What Gives, Geico?

Okay, what gives? (See last post for background on this subject). Geico has added yet another atrocity to their advertising repetoire by throwing Burt Bacarat into their celebrity mix. As if Charro and Little Richard and that movie announcer weren't enough, they've got a new one with Burt singing a woman's story, looking as if he is about to fall off the piano bench in a drunken stupor. Will the stupidity never end?
Again I ask, where is the lizard? And the cavemen, who were oh so injured by the Geico spokesman's political incorrectness? Wake up, Geico! Can't you see a drug test is in order?

Currently Reading: Glimmer Train, Fall 2006
Song of the day: My Wish by Rascal Flatts

My favorite--and least favorite--commercials.

There are two commercials on television right now that have made quite an impression on me. The first one, I love. If I hear it coming on in the next room, I will drop whatever I'm doing to run in and watch it because it makes me roar with laughter. The second makes me want to throw up. I will run FROM the room to escape this advertising debacle.

My favorite commercial right now was created by Dairy Queen to promote its new mint Moolatte. A female newscaster comes onto the set, sporting an icy cold cupful of this decadent and creamy creation. She sets it down to await her on-air cue. Her co-newscaster, a snarky, irritating slick-haired dandy, grabs her Moolatte and starts drinking it. She swipes a hand to get it back and he taunts her with enjoyment, sipping seductively on the straw as the countdown to cue continues...

3-2-1. Smiling faces, Moolatte disappears. Woman: Good evening and welcome to blah-blah news. Today's top story--she reaches over, grabs her co-casters hair--Fred--yanks the hair from his head--has hair plugs--he sits in all his shocked and bald glory, she smiles sweetly-- Back to you...

I don't know who created this, but I can't even type it in without cracking up. If networkers are going to insist that we endure advertising while we're trying to enjoy a program, they ought to insist that the advertising be as entertaining as this one.

Now onto my least favorite commercial. This one is put on by Geico, I believe, who usually puts out pretty funny commercials. However, somebody lost a brick off their load when they wrote the one where Geico "hires" a celebrity to sit next to the customer and "act out" the customer's story.

Okay. They need to run a drug test down at the ad agency, because somebody's been smoking crack. A person would have to be stoned to think that I would like to sit and listen to Little Richard scream and flail his hands around while "helping" the customer to recount their poor, pitiful accident tale. Makes me want to put my hands around his neck and pop his already buggy eyes right out of his head. Where is the lizard, I ask you? Bring back the lizard!

Does anyone here have a loved or hated commercial? I'd love to hear about it.

Six Foot Tall in Heels

I have many shoes in my closet. But one pair has a very special history.

I first see them at Kohls in the shoe department. At this time, I am working at a new job that requires me to dress up and am looking for shoes that go well with professional type skirts. There is an abundance of cute shoes to choose from, shoes with jewels and stones and ribbons, but I pass by most of them with a mere longing glance. They all have high heels and as usual, I am seeking flats, ones that don’t make me look like an old woman. Because, you see my friends, I am five foot eight plus in my bare feet—which makes me almost six foot tall in the typical pair of heels.

But then I see them. With their soft suede and gently scalloped edges. Black to go with most any professional attire. And they’re on clearance. What could be more perfect?

There is only one hang up. The heels on these babies measure at least three inches, maybe more. Instantly, I can see myself, towering over everyone as I walk into Quik Trip for my morning cup of Chai Latte, looking right over most everyone else's head and feeling like an Amazon.

And yet, I cannot resist temptation. I reverently take these beauties from the box and slip them on. Oh my God, I never knew my calves and ankles could look like that. I can hear my daughter, who watches “What Not to Wear” saying, “Heels are great Mom. They elongate the leg.” As if my legs need elongating. They already make up a good half of my body.

I totter to a nearby mirror, trying not to trip as I am dreadfully out of practice. Just as I expected, I’m towering, even here in the shoe section. But one look solidifies my infatuation into full blown love. I cannot resist. I. Must. Have. Shoes.

I. Must. Have. THESE. Shoes.

My best friend, Rebecca, is not with me, but I can hear her in my head. “Lexie, you have got to get those shoes. Who the hell cares if you’re tall? They look incredible.”

Her voice emboldens me. I put back on my old shoes, which now seem to be ugly stepsisters in comparison with these princesses. With determination, I grab up the box. It is now or never. I have not worn heels since my big growth spurt at twelve sent me almost to my present height. But by God, I’m getting these puppies.

