300th.

You need to know that this is what we had for supper tonight:
Fiery Cajun Shrimp
Cheese Grits
Broiled Parmesan Tomatoes
Green beans
French Bread

Yes, it was a banner night in the Litton house. Eating high on the hog suits us. (Sunshine, my ever-faithful diet and exercise guru, you know I rarely cook like this anymore--don't freak out on me!) I could literally eat shrimp and grits every night of my life. Throw in some crab legs and I would never leave the table. Ever.

The shrimp recipe comes from my close, personal friend, Paula Deen. Have y'all seen the picture of me and Paula and her adorable husband, Captain Michael?

Yeah, we were just hanging out. As close, personal friends often do. Look at Capt. Michael--mere seconds from giving my cheek some sweet sugar. I love him.

Paula is the real deal, in person, in print, and on screen. I mean, who else would drop trou and keep on smiling? No one, I tell you.

I love her. She's wearing her Spanx. Clearly Paula was brought up right.

Do y'all have her cookbook, Paula Deen Celebrates? It's so fabulous. One of my most favorites.

I think someone needs this cookbook. 'Cause it's my 300th post and I'm in the mood to give stuff away. What other stuff? Maybe some Peanut M&Ms (unless you're allergic)...a $25 Target gift card...and just stuff, ya know? Free stuff! Leave a comment and I'll choose a winner on Monday. Yay!

Three hundred posts...wow. It's been fun! Thanks for reading all my random and ridiculous drivel, y'all. Especially when I mention him, over and over again:
Please, like I'm going to let my 300th post go by without honoring my Jason? Y'all know how I feel about this man. Amen.

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And just for my dear brother & sister-in-law:

A fabulous, kid-free weekend of fun and frivolity. Bring the noise! Were y'all at La Quinta Inn here?

Or was this Aruba?

Have fun, y'all!! Yes, Mandy, I am still laughing. Good times.

There Will Be No Orchestral Interruption.

Sunday night I watched the Academy Awards. By myself, in our guest room, where I would not be disturbed and where I could eat Funyuns in bed. Without later feeling the crunch of greasy, faux onion crumbs on my stomach while trying to dream in my own bed. See what a genius I am? (Yes, Mama...I will change the sheets and vacuum long before your visit in April.)

So after the Oscars ended I drafted my own acceptance speech, as I do every year. Just in case. No, I do not have delusions of grandeur. I fully realize I will never be nominated for Best Actress, because in any film I'd star, Jason Statham would be my lone castmate, and I don't see the Academy honoring my make-out skills. Unless they invent a "Best Smoldering On-Screen Kiss" category just for me...and for Jason...and for our steamy liplocks. Yes, I said liplocks, plural...because there'd be a lot of making out. Of course. It's not "real life," so that's allowed. (My husband said so. He wants to kiss Kate Winslet, and I'm OK with that.)

There is also the dream that one day I'll write an incredibly moving, incredibly magnificent original screenplay, which will be made into a motion picture, starring my British Triform of Brilliance:

Tim Curry, you have always been my favorite. You will always be my favorite.


Michael Caine. I love you. That is all you need know.


Kenneth Branagh. I do not subscribe to the theory of reincarnation. Yet if there were a modern-day version of William Shakespeare, it is you. Oh, yes...it is.


Somewhere in this film that I've written, Emma Thompson and Helen Mirren will also make an appearance. These individuals will be lauded and applauded for their fine acting talents. Meanwhile I'll be sweeping the talk show and internet interview circuit, humbly accepting praise and accolades, while quietly deflecting the inevitable question, "Why a full British cast from an American screenwriter?" I'll let my agent craft that response. Right now decorum escapes me and spouting off, "Well, duh--they're just better!" will land my cute little self in a bucket o' mess. I know better. (Clearly I've been to the Kristen Stewart school of What Not To Reveal To The Press. Her Dad needs to take lessons, too.)

But I digress...

My Academy Award acceptance speech would be no less than five minutes in length, whereby I would gush and mush and cry and babble and thank everyone from Mrs. Lastinger, my very first dance instructor, to Sherin Hinnant, Sheila Keener, and Cerelia Sipe, my favorite teachers in the world of literature. I'd also thank that girl from Lincolnton, Georgia, whom I met at 4-H camp in 1985. Her name currently escapes me (Sarah, if you're reading--help me out here!), however she turned me on to the glory that is Patsy Cline. I've never been the same since.

