Am I Really Flipping the Bird to the Mayans from Under a Pile of Crumpled Wrapping Paper?

Soooooo…we’re still here. Thank God the world didn’t end. I still have a ton of crap to do. Plus, I haven’t been to Prague yet.

If you believe in a higher power, then you are recovering from a massive holiday hangover from one of the following:

A) Eight Crazy Nights

B) The Birth of Sweet Baby Jesus

C) Boxing Day

D) Festivus

E) Kwanzaa (you guys are still at it)

F) The Pagan Winter Solstice Celebration

Whew. December has been busy. Good thing we didn’t perish.

Or did we?

Perhaps “the end” did not occur as we imagined it. There were no molten lava fires. The earth did not swallow us whole. We were not crushed under the weight of a gigantic Auntie Anne’s mall pretzel.

While we did have some tragic weather in 2012, such as Hurricane Sandy, earthquakes and tornados, we did not have one force of Mother Nature that swept mankind off the face of the earth. The weather systems were devastating, yet we were able to come together as a people and have the hope to move forward and re-build. We could understand that these forces were beyond our control.

How can we re-build when the devastation is the loss of an irreplaceable life? Where do we find the hope and strength when our pillars were taken from us? And how can we understand and make sense of the methodically senseless acts?

No, a wind did not blow all of humankind off the face of the planet. But another human being sure tried.

Maybe the Mayans are trying to tap us on the shoulder to say, “Hey, morons! Cut the sh*t. Pull it together.”

In light of recent horrific human-on-human travesties, maybe we just need to stop. Stop continuing on the way we have as a people and start fresh. The new year of 2013 is a good way to “re-birth” ourselves to be a little gentler and a little kinder with one another.

Let us turn to the Golden Rules of Life we try to teach our children:

1) If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. I don’t know about you, but my mother hammered this rule into my head. When I was a kid I would have to bite my lip sometimes. Unfortunately, as an adult, I suck at this rule. There are ways to tell someone they are bothering you other than, “Hey a**face! Thanks for cutting in front of me. P.S. – your hair looks like Justin Beiber’s pubes.”

2) If you see someone crying or hurt, give them a hug. Have you ever watched four or five year old children? Whenever another child cries, they will go up to that child and hug them. Children have an amazing ability to empathize. They have not been indoctrinated with the adult ways of “Walk it off. Suck it up. That’s your problem, not mine.” Maybe we need a little more empathy.

3) Mind your manners. When did we forget to say please and thank you? And why is holding the door open for another such a problem for society? You see someone behind you entering the same store, why not hold the door open three seconds longer? What were you planning on doing with those three extra seconds? Swallowing? Buy a manners book people.

4) Make new friends, but keep the old. The Girl Scouts were right; you can never have too many friends. Reach out to someone. Welcome a newcomer into your neighborhood. Open your circle and open your life – or maybe someone else’s.

5) Use your kind words. This piggy-backs onto number one. Trust me, it’s tough sometimes. Some people really blow chunks. But letting things escalate will only make matters worse. Maybe that person has indigestion. You just never know.

6) Just because someone is different, doesn’t mean it’s bad. We’ve got a ways to go on this one. It’s so odd to me because we tout being so open to other religions, we brag about being a democracy and having freedom of speech. Not so people. How many times have you seen someone get hammered on Facebook for their political stance (and not a stance of belligerence) because it was not someone else’s? How many people have been belittled because they live their life to a certain moral or religious code (one that does not hurt others)? And do we really allow others to freely share their opinions without persecution? Nope. Seriously, why do people get so insulted by someone living their lives the way they want to? When did saying, “Merry Christmas” become such a dirty phrase? I don’t celebrate any Pagan holidays, but if someone came up to me and said, “Many Wiccan Blessings!” I surely wouldn’t be insulted. I’d kind of dig it actually. This is not a PSA for Christmas, just a current example of how we need to loosen up a bit.

7) Don’t pick your nose. That’s just solid advice all-round.

8) Just walk away. Let’s take some advice from Kenny Rogers, “You gotta know when to hold ‘em/Know when to fold ‘em/Know when to walk away/Know when to run.” This philosophy can apply to anything from a job, to a bad relationship, war, or a questionable meal at Denny’s. Think of some of the problems that could have been averted.

9) Share. We can take this one step further from the split-a-graham-cracker-with-your pre-school-buddy. Share your feelings with someone. Your fears and worries. Share the good stuff too. Share your love and share your talents. You never know who you might help by doing so.

