Get Nice.

I'm getting Julio's Chips delivered to my door. Can you believe it? There is a God and He knows my address.

And there's a good chance He goes by Julio sometime...I'm just sayin'.

But yes, I received word today that a reader and lover of all things Stretch Marks had read about my plight and was happy to help. I should be receiving them in a few short days all wrapped up in a FedEx box and covered with those annoying little Styrofoam peanuts, that I'm not even gonna gripe about, because it will keep them safe. Just like a precious newborn or a tender reed. That's how I feel about my Julio's.

Seriously ya'll, I just don't know what to do with myself. Isn't that NICE of her?

And when I told the Attorney General I was receiving them he immediately blew out my bubble by telling me that they would be complete dust by the time they got here. But because I see the jar as half full instead of empty like most attorneys and say, funeral directors, I simply told him that if that happened to be the case I would just thaw out some chicken "and roll my chicken breasts in them."

Which I have to say made for an amusing moment. But I digress.

But still - I came up with a solution for even Julio's dust. Which makes me ingenious and very close to Paula Deen. And isn't that NICE?

I also want to thank all of you who sent me emails and left comments that you love the Stretch Marks blog and wanted to be added to my blogroll. Some of you were so encouraging...as opposed to others of you...and I will be happy to add you....as opposed to others of you. Oh, I kid. All of you were so NICE.

And I promise to add each of you as soon as I have one second to myself without a little helper. Wait, as soon as I have one second to myself without a little helper I am going to use the big girl potty. But I will do right after that. Promise.

And now speaking of NICE...

I am a perfecter of segues. Am I not?

Remi Hope has learned a plethora of words. A plethora. That's "a whole bunch" in Mexican. And I love to hear her try them out.

She's learned to tell me "you go" when she wants to play by herself.

She's also learned to say "Hi, Kelli" to every friend that calls me - whether it's Kelli or not - which makes Kelli extremely happy and not at all obnoxious.

She's learned the dogs name next door and so I'll hear "Hi Cody" occasionally. Once I even heard, "Gross Cody." Don't know. Don't wanna know.

She received a package from her Grandma and actually asked me "what is 'at momma?" which makes her sound so grown up and kind of makes me sad.

But what I really love to hear is her playing with her blocks. Apparently someone else is playing with her. I'm not sure who they are. But she sees them - and that's all that matters. (Unless that's a sign of something disturbing, in which case don't tell me.) But I watched her sit in the hallway and play blocks until the sun went down - all the while playing with her "friend." Now at this point I'm not sure what he/she did but it must have really upset her, because I watched as she took block after block, held it up and said, "No! No! You no play." Finally adding, "And GET NICE!"

Which he/she must have quickly obeyed because they continued to play quite well together until we had to head out to church where her teachers told me she beat up a little boy...again.

Apparently "GET NICE" only applies to those you can't see.

Though I know some in my life I'd like to use it on...can I get a "what-what?"

Lipo, Lifts and Links

This blogger thing has really taken the bloggyness right out of my blog. It's totally blogerrific and all, but seems quite blogadacious and hard to bloggerize.

All that to say - I'm confused.

From what I understand (and it ain't much, my friends) in order to blog you have to have some tech savvy. Not much, but at least some. I got none. I got less than none. I got so little tech savvy that when I first got my computer I thought the Attorney General had upgraded and gotten me one that played sound whenever you worked on it. But then I realized that it came with a cd player and it was just playing a cd he had put in. Oh, there are more of those stories....got time?

Which, to chase rabbits, reminds me of the other day when the AG and I were watching that commercial with Kelly Ripa and she's discussing the wonder of that new oven that "brings your water to a boil in 90 seconds" and I commented on how much I needed it.
He said, "You just got a new oven less than two years ago."
"I know but it doesn't boil water like that one. It takes about a minute and a half to boil."

He asked me not to tell anyone I said that but since my mom, my Granny and my 8th grade Science teacher are the only ones that read this I figured it was okay.

But I digress.

So anyway this little blog here has taken on quite a life of it's own; which I am proud as punch to say. And so I am wanting to start a blogroll. That's fancy talk for "I'm gonna put your name on the board if you don't mind and if you promise to be kind to me and not say mean things about me or the Attorney General although you'll probably want to say bad things about him cuz he's a bad, bad man but don't forget I added you to that there board and by cracky that mean's somethin' in these here parts."