I must also mention the person who invented Peanut M&Ms and Cool Ranch Doritos. Thanks to the bands Depeche Mode and The Smiths, for blighting my adolescence, and to Simon & Garfunkel and Van Morrison, for restoring the hope of my youth.

And how can I not mention God? Many times, for sure, because I am most grateful to Him. Mama, Dad, Eric, Logan, all my Mississippi peeps...my classmates from Russell Elementary, Rumble Junior High, Warner Robins High School, Macon College, and Liberty University. My lifelong friends, my college soulmates, these wonderful Lee County ladies, and of course...all of the truly amazing people I've met via blogging, some of whom are now "real life" friends that I would never want to live without. (I'll have a handout which lists your names and blog addresses. At my request, Wolfgang Puck gladly will place this handout in each Oscar after-party dinner menu.)

Finally, I'll spend my remaining minute barely able to speak due to my uncontrollable shaking and sobbing at the mere mention of my sweet husband and our girls. I will thank him for choosing me, for trusting me, and for being my best friend. I will thank my daughters for being my absolute dreams come true. And I will thank all three of these people for allowing me to make out with Jason Statham, should that scenario ever present itself.

There will be no political rants. No feigned fainting. No hysterics. No snotting. (I was brought up right--my Memaw's antique, monogrammed handkerchief will accompany me to the stage when I accept my award.) And if Bill Conti and his Oscar Orchestra even think of playing one single note before I've finished my full gush of verboseness, I will wail on his head.

Do not forget my ability to channel Ric Flair.

This is how it will all go down. Just in case the situation presents itself. Failure to plan is planning to fail, y'all.

Makes Me Happy.

What's making you happy this week? Do share. I will, too:


The Dark Was the Night album is an amazing compilation disc that supports HIV/AIDS relief. Featuring music by artists such as Sufjan Stevens, Iron & Wine, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, Feist and Ben Gibbard (lead singer of Death Cab for Cutie), My Morning Jacket, and many others, this is an absolute must-have CD. Seriously. I've worn it out all weekend. Plus, purchasing it means you're contributing to charity. A win all around. (Thanks, David, for the heads up a couple of weeks ago.)

The Girl Who Could Fly, by Victoria Forester. Read this last week in almost one sitting...it was mesmerizing. My friend (ahem!), Stephenie Meyer, recommended this book. I believe we all know by now that she has impeccible taste. I was not disappointed in this one. Not at all.


Dollhouse, Friday nights on Fox. My new favorite show, from Joss Whedon. Seriously...Joss could write a show about people looking at blank walls and I'd watch. He's pretty much a genius. Plus, any hour of television featuring actors formerly of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Battlestar Galactica...well, that right there should clue you in to the yummy goodness that is Dollhouse.



Sula perfume in Stiletto Musk. Just the name itself makes me happy! And it smells incredible. I am a musk fan. I also dig stiletto heels. Just so you know.


Summer Heights High on DVD. Rent this from Netflix. Now. It's witty, snarky, and belly-shaking hilarious.

Of course I adore my two beauties, Libbey and Caroline, but I also have to mention our nieces, Helen (almost 9 months) and Eliza (2). I love these girls. I also love that Liza calls me "Aunt Lula." Truly precious, indeed.
Also on the happiness radar...

Sunday afternoon naps

Valley of the Moon Zinfandel

Exemplify

Date nights and eating Thai food (even when Thai food disagrees with my constitutions...)

Good, good times. It all makes me happy. And we need more happy in our lives, don't we? Yes, we do. What are you gleeful about this week?

p.s. Thanks, my dear, sweet Kristen, for speaking Truth in Love, when I am unable to do so...because my hands are full of virtual tomatoes, when your hands are full of God's Word. I love you. Longtime.

In The Same Boat.

This statement recently passed through my lips: "Fifteen years ago, when I was a freshman in college..."

Wait, stop. What? Fifteen years ago? Yes, fifteen years, people!

I find Steel Magnolias to be appropriate for daily quoting, so today I'll reference Truvy's observation: "Time marches on, and sooner or later you realize it's marchin' across your face."