10) Don’t hit others. We could also put into this category don’t shoot/stab/machete others. Seems simple enough.

Let me clarify: I am no expert in “We should all do XYZ to be a better ABC.” I don’t think a smile will take away all the bad in the world. But I have read Chicken Soup for the Soul. Plus, I am a human being, just like you. And I hurt, just like you. And I get happy, just like you. Maybe if we start treating each other like fellow human beings, instead of reasons and scapegoats for our problems, we just might make it.

Just like a rotten apple sitting in a barrel of fresh apples, some people are going to be crazy and act crazy. We can’t control people like robots. But we can work on ourselves and do everything we can to create a safe place to live.

So let’s pretend the world ended and start over in 2013. Let’s make it fresher, better, kinder.

And maybe firmer too, because let’s face it, we’ve all had one too many mini-quiches this December.

Am I Really Nominating My Mother for a Tony Award/Nobel Peace Prize/ESPY?

December 1^st – a glorious day. The beginning of a month, a day to really kick off the holiday season, also…

My mother turns 70 today.

Now I don’t know about you, but being able to say one has walked the face of the earth for seventy years is quite an accomplishment in my book. I dream that by the time I get to seventy I will have accomplished some pretty amazing things to justify the roadmap that will surely be etched all over my face. Like invent something that stops people from complaining about overage fees in AT&T commercials.

My mother is no different. She really has done some pretty cool stuff in her lifetime: raised three kids, traveled all over the world, worked as a nurse in pediatrics and obstetrics, married my dad (that’s an accomplishment in itself), and the list goes one.

More importantly, it is not what this great woman has achieved; it is more what she has taught me and my siblings in this life:

1) Any time is a good time for chocolate cake. Seriously – any time.

2) Always soak dirty socks. Somehow when she does laundry it is better than taking it to the cleaners. She pre-soaks grass-stained items. She is a like an ERA commercial, but for real.

3) Use of the phrases: “Don’t go there.” “You go girl!” “It is what it is.” And, “Well, it could be worse.” Will cap off any conversation nicely.

4) Stay young at heart. I know this idiom is overused, but really, she is. She is up for anything, has a positive attitude about even the crapiest of events, and she watches Extra to keep up with the gossip. ‘Nuff said.

5) Keep Kleenex, wet wipes, and colorful lipstick in your purse. It’s the woman’s McGuyver kit.

6) When all else fails, use condensed soup to jazz up a chicken dish. It works. Word.

7) Wear your sunglass, even indoors. It creates an air of mystery. It also will also salvage your irises.

8) Give a damn. If there is one thing that my mother is the queen of, it’s giving a crap. The little things matter, the big things matter more. All people matter, even the jerk-wads.

9) Color, highlight, or frost your hair. No one knows how Stonehenge came to be. Just like no one knows if my mother has gray hair.

10) Be thankful for what you have. Good health? Check. Roof over your head? Check. Food to eat? Check. Glass of wine and People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive 2012 edition? Bonus.

I could write a book about what my mother has given to her children, but the most important thing she gave is how to be a good person.

This past weekend, we held a birthday celebration for my mother to ring in the big 7-0. All three of us kids tearfully spoke about why she is so tremendous. The theme of each speech was how to be a kind and caring person. You can teach a kid how to ride a bike, but you can’t teach them how to be a good person. You lead by example. If there is one thing I can pass down to my daughter from my mother, it is this very thing, to be a good person.

Today I would like everyone to raise their glass of wine, whiskey, or prune juice in a toast to my mom. If you see her, give her a hug, buy her a latte, or compliment her on her scarf from Chico’s. She is a fabulous lady and deserves an award of some type. I will be giving her the, You are my mother and still putting up with my baloney award.

Of course, my mom would get embarrassed if she actually received an award for her awesomenes, and really, she doesn’t need a trophy. Everyone she meets instantly knows how amazing she is. And really, isn’t that the most important thing? The feeling you give to others.

That, and seventy years of hospital corners.

Am I Really Implementing a No B.S. Code for America?

You bet your sweet Green Beret I am! Today is Veterans Day (well actually yesterday), a day when we salute these great men and women for serving this country and keeping our freedom…well…free. One veteran in particular has a very special place in my life – my father.

Growing up in a military family, I observed a very prominent characteristic in my father. This trait is also exhibited by many seasoned veterans as well:

No Bull Sh*t.

I can’t speak for all veterans, but my father has no time for it. Say what you mean, get your job done, watch your ass, and quit bitching. Not a bad code to live by.

