This would be awesome if it were true.

This was MSNBC‘s home page earlier this week.

So I see this and I’m all, no WAY did a condom company use Beat It in their ad campaign. Because Sheik, that’s a condom brand right? And then I think, how freakin’ BRILLIANT. BEAT IT?!? And within seven seconds I see the actual commercial — staring Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords, no less — unfold in my head. It’s so awesome, that I’m sure Sheik must be a Nordic company because those crazy ass Swedes are the ones always making hilarious, raunchy ads that would never get air time in the U.S.

At any rate, no doubt MJ’s pissed because I’m sure Sheik didn’t actually ASK to use the song. Hence the lawsuit. You know if they HAD asked, he’d never go for it. Helluuu? Um, Gloved One??

But then it dawns on me the theme song would actually be counter-intuitive. Because if you’re using a condom, you’re probably not … er … yeah. When I finally DID click on the link, the story was about an actual sheik and NOT condoms.

And I was a little sad because I really, really liked the idea.

Then I scrolled down and saw the astronaut urine story, and perked right up.

A modern day holiday story worth re-telling.

After a long day, some quality time with extended family, and what feels like 12 lbs of Grammy’s cooking settling in my belly, MP and I are home, readying to roll ourselves into bed.

As we read the final story of the night, I held her tight and said a silent prayer of thanks for this beautiful child I adore and can’t imagine life without. This child I love more than life itself.

And my thoughts turned to another blogger, who also has a daughter. Two weeks ago, she reached out across the Blogosphere, in the hopes that someone, somewhere would help save her child’s life. With the outpouring of support I’ve seen all over the Internet this past week, I realize chances are good you’re probably already familiar with her story, but on the off chance you aren’t, I thought I’d share.

She’s come into my thoughts nearly every day since I read this post. I spent two years working in the organ donation industry. I’ve been a passionate advocate for the cause ever since. And three years ago, my SIL donated her kidney to her mother. I had a small idea what this blogger’s daughter may have ahead.

More than that, though, I’m a mom. I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes.

And now, against all odds, it seems her prayers have been answered. What an incredible testament to the power of the Internet, and this amazing community we’re all a part of.

I am in awe.

Today, among many, many other things, I am thankful for connectivity. For all of YOU. And for a renewal of faith that miracles DO happen.

Happy Thanksgiving, Doogs. You rock.

My cup runneth over.

When I was young, before I was old enough to write, my mother helped me with a Lucky List. I dictated all the things I was thankful for and she wrote them down. Anytime I was feeling sorry for myself she read it to me. Later, when I was old enough to read it myself, I was told to do so at the first sign of a Pity Party.

This Thanksgiving, I’ll be passing down the tradition to MP. Next time she doesn’t get that toy at the grocery store — the one she inevitably REEEALLLY wants — she’ll have her own list to remind her how very fortunate she already is.

Thirty-six years later, I still have mine — a simple handwritten list on lined notebook paper, written in blue ballpoint.

It’s packed away, tucked in a shoe box stuffed with birthday cards and souvenirs, most assuredly buried among day camp crafts and Disneyland Mouse Ears. Among Nancy Drew Mysteries and headless Barbies.

It’s there somewhere. Relegated to the past. I no longer need that list to remember how very lucky I am.

I’m reminded every day.

Memorist Giveaway Winners!

First off, let me say, I LOVED reading everyone’s Memorist comments — if past lives DO exist (and you already know I’m a total believer) you guys were a colorful bunch. Thanks so much to everyone for playing along!

Without further ado, I give you the book winners:

Which translates to Laural Out Loud (Comment #8), who spent a past life as a pampered British lady of leisure; and Erin of Irascible Crayons (Comment #20), who most likely spent some time in the 30s or 40s. Congratulations ladies!

Keep checking back — I have some pretty awesome swag to give away in the coming weeks, just in time for the holidays. I’ll give you a hint. It involves really, really cool footwear. And wildlife. And possibly more reading material.

