A Cautionary Christmas Tale

For Christmas this year, we decided to get our kids a kitten. We found a cute one and thought we were pretty savvy saving all this money on a free kitten. She rode home in the car so pleasantly and my children were delighted to have a new pet to go along with the big fat cat we already have and the small dog who thinks he’s a cat. But after the new kitty smell wore off, I started to do a little math on this deal:
New Cat: $0
Carpet cleaning before kitty found the litter box: $99
Spaying kitty: $150
Kitty’s first shots: $50
Declaw procedure: $100
Set of 4 leather dining room chairs and reason for declaw procedure: $356
For a grand total of $755
She’s a lovely kitty and we all adore her, but I have to say…not the smartest idea I’ve ever had.
Yet another not so bright idea…my brother came home for Christmas and along with a few friends we headed straight for the bar. Everything was going smoothly until we decided it was time for martinis and then shots of vodka. Four days later I have absolutely no recollection of certain events, my arm is bruised, my muscles are sore (from dancing I’m sure) and I woke up to the worst hangover since my legendary 21st birthday and this strange photo in my email. Got on stage with the band? New Year’s resolution number 1: Never…drink…again…

How I Spent My Sunday

So I woke up Sunday promptly at 10 a.m. and it was the normal routine of cooking shows on PBS till noon in my pajamas. I got bored during “Lidia’s Italy” when she started stuffing some tiny bird I’ve never heard of and started perusing through my husband’s Blackberry trying to decide if I wanted to visit the hell that is the local Verizon store later in the day and buy a Blackberry for myself or if I wanted to keep jimmy-rigging my only half-working LG Env 2 for a few more months. After almost giving up on that idiotic touch screen I vowed never to get, I found the link www.textsfromlastnight.com in his “notepad”. Oh happy day! It was like finding a 20 dollar bill in the pocket of last year’s winter coat. For the next 3 hours I sat on the couch scrolling through pages of these things. The site is an outstanding compilation of drunken texts people probably don’t remember sending. It’s a drug to me now…I’m addicted. Around 3 p.m. my husband had to physically remove the phone from my hands and talked me into leaving the house to do some Christmas shopping. The mall is a hateful place to be in December, by the way. I was even forewarned with a text about the “a**holes around town”, but I went anyways. A Target and Asian food run later I was back in the house in stretchy pants in front of my computer nearing page 73 out of 788 on this new beloved website. Sometimes the site takes extra long to load the next page and I crap my pants thinking they took down the site.
It’s now 10:56 p.m. on Sunday night and I’m exhausted even though I officially accomplished nothing the entire day. Verizon says I can’t get a new phone yet, Target didn’t have black Converse high-tops OR some Super Big Cupcake nonsense and the mall was useless. When you spend an entire day skimming through drunken texts (76.3% I could have easily sent myself), does that mean you’ve hit rock bottom? I did, however, make it to page 128…so…total loss? I think not.

Happy Santa Lucia Day!

This blog is dedicated to my mom and my maternal ancestors who came from Sweden. Sunday, December 13th is Santa Lucia Day. Did you remember, Mom? When my brother and I were kids, my grandma lived next door and the morning of every December 13th (until we revolted) my mom would get us up at the crack of dawn and we’d walk to my grandma’s house wearing a crown of candles. How we managed to never light our hair on fire is a mystery, but my mom would make this crown out of tin foil and…I hesitate divulging this piece of information…there is a photo of my brother and I somewhere wearing these crowns. There was a song that went with the procession to Gram’s, which I’ve successfully repressed so don’t ask me to sing it. Typically, you ate a certain type of bun this day called a Lussekatt, but in our house it was always Pillsbury cinnamon rolls and we’d carry these fancy baked goods to Grandma’s praying to God none of the neighbors saw us a. wearing fire and b. singing through an alfalpha field.
An interesting fact I found while trying to recall the reasons behind this bizarre tradition is the procession is usually headed by one girl wearing the crown of candles and then everyone follows her holding a single candle. So, Brother, kinda sounds like you got shafted seeing as how I vividly remember that ring of fire on your head too.
I also found that in Scandinavia, the younger population still carries out the tradition of “guarding oneself against being taken by Lucifer, Lord of Darkness” by having an all night party. The tradition requires you to stay awake on the night of the 12th until light arrives and saves you from Lucifer. What?! I remember no such party! I’m officially reinstating this tradition. Who’s with me?! There’s a Pillsbury cinnamon roll in it for you.
So this past Sunday, my little brother turned the big 3-0. Since I didn’t have the crown of candles picture to post, this one’s for you, Bro! Happy 30th…Yah! You get to be old now too!

Where Have All The Sleeves Gone?

I made the mistake of going shopping for bigger jeans this weekend and maybe a cute “going out” shirt and I realized…someone is holding all the sleeves for ransom. Even the sweaters they make have short sleeves. For those of us not having hot flashes every 10 minutes, I’d like a winter sleeve to cover my flappy arms. Bad enough I go all summer with my arms on display. The only thing I look forward to in winter is having all my bits covered. I’ve noticed my daughter and her friends wear t-shirts all winter and are too cool for a coat. I sit next to a space heater all day bundled up like a Sherpa. So then it reminds me of this story I wrote just this summer. I was complaining about how sleeves don’t seem to fit anymore and are completely out of proportion. Did someone hear my cry and out of contempt, decided to take all sleeves away?

Bat Wings:
The excess meatiness that now dangles from your upper arms in place of the youthful muscular system that used to reside there.

After numerous conversations lately I have decided I am not the only woman obsessed with the lack of options clothing manufacturers are giving us these days. I mean what are they thinking when they make some of these atrocities? Back in the day, if you knew your shirt size you could rest assured the shirt would actually fit. Now, you have to try everything on in the store and chant “please fit” over and over again. Because let me just tell you…shirts are built with Inhuman arm sizes. I can only smash my bat wings into a maximum of 50% of the shirts I try on. So either my arms are abnormally meaty or the arms on shirts are being built for the aliens on Close Encounters. Judging by multiple conversations with women, I’m guessing it’s the latter. If you are lucky enough to be one of those ladies who have a waistline no matter what size you are, invest in a tailor. Because even if it required two people and a pulley system to hoist your jeans over your hips, you will inevitably have enough excess jean in the back of your waistband to produce a whole new set of jeans. It’s futile to buy anything off the rack without first trying it on because it’s just as depressing to try it on at home and drive back to return it than it is to just try it on in the store and see your behind in 42 different angles under a lighting system that ages you 20 years. Looking at this from a purely marketing perspective, wouldn’t a retailer want you to look fabulous in the dressing room? Not torment you and run you off sobbing uncontrollably?
To me, the perfect size is an 8. Sure, some of you may feel 4 or 6 is a better goal…or why not a 10? However, for me and my structure, it’s an 8. For an extremely short period of history I was a size 6, but that was an anomaly. Size 8 is much more attainable and I’ve been an 8 many times, but sustaining a holding pattern around size 8 is next to impossible. I hover around it for a few months and then soon size 12’s are cutting me in half.
I really do want to stop the pattern of yo-yo dieting and weight gain-weight loss and establish some consistency and most of the time I can even do the healthy eating portion of the fitness program. But the exercise is where I fail. I get motivated and swear THIS is the time I stick to it. I buy the Wii Fit and the first time it insults me I haul out a sledgehammer. I buy the Wii Active and after I lumber around next to my teenager like a mammoth it goes in the closet. I got a free treadmill…guess the last time I used that? I jogged around my neighborhood but the first judgmental stare I received I jogged right into hiding. I did water aerobics for a few months but it got cold outside and I wussed out. I’m lugging around a Coldstone Creamery monkey on my back and I’m looking for some middle ground. Healthy food that doesn’t taste like a box of ground up tissues and a form of movement that doesn’t humiliate, injure, empty my savings or take up all my free time. My sloth-like existence has to end, but where does one start during Dairy Queen season and a recession?
I implore someone with any sort of fashion sense to start up a clothing line…real clothes for real women. I want bigger armholes, I would like my coin slot covered and if the zipper is less than 4 inches…forget about it and I’m begging you please would you quit making spaghetti strapped tops for women with B cups or larger? The “built-in bra” you all tout is as useless as nutritional facts on my ice cream bar. You can call your line: Well-Rounded Wear, or Ample Apparel, or perhaps Busty Duds!
One last note…a tan does not, in fact, camouflage cellulite like some dimwit on the TV said it would. Now…who’s up for some sweet cream goodness?

