No Pictures, Please (part 2)

I really wasn't kidding when I said I can't pose for pictures alone. Boredom recently led me to reach back to the depths of my Facebook past and discover that I've had this problem for as long as Facebook can remember (meaning since 2006 when I first jumped on Mark Zuckerburg's bandwagon). I truly was a solid solo photo poser up until about age 10, but then puberty hit and my preteen years just went to pieces as awkwardness took over in all my solo pic situations. And still the awkwardness remains.

Please see below for further submissions to my solo pic failures, featuring the faces first highlighted in this blog, plus a few additional faces that have popped up in my research.

1. The "you're taking this picture against my will and I'm not happy about it" face

Wardrobe Malfunction

The year was 2004. I was 15 years old. As per usual, I was not even slightly interested in the football game going on but insisted that the adults call me into the room for every commercial break. I watched the halftime show because my future husband, Justin Timberlake, was set to perform. The only person who shared my interest in the show was Ricky, but really he was only half-heartedly watching. Until...dun dun duuuuuuuun...the wardrobe malfunction.

I stared blankly at the screen for a few seconds then had the following conversation with myself in my head

 "What the...was that...no...shame on your for thinking..."
(Make eye contact with father and look away)
"...I think it was..."

Then I broke the silence

Becky: "Did you just see...?"
Ricky: "Uh, yeah. Yeah I did."
Becky: (to other people in the room) "Did you guys just see that?"
General consensus from everyone else in the room who wasn't paying attention: "See what?"
Becky: (turning back to Ricky) "I didn't imagine that, right?"
Ricky: "No, I don't think so. No."

Silence between Ricky and I followed as everyone else in the room continued ignorantly chattering. I wasn't 100% sure that Janet Jackson had flashed me until the next morning when it was all over the news.

I'm sure all of you can agree with me that the JJ incident was no "wardrobe malfunction." You don't decorate your body parts with little trinkets unless you're planning on showing those trinkets off, either to a special someone or to the entire world in the case of Ms. Jackson.

This long lead-in is actually leading somewhere. Yesterday I had a Janet Jackson moment, and it reminded me that I have had consistent Janet Jackson moments for the past year and a half due to one article of clothing.

Before I move forward, I'd like to clarify that my moments are not completely JJ-esque because my flashing is always unintentional. This is a legitimate case of wardrobe malfunction. The culprits: windy gusts combined with a cheap skirt. I can tell you from personal experience, those two things do not mix well.

I bought my super cute but super cheap (the $10 price tag should have warned me that it was trouble) skirt in Sydney where the wind blows like this:

The skirt's inaugural journey was a St. Patrick's Day cocktail cruise with two of my friends who were visiting from Tulsa. Present on the boat were about thirty people between the ages of 50 and 99...and three 21-year-olds. We already stood out, and within three minutes of our relaxing cruise I had already drawn even more attention to us.

My initial thought after claiming a prime table near the front of the boat was to go outside and take in the gorgeous view. BAD IDEA. Since I was the first brave soul to venture outside, I was not expecting the huge gust of wind that greeted me upon opening the door. Now I've had skirts flounce in the wind before, but never have I had a skirt blow up over my head and result in temporary blindness due to fabric covering my eyes. That changed on March 17, 2010.

HORROR. ABSOLUTE HORROR AND DISGRACE.

That's what I was feeling as I fell to the ground and battled my skirt down from my face while my onlookers stood by, equally horrified (with the exception of my two friends who were convulsing in laughter). My knee actually started bleeding because I fell to the ground with such force. I don't think I can call it a battle wound. More like a shame wound. And since this all occurred three minutes into the cruise, I had to sail around the harbor for the next two hours with a boat full of people who had seen my panties. When people ask me to name my most embarrassing moment ever, I pinpoint those two hours.

Shame wound

Please note the death grip I have on my skirt in hopes of warding off further incident

I tried to retire the skirt after my harbor cruise debacle, but it's just too cute to go to waste. So I kept wearing it. And I kept having flashing issues. No incidences were of the caliber that I just described, but they were still filled with shame and disgrace. Every time I tempt fate and put on my skirt, it is a calm non-windy morning. Every time I walk outside, the winds gust and I cling to the fabric for dear life. Mother Nature obviously enjoys toying with me.

