Hello everyone!
I had a harsh realization today when I read my friend Annie's blog that my blog is terribly outdated. I have fabulous excuses...which I will write about...when I can find my underwear again.
As a teaser I'll throw out words like: moving, Indiana, North Carolina, Grandfather Mountain, Sacramento, Wine Country, moving, moving, sweat, bruises, long car rides and MOVING.

Until then...I have to go sign my lease and unpack 12 feet of a tractor trailer. Anyone in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area want to help?

Hasta Pronto,
SKL

NKOTB is back...

And they're almost 40.

Yet, somehow, still singing about the same stuff.



I have fond memories of birthday party "fashion shows" to the tunes of "Step by Step" and "Hanging Tough." I remember when they came to Jackson, MS and that some friends of mine got to go. I remember the NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK sheets, sleeping bags, shirts, etc.
It's hard to believe they're back, in their late 30's, and still singing about girls in the summer.
I'm sorry but do 40 year olds still get summer? Do they get to lay at the beach with their honey with her body all "soakin' wet?"

Absolutely Bizarre.
Absolutely Amazing.

So, Here's to You, Mrs. Robinson

Recently, after a long sweaty walk, I was driving out of the lot of the park adjacent to a skate park. There were young boys there, probably ages 13-17, wearing their skinny jeans with their too long hair. They were shirtless and sweaty...and very adolescent.

As I drove by, the boys attention turned away from their friend who has just arrived, to me. I thought nothing of it until I hear; "What up MILF?" (Note, please do not look at the link if you are easily offended. To ease your curiosity, it means Mom, I'd Like [to] F...).

My face turned a shade of red that the running and sun had not given it. Me? A MILF?
But I'm not even a Mom!

My thoughts raced from "He thinks I'm old enough to be a mom!" to "Oh My God!" and "Man, I must be getting older!"

Now, after some thought, I realize that this young boy has no knowledge of my maternal status nor if he'd even have a chance. All he knows is that I'm older than he...and I'm HOT!!!

Paul Simon knew what he was singing about.

Upgrade Me

The exciting conclusion to "A Girl and Her Diamonds."

Yesterday, you read the first segment of a beautiful story about A Girl (Me) and Her Diamonds. Well, it has been reduced to just the one diamond but that one diamond beats the other 4 diamonds any day. Hands (and neckline) down.

So, for the past year and a half I have sported my 1/4 carat diamond drop necklace. Affectionately, I call it my "Big Girl" diamond. It is MY diamond. No boys have contributed directly and it is a symbol of my independance, growth and to remind me how far I have come. I also consider it an investment.

The jeweler that I work with, despite the cheesy commercials, has been fantastic to work with. This is coming from a skeptic who does not enjoy being hassled. Other than the fact that they do not work on commission so I actually do feel like they have my interests in mind, they have a great Upgrade program. Basically, for the life of my diamond, I can always take it into Shane and they will give me the value of it as long as I spend at least a dollar more on the upgrade.

So, since I've had a helluva year, I decided that a great graduation present to myself would be an upgrade. So, here she is. Meet my latest "Big Girl" diamond. She's .52 carat and I will say looks FANTASTIC on.

Once again Beyonce, You Ain't got nuthin'.

"Mama let me upgrade ya"

Moving on and moving up!

In November of 2006 I wrote the following snippet. I didn't feel comfortable at the time to post it so I left it saved in a word document never to be seen...until now. Check back tomorrow for the exciting next chapter in a story about a girl...and her diamonds.

November, 2006

Now I’m not one to brag, but I have been blessed with very generous boyfriends who wanted me to have nice things. By nice things, I mean jewelry. Now don’t get carried away, we were young and so I’m quite sure that anyone in the Kennedy family would be less than impressed with my jewels but they were special, they meant something to me at the time, and I fell blessed to have loved and been loved. Having that said, I am currently single which means that those relationships although sweet at the time, alas, did not last.

However, diamonds are forever and although I tried to return them, neither party would hear of it so I kept them. I kept them in my drawer, to come out every now and then for special occasions in order to dress up what I was wearing. Somehow even though I no longer had feelings for either of these boyfriends, the jewelry was just plagued with feelings of the past. Feelings of should-haves and didn’ts and somehow I felt almost as if I were “pledging allegiance” to the past relationships when I wore them. So I stopped. I stopped wearing the diamond three-stone pendant and the diamond “I love you” ring. There they sat, collecting dust, taking up space, not serving any purpose at all whatsoever except to occasionally remind me of the past which is something I try not to dwell on.

So, having lots of things lying around just means that you have to dust those things so I decided to downsize, well, upgrade. I took those pretty little jewels in to the jeweler, determined the value of both, and upgraded. I am now the proud owner of a ¼ carat round cut diamond pendant set in white gold and I love it. No strings attached; well, except for the box-cut chain, and no hard feelings.

Just as those relationships led me to who I am now and developed me as a person, my souvenirs from those relationships allowed me to make a lovely contribution towards a lovely necklace.

Here’s to moving on and moving up!

You make me feel...

like I've been to the drug store...spa aisle.

Well, the announcement has been made, friends have been warned, and family has been (cautiously) alerted. I am moving to Texas.

Here's the background. I met a boy. His name is Danny and Yes, my love life is bitchin'.

Because of said bitchinness, I have decided to move to Texas with him (as in alongside of him not IN WITH him) to see where it goes, get a job, and hopefully use my Spanish.

Because of said move, I have begun the daunting task of purging. Ahh yes, the pack-rat purges (did you just picture me throwing up?). A couple weeks ago, I found myself buried in the bathroom cabinet throwing out empty bottles, giving away half-empty ones and vowing to use all of the almost gone yet too good to throw away stuff. It's too bad Danny's allergic because for the next few months I am going to smell like JasmineLavenderTeaTreeSweetPeaness from all of the lotions, bath salts, lip goo, hair goo etc. So stock up on the Claritin babe because my skin will be so soft/feet so smooth/hair so healthy/lips so luscious that it will be totally worth it. Plus, I didn't have to waste all of that perfectly good bath stuff (I'm such a cheapskate)

So here I sit after a long Gardenia-induced bath with a scary green mask on my face amidst the Good Will bags and a trillion things to do pretending to relax on my night off. Next stop...the closet.

Hello? 1994? Yes, I think I've found something that belongs to you.

While talking to my good friend Annie yesterday, I mentioned that recently, someone has come into my life that uses the phrase "Boo-yah."

Now, I know I can have the tendency to say questionable things. However, "Boo-Yah" is not something I want to bring back - to society or my vocabulary.

I told Annie that if I start saying it then she can hit me.

She replied "Yeah, in the A$$; and then I'm gonna say: 'BOO-YAH.'"