Material for my book is happening

Because I say so, listen to this while you read: 

Y’all, I moved to Texas two months ago and have felt exactly like this every day:

Say "everything's bigger in Texas" one more time.

Say “everything’s bigger in Texas” one more time.

Our closing was postponed by 5 days while our possessions were on a truck along with my suitcase, because I AM A GENIUS. During that time we had the Mother-in-Law staycation, while we were homeless because all of our possessions were on a truck and we couldn’t close on the new house yet because we hadn’t closed on the old house. During MILStaycation, I had exactly two McDonald’s apple pies, two TCBY mint chocolate chip shakes, a bunch of sunflower seeds, 42 cups of coffee (half were iced), and bites of ham and cheese. That was my diet for a week. Super health nut, I know.

And so, we moved to Texas. Three children, one husband, and one basset hound, The Honorable Former Judge Lucille Brown of the Great State of Mississippi. This is the house.



It kind of looks like a painting, but it’s real. I have real landscaping with real roses and oleander in the backyard. I have a courtyard that I can lock, so no one can actually come to my front door if I so desire. Suck it, trick or treaters.

Here are half of the light switches for my open concept living/kitchen. Yes, I’ve been watching way too much HGTV and I have open concept everything in my home. And granite and wood and tile floors. Just once I want the people on House Hunters to say “UGH! Granite countertops?! I want butcher block counters and wall-to-wall linoleum, textured wallpaper and all vertical blinds.”

I have no idea what turns on what.

I have no idea what turns on what.

Like I said, we have a dog. She’s a hound dog. We got this note stuck in the gate of our courtyard after being in our new neighborhood for one week.


First, I do not respect someone who writes in Arial and prints a note to a neighbor in landscape mode. Yes, let me adjust my seven-year-old hound dog’s morning routine for you. Is there anything else I can do? Do the tiny yippy dogs not bother you? Just my hound dog? And, she did not howl for 30 minutes; I am home every weekday until 7:40 and I would never let her howl for more than a couple of minutes. Also, I do tutoring for English/Grammar if you’d like to drop by. No, I don’t – I hate people, but seriously – it’s called proofreading.

Because we are such wonderful pet owners, we decided to adopt a kitten. Actually two kittens, but one died due to Fading Kitten Syndrome. I promise I am not making this up. This is the kind of shit that happens to me because of course it does. This is F. Catz Fitzgerald.

We have the same color hair.

We have the same color hair.

We adopted Fitz the day before Easter. Guess what? There was a note waiting on my car when we happily carried the kitten to come home with us. Texas hates my guts. Texas couldn’t hate my guts more if I punched the ghost of Ladybird Johnson. The Ghost of Ladybird Johnson is my new band’s name, by the way. Here is the note from the person who hates my parking.


Yes, they wished me a happy Easter and drew a picture of what may be a happy sun. You should know that I was parked far away from any other cars in the parking lot and there were no other cars around me when I returned to my car. I do not understand the Texas Notewriters, but I suppose I need to carry stationery in my car just in case. Hell, I’m putting one of my typewriters on the dashboard, baby. Y’all are going to get real notes – and I’ll sign them with my name, not anonymously as if I’m writing for the greater good of society. Bitches. Of course, I’m not going to do this because I’m in Texas and everyone has a handgun, shotgun, and grenades in their trucks and I’m afraid of them. I mean, THIS is an ambulance.



Really, this is around the corner from my subdivision. Everything in Texas is on steroids. It’s not that things are bigger, it’s that they’re on steroids and have major anger issues. As well as other issues. Even the art is angry. What do you expect when this is a painting in my new favorite restaurant?

10286931_10203803588345242_8307309927972585748_oTexas came in like a wrecking ball. No joke.

More later. Working on some random thoughts. There are many.

Edit: in my foolishness, I forgot to mention that the name of my town is HUMBLE. AND THAT IS IRONY, ALANIS.

my depression hiatus

I haven't been able to blog lately. It's not that I didn't want to. I want to talk about something no one talks about, because there is still a stigma about it, and that's depression. 