But first I have to have your permission. Well, I don't suppose I have to have it. But the Attorney General - being, well, all Attorney like and all - thinks it would be best. For he fears we might get sued if I put your name on the board and then wrote a post on, say, the dialogue a woman has with her OBGYN and then you get all offended and say "how did you ever get my name? Take it down off of your bored or I'll sue." So maybe he's right, maybe permission would be the best way to go about it.

But just know that if I tack you up on the board you have to tack me up on your board. After all, it's the only fair way. I mean self-promotion is big people. How do you think Charles Nelson Reilly got to sit in that middle square for all those years?? Self-promotion, baby!!!



So if you read my blog (or if you like Charles Nelson Reilly).....and you know you do...don't be embarrassed...then you would you leave me a little comment or an email and let me know if it's okay if I tack your name to the wall. I'm even giving it a fancy title. It's gonna be called "Lipo, lifts and links" because, well, they all start with L.

So let me know. I'll be anxiously awaiting your reply.

Okay, in all honesty, I'll be sitting here with some cookie dough and will be mildly interested to see if I even get one reply. I don't want to build this thing up anymore than it has to be.

Melissa + Julio = Together 4/Ever

There are only a few things in this life that I would literally give my right arm for.

I would give my right arm for....a swimming pool. I love to swim. I mean it, I absolutely love to swim. I love the water. In all of it's forms. I'm the only adult in her mid 30's who will come to a screeching halt if I spot a waterslide on the side of the road. And now I have a daughter who loves it as much as I do. And we need a pool. This is not a luxury item. Nor am I being overly dramatic about it. No, I'm not. This fact is, this is a "we-have-to-have-one-or-we-will-rot-to-death-inside-our-house-this summer" kind of thing.

I would give my right arm for...some Maui tacos. I discovered Maui tacos in, you guessed it, Maui. And yes, here I am referring to a trip I took to Maui and all I really want to go back for are - the tacos. What is wrong with this picture?

I would give my right arm for...someone to sneak into my garage late at night and set my Honda on fire.

And now......

I would give my right arm for...some Julio's Chips.

People, let me tell you about this most magnificent discovery. Julio's Chips came to me a few weeks ago via a friend. Forgive her - for she know not what she did.

Now let me just state for the record, I have never been a chip person. Ever! My husband is. He will sell me to the lowest bidder just to have some alone time with a bag of anything and a cold Dr. Pepper. But me? No. I'm more of your everyday meat and potato's kind of girl. (Make that fried chicken and mashed potatoes kind of girl.)

So when I stuck my hand inside that big old yellow bag of heavenly light, I just wanted a little nibble.

Let's put it this way. I - LITERALLY - stole the bag from her. It was a huge bag that she brought to a party. And when it was over and time for her to leave I LITERALLY hid the bag where she couldn't find it. Because she is nice and I knew she wouldn't make a fuss, she left quietly. And I sat alone, in my sin and shame, with Julio. And I never looked back.

Julio's Chips are made in Del Rio, Texas. You can't even buy them in Tennessee. So I think to myself, "Melissa, you should Google 'Julio's Chips' and see what you can find out about them." Well tad-dah! Julio's are everywhere! You can order them online! You can read about the story behind Julio's chips! Some guy at http://www.beetsolonely.blogspot.com/ (who I know nothing about and am not recommending in the least) actually dedicated an entire post to Julio's Chips one day recently. I mean, c'mon, how ridiculous is that? You must be having a sllloooowww blog day. Right?

When I looked up Julio's I came across this...

The Legend of Julio's Corn Chips
September 19, 2006
By Joe Hyde, Publisher

Julio’s Corn Chips are legend in these parts. The signature yellow bags of corn chips can be found on shelves of every HEB Grocery Store and Wal-Mart Super Center in San Antonio, San Angelo, and even Houston and Dallas. This now-thriving, but small Del Rio food manufacturing company has humble beginnings, having grown to a successful company with little more than the word of mouth of hundreds of thousands of loyal customers.These chips are seasoned with a Tex-Mex mix of garlic, paprika, cumin and lime that is robust without being overdone...Today, the Del Rio manufacturing plant produces 2.5 tons of Julio’s Corn Chips per day for delivery not only in Del Rio, but San Antonio, Houston, Lubbock, Lufkin, the Lower Rio Grande Valley, and Dallas. Julio’s remains a family operation.

Look?? Did you see that? It said "Lufkin." That's where I'm from!

That's all. Just thought that was neat.

So someone in Lufkin - please - for the love of sweet mercy and all things Holy - buy a girl some Julio's and send 'em my way. Please?? What else in this life do I have to look forward to? I've got no plans for Maui anytime soon. My Honda has no air, no shocks, it leaks oil and the back window won't roll up. And the AG told me that I am too old to run through the sprinkler. So what else does a girl have to look forward to this summer?