Awkward Family Photo

This blog is centered around this photo here that I found while perusing through the “pictures” file on my computer. This was taken in 1979 and it’s my family. Appearances have been altered to protect the innocent and so my mom doesn’t kick my butt.
My dad still has that same Geraldo Rivera mustache and I’m pretty sure he still wears those plastic glasses too. For my parent’s 25th wedding anniversary I slaved over a family photo album for a YEAR and when my mom looked at it, all she said was “Oh my GAWD look at my HAIR!!!!” Twenty five years worth of memories and that’s all she notices? Then again, all that hair IS hard to miss. I love that my mom had a “fro”. I mean, that’s just awesome.
As you can see, my eyes are all red and puffy. Clearly, I’ve just had a fit of some kind and someone managed to get me to quit sobbing long enough to have my picture taken. I can only speculate the reason for this episode is the outfit I’m wearing. It looks like a quilt. I’m wearing a quilt! It’s that or a table cloth…exactly which cannot be determined. And is that a shiny bronze shirt my dad has on? And Mom, poor Mom. My mom is the most amazing dresser I have ever met. She’s classy and gorgeous, but to not make fun of that blazer would be a crime against humanity. I could SWEAR I had a bedspread made out of the same material as that thing! My baby brother is the only one to escape bad couture in this picture. Lucky S.O.B.
There was a white dog that was somehow cropped out of this picture. His name was Muffin. There’s this email that goes around every now and then that says to find your stripper name use your first pet’s name and the street you grew up on. My stripper name is Muffin Collins. Can’t get much better than that.
Hurry up and read this post before my mom makes me take it down. :) Still love me, Mommy?

Sunny Days…Chasing the Clouds Away

Today was the 40th anniversary of my favorite children’s show: Sesame Street. When I was little we lived in the sticks and didn’t have cable, satellite dishes, a VCR or any other such nonsense. We had an old console TV that you couldn’t watch by yourself because one person had to be inside yelling at a person outside when to stop turning this massive rooftop antenna with a vice-grip so you could see 1 of 3 stations we could make out through that Poltergeist TV snow. My grandma’s house next door had rabbit ears and you’d have to use a roll of tin foil to amplify the signal. We would talk the little neighbor boy into standing on one leg, wearing a foil hat and holding the rabbit ears because we were sure it was a little clearer that way. Hi Danny!
I always thought I was a little like Kermit the Frog because I never really fit in anywhere, didn’t feel like I ever knew my identity and was a little melancholy. It really ain’t easy being green. But according to one of those online quiz sites I’m partially obsessed with, it turns out I’m more of a Big Bird. Which makes sense because Big Bird was kind of an odd-ball asking questions about everything. The quiz result claimed I “have a wonderful imagination” and am “very creative”. Sure, I guess I do dwell in the artistic realm from time to time. It also said I can sometimes get overly excited over new things, which often leads to disappointment when things don’t turn out my way. Why the nerve! Okay so my career in wood burning never took off, but I wouldn’t say I was overly excited about it. However, it ends upbeat saying I never stay down for long and always try again. Home Tupperware sales here I come.
Do you remember one of the human characters, Bob? I loved that man like he was my own father. And there was Luis and Maria who I also adored, but the puppets were my favorite. The dog I have now looks like a mini version of Barkley and I’m sure I can hear the Sesame Street theme song when he comes running at me. Don’t we all know someone who fits a Sesame Street character though? My son is a dead-ringer for “Guy Smiley”…that game show host with the loud personality. Guy was an underappreciated and underused character, but then again maybe that way I looked forward to and appreciated him more. Those rare times he had a skit. I’ve nominated Forgetful Jones to play my husband since my husband can’t remember squat…or at least anything I’ve said to him. My daughter gets Grover as she’s shy and sweet, but confident and very likeable. I associate Cookie Monster with my little brother because he eats candy all the time. My brother used to eat it for breakfast and when he’s at my house he mows through my pantry like a pothead over a pan of brownies. My sister-in-law wants to know what Oscar’s legs look like. I think he just hovers in there limb-less, but if you have any evidence…do share.
I liked to sing “one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong” and point at my brother just to make him paranoid he was adopted. Teeny Little Super Guy makes me laugh to this day. He’s the little dude on the plastic cup and his homies were various other cupboard knick-knacks. And if you can count to 12 and not picture a pinball machine, you’re my hero.
So to all my fellow Sesame Street die-hards, I just have one thing to say…a loaf of bread, a container of milk and a stick a butta…

Post Halloween Commentary

So it turns out crafting humorous stories with witty quips daily was more difficult than I had anticipated and I seem to have lost some inspiration. My apologies for the delay between blogs, but thank you to the many people who have emailed, texted and called to tell me they miss me and to “get off my ass” and write more. So here I am and I’ll try to whip up at least one of these per week. But that’s all I’m promising until I get my mojo back.
Halloween was this Saturday, which happens to be my all time number one favorite holiday. My family drove down and spent the weekend with us and we had a blast. I have to say, drunken Rockband on the Wii was more fun than I remembered. I had a crew of 6 kids going out together to trick-or-treat all ranging in ages from 14 to 6. When my brother and I were kids we lived in the country and my mom would drive us into town and we’d hit the major neighborhoods while my mom stayed in the warm car patiently waiting for us. Back in those days it didn’t matter how cold you were, how uncomfortable you were or how embarrassed of your cheeseball costume you were…your butt was out there for the long-haul. You didn’t quit until your mom was physically dragging your sugar sodden backside back to the car at which point you’d come down off your sugar high and complained the whole way home that if you’d only had FIVE more minutes you could have located that mythical house that gave out “whole candy bars!!” Nowadays, these kids drop like flies. The first two to come home were my nephew and my son. My nephew walked in and informed us he was “done…I’m just done!” and my son puked on the way and just wanted to sit on the floor organizing his candy and refilling his empty stomach. Shortly thereafter, we lost two more and in the end only two teenage girls were left standing. As punishment to my son for surrendering so soon, I’ve been stealing candy from his bucket instead of the teenager’s. So once everyone had petered out, the most amazing thing happened…all the kids sat on the floor, dumped out their buckets and immediately turned into used car salesmen! It was the most fascinating thing I have ever seen. My brother and I would usually dump out our buckets just to admire what we had received and to toss out all the sub-par candies like the dum-dum suckers and the tootsie rolls. But these kids…”I’ll give you 3 Butterfingers for just one of those Fun Dips!” “My Fun-Dips are not for sale! Choose again!” I learned a valuable lesson that night...candy is currency for kids and Fun Dip is more valuable than the almighty dollar.
My children were both abnormally testy the next day after their extreme sugar consumption and lack of sleep which helps alleviate some of the guilt I should have when taking candy from their stash while they’re at school. I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened to your Reeses Peanut Butter Cups…perhaps you mistakenly traded them for all of those 3 Musketeers I’m not going to touch with a 10-foot pole. Three Musketeers is a B.S. candy bar. Without at least some caramel it’s useless to me.
Hope your Halloween was as satisfying and fun as mine was.
And a sidenote to the peopleofwalmart.com folks…you made my year with this website and if you need anyone to help write those delightful captions under the pictures…I’m your girl. If you haven’t checked out this website…oh I must tell you, you’re missing out.

