%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Middle-Age Spread is NOT a Condiment!
|
| This is my second attempt at keeping a daily blog. I'm hoping I will be able to enter something everyday, just to keep my creative juices flowing. I plan on writing about my day, and infusing it with my "quirky" way of viewing things. If you read my blog for a few days, you'll see what I'm talking about. I'm in my fifties and see things slightly different than mainstream. Hopefully you will enjoy what you read, and maybe even get a laugh or two along the way. |
| Today I would like to talk about some of the more absurd conversations I've had with my mother. I have a list of a few conversations you might find entertaining. 1. Shoe Drama: Mom: Vic, QVC has Lee Sands on and he's showing a green velvet shoe that I want to buy for you. Quick, what size are you? Me:(I quickly turn on QVC and see the shoes and knew they were not for me) No that's okay Mom, I don't need them. Thanks anyway. We go back and forth for a little and then she says this ... Mom: Just tell me what size you are! I finally give in and tell her Me: Eight and a half. Mom: Eight and a half!!! Lord, you have big feet!!! I'm a little taken aback by this comment. Me: Well, you're a good one to talk. You're a size nine! Mom: Yes, but look how old I am. At this point I am dumbfounded. Me: Well, our feet don't grow our whole lives, if they did we'd all be wearing clown shoes! Mom: Whatever! Bye! 2.) Menu Judging: A little background - my mother would call me every night and her first question would be, "what did you make for dinner?" Me: I made haddock, pierogies and green beans. Mom: FISH!! On a Wednesday?! What's up with that? You never make fish on a Wednesday! Fish is a Friday meal. Everyone knows that! At least I thought everyone knew that! Let me just stop right here and tell you I have no idea why she thinks this. We have no religious affiliation that would dictate this notion. Me: You can have fish whenever you want! It doesn't have to be Friday! Long John Silvers is open all week, not just on Fridays! Mom: Whatever! Bye! 3.) Ear Piercing: When I was of middle school age, all of my friends were getting their ears pierced. Of course I wanted to get mine pierced also. Me: Mom, can I get my ears pierced? Mom: You know what kind of people have pierced ears? Sluts! That's who. Why do you want to? Me: All my friends got theirs done. They aren't sluts. Mom: Oh did they now? Well, wait until they get cancer in their ears. They'll see then. Me: You can't get cancer in your ears from getting them pierced! I never heard of that! Mom: Whatever! (I didn't get my ears pierced until I was a senior in high school. I guess in her eyes I had achieved slut status!) 4.) Strawberry Allergy: Mom: Get those strawberries away from me! I don't want anything to do with them. Me (as a little girl): Why not, Mommy? Don't you like them? Mom: I'm allergic to them. If I eat them, the seeds will come out on my skin. As a little girl I would have loved to see her eat one, just so the seeds could come out on her skin. Time went by and our phone conversation, went something like this: Mom: How can you eat those strawberries? Me: I love them! Why can't you eat them? What happens when you eat them? Mom: I'm highly allergic to them. The little seeds come out on my skin. Me: Do you mean you get a rash from them? Mom: No! The seeds come out on my skin. I have to brush them away. Me (utterly perplexed): But that can't happen. The seeds go into your stomach and are digested there. How would they come out on your skin? Mom: Why do I have to explain myself! Me: I don't understand how that could happen! Mom: Whatever! Bye. 5.) Pig Birthmark: This conversation took place when I was pregnant. Mom: Did I ever tell you what happened to my second cousin when she gave birth? Me: No. Did she have a hard time? Mom: Wait until you hear what happened! They lived on a farm and they had a few pigs. One night, when she was pregnant, she said to her husband, "I'll get up early and take care of the pigs." As she said this, she was scratching her forearm. When she gave birth, she had a baby girl, and on her one forearm was a birthmark shaped just like a pig. Imagine, her whole like she had to hide her arm, because of the birthmark. So, you better just watch what you say or your baby could end up with something like that. Me: I doubt that will happen to me. Mom: Whatever! Bye! So, what do you think? Do you have crazy conversations like this with your mother or father? Please let me know in the comments. I welcome your feedback too. This is the first time I've done writing in this format. Thanks for reading my post! |
