I think I am more honest than the other commenters. Or maybe that's just ME! :)
The One-Minute Writer: Today's Writing Prompt: Selfish
Random attempts at humor writing by a lefty.
11/06/2010
And How's Your Head?
Today we went to Taco Bell for a quick lunch. I hate to admit it, but it's true; I don't always eat organic vegan meals. So there I was, standing behind a blonde woman in a fleece vest, henley shirt, and jeans, waiting to order Mexican-style-ish food. Suddenly, the Casual Thursday woman sees an employee approaching from the "kitchen" or "assembly line" and loudly exclaims to her,
"I tried it! It was WONDERFUL! So good, I wish I had ordered it before!"
She was about to order food, she was talking about food she had recently tried, and she was remembering food she wished she had ordered differently. And she was at Taco Bell. And she didn't weight 350 pounds. Something was up.
This woman continued to rave on about the deliciousness of "it" to the girl from the assembly line while the employee behind the register waited patiently. She finally realized that there were people in line behind her and she whips around and shouts generally in the direction of my face,
"We are talking about their extra-large chalupa! It's SO good, you should order it!"
And then she turns back and quickly places her to go order and steps aside.
I felt bad about stepping up and ordering something completely different from her recommendation, but I can't eat beef. And I really can't eat beef and cheese. And then she said it...
The loud, oddly not obese, Taco Bell enthusiast says to her friend,
"I wonder if you can get whiplash from falling and hitting your head, because my neck is killing me!"
I am glad her order was "to go" because I had to hold my breath until they left.
----------------------------------------------------------
BWAHH-HA-HA-HAAAAAAAA!!!!! That explains it!
"I tried it! It was WONDERFUL! So good, I wish I had ordered it before!"
She was about to order food, she was talking about food she had recently tried, and she was remembering food she wished she had ordered differently. And she was at Taco Bell. And she didn't weight 350 pounds. Something was up.
This woman continued to rave on about the deliciousness of "it" to the girl from the assembly line while the employee behind the register waited patiently. She finally realized that there were people in line behind her and she whips around and shouts generally in the direction of my face,
"We are talking about their extra-large chalupa! It's SO good, you should order it!"
And then she turns back and quickly places her to go order and steps aside.
I felt bad about stepping up and ordering something completely different from her recommendation, but I can't eat beef. And I really can't eat beef and cheese. And then she said it...
The loud, oddly not obese, Taco Bell enthusiast says to her friend,
"I wonder if you can get whiplash from falling and hitting your head, because my neck is killing me!"
I am glad her order was "to go" because I had to hold my breath until they left.
----------------------------------------------------------
BWAHH-HA-HA-HAAAAAAAA!!!!! That explains it!
11/04/2010
Reading, writing, and 'makesmesick
After searching for and reading many blogs by writers, aspring writers, humorists, aspiring humorists, and wiseacres who need a better outlet; I have come to one conclusion -
I suck!
-like a weasel (for the "clean" freaks out there)
----------------------------------------------------------------
See? I forgot eggs! I suck - eggs like a weasel!
I suck!
-like a weasel (for the "clean" freaks out there)
----------------------------------------------------------------
See? I forgot eggs! I suck - eggs like a weasel!
11/01/2010
Excuse Me, I Stink!
Why do Southerners say "excuse me" so often? If you pass by someone at five feet, there is no need to say "excuse me" unless you just emitted some sort of invisible cloud. Every small request does not have to be prefaced by "excuse me" as if you were interrupting and causing a commotion. Let's look at the common questions which, in The South are too often prefaced by "excuse me".
First with the pet phrase:
"Excuse me. Do you have the time?"
"Excuse me. Do ya'll carry the new Tide with colorsafe?"
"Excuse me. I think you are standing on my foot."
Now without:
"Do you have the time?"
"Do ya'll carry the new Tide?"
"OWWWW!!!"
See? Much better and more efficient. Besides, "excuse me" seems to mean that you need to be given an excuse for some type of inappropriate behavior. What's inappropriate and why would someone ask a stranger for an excuse immediately after behaving inappropriately? That makes me think that when someone passes by and says, "excuse me" that I should offer an excuse for them; such as, "Maybe you had the broccoli at lunch and it doesn't agree with you."
Some unnecessarily polite Grammar Snob has informed me (and others) that we should be saying "pardon me" instead; but "pardon" is forgiveness for a crime. Surely, walking past someone on the grocery aisle isn't a crime! On the other hand, it should be a crime to behave as if you are too good to offer even a simple "excuse me" when you actually need to pass through or interfere in some way. There are those people at the grocery store, too - and in the library stacks and in museums... - breathing down your neck, but not saying a word. They come up behind and just stand there, waiting for their presence to be detected by the heavy breathing.
Come on! I'm not telepathic and sometimes I need to stop and consider a purchase, or snatch a knot in a child, or greet a friend. So why don't you say something like,
"Coming through here!"
"Would you mind stepping aside?"
or even, "Excuse me!
Don't just stand there and huff. And please, if you aren't too wide to fit past, go ahead and pass! You don't need the extra five feet of clearance - unless, like I said, you need to an excuse for your fumes.
First with the pet phrase:
"Excuse me. Do you have the time?"
"Excuse me. Do ya'll carry the new Tide with colorsafe?"
"Excuse me. I think you are standing on my foot."
Now without:
"Do you have the time?"
"Do ya'll carry the new Tide?"
"OWWWW!!!"
See? Much better and more efficient. Besides, "excuse me" seems to mean that you need to be given an excuse for some type of inappropriate behavior. What's inappropriate and why would someone ask a stranger for an excuse immediately after behaving inappropriately? That makes me think that when someone passes by and says, "excuse me" that I should offer an excuse for them; such as, "Maybe you had the broccoli at lunch and it doesn't agree with you."
Some unnecessarily polite Grammar Snob has informed me (and others) that we should be saying "pardon me" instead; but "pardon" is forgiveness for a crime. Surely, walking past someone on the grocery aisle isn't a crime! On the other hand, it should be a crime to behave as if you are too good to offer even a simple "excuse me" when you actually need to pass through or interfere in some way. There are those people at the grocery store, too - and in the library stacks and in museums... - breathing down your neck, but not saying a word. They come up behind and just stand there, waiting for their presence to be detected by the heavy breathing.
Come on! I'm not telepathic and sometimes I need to stop and consider a purchase, or snatch a knot in a child, or greet a friend. So why don't you say something like,
"Coming through here!"
"Would you mind stepping aside?"
or even, "Excuse me!
Don't just stand there and huff. And please, if you aren't too wide to fit past, go ahead and pass! You don't need the extra five feet of clearance - unless, like I said, you need to an excuse for your fumes.
10/24/2010
It's easy to get dirty - hard to stay clean
Less than two weeks ago I graduated from Jeff Justice's Comedy Workshoppe and performed my first stand up routine at The Punchline comedy club. There was a sold out crowd of friends and relatives of the 17 people "graduating" that night. We each got about 5 minutes to do our new thing on stage in the hot lights. It was phenomenal fun to be in front of a supportive audience and to make them laugh. It even sounded like real laughter. I thought I was funny for a few minutes there; but I did check behind me to see if there was somebody back there making faces or pulling his pants down.
Then I entered a comedy contest at another club out of town. Now, I want to point out that the info they sent about the contest said, "The more clever and clean you are, the more likely you are to advance."
I think this was a joke from the club owner. I was gullible enough to believe it; either that, or my definition of clean is a h*ll of a lot squeakier than anyone else's. I went in with just under seven minutes of well rehearsed comedy - or "jokes" as I call them.
After the first contestant, I knew I could be in trouble. By the time the fourth came off and I was next, I was practically in a panic. I realized that after hearing four people doing sex and masturbation jokes, and using the "f word" freely - the audience was going to be numb to my "clean" jokes. And I guess I was right. I say "guess" because the audience barely got a chance to decide. I know I sound like sour grapes, but I can't help but wonder if the crowd would have warmed up to me a bit if I had been allowed to get through my set; but I wasn't.
There were three so-called celebrity judges who were mainly there to give critiques to each contestant after each performance. One of the judges had a high hat cymbal to use as a gong. He gonged me barely three minutes into my set. I was pretty miffed that I didn't get a better chance. Admittedly, I started weak because I was so psyched out by all the "dirty" comedy before me. So I faltered a bit. It's also possible that they took my opening little joke as bragging. I said, "Well, I'm not a guy, ethnic, Jewish, bitterly divorced or a lesbian; so I guess my chance of making it in stand up comedy is thhhffft*!"
*(Made a 'raspberry" sound and a zero gesture.)
I guess there were more lesbians and bitter divorcees in the crowd than I expected.
I did get some laughs after that, but not enough for the judge with the cymbal apparently. Anyway, I survived my first bombing and I am still alive. I am questioning whether a straight, happily married white girl can make it on that scene. I also have been asking myself how edgy am I willing and able to be. Frankly, I think just about anybody can come up with a dirty joke. Being funny without being shocking or gross is a bigger challenge. I believe I would like to continue to tackle that bigger challenge.
That's all I have to say about that for now.
Then I entered a comedy contest at another club out of town. Now, I want to point out that the info they sent about the contest said, "The more clever and clean you are, the more likely you are to advance."
I think this was a joke from the club owner. I was gullible enough to believe it; either that, or my definition of clean is a h*ll of a lot squeakier than anyone else's. I went in with just under seven minutes of well rehearsed comedy - or "jokes" as I call them.
After the first contestant, I knew I could be in trouble. By the time the fourth came off and I was next, I was practically in a panic. I realized that after hearing four people doing sex and masturbation jokes, and using the "f word" freely - the audience was going to be numb to my "clean" jokes. And I guess I was right. I say "guess" because the audience barely got a chance to decide. I know I sound like sour grapes, but I can't help but wonder if the crowd would have warmed up to me a bit if I had been allowed to get through my set; but I wasn't.