Top 5 Items You'll See At My Next Garage Sale

If you were to look around your house, how many items would you find that you wish you could return to get your money back? In my house, I could probably send my first born to college. Dick Cavett once said "As long as people will accept crap, it will be financially profitable to dispense it." This blog is dedicated to “buyer’s remorse”…top 5 most worthless items I have purchased or inherited.

1. Snow Cone Maker
This neat little product that now sits in my cupboard of useless crap seemed like such a good idea to keep the kids happy in the summer. All it does is crush ice, but you have to turn this handle around and around and it’s not exactly easy. Umm…doesn’t a blender crush ice with the touch of a button?
2. Treadmill
I inherited this product and used it quite religiously for about 6 months. That was 3 years ago.
3. Water Flosser
This is a machine that shoots water out of a hand held utensil and cleans in between your teeth. How is it that I thought this device would be handy? I can’t even muster up the time needed to pull a piece of string out of a box much less haul out an appliance, fill it with water, use it, dry it and put it away.
4. Chevrolet Venture Van
I bought this van thinking of the great many trips we’d take around the country. Trip number one went pretty smoothly, but trip number two to Denver, Colorado…not so much. We broke down on the way to a wedding in some godforsaken Wyoming town. We limped this piece of crap to a mechanic and to expedite the process of getting us in, I told them we were on the way to a funeral and needed to be back on the road on the double. This will also appear on a future list “top 10 things I am going to hell for”.
On the way to a dealership to trade in this vile creation, I decided to clean ‘er up a little and wouldn’t you know as a last moment of spite the window cracked in 3 places…I mean, the irony was palpable. You could SEE the dealership from the carwash.
5. Wii Fit
I had the best intentions when purchasing Wii Fit. It’s a video game…has to be fun…right? The first time you “log on” you take this fitness test and it gives you your Wii Fit age. Mine was 47. I’m 31. Then the next time you log on, it makes you explain a. why you were too lazy to work out for 3 days and b. why you’re fatter now than you were the first time you logged on. And if you make the mistake of letting your child stand on the Fit Board under your profile it alerts the authorities that there has been a “massive weight change”. Thanks, Nintendo, but I already feel bad about myself.

There really should be an application and approval process for me to make a purchase. And it would also be helpful if companies stopped making home fragrance devices. Those damn scents in charming warmers!!

A Rant….On Fear

I didn't get much sleep last night becuase I woke up roasting and had to sleep on top of the bedding. With no covers to protect me, I pictured ghosts staring me down all night and monsters creeping out of my closet. It reminded me of this story below I wrote as a request a few months ago. Shouldn't my biorhythms be in the upswing by now? I've never been so uncreative and tired in my life!

Fear:
noun
a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.

Miniscule:
adj.
Very small; tiny.

I read that humans are born with three basic innate fears: sudden motion, loud or abrupt noises and sudden approach. It makes me wonder, if I came into the world with only those limited fears, how I still can’t sleep with the closet door open at night. Or how I can’t look in the bathroom mirror unless the light is on. Or how I’m convinced a threadbare sheet of Egyptian cotton will protect me from ghosts. At what point in our adolescence do we learn these new (and imagined) fears? My friends, I believe it to be the major motion picture. And my theory, though I can only speculate, before the major motion picture it was the viral ghost stories of yesteryear passed along and mutated like that game “telephone”. For example, had I not seen “Jaws” would I still be terrified of water even in a 3 foot kiddie pool? Or had I not seen “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, would I still be convinced I’ll be probed by aliens and lose 3 hours of time while traveling alone at night on a desolate stretch of road at some point in my life?
These are all thoughts to ponder, but really all this leads to a true and rather hilarious story about spiders. Now, the stats all say that your chances of dying of a spider bite are miniscule (see above). Yet, with the threat of bodily harm so low and even lower the chances of death, why are over 50% of humans scared of spiders? We all remember the movie “Arachnophobia”, which to this day when my husband sees a spider crawling around aimlessly in the tub it causes a brain bleed, but they have been making movies about these terrifying (regardless of size) creatures as far back as the 50’s including “Tarantula” which was released in 1955 and my hubby’s next Christmas present. Now, my husband is about as terrified of any species of spider as your typical 11 year old girl. Why he even told me this story, knowing I would tease him for years to come, is beyond me but I thank him nonetheless. Here is the email I received today and we’ll discuss more afterwards:

Subject: have to leave work now......
Just killed this damn thing on the wall NEXT TO MY DESK!!!It's called a Redback Jumping spider (the jumping part makes the ebee jeebies ten-fold)......creepy little b*st*rd!!
The maintenance guy just came in - they found a black widow in the window sill outside OUR OFFICE!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (running, screaming from the building).
I'm itchy...............................

Well naturally I had to call his office to chastise him and found that he couldn’t have killed this spider in a girlier fashion. Apparently, he threw a shoe at it from across the room and no one is brave enough to even touch the shrapnel. A chastise worthy act, in my opinion. But, then it dawned on me, I have answered my own question! Twenty percent of men suffer from arachnophobia. I believe this is just God’s gift to their much braver wives. And the thirty percent of women with the fear…well….they’re just sissies. Ladies, let’s man up and confront a fear. Tonight I think I’ll dangle an arm off the side of the bed without fear of under-the-bed monsters biting it off. Go forth with courage and honor my sisters.

More Story Time

I haven’t been writing much because I’ve been pretty sick. But today it’s story time again…and in honor of the digestive issues going on in this house…
Once upon a time a lovely lady birthed two children with the weakest stomachs and worst gag reflexes you’ve ever met. Yes, my little brother and I. We gag, we throw up, we can’t keep our stomach contents to ourselves. We have this extraordinary sense of smell and we randomly throw up in the oddest places.
When we were kids there was this ice cream parlor our parents used to take us to. We ordered the largest milkshakes allowed and sucked them down like we had been starved for 4 days. We weren’t feeling so hot so we put our heads down on the booth seat and could eyeball each other under the table. We could see we were each getting a green hue about us and without warning we yacked like the pie eating contest scene in Stand By Me. There was a sea of strawberry and chocolate merging and swirling under our table like those meteorological pictures of hurricanes you see on the weather channel. My parents took one look at each other and all I remember is my dad saying “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
As you now know, I grew up on a farm and for some reason we had a grain truck full of rotten grain we had to empty. I imagine the smell of rotten grain must be similar to a decomposing corpse. It's awful. We shoveled one and puked two until it was empty. My little brother must have only owned one pair of boots because he had to wear them to school the next day and they had to open the classroom windows and everyone sat around trying to figure out who stunk the whole day.
People don’t understand why my brother and I can’t eat ham. My parents ordered half a pig once and decided to butcher it on the kitchen table. Being the diabolically weird children we were, we sat under the table while they did it and all I can remember is blood pouring off the table and pooling on the floor. I can’t even look at meat contained in that white paper without getting a little queasy.
My daughter requested I tell about the time my brother was hungover and he came down for breakfast and I asked if he wanted some half-cooked bacon, buttery buttermilk buckwheat pancakes and some slightly undercooked runny eggs and he bolted for the toilet without a word. Good times. Wonder why he moved away? Hmmm…
I could tell you a hundred stories just like these, but my ultimate favorite story is the time I took my brother shopping at the grocery store. We were in the meat department and I saw this cow tongue that was so huge it was sort of folded in half. I picked it up and made it talk to brother like a puppet saying things like “eat me” and “feel my taste buds” and other such nonsense. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast in a supermarket before. He’s too easy.
I called my brother last night and he was at the gym. He tells me he had to switch gyms to one even further from his house because the other one “smelled bad”. I don’t really know that a gym can smell good, but whatever dude.
We’re both blind as bats. Too bad we couldn’t transfer some of our sense of smell over to our visual sense. Actually, my brother probably just threw up reading this. Brother, may I offer you some Jose Cuervo?

