Sometimes I'm Kind of a Big Deal.

In my previous post I mentioned a little thing I had to attend.   An important event, if you will. Wanna guess what it was all about?  Why did I feel the need to get gussied up?  Where did I go that required me to wear these sassy shoes?
OK, start guessing...was I:

*At Michael Jackson's funeral?  (In yellow slingbacks, no less.)

*Attending a private party with my close, personal friend?  You know the one.

*At a casting call for Lost's final season, which resumes filming next month in Hawaii?  Producers are looking for a thirty-ish southern belle to play an ex galpal of Sawyer.  In a flashback, of course.  Um, hi...that is so ME!

*Hobnobbing with entertainment industry insiders at a swank event filled with all manner of famous folk, musicians, supermodels, and the occasional 500 pound, tattoo-covered bouncer?   Man, I signed so many autographs that my Sharpie ran out of ink.  Sigh...

*Sitting in on a symposium with 200 other people, all begging the 5th dentist to reconsider his apathy for Trident?  (This "four out of five" deal has been going on far too long, people.)

*Networking at a job fair for the FBI?  You know they're looking to train stay-at-home mothers in field work...taking down drug cartels, meddling in European espionage, busting brothels.  It's all about the serious, covert operation, and who better to handle a brothel than a SAHM?  Oh...just so you know...Mama Kat may or may not have been with me at this particular job fair.

This may or may not be the result of being shunned by The Bureau.

*Learning to pole dance?  Mama Kat was with me, too.   She's so talented.

Anyone?  Anyone?

Take a wild guess.  I'll reveal the answer...the real answer, that is...in a bit.

Two things to note:

1. One of these scenarios is real...yes, I've embellished a bit.  But me and the yellow shoes did experience one of the above events.  

2.  A few of you know where I was on Monday night.  I know y'all won't be telling.  Because you fear me.  And love me, too.  

*Mourn with me that the above scenarios do not include a personal sighting/touching/drooling over my boyfriend.  Y'all...I don't even joke about possibly meeting my Jason.  But when I do have that moment, because it will happen, there will be no game playing in Lulaville.  No guessing, no beating around the bush.  Oh no, I'll be posting all about it.  For at least 2 weeks.  Ahem.

Keep Smiling, Keep Shining...

...knowing you can always count on me...for sure...that's what friends are fooooooor!

You will now be singing this cheesetastic bit of greatness for the rest of the day. Oh Dionne...Stevie...Elton...and Gladys Midnight Train to Georgia Knight...what a memorable collaboration ye have wrought.

Yes, there is a reason I'm quoting fluff from the 80's.  Because last night I was having a "What Not To Wear" moment.  I think.  I've never seen that show, but I understand the premise behind it.

Anyway, I have this thing to attend and it's kinda at a hip location.  And I don't want to roll up in the MomVan, sporting some mom jeans, wearing a pair of Clark's and a t-shirt from the softer side of Sears.  Even though that sounds really comfortable right about now.

I digress.

No, for this thing I must have some semblance of fashion...a modicum of hipness.  I need to appear semi-trendy without trying to come across as one of those annoying thirty-somethings who refuse to accept the fact that they are, indeed, thirty-something.  I have long relinquished my twenties as a dream that once was. Heck, we all know that 34 is the new 21, anyway.  Ahem.

And this is where I keep smiling...keep shining...

because I can ring my sweet friend, Kelli, and leave a breathless message on voicemail that goes a little something like this:

"Oh my stars, please come over here and help me get my act together so I can look "DID!" and not frumpy, and be my barometer of all things sassy and fabulous."  

Because Kelli is twenty-something.  And very fashionable and fun and fantastic and all those other "f" words.  Well, except that one "f" word.  

What does Kelli instantly do for me?  (Other than phone while I'm in church...in the midst of a dead silence.  Her ring tone is The Black Eyed Peas.  Yes, the church peeps loved hearing, "I got that boom boom pow..." in the middle of the service.  Word.)  She shows up at my house.   And gets to work.  I so love her.

Here's Kelli trying on my shoes.  They're yellow.  And so sassy, no?