Happy Day to me and you.

I've spoken twice this week to two different ladies groups. I read this letter to each of them and had several requests for me to post it.

Just so you know, it's a love letter. To me. And you. From Him. I just write what I'm told.

It's for those of us with children - without children - and all the ladies in between. Because this weekend is "Women's Day" - so here's to you.

This is not just a message for mothers – how dare you think that!
This is a message for WOMEN.
Sunday is women’s day.
It’s not just for those who have delivered a child.
It’s for everyone who has ever held a child,
smelt a child, changed a diaper in the church nursery, or stopped a running kid in the church hallway and said
“you want me to tell your mama?”
It’s for those of you who have done laundry, paid bills, burnt chicken and hosted Thanksgiving in your little bitty kitchen.
It’s for the woman who said “yes” when asked to work VBS, who spent three days last week with a sick child,
or spent 40 hours at a job you hate so that you can afford summer camp and dance lessons for someone you love.
Sunday is for every daughter and sister and aunt and grandmother who has worn a pink ribbon and a stiff upper lip.
It’s for the woman who cashes my paycheck, scans my groceries and puts this fabulous color on my hair (thank God for you!)
It’s also for any woman who held hands with the one she loves and then buried them.
It's for the one who has volunteered to work in a church nursery - just out of the pure desire to be around that which she may be unable to ever have herself.
It’s for the young woman who sits alone on a Friday night and wonders when she won’t.
Honey, you are beautiful.
Stunning.
You couldn’t look better if you tried.
There’s only one who is really concerned with what you are wearing.
So wear Him well.

Have a happy day, my lovelies.

Pretty wild Wednesday for a white woman.

So summertime is here. Okay, to be technical it hasn't officially started. But it will very soon and when it does I want you to know about something.

Shhhh...now, bring it in close. Closer...Okay, we have to keep this just between you and me, okay? Because it's got a risky title. And let's just say that as an Assembly of God girl going to a Southern Baptist Church attending an Assemblies of God University, I'm already treading on some thin ice with the Big Guy. I kid.

But if you want to start summer off right then you have to go to your local grocer and get some of this!

Sweet mercy, this stuff is good. But be sure and put it at the bottom of your buggy (yes, I still use that word. I'm old school) and cover it up with paper plates and bags of lettuce, like I do, because it's called V8's TROPICAL COLADA.

I know, right? It's both fancy AND dangerous.

And just so you know, COLADA was not a word that I heard much growing up. I reckon I would have been in for quite a groundin' had I ever tried to say it. It fell into the same category as words like, "tank top" or "bowling alley" and of course, "dance." Though there was nothing for my mom to worry about on that one...I stunk at dancing, still do. How do I know that I do? She told me.

But seriously, thank heavens I didn't have a friend with the last name COLADA. We wouldn't have been allowed to play together. I know this because once in the 3rd grade a beautiful, exotic woman checked out our groceries. Her name tag said MARGHERITA and my mom told me not to look her directly in the eyes.

But ya'll, seriously, this stuff is amazing. It's also expensive, so I find myself walking into the kitchen intermittently throughout the day just to sneak a sip of it.

Oh no! Did you hear what I just said? It's starting already. See? My mom was right. One drink and you're hooked.

I'm staying away from the Franklin Lanes that is for dead sure. If I were to walk in there with my tank-top on you might as well reserve me a hot-spot next to Hitler and whoever came up with the idea for skinny jeans.

Listen to how I talk.

Seven white women. Ten good reasons.

I PASSED SYSTEMATIC THEOLOGY! I DID IT, I PASSED!

Please know that I am not suggesting that I am the smartest person out there writing a blog. No, I am not. I am literally stating the fact that I am, indeed, the smartest person out there writing a blog.

Just the facts, mam. Just the facts.

But on to more serious news. Here's what seven white women look like when they go to the beach in a mini-van. Carrie Bradshaw, we are not.

But oh, we had a good time. And so here are my...

TOP 10 REASONS WHY SEVEN WOMEN WHO TRAVEL TO THE BEACH TOGETHER HAVE MORE FUN, THAN SAY, SEVEN MEN WHO TRAVEL TO THE BEACH TOGETHER.

10. We drove down in a mini-van. A mini-van, ya'll!! We didn't try to load up in a Bronco or a Camaro. And when we closed those mini-van doors we looked past sippy cup stains, muddy kleets and old Kleenex. We're moms now. We-get-it.