The most recent occurrence was yesterday at the gas station. I had made it through an entire work day without a flashing hitch. I was congratulating myself on this accomplishment when I remembered that I hadn't closed the little door to my gas tank. So I stepped out of my car and...

BAM. Wind gust.

Luckily I'm somewhat experienced at this point and reacted in time to shield the world behind me (aka rush hour traffic on I-30 and the surrounding access roads) from the horror, but the car driving in front of me got a little show. Fabulous. I checked my gas tank, and the door was closed anyway. Even more fabulous. I scurried into my car and pulled into the car wash to shield myself from the world. And the wind.

HORROR AND DISGRACE.

Thank goodness fall is just around the corner and I won't be tempted to wear my flasher skirt for at least another eight months. But a warning to you all, if you see me wearing my little flowery skirt please do the following:

1. Ask if I'm wearing shorts underneath it.
2. Run away.

Forgotten movies of the 1990s

As I've already proven time and time and time again, I like to take walks down memory lane quite frequently. The inspiration for today's post came when I was aimlessly clicking through YouTube last weekend and stumbled upon this little gem that took me back to the yester-years...

Not just a clip or two from Blank Check. No no no. Some saint who loves classic movies of the 90s almost as much as I do went to all the trouble to upload Blank Check IN ITS ENTIRETY on YouTube. A Sunday afternoon well spent, wouldn't you say? I thought so. Hence why I spent a good chunk of my Sunday looking up some of my favorite movies from adolescence. Some of these you've probably heard of; some of them you probably haven't. I've provided some of my fav quotes (thank you, IMDB) so you can either remember the magic or become convinced that these movies need to go to the top of your Netflix queue ASAP.

Shay Stanley: What exactly does Mr. Macintosh do anyway?
Preston Waters: A little of this and a little of that. You know.
Shay Stanley: No I'm afraid I don't. Is he an entrepreneur?
Preston Waters: No, he's an American.

Snowflake: We're too young to swim and there's no way back so we're trapped!

Scamper: Oh Snowflake, you should try to look at this as an adventure.

Whale: Hello penguins!

Scamper: Could you please give us a ride home?

Whale: It would be our pleasure.

Life as a penguin sounds pretty great, don't you think?   

YOU HAVE NOT LIVED UNTIL YOU HAVE SEEN THIS MOVIE. It's a right of passage.

Benny Rodriguez: Anyone who wants to be a can't-hack-it pantywaist who wears their mama's bra, raise your hand. 

Ham Porter: Hey, Smalls, you wanna s'more?

Smalls: Some more of what?
Ham Porter: No, do you wanna s'more?
Smalls: I haven't had anything yet, so how can I have some more of nothing? 

Ham Porter: You're killing me Smalls! These are s'more's stuff! Alrite now pay attention. First you take the graham, you stick the chocolate on the graham. Then you roast the 'mallow. When the 'mallows flaming... you stick it on the chocolate. Then cover with the other end. Then you scarf. Kind of messy, but good! 

Squints: I've been coming here every summer of my adult life, and every summer there she is oiling and lotioning, lotioning and oiling... smiling. I can't take this no more! 

Squints: Where did your old man get that ball?
Smalls: I don't know. Some lady gave it to him. She even signed her name on it... Ruth. Baby Ruth.
All: BABE RUTH?!

Patou: Now, I know an everyday sunrise may not seem like such a big deal to some folks.  But, imagine for a moment: if instead of rising up like this one morning where you lived, she took a look around and decided to go back to sleep. It happened once to us. Let me tell you about it.

Grand Duke: If I kill my nephew, would it be murder or charity?

Peepers: My lisp elevates and isolates me and makes me a rare specimen. 

I think this might be one of those that a lot of you have never seen/heard of. Lucky for you, IMDB has the whole movie posted for your viewing pleasure here!  (I highly recommend) Another little known fact: The narrator/Patou is also the voice of Baloo in The Jungle Book and Little John in Robin Hood.

I practically laugh from start to finish every time I watch this movie. Every. Single. Time. If you are capable of getting tired of this movie, I feel sorry for you.

Sanka Coffie: What I am saying to you, is that you are the kind of club-toting, raw-meat-eating, Me-Tarzan-You-Jane-ing, big, bald bubblehead that can only count to ten if he's barefoot or wearing sandals. 

Sanka Coffie: You mean winter, as in Eskimos and igloos and penguins and ICE? 