She said the shoes are "a definite."  Yay!

We then bypass fashion for a good hour and discuss music instead.

Because, you know, priorities.

We're both kinda sad we missed Bonnaroo this year.  Sigh...

Getting back on fashion track, we peruse the accessories aisle...

...and by peruse, I mean Kelli tries on some of my hipster hoops.

And then tells me not to wear them.  Okey-dokey, then.

After all this Sunday night mayhem, I believe I just might be prepared for the little shindig I have to attend later on this evening.  Of course I'll blog about it.  And maybe post a picture of me wearing my sassy yellow shoes.  We'll see.

Thanks, my dear KelliOtt.  You are a true friend.  I know of few other gals who, even though completely knackered, would drive the entire 2 minutes it takes to get from your house to mine. Especially after spending the weekend in Nashville with your fiance's awesome band. Hanging with famous musicians.   Making money.  Preparing for stardom.  You know, just doing your usual thing.  

"For good times, and bad times, I'll be on your side forevermoooooooore..."

Yes, that's what friends are for.

It All Adds Up.

It's the little things in life which make me happiest...

My parents & nephew visiting from Georgia...

...'cause they bring my beloved Blue Plate.

(Which will be fantastic on the sandwiches made from my homegrowns!)

When my parents stop by my favorite hometown locale on their way to Virginia,

just to deliver goodies that I'm unable to find in these parts.

Did you just hear that?  Listen again...

...it's a Heavenly Host singing "Hallelujah!"

Because of the Wilson's famous Flower Cookies.  

Amen.

That I have a husband who lets me fawn over this one guy I happen to dig a lot.

(Because said husband really digs Kate Winslet a lot.  And I'm OK with that!  She is rather hot.)

That I can admit, without fear of persecution or rejection,

that The Best of Chicago* is a really fantastic album.

Don't Judge.

(Oh, come on..."Make Me Smile" is so awesome.)

Because I live in a country which values freedom.

Because that freedom is not something I take for granted.

Because being an American is just flat-out awesome, y'all!

God has blessed the USA, and I pray He'll continue to do so.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

*Thanks, Lauren, for the reminder...I rather love you for it.

He Was My First.

The other day a fellow requested me as a friend on Facebook (oh, that time waster!) and I almost ignored his request.  Because I didn't recognize his name.  Good thing I clicked on his picture, as he's going by a different (albeit sexier, I admit) surname.  Because this particular fellow was my first love.  The first boy I ever kissed.

True story.

We were six and it was on the playground at Koral Klassics.  (Ridiculous spelling, I know.)  I don't remember much, other than we were playing Dukes of Hazard.  He was Bo, I was Daisy. Nevermind that we didn't realize Bo and Daisy were cousins.  Cause we made them kissin' cousins.  I'm just sayin'.

So I wrote on his Facebook wall, "David--my first love--my first kiss!"  He replied, "I was smitten--and you looked like Brooke Shields."

Man, I always did love David.  I mean, come on...it's been 16 years since I've seen him, yet he still remembers a time when I had bushy eyebrows and kinda sorta resembled Brooke Shields in her earlier, pre-Calvin Klein days.  Plus he was "smitten," and that right there is just amazing. 

Someone was once smitten.  With me. 

Sigh...I can now die happily.

David was such a beauty, too...all pale blonde hair and enormous blue eyes.  He could draw like you wouldn't believe, and grew up to become a musician.  Oh, and one summer his mother took us to see Grease 2.  We thought we were Very Hot Stuff, lemme tell you.  David, do you remember all this?

So Facebook has proved itself worthy, and reminded me that back in the day, I had really good taste.  Because cute little David Cranford grew up to become David Black.  And he kinda looks like a southern version of Robert Smith.  Wanna see?

Here's Robert Smith:

Here's David:

Dude, that eye thing is awesome.  Is this your album cover?

And this is all dark and mysterious.  I love it.

You know what?  I take it back.  Robert Smith and The Cure may have blighted my adolescence, but nothing will ever take the place of a schoolyard smooch between two 6 year olds.

