Dear Friendless,
I see by my little pop up timer that you want to be my friend. That’s thoughtful of you and I’m sure you have a great personality; a people person that draws other folks to you like barbecue draws rednecks. But upon searching my memory banks, my old address books, and the pictures from my high school yearbook, I find I have no clue to your identity. I’m afraid to check the mug shots on the county jail website.
I asked my children if they had teachers that might be motivated to make my acquaintance on the sly. I wondered if my coworkers had friends with motives for revenge. Aside from folks touched by that episode with the chocolate diaper in the microwave, I can’t think of any work-related citizens who might bear ill will toward me.
I’d like to think you’re a fan, too shy to say anything out loud, but wanting to duplicate my every move so that you can be more like me every day.
Sort of like a stalker with poor life choices.
Sort of like the shy girl who sits in the corner by the cheese dip waiting for the chance to say “No problem” when someone drops a jalapeño in her shoe.
Sort of like the fellow that knew how to work the slide rule in math class back before everybody had calculators that could figure the change in your body fat ratio before you ate the chocolate chip cookie.
I married that guy.
I was going to ignore your friend request. I was going to go gleefully on my way accepting gifts for my virtual megafarm. I was going to go toss a pie at one of my less needy friends.
But then I looked closer. That’s not a stalker. It’s not even a fan. It’s a picture of me at a recent Christmas party.
I’m sitting by the cheese dip.
And eating out of the bowl.
And picking a jalapeno out of my shoe.
Laugh
Showing posts with label party. Show all posts
Showing posts with label party. Show all posts
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The Legacy
Happy Mother's Day to my mom who is busy weeding Heaven's vegetable garden. Time hasn't helped much. I still miss you, Mom.
As far as legacies go, my tastes lie with something simple, like a check. Or stock. Or heirloom china. Unfortunately Mama wasn’t the heirloom china type. What I got when she departed for the peaceful place where mothers don’t have to cook, clean, or say, “If I told you once, I told you a million times,” was not the inheritance I assumed was my birthright. What she left me was the very thing I was the least qualified to handle. Wisdom.
Giving me a lapful of life lessons is like tossing me a copy of the Atkins diet and a size six sheath dress and telling me the party starts at seven. You may as well shove the plans for building a biplane into my arms and tell me to be in Paris by midnight. When it comes to legacies, it’s best to just go ahead and hand me a gold bar.
Now that I’m in the stage of life where good advice usually involves a recipe loaded with fiber, I realize that what Mama left me was a handbook for life. Thanks to the seeds my mom planted in the rocky garden of my mind over the years, I’ve sailed through many of the stormy seas of life without having to evacuate to life boats. Turns out Mom knew best all along. Here are Mama’s Rules to Live By—along with some of my own observations for those who, like me, have trouble following directions.
1. There is something to love in every person. However, there are some people who hide that something really well. Actually, Mama just said that first part. I learned the second part from my sister.
2. If you rip a page out of your brother’s comic book, he can rip a page out of yours. This is a mother of four’s version of The Golden Rule. I learned to treat friends, family, and their possessions with respect. And I’ll never know what happened to Archie and Jughead that day at Riverdale High.
3. Give a child two cookies; one for each hand. This is a smart idea because it keeps the child busy for twice as long, diverts him from "helping" with your biscuit dough and prevents you from having to walk every morning for a week to work off two cookies that you would have eaten to relieve stress if your child had two hands free to plunge into the dog's food.
4. Don’t honk your horn at anybody. At first I assumed this was Mama’s version of traveling etiquette, but now I realize that she understood road rage long before anyone held up traffic trying to read road signs through the wrong part of skinny designer bifocals.
5. Always have a skill you can fall back on. By this, I know now that she meant a skill that will continue to be of service to the Community of Man. Unfortunately the skill I chose was typing, which caused typewriters to immediately become extinct.
6. If you’re not tall enough to see out the car window, sit on a pillow. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Even the Marines agree with her.