Yee hoo! I feel just like Santa! A girl could get hooked on this Giveaway Gig …

All the world’s a jungle. Some places just require less clothing.

Last night I watched Tribal Life on The Travel Channel, for the first time. I was NOT disappointed. In fact, I came away with more than a few epiphanies.

1. This Thanksgiving season, I am especially thankful for the miracle of underwire.

2. Apparently it’s more important to cover the twig. Berries, not so much. Which I totally don’t get — if it had to be one or the other, shouldn’t it be the other way around? It’s all a bit too precarious for my liking. I’d be strappin’ on a turtle shell or SOMETHING.

3. The drive to impress women with acts of sheer stupidity is universal. The episode I saw? All about land jumping. That’s the ORIGINAL version of bungee jumping. Only it’s done from vines with very little spring. And the men jump from an eight-foot bamboo tower. Their heads actually hit the ground. Total Penis Contest. If someone plucked these guys out of the jungle, dropped them in the middle of a car dealership, and told them they could have whatever make they’d like … they’d totally choose Monster Trucks and Hummers. The winner of THIS particular contest won a handful of grass, which, judging from the looks on everyone’s faces, seemed just as impressive.

4. THIS is the actual warning that appears at the beginning of the show.

WHAT?!? Nekkid Natives?!? God forbid MP see a few sets of flapjacks and bare asses.

Now THIS … this would be SO much more helpful in the Pie House Viewing Selection Process.

And yes, that is my TV. Flat screens are SO 2007.

5. People everywhere like to get wasted and party once in awhile. With maybe the exception of Tibet. And Utah. I especially enjoyed watching a guy named BONG get drunk on Jungle Juice. *sigh* Spring Break ’89 seems just like yesterday.

6. No one is safe from the effects of gravity over time. I’m talkin’ women AND men, people. And the gravity I’M talkin’ ’bout has nothing to do with jumping from a tall tower. Ten bucks says you can’t guess what’s running through my head right now …

Doooo yer balls hang low
Do yer balls hang low
Can you tie ’em in a knot
Can you tie ’em in a bow
Can you throw ’em over your shoulder
Like a continental soldier
Do yer balls hang low?

Ah, campfire songs. Good times.

It’s at this moment MP comes out of her room, strapped to her iPod, singing Peppermint Twist. Oh, sweet comedy. Timing, my friends. It’s EVERYTHING.

I know there’s a lesson in here somewhere.

Once a month I volunteer at a local elementary school. United Way provides an after-school program for kids whose parents have to work, and I help out with whatever they may need that day. Sometimes it’s helping kids with homework, sometimes it’s playing with them on the monkey bars.

This week, as I’m pulling up to the school, I see flashing lights in my rear view mirror. Totally taken off guard, I park in front of a chain link fence bordering the playground. Two cops get out of their cruiser — one of them, I kid you not, crept up the side of the car, hand on her holstered gun like she was ready to take me out. Keep in mind, the lights are still going. And now, the kids are starting to gather along the fence.

Apparently I “blew through the school zone going 29 MPH.” I said the sun was in my eyes. I said the school crept up on me — I can never remember how to get there. I said I had no idea I was going 29 MPH. All true. The best part, though?

COP: Are you a parent? Are you picking up your child?

ME: No. I’m a volunteer.

COP: Oh, really?

ME: Mmm hmm — for the United Way After School Program? I’m here to help the kids with their homework until their parents can pick them up.

Ooh yeah Baby. An even BETTER answer than “I have diarrhea.” (Which I’m SO going to use someday.)

Now the kids are waving.

We talk a little longer, he checks my license, registration, insurance, etc. and tells me he’s letting me off with a warning.

Schweet.

Mommypie. Model Citizen. Example Setter.

Yippee! It’s The Memorist giveaway!

