Bleacher Talk...

While we're on the subject of Pop Warner Football I thought I'd tell you a little bit about a conversation I had at a game on Sunday afternoon.

I was sitting in the bleachers with a bunch of the moms and the subject of Facebook came up. Some of the gals are my Facebook friends, but apparently they aren't as into Facebook as some people (losers like me) are. "We don't have time for Facebook" one of the ladies said. "I only did it to reconnect with some old college friends" said another. I kept my mouth shut.

Then the subject went on to TV. Some of the ladies had actually seen the Jim and Pam wedding on last week's episode of "The Office." (Despite their incredibly busy lives.) I interjected, "Wasn't it funny when they did the dance like the wedding party dance on YouTube?" Silence. None of them had ever seen the YouTube wedding party dance.

Well alrighty then...

The subject then turned to gossiping about a local couples' recent divorce and a discussion of how one of my ladies spent all day Saturday lying on the couch hungover. I guess when you're unable to get off the couch for an entire day, it's pretty hard to sit up and log on to Facebook.

I wondered what these women would think of my Twitter account, or even worse...MY BLOG. I think that would put them over the edge.

Apparently spending time drinking heavily and gossiping is way more constructive and socially acceptable than social networking sites.

It definitely makes for better conversation.

So, the next time I hang with the chicks in the bleachers, I'll be sure to stick to subjects they like, bad teachers, parties, tennis (they DO like to talk tennis), working out and shopping.

Those are the rules of the bleachers...and I ALWAYS play by the rules.

Men are from Mars...

This was the first year my daughter attended the annual "Pop Warner Dance."


She was so excited. We went to the mall and got her a awesome new outfit and she and her friends were giddy with excitement as we pulled up to the local Knights of Columbus Hall for the big bash.

Since she's only in 5th grade I thought I'd take a look inside to make sure everything was cool before I left.

As I entered the dark, loud hall, I realized very quickly that everything was most definitely NOT cool.

It was a disaster.

There were over 100 kids packed into the room, and there were three men serving as chaperones, including the man at the door. Three men and 124 rowdy 5th and 6th graders!!! Not a good ratio.

I know the male mentality. How hard could it be? Rent a hall, get a D.J., invite every kid in town and we make a huge profit for Pop Warner. NOT SO SIMPLE.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Kids were dropping like flies. The tile floor was as slippery as an ice skating rink and covered in spilt soda. Boys were pushing and shoving each other, kids were piled up on the dance floor slam dancing. Other kids were running out into the parking lot.

I was freaking out. There was no way in HELL I was leaving my daughter in that mosh pit. A friend of mine had the same horrified look on her face that I did.

We decided to take action.

We informed the men that we were going to "hang out for a bit" just to make sure things were under control. They assured us that they had a handle on things as bodies hurled past us and children bolted out the front door. "It's okay, we assured them, we WANT to help...we INSIST!"

At that point we began tending to the wounded. One boy was kicked and thrown against a wall, another fell on the slippery floor and had a black eye and a huge cut across his forehead. I felt like it was a scene out of "Platoon."

One kid spilled an entire glass of soda all over the D.J.'s computer, another kid took the raffle basket and threw the tickets all over the floor, balloons were popping and the conga line was trampling over anyone who got in the way. Did I mention the hanky panky going on in the dark corners of the dance floor? I was too busy putting ice on kids' injuries to throw cold water on the horny 6th graders. That was a job for the coaches.

By the time 9 o'clock rolled around I was ready for a stiff drink. The good news is...no one was killed and no one got pregnant.

The bad news is, my child will never attend a Pop Warner Dance EVER again.

So, how was YOUR weekend?

Huh?

And that's all I have to say about THAT. Not really, but I don't know if I feel like discussing it.

It's ridiculous!!

I'm not going to say anymore....

I'm puzzled, perplexed...

Wow, my fingers have blog Tourette's.

Okay. I'll stop.

Have a great weekend!

Fashion is my Life!

Well, kind of.

You'd never know by looking at me, but I LOVE fashion.

I don't dress like a model. As a matter of fact, you'll usually find me in jeans and a sweater or fleece, but under this drab exterior lies the heart of a shopaholic.

When at the magazine rack I go right past the home decor, cooking and exercise magazines and head right towards Harper's, Lucky and Elle. I never pass up an In Style or a People Style Watch.

Sometimes I stay up into the wee hours of the morning on the laptop looking at celebrity outfits and Polyvore. Sometimes I sit on the couch, in a trance staring at the Garnet Hill and J. Jill Catalogs.

My idea of heaven is a leisurely walk through Nordstrom looking at the shoes, the jewelry, and the clothing displays. I love all the colors, the textures, I love it ALL!

My favorite stores these days are Anthropologie and J.Crew. Their products are like little works of art. I absolutely adore just about everything in those stores.

Here's a fun fact...did you know that Anthropologie Stores were designed to appeal to 30- to 40-something affluent professional women with total family annual income above $200,000? Take a look at the price tags in the store and it becomes abundantly clear.

