Because I don't understand why ...

I don't understand why adults feel the need to proclaim their hatred of Justin Bieber. The psychology behind it fascinates me. I think back to my teenage years when all the boys I knew absolutely hated The New Kids on the Block. It seems to make sense that they were jealous - jealous of their fame, money, ability to get girls, etc.

It's not a new phenomenon. I'm sure tons of young men wanted to be Elvis, or John Lennon, even Mick Jagger. But lately it seems like the people who are supposed to be mature adults like to spit their vitriol toward someone Justin. I think it's ridiculous. He's a child. Do these people realize they're letting the world know, via Twitter, Facebook and other social media, that they are incredibly immature and "hate" a young teenaged boy?

You don't have to like his music, or think he's talented (which he is, jealous much?). Don't listen to his music. If he offends you that much, you might want to examine yourself first.

Who wouldn't want to be a teenager worth a reported $100 million dollars with Usher as your mentor? Sounds like a pretty good life to me. I, as a newly minted mature adult, wish Justin the best of luck in his life. I hope he stays true to himself, his family, and his fans. Americans seem to like others to fail, so they feel better about themselves. I find that truly pathetic. Worry about your own life, and cheer on others when good things happen to them.

Because New Englanders are going to hate me ...

But I really do miss the snow this year. I've lived in Georgia since April of 1996. I haven't seen more than an inch of snow at one time since then. Growing up in New England I saw my fair share of snow. My dad always asks me if I remember the Blizzard of '78. Nope. I was 4 years old. I do know the story that we went across the street and got some Kentucky Fried Chicken though.

I know New Englanders are hating the snow. There's been storm after storm after storm, and they all seem to dump copious amounts of the white stuff at one time. I get it. I remember being about 19 years old, and that winter we had more than 100 inches of snow. And that was on Cape Cod, who usually gets rain.

But, after all these years in the South, I sometimes do miss a good snowstorm. I miss being a kid, waking up at the ass crack of dawn to see if school was cancelled. I miss that night before feeling of making plans as a teenager with all my friends, prepping for the snow day. I miss having that feeling of togetherness with my family during a blizzard, because none of us could go anywhere. That "let's hunker down, make a fire, eat some candy, read some crappy magazines, watch t.v., etc." feeling is always pretty cool.

What I like the most is watching the snow fall, watching it accumulate on the pavement, the cars, the roofs of the houses nearby. I really think falling snow is pretty. Sure, a week later when it's brown and dirty it's not so pretty. There is really nothing I like better than a beautiful snowfall at dusk.

So, New Englanders, while I can feel your pain about ALL THAT DAMN SNOW, know there are a few of us displaced Yankees who are sort of jealous.

Because I'm embracing my role...

That would be my role as a housewife, homemaker, domestic engineer, whatever you'd like to call me (besides Bitch, although I have answered to that once by accident). I've finally started to find my footing as someone who can cook. I'm not sure why I always found it so intimidating. I'm experimenting with new things - veggies and meats and spices and everything else.

I cannot wait for Springtime so I can plant stuff. I'm feeling all Mother Earth-y and want to grow all kinds of stuff - cucumbers and squash and beans and everything else I can. I want to cook with said food.

I'm trying hard to be a good wife and mom, and feed these boys. Adam is a great husband - he'll eat anything I put in front of him, and grin even if it tastes like a hockey puck. Addison is good about trying new things. Hell, the kid has me cook him salmon and broccoli and I even got out my tweezers to take the bones out of it. If all else fails, the dogs will pretty much eat anything. (The new dog has been caught eating her own excrement. I'm sure anything I make will taste better than that. And yes, she's gross.)

Because I realized this ...

I'm not looking for sympathy, or encouragement, or anything like that. I'm self-assured enough to not be that type of person.

What I realized the other day is that I seemingly have no discernible talent. I can't make things out of wood, or sew a quilt. I can't draw to save my life. I can't sing, or play an instrument. I can't take really nice pictures.

I've been searching myself and thinking, pondering, wondering if I do have some sort of talent. Maybe I do, and it's been dormant my whole life. Maybe I am just a really ordinary person. Maybe I still need to discover it. I think that it would make a really neat blog, like "Finding My Talent" or something like that, a quest to find out if I really do have any sort of gift.

Until then, I'm going to be thinking and thinking about it.

Because I like these days ...

I know everyone likes to complain about the cold, snowy, icy, what-have-you kind of days the entire country seems to be experiencing lately. Me, well, I like this weather.

I like the cold, gray days. I like to ask Adam to build me a fire so I can lay down in front of it and absorb the warmth (and dry skin). I like wearing sweatpants, a cozy sweatshirt, and thick wool socks. I'm lucky in the fact that I don't have to go out in the cold, or the snow (because I live in southeast Georgia.) I have no right to complain. It's January. It's winter. I'm making the most out of it, because in a few short months, the hot, sticky weather will be here, and then everyone will be complaining about that.

I'll enjoy the winter season as long as it will last.

Because these people bug me ...

I've been trying hard to be a more positive person, to roll with the punches instead of trying to fight everything. I think I've been doing a pretty good job of it, and life is a lot less stressful. What I've figured out, though, is that there is a certain breed of people who I will never, ever like. I bet you know one or two or even more, because they're certainly rampant. They are the "I'm better than everyone else because _____" (fill in the blank.)

You know those people who make you feel bad because you happen to like Justin Beiber's music? The ones who say, "Oh, if you don't listen to the new record by I Pull My Pud you suck so bad." It seems like everyone tries to be original, to not be mainstream. That's fine, but you don't have to try to make yourself feel awesome by making others feel bad about what they listen to.

Or read. Or eat. Or drink. I don't care if I won $190,000,000 - me and my taste buds would still be eating at McDonald's.

It seems some "trashy" things are cool to own up to - watching Jersey Shore, for example. I don't watch it, but if I did, I'd own up to it. I'm reading Snooki's book. Go ahead and mock me, I don't care. I read all kinds of books. I just finished the Stieg Larsson trilogy and really liked the books. I love Willa Cather and I love Jackie Collins books.

People need to get over themselves. If you want to drink your Keystone Light while reading Cervantes, you go for it. If you want to listen to New Kids on the Block while discussing Beethoven's works, who the hell cares? Like Joseph Campbell is reported to have said, "Follow your bliss." I'll add to that and say, "Follow your bliss, and fuck anyone who gives you any shit about it. They're douchebags, yo."

Because it's reading time ...

There's something about the holidays that makes me want to sit on the couch and do nothing but read nonstop. I actually did this one day, and by evening I was nauseous and my eyes hurt really, really bad. But, I love to read. I may be "just a housewife" but I love to learn.

I finished reading Just Kids last night. It's about singer/writer/artist Patti Smith and photographer/artist Robert Mapplethorpe, how they met, lived together in the late '60s and '70s in New York City, and what their lives were like during that time. I've always romanticized what living in NYC might have been like in the '70s, the drugs, music, sex, etc. I think the opening credits of Saturday Night Live during the late '70s gave me this view. Whatever it was, I loved the book. I only knew the names of Patti Smith and Mapplethorpe, and this was a great introspection by Smith into both herself and Mapplethorpe. The book is beautifully written. I read each and every word so as to absorb the whole book.

I ponied up and started reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson. I have read the previous two in the trilogy. They are intense reads, that's for sure. Usually, if I enjoy a book and know the next in the series is already published, I plow ahead and read as many as there are. With these books, I had to take a few months' break between them. It could just be me, but I find them psycholgically and mentally exhausting. But I do love them, so I'm glad to be on the last in the trilogy.