There were three so-called celebrity judges who were mainly there to give critiques to each contestant after each performance. One of the judges had a high hat cymbal to use as a gong. He gonged me barely three minutes into my set. I was pretty miffed that I didn't get a better chance. Admittedly, I started weak because I was so psyched out by all the "dirty" comedy before me. So I faltered a bit. It's also possible that they took my opening little joke as bragging. I said, "Well, I'm not a guy, ethnic, Jewish, bitterly divorced or a lesbian; so I guess my chance of making it in stand up comedy is thhhffft*!"
*(Made a 'raspberry" sound and a zero gesture.)
I guess there were more lesbians and bitter divorcees in the crowd than I expected.
I did get some laughs after that, but not enough for the judge with the cymbal apparently. Anyway, I survived my first bombing and I am still alive. I am questioning whether a straight, happily married white girl can make it on that scene. I also have been asking myself how edgy am I willing and able to be. Frankly, I think just about anybody can come up with a dirty joke. Being funny without being shocking or gross is a bigger challenge. I believe I would like to continue to tackle that bigger challenge.
That's all I have to say about that for now.
10/13/2010
This Mine 69 days without an accident
I am glad that the Chilean miners were rescued before Christmas. It was heartwarming to see each miner brought up to greet and hug their waiting loved ones for the first time in over 2 months. It was gripping to watch Yonni Barrios come out of that hole in the ground, slowly turn, and see...
his mistress. His expression was hard to decipher as he accepted her hugs. Was he relieved that his wife wasn't there with a pair of shears? Was he sad to see confirmation that he was getting a divorce? Was his mistress the one he was hoping to see? Was he actually planning on dumping her right before the accident? I suspect we will hear more about that little Chilean drama.
I think Yonni will do quite well, though; even if his wife gets the house. It looks like those miners could be set for awhile and maybe for life. They have received many gifts and are set to get endorsement deals, movie and book contracts, compensation from the government and the owners of the mine. Yonni might get on a TV court drama - or be the next Bachelor.
It seems to me that the miners will be heavily rewarded for participating in a workplace accident. I'm not saying they shouldn't be compensated, but they could potentially walk away with fortunes. They are celebrities - brave survivors. They will be more than compensated. I think this kind of thing happens a lot these days. People are in a disaster, an accident, or a weird incident in which they grab two beers and slide down the emergency chute; and suddenly they are celebrities. Interviews, books, websites, viral videos pave the path to fame and fortune.
Couldn't this encourage reckless or careless behavior at work?
"Hey, let's goof around and maybe we'll cause a spectacular accident that makes us all rich! That is, all of us who survive."
I think if you work in a dangerous or potentially dangerous industrial setting, you should keep an eye on your co-workers. Watch out for those who seemed bored with life and for those who are continually cash-strapped. They may decide to start something.
Just remember, not EVERY disaster works out for the best.
his mistress. His expression was hard to decipher as he accepted her hugs. Was he relieved that his wife wasn't there with a pair of shears? Was he sad to see confirmation that he was getting a divorce? Was his mistress the one he was hoping to see? Was he actually planning on dumping her right before the accident? I suspect we will hear more about that little Chilean drama.
I think Yonni will do quite well, though; even if his wife gets the house. It looks like those miners could be set for awhile and maybe for life. They have received many gifts and are set to get endorsement deals, movie and book contracts, compensation from the government and the owners of the mine. Yonni might get on a TV court drama - or be the next Bachelor.
It seems to me that the miners will be heavily rewarded for participating in a workplace accident. I'm not saying they shouldn't be compensated, but they could potentially walk away with fortunes. They are celebrities - brave survivors. They will be more than compensated. I think this kind of thing happens a lot these days. People are in a disaster, an accident, or a weird incident in which they grab two beers and slide down the emergency chute; and suddenly they are celebrities. Interviews, books, websites, viral videos pave the path to fame and fortune.
Couldn't this encourage reckless or careless behavior at work?
"Hey, let's goof around and maybe we'll cause a spectacular accident that makes us all rich! That is, all of us who survive."
I think if you work in a dangerous or potentially dangerous industrial setting, you should keep an eye on your co-workers. Watch out for those who seemed bored with life and for those who are continually cash-strapped. They may decide to start something.
Just remember, not EVERY disaster works out for the best.
10/08/2010
9/30/2010
Class Reunion Moment
When I was in nursery school I had a best friend. We always played together and his name was Kevin. Then we moved to another town and I only saw Kevin a few more times when I went back to visit my grandparents. We lost contact completely for several years, but then when my family moved back to my hometown, I found myself sitting in my new homeroom class, on the first day of school, right behind Kevin!
I tapped him on the shoulder and said with a big smile, "Hi! It's been awhile!"
He sat twisted in his seat, giving me a blank look.
"Remember me? I know I've grown up some, but we used to play together ALL the time when we were little? And our parents were good friends?"
He smiled then and looked about the room as if he was anticipating that the rest of the class would be watching this reunion moment. Then he asked,
"Is this a candid camera joke or something? I don't know you."
I tapped him on the shoulder and said with a big smile, "Hi! It's been awhile!"
He sat twisted in his seat, giving me a blank look.
"Remember me? I know I've grown up some, but we used to play together ALL the time when we were little? And our parents were good friends?"
He smiled then and looked about the room as if he was anticipating that the rest of the class would be watching this reunion moment. Then he asked,
"Is this a candid camera joke or something? I don't know you."
They say it is nice to be remembered.
The One Minute Writer
I was a daily winner on One Minute Writer for the second time! Yay ME!
http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/2010/08/todays-writing-prompt-forget.html
http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/2010/08/todays-writing-prompt-forget.html
TREAT TIME!
9/08/2010
Sweet Joe
My latest relationship is with Joe. I just love Joe. He is so adorable with his coarse black hair, wideset eyes, and ears that stick out to the sides. He has a very healthy round physique and short little legs. I think it is so cute how he doesn't bend his knees when he runs.
He is very proud of his long beard, and I like it too. It's so long that it looks like he could trip over it.
He charms all the ladies but he responds to me best. Everyone responds to him. When he calls out in that low quavery voice of his, nobody resists answering.
"Hey, Joe! What do you want, Joe?"
"Naa-a-a."
Yep, Joe the Billy is the cutest pygmy goat I know.
He is very proud of his long beard, and I like it too. It's so long that it looks like he could trip over it.
He charms all the ladies but he responds to me best. Everyone responds to him. When he calls out in that low quavery voice of his, nobody resists answering.
"Hey, Joe! What do you want, Joe?"
"Naa-a-a."
Yep, Joe the Billy is the cutest pygmy goat I know.
Comedy Workshoppe apology
Dear Comedy Workshoppe Guy:
I'm sorry that I was rather disruptive during the first session of the course. I came in late and then developed a crushing migraine and had to leave early during a bout with extreme nausea and auras. There is no excuse for that. I feel terrible about missing out on most of that first session because it seemed very fun and informative - plus I paid $449 for this short workshop.
I promise it won't happen again. At least, I hope it won't happen again. I can't really promise it won't happen again, since I had very little control over the situation. I can say that I will allow even more extra time over the travel time given by my navigation device so that I can have a better chance of being prompt. I can also bring Excedrin and sunglasses.
I do want to thank you for choosing such a nice hotel in which to hold the workshop, because I was able to enjoy a clean and quiet room while I suffered through my migraine headache.
BTW, I think the person who referred me to your class must have missed some, too. He obviously didn't hear the part where you warn against the use of profanity and dirty jokes. He is all about v*g*n*s and d*ck jokes. I even heard him call a heckler a m*th* f**ker. I was like, What?! I thought you were supposed to use witty banter to win the audience; not just yell, "Shut up, you m* f*!"
Anyway, I can't criticize him too much because he's out there winning contests - and he might not renew my prescription.
Again, I am sorry and I will see you next week,
Sincerely,
Your Student
cc: my shrink
I'm sorry that I was rather disruptive during the first session of the course. I came in late and then developed a crushing migraine and had to leave early during a bout with extreme nausea and auras. There is no excuse for that. I feel terrible about missing out on most of that first session because it seemed very fun and informative - plus I paid $449 for this short workshop.
I promise it won't happen again. At least, I hope it won't happen again. I can't really promise it won't happen again, since I had very little control over the situation. I can say that I will allow even more extra time over the travel time given by my navigation device so that I can have a better chance of being prompt. I can also bring Excedrin and sunglasses.
I do want to thank you for choosing such a nice hotel in which to hold the workshop, because I was able to enjoy a clean and quiet room while I suffered through my migraine headache.
BTW, I think the person who referred me to your class must have missed some, too. He obviously didn't hear the part where you warn against the use of profanity and dirty jokes. He is all about v*g*n*s and d*ck jokes. I even heard him call a heckler a m*th* f**ker. I was like, What?! I thought you were supposed to use witty banter to win the audience; not just yell, "Shut up, you m* f*!"
Anyway, I can't criticize him too much because he's out there winning contests - and he might not renew my prescription.
Again, I am sorry and I will see you next week,
Sincerely,
Your Student
cc: my shrink
8/22/2010
8/16/2010
Big Pipes with Awning Stripes
Why does McDonald's give out those pipes with red and yellow awning stripes in the place of straws?
It made sense in the old days to have everyone drain an entire cup of soda in one slurp - back when they charged for refills- but what is the thinking behind this strategy now? Because free soda bars are available everywhere; you would think that swigging down quarts of soda should only cause more trips to the appetite-suppressing restrooms. How could this sell more burgers? Instead of "_ billion sold", a more appropriate motto might be "_billion flushes".
I don't think it's about selling burgers anymore, people. I think it is a conspiracy against the American people- and the Chinese people, European people, etc. - to simply increase profits at the expense of our internal tanks and well-being. If we quickly fill our stomachs with sweet soda and that soda begins to quickly course through to our bladders, we eat less food.