Thanks for the memories, David*.  I now wanna watch Grease 2 while wearing my magenta satin hot pants, with Bonne Bell Bubble Gum Lip Smacker smeared all over my lips.  Such good times...such precious, tender memories...

Who wants to share about their first love?  Their first kiss?  Come on.  Fess up!

*Yes, I did have David's permission to blog about him, as well as use his pictures.  I'm kinda polite when it comes to stuff like that.  Just so y'all know.

Oh where, oh where, has my little blog gone...

...oh where, oh were can she beeeeeeeee?

I have not abandoned Lulaville.  Life just takes precedence over blogging.  Y'all understand, I know.  

In my absence, I made a list, titled "Things I Didn't Blog About in the Month of June...Because I'm Too Busy."

Witness:

My child finished 1st grade.  

Award day at her school--Poppy & Caroline came to applaud.

Q:  How many Litton Ladies can fit in one car?

A:  All of them.  

(Thank God Mandy and I were up front!)

This man that I love had a birthday.

He's the big 36!

He is also a big dork.  Clearly.

Gratuitous Adorable Baby Shot!

Pretty Helen, our niece.   She's topless on my blog.  I. Love. Her.

Libbey performed in her 5th recital with Lee School of Dance.

She's a Firecracker.  Yeaaaaaaaah!

We may or may not be the products of 

The World's Most Exciting Christian University.

These pictures are from

That One Night We Wasted An Evening Playing with Photobooth.

Amanda and Kristi--representing good ol' LU!  

And that's me with the five-head.  The alumnus.  Ahem.

I don't know if they were slipin' & slidin', wrestling,

or playing leap frog.

Regardless, it's awfully cute. 

If someone mentions they're not watching True Blood, 

I beg, "Why?"  And, "Are you foolish?"  Well, duh!

Um, hello...Eric is my vamp boyfriend.  

He's making  my summer very delightful, just so you know.

I'm gonna spend the week playing catch-up...as I've missed all of you.  

So tell me...whatcha been up to the past week?  Got any news to share?  Did you survive yet another year of VBS?  (That's Vacation Bible School--ours was last week--which explains 50% of my absence.  VBS is serious business, folks. )  Have you been swimming?  Seen any good movies?  Read any must-reads?  Please share with me...we'll play catch-up together.  

Good times.

I Gasped.

It was the gasp heard 'round the world...or at all the way over in Colorado.

I stumbled upon these pictures of the movie I'm most anticipating. (And it has nothing to do with vampires or werewolves. Seriously.)

Johnny Depp as The Mad Hatter.

Anne Hathaway as The White Queen

Helena Bonham Carter as The Red Queen.

Oh. My. Stars.

Alice In Wonderland.

Are you kidding me?

Look at this:

Tim Burton...I love you.  As you are a genius.

March 5th cannot get here soon enough.

Oh, and Jennifer P.--you know your man is all up in this one.  Alan Rickman as The Catepillar. Might I also mention Michael Sheen as The White Rabbit, Christopher Lee as The Jabberwock, and Crispin Glover as The Knave of Hearts?  Good.  Because I just did.

 

SWOON!

Somebody please bring me the smelling salts.

Let's discuss.

Are you as excited as me?

If not, what classic work of fiction would you love Burton to bring to life?  

Because clearly, he is the man for the job.  Any job.  Indeed.

If I Were A Carpenter...

...I'd have a lot of fabulous furniture. Or at least I'd try to sing as well as Bobby Darin.

How about if I were a holiday?

I'd be Christmas Eve.

If I were a time of day?

Make me twilight, please.  At the beach.

"Heavenly shades of night are falling, it's twilight time..."--The Platters

What drink would I be?

Coke is IT!  In a bottle, please.

What food would I be?

Crab legs.  At least 5 pounds of 'em.

If I were a gadget?

The iPod is the greatest invention of all time. 

What flower would I be?

A peony.  Beauty & fragrance, all in one!

If I were a song?

Joe Cocker's version of "Bye-Bye Blackbird."

What movie would I be?

Gone With the Wind.  Amen.