Been offline a few days due to a little laptop/internet issue, which seems to have worked itself out just in time for my VERY FIRST GIVEAWAY!

I’m kind of excited.

It’s kind of cool.

I’m kind of getting ahead of myself.

Let me back up.

TLC Book Tours contacted me and asked if I’d like to try reviewing a new book by a bestselling author. They thought the topic would be right up my alley, considering my penchant for the paranormal. That, plus a deep-seated love of books had me squealing “Free book? Yes! Yes! YEEEESSSS!!”

Turns out The Memorist by M.J. Rose WAS right up my alley. I’m going to cheat a little and give you an exerpt from the book jacket:

The dreads are back. As a child, Meer Logan was haunted by memories of another time and place, always accompanied by the faint strains of elusive music. Now the past has reached out again in the form of a strange letter that sets her on a journey to Vienna to unlock the mystery of who she once was.

With each step she comes closer to remembering connections between a clandestine reincarnationist society, a lost flute linked to Ludwig van Beethoven, and David Yalom, a journalist who understands all too well how the past affects the future.

Here’s my take. With each short chapter, Rose expertly weaves multiple points of view to tell the story of a woman struggling against a belief in past lives — even when everything tells her she has lived before — and what happens when her past catches up with her.

If you’re NOT like me, and this all seems a bit hinky for your taste, add modern day terrorism, a ton of fascinating historical background and storytelling on par with The Da Vinci Code to the mix. If THAT powder keg combination doesn’t spark your interest … you’re beyond Mommypie’s help.

It’s clear from the fantastic historical detail that Rose did her homework. And the way she painted Vienna? Never a place I had much interest in visiting, it’s now in my Top 10.

If I had to come up with a negative, it would probably be the large cast of characters. While an effective means of heightening suspense, I have to admit, it took awhile to keep so many people straight. However, it’s the character development that could make this thriller a great candidate for feature film. IMHO of course. I can totally picture it.

With that, in a shameless attempt to appear all official-like, The Pie House gives this book four and a half out of five pies.

By now, you’ve probably guessed what the GIVEAWAY is, yes? I have two hardcover editions of The Memorist, hot off the press, just waiting to be read by two lucky commenters. All you have to do is leave a comment by Sunday, 6 p.m. MST and tell me the following:

If past lives DO exist, who do you think YOU were? It doesn’t have to be someone famous — chances are you WEREN’T anyway. (Yeah, sorry.) And if you don’t believe in past lives, think of it as a hypothetical. It won’t affect the drawing outcome one way or another.

Big thanks to TLC Book Tours — I can’t wait to read everyone’s thoughts!

P.S. TLC also sent along some copies of Rose’s bestselling book, The Reincarnationist, which preceded The Memorist. I’ll be reading it next — doing things a bit backwards is my specialty — and giving away THOSE extra copies soon!

THIS is why I carry a spare set of surgical gloves.

So here’s me, totally content, driving through the grocery store parking lot singing “In the Jungle.” As I’ve been known to do. In the company of friends and family on a semi-regular basis.

And here’s Napoleon Dynamite wearing a neon green reflective vest, hunched over a row of shopping carts, laboring just a bit to get them across the lot.

Have I mentioned my tendency to see things in pictures? Or as movies? This right here — this juxtaposition of awesome lyrics, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight” and the dynamite scene playing out right before my very eyes? Bottled sunshine.

And here I am, cracking myself up and I do whatever the opposite of snort is, which results in me unexpectedly blowing my nose. I open the glovebox looking for some Kleenex or a Wendy’s napkin or gas receipt or SOMETHING and instead find THIS.

BASTARDS. The mice, they’re nesting in my nooks and crannies. They mock me.

And I know it’s probably total karma for laughing at Napoleon, even though it wasn’t technically directed AT him, but more so the scene as a whole. If I didn’t carry a spare pair of surgical gloves for just such an occasion, I REALLY would’ve been upset.

