Footnotes:

1. Because I predict much Wii Hula-Hooping in my near future.

2. Because Dr. Google thinks I have either eczema, psoriasis, or seborrheic dermatitis, but oddly he is unable to write me a prescription, necessitating a visit to an actual living breathing medical professional and what an inconvenience.

3. Because according to All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, “One must give swag in order to receive swag.” Okay, I totally made that up.

4. Because look Roy, this has been going on for SIX MONTHS and while it’s been highly entertaining listening your dumb-ass leave long-winded messages for Austin regarding upcoming meetings at the housing authority — in spite of the fact that my voice mail announcement CLEARLY states in my VERY FEMALE VOICE that you are depositing said messages into the voice mailbox of JENNY MOTLEY — the novelty has finally worn off so I need to break up. Sorry, I’m just not that into you. Please don’t make me change my number.

5. Because our much-loved cat Pete disappeared from our home sometime Monday evening. And I’m not emotionally ready to say much more about that right now except that if you live in the south Tulsa area and have found a front-declawed neutered male gray tabby with green eyes, we really appreciate you taking him in and letting him hang with you for a few days but we really need him back now. REALLY. PLEASE. NOW.

I know some writers observe the sacred Wordless Wednesday tradition on their respective blogs. But me? Not so much with the wordless.

Because there’s a story behind every picture. I make it my bidness to tell those stories. (Feel free to quote me on that.)

First up: the book I’ve already talked about this week.

In this case you CAN judge a book by its cover. Because: Humorous? I laughed. Heartfelt? I cried. Chuck Taylors sitting in front of an empty leather chair? Okay I’ll admit dooce may have lost me on that one. But still a fabulous read. I smell a Pulitzer nomination. Or maybe it’s those Chucks that I smell. But something DEFINITELY smells in here.

Next up: a four-pack of Mini Journals.

First off let me say that I feel no shame in admitting that I am a journal addict. I TOTALLY [HEART] JOURNALS! Big, small, fat, skinny, lined, blank, Moleskine, pigskin, cowhide, naugahyde, commercially manufactured, handmade, perfect bound, and coptic stitched. I love them all. And own several hundred. And will one day probably open the front door to find my family has staged a journal-buying intervention. But until then see this gorgeous set of four Mini Journals by Jill Bliss I bought? They are four inches by five inches so…yeah…perfect for slipping into a purse pocket. And each one has a different page layout: lined, unlined, grid, or pattern. Plus Jill Bliss has her own blog with lots of pretty pictures of shiny things, so if you know not of the Jill Bliss get on over there and edumacate yourself.

Moving along and speaking of Edumacation:

I know it will come as a shock to no one that my family of six spends most of our meals dining in fancy restaurants. And the single most important criterion for our fine dining patronage is Good Toys. We’ve collected Hot Wheels and slutty Barbies on skateboards not to mention several releases of Teenie Beanie Babies and whatever the hell that alien garbage was that Sonic gave out last month but hold the phone Myrtle because Chick-Fil-A just RAISED THE FREAKING BAR. Behold…Russian Language Learning for Kids. Ooo. Ahhhh. And let it be known that like it or not my kids WILL be listening to this CD a minimum of four hours a day this summer because why should I pay for ten hours of college Russian when they can just put in a little effort now and CLEP out later. Finally! A child’s meal toy that I WON’T be tossing in the trash the minute their little heads hit the pillow. Spasibo, Chick-Fil-A! (Thank you, Chick-Fil-A!)

And finally…the one I almost didn’t show you because this just proves I must love journals as much as Germans love David Hasselhoff.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. ANOTHER?JOURNAL? But wait! This is no ordinary journal! It’s an extraordinary journal! Let’s see why. Super-soft recycled fine leather cover in aqua? Check. Lined pages in nine (NINE!) colors? Check. Handmade in Italy? Check. Handy patented horizontal elastic closure? Satin ribbon placemarker? Check. Check. And all for the lowlowlow price of $16.95 plus tax. See? Extraordinary. Told you so.