This isn't going to be a "woe is me" post, don't worry. And if you feel like skipping this one, go ahead, it's okay. 

I've struggled with depression for most of my life. It's not something you'd notice if you were to meet me or if you know me. Unless you're a very close friend, chances are you don't know this about me. Most depressed people, save for the ones in hospitals or acting in commercials, don't look or seem depressed. We don't lie in bed all day and think about ways to kill ourselves. We have lives and families and jobs and blogs. We put smiles on in public and hold it together for the most part. I'm fun and vibrant and fabulous. Sometimes I feel like it's a mask that I wear, but that's the thing about depression — I have to face the world at some point and I can't look like the before woman in those ads. 

"Oh, Cheer Up!" Well, thank you, well-meaning friend, but I can't. It's not as simple as snapping out of it or I would. I know that you care, but it's not that I'm just in a bad mood or bummed about something. It's nothing and at the same time it's everything. Some days are better than others. Lately, I've had more of the latter. It's okay. I'm used to it, but it's still hard. And it's difficult to explain to people who haven't dealt with depression before. Most people have had periods of being down or upset for a while, but it usually passes. People generally don't understand that it never completely goes away for me. Most people don't want to hear about it either. And I understand that. For crying out loud, there are uprisings going on in Libya right now and we're in a financial crisis and I'm depressed about WHAT EXACTLY? Exactly.

As much as I hate to say it, depression is a very real mental illness. It's just as real as my hypothyroidism or high blood pressure. I take medication for it, as I do for my other chronic illnesses. I also have anxiety. Depression and anxiety are like the mental illness one-two punch of my life. They're like a good cop/bad cop, only they're both bad cops. Like if Gary Busey and Nick Nolte were both bad cops in a buddy cop movie. Steven Segal and Jean Claude Van Damme. Jackie Chan and AHNOLD. You get the picture. Ha! Movie = picture. The depressed girl can still write a bad pun!

So, that's that. I'm glad we had this talk. I think we all learned something. And by "something," I think we both know that the something is that I've given Hollywood bad buddy cop movie ideas. I'll be back with something completely different soon.



a project

A few years ago I was visiting my grandfather in the hometown and he told me he had something he wanted  me to see. When people say things like this it usually scares me. He left the room and came back with a very old photo album, the kind where the pages were made of paper and the photos were glued on. He said he knew I was into scrapbooking and figured I could preserve my great-grandmother's photo album and handed it to me. It was held together with twill ribbon and the pages were disintegrating with each turn. 


I took the album home, put it in a drawer and didn't think about it much. For some reason today I decided to organize my scrap office (my hair appointment was canceled and I had an unplanned two hours) and came across the photo album. The pages were falling out, it smelled of old paper, and was dropping black flecks all over me. The pictures are great. It's really a great treasure to have them, but now I have to do something with this album.

You would think this project would be right up my alley, but I've never worked on any type of preservation before. This will require removing the photos (and contacting someone on the best way to remove them), scanning and editing them, and deciding what to do with them afterward. This is going to be a real project, one I can't think of until I'm finished with next month's ScrapFest. The other hard thing about this is the photos were my great-grandmother's, who passed away in 1998, so I can't exactly ask her who the people in the album are. So, I have inherited an album full of unknown relatives (except for my great-grandparents and my grandfather and his sister). My great-grandfather is easy to spot in pictures because he was 6'7" and skinny. I obviously take after my grandmother's side, that would be Mammaw Patsy.

The picture on the right sits on my desk. It's one of my favorites. The photo album belonged to my great-gandmother in the picture, her name was Katie or Sister Katie when she was at church. We named our second daughter after her. She was strong and stoic and loved Jesus. She sent me two dollars for my birthday every year until she died. Her engagement ring was a giant ruby that I coveted (no, I didn't get it when she passed).  She pronounced my name "K-ree" because she was from Texas. I may have to bring "K-ree" back because it's fun and it kind of suits me, don't you think?

