I am a fan of Ellen Degeneres. I consider her to be a beautiful, funny, smart person as well as a fabulous dancer. I would be delighted to have her as a friend.

She is openly gay. I support equal rights for gay people because, you know, rights are rights. And for this to be a truly free nation based on justice, we have to have equal rights for all people– gay and straight, because that’s what equal means.

And I am not just saying that because I like Ellen. I’d say that even if I didn’t think she was awesome. Which I do.

I mean, just because I don’t like someone or agree with how they live their lives doesn’t mean I get to dictate my opinions to them and deny them basic civil liberties.

For example, I do not agree with the way certain members of the group One Million Moms live their lives. They seem like a humorless bunch of bigots and I worry that they are raising their children to be humorless bigots, too, and my daughter and future grandchildren will have to interact with them.

But just because I don’t agree with their lifestyle– and think they should not be allowed to adopt kids because they will indoctrinate them with that lifestyle– doesn’t mean they aren’t entitled to the same rights as everyone else.

Sure, I wish they wouldn’t flaunt their mean-spirited choices in my face by influencing retailers to take a delicious and cleverly named flavor of ice cream off store shelves, but far be it for me to deny them freedom of speech as protected by the First Amendment.

But just as they have the right to speak, I have the right to do the opposite of anything they suggest. For example, I now plan to do much more of my shopping at J.C. Penney.

Not that I plan to abandon Macy’s because true love cannot be denied, but JCP, you won my respect today.

Your coffee, my lady.

This is Marky Mark (standing among a Funky Bunch of Bananas) and he is my new monkey butler.

Reaction to my original tumblr and Twitter posts about Marky Mark were not positive. “Terrifying” and “creepy” were the most common adjectives, but I think that’s just because many people do not appreciate unconventional beauty. And they do not know Marky Mark’s back story.

In September 2010, my husband Phil and I were in Nashville to attend the wedding of our friends’ daughter. The day of the wedding we realized that Phil had not packed a tie. So we went to Stein Mart, an eclectic discount retail chain just down the street from the hotel.

Stein Mart carries clothes, shoes and housewares. I suspect it gets a lot of its merchandise in unsold lots from wholesalers, because frankly, it’s pretty bizarre and you always see something different on every visit. As we wandered through the decor, I spotted a 3-foot smiling monkey, sporting a jaunty fez and gleefully holding a tray.

It was gloriously kitschy, borderline tacky, and undeniably awesome. I was in love.

Phil, however, was unconvinced that the monkey butler needed to become part of our family. Despite my pleas, which he assumed was just me trying to cajole him into making a ridiculous purchase, we left the store sans the smiling simian servant.

And in the past year, I have never let Phil forget it.

Every time I was unhappy, I mentioned I also don’t have a monkey to hold my drinks.

When The Bloggess purchased a giant metal chicken that she named Beyonce, I reminded Phil that there is a gallery here in town that features a giant metal zoo– grasshoppers, chickens, praying mantis — and I have never made a single purchase. All I ever wanted was a monkey butler. Sigh.

When The Bloggess purchased a mongoose-cobra-taxidermy death-match scene, I once again said, “See! All I wanted was a monkey butler. Which is far less creepy than a dead snake and an also-dead mangy mongoose. But I didn’t get a monkey butler, did I?” Sigh.

Little did I know, that as my husband was saying that he felt great camaraderie with Jenny’s husband Victor (Phil has also ended conversations with me by announcing he’s not talking to me anymore) that he had decided to shut me up make me happy by finally getting me my own personal primate.

Days later, as we were getting our drink on sipping cocktails on the sofa, FedEx knocks on our door.

MY MONKEY BUTLER!

My husband spent a lot of time scouring the Internet for a monkey butler ( actually, he spent just a few minutes because you can find almost anything instantly on the Internet apparently) that would complement our decor. He even consulted a mutual friend to test the awesomeness of various drink-holding chimps.