Mutant Cat

My Shih Tzu just got a haircut and the groomer left him a beard so that he looks like Scott Ian from Anthrax. This is the first dog I’ve ever owned that has been so high maintenance…aesthetically speaking. On the farm, we either took a shear to them and called it good or only had animals with short hair.
My mom recently reminded me about this cat we used to have. My grandma’s friend was casting aside this cat and it was described to us as “friendly” and “Garfield-like” which in reality meant meaner than hell and fat and lazy. We were never ones to turn down a pet in need so we took Mickey in and promptly regretted it. This cat would sit on my brother’s bookcase and bat its mutant hands at us and hiss while we taunted it with robot toys. He had an extra toe on each paw which made him extremely clumsy and he’d fall off the bookcase every now and then which always amused us. Cats are supposed to be graceful and limber! He used to hide in my brother’s closet growling at us and to get him out my mother would truss me up in a welding helmet and welding gloves and feed me into the back of the closet like a toilet snake to liberate demon cat. Sometimes we could coax him out using cat nip, but he caught on to our ruse pretty quickly. Mickey eventually went to live outside with the other farm cats and we grew to respect his tenacious charm. The neighbors decided to blow a hole through Mickey and the bullet entered right under his spine and exited out the other side. When they say cats have nine lives, Mickey used up at least 4 that day because without any veterinary care whatsoever, he survived and prospered. In Mickey’s old age he gave up cleaning himself and became a matted hideous mess and visitors would stare and ask “what’s that?” and children would run away in horror. He set up shop on the back porch where my mom would toss whatever generic cat food she had on hand. Eventually Mickey lost the tops of his ears due to frostbite, but when you came near his territory he would manage his signature greeting, “MROW” and seemed content enough. We never did know what happened to Mickey and we never found his body so for all we know that resilient cat is still alive out there somewhere. Or he's an undead zombie cat. Sometimes I swear I hear a disembodied "MROW".
I realized I learned many things from Mickey. You can grow to love and admire even the meanest creatures on earth because even they have a unique quality that makes them valuable to your life. I’ve learned that the meanest of us outlive the rest of you pleasant and polite folks and that’s just good old spite. He taught me not to judge because even the vilest looking and smelling beings can be awfully clever. And lastly, he taught me never to trust an old woman giving away a “friendly” cat.

Beam Me to Quarks

Some of you noticed there was a delay since my last blog. I had two days off from work and I couldn't bring myself to sit in front of a computer so I watched a lot of TV and read books instead. :) My head hurts today so you get a re-run of a story i wrote about a year ago since Star Trek seems to be the only thing on my mind these days.

A friend of a friend was telling me a story the other day and it made me think about how much we miss out on when we do or don’t do something for fear of what other people might think. She and her husband flew to Las Vegas for one weekend and for one reason. Star Trek Experience. A noble reason, I might add. Well, being that I’ve experienced the Star Trek Experience I know there’s a place called “Quark’s Bar”. Evidently, there’s quite a spectacular beverage served there called “warp core breech”. They ate lunch at Quark’s where she decided not to order said beverage as it was “too early” in the day. (Never too early.) She decided they would return that night and order the drink then, ignoring prompts by her husband to disregard the “too early” rule. Ah, I sense you have already guessed the ending of this tale. They returned only to find Quark’s bar CLOSED to the public for some special event and they were leaving the next morning. Now, mind you, they flew to Vegas just for the full experience. Naturally, she felt jilted and full of remorse and regret. Tough to live with that forever when you live 700 miles from aforementioned libation. It brings a Hellrung’s Law to my mind, “if you wait…it will go away”. So, my advice to you…if you want it, drink it. It has to be happy hour somewhere on planet earth at any given time. Just tell people you’re on Zimbabwe time. If you really like it, buy it. It’s only money…you can’t take it with you and do your kids really deserve to inherit everything? And lastly, if it makes you happy…do it. Listen, livers regenerate (or so I’m told) and credit cards can be paid off, but remorse is like genital warts. Sometimes you feel great and then it flares up and it’s a real pain in the nuts.

Note:
Shortly after this story was written (to the horror of Trekkies everywhere) Hilton Las Vegas closed the Star Trek Experience permanently. Lucky for us, a source whose identity I can neither confirm nor deny, has sent me a recipe for the Warp Core Breach. I count 10 ounces of booze in this concoction. You’ll be speaking fluent Klingon after consumption of this thing.

Long live Star Fleet!!

First we use a 120 ounce Warp Core Bowl. You might be able to find something close at places like Pier 1 Imports. If you want the bubble effect you'll need some dry ice. Place 1 ounce of water on the bottom of the bowl and then pack it with ice. This will fuse the dry ice to the bottom of the bowl so it does not float to the top. The recipe is as follows;
· 2 ounces Bacardi 151 Rum,
· 1 1/2 ounces each of Bacardi Limon, Bacardi Spice, Bacardi Select and Bacardi Light,
· 2 ounces of Razzmatazz or a quality Raspberry Liqueur,
· Top that off with 30 ounces of a high quality berry juice. Suggestions are Snapple Aceola Berry, Sobe Power or other energy or natural beverages similar. Stay away from anything such as cranberry, it's too bitter.

The Tank: My Very First Car

Thanks to biorhythms (see yesterday’s blog) I now have an excuse for today’s laziness, intellectual weakness and overall ogre-like attitude. Since I don’t have the ability to think of a funny concept to write about, I’ve decided to tell you a little story instead.
My very first car. My first car was a loner car…my parent’s used car (and by used I mean ridden hard and put away wet). It was a 1978 Pontiac Bonneville and my dad rebuilt the engine with Buick parts so we called it a Ponti-uick and dubbed it “The Tank”. It was gray…and HUGE. A horse once devoured some of that squishy covering over the roof so it had all these holes in it and the paint was chipping off pretty profusely. It also had no rear shocks so when you drove over the railroad tracks you bobbed up and down for at least another 2 miles. At some point the blinker stopped working so you had to manually click it up and down, which could be done to the beat of the music. The gas gauge hadn’t worked in years and nothing is scarier than walking home…at night…in the country…alone. You had to do math just to keep yourself in gas. “If I put in 10 gallons and get approximately 9 miles to the gallon, I know I can make it to town and back roughly 5 times…approximately…but not accurately”. And it was SO bad it wouldn’t pass inspection at the DMV so I had to rent a car to take my driver’s test.
My brother inherited the car after me and he had the luxury of ordering food at McDonalds through the moon roof as the electronic window’s had since stopped functioning.
As much as I despised that car while it was mine, I find the memories of it endearing. Like a right of passage. Too many kids nowadays are driving new cars their parents bought for them. How will they ever know how to drive a rear wheel drive boat on a sheet of ice up a hill? And how will they ever be humbled by driving up to school in the loudest and ugliest car possible? And how will they ever appreciate a car that doesn’t give you tetanus just by looking in its direction? If I knew then what I know now, I’d have been proud to drive that car.
Hey Mom, did you know I could comfortably fit TEN friends in that car NOT including the trunk?? (insert evil snicker here)

Biorhythms: Truth or Fiction?