It works like this: we believe we are full and satiated and that next time we should order less food. At the same time, we are quickly addicted to the head rush created by cold, sugary, caffeinated soda and we return to that "free" soda bar as soon as we come out of the restroom. By creating soda addicts who eat less solid food, McDonald's has increased their profits. How? Basic marketing principles, people! The profit margin for self-serve soda is much higher than for food. If you drink more soda and eat less food, they make more MONEY! In other words, you buy a two dollar cup that costs them 10 cents and fill it with ice and soda yourself for maybe another 10 cents. No employee has been paid to prepare or fill your cup, no cooking oil has been reused to fry that tasty drink, no extra air conditioning needed to cool the fry cooks and frost the dining area - just a bucket and a pipe and a do-it-yourself soda bar. It's genius! Whoever thought of those pipe-straws and soda bars should be rich by now!
And, of course, we go to McDonald's more when we think, "Wow! I only ate the small burger and a soda, and I still gained weight this week! That's depressing, I guess I have a slow metabolism and there is nothing I can do but consume more caffeine. I'll just wheel by McDonald's. They have the biggest cups and straws."
Disclaimer: All the stuff I have written in my posts is intended to be humorous and is my own opinion or "take" on things. My info my sound like fact but could be totally wrong and made up. Supportive comments and LOLs are welcome. Disagreement or crabby comments are usually posted also. So far I am not making any money with this blogging.
It made sense in the old days to have everyone drain an entire cup of soda in one slurp - back when they charged for refills- but what is the thinking behind this strategy now? Because free soda bars are available everywhere; you would think that swigging down quarts of soda should only cause more trips to the appetite-suppressing restrooms. How could this sell more burgers? Instead of "_ billion sold", a more appropriate motto might be "_billion flushes".
I don't think it's about selling burgers anymore, people. I think it is a conspiracy against the American people- and the Chinese people, European people, etc. - to simply increase profits at the expense of our internal tanks and well-being. If we quickly fill our stomachs with sweet soda and that soda begins to quickly course through to our bladders, we eat less food.
It works like this: we believe we are full and satiated and that next time we should order less food. At the same time, we are quickly addicted to the head rush created by cold, sugary, caffeinated soda and we return to that "free" soda bar as soon as we come out of the restroom. By creating soda addicts who eat less solid food, McDonald's has increased their profits. How? Basic marketing principles, people! The profit margin for self-serve soda is much higher than for food. If you drink more soda and eat less food, they make more MONEY! In other words, you buy a two dollar cup that costs them 10 cents and fill it with ice and soda yourself for maybe another 10 cents. No employee has been paid to prepare or fill your cup, no cooking oil has been reused to fry that tasty drink, no extra air conditioning needed to cool the fry cooks and frost the dining area - just a bucket and a pipe and a do-it-yourself soda bar. It's genius! Whoever thought of those pipe-straws and soda bars should be rich by now!
And, of course, we go to McDonald's more when we think, "Wow! I only ate the small burger and a soda, and I still gained weight this week! That's depressing, I guess I have a slow metabolism and there is nothing I can do but consume more caffeine. I'll just wheel by McDonald's. They have the biggest cups and straws."
Disclaimer: All the stuff I have written in my posts is intended to be humorous and is my own opinion or "take" on things. My info my sound like fact but could be totally wrong and made up. Supportive comments and LOLs are welcome. Disagreement or crabby comments are usually posted also. So far I am not making any money with this blogging.
6/17/2010
From 8/15/2008: Fools On A Plane
Air travel is a lot like checking into a hospital. It reduces one to a state of helplessness and our basest needs and emotions.
Like the hospital, the airline has us under its control as soon as we check in. We hand over our rights and dignity and accept conditions we would normally rail about. They can limit our personal baggage, how many outfits we will be wearing over the next few hours or days, promote the invasion of our physical space by assigning us to a narrow space with strangers on either elbow and pressing their knees into our backs. We are subjected to incarceration in a large but cramped capsule for as long as the airline and crew deem necessary. The top guy can order us to be strapped down.
If the temperature is uncomfortable we have little options or control. We can sweat and moan quietly if it's too hot, or we can whine for a scrap of a blanket if it's too cold. They control when and what we eat, and they even interrupt our sleep-if we can manage any- to see if we want anything.
On a recent four hour flight we were served sips of liquid sustenance in tiny cups filled with ice and tossed small bags of pretzels. It reminded me of the little cups of juice that accompany bland, starchy hospital meals.
However, DH and I did find a source of comfort on this flight, but we may have detracted from the experience for those immediately around us. We listened to comedy on the "complimentary satellite radio".
I don't know if it was because we were hopped up on ginger ale, pretzels, and high altitude, but we both got really hysterical while listening to Seinfeld, followed by Jeff Foxworthy - an interesting lineup. DH got carried away first and started that crying kind of laughter. He was trying to muffle it and just teared up all the more. This got me going, but thankfully I was in the window seat and could giggle and choke into the corner. Finally, I tossed my jacket over DH's head to shield his contorted hysterical face from other passengers who were starting to turn and look.
Whew! I miss the old days when we all had to watch the same mediocre movies together. At least we could commiserate as a plane-trapped community.
DH and I finally got some self-control back. And while the plane slowly taxied up to the airport after the flight, and the temperature rose to an uncomfortable level, a flight attendant announced for all passengers to "please lower your window shade to keep the cabin cool and comfortable for the next flight".
Ha! Maybe some A/C or a new compressor would be more effective?
And next time, I'll remember that Dramamine, airplane snacks, and Seinfeld are a dangerous cocktail.
Disclaimer: The above is my not so humble opinion and personal experience and is not intended to reflect the subjective experience of other airline passengers. It is also meant to be mildly entertaining and not necessarily wholly factual. I understand that the airline industry provides us with a very valuable service and has a tremendous responsibility to the public. I realize that the cost cutting efforts that airlines employ are in order to keep air travel affordable.
Like the hospital, the airline has us under its control as soon as we check in. We hand over our rights and dignity and accept conditions we would normally rail about. They can limit our personal baggage, how many outfits we will be wearing over the next few hours or days, promote the invasion of our physical space by assigning us to a narrow space with strangers on either elbow and pressing their knees into our backs. We are subjected to incarceration in a large but cramped capsule for as long as the airline and crew deem necessary. The top guy can order us to be strapped down.
If the temperature is uncomfortable we have little options or control. We can sweat and moan quietly if it's too hot, or we can whine for a scrap of a blanket if it's too cold. They control when and what we eat, and they even interrupt our sleep-if we can manage any- to see if we want anything.
On a recent four hour flight we were served sips of liquid sustenance in tiny cups filled with ice and tossed small bags of pretzels. It reminded me of the little cups of juice that accompany bland, starchy hospital meals.
However, DH and I did find a source of comfort on this flight, but we may have detracted from the experience for those immediately around us. We listened to comedy on the "complimentary satellite radio".
I don't know if it was because we were hopped up on ginger ale, pretzels, and high altitude, but we both got really hysterical while listening to Seinfeld, followed by Jeff Foxworthy - an interesting lineup. DH got carried away first and started that crying kind of laughter. He was trying to muffle it and just teared up all the more. This got me going, but thankfully I was in the window seat and could giggle and choke into the corner. Finally, I tossed my jacket over DH's head to shield his contorted hysterical face from other passengers who were starting to turn and look.
Whew! I miss the old days when we all had to watch the same mediocre movies together. At least we could commiserate as a plane-trapped community.
DH and I finally got some self-control back. And while the plane slowly taxied up to the airport after the flight, and the temperature rose to an uncomfortable level, a flight attendant announced for all passengers to "please lower your window shade to keep the cabin cool and comfortable for the next flight".
Ha! Maybe some A/C or a new compressor would be more effective?
And next time, I'll remember that Dramamine, airplane snacks, and Seinfeld are a dangerous cocktail.
Disclaimer: The above is my not so humble opinion and personal experience and is not intended to reflect the subjective experience of other airline passengers. It is also meant to be mildly entertaining and not necessarily wholly factual. I understand that the airline industry provides us with a very valuable service and has a tremendous responsibility to the public. I realize that the cost cutting efforts that airlines employ are in order to keep air travel affordable.
7/31/2008: Encounters with Bloated Egos
You know, some people value humility as a virtue. Some of us even get through life fairly well while stunted by a modest self-esteem. At the very least, most of us begin to realize as we become more mature (somewhere between 5 and 19), that the world does not revolve around us - even if we sometimes forget this wisdom while we are behind the wheel of a car.
Then there are others. Those whose sense of self-importance has somehow become bloated out of proportion. Either that or they just cannot reconcile themselves to the fact that they are not the center of the universe.
I encountered a few of those people this week. My spouse and I attended a conference at a nice beach resort. We flew out of a nearby small, regional airport and then changed planes in Atlanta and flew on to our south Florida destination.
While waiting for our puddle-jumper at the regional airport, we were forced to listen to a know-it-all doom and gloomer. He was on the far side of middle age and stood with his back against the wall near the gate. He was spouting his years of collected expertise to a man next to him and to anyone else within earshot - which was almost everyone in that small airport.
He was apparently an ex-flyer or mechanic. He talked on and on about all the terrible things that are going on the airline industry today. He advised his quiet new friend that the safest place to sit on an airplane was above the wings. He gave a quick lesson in aerodynamics and flight emergencies. He told a charming anecdote about flying next to a woman who was ridiculous and naive enough to think there were holes in the wings when she saw the flaps down. He boasted that he could close his eyes on a flight and tell EVERY MOVE the pilot and co-pilot were making.
And, of course, he knew when they were making wrong moves.
I have to tell you, thinking he was flying with us made me feel so much more comfortable once I discovered he was actually on another flight.