7. If something particularly unpleasant is happening to you, there’s probably a lesson involved. Wade through a puddle or two on the linoleum and you’ll remember to let the new puppy out. You’ll also remember to buy a mop.
8. Don’t sell things you can give away. That might not make sense in an e-Bay world, but knowing that someone who needs it will have a warm coat for the winter goes a long way toward offsetting the thrill of bagging $1.50 for your old hula lamp in an online auction.
9. Play to win. Unless that gets in the way of playing for fun. When playing Scrabble with an elderly woman who can’t see past her elbow, give her a break if she thinks she drew five blanks. Come to think of it, that’s how Mom always won at Scrabble, so there’s probably an extra lesson tucked in there.
10. Always take time to watch the birds at the birdfeeder. Time spent with nature is a peace of mind investment. And last winter, a tiny chickadee who muscled his way through a crowd of rowdy cardinals to have lunch gave me some great ideas for handling the next family reunion. And the big project due at work.
11. Don’t worry, it’ll get worse. This was my mom’s slogan. When I was three and ran to her with a skinned knee, she said it. She was right. I broke my arm. When I was thirty-three and getting divorced, she said it again. And soon my kids became teenagers. But by then, I had it figured out. If things can get worse, the problems that seem overpowering right now aren’t the end of the world. Things can also get better. So if teaching two teenaged boys to drive and adding them to my insurance is the worst life has to offer, I can handle it.
But I sure wouldn’t turn down a check.
As far as legacies go, my tastes lie with something simple, like a check. Or stock. Or heirloom china. Unfortunately Mama wasn’t the heirloom china type. What I got when she departed for the peaceful place where mothers don’t have to cook, clean, or say, “If I told you once, I told you a million times,” was not the inheritance I assumed was my birthright. What she left me was the very thing I was the least qualified to handle. Wisdom.
Giving me a lapful of life lessons is like tossing me a copy of the Atkins diet and a size six sheath dress and telling me the party starts at seven. You may as well shove the plans for building a biplane into my arms and tell me to be in Paris by midnight. When it comes to legacies, it’s best to just go ahead and hand me a gold bar.
Now that I’m in the stage of life where good advice usually involves a recipe loaded with fiber, I realize that what Mama left me was a handbook for life. Thanks to the seeds my mom planted in the rocky garden of my mind over the years, I’ve sailed through many of the stormy seas of life without having to evacuate to life boats. Turns out Mom knew best all along. Here are Mama’s Rules to Live By—along with some of my own observations for those who, like me, have trouble following directions.
1. There is something to love in every person. However, there are some people who hide that something really well. Actually, Mama just said that first part. I learned the second part from my sister.
2. If you rip a page out of your brother’s comic book, he can rip a page out of yours. This is a mother of four’s version of The Golden Rule. I learned to treat friends, family, and their possessions with respect. And I’ll never know what happened to Archie and Jughead that day at Riverdale High.
3. Give a child two cookies; one for each hand. This is a smart idea because it keeps the child busy for twice as long, diverts him from "helping" with your biscuit dough and prevents you from having to walk every morning for a week to work off two cookies that you would have eaten to relieve stress if your child had two hands free to plunge into the dog's food.
4. Don’t honk your horn at anybody. At first I assumed this was Mama’s version of traveling etiquette, but now I realize that she understood road rage long before anyone held up traffic trying to read road signs through the wrong part of skinny designer bifocals.
5. Always have a skill you can fall back on. By this, I know now that she meant a skill that will continue to be of service to the Community of Man. Unfortunately the skill I chose was typing, which caused typewriters to immediately become extinct.
6. If you’re not tall enough to see out the car window, sit on a pillow. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Even the Marines agree with her.
7. If something particularly unpleasant is happening to you, there’s probably a lesson involved. Wade through a puddle or two on the linoleum and you’ll remember to let the new puppy out. You’ll also remember to buy a mop.
8. Don’t sell things you can give away. That might not make sense in an e-Bay world, but knowing that someone who needs it will have a warm coat for the winter goes a long way toward offsetting the thrill of bagging $1.50 for your old hula lamp in an online auction.