If had to be a place, what would I be?

A pink beach house on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina.  

What book would I be?

My all time favorite:

If I were a shoe, which would best suit me?

This Louboutin, of course.

And I were a piece of clothing, what would I be?

Grace Kelly's entire wardrobe in the film Rear Window.

But I'm not Bobby Darin...Grace Kelly...crab legs...or the billion dollar secret that is "Co-Cola," as my beloved Papaw Raley called it.  No, I'm just Lula:

Greasy, grimy, reeking of Coppertone, and keepin' it real.

I  may or may not be wearing a swimsuit.  Don't judge.

Your turn...tell me what drink, shoe, place, book, song, etc., you'd be!

*If I could meet a bloggy BFF in August, it'd be Kristen.  Thanks for the fodder, as always, and much love to you!

These Days...

It's just been one of those days.  

You know...those days.

All it does is rain here.  Rain, rain, rain.  The green surrounding me is so blindingly bright that I'm thisclose to praying for Autumn's orange-tinged hues.

OK, so I'm not ready for fall.  I'm just ready for sun.  And hot weather.  So that my girls are not stuck indoors.  And so I can do some summer reading out by the pool.  The rain is messing with my poolside reading schedule and I'm a bit like an impertinent child, stamping my feet because I'm inside these four walls.

But today...

in the span of about an hour...

*One child spilt peach tea (aka it leaves an impenetrable stain) all over the rug while the other tee-tee'ed in one of our bar chairs.  She is potty-trained, or so I thought.

*My husband's early mid-life crisis automobile broke down in the hospital parking lot.  I had to leave 2 stove eyes burning and garlic bread baking in the oven to go fetch him.  Reluctantly. Just being honest.

*The garlic bread burnt.  We ate it anyway.  

*I burnt my forearm trying to salvage said garlic bread from a 400 degree oven.  Dangit.

* In the middle of all this, one of my BFF's from college tried to contact me via Yahoo Messenger.  I had to tell her, "Hi--in the middle of a crisis--talk to you later!"  I felt like a dog for dismissing her in such a manner.  Becky, I love you.  

*My marinara tasted off.  I must have added too much Cabernet to it.  Love me through this admission.

*Oh, and while on the way to rescue Scott from the hospital parking lot, some redneck in an old Ford truck spit tobacco juice out his window.  It landed on my MomVan.  I was not tailgating. He just had mad projection skills.  Um...hi...that is beyond gross.  

*Let me also mention that earlier in the day the sky turned black.  The heavens opened and once again we prepared for the flood.  Libbey and I were trying to watch High School Musical 3, yet the power kept going on and off.  Come on, people.  That's. Just. Rude.  Zac Efron deserves better.

Gratuitous Zac shot. You're welcome.

*Due to the storm, my yard now looks like Beirut.  I haven't the time nor the inclination to remove all the weeds, debris, and fallen leaves/limbs that are littering what was once my garden mecca.  It makes me tired just thinking about it.

So in the midst of my afternoon turmoil, I found myself repeating the adage, "Too blessed to be stressed...I'm too blessed to be stressed..."

But I was stressed anyway.  Honestly is the best policy, folks.  And we've all been there, right?

Therefore I'm going to bed early, after spending some well-earned time in a very hot bubble bath, reading my latest novel, while listening to Melody Gardot.  (She is the cure for what ails...kid you not.)  I need a sublime ending to a subpar day.  Seriously.

And how has your day been?

p.s.  Also as effective as bubbles and the stirrings of Melody Gardot...a good friend, who sends the most hysterical text the minute I need it.  Lauren, I thank you...I love you...and I'm craving a Nathan's hot dog right now.  You know why.

My Baby is NOT the Centerfold.

From the time I was about nine years old I would beg God, "Please give me a daughter some day.  I don't care if you give me seven kids, just please let one of them be a girl...so I can impart my girly wisdom.  Make-up, music, boys, fashion...I just really want a daughter, God!"

In His infinite wisdom, or as proof of His unbelievable sense of humor, God gave me not one daughter, but two.  He also gave me a prescription for valium.  