Then I ran into, almost literally, another person of the-world-better-pay-me-homage persuasion at the resort. We had a free afternoon and were heading to the beach, coming down the elevator in a 6 floor hotel. As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, a woman in beach attire rushed the doors. She almost ran straight into me. Now, I could be mistaken, but I thought elevator etiquette required that you let passengers off before you step onto the elevator. So why did she roll her eyes and let out a short, exasperated snort when she had to pause for me and other passengers to get out of her way? I mean, she's at a resort, in a bathing suit, coming from the beach or pool, and she only had to wait for the elevator to come down 5 floors - at the most. Are you late for your afternoon dose, lady?
Then, on our flight back, there was "The World's Most Important Mom" (WMIM). As the plane touched down and we were given permission to use our cell phones, she immediately made 4 or 5 phone calls in about 3 minutes. The first was to the individual who was supposed to meet her at the airport. She apparently believed she was important enough that she shouldn't be made to wait at all, because this individual was informed that if he "left the house now" he would be there by the time she got her bags. I want to assume this was her husband, but there was no "Hi Honey" or "thank you" or "love you". Just the terse info that "We just landed" and that he should leave the house now.
She then made her second call, but did not get an answer. So she immediately called a third number and said, "Are you talking to my daughter?" World's-Most-Important-Mom then relayed to her seatmate that the reply had been, "I was."
She then calls her daughter back and says, without any preliminary greeting, "YOU need to get your priorities straight! Your mother is more important than your boyfriend."
Sitting in the seat in front of her and overhearing this (I couldn't help it - she was talking so importantly.) I almost laughed aloud. What alternate universe does she live in? Seriously, does she really think her daughter should dutifully cut off any and all calls from her boyfriend so as not to miss the announcement call from her beloved mother that she had just touched down at the airport?!? This daughter wasn't even the one ordered to meet her at baggage claim after all! She was just being notified that her all important and beloved mother had arrived on the tarmac! "WMIM" didn't even give her daughter two seconds to call Mommy-dearest back before she got the boyfriend on the line to make sure he was not interfering in her attempt to contact her daughter the instant the plane touched the ground.
Wow! She's really bloated! I think if this girl were a teen, any normal mom would have been thrilled if she just got an acknowledgement when she walked in the door at home.
And if you are thinking maybe she had something important going on; just remember, she was on a flight from south Florida and obviously heading home. She was tan and traveling with her quiet female seatmate. It seems like the separate vacation did nobody any good.
Then there are others. Those whose sense of self-importance has somehow become bloated out of proportion. Either that or they just cannot reconcile themselves to the fact that they are not the center of the universe.
I encountered a few of those people this week. My spouse and I attended a conference at a nice beach resort. We flew out of a nearby small, regional airport and then changed planes in Atlanta and flew on to our south Florida destination.
While waiting for our puddle-jumper at the regional airport, we were forced to listen to a know-it-all doom and gloomer. He was on the far side of middle age and stood with his back against the wall near the gate. He was spouting his years of collected expertise to a man next to him and to anyone else within earshot - which was almost everyone in that small airport.
He was apparently an ex-flyer or mechanic. He talked on and on about all the terrible things that are going on the airline industry today. He advised his quiet new friend that the safest place to sit on an airplane was above the wings. He gave a quick lesson in aerodynamics and flight emergencies. He told a charming anecdote about flying next to a woman who was ridiculous and naive enough to think there were holes in the wings when she saw the flaps down. He boasted that he could close his eyes on a flight and tell EVERY MOVE the pilot and co-pilot were making.
And, of course, he knew when they were making wrong moves.
I have to tell you, thinking he was flying with us made me feel so much more comfortable once I discovered he was actually on another flight.
Then I ran into, almost literally, another person of the-world-better-pay-me-homage persuasion at the resort. We had a free afternoon and were heading to the beach, coming down the elevator in a 6 floor hotel. As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, a woman in beach attire rushed the doors. She almost ran straight into me. Now, I could be mistaken, but I thought elevator etiquette required that you let passengers off before you step onto the elevator. So why did she roll her eyes and let out a short, exasperated snort when she had to pause for me and other passengers to get out of her way? I mean, she's at a resort, in a bathing suit, coming from the beach or pool, and she only had to wait for the elevator to come down 5 floors - at the most. Are you late for your afternoon dose, lady?
Then, on our flight back, there was "The World's Most Important Mom" (WMIM). As the plane touched down and we were given permission to use our cell phones, she immediately made 4 or 5 phone calls in about 3 minutes. The first was to the individual who was supposed to meet her at the airport. She apparently believed she was important enough that she shouldn't be made to wait at all, because this individual was informed that if he "left the house now" he would be there by the time she got her bags. I want to assume this was her husband, but there was no "Hi Honey" or "thank you" or "love you". Just the terse info that "We just landed" and that he should leave the house now.
She then made her second call, but did not get an answer. So she immediately called a third number and said, "Are you talking to my daughter?" World's-Most-Important-Mom then relayed to her seatmate that the reply had been, "I was."
She then calls her daughter back and says, without any preliminary greeting, "YOU need to get your priorities straight! Your mother is more important than your boyfriend."
Sitting in the seat in front of her and overhearing this (I couldn't help it - she was talking so importantly.) I almost laughed aloud. What alternate universe does she live in? Seriously, does she really think her daughter should dutifully cut off any and all calls from her boyfriend so as not to miss the announcement call from her beloved mother that she had just touched down at the airport?!? This daughter wasn't even the one ordered to meet her at baggage claim after all! She was just being notified that her all important and beloved mother had arrived on the tarmac! "WMIM" didn't even give her daughter two seconds to call Mommy-dearest back before she got the boyfriend on the line to make sure he was not interfering in her attempt to contact her daughter the instant the plane touched the ground.
Wow! She's really bloated! I think if this girl were a teen, any normal mom would have been thrilled if she just got an acknowledgement when she walked in the door at home.
And if you are thinking maybe she had something important going on; just remember, she was on a flight from south Florida and obviously heading home. She was tan and traveling with her quiet female seatmate. It seems like the separate vacation did nobody any good.
From 7/22/2008: Put Your Dealer On Speed Dial
We no longer have a land line or a "home phone". We use our cellphones. A lot of people do this- it makes sense. It especially makes sense at night. I can turn my cell off or stuff it in the bottom of my bag so that it doesn't wake me should it ring in the middle of the night. Of course, if you are the paranoid type who is convinced that someone will be in a life-or-death situation in the middle of the night and only YOU will be able to save them, if only someone can reach you by phone, then just leave the cell on your nightstand with the ring volume on high. (Also, if you are an ER doctor on call - by all means.)
But if you have a phone on in your room at night, you risk being awakened by a miss-dialing drug addict at 3 AM.
This used to happen to us pretty regularly in our last home when we had a land line. Apparently, we had a number that was very similar to a someone named Seymour and his partner, Rod, whom I had to assume were providing late night pharmaceutical services.
At least twice a month, and sometimes even several times in one night, the phone would ring between midnight and 4 AM. I would usually be the one to answer it, on account of the fact that my husband CANNOT sleep if I am quietly watching TV in the next room, but once asleep, would not wake up if a car drove through the bedroom.
Ring!
Me, groggily: "Hel-loww?"
Customer, rapidly: "Leh-me-spee-to-See-moh"
Me, groggy and confused: "Wah-uht?"
Customer: "See-moh! See-moh dere?
Me: Click
Sometimes they would call for Seymour's partner:
Ring!
Me: "Yeh-uh?"
Cus: "Hey Rah! Rah dere?!"
Me: "Rah? Rock? Who?"
Cus: "Rah- d!"
Me: "Wrong number - there's no Rod or Seymour here!" Slam
So my recommendation is that you turn the phone off at night and have a good sleep. And if you are looking for your pharmaceutical rep in the middle of the night, have him on speed dial so you don't miss-dial and wake up a doctor on-call unnecessarily!
But if you have a phone on in your room at night, you risk being awakened by a miss-dialing drug addict at 3 AM.
This used to happen to us pretty regularly in our last home when we had a land line. Apparently, we had a number that was very similar to a someone named Seymour and his partner, Rod, whom I had to assume were providing late night pharmaceutical services.
At least twice a month, and sometimes even several times in one night, the phone would ring between midnight and 4 AM. I would usually be the one to answer it, on account of the fact that my husband CANNOT sleep if I am quietly watching TV in the next room, but once asleep, would not wake up if a car drove through the bedroom.
Ring!
Me, groggily: "Hel-loww?"
Customer, rapidly: "Leh-me-spee-to-See-moh"
Me, groggy and confused: "Wah-uht?"
Customer: "See-moh! See-moh dere?
Me: Click
Sometimes they would call for Seymour's partner:
Ring!
Me: "Yeh-uh?"
Cus: "Hey Rah! Rah dere?!"
Me: "Rah? Rock? Who?"
Cus: "Rah- d!"
Me: "Wrong number - there's no Rod or Seymour here!" Slam
So my recommendation is that you turn the phone off at night and have a good sleep. And if you are looking for your pharmaceutical rep in the middle of the night, have him on speed dial so you don't miss-dial and wake up a doctor on-call unnecessarily!
From 7/12/2008: It Clowns Can Get Work, It Can't Be That Bad
We have a local clown. Her name is Doodle. She is the daughter of someone that everyone-who-is-anyone is supposed to know. I don't think I'd know this daughter if I had a conversation with her. I don't think I'd recognize Doodle without her clown makeup. I've seen Doodle at several events and I've seen her around town many times in her Doodle-mobile. Her car is painted in bright swirling colors; a convertible that sometimes blows bubbles. Doodle has a bright orange mop of hair, white face that usually looks more droll than silly, and is typically clad in baggy overalls. She has a little rabbit with black-rimmed eyes that she claims sells Mary Kay.
This week I saw Doodle three times. I have to assume that Doodle uses her not-too-secret secret identity to shop for groceries, meet friends for lunch (maybe), or go to the dentist and whatnot. Surely she isn't ALWAYS Doodle? So if she's going around town in her clown car and her Doodle face, then she must be working. So when I saw her yet again this week, I had to think, "Hey if a clown can still get work, the economy can't be THAT bad."
