Am I Really the Patron Saint Too Much Caffeine after 3 P.M.?

All Saints Day was this past Saturday, November 1^st. As Catholics, we celebrate this day – the day after Halloween. I am convinced a group of really surly nuns got together and picked this day as a holy day, just to agitate all the hung over Catholics.

At any rate, the saints are celebrated. Each saint is a “patron” of something. For example, St. Francis of Assisi is the patron saint of animals, St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers, and so on it goes.

The interesting stuff is already taken by most of the saints. Unless you are St. Polycarp of Smyrna, patron saint of earaches and dysentery. Sorry buddy.

Wrong kind of saints. Then again….

So what happens if we modernized sainthood to match where we are today as a society? What patron saint would I be?

Here are some thoughts:

Patron Saint of Why did I walk into this room? I am nowhere near the age of ninety-seven, but I have been super forgetful lately. To the point of embarrassment. I can’t remember names for the life of me. The other day I looked over at the person sitting next to me and said, “I’m sorry, remind me of your name.” He replied, “Your husband.”
Patron Saint of I can wear this sock with a hole in the toe, and oh no, now we are doing this “team building” exercise at work without shoes. If there is one thing I can’t stand buying, it’s socks. I will put on a sock with a hole in the big toe and in the heel, think about throwing it away, then wear it, wash it, and fold it away in my drawer. Repeat in two days.
Patron Saint of Drive-By Liking on Facebook. Oh come on, you do it too. Then you see those posts that ask you to comment and cut and paste into your newsfeed, that way people will know you are really friends. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Oh wait – did a Catholic saint come up with this post?
Patron Saint of Saying, “Yes, of course I will help you with blah, blah, blah.” Then kicking yourself in your holy ass. If you have school-age children, you get this. Just one more volunteer assignment at the carnival. Just one more help the teacher cut out 908 snowmen for the holiday party. This patronage can happen at any age. My mother sits on so many philanthropy boards, I’m getting her a doughnut for Christmas.
Patron Saint of I’m pretending to be asleep so you will get up and let the dog out. This applies to any situation you want to avoid. Pretending to be on the phone to avoid talking to someone you know. Pretending you don’t see a car waiting to pull into a parking spot. Pretending you just didn’t get that notice about your turn to bring the gluten-free snacks to the Brownie meeting [see #3 above].
Patron Saint of I have not downloaded my photos from my IPhone, and now I can’t take anymore pictures. I think I still have photos in my phone from when my daughter was three. She is eight now. I. Never. Download. Photos. Ever. Instead, every time I need to take a picture, I play a little Russian Roulette called, “Wonder which photo is going to be deleted from my life?” Huge ice cream sundae eating photo, or dog making hilarious face photo? The possibilities are endless. I lead a very exciting life.

I also never update my phone and other tales from my wild life.

Most likely, I will not be canonized [stop laughing]. Not even close. Luckily, I’m not bucking for sainthood, just paying homage to the things that fill my life – and most likely, the lives of others.

Plus, it really beats being burned at the stake, getting your eyeballs gouged out, or stoned to death.

Photos Courtesy of:

Boondock Saints – www.fanpop.com

Facebook like: commons.wikimedia.org

Cup of Coffee – www.thestranger.com

Iphone – http://www.telegraph.co.uk

Am I Really Dressing as a Tired Fairy…Again?

Halloween must be everyday at my house.

I posted this blog a year ago. Since it is Throwback Thursday, thought I would drag it out of the closet again.

Happy Halloween!!!

It is no secret my love for Halloween. I am one of those people who drags out the giant spider and pumpkin everything on October 1^st. I am usually sweating doing so, since it is still 95 degrees here in Texas.

During my stupor of encasing every surface with cotton cobwebs and foam tombstones, I forget others may not share my zeal for this special day. It pains me to know the awesomeness they are missing. The orange and black Oreos, the watching of Hocus Pocus over and over again, and the dressing up – are you kidding me? Society has given us a day where one can dress in the scariest/bloodiest/sluttiest/creepiest/cross-dressing/insulting outfit you can find and guess what? You will not offend anyone because it is all part of the fun. Take this gift and run people!