9. Play to win. Unless that gets in the way of playing for fun. When playing Scrabble with an elderly woman who can’t see past her elbow, give her a break if she thinks she drew five blanks. Come to think of it, that’s how Mom always won at Scrabble, so there’s probably an extra lesson tucked in there.
10. Always take time to watch the birds at the birdfeeder. Time spent with nature is a peace of mind investment. And last winter, a tiny chickadee who muscled his way through a crowd of rowdy cardinals to have lunch gave me some great ideas for handling the next family reunion. And the big project due at work.
11. Don’t worry, it’ll get worse. This was my mom’s slogan. When I was three and ran to her with a skinned knee, she said it. She was right. I broke my arm. When I was thirty-three and getting divorced, she said it again. And soon my kids became teenagers. But by then, I had it figured out. If things can get worse, the problems that seem overpowering right now aren’t the end of the world. Things can also get better. So if teaching two teenaged boys to drive and adding them to my insurance is the worst life has to offer, I can handle it.
But I sure wouldn’t turn down a check.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Trick. . .or Else
The tough thing about Halloween when the kids get bigger is finding things for them to do. Once they get past the age when you can pop a set of fuzzy ears on their heads, draw on some whiskers, and attach a duster to their behind for a tail, things get tricky.
Like I told my oldest, “If you’re old enough to sue someone in small claims court for not giving you enough candy, you're too old to trick or treat.”
“But Mom, fun size isn’t fun for everybody.”
“Once you have to shave, people don’t want you coming up on their porch at night with a bag. They won’t give you candy. They’ll give you the business end of a scarecrow.”
“Okay, we’ll find something else to do. Say, do we have any toilet paper?”
It was either find them something to do or watch my grocery budget hanging from the Wilson’s tulip poplar.
The first year we went on a ghost walk. For a fee, you can wander around downtown with an extraearthly escort who points out all the places the “in” ghost crowd hangs out. We all had a great time, especially the kids who made bets among themselves as to who could scare me enough to make me wet my underpants in public. They considered the evening a success. I considered the evening on par with receiving an atomic wedgie and running a soaker hose up my pants leg.
The next year we took them to a nearby touristy spot for a downtown block party. The highlight was a trip to the General Store where they each got to fill a bucket with candy which we paid for by the pound. You can’t go by price, but I think Son One filled his bucket with diamonds and Son Two scooped up a bargain on petroleum futures. We lived on Vienna sausages and Ramen noodles for the next six weeks.
This year I have a great idea. I’m going to suggest a Halloween house party and show the kids my costume in advance. As a 50 year old woman raised on biscuits and gravy, the scariest outfit I could wear is a halter top and hip huggers.
The hardest part is coming up with a plan for next year that will top this one.
I’m thinking bicycle pants.
Like I told my oldest, “If you’re old enough to sue someone in small claims court for not giving you enough candy, you're too old to trick or treat.”
“But Mom, fun size isn’t fun for everybody.”
“Once you have to shave, people don’t want you coming up on their porch at night with a bag. They won’t give you candy. They’ll give you the business end of a scarecrow.”
“Okay, we’ll find something else to do. Say, do we have any toilet paper?”
It was either find them something to do or watch my grocery budget hanging from the Wilson’s tulip poplar.
The first year we went on a ghost walk. For a fee, you can wander around downtown with an extraearthly escort who points out all the places the “in” ghost crowd hangs out. We all had a great time, especially the kids who made bets among themselves as to who could scare me enough to make me wet my underpants in public. They considered the evening a success. I considered the evening on par with receiving an atomic wedgie and running a soaker hose up my pants leg.
The next year we took them to a nearby touristy spot for a downtown block party. The highlight was a trip to the General Store where they each got to fill a bucket with candy which we paid for by the pound. You can’t go by price, but I think Son One filled his bucket with diamonds and Son Two scooped up a bargain on petroleum futures. We lived on Vienna sausages and Ramen noodles for the next six weeks.