This week I saw Doodle three times. I have to assume that Doodle uses her not-too-secret secret identity to shop for groceries, meet friends for lunch (maybe), or go to the dentist and whatnot. Surely she isn't ALWAYS Doodle? So if she's going around town in her clown car and her Doodle face, then she must be working. So when I saw her yet again this week, I had to think, "Hey if a clown can still get work, the economy can't be THAT bad."
From 6/24/08: Who Says Crabs Aren't Adventurous?
Do your dogs ever keep you awake at night? Don't you hate it when you lose a good night's sleep because the dogs won't shut up? And don't you hate when your pet hermit crab keeps you up?Huh?
Aren't hermit crabs supposed to sit around in an attractive terrarium quietly expiring in their little turban shells? That is what most of mine did.
When deciding to get into the hobby of hermit crab keeping, I did research and reading on the care and characteristics of hermit crabs. I wasted hours shopping for a 15 gallon tank, the right sand, the fake corral climbing toys, lots of alternate shells, clam shells to use as water and food bowls, a ceramic kidney shaped hermit crab "pool", and the perfect hermit crab diet. Then my children and I went to a pet store and carefully selected an assortment of little crabby friends.
Over the course of the next year, despite the lovely habitat and careful temperature and humidity monitoring, they died off one by one - like I said, quietly expiring in their little turban shells. With one small exception. The smallest crab, about the size of a large ant at time of purchase, survived. It survived several moltings - the shedding of its exoskeleton that is required for growth - and moved into a series of larger shells over the course of about four years.
When he became the last of the mo-hermits, I ditched the big tank and stuck him in a little plastic-lidded pet container and parked it in my daughter's room, where he languished as we often forgot to give him water or food for days or a week at a time. He seemed to thrive on the neglect.
At some point I decided, well, if he's going to insist on survival I guess he deserves better digs. I purchased a large, glass chimney bowl, decorated it with some nice crabby furnishings, and placed the crab in his new apartment beside my tub in our master bathroom.
A few weeks later Crabby disappeared!
At first I decided he must have buried himself deep in the sand for a thorough molting of his now almost infant-fist sized body. But a couple of weeks later, I gingerly lifted out all his cool furniture and took a careful look-and-poke through the sand. Crabby just wasn't in there!
Where oh where could Crabby be? With his pointy little legs and clunky shell? He couldn't have gone too far!
Then last night as I was deep in light mom-sleep (you may know what that is), I was disturbed by a strange tapping and scraping sound. It was coming from the bathroom. I crept out of bed to cautiously investigate. And what do I discover, but a miniature crustacean Tarzan climbing down a plant tendril out of a large planter beside the tub!
It seems that somehow our intrepid survivalist had vaulted out of his glass cathedral and found his way into a potted plant. He was now shimmying down the side of his tropical paradise to seek further provisions, I suppose.
I rescued him and placed him back where he belonged - or so I thought. He apparently preferred his jungle home, because for the rest of the night, he clanked and scraped and knocked about trying to leave the glass house and return to "the wild".
In the morning, groggy and grumpy, I staggered into the bathroom and plunked him back into the pot. Hopefully I'll remember to keep that plant watered regularly.
6/17/2008: In-laws and near breakdown
My in-laws came from several states away to visit us recently. I was willing to move one kid in with another kid temporarily and provide a guest room, but they brought their RV. They parked it behind the house and "plugged in". They even ate their own breakfasts out there. I didn't know whether to be insulted or relieved.
They never call and ask us when would be a good time for a visit. They call and tell us when they are coming. It's as if they think we are retired and masters of our own schedules like they are. So they came while the kids were in school and while we had to go to work. Of course, this meant they were going to be on their own for lunch, too, and in this case I WAS relieved. I only had to come home from work and make ONE "company" meal each day (YIPPEE!) They did stay through a weekend though. We got to take them to church with us.
Now, the In-laws are not in the best of health. They really have no business traveling around the country in an RV by themselves. During this visit, the stepmother-in-law was getting over a long bout with the Shingles. That's right, you heard me. Yes, it IS contagious and related to the chicken pox, except it affects the nerves. Yes, we do have three children. BUT - she claimed she was no longer contagious.
OK! So we go to church on Sunday. We get in and sit down, get the kids settled with all the warnings to sit still, don't talk, don't rustle paper during the prayers, don't yawn and stretch your arms over your head during the sermon, don't poke anyone, don't squeal if you get poked, etc... AND about the time the service is about to start, the step-MIL says, "If you're having a heart attack it hurts down your RIGHT side, right?"
I say, "No-oo, the heart is usually on the left side of the chest, so it would probably hurt on your left side." (I'm giving her a frowny-look)
She says, "I was hoping it was the right side, because my left side and arm are really hurting."
So at this time I am giving her the frowny look BIG-time and THINKING, not saying; "AAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Don't you dare be having a heart attack!!!"
Then she says, "Actually, I think it's just my shingles acting up again."
I'm still screaming inside; picturing her keeling over, my Father-in-law freaking out, rushing her to the hospital, shipping her body back across the country, having my FIL living in his RV behind our house for the foreseeable future.... AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEE!
However, I manage to stay in my seat and whisper to her that she should take an aspirin just in case; while I rummage around in my handbag for some Xanax for me.
Neither of us keeled over - praise God!
They never call and ask us when would be a good time for a visit. They call and tell us when they are coming. It's as if they think we are retired and masters of our own schedules like they are. So they came while the kids were in school and while we had to go to work. Of course, this meant they were going to be on their own for lunch, too, and in this case I WAS relieved. I only had to come home from work and make ONE "company" meal each day (YIPPEE!) They did stay through a weekend though. We got to take them to church with us.
Now, the In-laws are not in the best of health. They really have no business traveling around the country in an RV by themselves. During this visit, the stepmother-in-law was getting over a long bout with the Shingles. That's right, you heard me. Yes, it IS contagious and related to the chicken pox, except it affects the nerves. Yes, we do have three children. BUT - she claimed she was no longer contagious.
OK! So we go to church on Sunday. We get in and sit down, get the kids settled with all the warnings to sit still, don't talk, don't rustle paper during the prayers, don't yawn and stretch your arms over your head during the sermon, don't poke anyone, don't squeal if you get poked, etc... AND about the time the service is about to start, the step-MIL says, "If you're having a heart attack it hurts down your RIGHT side, right?"
I say, "No-oo, the heart is usually on the left side of the chest, so it would probably hurt on your left side." (I'm giving her a frowny-look)
She says, "I was hoping it was the right side, because my left side and arm are really hurting."
So at this time I am giving her the frowny look BIG-time and THINKING, not saying; "AAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Don't you dare be having a heart attack!!!"
Then she says, "Actually, I think it's just my shingles acting up again."
I'm still screaming inside; picturing her keeling over, my Father-in-law freaking out, rushing her to the hospital, shipping her body back across the country, having my FIL living in his RV behind our house for the foreseeable future.... AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEE!
However, I manage to stay in my seat and whisper to her that she should take an aspirin just in case; while I rummage around in my handbag for some Xanax for me.
Neither of us keeled over - praise God!
From 6/9/2008 Kids: The Hard Questions
My daughter tends to ask the hard questions. She is getting better and better at this. The other day she approached me while I was busy doing something important, like feeding the dogs or something, and asked, very seriously, with upturned hands;
"How can we REALLY know that God is REAL or something?!"
As I paused and looked at her with a thoughtful open-mouthed expression (LOL!), she asked a follow up question:
"And what's a BRA for anyway?"
"How can we REALLY know that God is REAL or something?!"
As I paused and looked at her with a thoughtful open-mouthed expression (LOL!), she asked a follow up question:
"And what's a BRA for anyway?"
From 6/3/08: Just Call Me Fluffy
I have a terrier who is perpetually enthusiastic, energetic, and hopeful. He never tires of running through the grass and underbrush trying to scare up critters. He never loses his enthusiasm for barking shrilly at every squirrel he spots. He is always irrationally hopeful that every family member coming in his direction is going to bring him a treat and go for a walk with him. If I could extract and bottle that hope&happy attitude -well, I and some psychiatrists would make our fortunes before retiring early.
But I also have a spaniel who is a little timid and needy. He relishes all one-on-one contact with any person who has the time to stop and pet him while staring into his deep brown eyes. He likes other dogs- as long as they like him. He sidles cautiously up to any potential friend with his head stretched out low and his tail swishing back and forth in the universal dog-posture for "I come in peace". As soon as his overtures are accepted he is clearly grateful for any attention and contact he receives.
He will sit at my feet with his chest pressed against my shins staring soulfully up at me while I scratch the top of his fluffy, curly head. He won't move until I'm ready to leave and then he happily bounces away and gives me my space back- thankful for the time I gave him.
Wow, if only I could see every person I meet as a potential wonderful new friend; if only I could approach with cautious hope and then gratefully accept the friendly overtures of anyone who turns my way for a minute or two; and if only I could slow my spinning thoughts and stop to take a break to share soulful moments of connection with my family and close friends. I really wish I could be more like my dogs.
from 5/24/08: A Grown-up with grillwork
I got braces this week. This is my second orthodontic odyssey. I had braces for about 3 years as a kid, followed by 12 years of blissful occlusion, then my wisdom teeth came in and ruined the whole job.
My teeth slowly gravitated back into worse and worse malocclusion, until it came to the point that I was covering my mouth with my hand when smiling, like a demure Geisha, and my jaw was popping. So just after my 38th birthday, I had the consultation. This was followed by a date to get molds made of my teeth and have spacers put in, and then two weeks later the big day came -
First of all, there is absolutely no privacy in an Orthodontist's office. I don't know why they think I should be perfectly comfortable lying on my back in an obscene looking chair with teenagers inclined on either side, while they put a retractor in my cheeks that forces my mouth into a wide goulish grin and a little tube sucks and drains saliva out of my mouth. Various staff members and patients can just stroll by inches from my head and peer down at my obsurd and decidely undignified predicament!