| We've all heard how pet ownership is good for us and our overall well-being. For example, when nursing homes have animal visitations, the residents love it and their morale improves greatly. Animals do add value to our lives. I have both a dog and cat and know how great it is to own pets. Having said that, and given pets their praise, let me also state they aren't always our loving companions. There are times when pets can in fact be hurtful without even knowing it. 5 Ways Pets Ruin Our Self-esteem: 1.) You offer them a piece of food and they sniff it, but won't eat it. This is food you, yourself, will eat or have just eaten. I recently offered a piece of roast beef to my dog, Regan, and she sniffed it and scurried away with a "I'm good, thanks!" look on her face. My cat, Olive, on the other hand, had a different approach. Upon sniffing the piece of meat, she was prompted to "bury it" and began doing the scratching motion she does in her litter-box. Yeah, that one hurt. 2.) They do their "business" on something of yours. People tell me it's a sign they love me. Is it? Really? It sure doesn't feel that way! 3.) You can call their name countless times and they won't come to you. But, let someone else call for them just once, and they go running to them. That doesn't hurt ... much. 4.) You ask your dog for a kiss and you present your cheek. However, you don't get a kiss, but rather a cheek full of dog snot since your dog rejected your kiss request by snorting snot all over your face. 5.)Your pet runs when they see you naked. My dog stays in the bathroom with me while I shower. One day, as I'm stepping out of the shower, she actually barked at me. Way to build my confidence, Regan! So fellow pet owners, have your pets exhibited any of this behavior? If so, you might be suffering from low self-esteem thanks to an unlikely source. Or if you know you have low self-esteem, but wondered why, look no further than your furry friend. I'm not sure what the answer is; a support group or medication? Thank you for reading my post! |
| I have a question that, hopefully, one of you will be able to answer. Is there a school somewhere that teaches the fine art of "bra-stuffing"? You read that right; bra-stuffing. I don't mean like when we were in school what some girls did to make the other students notice them. No! I'm talking about the women who can put money, car keys, umbrellas, etc., into their bras WITHOUT (and this is key) the item being noticeable or falling out. You see, just recently I had to find a place to put my mail while I carried groceries into my house. I thought, "I'll just stuff them in my bra until I get inside." Well, forget that! The mail was quite noticeable, and to top it all off, it fell out straight to the floor with nothing impeding its fall. I tried several times with the same results.It was a rather humbling experience and once I was inside my house, I tried several different ways of putting the mail inside my bra. Much to my dismay, none of them worked. The mail fell to the floor with each try. So, that led me to believe there must be some secret instruction that was never passed down to me. I somehow was out of the loop when "bra-stuffing" was discussed. What do you think? Do you have this issue, or am I alone? Let me know in the comments. Thanks for reading my little post! ** Image ID #1184382 Unavailable ** |
| Yesterday was my birthday. It was a good day and there was cake. Any day that has cake is a good day. It's just the turning older that gets me. Also, lately I've been feeling like I might have wasted a good portion of my life being distracted by "life". You know what I mean. The crap that fills our days. The nonsensical, idiotic minutia that occupies our minds on a daily basis. The "'what do I need from the store", or the "what will I make for dinner?", or even the "what do I have to clean?", and "I have to do a load of laundry when I get home from work". This is the stuff I'm talking about. If you have an elderly parent you're taking care of, well forget it! That's a whole other set of problems. I believe Peter Drucker said, "Our careers are what we do while we're waiting for our careers to start." I think that can apply to life. Our lives are what we do while we're waiting for our lives to start. If you're like me, you probably thought there will be enough time to (insert your dream) later - after another load of laundry; after I run here to do this or that. And now, I'm thinking, "Wow! I'm 51 and I wasted A LOT of time!" I ran into a friend of mine whom I knew since Kindergarten. She has a doctorate in education and is a superintendent of a school district. She wasn't any smarter than me and yet I feel like she has accomplished so much. Meanwhile I sit and worry about what's for dinner? Yes, I have a few regrets about the way I "frittered" away my youth. Now I'm thinking I don't have enough time - time is running out. I have to apply myself to accomplish my dreams. But yet, there is an errand I have to run first. Oh and then I have to run the vacuum cleaner and take the dog to the vet. |