This year I have a great idea. I’m going to suggest a Halloween house party and show the kids my costume in advance. As a 50 year old woman raised on biscuits and gravy, the scariest outfit I could wear is a halter top and hip huggers.
The hardest part is coming up with a plan for next year that will top this one.
I’m thinking bicycle pants.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
The Legacy
As far as legacies go, my tastes lie with something simple, like a check. Or stock. Or heirloom china. Unfortunately Mama wasn’t the heirloom china type. What I got when she departed for the peaceful place where mothers don’t have to cook, clean, or say, “If I told you once, I told you a million times,” was not the inheritance I assumed was my birthright. What she left me was the very thing I was the least qualified to handle. Wisdom.
Giving me a lapful of life lessons is like tossing me a copy of the Atkins diet and a size six sheath dress and telling me the party starts at seven. You may as well shove the plans for building a biplane into my arms and tell me to be in Paris by midnight. When it comes to legacies, it’s best to just go ahead and hand me a gold bar.
Now that I’m in the stage of life where good advice usually involves a recipe loaded with fiber, I realize that what Mama left me was a handbook for life. Thanks to the seeds my mom planted in the rocky garden of my mind over the years, I’ve sailed through many of the stormy seas of life without having to evacuate to life boats. Turns out Mom knew best all along. Here are Mama’s Rules to Live By—along with some of my own observations for those who, like me, have trouble following directions.
1. There is something to love in every person. However, there are some people who hide that something really well. Actually, Mama just said that first part. I learned the second part from my sister.
2. If you rip a page out of your brother’s comic book, he can rip a page out of yours. This is a mother of four’s version of The Golden Rule. I learned to treat friends, family, and their possessions with respect. And I’ll never know what happened to Archie and Jughead that day at Riverdale High.
3. Give a child two cookies; one for each hand. This is a smart idea because it keeps the child busy for twice as long, diverts him from "helping" with your biscuit dough and prevents you from having to walk every morning for a week to work off two cookies that you would have eaten to relieve stress if your child had two hands free to plunge into the dog's food.
4. Don’t honk your horn at anybody. At first I assumed this was Mama’s version of traveling etiquette, but now I realize that she understood road rage long before anyone held up traffic trying to read road signs through the wrong part of skinny designer bifocals.
5. Always have a skill you can fall back on. By this, I know now that she meant a skill that will continue to be of service to the Community of Man. Unfortunately the skill I chose was typing, which caused typewriters to immediately become extinct.
6. If you’re not tall enough to see out the car window, sit on a pillow. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Even the Marines agree with her.
7. If something particularly unpleasant is happening to you, there’s probably a lesson involved. Wade through a puddle or two on the linoleum and you’ll remember to let the new puppy out. You’ll also remember to buy a mop.
8. Don’t sell things you can give away. That might not make sense in an e-Bay world, but knowing that someone who needs it will have a warm coat for the winter goes a long way toward offsetting the thrill of bagging $1.50 for your old hula lamp in an online auction.
9. Play to win. Unless that gets in the way of playing for fun. When playing Scrabble with an elderly woman who can’t see past her elbow, give her a break if she thinks she drew five blanks. Come to think of it, that’s how Mom always won at Scrabble, so there’s probably an extra lesson tucked in there.
10. Always take time to watch the birds at the birdfeeder. Time spent with nature is a peace of mind investment. And last winter, a tiny chickadee who muscled his way through a crowd of rowdy cardinals to have lunch gave me some great ideas for handling the next family reunion. And the big project due at work.
11. Don’t worry, it’ll get worse. This was my mom’s slogan. When I was three and ran to her with a skinned knee, she said it. She was right. I broke my arm. When I was thirty-three and getting divorced, she said it again. And soon my kids became teenagers. But by then, I had it figured out. If things can get worse, the problems that seem overpowering right now aren’t the end of the world. Things can also get better. So if teaching two teenaged boys to drive and adding them to my insurance is the worst life has to offer, I can handle it.