If I had an unlimited budget I would have a closet full of cashmere ruffled cardigans, textured ribbon tees, and vintage matchstick cords.

Since I DON'T have an unlimited budget, I have to be smart about my purchases.

When I glance into my closet and see some of the bad fashion choices I've made, it depresses me. Shoes I bought on sale, that hurt my feet, stupid trendy crap that I got at H&M, stretched out sweaters from Target. CHEAP!

Then I look at some of my good choices. My Barbour Eskdale barn jacket that I've worn for YEARS. My Helen Ficalora initial charm that I wear almost everyday. My Coach Zoe bag that cost me a bundle, but that I carry ALL THE TIME. These were wise purchases, and I feel no regret that I made them.

If you've been following me on Twitter, you know I am now on a quest for the perfect pair of winter everyday boots. I could just run to the mall and grab something that's okay, but not great. I don't want to settle. I want boots that I LOVE.

I'm on a mission people.

In the meantime, I'll settle for stalking the sale racks at Anthro and J.Crew, waiting and watching for those $75 t-shirts to go on clearance and living the life of an undercover fashionista...with caviar dreams, and a beer budget.

Remember, we're all in this together...

In my last post I discussed the Nestle Family blogger event and the backlash it caused. I want to draw attention to my favorite comment on this post.

From Kate at WHIMSYBITS:

I used to do a lot of boycotting when I was younger (college age). I still think it can be a worthwhile idea...but I try to support GOOD companies instead.

I love to support local businesses and small online businesses (especially if it helps another mom!). If I read or hear about a company that has a particularly humanitarian mission (i.e. Tom's shoes...they give away a pair for every pair purchase...Kona Africa Bikes, etc.) I try to give them my business.

There is enough negativity in the world...I'd rather lend support to those that get it right than constantly looking for who's getting it wrong.

What a great attitude! Thanks Kate. You are a wise woman indeed!

Living the Simple Life

Unless you've been living under a Twitter/Blogger rock the big subject of the past few days is the Nestle Family blogger event. Nestle paid for a group of bloggers to fly out to their headquarters for an all expenses paid weekend to participate in a forum to discuss Nestle's products. I'm sure part of Nestle's goal was to get feedback from their consumers and part of it was to get some cheap PR. Whatever.

What ensued has been quite a controversy in the blog world and on Twitter. People are OUTRAGED that these bloggers attended this event and alot of angry words were thrown around.

The good news for me is that I got quite an education about some of Nestle's business practices. I knew that they have been highly criticized for marketing baby formula to third world countries, I knew a little about the controversy surrounding the company using cocoa harvested by forced labor. I didn't realize they are the most boycotted company on earth. Wow. Hey, you learn something new everyday.

This got me thinking, hmmm. What other companies should I question?

What can I feel good about buying? So I did a little research.

Here are some of the other companies with questionable practices:

Food:
Altria (Philip Morris/Kraft/Nabisco)
Campbell Soup (Pepperidge Farm, Godiva's)
Coca-Cola
ConAgra (Beatrice, Butterball, Hunts, Redenbacher)*
Equal/Nutrasweet (Monsanto)*
Hershey's
Nestle Purina* (Nescafe, Libby's, Stouffer's)
Smithfield Foods
Tyson Foods/IBP Meats
Unilever
Archer Daniels
Albertson's
Burger King
Chiquita
Country Time
Dean Foods (Borden & other dairy brands)
Del Monte
Dole
General Foods
Hannaford Bros
Interstate Bakeries
KFC/Long John Silver/Taco Bell
Kroger Stores
Lipton [BW]
McDonald's
Pepsico
Pizza Hut
Post Foods
Procter & Gamble
Publix Supermarkets
Safeway
Sara Lee
Savon
Shoney's
Warner Lambert
Winn-Dixie

Clothing:

Adidas
Dillard's
DuPont* (Lycra)
Fila
Gap
JC Penney
Kohl's
May's* (Robinson May, Lord & Taylor)
Sears
Wal-Mart
Abercrombie & Fitch
Asics
Big Lots (Pic'n Save)
Costco
Federated (Bloomies, Macy's, the Bon)
Fruit of the Loom
J. Crew
Jones Apparel
KMart
Lands' End
Levi Strauss
Liz Claiborne
Nike
Phillips Van Heusen
Polo Ralph Lauren
Reebok
Sara Lee (Playtex, WonderBra, Sheer Energy) Target
TJ Maxx/Marshall's
Victoria's Secret (Limited Stores)
Winners (TJX Canada)

According to my research, if I want to be a responsible consumer the only clothing I can buy is Patagonia, I will have to shop at my local farmer's market or grow my own veggies. I cannot take drugs from ANY pharmaceutical company, I can only watch PBS or listen to NPR and rather than purchase gas, I need to bicycle or walk.

I don't know what the answer is. Maybe my life and the lives of countless others would be better if we all lived a simpler life and the world wasn't run by crooked politicians and unethical corporations.