As you know from my previous blog, I’ve been in kind of a slump. After reading about my rut, someone suggested I check my “biorhythms”. A concept I had never heard before and found quite amusing. A biorhythm is the belief that your physical, emotional and intellectual energy levels move in cycles. Physical cycles every 23 days, emotional every 28 and intellectual every 33 days. Twenty-eight, eh? Sounds an awful lot like PMS to me…I KNEW men had this too!
Fortunately, there are many free biorhythm charts on the internet and I ran maybe 5 of them. Oddly, they all gave the exact same results! According to my chart, in three days I should officially tank to “bat crap crazy” and am not expected to return to “normal” again until October 12th! My family and co-workers just ran for the hills. My physical energy takes a freefall first, then emotional followed by intellectual. Today, so my chart says, my general well-being is said to be “momentarily mediocre” and is on the fast track to “holy crap watch out”. My energy is gone, I’m emotionally unsettled and intellectually, I’m irresolute. Would you look at that?! All true! At first, I really thought this was all rubbish because saying everyone is on the same 23-28-33 day cycle is a little like saying everyone likes to work out. Isn’t everyone different? But then I read that when your physical biorhythm is down, you’re more susceptible to virus or infection. Well guess what?! I woke up with a sore throat and I feel remotely like that ball of phlegm and hair my cat yacks up. And I suppose it makes some sense that our energies ebb and flow and maybe I never really noticed it until I had to be creative every day. My husband ran some reports too and happens to be on the top of his game for the next week and laughed at me proving men never know when to shut up.
When I set out with the biorhythm concept, I really thought it was nonsense, but now I’m thinking there might just be something to this! I’m going to pay closer attention from now on and when all three energies peak, I’m playing Bingo!!

Creativity Where Art Thou?

Edgar Allen Poe said “those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” I am a daydreamer and I do a lot of my creative thinking in the shower. Someone told me water is a conductor to the creative realm. Whether that’s true or not I have no idea, but Albert Einstein thought that creativity was more important than knowledge. Since there’s no conductor to the knowledge realm (outside of books, colleges, lectures, seminars, conferences, universities, trade schools, actual people, the internet and various other resources), I guess I’ll have to stick to creativity.
However, the gerbil inside my head isn’t churning the wheel at full capacity right now and I’m finding myself deficient in ideas. Ideas for everything. What to cook for dinner, stories, art, photographs…my thoughts and ideas are kind of dormant right now. A rut, if you will. But, I’ve learned when in doubt…research. I decided to let the internet solve all my problems and when I searched for “creativity” I happened upon a list. Ten Steps for Boosting Creativity!
Listen to Bach. Worth a shot…I think I have some old classical CD’s from when my son was a baby and I was trying to plug him full of intelligence and class against his will.
Brainstorm. My brainstorming session went a little something like this: Me: “Hey family, help me think of something to write about!” Family: “We don’t know”. Gee, thanks.
Carry a notebook and jot down ideas as they come to you. So far the only thing I have written down is: “how are Star Trek phasers like tazers?” Actually, don’t be surprised if my next blog is an exposé on this very topic.
Randomly select a word from the dictionary. Ironically, the word was “limited”. Back to the drawing board.
Define your problem. Well, how much time do we have? I’m tired, I’m on a diet so I’m HUNGRY, I’m stressed, it isn’t Friday yet and my favorite show wasn’t on this week so I’m cranky. Hmmm, that didn’t work.
Go for a walk. Oh do I HAVE to?????
Don’t watch TV. What? But… Really? Okay fine.
Don’t do drugs. Drugs? Like I’d care about any of this if I was on drugs! This was a waste of a step.
Read. Read what? I’m reading about Nazi’s right now…nothing funny about that. Last funny book I read was Diet Girl and I already wrote about dieting and exercise. Rats.
Exercise your brain. Example, argue. Hey!!!!!!!! THIS one I like!!!!!!!!! Someone warn my husband he might be better off not coming home from work.
Armed with 10 useless suggestions I’m going to go forth and create. Wish me luck. Gerbil, full speed ahead!

Alien Abduction...Now Accepting Applications

Today my site counter came back and my readership demographics showed my blog is now global! To all you Brazilians who read my blog yesterday, welcome! And feel free to leave me a comment next time!
In an unrelated development, my Google homepage changed it’s logo to crop circles with a UFO over the “O”. I’m sure this has something to do with marketing, but as soon as I saw it this morning I had to check the news to be sure there wasn’t an alien invasion while I slept. This is one of my worst nightmares and yet I can’t help but watch every movie with alien characters. It’s a fascinating concept…being watched & studied by advanced beings from another world.
If this blog should happen to be transmitted into space and an alien happens to read it, I have some thoughts I’d like to share.
The “probing” we keep hearing about. Even we lowly humans have MRI machines and CAT Scanners, so is anal probing really necessary? I would like to think if you have a star ship that travels light years, you would have a scanner that would make my probing less invasive and uncomfortable.
The fact that people remember this probing and report back. Again, hasn’t your cutting-edge society created some sort of memory obliterator? You know…eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Why are we always missing time when you return us? If you must study us…could you at least send us back thinking we were visiting an Italian vineyard or something?
The removal and replacement of body parts. I’ve heard abductees report that their arm was sawed off and reattached. Could I trade that procedure in for a tummy tuck and some lipo?
Why are people always taken from a desolate location? You’ve scared me into only driving during the day, in a well populated area and when I’m camping I want to bungee myself to something permanently attached to the ground. Fire in the Sky…we’re on to you!
Taking us against our will. Can you get George Clooney to escort us to your ship? We’d follow him anywhere.
And why are all your victims always guys named “Bubba” in cut off flannel shirts? So much for a cross-section of data from around the globe.
But, if you’re willing, I would like confront my fear and volunteer for some probage…I’ll be the one holding the sign “will work for plastic surgery”.

Becoming a Recluse…For Society’s Sake

On Saturday I went out with some friends and family to dance and drink and be merry. While I'm fairly certain I didn't act too uncivilized, it made me think of this story I wrote a couple years ago...

I am a work at home mom with 2 kids and a full-time job. My life is pretty humdrum and I’m a straight-laced kind of chick. But once in a blue moon, I go out. The night starts out a little something like this: “No, I do not want to go dancing. I suck at it and you can’t make me.” After drink number 2, my mind is not so dead set against the idea, “I don’t know, do we have to? Maybe later. Can’t we just chat and have a couple more drinks?” After drink number 4, I’m leading the pack ready to party, “Let’s dance!!!” I vaguely remember doing “The Humpty Dance” one night in my early 20’s…a night where I also lost a shoe never to be seen again. I usually avoid going out like the plague because of the inescapable events that are sure to occur at some point during the night. For some inexplicable reason I believe myself to be brilliant after cocktail number 3 and often find myself debating topics in which I’m not even that interested in with fellow patrons of the establishment. I’m also known to accost random passersby’s declaring them “my new bff”. At any given time, I will insult someone or embarrass myself or a member of my gang...like forcing my friend to do the “running man” in the bar with me. At the beginning of the night I nominate someone (usually the unsuspecting designated driver) to “watch my back and make sure I don’t make an ass of myself” and then yell “what are you my mother?” when said designated driver prevents me from imbibing drink number 7. I am also annoyed when any member of my party is not equally or more intoxicated than myself thus forcing a round of shots. FYI, Drambuie is not my friend.
Since the morning after one of these outings usually consists of apology emails, phone calls or text messages, I have decided to shorten the process and created a form letter to be filled in quickly and dropped in the mail. I’ll be printing off roughly a ream of these and am taking orders if you need any.

Dear __________________________,
(victims name)

I, _________________________, am sorry for
(your name)

Check all that apply

_ Embarrassing you at a public location or function.
_ Insulting you or one or more of your friends/family.
_ Getting hammered and __________________________________.
_ Other ____________________________________________.
(please explain)

Please do not (check all that apply)

_ Dump me.
_ Avoid me like the plague.
_ Put a hit out on me.
_ Get a restraining order.

Sincerely,

___________________________________
(your name)

Slept On It Wrong?