But I sure wouldn’t turn down a check.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Giving me a lapful of life lessons is like tossing me a copy of the Atkins diet and a size six sheath dress and telling me the party starts at seven. You may as well shove the plans for building a biplane into my arms and tell me to be in Paris by midnight. When it comes to legacies, it’s best to just go ahead and hand me a gold bar.
Now that I’m in the stage of life where good advice usually involves a recipe loaded with fiber, I realize that what Mama left me was a handbook for life. Thanks to the seeds my mom planted in the rocky garden of my mind over the years, I’ve sailed through many of the stormy seas of life without having to evacuate to life boats. Turns out Mom knew best all along. Here are Mama’s Rules to Live By—along with some of my own observations for those who, like me, have trouble following directions.
1. There is something to love in every person. However, there are some people who hide that something really well. Actually, Mama just said that first part. I learned the second part from my sister.
2. If you rip a page out of your brother’s comic book, he can rip a page out of yours. This is a mother of four’s version of The Golden Rule. I learned to treat friends, family, and their possessions with respect. And I’ll never know what happened to Archie and Jughead that day at Riverdale High.
3. Give a child two cookies; one for each hand. This is a smart idea because it keeps the child busy for twice as long, diverts him from "helping" with your biscuit dough and prevents you from having to walk every morning for a week to work off two cookies that you would have eaten to relieve stress if your child had two hands free to plunge into the dog's food.
4. Don’t honk your horn at anybody. At first I assumed this was Mama’s version of traveling etiquette, but now I realize that she understood road rage long before anyone held up traffic trying to read road signs through the wrong part of skinny designer bifocals.
5. Always have a skill you can fall back on. By this, I know now that she meant a skill that will continue to be of service to the Community of Man. Unfortunately the skill I chose was typing, which caused typewriters to immediately become extinct.
6. If you’re not tall enough to see out the car window, sit on a pillow. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Even the Marines agree with her.
7. If something particularly unpleasant is happening to you, there’s probably a lesson involved. Wade through a puddle or two on the linoleum and you’ll remember to let the new puppy out. You’ll also remember to buy a mop.
8. Don’t sell things you can give away. That might not make sense in an e-Bay world, but knowing that someone who needs it will have a warm coat for the winter goes a long way toward offsetting the thrill of bagging $1.50 for your old hula lamp in an online auction.
9. Play to win. Unless that gets in the way of playing for fun. When playing Scrabble with an elderly woman who can’t see past her elbow, give her a break if she thinks she drew five blanks. Come to think of it, that’s how Mom always won at Scrabble, so there’s probably an extra lesson tucked in there.
10. Always take time to watch the birds at the birdfeeder. Time spent with nature is a peace of mind investment. And last winter, a tiny chickadee who muscled his way through a crowd of rowdy cardinals to have lunch gave me some great ideas for handling the next family reunion. And the big project due at work.
11. Don’t worry, it’ll get worse. This was my mom’s slogan. When I was three and ran to her with a skinned knee, she said it. She was right. I broke my arm. When I was thirty-three and getting divorced, she said it again. And soon my kids became teenagers. But by then, I had it figured out. If things can get worse, the problems that seem overpowering right now aren’t the end of the world. Things can also get better. So if teaching two teenaged boys to drive and adding them to my insurance is the worst life has to offer, I can handle it.
But I sure wouldn’t turn down a check.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
It Ain't Easy Being Lean
My body is the result of a strenuous conditioning program developed by a team of experts, Ben and Jerry, who have discovered through scientific study exactly what I need to maintain my biological unit in its present operating condition.
A Very Important Detail in my physical routine is that I am fully capable of chugging chocolate until the wax in my ears turns to cocoa butter, but that’s professional-level stuff and I don’t recommend it for everyone. Please consult your doctor or confectioner before engaging in any unusual activity.
However, given the fact the stretchy part of my pants is beginning to function more as a guardrail than a fashion accessory, I’m considering taking action before the overflow threatens the structural integrity of my Fruit of the Looms. But don’t be concerned; I have no intention of jumping on the current diet wagon. To me, a hamburger wrapped in a lettuce leaf is a steak dinner gone horribly wrong.