9. We took a cookie cake. On a seven hour drive. A $40 cookie cake. With enough icing to cover a float in the Rose parade. And it was gone before we even got to the beach. I kid you not.

8. When we had filled up on raw cookie dough 30 minutes before Mexican food - we simply split a meal. Have two men ever done that?

7. Would seven men all crawl up in the same bed and massage each other's feet? We did.

6. Assuming that "surely someone else would bring one" only one woman out of seven brought a hair dryer. Men would shrug it off and go on. But not us! It took us seven solid hours to get ready to go anywhere due to passing it around.

5. No one made a comment to any of the other's as to how they looked in a swimsuit. No one. Not a word. Nope. Compliments only. That's the (unspoken) rule.

4. For seven hours solid down I65S and for seven hours solid down I65N we discussed our husbands, American Idol, our hair, favorite books, Grey's Anatomy, each other's hair, our kids, our weight, and why in the world no one is consulting us on how to make things better in this world in which we live.

3. We each came home with a souvenir. Six of us brought home new purses. One brought home a nose-ring.

2. When we pulled into the driveway to drop the first one of us off we told each other how special the weekend was. And how much we loved each other. And meant it.

1. When we laughed so hard we peed it didn't freak us out. Nor surprise us.

What do "Bloggable Moments," French Toast and Spanx all have in common?

Hydracodone.

Do not email me a recipe for French Toast. I don't want to know how to make it for fear that I will be asked to do so one day.

“Bloggable moments.” That’s blog-lingo for “Wow, I cannot wait to write all about this so my mom and my eighth grade teacher can read it.” Or at least in my case it is. Bloggable moments are those moments that are so fun, or hilarious, or meaningful, or frightening, or unexpected – that you just race to your computer and type with unadulterated fury.

Today I experienced a bloggable moment that was so bloggable, I can’t even blog about it.

Now, that’s bloggable.

Okay, that word is making me sick. I’ll move on.

So instead of boring you with a story that would only, could only, be read about in your Stretch Marks blog or watched on Dateline, I will refrain. And instead I'll tell you the more un-interesting fact (except to her grandparents) that my child can now tell you what it is she wants for dinner.

Ah, yes. This is new territory indeed.

For you see, I feel she should be happy to just get a hot meal. But noooooo, she wants to make requests. And man, is she ever put out if she doesn't get it.

In the last 12 hours she has asked for…

“Pizza.”
“Hamboogah.”
“Waffel.”
And “Ph-toast.” (That’s “I’ve-been-spoiled-rotten-all-weekend-by-my-dad-while-you-were-out-of-town-mom” talk for French toast.)

Two of those things I can’t make and one of them I have to have delivered. So what’s up with that?

On another note, I am speaking this Thursday night at a church in Nashville for their women’s event. I am excited to be going and have been thinking, reading, praying and getting’ all geared up for it. The topic is on, “What Not To Wear.” Pretty much it’ll be my notes, my Bible and some pictures of my mom.

Oh for heaven’s sake, I kid.

I was praying today about what the Lord would have us, as women, wear. Spanx obviously. But apart from that. What?

Courage or Kindness?

Patience or Perseverance?

Helpfulness or Humility?

I’m searching Him out on this one. I want to know. What does He truly desire for us to “wear”? What would that Proverbs 31 woman look like today if I were to pass her in aisle 9 at Publix? Email me and let me know what you think she’d be wearing. Or better yet, what she wouldn’t be wearing?

Other than her Spanx, of course.

Oops, I did it again.

Uh, oh. I've been lazy.

No posts since last Wednesday?? What's up with that, Melissa? You may be asking yourself.

Well, this past weekend was just another leg of what my husband likes to refer to as my "Worldwide Beach Tour." Yes, that's right. I was at the beach...again. But it's not what you think. Seriously.

I did not go away with my 3 girlfriends from Texas.
I went with my 6 girlfriends from Tennessee.

And I did not go to Florida.
I went to Gulf Shores, Alabama.

And I did not get any sun.
I got a lot of sun.

Oh, I'm a smarty.

But seriously, I am home now and back in rare form. Ready to post so many things that I have heard, seen and experienced these past few days that even you will get sick of hearing about it all. But until Kimberly gets those stinkin' pictures developed there really isn't much to show, or tell.

So I will now state the obvious...

CAROLE, YOU ARE OUR 2008 RECIPE CONTEST WINNER!!!

Yes, Carole. You. You there, with the Ritz crackers in your hand.