Today’s blog was inspired by the comment my mom left on yesterday’s blog. Scared yet, Mom?
My mom is one of those people who is cool, calm and collected under pressure and I’ve actually never seen her freak out over miniscule things before. She’s the person you go to when you need advice or a solution to a problem. I, on the other hand, misplace my favorite stretchy pants and I’m yelling “why hath thou forsaken me?” at the heavens. My mother always knew how to ­­­­take you down a notch when you were being absurd. When we were kids it didn’t matter what hurt, the cause was always “you slept on it wrong” and the cure was always “put some Bag Balm on it”. For those of you city kids, Bag Balm is used on cow udders. Yah, real handy. I used to wonder if I had come in with a severed appendage if her antidote would still have been “rub some bag balm on it”. The funny thing was, my Grandma had a similar cure-all only hers was this stuff she called “salve” and it was black and sticky and smelled horrendous. She lived to 98 years old so maybe that “salve” was some top-secret fountain of youth.
Though I soon caught on that this was my mom’s way of ignoring it. Which, if you think about it, is brilliant. Do you feed into your kid’s paranoia and create a hypochondriac or do you find a loving way to tell them to shut up because they’re talking nonsense? And subconsciously, I knew that when she said “you just slept on it wrong” that nothing must be wrong because if it was, my mom would know and would fix it! So it was comforting….in a highly annoying sort of way. But now that I’m a mom I totally get it! And, to my horror, I realized I do the same thing to my kids! When they’re moaning about something insignificant I don’t coddle them…I tell them to “walk it off”. They know that random movement of the legs isn’t going to cure their paper cut, but it forces them to put the situation in check. “Is my paper cut bad enough to demand more attention? Or can I solve this myself and move on with life?” The only difference is that when my kids have some body anomaly I tell them to “walk it off” and then secretly I run to WebMD and double-check to make sure something isn’t horribly wrong. My mom is more knowledgeable about medical stuff than anyone I know…so it makes me wonder if she was covertly running to a Dr. Spock manual checking to make sure we weren’t seriously ill.
My mom successfully raised two kids on a very limited income and somehow my brother and I turned out just fine (insert nervous tick here) so she knew what she was doing. I tease my mom and tell her my tombstone is going to say “Gee Mom, I guess I must have slept on it wrong”. That way I can make people go “huh?” even from the afterlife. But thank you, Mom, for teaching me (or at least trying to teach me) not to sweat the small stuff. Now…I have a headache…where’s my Bag Balm?

Off My Game...I'm Allergic To Fitness

For those of you following my lowly writing career, I’m being published! Okay, don’t get too excited. It’s volunteer for some locals. But still. Gotta start somewhere, right? AND….I get to write more for them. Yay!
For those of you following my new weight loss endeavor, I can’t describe the pain I’m in right now. I manned up and made it there today and watched the news on the recumbent bike for 30 minutes and bailed. Thanks for the Aleve, Kate!
So I think the pain in my hamstring has sucked the funny right out of me today because I can’t think of anything to write about. Requests anyone? So, I’ll take this opportunity to recommend a movie I saw recently. It’s called Taking Chance and it was filmed right here in Montana. It has Kevin Bacon in it, which normally sends me running, but in this he did a great job. It’s the true story about a soldier escorting a fallen comrade to his home. The honor they show the dead is extraordinary. It’s on DVD right now and it’ll rip your guts right out.
And while I’m at it…read Norah Vincent’s “Voluntary Madness”. She researches different mental health facilities across the country by checking herself in. It’s so good I read the whole thing in 3 days. It’s funny, sad, appalling and for anyone who’s ever dealt with depression, it’s cathartic.
And because I think this quote is funny:
“I have enough money to last me the rest of my life, unless I buy something.” ~ Jackie Mason

Gym: Day One

Today was my first day back in the gym. I haven’t stepped foot in a gym since the mid-90’s. It’s amazing how the machines have changed and how “gyms” have become “health clubs” and aren’t so industrial and cold. I had my tour last week and “Jenny” was lovely, laughed at my jokes and steered me clear of anything that might set me in a panicked sprint for my car. Everything looked so interesting…in a medieval sort of way. Never-ending stairs, video game-esque bikes, treadmills with TVs in them. I was actually a little excited to get started. But that was last week.
I met my workout buddy, Kate, at the gym during our lunch hours today and as soon as she asked if we were going to the gym this morning I instantly started formulating excuses to get out of it. She didn’t fall for any of it. We started a circuit training routine and I realized every muscle in my body had atrophied and when no one was looking, I decreased the amount of resistance to a pathetic 2nd grader level, but one that wouldn’t make me grunt the whole time. We then set out for Mission: 10 minutes on the Elliptical. I promptly weaseled out after 3 minutes and we got two of those recumbent bikes where you can set a course and watch “scenery” on the screen. I managed to wheeze my way through a mile of that and waddled home to enjoy the last few gas station “Combos” I stashed before the big diet of ’09. My office is upstairs and even though I had Advil-ed up before working out, I still had to army crawl up the small flight of stairs to my office. I’ve been sitting here ever since drinking my Diet Pepsi through a straw unable to lift the can wishing I had on a pair of Depends.
I’m meeting Kate again tomorrow and then Thursday is my big day with the personal trainer. At this point, “10 day money back guarantee” is running through my head like the crawl on CNN. Everyone assures me this is going to get easier and my svelte size 4 future-self is the only thing keeping me going. I’m having a memorial for noodles tonight. Goodbye spaghetti. Hello grilled chicken and steamed veggies.

Ode to a Brother

My little brother just bought his very first house. What you are about to read are the top 5 funny and embarrassing stories I could think of about him. He’ll see this and call me to complain and it’s the only way I’ll know he’s actually reading my blog. See…I’m always thinkin’.
5. When he moved away from home to live in Las Vegas, I made an old photo into a postcard and sent it through the mail. It was taken the morning after a party and he was severely hung-over and had fierce “troll hair”. It was perfect. It took 3 weeks to get there and when he finally called to complain we figured it must have been on the bulletin board in every post office from Montana to Nevada.
4. One Christmas my brother was sent on a mission to bring our grandma to our parent’s house for Christmas dinner. While he was away I removed all the tree ornaments and replaced them with my brother’s underwear. I actually have his reaction on film and it’s pee your pants funny. I also once hung his underwear from string all over the bathroom. When he went in there he only saw one pair and grabbed it traipsing off to his room with a scowl. When he came back and turned on the light, he noticed there were 20 more dangling from the ceiling.
3. My brother was with me at Wal-Mart one day and he found this decapitated hairless doll head and bought it. It was the only thing he bought and it was 10 cents. The cashier thought he was a serial killer. We eventually glued a cigarette into its mouth and used it as a dash ornament, but only after we grew tired of sticking it on the end of a window scraper and frightening unsuspecting drivers downtown. It was still in his truck when my mom had to take the realtor for a tour of the farm and when she opened the door it fell out. There’s just no explaining that to someone.
2. I love to throw my brother birthday parties. He dreads this day because there’s just no telling what special treat I’ve concocted. Here are some of the most famous birthdays: hot pink Power Puff Girl party, cake with my brother’s giant head on a tiny Mighty Mouse body and he had to wear a cape the whole party, I wrapped all his presents in Tampax boxes and maxi pad wrappers and made condom decorative bows, I got him nothing but useless crap and had embarrassing quotes pasted to all of them, I hand made him a boob cake and all his gifts were boob novelty items, I took his picture wearing a wok on his head and had a bakery make it into a cake and put it in the case a day in advance so everyone could see it, and for the mother of all redemption….I took him to see strippers.
1. We went on a floating trip down the Madison River with some friends one summer. My friend’s parents were visiting and they came with us. We took a pit stop to “empty the coin purse (that’s for you, Kate)” and we all dispersed through the woods to find a comfy spot to squat. Well we met back up at the raft and my brother is white as a sheet and mumbling incoherently and my friend’s dad is laughing hysterically. We turned to brother and asked what happened and in his shocked state sputtered something like “Nothing! I don’t know!” Turns out, as he was walking through the woods looking for a nice tree to lean on he saw my friend’s mother’s bare naked butt. He’s probably tried to repress that memory so I’m happy to help refresh any lost data.
I kid my brother, but in reality he means the world to me and I miss him every day. Brother, remember that one time we set out on a mission for cheap food somewhere close and somehow we wound up 30 miles away eating steak and shrimp? In all honesty, there are a million stories I could have told you because my brother is one of my very best friends and we’ve been through a lot. So…congratulations, my dear brother. Have fun mowing your new lawn! I wish I had “frankenmower” to give you so we could spread the joy to your new neighbors.
Oh and don’t put any tic tacs up your nose (wink). Love you, bro