No, really.  He did.  I'm certain of it.  

My youngest daughter is three and a half, also known as the "you never know what's going to come out of their mouths" age.  Witness:

Last week the toilet in her bathroom was acting up...she tried flushing, to no avail...

Me: Hmmm...I reckon it's stopped up!

Caroline: The batteries must be dead. Daddy will put in some new ones!

Awesome.

And then...

Caroline:  Nellie and Creetus don't want to go the playground.

Me:  Who are Nellie and Creetus?

Caroline:  Oh, they're my friends.  You just can't see them, but that's OK.  They're just for me.

Me:  Creetus?  That's a funny-sounding name...

Caroline: Mommy!  That's just his name.  He can't help it!

Right.  Gotcha.

Finally...

Caroline:  Mommy, I have boobies!

Me:  Yes,  you do. You are a girl and that's what girls have.

Caroline:  But mine are beautiful.  So is my belly button.  See?  (As she lifts her shirt.)

Seriously?

And then I begin to pray...

Dear Jesus,

Please convict Caroline now that she is NEVER to pose for Playboy.  For less than $5 million.

Amen.

Miss Caroline Raley Litton

With her clothes on.  

NOT posing for Playboy.

I'm just sayin'.

If you don't have a three year old in your life, I highly recommend that you run right out and get one.  Target probably has them on sale.  Near the pharmacy.  You know, where the valium* is located.

*For the record--I have never taken Valium, nor am I suggesting that it's a required drug for raising kids.  All that's really required is a lot of love.  Patience.  And prayer.  Maybe some red wine, too.  

These Are My People.

I don't know if it's southerners in general, or just me.  But I'm of the inclination to believe that we hold a monopoly on certain traditions/ideas/subject matters.  Such as:

*Cornbread must always be prepared in a well-seasoned cast iron skillet.  This is in the Bible somewhere, or maybe God just whispered it in my ear.  (And in the ears of all self-respecting, cornbread making southerners.)

*You have to love either  Moon Pies or Stuckey's Pecan Logs.  

I'm a Pecan Log gal myself.  Stuckey's is an institution of Dixie greatness, indeed.

*Sweet tea is the housewine of the South, and it's more delicious when served in a Mason jar.

I was brought up right.  (And yes, I really do quote Steel Magnolias daily.)

These are unwritten southern rules.  Except I take them to heart and write them down.  You see, I want my daughters to grow up and raise daughters who appreciate a well-seasoned cast iron skillet.  I want my grandchildren to love sweet tea and Stuckey's pecan rolls.  In moderation, of course.

Yet sometimes I realize we southerners (or maybe it's just me!) tend to believe it's our way or the highway.  Yeah, we (me) can be kinda territorial.  I admit it.  Especially when it comes to music.  Especially when that music is bluegrass.

We love our accoustic twang.  We love this branch of music that was brought to the Americas by the Irish and the English and the Scots. (Thank you, Irish, English, and Scots!) We love that we took that music and made it our own. And we love Alison Krauss & Union Station, and our beloved Ralph Stanley, as well.

So when a friend sent me the following video, I immediately grew into some maturity, expanded my worldview, and remarked, "Well...who knew the Chinese were southerners, too?"

This is probably one of the best videos I've ever watched on You Tube, as this is what music is all about.

I want to invite each and every one of these amazing musicians to my home.  For sweet tea, cornbread, and a pecan roll from Stuckey's.  And a big ol' hug from me.

Yee-haw, y'all.  Brilliant simplicity.  Oh, how I love it.

Jam On It.

What's your jam?

And by "jam," I don't mean the inside of a jar of Smucker's.  I'm talking about your jam.  You know, the song that regardless of when, where, or whatever your mood, the instant you hear its familiar strains, you're doing the bee-bop.  Physically bee-bopping, if you're home alone or perusing the aisles at Target.  (Yeah, like you've never done a bit of a twist in Target.  You know you have.)  Mentally, if you're in the middle of a sermon at church...driving down the highway...mourning at a funeral.  (Come on--like the funeral scene in The Big Chill didn't make you shake a tiny tail feather..."You can't always get what you want..."  The Rolling Stones at a wake?  That's good stuff right there.)