Recently, a local newspaper interviewed my father about his experiences in the military, the Vietnam War, the National Guard, and later, his time at the Pentagon. I had the honor of pleasantly eavesdropping in on the conversation. When asked about his return from his tour of duty in Vietnam, my father said he could not understand why people got so upset about little things. He saw people die in front of him. How could he have the patience to listen to people complain about the small annoyances of life? It’s not that he doesn’t care about people, he does. But why all the bullcrap?

It got me thinking – if more people lived their lives to the beat of this no BS code, what would our world look like today? Let’s take a peak:

1) The Kardashians would not have their own show. I think we can all agree the world would immediately be a better place.

2) Unemployment would disappear. Everyone would have a job. They might not like it, but TS, sometimes you have to swab the decks and clean a toilette with a toothbrush because you are the low man on the totem pole.

3) No more bad hair days. You wouldn’t have any hair to worry about.

4) Sh*t would get done. Everyone would be up at 0600 hours. Period.

5) We wouldn’t have to participate in ridiculous Richard Simmons work out videos. The military is always running in platoons. You’d be fit as a fiddle.

6) Lindsey Lohan would be in jail. Only civilians would put up with her BS.

7) Football quarterbacks would never get sacked. You don’t leave your man unprotected.

8) The abolition of hoarding. Military personnel have a toothbrush and a blanket. That’s it. No need to collect all the People magazines from 1984 – present.

9) No more As Seen on TV ads for those “Stompees” slippers. That footwear is ridiculous.

10) Random Facebook of, “Buying Cantelopes!” would come to an end. No time for that type of BS. We’d be too busy building homes for Habitat for Humanity.

11) We’d do away with cat posters and calendars. Why? What purpose do they serve?

While the above are ridiculous thoughts, we do need to cut the sh*t America – myself included. Do we really need to complain that much? It seems like a slap in the face to those working day and night for this country. Coming off an election that was strife with social media insults and the massive “You’re wrong, I’m right!” attacks we could use a little solidarity. It felt just like a foreign war, but it was a domestic social media war, and did we really feel all that much better in the end?

I can’t imagine what it is like to come under fire. I hope I never do. I have no idea what it is like to drag some men from your unit to safety, while others do not make it. I hope I never have to make that choice. What does it feel like to lock the horrific details of combat into the corner of your psyche just so you can survive the banality of everyday life of paying bills, taking out the trash, and watching bad TV? I never want to know. To leave loved ones behind for extremely long periods of time, missing birthdays, anniversaries, births? That seems like a hell all unto itself.

Yet men and women of this great nation do it every day so bozos like me can wait in lines at Starbucks and Target, complain about gas prices, and eat too much at Del Taco. They do it so we can practice our respective religions without persecution, we can freely go to school and learn, we can have an opinion and write goofy blogs like this one. They do it so we can keep our freedom and protect us from threats, both foreign and domestic. That’s the big stuff. The rest is just small stuff.

So for today, just stop the BS. Don’t complain. Go to the parade. Wear a yellow ribbon. Hug a veteran (but be careful, some are really old). Say thank you to those who have served for this country, for us. That’s what I’ll be doing.

Thanks Dad.

Am I Really Feeding My Child Marshmallows for Breakfast?

Marshmallows are the most imaginative type of food. This is just my opinion, but stick with me and I’ll show you where I am going with this.

Every parent should feel their child is the funniest/smartest/cutest/will surely cure cancer, or at least people’s muffin-top situation. If you don’t feel this way, I worry about you.

The other day, I had that moment with my daughter.

Last year, when my daughter was in Kindergarten, each student had to keep an art/drawing journal. They created self-portraits, pictures of the various seasons, and glued photos into the book. It was pretty awesome to see the growth in her drawing abilities from the beginning of the year to the end.

One drawing caught my eye.

“What is this?” I asked my little person.

“That’s you having me in the hospital.” She replied.

“Oh.”

Below is the drawing.

I’d like to draw your attention to some outstanding details:

1) Apparently my daughter felt she was a breech baby. She wasn’t, but notice the feet shooting out first.

2) Did I sneeze and birth her? She is airborne.

3) We couldn’t be happier. Every birth is a magical and happy moment, but we are both so relaxed. Maybe I’m on Quaaludes.

4) Clearly my daughter finds me to be a snappy dresser. Notice my Jacklyn Smith pant-suit in the delivery room.

5) My daughter was born in Texas, but does she feel she was born in a border town? Notice the stark surroundings. Also, no one seems to be helping us out at El Medico.