Morality...Or Lack Thereof

So I’m taking requests for story ideas and yesterday an expansion story of the seven deadly sins I commit frequently was suggested. I spent yesterday writing a political article for a local publication and I didn’t have any funny left to post here, but today I’ve written you a little tale of morality….or lack of morality?
Lust: I hope to God he isn’t reading this, but I have a neighbor who is reaaaally good looking. I can’t even remember his name because in my house he goes by one name and one name only…”Hot Neighbor”. Well, this one day he happened to be outside in the sun without his shirt. HOT DOG! So my mother, my mother-in-law, two of my sister-in-laws and I ran to the sliding glass door to “lust” after him and he looked up and saw us there. Before my sense kicked, everyone scattered like roaches and I was left standing there! All I could think to do is mouth a sheepish “hi!” and wave meekly at him. Apparently that was a “save yourself” moment…THANKS A LOT LADIES!!!!!!
Gluttony: This one is easy. I love to cook and even more I love to eat. I have a hundred gluttony stories, but I think the one I like to commit over and over again is all you can eat crab night at Louie’s. To participate in this event (and anyone who’s been with me knows it IS an event) you have to do some prep. Don’t eat all day except small snacks to prevent a hypoglycemic coma, wear something you can ruin with butter and toss out whatever sides come with the meal. You don’t need to waste stomach space with mashed potatoes. Pace yourself and eat slowly, but quickly enough so you’re never eating cold crab. Don’t let them try to cut you off…you’re not done until you burp and throw up in your mouth. And don’t let your husband pansy out on you either. Man up!!!!
Greed: Just recently we visited a very large candy store and we each picked out whatever assorted goodies we liked. When the chocolate was nearing the end my husband, the sucker, gave me his last square of “honeycomb” with the conditions I would “save him a corner”. I ate the whole thing. Sorry, dude.
Wrath: We don’t have cable or satellite and ever since digital TV came about, we can barely pick up a signal with our old rabbit ear antenna. We saw a show on the only channel we can pick up teaching you how to build your own digital antenna. My husband said he would build it and even after days and days of continual nagging, he didn’t get it done. So one night during an episode of Hell’s Kitchen that TV pixelated for the last time and out of pure rage I smashed those rabbit ears. I told hubby it “just broke”, batted my eyes and he had no other option but to build my new antenna. There should be an 8th sin for lying like a dog. Antenna works great by the way so maybe the end justified the means??
Envy: Easy. I am envious of “Hot Neighbor’s” wife. And people who are size 4. I can’t help it.
Pride: Oddly, I read this is considered the most serious of all seven sins. The fact that I had to really think about this one might bode well for me. I am a self-deprecating person by nature especially when it comes to my looks, talent and intelligence. But when it comes to my kids….my kids are better than yoooour kids. But I think every mommy commits this sin every time they see someone else’s kid picking their nose in public.
While researching the Seven Deadly Sins, also known as Cardinal Sins, I ran across a quiz “Seven Sins. Which one will send you to hell?” And I took it merely for research. It turns out Sloth is my weakness, closely followed by Wrath. So…
Sloth: Sloth is defined as an avoidance of physical or spiritual work. Yep! That’d be me! I work in front of a computer all day and then I write in front of a computer and then I stand at my counter and cook and then I do a number of different things in the evening none of which consist of any sort of hard physical activity before crawling into bed to watch repeats of Sex & The City that I’ve seen 900 times. I figured out of all my sins, I could try and fix just one. So…just today…I joined a gym! Really! I swear! Hopefully I’ll have the strength to type after my first visit with the personal trainer, Helga.

Reborn Into Someone Who Likes Exercise? Yes, Please!

Have you heard people talk about certain smells coming out of nowhere reminding them of a person who has passed over? For example, I smell roses out of the ether and I imagine it’s my Grandmother. If this phenomenon exists and I’m not just imagining it, when my time comes and you smell garlic…that’s totally me. I love to cook. This all brings me to the topic of afterlife.
I had a conversation with my sister-in-law today about reincarnation and I was telling her that my grandma refused to believe in reincarnation because she was certain she’d come back as someone’s maid. Reincarnation doesn’t bother me as much as the idea of “hell”. If hell exists, I believe it will vary according to person. For example, if I earn a first class ticket straight to hell I am sure my hell will be complete with Celine Dion music videos on an eternal loop. I can’t think of anything worse and when I picture that scenario, I want to run out and do volunteer work to pay off some of the karmic debt I’ve accrued. Out of the seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride I figure I’ve committed…oh about seven of them. Gluttony and sloth starts about 5:30 appearing nightly.
Of course, I don’t really believe overeating and excessive TV watching is going to procure my place in a Canadian pop star torture chamber so it can’t hurt to just imagine what heaven would be like. My version comes complete with free shoes, jeans that always fit and chocolate that doesn’t make my undies tighter. But if the hereafter isn’t an infinite expanse of time spent in either hell or heaven and reincarnation does exist, I hope I get to come back as a professional beer taster!

Online Shopping Is God's Gift To Me

This is my fourth entry and I have to say…the support from all of you via facebook and email has been great and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you guys.
So I guess I should explain the blog title at this point. I am mildly agoraphobic. Meaning, I don’t venture out of my house very often and I can sometimes be a menace to society. I work from home, I buy groceries once a month, I rarely travel and my vehicles last FOREVER. At this point, I am one step away from pulling a Grizzly Adams and fleeing to the hills. If it weren’t for cold beer on tap, I might never leave my house.
The news this morning mentioned social people are less likely to get dementia. They also said people who run at least 5 hours per week live longer. I’m a goner.
According to Wikipedia, a recluse is someone in isolation who hides away from the attention of the public. Possible reasons for seclusion include:
Celebrities seeking to escape the attentions of his or her fans. Well…that ain’t it.
A misanthrope (misanthropy is a general dislike, distrust, contempt, or hatred of the human species) may be unable to tolerate human society. Getting there….but not quite.
A survivalist may be practicing self-sufficiency. Live without my computer? Nope. Wrong again.
A criminal might hide away from people to avoid detection by police. Jury’s still out on this one.
So that leaves psychological reasons. Okay, fair enough. But aren’t the most interesting people you know a little…well…let’s go with quirky?
Happy Friday!

First Day Of School

Today was the first day of school. My son went off to 1st grade and my daughter is a high schooler. I officially made it through summer break. So to honor this occasion, I am attaching a story I wrote in June. To all you parents out there celebrating this day with me today…congratulations!
All joking aside though, it’s an odd feeling seeing your babies traipse off to the bus stop knowing just yesterday they were teeny tiny and saying “momma” for the first time. It was lonely after they left and the house was all mine (plus one dog & cat) so thank you to Kate for taking me out to lunch and Laura and my Mommy for sending me the sweetest emails this morning.

