Believe It Or Not

It’s official. We finally crossed the line. The state line, that is. And quite possibly the fine line dividing normal folks from raving lunatics.


This past weekend Eric and I ventured off to the mullet capitol of the South-- Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It’s a small town in the Smoky Mountains packed with family fun and adventure (my grandpa deemed it a “tourist trap”). Opportunities abound for simple, unadulterated, redneck fun (not that there’s anything wrong with that)!

For me, this trip was a sort of pilgrimage. You see, I’ve visited Gatlinburg before—circa 1992 for a high school band trip (yes, I’m THAT girl), and I never felt the burning desire to return until this summer. Not to relive those band camp memories (remember that?), rather to behold the presence of the popular Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Fertility Statues.

That’s right. We drove six hours and stayed in a grubby motel to rub on some statues.

Carved from ebony wood, the statues originate from the Ivory Coast, around the 1930s. Rumor has it that over 2,000 women have become pregnant after touching them. There are two statues, a king and a queen. The king holds a mango and a dagger, while the queen carries a baby.

Upon arrival at the Ripley’s Odditorium, we discovered that they offered a military discount for active duty, allowing us access to all eight Ripley’s amusement centers for only fifteen bucks. So, after checking out the statues we visited the 3D movie theater (where I banged my head and may or may not have sustained a slight concussion), mirror maze, aquarium, and the Guinness museum (the book—not the beer).

I couldn’t have had a better time streaking through the trailer park. It was a blast!

There might have been a fleeting moment or two where Eric would have disagreed; he tends to get a little irritated around throngs of hillbillies. In fact, at one point, he proclaimed that God was testing his patience by strategically positioning him behind large, slow women (ok, that’s not exactly what he said, but…). Nevertheless, he had a great time, too.

Today we’re back to reality in the Palmetto state. Eric starts the graveyard shift tonight and I go back to school on Friday (the 13th).  Now, I’m just waiting to see if that statue mojo rubbed off on us...believe it or not! 

And Venus Was Her Name

Bananarama crooned about a “goddess on a mountain top,” but I’m pretty sure that Venus of Willendorf was not what they had in mind when writing these lyrics. This 26,000 year old (that makes her about 25,966 years older than me) figurine of a voluptuous (aka “curvy” on match.com), nude female with exaggerated genitals from the Paleolithic era is small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. Discovered in Austria in 1908 by archeologist Josef Szombathy, this statuette is considered an icon of prehistoric artwork.

Many people speculate that her gargantuan jugs, expansive belly and magnified vajayjay lend to the theory that she was created as a symbol of fertility and womanhood. Interestingly enough, she has no face, but very intricately designed hair that coils from the top of her head downward. This faceless representation reveals that she is more an emblem of the fascination with the female body, rather than a sculpture of some caveman’s girlfriend.

Hopefully this is no predictor of impending changes due to pregnancy weight gain; because it appears the Venus is in serious need of a mommy-makeover. Just looking at her makes my boobs ache. Lucky for me, Eric has already agreed (after some arm twisting) to procure a personal trainer for me for at least 3 months after we have a baby. I’m thinking of adding a clause to double the length of time in the case of twins.

As for Ms. Wilendorf, she may not make the cover of Vanity Fair, but she is definitely present in numerous art history textbooks. She’s got it! Yeah, baby, she’s got it!