6) At least she got my stringy, birthing hair right. I could have used a brush that day.

Even though this drawing made me giggle a bit, it warmed my heart to the core. As parents, it’s a surreal experience to see your child’s interpretation of various events.

Many times, we adults might find a restaurant so-so, but your child thinks it’s the best because they put multicolored sprinkles on the ice cream. Or as we bustled to and from stores, never fully taking in our surroundings, our children are eyeballing the colony of rolly-pollys in-between the pavement cracks and giving them names and duties.

Kids have the amazing, un-censored gift of imagination. I hope mine never loses her sense of wonder, or I may be forced to have her watch “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” on repeat while feeding her marshmallows (ah, it’s a marshmallow full-circle).

I am going to frame this rendering.

I’ll wedge it between her ballet recital photo and the blank space that will one day hold her Oscar, Nobel Peace Prize, and Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.

Am I Really Running Out of Q-Tips De-Clogging My Ears From all the Political Debates?

Put a fork in me – I am done people! It’s not that I don’t care about the future of this great nation. I do care. It’s not that I haven’t watched all the debates. I have viewed each one. But enough already. How many times can a person listen to the same answers over and over again? It’s time to get this show on the road and vote already so I won’t have any more interruptions to my Modern Family episodes.

This is not about which side of the fence you are on, not at all. Both parties make valid points, and they both talk a little baloney too.

The call for a “cease-debate” is more about this: You know when you argue with your kids to put away their toys and they say, “I did.” And then you say, “No you didn’t, they are still all over the floor.” And then they say, “Well I put those toys away.” And then you say, “I asked you to put all the toys away.” And then they say, “You never said put all they toys away. You said put your toys away. And I did put my toys away.” At this point you start to raise your voice and express you don’t care for the attitude. This is usually overlapped by some sarcastic eye rolling and an observation about the other’s diminished skill set. There is a lot of denying and usually a “fact checker” (a.k.a. dad, grandma, or stool pigeon sibling) is called upon to corroborate the story.

Yeah, so that is basically how the debates have been going. Lucky for us, the last one was Monday.

There is one person who cannot get enough of it all. My dad. He toggles between, CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News like a sports junkie trying to watch all playoff games at the same time. If DIRECTV created a political version of the NFL Sunday Ticket, my dad would buy it. Especially if Bill O’Reilly refereed. I’ve never seen anything like it. What does he think he is going to miss? A fifth body language professional from Topeka, Kansas who specializes in eye twitches and head nods?

While I know he is not alone in his 2012 election obsession, that’s enough debate re-hashing for me. I actually miss the news discussing whether or not the current administration is doing a crap job with oil and gas prices. I want the good ole’ days of ridiculous situations, such as when the Secret Service agents were caught with Colombian hookers. I’d even take the “breaking story” about how people were stealing life-size David Hasselhoff posters from Cumberland Farms.

So if you are with me, take a deep breath, get your rear out there and vote early. Then sit back with a cold one and watch the political tide roll in.

Or click over to TNT because seriously, even watching re-runs of The Mentalist is better than listening to a moderator say, “You’ll have your turn for rebuttal” …again.

Am I Really Comparing Our Language Skills to a Strip Mall?

OMG! Girrrrrrrl, I’m just LMAO at the way her boobage is showing. Somebody give her a one-way ticket to knockerville.

This is how my mom talks.

Just kidding.

But seriously, this is how many Americans speak (and by many Americans, I mean me). Are we really this lazy of a people that we have to make up words that are clearly not in the dictionary? Or create abbreviations because actually saying the words might take up to much oxygen?

Driving around town the other day, I noticed a plethora of strip malls. Now these shopping centers are pretty nice, utilizing the adobe roof tops and faux stucco walls saying, “Hey, we’re not really in the Mexican desert, but let’s just pretend while you drink your pumpkin spice latte while on Twitter.” These convenient store locations are a quick in and out for what we need in life. It doesn’t take a lot of work to find, and or, purchase milk.

It makes one wonder, is our language reflected by our surroundings?

Remember the days when people referred to one another as “my lady” and “my lord?” Remember using thy, and thine, and ‘tis? When describing the sniffles, it was a , “blackness in the recess of my lovers darkest cavity.” Remember? No, of course not. No one reading this was alive then. But that is how folks talked in those days, all the while wearing eighty-five petticoats and corsets, and looking through drapes made of heavy brocade.

