Get sprung

Hello, Friends.

A festival of gay and a lot of vodka

I may or may not have attended a 50th birthday party for Barbie. And it may or may not have been inspiring, disturbing and a festival of gay. While I'm OK with all three, I am, however, pleading to Mattel to start designing some more realistic dolls. Don't get it twisted: I'm fine with Barbie's perfect body. I just now want to see some more age-appropriate models.

For example, can we please get Cougar Barbie? Complete with the following accessories, of course: A pink phone with entirely too much bling on it. Her daughter's Aeropostale hoodie, over an American Eagle cami. Blonde extensions--and the entire do is heavily straightened. Several bottles of vodka--and no mixers because Cougar Barbie watches carbs. At least one silver tank with a copious number of sequins. And the phone numbers of several of my youngest brother-in-law's friends.

I'm also requesting Botox Barbie, Divorcee Barbie, Mother of the Bride Barbie and Mother-in-Law Barbie. They would all also share the vodka accessory.

Call me, Mattel. We'll make it happen.

S-wood Mac

Can we please discuss this season's American Idol?

I'll say now that my favorites are Kris Allen, Matt Giraud, Danny Gokey and Megan Joy (even though there are much better people out there in her genre). I have favorites every year.

There's a lot I do every year: question how drunk Paula Abdul is, gauge the gay between Ryan and Simon, wonder how some people made it to the top whatever, roll my eyes during country week and make fun of how trite Idol Cares is.

This year, I'm also annoyed with the frontrunner, Adam Lambert. He's just ridiculous. I wish I could explain to him that he's not Robert Smith. I wish I could explain to him that the reason most people are so impressed my his range and black nails is because never has anyone stood on the stage and screamed like that before. Really, it's like the crescendo of every Whitesnake song ever recorded.

Also...Scott MacIntyre. Look, it's hard not to be impressed with what S-wood Mac has accomplished, but he really doesn't belong in the Top 10. Let's be honest: he's there because he's blind. Wild Angels? Come on. That said, he could leave the competition now and sell a bunch of records. The same people--and by "people," I mean women who watch Lifetime--who bought Clay Aiken's Christmas Album will buy S-wood Mac's album(s).

And I don't know if I can handle Motown on Wednesday. I just know Simon is going to make some Stevie Wonder reference after S-wood's performance (while Paula whispers ever-so drunkenly in his ear).

The Dow n'@

Dear Yinzers,

You can stop talking about the stock market during happy hour. Most of you have never played the stock market. Most of you can't read the listings.

And I'm pretty sure you think Dow Jones must be someone who used to play for the Steelers.

Dirty 30

I'm in the middle of planning a 30th anniversary party. It's a surprise. It's a group effort, and by group effort I mean that A-son and I are telling the men involved what is expected of them. The organizing is going amazingly well, though I'm still debating a yummy alcoholic punch recipe.

What shocks me most is how inspiring it's been. They've been married longer than I've been alive. This June, I will only have even KNOWN my husband for four years.

But I want to get to 30 years with him. And 50 years. And however many more years I have until I die. I believe in us and our family, and I love what all that feels like.

And, the thing is, I think we can really do it. I honestly believe, despite the 50 percent divorce rate, that we will still be in love whenever forever is. Because we weren't high school sweethearts. Because we had lives before each other. Because we didn't do things according to plan.

I feel even more certain of this after recent conversations with Mary Beth and Joe. Both conversations were very different and the kinds of conversations that I can only have with those friends. They are both so wise and steady. They both love me unconditionally, which, if you're going to love me, is pretty much how you have to love me. And they will listen to me go on and on every year about how spring is love.

Another two friends, let's call them RC, will tell you that we are Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz in "What Happens in Vegas." Except that A) We, sadly, do not look like them. and B) The things they do in that movie to repel each other, we do to endear each other.

BringingsexyBackstage Mom

Thankfully, for everyone else, my backstage pass did not say that.

But it was obvious that I was so proud to see my little girl perform in "Coppelia." She was a bumblebee, and so she called it "The Bee Show." She refused to call it "Coppelia." When she invited her grandparents, she said, "Please come see me in The Bee Show. It's going to be so great."

And it was so great for her. And us.

At one point, I was doing some emergency sewing, and Larry was feeding Dimitri in the hallway. I said, "Who would've thought Larry Woodall would one day be feeding his son in a theater lobby in the middle of a ballet that he electively chose to go to."

Then a group of us went to Eat n' Park to celebrate. Because that's where you go in Pittsburgh to celebrate youth ballets.

Some time before the smiley cookies arrived, I realized how much I was smiling. My little girl loves something, and I get to provide opportunities for her to see her dreams come true. And this weekend that dream was dancing like a bumblebee. And she was just.so.happy. Not a care in the world. And that's just beautiful if you ask me.

Love yinz.