Clearly, these mice have superpowers. Clearly, I’m going to have to consider less conventional kill methods. I’m thinking I should ask The Bloggess to mail me one of those car snakes they got down in Texas. I could stick it in the glovebox, feed it Thanksgiving dinner and borrow Grammy’s car for a week while it digests. Hell, I’d WALK to work if it meant getting rid of the vermin. In the snow. Barefoot.

Okay, so maybe not, but I’m really, really, really desperate. Really.

Wiping noses and drool(ing over the vamps).

So the Board of Directors Retreat? Missed it. Yep. Woke up early Thursday morning to a very sick MP. After finally getting her coughing under control with the nebulizer, I was debating whether to go. And then she threw up. There was no way, in good conscious, I could spend the night an hour away. I THINK Conservaboss was cool with it … we’ll see Monday.

It’s now Friday night and she’s sleeping soundly, bouncing back already. I had a feeling this one was coming. Bobo’s had the Crud for a week; and last weekend MP and I hung out with my old friend Cannonball and her kids, who had it too. One way or another, she was gettin’ it.

The Cannonball Family was back in town for a visit — staying at her parents’ ranch on the other side of the mountains. MP and I drove up for the afternoon.

While Mr. Cannonball was out hunting with Grandpa Cannonball, she and I sat in her kitchen, drinking wine, woodstove blazing in the middle of the day, while our kids played.

I don’t even know how we got on the subject.

CB: This is gonna sound weird. There’s this book I’ve been reading …

ME: Mm hmm …

CB: You’d totally love it. It’s about vampires, and the guy …

ME: OMG! TWILIGHT?!?

CB: YES!!!

ME: Edward Cullen?!?

CB: OMG, YES!

ME: Hot.

CB: Uh, YEAH …

ME: I’m already on book three!

CB: I’m on book four!

(pause)

CB: What is WRONG with us?

ME: Edward is HOT.

CB: Um, YEAH …

ME: And Jacob? With the werewolf thing goin’ on?

CB: I KNOW!

(pause)

ME: We got issues.

CB: Totally.

So, for the uninitiated, the Twilight Series is a four-volume set of vampire books. Written for TEENAGERS. (Aaaand, it just gets more pathetic.) Chances are, you’ve heard of it, especially now that the movie’s coming out Nov. 21.

Oh yeah. CB had a People Magazine she’d picked up at the airport. We found a photo of the actor who’ll be playing hottie teenage vamp Edward Cullin. Which didn’t help things.

O.M.G.

We are sick, sick, mommies.

Image borrowed from this chick.

Thankfully, I’ll be the one with the camera.

In the morning, I’m hitting the road, heading to an annual overnight “retreat” at a mountain resort with our Board of Directors. Loosely translated, “work all day and watch grown men and women act like total idiots at the bar all night.” This is the one guaranteed night each year MP has a sleepover at Grammy and Poppy’s — they have fun, I have fun, it’s all good. The resort is about an hour away though, and thinking about it makes me miss her already. I know, I know …

So, I’m charging the camera as I type. If I’m lucky I’ll come home with some blog-worthy photos. I’d post some from last year to give you an idea of what’s in store but I swore to delete anything incriminating. Which means … I got nothin’. This year, who knows. Back in the 90s, I saw Glenn Close in the restaurant. She looked remarkably like a regular person. Which totally didn’t stop me from telling everyone I knew I rubbed elbows (literally) with the Fatal Attraction chick. What I wouldn’t give to have gotten a picture of her eating a rabbit dinner …

Oh, and did you notice how I’ve already blown the NaBloPoMo thing? That was quick. Now I just have to break the news to the Teletubbies. Po will be devastated. I however, will not.

Okay, I’m exhausted. I’m taking a chance and leaving the packing ’til morning. Which is probably a really bad idea, but the lids, they are heavy ma Doogs.

See you in a few days!