The vernacular of Elizabethan times, of the turn of the century, of really, any other time before the 1960s, was laced with, well, lace. They utilized flowering language to describe a sunset, a birth, or how the soup was cold at dinner. There were so many hidden doors in the old homes, just like there were so many hidden meanings in one’s speech. A person had to sit, digest the nuances, and then figure out if they were just insulted or complemented. It’s kind of like living in the south (just kidding).

Today we speak like strip mall edifices. We are chock full of speedy, greasy speech, losing something important with its rapidity. As a society (and by society, I mean I totally do this. All.The.Time.) we are plagued with misspellings, abbreviations, and run on sentences – all of our own doing.

I am the first to say, I blow chunks when it comes to proper grammar. To be honest, I enjoy sloppy word usage. Which makes sense because my clothes are wrinkled right now as I write this.

To drive home my point of the language = décor, let us open our eyes full of contacts and hearing clogged with ear-buds, and take a looksy around:

Abbreviations = Fast Food Joint – I know, I know, the majority of our abbreviations are utilized in texting, however, they too are used in speech. Look at the OMGs (Oh my God), Cra-Cra (crazy), and HAM (Hot A$$ Mess) to name a few. We are telling each other that we don’t have the time to say all the words out loud (no time to cook), instead we are just going to say a few letters while cruising past you in the hallway (the drive thru). Most likely this will confuse one person while they try to decipher what was said (mystery meat?), and leave another a bit unsettled (indigestion).

Creating Words That Do Not Actually Exist = Tanning Salon & Cosmetic Surgery Clinic – I do this all the time. It’s kind of funny if you really think about it. Take the word irregardless, I’m pretty sure people started pushing super hard in every day speech to get it into the dictionary (for reals, check it out). Saying words that are not actually words is like covering pale skin; we all know you are pasty white under there, nonetheless, we will enjoy your orange glow. Or like new boobs – not real, but fun for somebody.

Misspellings = Half-Lit Neon Gas Sign – There are probably twenty-eight misspelled words in this article. Yet I am still writing, and thankfully, you kind people are still reading. You know when you pull into a SHELL station and only a few letters are lit up, creating a HELL gas station. That’s a misspelled word – we all know what you mean, and we are still going to fill ‘er up, but do you really want to pull into that station again?

Speaking Quickly With Massive Hand Gestures = 7-11 Convenience Store – We have got to get it all in, and fast! I too enjoy driving home my point with some type of Richard Simmons hand calisthenics. Think of rapid speech as a massive Big Gulp soda; you suck it down so fast you forget to breathe, realizing too late that you are wired, have a brain freeze, and have to pee. Too much talking can leave both parties a bit light-headed.

A study was conducted about the way we speak, text, and disregard the rules of writing. It was found (and I am paraphrasing here) that the written word will become extinct in one hundred years (or less). So what is the answer? Start speaking to your children in Shakespearean dialect? Maybe. Write, “I will not use abbreviations,” five hundred times on the blackboard? Doubtful.

Here’s something simple I like to do: read a book. Then keep that book made of paper and put it on the shelf to keep. Books use complete sentences and words, no half-words. It is something fun and relaxing and you might learn something new.

Then, when you are finished with your book, FB your BFF that you LOL’d at the hootchie protagonist named Prudence (gag – she was so not prudent!).

Am I Really Saying Goodbye…Again?

Today I found a hole in my favorite sweater. Crap.

While thinking of ways to disguise the rather large gap (hmm, maybe a decorative button), it dawned on me the appropriateness of this sweater/hole metaphor: I too have a bit of a tear, in my heart.

Yep, I’m moving…again.

My time in Massachusetts seemed to be one of an extended holiday. I went to the beach, a lot. I ate and drank, a lot. I took long walks, all the time. And of course, I made amazing connections and friendships that I will forever keep.

Wow, it sucks saying goodbye to them.

Growing up I moved around, a lot. I would say my farewells (some tearful, some thank-God-I-don’t-have-to-deal-with-your-banoney-anymore) to my friends, teachers, school, boyfriends, and neighborhoods. Then off my family went into the sunset like a band of gypsies to a new home, new adventure, and new school uniforms…because my dad was on the lamb. Just kidding, it was his job and the military that moved us around, but running from the law sounds better.

I used to play a little game with myself so I would not be so sad leaving my current location. I called it the, “Something new – it’s going to be so exciting” game. Instead of worrying about who I was going to sit with at lunch, I would think about how much cooler this cafeteria was going to be. Sadness about leaving a boyfriend behind was replaced by thoughts of, “Surely there is someone just as ‘fine’ out there who listens to Heavy Metal like me, instead of Milli Vanilli.” When worries crept in about all the laughter I would miss because I was leaving behind my best friend, I imagined all the new people I would meet, all the new places I would go, and the new person I could be.