| Okay, here we go again! I will try my best to post something - no matter how nonsensical - every day. I tried that a number of years ago and I somehow got off track.I think I lost faith in my writing. I was submitting various forms of writing, from greeting cards to children's stories, and getting rejected left and right. I found myself curled up into a fetal position with a massive case of writer's block. Thus the lack of entries for so long. I basically gave up on the whole dream of being a paid writer and decided to move on with my life. Or so I thought. Writing is a disease that is never cured, It gets into your blood and never leaves you. It may go into remission and withdraw from your daily life, but, it never lets you go. The internal writer starts all over again whispering in your ear. First it's a flash of character descriptions recited in your head. You see someone and the internal writer starts narrating their description as if you were reading about them in a short story or novel. Then you begin to think of story lines and plots - just playing around in your mind, nothing serious. You eventually start to think of the writing you did and wonder why you ever stopped. Your mind playing selective memory. You forget the rejection and the self-doubt and begin to dream again. You start to think of full stories and characters - maybe even some dialog. Next thing you know you are sitting at your computer and writing again. This is the stage that I am at. I couldn't NOT write. I tried to ignore it and even told myself "you aren't as good as you think or you would be published." But I continue to write. I don't know if I will get paid to write, but I feel like I have to anyway. I often wish that I wasn't this way - you know, a "writer". It is the most frustrating occupation or past time, or hobby or whatever the hell it is. But, if I make just one person smile, or get just one positive review, it fuels me to continue. It encourages me and makes me think "you ARE that good". |
| This is a piece I wrote earlier this week. I have it in my portfolio, but thought you, my regular blog readers would like to see it. Enjoy! "Ha! I win again! In your face!" I lost yet another game of chess to my husband, Michael. This usually mild-mannered, gentle-giant of a man sat across from me gloating over his win. I flashed-back to all the other times he had beaten me at various activities from board games to miniature golf. There was no denying that he is definitely a poor winner. The best illustration of his competitve nature was the time my daughter received Mr. Bucket for Christmas. We took the game to our kitchen so Mr. Bucket could spin freely and shoot the balls across the floor. As my daughter, nephew and I stood ready with our little scoopers, my husband started the game. Mr. Bucket spun around and shot out the first ball - mine. As I bent over to scoop it up, Michael whacked it across the room. He did that with each ball that shot out of Mr. Bucket's mouth that wasn't his. I tried to get between his six foot five inch, two hundred and fifteen pound frame and Mr. Bucket, but was promptly 'butt checked' by Michael. I flew across the room. My nephew and I tried desperately to chase after the balls and get them to the bucket before Michael, but failed miserably. Michael won and stood triumphant with Mr. Bucket held high over his head - looking for applause. My poor daughter, freaked out by the whole incident, stood in the corner of the kitchen watching with wide-eyes and the scooper in her hand - unused. She never played with Mr. Bucket after that. To this day, she has an aversion to anything bucket-shaped. The following Christmas it was the board game Don't Wake Daddy. Again, the sheer competitveness of Michael shined through. "You can't beat me! I win again! You two are LOO-OO-SERS!" Then came Uno. My husband became so competitve with this game that we had to discontinue playing it. The arguments created during the game carried over into everyday life. We gave each other the silent treatment for days after a rousing match. Next we tried Five Hundred Rummie. Michael turned it into the Superbowl of Card Games. During one of our matches I realized he made up rules. I had to buy a Hoyle Book of Card Games to prove him wrong on several of his 'rules'. Again, another game that we couldn't play with him. His obnoxius behavior is displayed each time he wins anything. The times when my daughter or I beat him, he automatically gives the classic whiner excuses of, "You cheated!" or "I wasn't ready yet!" Of course we can't hear him because we're too busy doing our victory dance in the middle of the room. Beating Michael and being more obnoxious than him has become our new family game. |
