave, these relationships have major issues?

I'm embarrassed that I've watched this show in the past. I'm embarrassed for this generation of American television. Do these women and men not have more self-respect for themselves?

Now that I am off my Bachelor soapbox, I confess that I do still watch The City. I like watching it to check out all the accessories the characters have(aka actors or participants or whatever they are). I was saddened when I found out that MTV has a website already dedicated to everything you see the characters wear, so you can look like them, too. It's like having a website access to the coolest girl in school's shopping list...it takes away some of the mystery of her coolness which seems unfair to her.

Sometimes when I watch The City, I count camera angles and try to guess how many other people are in the room during shooting. Usually there are about three different camera angles. The show is so over-edited that sometimes words come out of the characters mouth and the clip shows no mouth moving.

If I was Whitney Port, I would be afraid someone only wanted to be my friend to promote themselves. I don't know how much money they make, but it wouldn't be worth it.

I read on Wikipedia that one of Whitney's old roomies was a believer. I don't know if Whit is a believer or not. They never show her going to church on the show (or bathing for that matter) but I assume she might have some type of religion or hygiene habits.

I hope one day the slaves of reality television will free themselves to be who God wants them to be and has made them to be, apart from a producers guidance.