Those cookie-peddling Girl Scouts had it right: Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold. I could forever keep in my heart friends and experiences, while my head was wrapping itself around a new school schedule, locker, and climate.

Sometimes, before moving forward, it is fun to look back at where we’ve been. I thought I’d share with you some of the goodies I gathered during my past re-locations:

Move – Tulsa, OK. I was into Duran Duran and jellies (ladies you remember those). There were lots of Tornados that allowed me to sit in my walk-in closet and listen to Thriller and Lionel Richie on my walk-man. Friend Bonus – My friend Sascha and her family took me under their wings like a small bird – which I was compared to my BFF. Sascha was a foot taller than me so we often resembled a puppeteer and his marionette walking around the mall.

Move – Littleton, CO. This move only lasted ten months, half of which was spent living at a Residence Inn while we waited to close on the house and my sister dealt with repetitive nose bleeds (altitude, not cocaine – she was eight people!). Somehow I bawled my eyes out and was NOT happy about leaving the mile high city. Friend Bonus – My friend Sarah’s family took me in so I could stay a few extra weeks there while we listened to Pyromania and prank called people. I left my boyfriend and his sweet center-parted hair. A sad day.

Move – Dallas, TX. It took me a year to adjust to all the bedazzled denim-ware and large hair. I know it was the eighties, but ain’t no hair like Texas-sized hair. Friend Bonus – My BFF Kris. Her family harbored and fed me like a refuge, letting me stay over during play practice b/c my family lived in North Dallas, which was like living in another state. Also, the Big D is in my blood now, along with a severe addiction to Tex-Mex.

Move – Arlington, VA. It was really Annandale, but nobody knows where that is. I made this moving during my senior year of HS – yeah, I know, and no, my parents are not sadists. This school took a while to accept me with my loud talking and purse matching my shoes and scrunchy ways. I finally broke them down. Friend Bonus – Friends to this day.

The list continues on from there, but those were the beginnings.

Growing up, and even sometimes in adulthood, I always envied those friends who grew up in one place, one home, and had friends from the first grade who always had their back. I’ve seen those friends get into fist fights just because their friend needed help – no explanation necessary. I would think to myself, “Wow. Wouldn’t it be great if I had those kinds of rooted friendships? They are like family.”

Guess what. I do.

Somehow, throughout this life, I have gathered friends who would go to bat for me, donate a kidney if I needed it, or wipe snot off my child’s face. Sometimes I knew these people for years, others months, always the same result.

I have done some pretty stupid things in my life. Like: let-me-color-my-roots-with-this-last-box-of-hair-dye-left-at-CVS-how-pink-can-it-really-be? Stupid. But the one thing that I have been Mensa candidate smart about is choosing friends. And by choosing, I mean, I luckily got chosen.

I swear I have guardian angels looking out for me BIG TIME in this department. I’m pretty sure they drive Harleys with a giant colander weeding out all the bad eggs and leaving me with all the gold nuggets of friends.

Today, as I wipe away tears (trust me, there are a lot of them) and say goodbye to my wonderful friends on the North Shore of Massachusetts, I get to walk into the hugs of another set of amazing friends back in the Lone Star State.

I may have a hole in my sweater, but the fibers of my friendships are beyond strong.

So pony up, here I go on another adventure. Stick with me guardian angels, I’ll need it.

Especially travelling in a car with a dog, a child, my mother, and way too many Selena Gomez songs on repeat.

Seriously guardian angels, bring back up…and a bottle of Merlot.

Am I Really Buying This Belly Chain/Dolphin Pencil/Burn Your Face Off BBQ Sauce When I Know I’ll Never Use It?

I’m having a yard sale this weekend. Please come and buy all my crap-ola. I don’t know how I accrue all this shizzaz. It’s as if I wake up one day and realize I will be on the next episode of Hoarders.

I don’t get it. Why, why, why do I purchase items that I know down deep will only collect dust, or rot in the back of the refrigerator? My purchases are like those stupid captcha words you have to type in when buying concert tickets to the House of Blues. The font is a cross between a three-year-old’s scrawl and realvirtue (Who the hell uses that font? Probably the same three people who eat at Arby’s.). Unnecessary is my point here.