And so, now I have her pictures. I'll be chronicling this project after I start it and I'll share photos as I come across them. For today, here's some of my relatives showing you how one does the beach.

Photo copy



2010: year of suck

And I mean it.  

There are times on this here blog in which I share (maybe over share) and there are times when I keep things to myself.  For the most part I've kept a lot to myself this year because it's been one hell of a year and who wants to read about what a blogger has gone through?  After all, who am I — just a girl with a blog who is occasionally humorous and posts about bands and random videos and pictures, right?  A lot of you come to this blog everyday for a laugh or to see what's going on with your friend or because you've searched "BBW pin-ups" and no doubt you are sorely disappointed.  For whatever reason you come here, I know you've come to expect one thing from me and that is authenticity.  This isn't a place where you're going to read stories of a mom bragging on her kids or talking about how awesome she is because that's not me.  I mean, I may be awesome, but that's up to you to decide, not me.  

What I have decided is that this year has been full of suck.  I know this because I have a fantastic memory and this year ranks right up there with 1990 and 1993.  But this is about 2010.  To give you the story of 2010, I will first tell you about December 2009.  

One year ago this month I went for my yearly gynecological exam  had blood work done because of some complaints I'd had.  My gynecologist told me I was in premature menopause.  Not peri-menopause, premature menopause.  Now, my husband and I had decided three children was enough and I didn't have whole biological clock running out thing going on, but the news was hard to hear.  I was 35.  When you're told you're in menopause at 35 it makes you feel old.  My doctor put me on the pill for hormones and stuff and had me come in three times this year for ultrasounds because I have a uterus that loves the camera.  

Welcome to 2010.  In January, I was sitting on the edge of my tub, testing the water for the kids' bath, when I fell into the tub and hit my head on the edge where the tub meets the wall.  I saw little birdies and stars.  I was soaking wet.  I felt the back of my head and there was lots of blood.  When I climbed out of the tub I asked the girls to come in and look at my head to see if there was a big gash or if my brain was falling out (you never know) and the 6 year-old said "I can't tell – your hair is red and so is the blood."  I called 911, then I called Megan to come get the kids.  The paramedics put me in the ambulance and took my blood pressure, then asked if I had high blood pressure.  I told them my doctor said it was borderline and we were going to watch it.  I didn't think this was a good sign.  At the hospital, I was parked next to a ficus and Beth walked in because Meg had called her and Beth just loves hospitals.  What happened after that became some kind of hospital sitcom including the triage guy not being able to find a blood pressure cuff to fit my chubby arms, a man with Alzheimer's in the next curtained area asking who the monitors and such belonged to, the EKG guy who asked us to tell the people in charge he needed to go home early, and according to Beth, I did some flirting with the male medical personnel.  In my defense, I couldn't help it, my blood pressure was 263 over 1something and I felt drunk.  Plus, my ER doctor was really cute and so was the radiologist (shout out to Dr. McCutestuff). Anycutie, I was put on a blood pressure medicine and then my doc put me on a second.  If you're keeping score at home, that's 3 drugs I'd been put on in a month.  

Fast forward to August.  I started having severe pain that made me feel like I was having a heart attack and stomach issues for a few weeks.  When I went for a regular checkup, I mentioned this to my doctor who ordered lab work and an abdominal ultrasound.  When I went for the ultrasound, the tech said "I don't usually tell people this, but you have gallstones."  Lucky me.  Later that afternoon my doctor's nurse called to tell me I needed to see a surgeon about having my gallbladder removed and then she might as well have said "and hey, by the way, you also have high cholesterol and pre-diabetes, so we're putting you on meds for that. Is the Walgreens on 21 and 1085 still good for you?"  She was harsh.  I am not exaggerating.  Really.  Now we're up to 5 new drugs in what — seven months?  Good times.  

I had my gallbladder removed the day after Labor Day.  I don't miss it.  A week later I was at ScrapFest! doing my usual gig, but this time I was in pain and in recovery mode.  People told me I looked tired.  Here's a tip from Kerry: don't tell people they look tired.  