Irv: Always remember, your bones will not break in a bobsled. No, no, no. They shatter. 

Sanka Coffie: Feel the rhythm! Feel the rhyme! Get on up, its bobsled time! COOL RUNNINGS! 

Sanka Coffie: So what are we gunna name the sled?
Junior Bevill: How about... "Tallulah?"
Sanke Coffie: Tallulah! Hahaha! Tallulah! Sounds like a 2 dollar hooker! Where you come up with that?
Junior Bevill: That's my mother's name. 
All mumble: Oh yeah...Tallulah...yeah sure

Joseph Gordon-Levit: I love you today and I loved you 15 years ago when this movie came out. And while we're on the topic, where the heck have Danny Glover and Tony Danza been lately?


Roger Bomman: God... if there is a God... if you're a man or a woman... if you're listening, I'd really, really like a family. My dad says that will only happen if the Angels win the pennant. The baseball team, I mean. So, maybe you can help them win a little. Amen. Oh, A-woman, too. 


Photographer: It looks like a prison photo


JP: Look! it's God's thumbnail!

Calvin Fuller: Geez!  This always works in the movies!


King Arthur: Let all who witness this know: it does not take a sword and stone to make a hero.

Annie: I'll be twelve soon. How old are you?
Meredith Blake: Twenty-six.
Annie: Only fifteen years older than me! How old are you again, Dad?
Nick Parker: Wow, suddenly you're so interested in math!


Elizabeth James: Oh, Nick. We were so young. We both had tempers, we said stupid things so I packed. Got on my very first 747, and you didn't come after me.
Nick Parker: I didn't know that you wanted me to. 


Nick Parker: Okay, honey... I want to know what you think about making Meredith part of the family?
Annie: Part of our family?
Nick Parker: Yeah.
Annie: I think it's an awesome idea. Inspired. Brilliant really.
Nick Parker: You do? Really? You do?
Annie: Totally, it's like a dream come true. I've always wanted a big sister.
Nick Parker: Oh... um... Honey, I think you're kind of missing the point.
Annie: No, I'm not. You're gonna adopt Meredith. That is so sweet, Dad.


Oh Lindsay...where did you go wrong? Personally, I think we can pinpoint the downward spiral to her remake of Freaky Friday. Awful highlights + wacko wardrobe choice + thinking she was a rock star = doomed for disintegration of another childhood star

Fact: I own this movie on DVD. My mom special ordered it for me on Amazon.com from Australia. Now that's love. 


Hydia: Why can't you be evil like I taught you? Why won't you misbehave the way you should? You never use the guillotine I bought you! You just aren't bad enough for your own good!

Fizzy: Gee, I don't see why a little pony can't be a little enthusiastic once in a while. 


Buttons: Look. It's the witches from Volcano Mountain. They look cute.
Draggle: Cute? Did you hear that? They called us cute!
Reeka: How embarrassing. 

Zenon: Zetus lupetus! 


Zenon: ONE sin minor and my life is a living black hole! 


Mr. Windom: I refuse to engage in a name-calling contest with a teenager.
Zenon: That's because you know you'll lose! 


Proto Zoa: Zoom, Zoom, Zoom.  Make my heart go boom, boom.  My super nova girl.


Sidenote: If you're curious, go look at Phillip Rhys' IMDB profile. It's so strange seeing him without his Proto Zoa frosted tips!

Now some of you might be wondering, "Becky, where are the Disney movies in this list? How did you have a childhood if it was devoid of Disney classics like Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin?"  


To answer those questions: Yes I did have a childhood and yes I do love Disney movies. In fact, I love Disney movies SO MUCH that I can't even fathom putting them in the same category as the above mentioned movies. Disney is a whole different caliber of amazingness. You see, the movies on this list have seen their hey day, but no one forgets Disney movies. They don't have a hey day period, they have permanent hey day status that is especially intensified whenever Disney gets around to releasing movies from that dang vault it likes to lock them away in. (I had to wait YEARS to get Beauty and the Beast on DVD and it nearly killed me.)


Disney, I love you. And movies above, sorry I forgot about you. Still love all of you, too.  


Happy nostalgic thoughts to everyone reading. Did I leave any of your fav childhood classics out?