I think the answer has less to do with frivolous spending, and more so with, “Oh cool! I want to be that person who wears a Roman Goddess-style belt.”

I’m not though. I look at the belt and then I put on my pants with a hole in the pocket. But I want to be that person. That person seems cool, and hip, and healthy. That chick is going to parties with bottle service and laughing about silly lame women stuck in the carpool line. She probably also owns a Jeep. Bitch.

Sometimes I want to buy a new something something and be the cool person I think would wear/eat/use that item.

Below are some items which I have purchased (some more than once) in my vain attempt to be that person:

The book The Secret and a couple other warm and fuzzy how to succeed in life books. I usually read at the first chapter, realize I have to make some type of collage to get my dream home by the sea, and then find I am out of glue. Spiritual Self Help Books = masking themselves as craft books.
An extra, extra long striped scarf. This was my attempt to go Bohemian. I saw the scarf and thought, “Oh, I will wear this and my glasses while writing in a dirty coffee house that smells like Arabica beans and poor hipsters.” Unfortunately for the scarf I am super short, creating a Swiffer mop scenario for the too-cool-for-school scarf. Trendy Scarf = HoarHcrammed in the back of the closet.
Fresh kale. I still have no idea how to cook this damn plant, but a magazine boasted of all its vitamins, anti-aging properties, and the possibility of balancing my check book. So there it sat in my crisper until it turned yellow. Super Healthy food = someone else needs to cook this sh*t.
Yet another journal. Many a tree has died for the sole purpose of me buying the decorative covered notebook and writing on one page: Pay Electric Bill, Out of Peanut Butter, and Children with Animal Faces. Then I dutifully misplace said notebook, only to buy another one a couple of months later. Yes, I eventually use these paper books, but it seems like a waste. Sassy Journal = a felled redwood and forgotten story idea.

Bottom line – I like being me. So should you. It’s fun to try on different styles and personas, just don’t forget what you’re all about.

This weekend, as I watch strangers buy my un-wanted shirts, old baby gear, and those stupid candle holders I never used, I will feel clean. A new beginning to carve out a new piece of myself so I can go out and get new stuff to match the new and improved me.

And maybe remember to buy that damn peanut butter.

Am I Really Turning into Statler and Waldorf from The Muppets?

I like to read. A lot. I tend to choose fiction, with the occasional OK! Magazine; which is basically the same thing as fiction. When a book is good, it is goo-oood. When it is bad, it’s like a five day-old scone: crusty and dry, leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth and slight indigestion.

Now, I am all for books taking the reader to a magical land, far, far from reality. However, the books of late make me snort and say things like, “What? A thirty-four hundred dollar bottle of champagne just ‘cuz it’s Tuesday, and you are only twenty-four years old?? That’s some BS.” I am an optimist/romantic, but come on people – a helicopter ride on the second date? Gag.

My hat truly tips off to all novelists. That is A LOT of work to write three hundred plus pages, and if you are lucky, get it published. The amount of re-writing done to create characters the reader roots for, or wants to slap, or wants to hug, or wants to twirl around on the beach with then make sweet sweet lov- oh nevermind, TMI – anyway, it’s a lot of blood, sweat, and Starbuck’s runs.

But I’m getting old and cynical. So when the actions of a character seem ridiculous, I go into Statler mode and say things like, “Of course she left you! There has been no mention of you showering since the beginning of the book, and I’m on chapter thirty-two! Baaa haa haaa.”

To illustrate where I’m coming from, below is a comparison of the enchanted world of fiction, versus the, “Oh crap, where did that zit come from?” reality. This is based upon books I have recently read (no names mentioned):

Unrealistic Situation #1

Guy meets girl for the first time and says (I’m paraphrasing here), “We obviously have an intense sexual connection, but I don’t date. So, how do we do this?” And it works. Really?

What Happens to Real People

Guy hangs with bros at dive bar. He is sweaty from all the ingested Jaeger shots and Your Ass is on Fire flavored chicken wings. He sees/beer goggles girl across the bar. Does another shot. Stumbles over to girl and says, “He I zzzlluuou, you, shhhhouuuuld, cccuommmm overrrrr and hhhhanng ouuut.” Luckily girl is from the Netherlands, so it works.

Unrealistic Situation #2

Woman’s husband “disappears” after five years of marriage. She goes on the hunt after she learns he took all her money, has a different name, stole someone else’s identity, and killed a bunch of mobster people with his fists of fury.

What Happens to Real People

After five years of marriage you roll over one morning and say to your spouse, “Oh, you’re still here.” Then get out of bed before he passes wind…again.