I plan to donate my figure to foundations.
It’s a common myth that proper undergarments will make a treacherous and unfortunate outfit as socially acceptable as a little black dress at a Kennedy cocktail party. This is simply not true. Some tasks are far beyond the abilities of even a long-line bra and panty girdle. Spandex does not have superpowers.
And while we’re on the subject, if the person that tells you that 50 is the new 30 is waving you on down the fashion fast lane with a thong and a stick-on bra, you’d better take the next exit that leads to a department store. There are some things that need full coverage, even if you’ve had enough plastic surgery to make a clever overnight bag with the leftover skin.
Fifty year-old cleavage should be kept locked up tighter than the family silver. I have a close friend, bless her heart, who insists on wearing the kind of top made to show off the designer label in her underwire. When she bends over, it looks like the tide going out over a coral reef. I shudder to think of what could get lost in the undertow.
And while we’re passing out fashion tips like door prizes at a Cosmo party, please keep in mind that when Mama told you pearls go with everything, she was not aware that a generation would come along who would spray on tans like she sprayed on Midnight in Paris, and who would sport pants that show more cleavage in the back than Joe the Plumber when he’s snaking the septic line.
Now they’re saying that hip huggers are hazardous to your health, so I’ve decided to just stick with my stretchy pants and hope the elastic holds out. According to a specialist (some guy on the radio), snug-fitting hip huggers could pinch a nerve and cause the outer thigh to tingle; a condition caused skanktrampitis. As far as I’m concerned Johnny Depp causes the same reaction without the Surgeon General getting involved.
The important thing to remember is that good taste never goes out of style. But if it takes a push up bra to lure a pirate to buried treasure, make sure there’s plenty of booty.
A Very Important Detail in my physical routine is that I am fully capable of chugging chocolate until the wax in my ears turns to cocoa butter, but that’s professional-level stuff and I don’t recommend it for everyone. Please consult your doctor or confectioner before engaging in any unusual activity.
However, given the fact the stretchy part of my pants is beginning to function more as a guardrail than a fashion accessory, I’m considering taking action before the overflow threatens the structural integrity of my Fruit of the Looms. But don’t be concerned; I have no intention of jumping on the current diet wagon. To me, a hamburger wrapped in a lettuce leaf is a steak dinner gone horribly wrong.
I plan to donate my figure to foundations.
It’s a common myth that proper undergarments will make a treacherous and unfortunate outfit as socially acceptable as a little black dress at a Kennedy cocktail party. This is simply not true. Some tasks are far beyond the abilities of even a long-line bra and panty girdle. Spandex does not have superpowers.
And while we’re on the subject, if the person that tells you that 50 is the new 30 is waving you on down the fashion fast lane with a thong and a stick-on bra, you’d better take the next exit that leads to a department store. There are some things that need full coverage, even if you’ve had enough plastic surgery to make a clever overnight bag with the leftover skin.
Fifty year-old cleavage should be kept locked up tighter than the family silver. I have a close friend, bless her heart, who insists on wearing the kind of top made to show off the designer label in her underwire. When she bends over, it looks like the tide going out over a coral reef. I shudder to think of what could get lost in the undertow.
And while we’re passing out fashion tips like door prizes at a Cosmo party, please keep in mind that when Mama told you pearls go with everything, she was not aware that a generation would come along who would spray on tans like she sprayed on Midnight in Paris, and who would sport pants that show more cleavage in the back than Joe the Plumber when he’s snaking the septic line.
Now they’re saying that hip huggers are hazardous to your health, so I’ve decided to just stick with my stretchy pants and hope the elastic holds out. According to a specialist (some guy on the radio), snug-fitting hip huggers could pinch a nerve and cause the outer thigh to tingle; a condition caused skanktrampitis. As far as I’m concerned Johnny Depp causes the same reaction without the Surgeon General getting involved.
The important thing to remember is that good taste never goes out of style. But if it takes a push up bra to lure a pirate to buried treasure, make sure there’s plenty of booty.
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