My childhood was a circus

I'd like to direct your attention to the following photo:

What is this you're looking at?  It could be the perfect place to do some sort of awesome vintage photo shoot. Like this engagement photo session from Green Wedding Shoes. However, the people in these photos aren't dolled-up models or smitten romantics. They are not in some exotic location with all sorts of vintage circus props flown in from The Wringling Brothers. Nope. It's just the Long and Zienty kids hanging out in Hugo, Oklahoma.

Before I move on to tell you the story behind this picture, can we please admire the photo's charming awkwardness? The Zienty children look like perfect little angels who make it a habit to look cute and normal in photos. The Long children are, as usual, doing something to offset that sense of normalcy (but clearly still contributing to the cuteness). My sister, Carolyn, is flaunting stylin' overalls and a classic "come hither" head tilt. The outfit and pose are perfect...the blinking, not so much. Carolyn has since learned how to keep her eyes open for pictures, but there was a period in her life where she struggled with the plague of the photo blinks. This captured blinking moment really takes me back. Oh the memories. My studly brother, Stephen, is on the far right in the stripes. Always a miniature version of a gentleman, I'm not surprised to see him striking the ol' hands-behind-the-back and wide-manly-stance poses. He had practically reached the maturity level of a 40 year-old man by the time he was 10. He's probably around age 5 here so that would put him at what maturity level, 20?  Sounds about right. Such a cutie.  Front and center (most likely a strategic and intentional placement on my part) you can see me showcasing my diva attitude by trying to suck all the attention toward myself. Further speaking to my inner diva, I'm attempting to channel my best Vanna White impression as I show off the circus sign and my shapely 8 year-old physique. With all those elements combined, how can you not be charmed by this pic?

Now you're dying to know WHY we're standing in front of a circus truck in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, aren't you? Lucky for you, I'm going to share the story.

Mama Long and Mama Zienty read in some Oklahoma travel book that a collection of circus performers spends the winter in Hugo, OK (population 5,000). Apparently you could see the animals and all the wonders of the circus while they're recharging for the next tour. So one day five kids and two adults piled into one little station wagon and  drove three hours to Hugo in search of this wintering circus. It was a LONG drive. Carolyn and Heidi even wrote a song while we drove along that I still remember today:

"Nowhere"

Nowhere, Nowhere.

Welcome to nowhere.

Nothing to do, and nothing to see.

Nowhere to go, and Nowhere to be.

Welcome to nowhere.

So anyway, after driving through nowhere for three hours, we made it to Hugo. Unfortunately the circus workers who were wintering wouldn't let us anywhere near anything circus-related. They told us this was not a tourist destination and we were not welcome. Forget the fact that we had just driven three hours for nothing; the circus folk were too busy to be bothered by a bunch of Tulsans ("big city folk").

Mama Long and Mama Zienty were in a pickle: they were in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma with five kids on the verge of breakdowns. So, they improvised. We went through some sort of museum in a small house that had pictures of exciting things like "the 12-foot tall man" and "the world's smallest pig." Since that didn't kill enough time to make the cumulative six hours of driving worthwhile, we also visited the circus graveyard where the best of the circus world had been buried (such as Chuckles the Clown).

Problem for Becky: This visit inconveniently overlapped with a phase in my life that required me to hold my breath whenever I was in the vicinity of a graveyard (don't want anyone's lost souls being inhaled into my body, you know). The thought of going INSIDE a graveyard was...unfathomable. So once I had been coaxed into the graveyard, I spent  the first minute or so refusing to breathe. My mother yelled at me until I was practically purple and on the verge of fainting, then I took a breath. Let me tell you, I was NOT happy about  tromping around that place and inhaling dead spirits. By the time we left, I was sure that a good 10 dead clowns were leaving with me. (And, as previously mentioned, I really don't like clowns.)

It was a traumatizing experience, and yet one that I will remember forever. I mean, you haven't fully lived until you've traveled to Hugo, been turned away by a group of disgruntled circus performers, and walked around a circus graveyard. What's that? You haven't checked any of those activities off your bucket list yet? I suggest you get on it ASAP.

Felix the Wonder Cat

Life hasn't supplied me with much inspiration for a new blog post as of late. While I continue to ruminate on my next pressing topic, I thought I'd share a favorite family tale that has become infamous over the years. Now I can't really take credit for any of the mayhem I'm about to describe, but as a member of the Meeder clan (my mom's side of the family), I feel that I have earned the right to take some sort of ownership over the Felix the Cat story.