The next month was October.  I took a weekend trip to Shreveport and after having dinner with a friend, I hit a trailer that had come unattached from an RV. It had been towing a golf cart. An 18-wheeler hit it first, then an SUV hit the golf cart, then I sideswiped the trailer which was standing vertically in my lane.  You know, that old story.  I was shaken up for a couple of weeks.  

I spent most of November in pain from my wisdom teeth and crying a lot.  Yep, that's about it.  

Then last week I had three of those teeth extracted.  My mouth still hurts, but don't worry, they put numbing stuff in one of the areas yesterday and I'll be taking my Percocet as soon as I finish this post.  Percocet makes me feel drunk without the annoying taste of alcohol.  That should be their slogan.  Why am I not in advertising?  I'm like the Peggy Olsen of the 2000s.  Only rounder and with a better wardrobe.  

By the way, my oral surgeon told me yesterday that if my impacted-fused-to-the-bone last wisdom tooth ever becomes a problem he would probably have to break my jaw to remove it.  I'm sure that's what's going to be on tap for 2011.  

So, that was my 2010.  I've left out a few things.  There were a couple of bright moments.  Not many.  I did some work I was proud of and I stood up for myself when I needed to and I bought more shoes and purses and had great sushi.  

As always, thanks for reading.  My readers mean a lot to me and I hope y'all know that.  

Stay tuned for my new year's resolutions.  

Tuesday randomness

It's a pajama day for me.  It was storming this morning and I went back to bed after getting the kids on their respective buses.  I thought I'd bring you up to speed on the randomness that is my life.

Last night I realized I'd worn my bra inside out all day.  If you're a woman (or a cross-dresser, there is no judging on the Kerry Blog) and you've ever put your bra on inside out, you know that you have to be Houdini to get it off.

My dog just scared herself and I laughed hysterically.

I think my dog is gaining weight.  She ate a Christmas ornament this morning.  I think she has an eating disorder.

Yesterday I changed my ringtone to "Christmas in Hollis" as I do every Christmastime.  

One has to find fun where one can.

My 9 year-old calls Wheat Thins "Thin Wheats."  Kids are weird.

Yesterday the little old man who always speaks to me at Target said he was disappointed to not see me on Black Friday because he knows I am a mystery shopper.  I replied, "I'm a mystery alright."  

I am not a mystery shopper.  Everyone knows I shop.  I'm practically a professional.  For realz.

Professor Dr. Hillary (I like referring to her by her titles or Dr. Hilly or Hilljary) and I went to one of our favorite places, Casa Garcia (or Casa G if you're gangsta) and I'm not sure if we can go back.  I'd told Hilljary that I'd seen an ad that said Casa G now had a lunch buffet, but we didn't see one.  We went back and forth over asking our server if there was one because you never know, they could have it hidden somewhere.  Hillary asked and our server said we must have seen the ad about catering.  So, I asked if they could cater our lunch and set up a buffet because we'd like one of everything on the menu.  I'm pretty sure she will never wait on us again.  

I wouldn't blame her.  

At Barnes and Noble, Dr. Hilly found one of those daily tear-off calendars of inspirational quotes and bought it for me because she knows I hate inspirational quotes.  

FYI:  if I read your inspirational quote status update on Facebook, I mentally gag.

I'm going to make an anti-inspirational quote calendar with things like "we're all going to die one day" and "Spanx wouldn't hurt, I'm just saying."

Now that I think about it, I may also write a self-help book or become a motivational speaker.


sweet potato pie

In case you're still in need of a pie for tomorrow, I'm going to save your Thanksgiving and give you Mammaw Patsy's sweet potato pie recipe.  This is the best pie ever.  Don't try to tell me your pumpkin pie is the best, this is where it's at.  I made two of them today.  One for me, one for my guests.  I didn't make my own pie crust this year — I just wasn't up to it (don't tell Martha Stewart).  Mammaw Patsy never made her own pie crust, so it's okay.  

The recipe that follows it exactly how my grandmother wrote it to me in an email twelve years ago.  I make it every year.