I can hardly contain my joy as I get into the car. I put on the princesses, toss the stepsisters into the box, and throw the box over my shoulder into the back seat. It is almost time to pick up my oldest daughter, but I cannot resist staring a moment at my foot on the gas pedal in complete fascination. I can bet I’ll even drive better in these shoes.
From the moment she enters the car, my daughter radars in on my purchase. She, who like my buddy Rebecca is a shoe fiend, is infinitely pleased. . When we get home, she takes a digital picture of my shoes so that I can send it to Rebecca, who calls me immediately and raves over my decision.
The true test however, is my husband, who is the same height as me. He has never voiced any objections to my wearing heels. In fact, he loves that I am tall. He comes from a—shall we say—“height challenged” family and has never made any secret of the fact that my height was a big bonus just by virtue of enriching the gene pool. (Yes, my oldest is only five four, but considering that my husband’s grandmother didn’t even graze five feet, I’d say that it has been a successful venture so far.) But still. I’ve already mentioned that I don’t like towering over others and the idea of being that much taller than my mate has never made me feel very feminine.

Later that afternoon, when the kids are occupied with homework, computers and television, I take my beloved into the bedroom and show him the shoes in the box. His eyes light up. The first hurdle is passed.

“Those are pretty,” he says.

“I thought so.”

He waits expectantly as I fiddle with the shoes and then says, “Well? Aren’t you going to put them on?”

I gulp and pull them from the box. First one shoe goes on, then the other. Sure enough, within seconds, my husband is staring up at me in all my almost six foot grandeur. He looks me up and down, his eyes pausing for a long moment on my legs.

“What do you think?” I ask nervously.

He doesn’t say anything. He just grins. Then he goes to the bedroom door, shuts it...

And when I hear him hit the lock button, I know I’m not the only one in love with my new shoes.

Thoughts and Prayers for Grandpa

I went to see my grandfather in the hospital today. He is eighty five and has been fighting bladder cancer for some time now. He now has to have the bladder removed. But when you look at him, you would never even know he is sick. And he doesn't act sick either. He still laughs and jokes with everyone. His surgery is in the morning and the biggest worry is the anesthesia. He's had trouble waking up from that before. He's strong though, and he's going to have a ton of family there for prayer and support. Mom's staying at the hospital with Grandma, and I'm going down with my dad tomorrow morning.

I think one of the most amazing feats of my grandfather's life is the fact that he raised nine children (with the same wife, to whom he is still married) to be solid and wonderful people. In fact, all nine of the children are still married to their original spouses. There hasn't been one divorce in the bunch, and everyone seems to be happy in their relationships. How does this happen in a country where the divorce rate is 50%? I can't explain it. But I plan to give it some thought and perhaps write a piece on it some time.

Be in prayer for Grandpa Wayne. We're not ready to let go of him yet!

If I only had a harem...

There he is folks...the first choice for my harem. No, I don't mean the dog either, for all you smartasses in the audience. Isn't he a sweetie? And his little dog, too...

A fellow blogger, Operamama on Memoirsofaoperamom, recently posted her thoughts on the primal male and his aversion to monogamy. She pointed to harems as just one proof that men have had a harder time staying faithful to one woman down through history. With this, I wholeheartedly agree.

But this also got me to thinking: what if women could have had a harem? What if they hadn't been in submission to society's mores of male dominance and could have had THEIR choice of all the males in the land. What if I had MY choice? Who would be in my harem?

Hmmm...

There are a few candidates that come to mind. Of course, I would pick my husband as chief of the harem. He would be my number one squeeze, the one in charge. But who else? I thought of Keith Urban. Yes, he would definitely be in the running, as long as he brought his guitar and a piano. And Brendan Frazier. Of course, he would have to run around in the same loincloth he wore in George of the Jungle. Then, believe or not, I would want to add Greg Kinnear into the mix. I don't let myself think about him in that Jack Nicholson/Helen hunt flick. No, I prefer to remember him in Sabrina, or better yet, that little known but great flick, A Smile Like Yours, where he was a construction foreman trying to make a baby with his wife. To keep the comedy going, I would add in Kevin James from King of Queens and--heck, why not?--Jerry Seinfeld. Who says everything has to be about sex?

I would treat my harem well. I would provide a big weight room so they could keep their muscles big and strong. I would give them lots of good, healthy food so they could keep the six packs from becoming 24 packs. And I would naturally make sure they had plenty of books and music to keep them educated in case I wanted a little conversation with my love.

However, the thought of keeping up with a harem is starting to get a little overwhelming here. Do I really want all this testosterone to deal with? What if they start fighting amongst themselves? What if they stage a revolt and decide to watch sports 24-7? What if I can't keep up with all the sexual demands? I mean, I work hard enough just keeping up with the chief. Do I want to add an more into the mix?

On second thought, I don't think I have the energy for this. In fact, I know I don't. I'm just too dang lazy. So I think I will stick with what I've got. No harem for me. Just my sweet husband, who is loved by children and animals...

And who treats me like the queen that I am.

BTW: If YOU had a harem, who would be in it? I'd love to hear your thoughts.