| "It's like I always say, life's too short to root for losers," I overheard my husband telling my daughter after the Phillies lost to the Rockies. My husband has various words to live by. Here's a short list of "Mic-isms": 1. Dust Never Sleeps: This he spews in reference to dusting the house. "Why are you dusting now? I just dusted everything yesterday," I ask when I see him heading for the furniture polish. His answer is always the same: Dust never sleeps. 2. Go to sleep with wet hair and wake-up with a cold: This is for my daughter who likes to let her hair air-dry rather than use a hairdryer. It's his warning to her, which she uses to her advantage the next morning when she wakes-up and doesn't feel like going to school. "I think I have a cold", she'll say, and my husband, not seeing her faking for what it is, says, "I told you that would happen. You went to bed with wet hair." He thinks this is proof that his 'old saying' is proven correct. 3. A tissue in one nostril helps you breathe better when you have a cold: I can't tell you how many times I have looked at my husband and seen a tissue sticking-out of his nose. It is a ridiculous sight. He has his pathetic "I'm sick" face, and then this white fluff of tissue is sticking-out of his nose. I once mentioned this strange habit in the presence of his family, thinking they would laugh. They didn't. Turns out, they practice the tissue up the nostril method also. I'm not sure if they thought of it first, or if they heard it from my husband. 4. Don't think - it will give you a headache: I hear this when my husband and daughter are making some kind of noise and I tell them "Be quiet. I can't think." 5. Cold hands, cold heart: I tried to explain this is wrong, but it never seems to register. I've given-up trying to correct him. There you have it! Who knew that my husband could be so profound? |
| I should listen to my intuition. The day before my appointment with the auto body shop to replace my driver's side mirror after my 'incident' last week, my intuition kept saying to call and make sure my mirror was ready to be installed. The mirror had to be ordered and then painted. (When I made the appointment, I gave the body shop technician my car's color and trim number so it could be painted.) I didn't listen to it and trusted that everything would be okay. How wrong I was. When I arrived, Steve, the manager, approached me. "Can I help you?" he asked. I told him I was there to have a mirror installed. "Do you have an appointment?" he asked suspicously. When I tell him that I called last week, he looks surprised and runs to the appointment book. "I see your name, but I don't even know where your mirror is. Let me check around." After a fifteen minute search of the shop he says, "I have your mirror, but it's not painted. Are you leaving your car here for it to be put on?" "No, it was supposed to be painted and all ready to go" I inform him. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Can you come back tomorrow and we'll have it ready for you?" he asks. "Yes" I answered slightly annoyed. This morning I will be hanging out at the auto body shop. Something I hate to do. There's no television or radio, While Steve searched for my mirror, I looked at the magazine selection. All of them were for motorheads. I came across a People magazine, but it was the Spanish version. Speaking Spanish is a skill I lack. I sat and stared out the window. The lesson here is that I should listen to my intuition. Had I called the day before, like my intuition told me to, I wouldn't have to go back again today. That little voice was so right. |