1&1/2 cups sugar         

l cup sweet potatoes,mashed
2 eggs                    

1 stick margarine

1 sm. can Pet milk (5 ozs) 

2 Tbsp. flour

1/2 cup sweet potato water   

1 Tsp. Nutmeg (or to taste)

                                                                                                            l Tsp. vanilla

Cook sweet potatoes until done, pour 1/2 cup of water off potatoes, add water to potatoes and mash, add
margarine and whip.  (Do this in the pan you cooked potatoes in) Remove from fire when margarine is
whipped.  In a separate mixing bowl, add flour and nutmeg to sugar and mix.  Add eggs to sugar and flour mixing well, then add milk mixing well.  Pour this into potato mixture and put back on stove and heat just
until hot, stirring constantly.  Pour into unbaked pie shell – Bake at 425 degrees for about 15 mins. until
top begins to brown, lower heat to 350 degrees and cook until done (about 30-45 mins.)  Pie is done when
knife comes out clean.  Or bake at 350 degrees.  

Kerry, this will make 2 of the regular pie crust.  I use one and one-half of the recipe to make 2 deep dish

Hope they turn out great.

Love you,



I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.  Have pie.  Love, Kerry

photo study: random pictures

I take a lot of pictures.  I would like to say it's because I'm a scrapbooker, but it's because things make me laugh and I take pictures of things.  

And I have a weird sense of humor.  Obviously.

For no reason I thought I'd share some of the pics I've taken that I laughed at while perusing my iPhoto when looking for one specific picture that still remains to be found.  Oh well.


"Say wha?"

This is my Lucy dog.  Lucy is a basset hound and the breed makes for great photo opportunities.  


"Drunk Words with Friends."

My good friend Professor Hillary and I are horrible people.  We love the Words with Friends, but being highly competitive people as well as demented, we decided that our games needed themes.  The theme of this game was to use words associated with booze.  I lost.


"Well, guess they're not getting my money!"

This is the actual sign on the door of a nice Japanese restaurant in Baton Rouge.  Prof. Hillary and I laughed for five minutes before we took our doo-rags off and went in for lunch.


"Zat you Santa Claus?"

The hubs took me to a seedy bar to hear an '80s cover band and we saw Santa.  I spent two hours commenting on this sighting. 


"But is Florence in it?"

I find the helpful, but when you scroll too far down the screen you land on the adult channels. And I'm not talking about VH1.  Just the idea of the Jeffersons XXX Porn Parody was enough to make me laugh.  


"She looks so peaceful."

This is my friend and bidness padnuh, Megan after I shot her at ScrapFest!  Nah.  She stretched out on the floor for some reason and I told her to stay there so I could take a picture, "so it will look like I shot you."  For some reason she listened to me.  

More randomness to follow.  


My husband asked if Thanksgiving is on Thursday this year.  THIS YEAR.  Then he asked if it was on the 26th. For 13 years of marriage and the three years that we dated he's thought that Thanksgiving was on the 26th. Every year.

Hillary had a fantastic idea.  We will open a store for bigger busted women called Victoria's Bigger Secret.

I'm getting over bronchitis (again).  This would be my Autumnal Bronchitis.  I get bronchitis every spring and fall, so I declare this Autumnal Bronchitis.  Watch, it's going to be all over Web MD tomorrow as THE pretentious infection to have this fall.

My dad just joined Facebook.  Currently he doesn't know the difference between email and Facebook, so this should be fun.

I'm a wee bit sarcastic if you're reading this blog for the first time.

I think I may have to visit P.F. Chang's soon.  Won Ton Soup and the Ground Chicken and Eggplant.  If I did something really horrible that was deserving of the death penalty, you know, like attend a function with visible roots or consciously watch one of those TLC shows with the people with eleventy-seven children — I would ask for Won Ton Soup and the Ground Chicken and Eggplant as my last meal.  Or cheese enchiladas.  Or a cheesecake.  A whole cheesecake.  And don't ruin it with fruit.