So wise, so sage, so true, so Truvy. I never realized I'd be Botox-ready at the ripe old age of thirty-four. And yes, my dermatologist told me just two months ago, "You are definitely a candidate for Botox injections..." Thanks. Heaps.

I am not alone in my aging process. Because it will make me feel better, allow me to list a few well-known folks who were born in 1974. Like me. You know, rapidly approaching middle age.


Academy Award-nominated actress, Amy Adams.


Academy Award-nominated actress, Penelope Cruz.


Two-time Screen Actors Guild Award Winner, Ryan Phillippe.


Academy-Award nominated..........ah, forget it. Y'all get the point. They're beautiful, talented, lauded and applauded. With nary a crease on their head. (OK, so they've most likely had some airbrushing. Still...)

Whatever.

I find my solace in a gal who will hit the 35 mark toward the end of 2009, just like me. Look at her--Botox be damned!

Hello Kitty! The knowledge of our shared age makes me feel loads better.








As Truvy says, "There is no such thing as natural beauty."
I still want the Botox. Just so we're clear on things.

"I'm Here To Keep My Eye On Her..."

Darling Daughters,

When you are older I'll tell you about the day I realized you two were not only sisters, but also friends. Libbey, when I picked you up from school yesterday afternoon, Caroline inquired, "Sissy, how was your day?" You replied, "It was good! What did you do today?" What followed next was a conversation between two buddies who had clearly missed each other during the day, happy to be reunited once again. Yes, your sappy mother cried just a little.

I pray you girls are always the best of friends. Even when inevitable disagreements or knock-down, drag-out fights occur, I hope your hearts will remember the immeasurable love you share.

More than anything, though, I pray you girls will maintain your dignity and decorum, both now and as you grow into young ladies. Because if either of you behave in a manner similar to these famous sisters, your father and I will write you out of our wills. Yeah. Seriously.

Oh, Lindsey and Ali.

Oh, Paris and Nikki.

I'm so over celebrity sister shenanigans. The tackiness needs to stop. It makes me tired.

Sweet, precious, beautiful, modest, and well-brought up daughters of mine...you have been warned. And I warn y'all in love, of course.

I love you both...forever...

xoxo,

Mommy

"There were never such devoted sisters..."

Best Date Ever.

So I mentioned in my last post that I had big plans for Valentimes, and that I'd share those plans on Monday. It is now Monday. Wanna know what we did? Great!

Without telling him until the absolute last minute, I whisked my husband away to a meal of divine proportions, followed by a stay in a gorgeous hotel. We were not even an hour from home, but I knew we both needed a little break. We love our children and are beyond blessed to have our roles as "Mommy" and "Daddy." For us, though, marriage comes first. And that relationship takes priority above any other. We were due for some couple time. Big time.

On Friday afternoon we dropped the girls off at my in-laws', which is where they'd rather be most of the time anyway. We headed south to The Carnegie Hotel, in Johnson City, TN.
This was our room...however our cheese tray was accompained by Bellinis. You know, peach puree and champagne? It's liquid ambrosia, indeed.
Wellington's is the restaurant located ajacent to The Carnegie. It. Is. Fabulous. Scott devoured fish and lobster, while I feasted on beef medallions and fried green tomatoes. Divine!
After dinner we strolled around the hotel for a while, then retired to our room. The end.

Yeah, like I'm telling y'all anything else! Well...I can reveal that rather than venture out to see the new Friday the 13th flick, we decided to enjoy a movie in the comfort of our room. Wanna know what we watched?

Yes, I spent Valentime's Eve with my husband and my boyfriend! Said Scott, "Honey, at least he's a badass." Well put, my dear. And I love you forever and ever, on Valentimes and always.

Valentimes.

Once again Valentime's Day is upon us. (Yes, it's called "Valentimes" by my children.) What do y'all have planned for your sweeties? I want to hear all about it. Keep it PG rated, please!

I have plans. Big plans. But I cannot reveal these plans until Monday. I can share that part of these plans include a viewing of one of my favorite Francois Truffaut films, Jules & Jim.

It's French, it's about a love triangle, it's brilliant, and it's must-see. Before anyone asks, no...Scott will not be watching Jules & Jim with me. He will be watching the Star Wars franchise, for the 3429th time. I love him, I do.