Aside from the fun, Halloween is also a judgment day. This is the only day of the year a child will find an adult guilty of crap candy giving. Are you the cool neighbor who hands out Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, or are you the bag of pennies guy? Are you the house that has a smoke machine and sound effects with a talking skeleton, or is your porch light out at 6 p.m.?

Don’t be the bag of pennies guy. Unless you are 97, then it is okay.

The best neighbor is the one who hands out WHOLE candy bars, but those are a rare find. Like the Yeti or a four leaf clover.

There are many BS excuses…er…reasons, I’m sure for not participating in this spooky day. Maybe a person cannot decorate the house due their hip surgery. Or maybe they are allergic to Superman costumes from CVS. Or perhaps the person is from another country, having just arrived to the US, and pumpkins remind him/her of their motherland’s great gourd famine of 1683.

But just not participating? On purpose? I don’t get it.

My sweet mother has bequeathed her holiday fanaticism to me. She decorates for every occasion. She probably has every type of bunny – wood, ceramic, fiberglass – for Easter. Halloween and Christmas, there is animatronic singing character in every room. Arbor Day? She’s probably got that covered too. She takes pride in her decorating skills.

The other day my mother commented that my sister, who is very classic in her decorating, has a bunch of fall decorations in her home. She said this with a gleam in her eye as if to say, “My work here is done people. Rochelle Out! **drops mic**”

I say Amen people! We need to jazz up our everyday existence. And if you can’t do it with fuzzy pumpkins singing the monster mash, what can you do it with?

So this Halloween, don’t be a weenie. Go get a bag of Jolly Rancher lollipops, put on a witch hat, and flip that porch light on. The neighborhood kids will thank you.

Unless you are wearing that sexy Ernie or Bert costume, then you’ll just make everyone uncomfortable.

Nonononono! Just no. Ernie’s Rubber Ducky DOES NOT approve.

Photos Courtesy of:

Bag of Pennies – asimplewalk.blogspot.com

Tired Mom – www.today.com

Sexy Ernie & Bert – www.partycity.com

Am I Really Watching Christopher Columbus and Dracula Battle it out on American Ninja Warrior?

Halloween is a week away and the whole thing makes me want to tinkle. This is one of my favorite holidays. People are decorating their homes, apartments, and RVs with cobwebs and orange lights. Flying witches are head first into tree trunks, and we need to take out a second mortgage to buy a sack of Kit Kats. Good stuff.

But with all the goodies and ghouls, I have noticed one thing:

There is a lot of crap going on during the month of October. Too much.

How the heck did we get here? Didn’t the Puritan’s shun the month of October and its bewitching Hallowmas? Now look at us.

Let’s take a look at all the October happenings:

Halloween. Even though this holiday is at the end of the month, it still rules October – thematically speaking. Good.
Taxes. If you could not make it happen in April, you have until October 15 to file your papers. Perhaps in your sexy nurse costume.
Oktoberfest. Some places have actually moved this event to September. Which kind of defeats the purpose of its namesake. I hear the Germans heavily frown upon this.
Pumpkin bread, pumpkin lattes, pumpkin Greek yogurt, pumpkin scented candles, pumpkin spice creamers. No one gives a damn about the actual pumpkin, unless you throw in some sugar and create an over-priced food item out of it.
Breast Cancer Awareness Month. As far as I’m concerned, breast cancer survivors can have any month they want. They should rename the month Boobtober. Oh, and have the power to move Oktoberfest back to the month of October.
I found the New World, and all I got was this crappy Monday Holiday.
Columbus Day. Sadly, no one gets excited about this. Unless you work at the post office, then you get a day off. Most likely to attend one of the……
Bazillion School Carnivals across America. If I see one more balloon artist I might vomit….rubber weenie dogs. Every festival seems to fall within a two week time span during this month. It’s like all the schools are trying to one up the other with their activities: “Oh our face painter? We flew him in from Milan. He’s the best!”
Please stop.
National Adopt a Shelter Dog Month, National Pizza Month, Domestic Violence Awareness Month, American Pharmacist Month. Dogs – yes. Pizza – yes. Domestic Violence – well, no, but awareness to stop it? Yes. Er, pharmacists? They need to pick a new month. Like March. Pick March.
Eat Country Ham Month. Yes, this is a real thing. But the ham people need to theme it up a bit. How about Hocus Pocus Ham? Or Pumpkin Pork? Or Spooky Salted Swine? Too far?
All. Month. Long.
Parent Teacher Conferences. Why God? Why? They should piggy back these meetings with the school carnival. A failing grade won’t seem that bad when you’ve just won a Bundt cake from the cake walk.