Thank goodness it's pie season.

The Wall Street Journal says The Beatles are coming to iTunes tomorrow.  If this is true — look out Sunglass Hut — Yoko's gonna be an even richer tiny woman who needs massive sunglasses.

I could go for some coffee ice cream.

Today is National Recycle Day.  I'm recycling relationships to celebrate.

The commercial that is touting "corn sugar" being the same as real sugar makes me angry.  The Food and Drug Administration could take two years to decide on renaming high fructose corn syrup "corn sugar", but that's not stopping the industry from using the term now in advertising.  It's not sugar, people.  Sugar is sugar. Sugar is natural, HFCS is not. A genetically modified enzyme in used in production of HFCS.  That isn't natural, BUT the FDA does not have a general definition for "natural."  It's true, look it up.  

Sometimes I get on soapboxes.  

My favorite color is gray.

Last night the light part of my bedroom ceiling fan came almost unattached from the fan and fell, hanging on by the wires.  This was at 4 am.  It sounded like my china cabinet fell over — it was that loud.  Just try to go back to sleep after that.

I went to Walgreens today without earrings and felt naked.  

Next week is Thanksgiving and my time to ponder the eternal question: store bought pie crust or pie crust from scratch?

I have never had a McRib.

My oldest child asked for a Blackberry for Christmas.  She's crazy. This is an iPhone house.  Seriously, she's not getting a phone.  She's getting two tin cans with a string attached.

I sent a text today that read: blah blah blabbedy blah blah.  I sent it to a friend who has said I have a gift with words.

Would someone nominate me for CNN's Heroes?  I need to meet Anderson Cooper.  Thanks.

Would someone get me a guest spot on 30 Rock?  I need to meet Alec Baldwin.  Thanks. reports that she (14 year-old blogger, Tavi) and Jane Pratt of the now defunct Sassy and Jane magazines are starting a new teen magazine.  This could be a wonderful thing for girls and I would love to be a part of it.  

That's all for now.  More later.  

all purpose update

It's been a while since we've talked hasn't it, friends and interwebs strangers?  I thought I'd do an all-purpose update now that I'm back from ScrapFest and decently recovered from that and surgery.  Here goes.

  • Gallbladder surgery isn't fun.  Apparently people think "laproscopic" means "magically done by a swami" because I've had several peeps say things like "well, at least you didn't have to get cut."  So, I guess I'm imagining the four incisions.  Could be — I was on some pretty good drugs.  
  • my surgeon told me during my post-op visit that my gallbladder was highly inflamed.  Yeah, I could have told him that.
  • I ate a lot of soup during recovery.  
  • I watched a lot of Food Network during recovery and have decided I need to become friends with Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa.  We could cook together at her Connecticut house and and eat things with real butter and cream and drink fun cocktails.  I was thinking this before Ina was mentioned on 30 Rock the other night.  I love that show, but it's weird that they are somehow accessing my thoughts.
  • I watched a ton of movies during recovery.  I cannot name them, I was on Percocet.  I do remember watching Black Dynamite though, and I highly recommend it even if you are fresh out of pain killers.
  • I do not recommend working on pain killers.  I could not be a drug addict.  While on drugs, I made some ScrapFest! forms and small signs for our raffle table.  They were wrong and people told me all weekend. Never said I was perfect or for that matter, even competent.  
  • At the event, my friend Melanie posted on my Facebook page that someone saw my profile pic on her laptop and said "who is that pretty girl?"  Melanie informed her that it was me.  Apparently I do not look like myself live and in person.
  • I ate half a brownie at ScrapFest! before Megan knocked over my tea, dousing the brownie.  I was mad. 
  • A fly landed in my coffee this morning.  That really throws a kink in my breakfast of champions — coffee and the 5 different medications I take every morning.  
  • The hubs painted the kitchen and living room while I was sick.  The color I picked is called Latte.  This may or may not be a coincidence.
  • My new favorite stupid television show is Hillbilly Handfishin'.  It is a real show.  I am not making it up.  It ranks up there with Billy the Exterminator, but is no Pawn Stars.
  • Would someone remind me to make an appointment at my hair salon?
  • I have decided upon my new alias.  I'm not telling you what it is, that's why it's an alias.
  • I'm visiting the hometown for a few days next month.  If you've been reading the blog for a while, you know how these visits usually go, so put me on the prayer chain.  
  • Facebook's suggestions get on my nerves.
  • My scale is broken.  I plan on going to Target and testing out the scales — whichever one I weigh less on is the one I will buy.
  • I see nothing wrong with that plan.
  • A few days ago I heard there is a new movie coming out called It's Kind of a Funny Story.  For what it's worth, this is what the title of my life story was going to be.  For real.  