Have a great weekend, and also a very Happy Valentime's Day!
XOXO,
Lula

Follow me, please...

I'm guest-posting over at Tiffany's today. She's one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, so it's quite an honor to be hanging over at her place.

Please...come hang with us!

A Prayer For Down There.

Yesterday I stumbled across this heartbreaking article about an entire family who perished in the fires currently raging across Victoria, Australia. That a precious family--a husband, wife, 2 sons, and a young daughter--lost their lives in such a horrible manner is unreal to me. I cannot wrap my head around the magnitude of this situation. It literally makes me weep.

Dear people of Australia, I love you. Because of the great distance between us I am unable to offer help...I am unable to physically wrap my arms around you....I am unable to do much of anything. But I can pray. And I will pray. For all of you.

beauty for ashes...
gladness in times of mourning...
praise for despair...
(from Isaiah 61:3)
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Have you heard about Sam the Koala? She's famous...and feeling better, after burning her paws and inhaling smoke. It makes me happy.

This is the most adorable picture ever. My girls loved the firefighter holding Sam's "hand."

*Heather also posted about the recent events in Australia. (I'd say it was great minds, but let's go with our loving hearts that think alike, too. And our ghetto/trailer fabulousness, indeed.)

Slow Dancing In A Burning Room.

If you don't catch that metaphor, you're not going to get this post. And I want you to get this post. 'Cause it's important.

See that playlist over on the right? It's entitled "Tonight's the Night." I think we all know Valentine's day is this Saturday. And while you didn't ask, I'm going to offer a playlist that I think is appropriate for Valentine's day. Or any day. Or any night. Such as tonight. Ahem.

Here's a cheat sheet of tunes, for the lazy. Or for those who take me seriously and aren't afraid.

Solid Sender--John Lee Hooker
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room--John Mayer
Crawl--Kings of Leon
Let Down--Radiohead
Back Door Man--The Doors
Cry To Me--Solomon Burke
Figured You Out--Nickelback
Pony--Ginuwine
My Body is a Cage--Arcade Fire
Get It While You Can--Janis Joplin
Paralyzer--Finger 11
New Year's Prayer--Jeff Buckley
6 Underground--Sneaker Pimps
Mysterious Ways--U2
Feelin' Love--Paula Cole
Since I've Been Loving You--Led Zeppelin
Supermassive Black Hole--Muse (thanks, Heather!)




Since I take y'all seriously, share songs you enjoy. You know, for Valentine's day. Or for slow dancing in a burning room. Or, you know...whatever...

I'm just sayin'.

In Spades...

Dear Old Man Winter,

I am over it. Don't get me wrong, I loved the blizzard you gave us last week. But I've had my fair share and it's time to move on. Please disregard that stupid Punxsutawney Phil and his prognosis for the untimely arrival of Spring. He's a fat, hairy, smelly liar, I'm certain.

I need sunshine. I need warm breezes. I want to paint my toenails a blazing, obnoxious shade of pink. Wouldn't they be adorable peeking out from these fantastic flats?

What about this coordinating purse? It screams daffodils, lemonade, Easter baskets, filmy fabrics, sandals, wide-brimmed straw hats, azaleas, and tunes from Cole Porter.

I also need pink sunbursts for my earlobes, as a signal of the brighter days to come. It's all for the sake of fashion and the building of my self esteem.
A little daydreaming does wonders for the soul. I refuse to admit to sniffing a bottle of Coppertone, but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.

I'm over you, Winter. Thanks for playing, but it's time for you to go. Now. Please.

Love,

Lula

Jack Frost Paradox.

The girls and I have been housebound since Monday afternoon. Because of this:

By Tuesday we had six inches of snow on top of an inch of ice. In mountain terms, that means Lula does not drive. Because I'm from Georgia. Where entire towns shut down for 1/16 of an inch of snow.

Thankfully I have a husband who phones from his way home at the end of the day, saying, "E-mail a list of what we need & I'll run by the store on the way home." I remind him, "Stick to the list!" because I know his penchant for Nutty Bars and Hot & Spicy Cheez-Its, items I never purchase. He reassures, "Honey, I'll get milk and bread and healthy stuff."

Good deal.

