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.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
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.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
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)
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)
Monday, September 21, 2009
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!!
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!!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
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”.
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”.
Monday, September 14, 2009
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)
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)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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?
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?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
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
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
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
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.
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.
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