Clearly, October is gunning for December’s Busiest Month Award. Which is fine. Fall is a favorite season of many.

So bring on your mums, your caramel apples, and your nine hundred Halloween Trunk – or – treats. We’ll keep Rocktobering these events together, all the way to November.

Unless you are the National Popcorn Poppin’ Month people. Maybe you just need a week for celebration. In January.

Photos courtesy of:

Christopher Columbus – www.nndb.com

Halloween – www.picshunger.com

Ham – tnhomeandfarm.com

Keep Calm Photo – carharttsandcoachbags.wordpress.com

Forest Gump – www.ktts.com

October – www.lovethispic.com

Balloon Artist – www.projectwedding.com

Am I Really Telling My Canine To Stop Snapchatting with the Taco Bell Dog?

People love their dogs. A lot. Take a look at poor nurse Nina Pham. She is in the hospital being treated for Ebola, and in rolls the Hazmat crew to whisk her sweet Cavalier King Charles Spaniel off to quarantine. I find myself praying that Bentley stays clean.

This dog is so cute. Even with the Hazmat hands in the photo.

This whole mess gets me thinking about my pooch. She is old, stubborn, and could use a breath mint every once in a while, but she’s my baby and I adore her.

Except I have noticed a particular embarrassing trait:

My dog is a bit of a racist. [insert hushed whisper]

You probably thought I was going to say she eats poop. I wish.

When I take her for a walk she is like one of the bad cops in Colors. She barks at most people, but when it is a person of, um, well, color, it is pretty awkward.

My dog. She has no idea how white she is.

Listen, I can’t get my dog to sit when I ask, but I feel so responsible for this behavior.

When my dog starts to bark I always get flustered. I often try to apologize to the person, but usually end up sticking both feet in my mouth. It’s like trying to feed a parrot a Wheat Thin when the owner says, “Sorry, my bird just doesn’t like crackers.” Ridiculous.

However, if there is one silver lining in my dog’s people preference it is this: She’s got a thing for Latinos. A major thing.

Here are some examples of my dog’s Latin love:

I’m pretty gringa, but I do have Hispanic blood in me. At least that is what my dad told me to put on my college applications.
My dog adores my dad (Hispanic). He is the real deal. My dog’s love for my father knows no limit.
She loves my Godfather (Hispanic). Much to my Godfather’s chagrin, my dog followed him around everywhere. He is a cat person.
The other day she made a break for it and jumped into a gardener’s truck (Mexican). When I called her name, she turned around and looked at me as if to say, “So long sister. Tamales tonight b*tches!”

What my dog dreams about.

So what do I do here? Do I send her to doggie sensitivity training? Make her watch 12 Years a Slave?

I love all races, creeds, ethnicities, and even people who chose Pepsi over Coke. How can I get my dog to do the same?

Actually, she really does like all people. She just needs a moment to sniff out a person and get to know them a bit. Then my dog will most likely love and protect you.

Especially if you are packing a taco and your last name is “Gonzalez.” Then my dog will gladly dump me for you.

Some girls have One Direction, my girl has the Taco Bell dog.

Bentley – abcnews.go.com

Taco Bell Dog – forgottenadvertisements.wordpress.com

Taco – social.taylorstrategy.com

Am I Really Raising my Lighter for the Ladies?

So the news blows. Seriously, there is just too much junk happening in our world right now. At any moment I expect Godzilla to walk down my street and start fighting aliens from outer space.

Let’s focus on some positive stuff. I would like to dedicate this post to some people I really admire – most of them ladies.

We all have those we look up to, I thought I would share some of mine. It’s time to thank the awesome:

Please tell me you remember this.