An hour later he walks in with 4 bags. Unloading the first two I exclaim, "Look at you & your 'healthy stuff' self!" I mean, Fiber One cereal means he's serious about having good, regular poops! Look at this bounty of heart-happy yummies:

I then unload the other two bags, finding this:
To which he explains, "For the girls, honey--y'all will be home all week, so I thought they'd enjoy a few treats."

Seriously.

I love him. I do.

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Happy (belated) Birthday to my dear, sweet pal, Lizzy! I'd launch Booster B to save your life anyday. In the event of Thermal Curtain Failure, that is.

Interview With A Vampire.

Just kidding. Calm down. Dude's still hiding out in London pubs, and can you blame him after all that craziness in November and December? Bless his heart.

My pal, Gina, was interviewed over at her place, by her mother. I loved getting to know even more about Gina and she offered to interview her readers, as well. I really hate talking about myself (snort!), but I took one for the team and agreed to play along.

I'm going to pretend that Gina is a famous talk show host. Like the straight, uber-conservative version of Ellen. (I love Ellen. I love Gina. Go with me here...) And I'm sitting across from her on a big, squishy chair, in a studio lit by television experts, so that the light softens my wrinkles and highlights my hair just so. Both Gina and I are wearing garments by Chanel, jewelry by Van Cleef & Arpels, and heels by Christian Louboutin. (Yes, we are smokin' hot.) The audience is wildly applauding, heartily laughing, and even sighing at key moments while Gina and I chat away like the old friends that we are. (Hey, we met last Spring--that's a long time in blog terms, you know?)

I've now set the stage. Gina and I have had our kissy-kissy moment and we are ready to get down to business:

Lula, it's so great having you here! (Oh, I'm so thrilled, Gina!) Since our time is brief let's jump in and get started. What is your favorite comfort food and your strongest memory tied to it?

Gina, no self-respecting southern girl will say anything other than cheese grits, homemade fried okra, and cast iron skillet-baked corn bread. Throw in a few pounds of freshly steamed crab legs and a pitcher of sweet tea and you have my dream meal. Comfort food at its finest! I have no particular memory attached to these dishes. I just love southern cooking and good seafood.

Now Lula, I know you are the mother of two girls. (Yes--hi Libbey, hi Caroline! Kisses!) All mothers have "bad mom days," of course, so how do you escape when faced with a case of the mommy grumps?

Wow...that's a great question! When I have days where I feel as if I'm the worst mother in the world, I tend to phone a friend for some girl talk. Or cry. Or play really loud, really angsty music. But I honestly find that the best escape is a simple prayer to my Father: "Lord, HELP!" Followed by a very long, very hot bubble bath.

Let's get serious for a moment...if you had one do-over in your life, what would it be?

Only one? I'd love to have several. But since I've learned--the hard way--from all the trials and mistakes of my 34 years, I have to say I'm thankful for God's preservation. However if I did get one do-over I would choose to have continued in my formal dance training. I gave it up for cheerleading, because I was a young teen and popularity was of my utmost concern. Had I stuck with dance I could have been the next Ann Reinking, which was my dream.

You could have been her protege! Moving on...we are in a sad economy right now, but if money were no object, how would you enrich your life, Lula?

It's fun to dream, isn't it? My life, as well as my family's, would be incredibly enriched by owning a pink beach house on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. I'd also love to have a plane so that I could fly my friends to said beach house on a moment's notice. Of course you (and your sister and mother) are invited at any time!

Well, all our children would certainly love that, but we'd need a few "Moms Only" weeks, too! (Amen!) We're running out of time (audience groans), but I do have one final question for you: We all have things that we dislike, even hate, about ourselves. What is the thing that you love best about yourself?

Should I go with the vain answer or the humble one? How 'bout both? I love my boobs. I'm being totally honest here. They are still pretty decent in appearance, even after breastfeeding two children for 12 months apiece. And nursing was both the hardest and the best thing I've ever done in my life. I'm thankful to have had that experience, so I'm grateful for my boobs. I know I should be a proper lady and use the term "breasts," but I hate that word. Please forgive me, y'all. You know I'm a bit of a rebel at times.

Thanks for letting me interview you, Lula...hasn't this been fun? (The crowd goes wild.) My next guest is the star of the upcoming film, Crank 2...the amazing Jason Statham! Lula, you're invited to stick around, of course.