Here's one thing you should know about me: I hate cats. HATE them. Passionately. They're just so boring. Cats hate me, too, so I suppose it works out pretty well. There is one exception to my cat hatred rule: his name is Felix. He is a wonder cat.

This isn't Felix, but Felix is black and white. I thought this cat looked kind of super hero-esque like Felix, so feel free to use him for your mental imagery in this post.

I don't remember the exact year of Felix's greatest adventure, but I do know that it happened at least a decade ago during a 4th of July weekend at Lake of the Ozarks. The Meeder family has a long standing tradition of spending every Independence Day together under the guise of some themed family reunion (for example: "slow no wake weekend" and "lakelympics"). If memory serves correctly, I was eating an Oreo when my uncle got a phone call. I couldn't tell you exactly who was on the other end of the phone or what was being said, but I could tell you that it was NOT GOOD. Yelling followed, my uncle turned bright red, my aunt turned even redder, they got into a car, and they left. I think the other adults had been tuned into what was going on, but as usual the kids were left in the dark. My cousins and I came to the conclusion that my aunt and uncle's fury was most likely the result of something my oldest cousin, Michael, had done. He was the only family member not present at the lake. The plan had been that Michael was going to get up early, drop the family cat off at the vet, and  drive three hours to the lake with a friend. Things didn't exactly work out that way...

Michael has always been a big fan of sleep. On this particular morning, he accidentally overslept. This wasn't the least bit surprising and wouldn't have been a problem were it not for the fact that the vet had closed by the time Michael woke up. On to plan B: the cat was coming to the lake. Michael found a box, put Felix in it, and hit the road. Oh, and one more little detail that's important: he was driving a convertible. With the top down. About halfway through the drive, a guy pulled up next next to Michael. Their exchange took place as follows:

Random guy: "Hey, man, your cat just flew out!"
Michael: "What?  My cap?  I wasn't wearing a cap...?"
Random guy: "No man, your CAT!"

That's right. I'll give that last sentence a second to resonate.

Picture it with me. Box in the back seat = empty. Imagine yourself as Felix: very confused as to why you're in this square brown thing, you want to break free. After a few exhaustive hours of struggling with the box, you succeed at your task. The top of the box opens and you leap to freedom. You get to enjoy the sweet smell and taste of fresh air all around you for about a millisecond then--WHOOSH--that very fresh air carries you away with it. Now imagine yourself as the random guy: did you just see a CAT fly out of the back of that car? Surely not...right? RIGHT? Oh my gosh. A CAT just flew out of that car!!!

Now before you go calling some animal rights group, let me tell you that this story has a happy ending. However, it was very unhappy for a while. My aunt and uncle (Michael's parents) drove all the way to some random scrap of highway and searched all over for Felix. They were gone for HOURS. Felix was nowhere to be found. So my aunt and uncle came back to the lake and had to tell their two other children (they were probably ages 10ish and 13ish at the time) that Felix was gone. Additionally, Michael had been so flustered that he drove away from a gas station with the pump still attached to the car. He ripped out the hose and nozzle without even noticing. The gas station owner, however, did notice and sent my uncle a bill a month later. Just the icing on the cake. Over the course of the next few weeks my aunt called every animal shelter she could find. Eventually the Meeders gave up on Felix, but one day the unexpected happened...

A woman from a trailer park around the area where Felix had disappeared called my aunt. Felix had wandered up to her trailer and she had called the number on his collar to return him home. And so a month after being blown from a moving car traveling at top speeds on a Kansas highway, Felix found himself back at home as if nothing had happened. No scratches. No bruises. No missing limbs. No major health issues. He was a little hungry, but totally fine. How did he do it? I haven't the slightest idea.

This particular feat is Felix's most famous triumph, but by no means his only triumph. Over the course of his life, Felix has been run over by my aunt's car, crushed by a garage door, placed on an IV for some illness I don't remember the details of, and gotten into plenty more trouble that my cousins can tell you all about. And did I mention, FELIX IS STILL ALIVE TODAY? I hate cats, but how can you hate Felix? Impossible.

And that is the story of why this cat has become know as, and will always be known as, "Felix the Wonder Cat."

Y2K: 11 Years Later

I keep finding trails of adolescent Becky everywhere. My latest discovery: the time capsule I made at my 5th grade birthday party. For those of you who loved the "Becky's Stuff: DO NOT THROW AWAY" box, you're in for a treat.