Carol Burnett. I love this woman. I used to watch her show when I was a child and laugh my head off. She was a huge catalyst in my life to entertain. She’s still got it.
Jimmy Carter. Okay, not a lady, but this guy is 90 years old and he is still out swinging a hammer for Habitat for Humanity. I want to hug him and put him on a coin at the same time.
My Mom. I talk to this woman every day, whether she wants to or not. She always makes me feel better, about everything. Her attitude is amazing. She has also taken holiday decorating to an art form. Every holiday. Some possibly Danish in origin.
People who do not inhale their food. You know those folks who gently put down their forks and then fold their napkins on their laps? I am not one of them. I’m like that kid who is scared their mom is going to take away their Snickers bar, so shoves the whole thing in their mouth. I wish I could be more demure. Or less like a Hoover at least.
My Grammie. My mother clearly gets her good attitude from her mother, my grandmother. This woman is 94 years old and I have never heard her complain once. Which is shocking since she grew up during the depression. We could be sitting in a Don’s John on a hot day in the middle of the Mojave Desert and she would say, “Well, it could be worse I suppose.” She can also house a lobster roll like nobody’s business, which is really something since she is 98 pounds…oh wait, that’s where I get it.
Come on – just look at Grammie. You want to give her hug.
The dog that saved that runner’s life by finding help when she fell down a ravine. Okay, not a human, but I don’t know too many humans who would stay by a hurt person’s side, then run in the cold for miles, without food for three days, only to bark at someone for help. Sometimes I have a difficult time re-filling my daughter’s juice cup.
Yoga Instructors. I just can’t do it. You win.
Nope.
My calm friend Shannon. I wish I could be calm like my friend. So much stuff has happened to this lady, but she just zens her way through it. I break a shoelace and will flip over my desk. She is also a fork down, “no thanks, I’m full” kind of person, which explains a lot.
The face I make when we are out of peanut butter.
Amy Poehler. Once again, the comedy thing. I would love to grab a drink with her at an outside café and people watch and laugh and laugh. Hey, it could happen.
Ladies fully put together with make up and pressed clothing at 7:40 a.m. school drop off…smiling. Those of you who know me are well aware that hair brushing is not part of my early morning repertoire. Those working moms who have to actually go to a place of business blow my mind. I can do it, have done it, but it nearly kills me. We need to give those broads the slow clap.

There are about a thousand more people I admire. Not all women, and not all famous. To me, it’s the “ordinary” people who truly do extraordinary things.

So during these Times O’ Crap (I’m pretty sure that’s what they are calling it on Nightly News with Brian Williams), take a look around and just say thanks for the good people who influence you to do better, to be better.

But do it after school drop off, when your hair is brushed.

I would love to hear about the people you admire. Please feel free to share below in the comments!

Photos courtesy of:

Lighter www.tvtropes.org

Carol Burnett www.visit-gettysburg.com

Yoga www.massageyogawellness.com

Animal www.partyworld.ie

Am I Really Offending People With My Surgical Mask?

The new fall fashion.

Well it’s here. The very first documented case of the Ebola virus here in the United States. Oh, and just ten minutes down the road from my family here in Dallas.

To say I am less than thrilled would be an understatement. I am scared sh*tless. Yes, yes, I know it can only be transmitted via symptomatic booger to booger. But knowing that does nothing to help alleviate fears. At. All.

With all the medical crap floating around (enterovirus, Ebola, cooties in general), I think we need to implement a “This might be offending you, but you’ll get over it,” policy.

Seriously, this is no time to be that polite. No, I’m not talking about being purposely rude to your fellow man, but we definitely shouldn’t say, “That’s okay you sneezed on me!”

Look, I am a nice person. Too often in the past, I have been screwed over trying not to offend people or keep the peace. Guess what? The only person hurt in the end was me.

Don’t be a nation of me.

To reiterate what’s already been said a thousand different ways at the daily press conferences, here are some ideas on how to keep your health in check:

Just saying….

Be a Howie Mandel. Fist bump, fist bump, fist bump. You might make fun of him and his germaphobia, but a little less touchy feely is the way to go here. In Liberia, shaking hands is taboo now.

Don’t Be a Hero. The gang down at the work will file your report. The bake sale will go on without your sticky buns. Your to do list will survive just fine, but you and others may not if make just one more Target run while puking your guts out. If you are sick, stay home. Period.