THE GOOD

1. Two very sweet and generous friends of our family offered us a not-quite three-year-old EVER-SO-GENTLY-USED king-sized gen-u-wine Tempur-Pedic mattress set for absolutely no cost or obligation. AND threw in two sets of eleventy-hundred threadcount Egyptian cotton sheets. Also, for the record, these are the exact same very sweet and generous friends of our family who about a year ago gave us a practically new sixty-two inch (SIXTY!TWO!INCH!) flat-screen high-definition television.

And yes, we are aware that we did pretty much NOTHING to deserve it.

And we’re pretty much okay with that.

2. My cousin-who-is-like-the-sister-I-never-had is newly! pregnant! with her second! baby! Even though I, as a good cousin and mother-of-four, totally warned her against having more than one but she apparently has a mind of her own. Oh and did I mention that she is in town on a long vacation whilst her husband, a movie director/producer, shoots a film here? And that they have been staying with her mom and dad, my aunt and uncle? And that this fetus is a miracle from God in many ways but mainly because it was immaculately conceived since I KNOW my aunt and uncle do not allow their daughters to have actual sex under their roof.

3. Real and bona fide plans are in the works for me to attend the Blogher ’08 Conference in July. Even in spite of the fact that Emma and Katelynn completely and totally broke down at the mere mention of the words “mommy,” “going,” “airplane,” and “four days.” Okay to be honest the tears didn’t start until they heard the words “booze” and “table dancing.” But then I bought them each a pony so it’s all good now. San Fran in July? Hells yeah baby.

THE BAD

1. Nintendo changed the street date for the Wii Fit to tomorrow, May 21st. I didn’t figure out this interesting little tidbit until I had already:

2. Spent 43.7 minutes on hold with Best Buy and STILL never spoke to an actual human being regarding its availability or lack thereof, and also

3. Wasted approximately four gallons of gas (= $14.20 in case you’re doing the math) driving to the actual Best Buy store which took my tank to Below Empty, and then

4. The only gas station I will currently patronize since their gas is ethanol-free was OUT OF GAS. Which I don’t get. Because gas? IS.WHAT.THEY.DO. That would be like Starbucks running out of latte. But not quite that bad.

THE (F)UGLY

1. I seriously need to have my roots done and quick. Because 30s? The new 20s? Only with the help of Clairol nice ‘n easy number 118 Natural Medium Brown. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

I was in Barnes & Noble the other day picking up a book I had ordered a week earlier. Before I went through the checkout and paid full Barnes & Noble price for the book when I could have ordered it discounted at Amazon.com but I like paying full price, I decided to go peruse the Artsy / Craftsy department to see if there might be other books I required for continued life sustenance.

At this point I feel I must acknowledge and applaud Barnes & Noble’s highly effective use of subliminal sensory marketing in the form of Starbucks coffee and upbeat classical music. I mean seriously. Have you actually ever made it out of that place without buying something? Methinks not.

As I meandered to my favorite corner of the store, a young boy of no more than six years narrowed the parabola of his running path through the store, brushing my arm and very nearly knocking me on my ass. “WHHHOA!” said I.

The boy’s father, who I’m pretty sure is the actual Marlboro Man, saw the near-miss and said to the boy, “BOY! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOIN!”

Just that.

No “Sorry bout that little missy,” no “Tell the nice pretty lady excuse me,” no “Please pardon my pinball son.” The Marlboro Man so obviously hadn’t read anything from the Etiquette department.

But I digress. I guess.

I finished up in Artsy / Craftsy and, not finding anything I don’t already have gathering dust on my toilet tank, decided to have a gander through the magazine aisle. But guess who beat me to it. You got it. Marlboro Man and his spawn son were already there leafing through I-kid-you-not American Woodworker.

And, since I needed to pass in front of the two of them to get to the latest edition of Star People The Atlantic, I channeled my best Emily Post and used this new-fangled catchphrase I’ve been trying out lately. “Excuse me,” said I. “Uh-huh,” said Marlboro Man.

A couple of minutes passed and another little missy needed to pass. She too was the pinnacle of politeness. “Excuse me,” said she. “Uh-huh,” said Marlboro Man again.

BUT LO! Marlboro Boy decided to speak this time as well!

“Dad,” said he, “When you fart you say ‘excuse me’.”

And Marlboro Man, his face rapidly changing from certitude to chagrin, replied, “Yup, I sure do, son. I sure do.”

And that my friends is what you call Okie Manners.

The end.