Put them down and claim your prize!

Through taco rings and loaves of meat, from chicken in casseroles to chicken in pies, it all comes back to you Carole. So step right up. I've got a little somethin' somethin' for ya. All you need to do is go over to that handy little button that says "Melissa I need a word with you" and click on it. Then send me an email letting me know your home address and I'm sending your gift out. Now, it ain't much - but it's more than you had when you sent in that recipe. And isn't that just the American way?

Several of you have asked me if the recipes are going to stop. Yes, they are. Eventually. But there are a few that are worth bringing up in a conversation and so I will leave you with one today. If your in the mood for Mexican, and if you aren't then please stop reading this blog right now and move on to someplace else, I'm not familiar with your kind. Personally, I could eat it thrice daily. (Yes, I said thrice.) So make your family something that's good, easy and cheezy. It's the right thing to do.

So until tomorrow, my lovelies, eat these enchiladas which may not have won my contest but did make the Attorney General clean his plate to such an extent that I didn't have to rinse it off, I just got to put it right straight into the dishwasher. Is that gross?

And stay tuned for pictures of the third leg of my "Worldwide Beach Tour". With 6 very lovely, very rowdy, very (well, for lack of a better word) white women who made my sides hurt and made me glad I ever gave that Baptist church a fighting chance.

Tah, tah.

White Enchiladas:

2-3 chicken breasts, cooked and shredded
1/2 cup picante sauce(8)
6" tortillas
1 can cream of mushroom soup
8 oz sour cream
1/4 cup milk
(1) 4.5 oz can chopped green chilies
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Combine shredded chicken and picante sauce and spoon down the center of tortillas in casserole dish. Mix together soup, sour cream, milk and green chilies and pour over tortillas. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes - adding the cheese for the last 10 minutes. Serve with tortilla chips. (Can serve salad, rice, beans...pico de gallo!)

Some final thoughts.

Sometimes when I think about what to write on my blog I say to myself, "Melissa, nothing exciting really happened today so you really don't have anything to write about." But then I reply to myself, "Yes, I know, Melissa. But remember, the world is counting on you. They need what it is you have to say." And then I take a deep breath, and continue...

So it is today. Nothing much to write on. Nothing much to say. Mer is packing up to go after her seven day Nashville excursion. She has learned much in this new homeland, so I will take these last few seconds and interview her about her travels. Think of this as Conde' Nest for really, really poor people.

Meridith, I am going to be interviewing you now. How do you feel about that?

Okay, but you have to make me sound really interesting and funny. And by the way, don't write down what I just said on your blog.

Will do. Okay, Meridith, tell me, why is it you call occasionally call and say that you are coming to town but you never ever do. So in fact, it took almost four years to finally get you here. Why is that?

Cause I'm poor.

Okay, that is so country, but let's continue.What was your favorite thing that we did during these seven days?

Let's see it was one of the following three:
a. the trip to the emergency room. The Williamson county E.R.
b. The stalking adventure we went on last night. It was very old school Melba and Annette.
or
c. The morning at Cracker Barrell the AG got on to you for "accidentally" eating 8 strips of bacon and told you "Melissa, that is not popcorn babe, it's pork."

Those were some good times. Indeed.

But I also loved going out with your girlfriends and the day we took in all the movies.

Meridith, how many hours, on average, would you say you slept this week?

(She slaps me then answers) Well, the majority of the hours you thought I was asleep I was actually watching re-runs of LOST on the internet. I'm finally watching it and I'm hooked!

I have taught you well, young one.

Thanks Yoda.

Will you miss Remi?

Absolutely. Now that you have her, I may visit more. (Meridith now rushes to the bathroom as we hear something splash into the toilet. It's Meridith's favorite bottle of lotion.)

Will you miss the Attorney General?

Uh. Take him or leave him. No, I love him. I'm still waiting to hear what happened at his lunch meeting yesterday. I know he's hiding something. He looked very guilty. Of course the man always looks guilty.

The man usually is. Will you miss me?

Here is actually Meridith typing out her answer. Forgive her for misspellings.: Yes, as a matter of fact I will miss my pork-popping, popcorn loving, sneak m&m's into the movie, one-of-a-kind, best mother in the world, cousin Melissa! It's been a great week and believe it or not, we haven't fought once. Of course, I'm still not on the plane, but it's been great. Can't wait to come back!!

I couldn't have said that better myself, Mer. Well, I probably could have because I'm a fabulous writer and all, but I'm hoping to send you off with some self-confidence, so well said!