I'm currently creating my Summer Playlist '09 and I want it to be full of jams.  

Bekah's tune is Arcade Fire's Rebellion (Lies).  I've already added it to the '09 playlist for summer.

Oh, Bekah...this is a groove, I tell you.  Yes, I do love you for this.

My beautiful friend Lauren's favorite boogie song is Chamillonaire's Ridin' Dirty.  And I have to admit--this is high on my list.  "They see me rollin'...they hatin'..."

Just try to catch me ridin' dirty.  I dare you.  

And then Nikki-my-Love has claimed one of my all-time favorite dance songs--EVER--as her jam:

Oh, Debbie Deb...When I Hear Music it makes me wanna dance...and pull on my fuchsia satin hot pants, lace up my roller skates, and spend the afternoon going 'round the rink.  (Olympia Skate Center--Warner Robins peeps, represent!!!)

As for me...

I have two jams...

The first is Prince's Raspberry Beret.  I've loved this song since it debuted in 1985. Y'all...there's a bicycle bell ringing throughout this mini-symphony...this ode to teenage love.  You know that is seriously the coolest. (Ok, so it's not really a bicycle bell--it's finger cymbals.  But bicycle bell sounds way more fun.)  You Tube has no decent video of Raspberry Beret...

...so I give you my all-time favorite...the song I've worked it out to for most of my 34.5 years:

My head is bowed in respect for the late, great Jackie Wilson.  Don't even think of dismissing him.  He was the legend among legends.  I love me some Otis Redding...Sam Cooke...and Marvin Gaye.  But Jackie?  He is IT.  And Baby Workout is MY jam.  I dance to it in my bathroom.  Out by the pool.  In my car.  (Yes, I have a whole seat routine choreographed to Baby Workout.  No foolin'!)  And I want it played at my funeral--so y'all can get your swerve on here on earth, while I'm groovin' in Eternity.

I'm not even kidding.  I want to go out with a bang.  A Jackie Wilson-serenaded bang.

So please help me add to my Summer Playlist '09.  I wanna know your jam.  What do you rock out to?  Share it with me.  I'll add it to my playlist and think of you all season long.  And maybe I'll create a new car routine to one of your favorites.  

That's grounds for a road trip right there.  So we can get down, girl, go 'head get down...wooooooo!

Happy weekend, y'all!

*Edited to add--a lot of you are mentioning the Black Eye Peas' "Boom Boom Pow."  Yes, I love that song.  Yes, I have an entire car routine for it.  (Ask my pal Lacey--she choreographed it.)  Yes, it's on the summer playlist.  Duh!

It's Come To This...

I looked at Scott across the table and pleaded, "You've got to help me."

He replied, "I will do what I can, but you have to find the strength within you...ask God to help. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery."

*CRICKETS*

Many long minutes later he pressed, "Are you willing to admit it now?  Can you say it out loud?"

Honestly?  No.  I'm not capable of divulging my faults to anyone other than God and Scott.  (Or my beloved Sunshine, my self-professed diet/nutrition/exercise expert.)  It requires heroics I do not possess, because at my core I'm rather a large wimp.

Thirty-four and a half years have I been in this world, and in all that time I've resisted.  Oh, there's been the occasional recreational use.  I probably enjoyed it more in my teen years than as an adult.  You know the song...be young, be foolish, but be happy.  

Party after party I've attended and completely abstained, never once giving it a second thought. Until now.

I have an addiction, people.  I'm either knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door...or knock-knock-knocking on Betty Ford's.   I'm inclined to believe that either door would help me now.

Oh, Blue Bunny Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream...what you've wrought in my life.  You've taken an occasional ice cream imbiber and made her a full-fledged devourer of this icy cold treat.

I will never be the same again.

Please y'all...send help.  And please let it be in the form of a deliciously prepared spinach salad with balsamic vinegar dressing.  Because I need some nutrition up in here.  Or else it will be death by Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream.

But what a way to go...