Close the Drawbridge. Maybe for a while, we don’t have flights to and from that part of the world. It’s a little crappy, but we really need to contain this thing. British Airways suspended flights to and from Sierra Leone for the month of August. Even more airlines have stopped flying to the affected areas indefinitely. Think of it this way, no one has ever said, “Hey, look at the leak under the sink. I should open this cabinet in case it wants to come into the house. It’s not my business to stop it.” Terrible example, but you get the idea. The US, along with other countries, might need to close the hatch for a while.

Just go home already.

This is such a human issue. Not only is our physical health at stake, but also our humanity and how we treat one another. Viewing the images of the affected areas is heartbreaking. I can’t imagine what families, children, and loved ones are going through. If I am really honest with myself – I don’t want to imagine it. It is entirely too much to process.

But we can still care about others without being that PC.

So don’t take it personally when I don’t shake your hand at mass. Don’t think I’m being rude when I douse myself with hand sanitizer after using your pen. It is not you the human being I take issue with, it’s all the little germs that are hanging onto you.

So go ahead, start calling me Crazy Hand Sanitizer Sue, I’ll take it. When we’re all feeling a little bit better, I’ll take you out for a beer and apologize.

Photos courtesy of:

www.aliexpress.com

www.examiner.com

otthonka.blogspot

Am I Really Wishing My Life Was a Zatarain’s Commercial?

Have you seen these commercials? Those people really love flavored rice. There’s the exuberant trumpet player, kids dancing all around the kitchen, and dad making googley-eyes at mom – all because of that boxed rice.

She is literally out of her mind about the jambalaya rice.

Wouldn’t it be great if life were always this exciting?

We should all incorporate a little more Zatarain’s type of verve into our every day. Just think of the possibilities!

Let’s take a look at some less than exciting situations and “Zatarain’s it”:

Standing in line at the DMV/Post Office/Space Mountain. These lines are a beating. It is usually too hot or too cold, the dude in front of you always has b.o., and you probably have to pee. Zatarain’s it! Whip out that boom box and start playing Wang Chung’s “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight.” You’ll get people dancing on the kiosks and throwing their paperwork in the air! You’ll renew that driver’s license in no time, and make some new friends. No one can be cranky when that song is on.
Filling out tax forms. Just shoot me now. We actually have a fabulous CPA to help us with our taxes, but it is still so tedious. Are we going to get money back? Can we write off my daughter’s Minecraft as a business expense? Zatarain’s it! Rip those forms in half while standing on a desk like Sally Field in Norma Rae. Then move to Canada.
Unclogging the shower drain. I don’t know about you, but I let the clogs in our house runneth over. Our shower is so clogged, I can take a bath in it after forty-five seconds. Why this is such a task, I don’t know. Zatarain’s it! Grab all those animated fish from Finding Nemo and make them swim down the drain to amend the issue. Oh the antics they’ll get into.
When your flight is cancelled after waiting on the tarmac for three hours. OMG. I want to pull my hair out when this happens. I am a nervous flyer to begin with, so just sitting there wondering if this tube is going to take off (leading to more terror), is shear hell. Zatarain’s it! Get those flight attendants to start passing out the warm nuts and moist towelettes. Anything from first class makes flying better. Even just one Andes Candy can make a difference.
Quizzing child on spelling words/homework. Nobody likes homework – especially parents. The spelling words are our Achilles heel. I hate it, my daughter hates it. She blows it off to the point of randomly throwing in the letter “q” on a word like “supply” just to watch me lose it. Zatarain’s it! Open a bottle of Pinot. Then call your neighbor over to quiz your daughter. A win-win.

Looks like somebody needs a bowl of yellow rice…

Okay, so nothing can make the above all that better, especially Cajun rice. But utilizing the Zatarain’s method, if only in your head, might help a bit.

Especially the next time Uncle Ned prattle’s on about the conga line from his last Carnival Cruise. With photos.

** Photos courtesy of Walmart,com, and ispot.tv.

Am I Really Brushing My Teeth for the Talent Competition?

Here she comes…Miss America…

Okay, so last night, the new 2015 Miss America was crowned. It was a threepeat with New York taking the title. This cute little blonde thing deserved it. She was humble, supportive, and her figure made me put down that second dinner roll. Well third, but whatever. She was so excited when The Bachelor’s Chris Harrison announced she won, I thought she was going to pass out, or vomit, or both.