Secondly, the process is long and unpleasant: fitting and forcing the bands on, painting sealant on each tooth, letting it dry, pressing on the brackets, threading in the wire, tying in the wire, etc. Then the orthodontist says, "You should probably go ahead and take Tylenol or Advil every 6 hours for the next couple of days."
Why couldn't he be more of an optimist and say something like, "Good news! You're going to lose a few pounds over the next few days!"
Before I left, they gave me the list of the foods I shouldn't bite or chew with my new brackets in:
chips, nuts, popcorn, hard or sticky candy, ice, gum, meat on the bone, dense chewy bread... in other words most of the good stuff. But I'm ok if I can still have chocolate.
So I have grillwork and my three young gradeschoolers are both fascinated and mortified. Their turns are probably coming soon!
My teeth slowly gravitated back into worse and worse malocclusion, until it came to the point that I was covering my mouth with my hand when smiling, like a demure Geisha, and my jaw was popping. So just after my 38th birthday, I had the consultation. This was followed by a date to get molds made of my teeth and have spacers put in, and then two weeks later the big day came -
First of all, there is absolutely no privacy in an Orthodontist's office. I don't know why they think I should be perfectly comfortable lying on my back in an obscene looking chair with teenagers inclined on either side, while they put a retractor in my cheeks that forces my mouth into a wide goulish grin and a little tube sucks and drains saliva out of my mouth. Various staff members and patients can just stroll by inches from my head and peer down at my obsurd and decidely undignified predicament!
Secondly, the process is long and unpleasant: fitting and forcing the bands on, painting sealant on each tooth, letting it dry, pressing on the brackets, threading in the wire, tying in the wire, etc. Then the orthodontist says, "You should probably go ahead and take Tylenol or Advil every 6 hours for the next couple of days."
Why couldn't he be more of an optimist and say something like, "Good news! You're going to lose a few pounds over the next few days!"
Before I left, they gave me the list of the foods I shouldn't bite or chew with my new brackets in:
chips, nuts, popcorn, hard or sticky candy, ice, gum, meat on the bone, dense chewy bread... in other words most of the good stuff. But I'm ok if I can still have chocolate.
So I have grillwork and my three young gradeschoolers are both fascinated and mortified. Their turns are probably coming soon!
6/16/2010
Japanese game show shopping
Shopping with my children is like competing on a Japanese game show. It can involve wrestling a 90 pound cart of groceries around a tight corner while 60 pounds of kid hang on the side like a counterweight, or a challenge that feels like walking three cats on leashes - controlling the frantic gyrations of one, dragging a reluctant second, tripping over a passive-aggressive third. My children also like to pepper me with questions and accusations, making me feel like I'm involved in a tag team interrogation while competing in a high stakes scavenger hunt.
"Can we get popsicles?" "You NEVER have any GOOD stuff for snack!" "Why do you have to come here so much?" "You always let HIM pick the cereal!" "My legs hurt and you won't let me ride!" "Why are you looking at chocolate?" "Do we have to wait at the pharmacy again?" "He stomped on my foot!!!"
Why do I take them with me? Because no one else wants to be responsible for them on short notice. I've tried the once-a-month grocery stock up, but it always fails. There will always be two things I forgot, one thing we just ran out of, and special ingredients needed for a project that I didn't know about. I'm resigned to the fact that I will be picking up items at the store, kids in tow, at least twice a week until they leave for college - or the military - or a group home. I have decided I will just have to find amusement when I can and go home for a nap when I can't. For now, a trip down memory lane for a few chuckles at my kids' expense will help me face the next grocery run.
When my oldest son was about four and a half and my daughter was three, I had a need to visit the lingerie section one day. The little trolls were riding in the shopping cart and chattering together, when my daughter looked up and pointed to the bras and asked, "What's that?"
My savvy little son said, "That's for Mommy's front butt. Mommies have two butts."
"Ohhh!" says daughter.
I have no idea how he came to this knowledge about the use of a brassiere, but I assume all cleavage looked like butt to him at that age. I was a little insulted by the characterization of Mommy anatomy, but it was funny.
And then there was the time that I ran over my daughter at Target. She was participating in a developmental stage in which she preferred toddling on her own to riding in a cart. She was also rather reckless and adventurous at that age and was not yet the ultra-sensitive drama queen she is today. As I moved down each aisle, she literally ran circles around me and the cart. I gave repeated verbal cues for her to stay out of the way and not run off. I stopped to search a shelf for a particular item, found it, and then started pushing my cart again, when KA-womp! I ran over something. I couldn't imagine what it was. I hadn't seen anything in the aisle and whatever it was had not impeded the cart much because I rolled over it quite easily. I casually glanced down and saw two feet sticking out from under the cart. I gasped and dropped to my hands and knees to peer at my small daughter. She was simply lying there and grinning.
"Did you lie down in the floor?" I asked in high-pitched disbelief.
She nodded as she shimmied out from under the cart. She appeared to have enjoyed the experience of getting rolled over by a full grocery cart. As for me, it took a few minutes to get over the fact that I had actually run over my daughter. - But it's funny now.
And of course, there was that day when all three of them decided to compete in cart surfing. The main problem was not their extra weight making it difficult for me to push and maneuver the cart. The main problem was their intense competitiveness, which led to all three trying to surf on the same side of the cart.
I ordered a forfeit in the game and informed them that they would turn the cart over. They chose to believe, because they had ridden a couple of feet without the cart turning over, that I was a big fat liar or an adult idiot. At some signal recognized only within their group, they eventually hopped back onto the side of the cart. The cart leaned and I strained to keep it on four wheels while yelling, "Get off! Get off!"
Alas, it was a lesson learned the hard way for my three kiddies. The cart went crashing down onto its side, catching three surfers underneath. An older woman nearby gasped, "Oh poor babies!"
I heartlessly remarked, "Poor babies, nothing! They deserved that."
I righted my cart and picked up rolling grocery items first and then I addressed the surfers.
"Did anybody hit their head?" I asked without a trace of compassion.
They each shook their hard noggins to indicate that they were intact and unrung. I then ordered them to sit on the floor against the shelving while I finished shopping that aisle. They hung their heads like the failed athletes they were, and I walked away so I could laugh quietly.
Yes, savor the memories Mommies, with your front butts and incomplete grocery lists! They are only young once - for about 18 long years.
"Can we get popsicles?" "You NEVER have any GOOD stuff for snack!" "Why do you have to come here so much?" "You always let HIM pick the cereal!" "My legs hurt and you won't let me ride!" "Why are you looking at chocolate?" "Do we have to wait at the pharmacy again?" "He stomped on my foot!!!"
Why do I take them with me? Because no one else wants to be responsible for them on short notice. I've tried the once-a-month grocery stock up, but it always fails. There will always be two things I forgot, one thing we just ran out of, and special ingredients needed for a project that I didn't know about. I'm resigned to the fact that I will be picking up items at the store, kids in tow, at least twice a week until they leave for college - or the military - or a group home. I have decided I will just have to find amusement when I can and go home for a nap when I can't. For now, a trip down memory lane for a few chuckles at my kids' expense will help me face the next grocery run.
When my oldest son was about four and a half and my daughter was three, I had a need to visit the lingerie section one day. The little trolls were riding in the shopping cart and chattering together, when my daughter looked up and pointed to the bras and asked, "What's that?"
My savvy little son said, "That's for Mommy's front butt. Mommies have two butts."
"Ohhh!" says daughter.
I have no idea how he came to this knowledge about the use of a brassiere, but I assume all cleavage looked like butt to him at that age. I was a little insulted by the characterization of Mommy anatomy, but it was funny.
And then there was the time that I ran over my daughter at Target. She was participating in a developmental stage in which she preferred toddling on her own to riding in a cart. She was also rather reckless and adventurous at that age and was not yet the ultra-sensitive drama queen she is today. As I moved down each aisle, she literally ran circles around me and the cart. I gave repeated verbal cues for her to stay out of the way and not run off. I stopped to search a shelf for a particular item, found it, and then started pushing my cart again, when KA-womp! I ran over something. I couldn't imagine what it was. I hadn't seen anything in the aisle and whatever it was had not impeded the cart much because I rolled over it quite easily. I casually glanced down and saw two feet sticking out from under the cart. I gasped and dropped to my hands and knees to peer at my small daughter. She was simply lying there and grinning.
"Did you lie down in the floor?" I asked in high-pitched disbelief.
She nodded as she shimmied out from under the cart. She appeared to have enjoyed the experience of getting rolled over by a full grocery cart. As for me, it took a few minutes to get over the fact that I had actually run over my daughter. - But it's funny now.
And of course, there was that day when all three of them decided to compete in cart surfing. The main problem was not their extra weight making it difficult for me to push and maneuver the cart. The main problem was their intense competitiveness, which led to all three trying to surf on the same side of the cart.
I ordered a forfeit in the game and informed them that they would turn the cart over. They chose to believe, because they had ridden a couple of feet without the cart turning over, that I was a big fat liar or an adult idiot. At some signal recognized only within their group, they eventually hopped back onto the side of the cart. The cart leaned and I strained to keep it on four wheels while yelling, "Get off! Get off!"
Alas, it was a lesson learned the hard way for my three kiddies. The cart went crashing down onto its side, catching three surfers underneath. An older woman nearby gasped, "Oh poor babies!"
I heartlessly remarked, "Poor babies, nothing! They deserved that."
I righted my cart and picked up rolling grocery items first and then I addressed the surfers.
"Did anybody hit their head?" I asked without a trace of compassion.
They each shook their hard noggins to indicate that they were intact and unrung. I then ordered them to sit on the floor against the shelving while I finished shopping that aisle. They hung their heads like the failed athletes they were, and I walked away so I could laugh quietly.
Yes, savor the memories Mommies, with your front butts and incomplete grocery lists! They are only young once - for about 18 long years.
6/09/2010
5/31/2010
Little Hotot Bunny!