The year was 1999. This particular birthday party took place in late November at the peak of Y2K mayhem. So in case we didn't actually get to celebrate the new year due to the impending doom of the world ending, my birthday party would suffice as a par-tay for the new millennium. Activities included: a "countdown" to 2000, scavenger hunt in a limo, dance party, and making super sweet time capsules.

Patti Long even wrote a poem to put inside our time capsules that went like this:
Here is a time capsule so that you can think back
To memories of 5th grade, in a tall, neat stack.
So go through your room, dig deep and find
Some items that bring your life in 1999 to mind.
Old tickets, your photo, a school paper or two
Backpack keychain, a Beanie?, a picture you drew.
Now write down a few of your favorite things
T.V. shows, movies, someone who sings.
Add lots more goodies, now hide it away
Open when you can say, "It's 2010 today!"

I'm a year late, but I found the time capsule in question. Inside, I found what you would guess a 5th grade pack rat would put in a time capsule: a bunch of junk. I wish I would have put in cool stuff like my mother's poem had instructed me to, but clearly all things that fell under those categories (keychains, pictures, etc.) were far too essential to my 5th grade life at the time and could not be parted with. So instead, I put in junk like this...

A mini plastic champagne flute that used to have bubbles inside. Apparently bubbles have an expiration date, and it's less than 11 years  I can't even tell what color the bubbles used to be, but there is now a sticky consistency of something gold/brown colored plastered to the side of the mini glass.

50 cents. Hey big spender!

A Birthday Card from my dear friend Kristen Anderson, who even took the time to draw a picture of a flower.

Two tickets to Jenks High School football's first playoff game. The Longs had season tickets, even when us kiddos were in elementary school. True fans.

A sheet of millennium-themed stickers. All the stickers have been used except for: "Futuristic!" "Time to Make a Difference" "Mr. Millennium" and two red circles with the letter "f" on them.

Are you as confused by these stickers and their connection to 2000 as I am?

PECAN THE BEANIE BABY!   was shocked that my 5th grade self could part with a beanie during the peak of beanie mania. Poor Pecan the bear has been trapped in a paint can with decaying bubbles for 11 years!!! I have since returned him to storage with the rest of his beanie friends.

This is not a joke: An 11-year-old pair of Kleenex. Apparently I'm a Kleenex hoarder. First the Salt Lake City Olympics Kleenex, now this. In my defense, I'm pretty sure these Kleenex, along with this super-chique nail polish, were part of the loot I collected on the limo scavenger hunt. They're Limited Too brand. So trendy.

2 Cootie Catchers. If you were not a preteen girl in the 90s, you probably have no idea what these are. They were all the rage in elementary school. Right up there with Tamagotchis. Allow me to explain...Basically, it's a folded piece of paper. But not just any folded piece of paper. By choosing your favorite color, favorite number, then spelling your name, this folded piece of paper can PREDICT YOUR FUTURE. According to these particular cootie catchers, your husband was either destined to be: Pikachu, Yoda, Leonardo DiCaprio, Dr. Love, or Ricky Martin (whoaaaa how dated are those names?!). Your job: country singer, vice principal, lion tamer, professional wrestler, or plumber. Your vehicle of choice: station wagon, cement mixing truck, pizza delivery truck, skateboard, or limo. Number of children: 1, 2, 7, 56, 73, 3 million, 15 million, or 26 million. The odds really weren't in your favor.

Millennium-themed tiara, noise maker, and whistle. Because you can't ring in the new year without equipment!

I reverted back to my 5th grade self when playing with the treasure I uncovered in my time capsule. Nothing like a whistle, tiara, and cootie catcher to get a 22-year-old excited. I'm thinking maybe I'll make another time capsule for 2020. You know you want to make one, too. We'll check back in 9 years and compare notes. Deal? Excellent.

HAPPY 2011!!!

Dear Santa...

I distinctly remember looking out my window one Christmas Eve and convincing myself I saw a red light shooting across the sky. Rudolph, obviously.  

As can be seen in the photo above, my visits to Santa were all business. He spoiled me. And I loved it. So this Christmas, in honor of the jolly old man in red, I'm recounting my top 10 Christmas gifts. Thanks for the good times, Saint Nick. And thanks to Ricky and Patti Long, my favorite elves who helped out.