I have always enjoyed watching these competitions. When I was a little girl, my entire family would watch the pageant and try to guess who might win. It was always a fun event.

Except the talent portion.

This area has always made me cringe. The opera singers, interpretive dancers, pianists – not one of these contestants really wants to partake in this portion of the evening. Even the dummy from last night’s ventriloquist act was like, “Do we have to?”

Last night took the cake. Miss New York performed her “talent” sitting on her fanny with some plastic cups while singing Pharrell Williams’ “Happy”. Then, to add insult to injury, there were these fun facts popping up during the performance. It was a 1990s throwback to VH1’s Pop Up Video. Seriously, one of the facts was “Enjoys street hot dogs.” What???

Watch it here : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqL4pcINCv0

While Miss New York received quite a bit of criticism for said cup talent, I think we ought to thank her. She has opened the door for all the pageant ladies who really don’t have a talent.

Gracie Lou Freebush anyone?

Let’s look at some “talents” that might work in the future:

Putting things away. This seems like a good one. You get home from the store and you have to put the milk and eggs away before they go bad. Perhaps there could be a “challenge” to see how contestants put things into the refrigerator. Is it all haphazard, or can they keep the cheeses organized? Like in a California Closet.
Paying a toll booth. Do you just throw the money into the catch basket? Do you use exact change? What if you miss? Disqualified!!!!
Pouring a cup of coffee. Pour a cup of coffee. Now do it while waving at the audience a la beauty queen style. See the talent?
Pretending “I just didn’t see you there!” We’ve all done it. Trying to avoid someone at the store, parking lot, Asian massage parlor. Maybe you don’t have the time to chat, maybe you owe that person money, and maybe you just don’t trust yourself to blurt out, “What the hell happened to your hair?” I bet these Miss American beauties could pull it off with sincerity. That folks is a talent.
Opening the door. There is not just one way to open a door. There is the one hand method, the push using your hip method, and the “after you” method. This talent could really highlight their congeniality skills – a two-fer!

I would have enjoyed this routine more.

Poking fun at the Miss America Pageant has been done ten times over; that’s not where I’m going. The Miss American Pageant is a national institution. It should stick around like apple pie and street hot dogs (see what I did there?).

But maybe they should loosen the reigns a bit on the talent competition. I really don’t think anyone would mind. I have never heard of a time when Miss America was visiting an orphanage, when all the children shouted, “We loved your baton twirling routine to Eye of the Tiger! Would you please perform it for us?” Nope.

So when watching the new Miss America perform her cups routine on YouTube, don’t roll your eyes. Instead, thank her. She has paved the way for other I-use-the-term-talent-loosely contestants.

And hey, you might have a chance in 2016 with all those recycling skills of yours.

Am I Really Telling Life I’m Too Busy Folding Laundry?

Like sands through the hourglass….

Life is funny.

Sometimes it is hilarious, pee your pants funny. Other times, life grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a bit of a shake. While laughing.

The other day I attended a funeral. It wasn’t my first, and it won’t be my last, but like all of them, it was extremely sad.

Mortality really gets a person thinking: love, family, that missed sale at Nordstrom all come into play. Out of all of the thoughts floating around, one really stood out for me:

I waste a whole lot of time.

If I were to kick the bucket today, I’d be super pissed. I have not done enough. There are still so many hopes, dreams, and episodes of Orange is the New Black yet to be fulfilled.

Oh sure, I’ve done a lot with my life – we all have. But all the time I’ve wasted? Ridiculous. I’m like the Ponzi scheme of time wasting. Just indict me already.

Instead of doing the big stuff, here’s some of the petty stuff which has sucked away my time:

1) Anger. What a time suck this is. I have let myself be pissed off about, traffic, running out of Pop Tarts, my husband snoring, my daughter forgetting her homework, the toaster burning my bread, and my shoe (yes, my effing shoe). Why? Did I feel any better? Get any closer to by goals? Nope. All I got was a vein popping out of my forehead and the need for a new pair of flats.

2) Laundry/Dishes/Paper Shuffling/Busy Work. Yes, yes I know, it has to be done. And yes, I feel a sense of accomplishment when things are clean and put away – which lasts about five seconds because everyone has dirty underwear. I just don’t think St. Peter is going to give me a free pass at the pearly gates because I scrubbed the sink when I really wanted to watch a movie with my child.