Lula faints.
And scene.



There you have it, y'all! My very first interview. Thanks, Gina...this was bunches o' fun. Are you ready to kill me yet?

Now...I would love to interview you and you and you. So here is what you do:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
So come on--let's get to know each other better. And do not fear potential questions--I promise to play very nice. Good times!



*p.s. Gina--I had no idea we picked the exact same title for our interview posts until I went to link you. Great minds, huh? We are so fab, you convert, you.

"My teen-angst bull*hit has a body count..."

If the Money Fairy suddenly appeared and offered a million dollars for me to relive just one year of my high school experience, not only would I tell her, "H-to the-ell NO!" but I'd also slap her clean across the face. Then I'd knock her wings off. And stomp all over them.

Yeah, so that's a dramatic scenario, but a true one nevertheless. Don't get me wrong. I have many fond memories of my three years as a Warner Robins High Demon. (Yes, three--back then the Freshman class held court over at the junior high schools.) Two of my fellow Class of 1993-ers were in my wedding almost nine years ago, along with a faculty member who was never my teacher but more like a big sister. Several WRHS pals are over there on my blogroll. A state and national School of Excellence many times over, those hallowed halls were where my mother spent most of her teaching career before retiring in 2001.

But would I do any of it over? For a million dollars? Ain't no way.

Two weekends ago I watched a little independent, documentary film called American Teen. I saw a preview for it on a flight back in August and queued it up in on Netflix.

Recognize the poster? They totally ripped off The Breakfast Club, which I maintain is some of John Hughes' finest work.

About 20 minutes into the movie I realized my entire body was clenched. Wringing my hands, fiddling with my hair, tapping my fingers on the remote...all while curled into the fetal position. During this film hundreds of memories from 1990-1993 invaded my brain. I was a nervous wreck.

Can you say angst?

In some form or fashion I identified with each of the five teenagers whose senior year stories are highlighted in American Teen. I was never a jock, geek, princess, rebel, or heartthrob. In fact, I was never anything that could be labeled, boxed, and sold at the Senior Superlatives store. My friends were nerds...drama buffs...artists...geniuses...athletes...marching band members...cheerleaders. I also had stoners, get-arounders (ahem!), partiers, and comedians as friends. So while I cannot pin a definite label on me-as-a-high-schooler, I recognized myself in the American Teen gang because I had a bit of geek, princess, and rebel in me. OK, so I wasn't a jock or a heartthrob...but I dated 'em...and stuff. Sigh...

For an hour and a half I sat in bed, watching the movie, vicariously reliving my senior year. The good (befriending Kelly, an anchor of realism in a storm of facades), the bad (Ric, to this day I regret that one puke-filled night...you know of which I speak. Thanks again for taking care of me!), and the ugly (two words: Sprite and Peppermint Schnapps).

Shudder.

And suddenly I'm singing, "If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus 'tis now." Indeed.

I loved American Teen, in spite of the angst. It made me nervous and jittery and brought up memories I thought I'd firmly hidden in the recesses of my mind. But it also made me grateful...'cause I know I'd never go through any of that again. Amen.

Who were you in high school? Did you wear a particular label? Would you go back and do your senior year for a million dollars? I want to hear all about it.

*I'll give a prize to the first person who identifies the title of this post. Without Googling it! Be honest! Kelly, I wrote it on your bed at Ga Tech, remember? Good times. Precious memories. Oh, and no...I don't know what the prize is. Perhaps an autographed picture of Vanilla Ice? A copy of one of the Sweet Valley High books, maybe?

Progress is Beautiful.

Did y'all see the BEST commercial from last night's game?


He got his Miami Vice on. I cannot express to you how happy this made me.

I am now asking for an Audi for Christmas. Seriously.

The past few days have been so busy and I have lots to tell y'all! It's going to be a fun week...but first I have to spend some time hanging at your "places," so I can get caught up on all I missed while enduring a headache, company, 2 birthday parties, and sadly, the death of a family friend. Sigh...

I'm going to watch the commercial again. Because I love my badass boyfriend. And my husband, of course, who also agreed that this particular ad was "pretty cool, I have to admit." Amen.



p.s. For what it's worth, this was my second fave of the evening:

May 8, y'all. It's circled on my calendar.