10. Portable DVD player

I was absolutely useless the Christmas that I got this electronic device. I sat in that red chair and watched the two DVDs I owned (Legally Blonde and Miss Congeniality) all day. Shameful confession: I never read the instructions and thought the DVD player always had to be plugged into an outlet. Two years later I discovered a battery in the original box. It broke a few months later. Whoops.


9. The Blind Guy

If you aren't familiar with the Blind Guy's background story, check this post. For those of you who are familiar, here are the photos to prove my fascination with this man and his entertaining facial expressions. Thank you, Ricky, for giving me a framed pic to forever immortalize the 2000 election and the celebrity it created.


8. Beanie Babies

PURE JOY. That's what I felt every time I opened a new beanie. I got the Princess Diana bear (a rare collector's beanie, hence the plastic display box) for my birthday one year and thought I was SUCH a big deal. Where is the bear now? I have no idea. I would hope somewhere buried in the giant box of beanies I unearthed last week. But man, that purple bag of beans was practically pure gold way back when.

7. The Josh Tape

Oh the Josh tape. I had everything from SNL hosting gigs to appearances on Letterman to 30-second stories on Entertainment Tonight to 2-second glimpses on red carpet specials. All focused on the love of my tween years: Josh Hartnett. And then...the unthinkable...I LOST THE JOSH TAPE. I had feebly given up after months and months (possibly years?) of searching. Luckily my mom found the tape right around Christmas and decided to wrap it up as a gift. As you can see, I was elated to have the Josh tape back in my possession. And yes, for those of you who are wondering, the Josh tape still lives on today.

Also, while we're on the Josh topic, I have to share something that I found while I was looking through some old pictures. It's shameful, and I don't blame you for judging.

This is the trunk I packed in every year for summer camp. Apparently I just couldn't leave anything untouched by Josh mania. Yep, even my summer camp was aware of my Josh Hartnett obsession. What I love most about this embarrassing example of my middle-aged years is that I thought this piece of artistry was so beautiful that it warranted photo documentation. Reason #340598709345 that a good chunk of the people I met during middle school will always remember me as the girl who was obsessed with Josh Hartnett.

6. iPod

 This was back before iPods had become microscopic. For my first ever iPod, Santa brought me an old school mini (which was new school at the time). My light blue mini is now about 10x the size and weight of what Apple is currently marketing as the latest in iPod technology. However, this antique is still truckin' along! It has now been promoted to the position of my official "Christmas iPod" and holds all 362 of my Christmas songs. It's my top music source October through December!

5. Moon Shoes

Unfortunately for me and for you, I can't find a picture of me in my moon shoes. I'm pretty sure I looked just as skilled and awesome as this girl whenever I put those things on, though. For those of you who have never experienced the magic of moon shoes, allow me to explain. Basically you strap these bad boys on your feet and have an experience as close to walking on the moon as you'll ever get (unless you decide to go walk on the actual moon, which I would guess is pretty unlikely). Magical. This form of entertainment could usually only last about three minutes, but it was a GREAT three minutes.


4. The Mini Pool Table

I think this gift was originally intended only for my brother Stephen, but all three of the Long kids claimed it. Not a fan of pool? Not a problem. You could convert this gaming mecca into a ping pong table or or an air hockey table (minus the actual air part). Hours of entertainment. Our oober cool Uncle Jeff (the only of my mom's three brothers who was still single at this time and came to spend Christmas with us every year until he met his darling wife) even took the time to give us all lessons on the basics of pool strategy. What a guy! Unfortunately I think my initial learning of pool in mini-form stunted the maturing of my pool skills seeing as how I'm a completely miserable pool player in the full-sized pool table world.

3. Pogo Stick

I may not look happy in this pic, but it's just because I'm in the zone. The pogo zone, that is. Patti Long disagrees with me, but I'm pretty sure I once pogoed up to 500 times. We're talking 30+ minutes of consistent pogo. I was the pogo master. This year I tried to revive my pogo skills when I borrowed a family friend's pogo stick. I jumped three(ish) times then fell into a chair. Apparently I am the pogo master no more.