| My mother just left this week's grocery list on my answering machine. It sounds more like a scavenger hunt list than a grocery list. A few weeks ago she had Cascade on her list. "I want the Cascade for washing dishes, but not the one for dishwashers." Last time I checked, Cascade was dish washing liquid for dishwashers. So, I called her to find out what it was that she really wanted. "Cascade makes a dish liquid for washing dishes without a dishwasher. You have to look for it, but they do make it." Okay. Off to the supermarket to find this new product. I stood in the dish liquid aisle scanning the bright colored liquids until my eyes fell on the Cascade section. Every bottle was for cleaning dishes in a dishwasher. I walk away empty-handed. When I deliver the groceries I tell my mother they didn't have her Cascade, only for dishwashers. She informs me that I was looking at the right thing and I should have bought it. "Now what am I going to do all week without dish liquid?" The added guilt-trip was a nice touch on her part I thought. Next week Cascade is on the list again. This time I buy the nearest bottle satisfied that I had gotten what she wanted. I deliver it and everything is great. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted." I point out that it says right on the bottle that it's for dishwashers, but she stands firm in her belief that this is for washing dishes without a dishwasher. Three days later she leaves her shopping list on my answering machine with the added comment, "you have to get me some kind of dish liquid. This Cascade you got me is for dishwashers. I can't use it." This is where I went temporarily insane and began banging my head on the nearest wall. The following week she wanted Easy-off oven cleaner. "I want the kind that doesn't have fumes." Fine. I go to the cleaning products aisle and stare at the oven cleaners. There are only two types of Easy-off; one in a blue can and one in a yellow can. I buy the one that says "fume free" right on the can. I deliver the groceries and head home. Once inside the door, the phone rings. It's my mother telling my answer machine that I bought the wrong kind of oven cleaner. "You got this and it's not what I wanted. I wanted the fume free kind" I pick up the phone and tell her I got the fume free Easy-off. I also tell her there are only two types of Easy-off. "Well, it must be the other one then because this is wrong." One week her list had the item "toilet doodads". I'm at the supermarket more than twice a week, and I don't remember seeing anything labeled as "toilet doodads" - ever. Once again I need clarification on what she truly means. "Those things you hang on the side of the toilet bowl." "Do you mean toilet deodorizers?" I ask, showing-off my product knowledge. "Whatever they're called, that's what I need", she answers completely unimpressed by me. Another time there was "house spray" on her list, which when translated is air freshener. These are just examples of how she butchers cleaning products. She's just as bad when it comes to food items. Here's a short list: - baby-shit mustard - French's Yellow Mustard - stove-pipes - rigatoni - cream cheese in the tub, but not the kind you spread - ? (I still haven't figured this one out) - chicken a la king - chicken chow mein - I don't know what her problem with this one is. Somehow, I'm supposed to know what she really wants. I just checked this week's list. "I want Hollandaise sauce, but not the one that you usually get me - the other one." Okay. I can see I'll be spending a good part of my Saturday hunting down the elusive "Hollandaise". |
| Even though I poke fun at my husband, I really do love him. I figure he must REALLY love me since he hasn't thrown me out of the house after my recent misadventures. With that in mind, I began to think of the many different ways that I show him I love him. I wanted to do an inventory for my own peace of mind. Here's what I came up with: 1. I clean your nose hairs out of the bathroom sink. 2. I laugh at your 'not so funny' jokes the first hundred times I hear them (after that - no holds barred!) 3. I don't bother you when you watch every football game, football highlight show and football analysis show. 4. I pick-up your dirty underwear and socks from the bedroom floor - YUCK! 5. I tell you your man-boobs aren't THAT big. 6. I don't hold my ears when you sing along with the radio (I just put cotton in them!) 7. I know to leave the house whenever you start any home improvement project so you can swear and cuss freely. 8. I still love your tried and true sexual advances. Even your old standby, "Come here - I want to show you something." 9. I listen intently to your work stories even though they all start the same way - "A fat woman came over to me today , , , 10. I don't complain when you sprint naked from the bathroom to the bedroom after taking a shower. The order might need a little re-working, but otherwise, this is a pretty good list. In fact, I just may show it to him to remind him that I do love him. On second thought, he's better off not reading this. I'll just have to tell him I love him. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