Unrealistic Situation #3

Guy lives as loner in the woods. Oddly enough, he is super hot even though he has not shaved or cut his hair in years. He kidnaps the female reporter (also smokin’) who destroyed his career, in order to save her life because some seedy characters want her dead. Cabin man and ornery reporter have a lot of boom boom in the woods, they expose the bad guys, and cabin man get his job back. Oh, and shaves.

What Happens to Real People

At work, you screw up an Excel budget spread sheet. Your boss yells at you. You go and cry in the bathroom. You wish you could run away to the woods. There is no boom boom involved.

Even though I poke fun at the above books, I couldn’t put them down. They were all well written and fun to read. Yet even with the best books my eye-rolling Muppet tries to argue with the optimist in me. Usually the optimist wins out.

I guess that’s why we read. To be transported away from the real, to believe in the un-real, and to stay up until 2:00 a.m. doing so. Let’s face it, wouldn’t you rather read about running away with some mysterious stranger than fix your child’s pencil sharpener?

Especially if you can get some boom boom in the woods.

Am I Really Singing “Back to School…Hell Yeah!” To the Tune of Team America?

Awwwwwwwww yeah! It’s on parents! It’s that time of year when you are ready, like so ready to say the words, “Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school.” You are done with going to the pool/beach/mall/museum/animatronic kid movie. You might vomit if your child brings home one more homemade shield/garden tool/pipe cleaner butterfly/tie-die t-shirt from camp. Your hands have developed muscle cramps from making so many sandwiches that you gladly look forward to the crabby lunch lady giving your child sloppy joe indigestion for the next nine months.

It’s BACK TO SCHOOL!!!!

I don’t know about you, but I get that giddy, smell the pencil shavings feeling every time the school year starts. It’s a new year, a new classroom, a new teacher – all holding new promise. One of the best parts of going back to school is the school supplies. The new pens, folders, backpacks, glue sticks, and Trapper Keepers (a 1980s reference yes, but they were awesome!).

But the real reason parents are ready for school is because, that sweet, sweet, angel baby of yours has got to get out of the house before you send her to a year round boarding school…in Papa New Guinea.

Whew, summer is just too much together time.

I love my daughter, could kill a mountain lion with my bare hands for her, but if she asks one of the following again, I will go postal:

1) Can I have a snack? Why not the good cookies? I love being a mom, but it’s the constant meal preparation that’s tiresome. When it is 98 degrees outside the last thing I want to do is cook. Even going to the pantry can be a beating. When the food I have prepared is met with a, “I’m not eating this,” I can make Mommy Dearest look reasonable.

2) What are we doing today? My child went to some camps over the summer. It was great. However, for a couple of weeks she stayed home full time. I called this Camp Wannadrinkwine and then I pretended I couldn’t hear her complaints.

3) Can we buy this? Summer of 2012 = Empty your pockets. Seriously, I’m broke. Where the hell is Suze Orman when you need her? When your child is home you look for things to do. Usually these things cost money. Camp, movies, water parks, snacks and lunches out, the zoo, and on and on it goes. Thank God for school, I’ll need these nine months to save up for next summer.

It’s time to go sister.

And I am not alone.

Many schools around the country have “Welcome Back” coffees on that first day of school. I suggest they change the name to the “I’m Free Bitches!” coffee. It’s a more honest name. Under the delirium of back to school freedom, we gladly sign up to participate in every upcoming school event. That and I think they put Khalua in the coffee. Or at least they should.

Why this driving need to shove your child out of the car and peel out of the parking lot on that first day back?

Balance.

We all need a break. Ever hear of too much of a good thing? We need time away to appreciate one another. If my husband and I hang out too much with one another, I suggest he go in the other room for a while. By day five of our honeymoon we were both like, “When’s our flight out of here again?”

We need change. It’s probably why we have seasons. Summer is awesome, but can you imagine sweating like Boss Hog everyday of your life? No thanks.

It’s why we have vacations, to get away and/or be together. But aren’t you usually glad to go home?

I used to feel bad about being excited to be away from my child for a few hours a day. Why? That’s crazy. It’s not because I don’t love her. Quite the contrary. I know I am a better mother if I have time to myself, away from her and everyone. We all need alone time to stay sane.

So, as little Carl mopes on the couch sighing that he is bored, or little Shandra refuses to make her bed (again) because it is summer; don’t blow a gasket – just remember – school is right around the corner.

Then you have nine months of letting her have it for not making the bed.