2. Jack Rabbit

My sister got her feelings hurt this particular Christmas morning because she thought Jack Rabbit belonged to all of us. No ma'am! He was all MINE! I was the cool kid who took her rabbit on walks. Jack had his own leash (sorry I don't have any photo documentation of that; it looked as ridiculous as you're thinking) that he would usually put up with until we made it to my next door neighbor's yard. As soon as we passed the boundary into their grass, he would start jumping spastically all over the place until I took him back home. Despite this fact, I kept trying to "walk" my rabbit. And I was completely oblivious of how ridiculous I looked. As I grew older I had less time to care for my little bunny. Since he wasn't getting the attention he deserved, I gave him away to a 3rd grade classroom. As far as I'm concerned, Jack is still alive. That's the best thing about my rabbit: he's an immortal like Zeus or Hercules. Long live Jack the rabbit!!!


1. SNOW

White Christmases aren't the norm in Tulsa, OK but when they do happen they're absolutely fab-u-lous.

I must take a moment to recount The Great Christmas Snow of 2009. It was a great snow, but it was A LOT of snow. My stubborn sister (gotta lover her!) insisted that she was going to church with or without the rest of the family even though a snow storm was supposed to hit while we were in church. So we all went, but we were NOT happy about it. The candlelight service, as always, was lovely. It was so lovely that the other four members of the Long family (keeping the Christmas spirit alive) forgot how mad/frustrated/annoyed we were with Carolyn for dragging us there. We pleasantly chatted after church for a bit until my brother came running up to inform everyone that we needed to leave. NOW. I walked outside and was greeted by a BLIZZARD. A blizzard by my Tulsan standards, at least. There was not a single flake on the ground when we went into church, and when we came out of church there was not a speck of ground without a flake.

Our car was in covered parking, but there was still snow everywhere. The boys removed said snow and we booked it out of the parking lot before things could get worse. We were doomed right from the start. Two minutes into the drive, the boys had to get out and dust the snow off the car again. Why couldn't the windshield wipers do that? Because the windshield wipers kept freezing. Excellent. The first  road we tried to take was already closed so we turned around and  tried another. The boys continued to get out of the car every few minutes to whack the ice off the windshield wipers and de-snow the car as we slowly made our way to road #2. Our cheerful Christmas moods quickly turned sour. We all coped with this in different ways. I berated Carolyn and blamed our turmoil on her. My brother and dad were silent (mostly due to the fact that they were rarely actually inside the car, so they didn't have many opportunities to yell). My mom yelled at me for yelling at Carolyn. Just one big happy family!

We finally made it to road #2. There was a hill we had to go up. It was a BIG hill. And there were already at least five other cars stuck on said hill in front of us. We went up a distance. Got stuck. Helped the lady in front of us who was stuck. She got stuck again. We got stuck again. My dad starting brainstorming hotels we could stay at that were close and then suggested that we walk four miles home (the women in the car quickly shot this option down). Our Christmas spirits drained, we decided it was every man for himself and pushed our car past the woman we had been helping. Somehow our Toyota Camry was the first car to make it to the top of the hill (yes, ahead of all the four-wheel drive vehicles). There was a brief moment when we all cheered and yelled to celebrate our accomplishment. Then eight sets of headlights come into focus in front of us. We had failed to realize that on the other side of the hill, there were most likely other cars trying to make it to the hill's peak. There are normally only four lanes on this road, but on this snowy night the cars on the other side of the hill had decided to make eight lanes. Leaving our lane options at...zero. I don't really remember how we got home. I just remember that we were all really quiet and tense. And that we were in the car for a very long time.  An hour and a half after we left church (it usually takes us 15 minutes to get there), we FINALLY made it home. And then, of course, the car got stuck in the driveway. Needless to say, snow was much more fun on Christmas morning than on Christmas Eve night in 2009.

One last honorable mention:
This Christmas I only asked for two things: a plane ticket to New York City and new tights. I figured the tights were a sure thing, but the plane ticket was a little less sure. I burst into tears when my favorite elf, Ricky, presented me with a map of the U.S. that had arrows pointing from Fort Worth to NYC and an attached flight itinerary. Jackpot! Santa continues to spoil me even when I'm on the cusp of adulthood!

To close this post, I'd like to direct your attention to this precious photo of my family putting up the Christmas tree. Really, my favorite thing about Christmas isn't the presents (no offense, Santa). It's hanging out with these weirdies. Cliche? Yes. Still true? Absolutely.

Wishing you the merriest of Christmases spent enjoying the loot Santa brought you with the people you love!