Anything the kids and I think are cute at the moment. Hotots are the smallest domestic rabbit breed I know about. They should get no bigger than 2 1/2 pounds. The big screen door that Sugars is sitting before is actually a fireplace screen. Sugars is full grown and I can easily carry him one-handed. He is sweet and playful.
Hotots should be white with banded eyes. This means he looks like he is wearing black eyeliner and mascara. His big black eyes are enhanced by natural makeup. I envy his lovely jet black eyelashes.
5/25/2010
N Y CEEEE!!! You're thinner without me!
I went to NYC this weekend for a Gotham Writers' Workshop and had a wonderful adventure. I enjoyed the workshop even though I once again felt like an object in that preschool Sesame Street exercise in which "one of these things is not like the others..." I was the blonde Southern girl who was not already in the profession of writing in some capacity. This seemed to lead to the assumption that I had never been to The Big Apple based on politely solicitous questions like "Oh, how long will you be in the City?" and "Well, that's good, are you going to see a show?"
Also as the token Southerner, I felt compelled to advise one classmate that referring to a grown man in the South as a "boy" as in "a typical Southern boy" was insulting; whereas, preceding boy with "good ol'" turned it into an acceptable characterisation.
(Sara Barron taught the workshop.)
During my free time, Big E and I had a great time walking around and seeing the sights. We also rode the subway. We visited the Chelsea area, the Financial District including Ground Zero, ate at Lombardi's in Little Italy, and spent four hours in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Big E checked off an item on his bucket list by getting his picture taken in front of the Stock Exchange. The city felt vibrant and safe, and I don't know why people insist that New Yorkers are rude. Just because they don't smile and wave at everyone they see, doesn't make them rude. It means they are in NEW YORK CITY and would be exhausted if they went around greeting and waving and saying "excuse me" to anyone that passed within 10 feet - like Southerners do.
It was a perfect Spring weekend and there were huge street festivals on the Upper West Side and in Little Italy. We managed to hinder walking traffic in both areas. I bought beads from a Chinese New Yorker and one-size-fits-most dresses and tops from a Middle Eastern New Yorker. I ate a delicious filafel wrap and an amazing cannoli and not once did I see a corn dog or a cauldron of boiled peanuts! I did see several signs that said, "Curb your dog" and realized I didn't know what that means. Signs regarding dogs in my neck of the woods usually say "Beware of the Dog" and sometimes someone will threaten to "shoot your dog", but "curb..."?
There was one giant negative that spewed mental exhaust fumes over the entire weekend. I was forced to realize that what I've heard is true - Southerners are fatter. I first noticed that there were many women in New York City wearing legging as pants. In the South we wear leggings the same way we wear tights. They are basically just thicker footless tights around here. One wears them under a short skirt or under Daisy Duke denim shorts during the cooler months - like January. Younger ladies may wear them under a long tunic; but women in the Big Apple wear their leggings with waist length tops and use nothing else to cover their lower parts, as if they were wearing more substantial pants or jeans! And the horror of it is - they are skinny enough to do it without creating a padunkadunk sensation!
As the weekend hours went by and I saw more and more city tushies in leggings or extra-skinny jeans, I started to feel increasingly Rubenesque. The sensation of being the curviest, jiggliest person within a 500 foot radius was disheartening and may even explain why I bought the one-size-fits-most clothing. I must mention at this point that I am within the preferred weight range for my height according to life insurance underwriting guidelines. I may be at the very top of the range, but hey, I have children and I'm 40! I usually take comfort in gazing at the Preferred Guidelines chart that I have stapled to the wall over my desk. That was before I immersed myself among the skinny britches of New York City (and I'm tempted to drop the r).
Ironically, New York City dwellers probably get more exercise than rural Georgians. They walk almost everywhere or ride the subway where they must be sufficiently able to trot up and down steps. The New York Subway system does not seem to employ escalators as the underdeveloped MARTA system in Atlanta does with slothful abandon. I think we did more walking in three days than we usually do in a month. I typically drive to work, to home, to any shopping, and even to see a neighbor. I can almost make the excuse to drive to my mailbox when I'm menstrating or otherwise fatigued and grouchy. If I walk outdoors it is referred to as "going for a walk" and is a trek for the express purpose of getting some exercise. It usually involves small hills and an elliptical course that leads me back to my air-conditioned, ground floor living room and a refreshing can of diet Dr. Pepper which I may or may not recycle. (We saw many signs in the City telling us that "New York recycles!")
If we didn't have a two-story house, I could go all week without hazarding a set of steps. Neither do I have to curb my dogs or take them for walks, as do a surprising number of those City dwellers. It didn't arouse my curiosity to see so many chihuahuas and other small breeds trotting obediently down the sidewalks on the ends of their loose leashes; but I did marvel at the percentage of large dogs, including one bull mastiff and several rottweillers, that brave apartment-living people were committed to managing.
I crowed to Big E, "See! It's not just Rednecks that have too many dogs!"
To which he wisely countered, "Yeah, but it's Rednecks that have dogs that poop all over the place and bark all the time."
I couldn't argue with that as I observed these active and skinny dog-walkers of New York gingerly plucking poops from the sidewalk with plastic-clad hands as their doggies waited patiently without frantic vocalizing at every passerby.
Maybe it's my new commitment to develop my ability to write witty descriptive prose through keen observations that led me to recognize the incongruous habits of New Yorkers and Southerners. Maybe my hormone levels were just making me feel fat, lazy, and stupid; but when we finally arrived back in Atlanta on Sunday night, I derived immense satisfaction from the sight of several padunkadunk butts bouncing along the terminal in front of me and squeezing onto the escalators. And that night I plopped my average ass into my own king-sized bed in my Georgia home where my uncurbed doggies can roam and I don't have to scoop their poop.
Also as the token Southerner, I felt compelled to advise one classmate that referring to a grown man in the South as a "boy" as in "a typical Southern boy" was insulting; whereas, preceding boy with "good ol'" turned it into an acceptable characterisation.
(Sara Barron taught the workshop.)
During my free time, Big E and I had a great time walking around and seeing the sights. We also rode the subway. We visited the Chelsea area, the Financial District including Ground Zero, ate at Lombardi's in Little Italy, and spent four hours in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Big E checked off an item on his bucket list by getting his picture taken in front of the Stock Exchange. The city felt vibrant and safe, and I don't know why people insist that New Yorkers are rude. Just because they don't smile and wave at everyone they see, doesn't make them rude. It means they are in NEW YORK CITY and would be exhausted if they went around greeting and waving and saying "excuse me" to anyone that passed within 10 feet - like Southerners do.
It was a perfect Spring weekend and there were huge street festivals on the Upper West Side and in Little Italy. We managed to hinder walking traffic in both areas. I bought beads from a Chinese New Yorker and one-size-fits-most dresses and tops from a Middle Eastern New Yorker. I ate a delicious filafel wrap and an amazing cannoli and not once did I see a corn dog or a cauldron of boiled peanuts! I did see several signs that said, "Curb your dog" and realized I didn't know what that means. Signs regarding dogs in my neck of the woods usually say "Beware of the Dog" and sometimes someone will threaten to "shoot your dog", but "curb..."?
There was one giant negative that spewed mental exhaust fumes over the entire weekend. I was forced to realize that what I've heard is true - Southerners are fatter. I first noticed that there were many women in New York City wearing legging as pants. In the South we wear leggings the same way we wear tights. They are basically just thicker footless tights around here. One wears them under a short skirt or under Daisy Duke denim shorts during the cooler months - like January. Younger ladies may wear them under a long tunic; but women in the Big Apple wear their leggings with waist length tops and use nothing else to cover their lower parts, as if they were wearing more substantial pants or jeans! And the horror of it is - they are skinny enough to do it without creating a padunkadunk sensation!
As the weekend hours went by and I saw more and more city tushies in leggings or extra-skinny jeans, I started to feel increasingly Rubenesque. The sensation of being the curviest, jiggliest person within a 500 foot radius was disheartening and may even explain why I bought the one-size-fits-most clothing. I must mention at this point that I am within the preferred weight range for my height according to life insurance underwriting guidelines. I may be at the very top of the range, but hey, I have children and I'm 40! I usually take comfort in gazing at the Preferred Guidelines chart that I have stapled to the wall over my desk. That was before I immersed myself among the skinny britches of New York City (and I'm tempted to drop the r).
Ironically, New York City dwellers probably get more exercise than rural Georgians. They walk almost everywhere or ride the subway where they must be sufficiently able to trot up and down steps. The New York Subway system does not seem to employ escalators as the underdeveloped MARTA system in Atlanta does with slothful abandon. I think we did more walking in three days than we usually do in a month. I typically drive to work, to home, to any shopping, and even to see a neighbor. I can almost make the excuse to drive to my mailbox when I'm menstrating or otherwise fatigued and grouchy. If I walk outdoors it is referred to as "going for a walk" and is a trek for the express purpose of getting some exercise. It usually involves small hills and an elliptical course that leads me back to my air-conditioned, ground floor living room and a refreshing can of diet Dr. Pepper which I may or may not recycle. (We saw many signs in the City telling us that "New York recycles!")
If we didn't have a two-story house, I could go all week without hazarding a set of steps. Neither do I have to curb my dogs or take them for walks, as do a surprising number of those City dwellers. It didn't arouse my curiosity to see so many chihuahuas and other small breeds trotting obediently down the sidewalks on the ends of their loose leashes; but I did marvel at the percentage of large dogs, including one bull mastiff and several rottweillers, that brave apartment-living people were committed to managing.
I crowed to Big E, "See! It's not just Rednecks that have too many dogs!"
To which he wisely countered, "Yeah, but it's Rednecks that have dogs that poop all over the place and bark all the time."
I couldn't argue with that as I observed these active and skinny dog-walkers of New York gingerly plucking poops from the sidewalk with plastic-clad hands as their doggies waited patiently without frantic vocalizing at every passerby.