He finally found this happy fellow with a Harlequin vest, gold bowtie and pants (that matches our wall color, bonus!) and a silver tray. I named him Marky Mark because, well, why shouldn’t he be named Marky Mark? I was overjoyed.

Sure, he’s shorter than the one we saw in Nashville, and he doesn’t have the jaunty fez, but that’s actually a plus in the feng shui of the room. Besides, he’s much more beguiling.

And more than just being a conversation piece in our otherwise very traditional (read bland) decor, every time I look at the grinning two-footed-2-foot-coaster, I am reminded that I married my best friend who would literally do anything to make me happy.

And that? Is the best present I could ever get.

There will be so much to catch up tomorrow. But for tonight, if feels so good to have my BLAWG back!!

It’s a website dedicated to and written by real women. I have found great recipes, read essays that made me laugh and cry, and had more than a few “Preach, sister!” moments inspired by these posts.

Last week one of my favorite bloggers (and a beautiful and fantastic person IRL) made readers aware of a campaign called “Swimsuit Confidence” that is connected with Land’s End. This pleased me muchly. Let me explain why.

Land’s End makes nice clothes. They make classic stuff that has appealed to me and, most importantly, fit me no matter what size I was (and I think, at one time or another, I have been all of them.)

Also, the Land’s End catalog has always played to my fantasy of living a sporty lifestyle near a large body of water, some place where it’s always summer and there is always a cooler packed and ready to take on a boat. I can hear Buffet, Chesney and Zac Brown Band playing on the soundtrack as I flip from swimwear to shorts to water shoes. I need sunscreen just looking at these pages.

But what I love most about Land’s End is they make these nice pieces and run them up and down the size scale. The same shorts, tops and swimsuits for slender ladies is also available for rounder babes like me.

They seem to understand that I don’t want to look at cute clothes for “normal” sized women, only to find the moo-moos made out of grandma’s curtains for plus-sized chicks buried in the back.

Just because baby got back doesn’t mean she wants to look frumpy. Hear that, retail world?

Any old hoo, so the Curvy Girls are pimping for Land’s End, and I am all over it, right? Even added the twibbon to my Twitter avatar. But here’s the hitch: To show real swimsuit confidence, I am *encouraged* to put a photo of myself in a swimsuit on my blog.

Hold. The. Phone.

This is where the old me would insert a joke about not having a wide-angle lens. But I am not going to do that.

I am trying to see this as a positive thing. What better way to kick start my conversion to a healthier lifestyle (which is what this blog is supposed to be documenting) than the classic “BEFORE” shot? This would also be a great way to come out of the curvy closet and proclaim: “Yes, I am a wider than I am tall, but who cares! This is me. In a swimsuit. Deal with it if you don’t like it, bishes.”

Today, I am going to the pool for the first time since last summer. I will be wearing my perfect-for-water-aerobics, brand spanking new Land’s End swimsuit. The pool, BTW, is located at my gym, another place I haven’t been since last summer.

Can I find my confidence?

For the record, there is only a couple of inches of snow on the ground, but this is the South and I hate to drive in it too, so who am I to call anyone Wimpy McWimperson? Besides, their loss has now turned into my gain since I was able to get an appointment for a pedicure, a root-touch up, and get my eyebrows pruned down to a human shape.

And I have a husband with an SUV so I don’t even have to drive. Picture me doing a happy dance, fat jiggling everywhere.

One reason that dieting (I am not calling it a life change anymore because, bitch please, it’s a diet) often fails for me is that I feel deprived. And clearly, if you look at the size of my gelatinous thighs and shelf ass, you can see I do not engage in much self-deprivation.

So if I am going to deny myself unrestricted access to the food I love (not cutting it out, just cutting it back) I can keep that inner demon that demands instant gratification quiet by indulging in things like spa days, jewelry purchases, shoes, etc.

Sound selfish? Well, yes it does. But the entire idea of changing my body and my health is inherently selfish and if this strategy works, why the hell not?

So, a winter pedicure is an indulgence. Totally worth it, especially at half price.