You are not the boss of me.

3) Jealousy. Look, I’m a nice lady, but not above the green-eyed monster. There have been times when one of my not-so-favorite people have succeeded at something. For a moment, I secretly hope they go on a norovirus-laden Carnival Cruise…to Gilligan’s Island. I’m usually thinking this while scrubbing the sink. Eff.

4) Regret. Kicking myself in the pants for a number of boo-boos, over and over again, has gotten me nowhere. I need to take on my father’s military line of thinking: “Well, you f*cked up. Move on. You’re still breathing.” Touché.

5) Laziness/Procrastination. Is watching Pacific Rim for a third time really all that necessary? Nope. Relax, then get your ass up and go write a chapter in your novel.

6) Facebook/Social Media. I like to be connected, but not that connected. Do I really need to know all the times a person ate at Pho, had a monster hangover, or ran out of Easter egg dye leaving them all “off-white?” Not really. People should post these things, it’s their life. I just don’t need to be viewing it all times when I really need to walk the dog.

Will I continue to make the above mistakes and waste time? Most likely. But can I make small changes to my daily life to focus on what is important? Yes.

Then once I remove all these life time wasters, I can focus on the funny ha-ha side of life. And maybe pee my pants a little…more.

Am I Really Trying to Grill S’mores from an Algebra Book Bonfire?

The smells of Elmer’s Glue, pencil shavings, and over-tenured teachers are in the air. Target, Staples, and Walmart are vying to be the school supply headquarters. Pottery Barn Kids is out of 98% of their backpacks and lunch bags (trust me on this).

Aaaaaaand just like that, it’s back to school.

I am not ready.

Also, where the hell did summer go?

The school year seems to be starting earlier and earlier each year. I heard a rumor that next year classes will commence on July 6^th. Like China.

I don’t know about you, but I am putting my foot down on this early school year. Even the full-time working parents are over it, and their kids need to go someplace. All day.

At this young age (8), going back to school for my daughter means I am also going back to school. Her homework, means I have homework. By homework I mean yelling, “Sit down and do your homework!” Then making her erase all her misspelled words and start over. Then moping and crying a little. By me.

Going back to school means going back to activities we blew off most of the summer. Oh yeah, you take gymnastics. Now we have to be somewhere at 4 p.m. every Wednesday. Oh, piano is Monday? Wait, you have Girl Scouts on Monday. Well, maybe we can switch the day to Tuesday. No, that won’t work, you have Taekwondo on Tuesday. Eff it.

Going back to school means spending money. A lot of money. All on stuff I don’t get to keep. For the amount of money spent on random school carnival wear and apparatus, magazine drives, teacher gifts (okay, that’s a good one), school lunch fund, random school promotional materials, social clubs, socks (we always need those), and just giving money to the school because aren’t we nice – I could go to Fiji and stay at a resort. Okay, not Fiji, but maybe Austin for the weekend. With a new pair of pants.

Going back to school means volunteering. A lot. Oh wait, I mean, ignoring emails about various volunteer “opportunities,” then saying things like, “I didn’t get that email.” While peeling out of the school parking lot. At five miles per hour (it’s the speed limit there).

I need more summer.

See you next year.

Remember when we were in grade school? The summers seemed to last forever. Come August, even the kid who couldn’t spell was ready to go back to school. I remember being at my neighborhood pool, swatting flies away from the Fudgsicle dripping down my arm, while listening to Prince’s Purple Rain album playing on a loop, thinking, “Yeah, I’m kind of over this.” It was a good thing too because by summer’s end my one-piece was kind of over it too [Cue over-stretched, saggy-assed swimsuit].

Even as a parent, in summers past I have been ready to shove…er…escort my child out the door to school.

I need another week. Or two.

I know how you feel sweetheart.

I need to slather my child in SPF 50. Just one more week. I need to say to my daughter, “No, you cannot have a popsicle. It is nine a.m.” Just one more week. I need to complain about the lame summer television show options (except for The Leftovers and Ray Donovan). Just one more week.

So I might have to start a movement down here in Texas: Operation Start School After Labor Day. By September, teachers will be ready, parents will be ready, and students will be ready. Homework will actually start to look good.

Nope. No it won’t. I took it too far.