I do know that calling other people ignorant isn't the answer.

Discussing these issues can help. Educating ourselves and taking action where we deem necessary CAN make a difference. (I hope.)

So let's talk. What do you think? Are there any companies you boycott? Have you learned anything from this controversy?

Are you going to change the way you shop as a result of this discussion?

Talk to me...

I'm not alone....

From yesterday's New York Times Style Section...

By Michelle Slatalla

AS I turned into the parking lot at the tennis club the other day, I pulled my visor over my face and scooched down real low in the driver’s seat so nobody on my team would see me.

They’ve been after me for weeks, and they’re like: “Mi-chelle, come on. We need you in the lineup.”

They are so peer pressure-y! They totally know I’m not ready yet because I hurt my wrist and now I have to learn to serve with my other hand. It could take years — ask anybody — for a former leftie like me to develop a right-handed serve that’s good enough for competitive play.

So I sneaked out of the car. Then I crab-walked, all hunched over, toward the privacy of the far court, where one of the club’s pros, Rafael, would help me work on my serve. I did not get far.

“Mi-chelle!”

Oh no. Janet. My captain.

“Are you going to play in the match next week?” she yelled at me from Court Three, where she was playing doubles. I scuttled past. “Hey, come back here! Are you even on this team?”

This was so embarrassing. I pretended I didn’t notice her, which was a stretch, considering that she was barely four feet away and our eyes had locked. But whatever. I was trying to ignore her because I just wasn’t ready. I needed more time to heal.

Just then, luckily, I saw Stacey, my tennis idol and former doubles partner, standing up on the deck. She would have to protect me.

I scuttled toward her.

Then the worst thing ever happened. Stacey turned on me, too. “Yeah, are you ever going to play again?” she yelled from the deck.

Good question.

And before I answer it, I would like to make one thing clear. I know I am no longer in high school. But sometimes, tennis makes me feel as if I am.

Maybe it’s the whole team thing. The last time I felt the same overwhelming social pressure to belong to a group, I was a teenager. And not just belong — I don’t want to let the group down. I want to make a difference. It’s a powerful feeling. I know some people get it at their PTA or church or local militia or whatever. Not me.

With tennis, the team is me and I am the team. We are like a pack of wild dogs. I am sorry, but it is true. When one of us brings down a baby rhino we all get to feast on its tender, baby rhino flesh. And after that? We might get to go to the playoffs. Some day: a trophy.

Does this make me pathetic? I don’t care. This tennis team matters to me, deeply. I love you, dudes!

And yet, that is why it has taken me awhile to rejoin my pack.

“It’s been two years,” Stacey pointed out, somewhat disloyally as I clattered past her, my face crimson with shame.

“I’m ready to play,” I lie-whispered. “Any time the team needs me.”

But, dying inside, I slinked home as soon as I could. Later that afternoon, I was at my desk checking e-mail when a shock appeared in my inbox. It was from Janet.

She had put me in the lineup! OMG, OMG, OMG!

“I don’t think I can do this,” I said a few days later to Rafael, who also functions as our team coach.

“Why not?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

“No, scared.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Embarrassing myself,” I said, kind of embarrassed to hear myself embarrassing myself in this way.

“You don’t need a hard serve to win,” he said. “All you need to do is get the ball over the net. Every time it comes to you. The winner, in tennis and in life, is usually the one with fewer unforced errors.” He sounded like Yoda, if Yoda were a tennis pro from Brazil.

I considered his advice. Hadn’t Roger Federer himself just lost the United States Open championship match against Juan Martín del Potro? Why? Because Federer had 62 unforced errors.

The unforced error is when you beat yourself. The ball comes to you and you hit it into the net. Or you hit it long. Or you hit it onto the roof of Gary Burke’s car, in the parking lot, which I do, a lot.

But the worst error of all is when you don’t even try.

On game day, I knew our opponents were going to be tough. During warm-up, the tall one kept hitting fast, spinning serves. I knocked a couple toward Gary’s parking space just to show her that she didn’t scare me. But of course, she did.

During the match, however, I stayed tough and maintained my focus. When she hit a 400-mile-an-hour drive straight at my kidneys, I played my game: the dink. Soft returns, ridiculous loopy lobs and a serve that floated across the net like a matzo ball made with love.

But a funny thing happened. My opponents kept overhitting. Meanwhile, my partner, Cheryl, and I got most of our shots in. At one point in the second set, I even heard one of our opponents hiss to the other, “But her serves are so soft ...”

“Float like a matzo ball, sting like a bee,” I thought. And wafted another of Nana’s seltzer specials over the net.

We won, 6-2, 6-3.

A few hours later, after that first incredible endorphin rush subsided — and after I had called everyone I know to shriek, “I won! I won!” into the phone, and after I had texted my daughters at college with the news, and after I did a little secret victory dance in the shower — I realized that I couldn’t wait to play again.

I was back on the Team.