That's all for now.  More to follow.

this shit has to stop

I've had it. 

I've had it with a lot of stuff and people lately, including Aretha Franklin (I'm not finished with you, Aretha, you will get your own post), but when I saw this I knew I had to climb up on the soap box.  If you were looking for music reviews or something funny, come back another day, I'm not in the mood.  

We're going to talk about this poster:

Whether you're a Sex and the City fan or not is irrelevant.  I don't care.  I saw this poster on a blog two days ago and thought "that's an interesting painting."  I don't think I've ever seen such a bad Photoshop job on a major studio release.  I'm an amateur graphic designer and could probably do better than this garbage.  Let's examine the f*ckery.

The image above with arrows added is from Jezebel.  The arrows will help in dissecting the poster.  

  • For some reason SJP's eyes are WAY close together.  
  • Kim Cattrall is a painting.  Not only does it not look like her, she looks emotionless and Barbie-like. Very scary.
  • Kim's elbow has been 'shopped to death resulting in something that looks like it didn't heal properly after an accident.  Also, her wrist is tiny.  The Photoshopper had arm issues and gave Kim a malformed arm.  Her other arm seems to be taken from a baby doll and is oddly the same color as Cynthia Nixon's.
  • SJP's hidden leg is out of proportion to the rest of her body.  
  • Kristin Davis is standing on one leg.  On sand.  At an angle.  Or the Photoshopper forgot to put her legs in the poster when he assembled it.  If that's supposed to be Kristin's knee it looks weird.  
  • Kristin apparently has a boob job in this film because COME ON.

Cynthia Nixon is attempting to escape this disaster and I can't blame her.  This poster is absolutely dreadful and I know dreadful when I see it — you should see my prom picture — I'd straightened my hair, then it rained. 

My thoughts on the poster are this: are we living in a world where it is so wrong to age or have extra flab anywhere that every trace must be removed via the art department?  Does Kim Cattrall care that she is almost unrecognizable?  Everyone knows the series ended years ago and the actresses have aged; is the studio afraid no one will go to the theater if there is a wrinkle on one of the four?  This kind of crap has to stop.  

Before I get off my soap box, I give you this: 

This is Kimora Lee (used to be Simmons) for Baby Phat.  On the left is an unretouched image, on the right her ad for the new Baby Phat fragrance.  She is a Barbie in another life.  But this isn't just the work of a highly skilled Photoshopper.  OH NO.  

The Photoshopper stole the body of a model from the cover of French Vogue.  You know, because no one would recognize THAT.  I have a feeling that since Kimora owns her company, she said "make me look like I did in my modeling days."  But this is blatant.  I'm not sure if this is merely a woman trying to sell a fragrance or a woman hating her own body and her desperation to look thin.  If it's the latter, then it's time for all women to embrace who they are and the skin they're in. 

If I'm wrong and it's purely the work of an evil Photoshopper, then listen up, and this goes for all of you who work in the medium:  stop making women into unrealistic plastic-looking Barbie dolls.  We understand when you Photoshop out a blemish or under-eye circles, but this shit has to stop.  It's out of control and it's making women look not only younger and thinner, but taller, and out of proportion.   Just because you have the tool (in this case, Photoshop), it doesn't mean you have to use it to death.  It's time to let women be women. 

Okay, I'm stepping down from the soap box.