Maybe it's my new commitment to develop my ability to write witty descriptive prose through keen observations that led me to recognize the incongruous habits of New Yorkers and Southerners. Maybe my hormone levels were just making me feel fat, lazy, and stupid; but when we finally arrived back in Atlanta on Sunday night, I derived immense satisfaction from the sight of several padunkadunk butts bouncing along the terminal in front of me and squeezing onto the escalators. And that night I plopped my average ass into my own king-sized bed in my Georgia home where my uncurbed doggies can roam and I don't have to scoop their poop.
5/03/2010
Top 10 list: To a "stand up" guy
Top ten reasons you can only come up with "dirty" jokes:
10. You spend a lot of your time talking to sex addicts and heavy masturbators.
9. You try to come up with your material while playing "guitar" for def chics.
8. You still think you are a participant in trials for Cialis.
7. You haven't figured out that you should schedule your late night gigs telling jokes to winos during your wife's "special time of the month" and GO HOME with wine on the other nights!
6. Dirty jokes suit the quality of audience in the clubs that will give you mic time.
5. When you said you really wanted to come up with a set you could do in front of your kids - you were LYING!
4. Your mother was an empathic and "generous" woman. (That's right, yo' mama!)
3. Your braille underwear is too tight.
2. You think: "If it was funny in middle school, it's funnier now."
Number 1 reason you can only come up with "dirty" jokes:
..................................................................................................
YOU ARE BASICALLY JUST A RAGIN' PERVERT!
: O : O : D ; )
10. You spend a lot of your time talking to sex addicts and heavy masturbators.
9. You try to come up with your material while playing "guitar" for def chics.
8. You still think you are a participant in trials for Cialis.
7. You haven't figured out that you should schedule your late night gigs telling jokes to winos during your wife's "special time of the month" and GO HOME with wine on the other nights!
6. Dirty jokes suit the quality of audience in the clubs that will give you mic time.
5. When you said you really wanted to come up with a set you could do in front of your kids - you were LYING!
4. Your mother was an empathic and "generous" woman. (That's right, yo' mama!)
3. Your braille underwear is too tight.
2. You think: "If it was funny in middle school, it's funnier now."
Number 1 reason you can only come up with "dirty" jokes:
..................................................................................................
YOU ARE BASICALLY JUST A RAGIN' PERVERT!
: O : O : D ; )
5/02/2010
Interpreting Dreams
Some people are really into the interpretation of dreams. Dreams may be glimpses into one's future or messages from God. Some people believe dreams are psychic phenomena that reveal clues to unsolved mysteries or the mysteries of our true inner selves. I have to wonder what those who ascribe such weight to dreams would think of my dreams. And in case I haven't made it clear, I'm talking about those images and experiences that happen in my brain while I'm sleeping. I'm not referring to dreamy daytime thoughts or my goals for the future.
My nighttime dreams are usually extremely mundane. Mundane as in ordinary, daily life boring. Like when I dreamed that I locked my keys in my car and just as I was about to get upset, I realized, "Oh, I have a keypad on the door and I KNOW THE CODE!" So I got in my car and went on. I might dream about cleaning a spot on the carpet or going for a walk in my neighborhood. Really boring stuff. I wonder if this has any meaning for me. Maybe it means I'm boring or my life is boring. It could be my unconscious brain telling me that I need to get out more. Or maybe just the opposite - I should be happy with what I have and where I am right now and not seek more. I don't know.
However, I am pretty sure that the absence of other people in most of my dreams means I don't have many friends. And I'm also pretty sure that I don't know where the killer hid the body.
Well, I'm off to bed. Hopefully I'll dream that I got all the laundry done and not have that nightmare about preparing my tax return again.
My nighttime dreams are usually extremely mundane. Mundane as in ordinary, daily life boring. Like when I dreamed that I locked my keys in my car and just as I was about to get upset, I realized, "Oh, I have a keypad on the door and I KNOW THE CODE!" So I got in my car and went on. I might dream about cleaning a spot on the carpet or going for a walk in my neighborhood. Really boring stuff. I wonder if this has any meaning for me. Maybe it means I'm boring or my life is boring. It could be my unconscious brain telling me that I need to get out more. Or maybe just the opposite - I should be happy with what I have and where I am right now and not seek more. I don't know.
However, I am pretty sure that the absence of other people in most of my dreams means I don't have many friends. And I'm also pretty sure that I don't know where the killer hid the body.
Well, I'm off to bed. Hopefully I'll dream that I got all the laundry done and not have that nightmare about preparing my tax return again.
4/01/2010
Ten Hints That You May Have Too Many Pets
1. When you excuse yourself to the restroom, you say, "I need to run to the litter box."
2. You get lots of compliments on your beautiful angora sweaters but you don't own any.
3. Your kids show up to the community easter egg hunt with pooper scoopers instead of easter baskets.
4. You have guests over for dinner and speak only four sentences to them all evening: "sit!", "stay.", "eat!", "go home!".
5. You sleep on the floor because the dogs have the bed - and the couch.
6. When you don't want to have "relations" with your spouse, instead of claiming a headache you bare your teeth and give a warning growl.
7. You list your hobbies as: trimming out matts, cleaning cages, spotting turds in the grass at 10 feet, and removing carpet stains effectively.
8. You can only cook one-dish meals that you serve in bowls.
9. Your friends think your favorite cologne is Citrus Spray pet odor remover.
10. When everyone else at the office is talking about the latest episode of "Lost" or "Dancing with the Stars" you jump in with the recounting of a poignant rescue of a pitbull that you watched on Animal Planet.
2. You get lots of compliments on your beautiful angora sweaters but you don't own any.
3. Your kids show up to the community easter egg hunt with pooper scoopers instead of easter baskets.
4. You have guests over for dinner and speak only four sentences to them all evening: "sit!", "stay.", "eat!", "go home!".
5. You sleep on the floor because the dogs have the bed - and the couch.
6. When you don't want to have "relations" with your spouse, instead of claiming a headache you bare your teeth and give a warning growl.
7. You list your hobbies as: trimming out matts, cleaning cages, spotting turds in the grass at 10 feet, and removing carpet stains effectively.
8. You can only cook one-dish meals that you serve in bowls.
9. Your friends think your favorite cologne is Citrus Spray pet odor remover.
10. When everyone else at the office is talking about the latest episode of "Lost" or "Dancing with the Stars" you jump in with the recounting of a poignant rescue of a pitbull that you watched on Animal Planet.
3/31/2010
Funny Family Story for rd.com
Submitted by me to Reader's Digest at http://www.rd.com/ for their funny family stories contest:
My two young children still have some minor speech issues. They have trouble making "th" sounds and combined consonants. But one day I overheard them challenging each other to try tongue twisters.
"Say, "woodchuck chuck wood" five times!" challenges sister.
"Say, "five fast" 10 times!" challenges brother.
Knowing their speaking issues and being slightly amused by their efforts, I challenged:
"Say 'Mother of the Month' three times!", knowing it would sound like "Muvver ov de mumpf".
My daughter looks at me steadily and says, "Mean Mom, Mean Mom, Mean Mom."
No award for this Mom!
(I hope reprinting it here doesn't violate their submission rules that I just skimmed through!)
My two young children still have some minor speech issues. They have trouble making "th" sounds and combined consonants. But one day I overheard them challenging each other to try tongue twisters.
"Say, "woodchuck chuck wood" five times!" challenges sister.
"Say, "five fast" 10 times!" challenges brother.
Knowing their speaking issues and being slightly amused by their efforts, I challenged:
"Say 'Mother of the Month' three times!", knowing it would sound like "Muvver ov de mumpf".
My daughter looks at me steadily and says, "Mean Mom, Mean Mom, Mean Mom."
No award for this Mom!
(I hope reprinting it here doesn't violate their submission rules that I just skimmed through!)
3/30/2010
A Vacation Scene
My response to a prompt about vacation with a checklist of words to use from Seven Days Seven Answers:
"After a turbulent flight, temporarily lost luggage, and a restless night's sleep with a noisy air conditioner, I was finally on the beach. It was warm, humid bliss. I settled on a chaise with my most recently acquired book by David Sedaris. With a huge, warm sigh that flowed through every relaxing muscle and resting bone in my body, I sipped Sangria and thought about my husband back at home dealing with Monkey-boy, the Drama Princess, and, our oldest, Mr. Loud Sound Effects!"
I actually have little idea what Sangria is and if it is appropriate to sip on the beach. Since it was in the list of words, I'm guessing you would drink it on vacation at least. I just don't drink - other than soft drinks, or virgin pina coladas.
"After a turbulent flight, temporarily lost luggage, and a restless night's sleep with a noisy air conditioner, I was finally on the beach. It was warm, humid bliss. I settled on a chaise with my most recently acquired book by David Sedaris. With a huge, warm sigh that flowed through every relaxing muscle and resting bone in my body, I sipped Sangria and thought about my husband back at home dealing with Monkey-boy, the Drama Princess, and, our oldest, Mr. Loud Sound Effects!"
I actually have little idea what Sangria is and if it is appropriate to sip on the beach. Since it was in the list of words, I'm guessing you would drink it on vacation at least. I just don't drink - other than soft drinks, or virgin pina coladas.
My response to One Minute Writer prompt on 3/29/2010
Prompt from One Minute Writer blog about celebrity endorsement
My one minute of writing:
"I'm Evander Holyfield, and even though my Dentist makes great mouthpieces to protect my teeth during my exhibition fights in Vegas; he still recommends Pronamel for Sensitive Teeth. It isn't irritating when my teeth are loose and sensitive after a fight and it strengthens enamel so there's less chance of broken teeth!"
My one minute of writing:
"I'm Evander Holyfield, and even though my Dentist makes great mouthpieces to protect my teeth during my exhibition fights in Vegas; he still recommends Pronamel for Sensitive Teeth. It isn't irritating when my teeth are loose and sensitive after a fight and it strengthens enamel so there's less chance of broken teeth!"
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