Summer Break

Day 1
Today is the first day of my kid’s summer break and day one of Operation Prozac. I only had to scream at them twice which is far fewer than anticipated. I even had them trained as lackeys by 11am which entailed lunch brought up to my office and cold beverages….and Advil after the two screaming episodes. Even though the day went better than expected, I was still a little delirious by mid-afternoon. I had an appointment the next town over which normally would have taken me 30 minutes, but I left an hour early just to escape.

Day 2
I made it all the way to noon without having to shout “knock it off!!!!!!!!!” As much as I think playing Nintendo all day is detrimental to brain health, I’m paralyzed with fear and unable to restrict the thing. They’re doing chores today…raking the yard and picking up the house. Should keep ‘em quiet for a little while. I’m starting to realize building my home office in the only room without a door was probably not the smartest idea. Wonder how may decibels of rock music it would take to drown out the fighting?
It’s Friday today…salvation.

Day 3
It’s Monday. I discovered the trick to a couple painless hours of tranquility. I moved their bedtimes 2 hours later! It’s perfect because I get up early and they sleep in therefore giving me a few productive moments to work in quiet peace. They’re starting to learn not to interrupt me every 3 minutes with their presence in my office, but the little geniuses conspired and now they text me because I can’t yell as loud via text message.

Day 4
The weather has just been wretched…an overall dreariness. The kids go play outside for what feels to me like 3 minutes, but is probably realistically closer to 30 minutes. Then they come back in complaining that “it’s cold”. I finally banished them from video games and they have been exiled downstairs to play board games, read or play. Every few minutes one of them shouts at the other one and when I get down there, both of them have an angelic presence about them and when I ask “What is going on here?” the only response they’re willing to offer up is “we’re not doing anything” as if to make me believe I imagined all the yelling.

Day 5
Today I have officially made it a week and I am still intact and haven’t needed intravenous Tequila as of yet. Maybe the summer won’t be as bad as I expected and the Gods are smiling on me. I might just make it unscathed after all! I would like to give my own mother a little shout out and thank her for not giving my brother and me up for adoption all those summers she had to stay home with us.
Eventually the summer recreation programs I have them signed up for start and sweet peace and quiet is MINE!
Well…I have to go rescue a small boy from a nail polish wielding teenager.

Happy Birthday Telescope

According to my Google homepage, which I visit 512 times per day, it is the 400th anniversary of Galileo Galilei’s telescope today. I remember writing a school report on Galileo, who was a very fascinating, brilliant and might I say ballsy human being. It makes me wonder, if he had been frozen moments before death and thawed out in our 21st century what he would think of modern technology? He was tried and convicted of heresy and spent the last few years of his life under house arrest. Hmmm, what would the ankle monitor of the 17th century look like? Cat collar with a bell on it? One hundred and fifty pound ball and chain? Strategically positioned sharp shooter (bow & arrow that is)? Anyways, I can imagine online shopping would have made his arrest more convenient. Take-out Chinese maybe? And what about a Nintendo Wii to pass the time? (I just realized I live like someone on house arrest.)
The last four years of his life he was completely blind so he couldn’t even read a book! Braille wasn’t invented until the 1800’s…so what did he do? No voice recognition computers, no TV to listen to, not even a radio! My hat is off to you, Galileo and I will never complain about boredom again.
To honor Galileo’s contributions to modern science and technology I would like to pay homage to a few of my favorite modern day goodies:

The Internet: I never have to peruse through an encyclopedia again. And who needs a dictionary?!
Email/Facebook/Text Messaging/Instant Messaging: Look! Four ways to blow someone off (or stalk someone)!
TV: Two words…Grey’s Anatomy
Cell Phone: How is it that I lived 27 years without a cell phone, but now that I have one I have an aneurysm if I mistakenly leave it at home?
Contact Lenses: Without them I just use two of Galileo’s telescopes tied together with rope.
Zingers: It has an indefinite shelf life and as I was recently told (thanks Shaun) it is an all-in-one life saving tool. Throw away your first aid kits, folks. Starvation…eat the Zinger. Flesh wound…the frosting peels off and doubles as a bandage. Can’t stop the bleeding of a gunshot wound…jam a zinger in there. It acts as a coagulator*. I can’t think of anything witty for this one, but you can probably do something with the plastic wrapper too.
*Not really

Some things I could do without:
Treadmills: Great! Now I can’t even use crappy weather as an excuse.
Wii Fit: It made my Wii character pudgy and alerts the neighbors when I gain a pound. I don’t need that kind of pressure.
Tofu: I’m 99% sure that stuff is made from substances recovered at Roswell.
Steven Seagal: He’s a really bad actor.

So Mr. Galilei…wherever you are…I hope the beer is cold, the food is bountiful and the Zingers have no carbs.

Maiden Voyage

I went to the movie Julie & Julia the other day. After years of hearing stories about being discovered through a blog, I think I finally believe it can actually happen. However, part of me still thinks no one besides my loyal friends and family will read this. But then I only ever wrote to make those people laugh so even if this blog is never successful in my dream of independent wealth, it's still a success if it brings a chuckle to your day. I wanted to thank you all for all of your support the past two years. You've laughed at my stories, demanded I submit them and rebuilt my confidence when I was rejected. Thank you, Mom, for not judging me when you read my stories and realized you birthed a complete freak. My soul sisters Kasey, Cricket and Kate who make me feel loved and less insecure every day. My mother-in-law, Faye who's read every story...and still loves me. The dearest friends a gal could ask for Laura, Lynn and Kevin who've encouraged me from the moment I started writing. My brother who calls me after every story to laugh and say something brilliant that makes me feel less moronic. My boss and coworkers who get to read my random gibberish on a daily basis and still laugh at my sleep deprived nonsense. And mostly my kids and husband who glue me back together like Humpty Dumpty when I'm sprawled out on the floor in my jammies weeping and feeling like a catastrophic failure. I've realized it is a success just to have people like you in my life. I’m lucky to have you and I adore you! So, for the maiden voyage I've decided not to write a new story, but to attach the first story I wrote for you all. It was written 2 years ago this month.
....And instead of smashing the champagne on the bow...I'll drink it for you instead.

Instilling Fear Into Your Children
My son’s first day of preschool….brought to you by the letter B and the number 1.
After a summer filled with anticipation (mostly on my part), the big day finally came. First day of preschool. We scoured the shelves to find the perfect backpack deciding on a small race car one. Big enough to fit a sack lunch, but small enough not to overpower my small child. Once a quick round of “first day of school” photos were taken, we set off for school. This kid is Mr. Public Relations so he couldn’t have been more excited to meet new friends. I, on the other hand, was just happy to have a few hours to work peacefully in my home office.
Upon pick-up I got to hear all about his day from the teacher. Things went really well except for the fact that he didn’t want to do his “schoolwork” which included tracing the letter B, the number 1, coloring a school bus, etc. So “Mrs. B” says to him, “I guess we’re going to have to tell your mom that you didn’t want to do your work” and my son says, “uhhhh…ok I would really like to get that done now” and starts right in on tracing those letters and what not. A sure sign that he was listening to the short 45 second “this is how you’re going to live to see another day” speech I gave him before I dropped him off that morning. It went a little something like this, “you’re going to do everything Mrs. B tells you even if you don’t want to, you’re going to say please and thank you, you’re going to be nice to all the kids, you’re going to shut your pie-hole and listen and when I come to pick you up you’re not going to throw a fit about leaving as if I’m threatening to throw you into a live volcano. If you do not follow these rules you will cease to attend preschool and you will watch your new backpack burn and melt into a smoldering pile of molten nylon in the backyard”. It was nice to hear my ultimatums worked and the teacher was able to get him to follow instructions with small threats about contacting me.
It is quiet around the house without him home though. My husband threatened to call me every 5 minutes to interrupt me like my son does. But decided against the idea after I told him he would watch his computer burn and melt into a smoldering pile of molten plastic in the backyard.