Laundry List Friday: 5 reasons I'm not a TV mom

Good morning!

My mother often tells the story of the very first TV they ever got.  They put the the TV on the table, turned it on, and waited for it to warm up.  As the tubes warmed and began to lighten the black screen, the black, gray, and white image of a cartoon pig putting on a girdle opened up before them.  My grandmother, shocked at the image, immediately turned off the TV and said, "If that's the sort of rubbish that's going to be, we don't need a TV."

I often wonder what my grandmother would make of Cialis commercials...much less shows like Teen Mom.

The one constant, I think, over the decades since TV first entered our living rooms, is the TV mom.  Each generation of viewers had their own TV interpretation of a mom.  Some generations had several, conflicting images.  TV moms have varied wildly from each other over the decades, but even as they vary, one thing remains constant for each of them:  I will probably never measure up to TV moms.

So today I give you five reasons why I am not TV mom material.

5)  Claire Huxtable

Raising five children, spanning in age nearly 20 years, and four of them girls?  Being a lawyer is just a survival tactic, given the borderline illegal activity some of those kids dabbled in.  (Vanessa and her trip to see "The Wretched" goes down as my all time favorite TV parenting moment, bar none.)  I am not a lawyer, so I can clearly not manage a household of that many girls.  Although, being married to the Jell-o pudding pop guy would have its benefits.

4)  June Cleaver

Dresses, stockings, and pearls every day?  Not even on a Sunday when I have to stand in front of church and sing.

The only mom of two on this list, June seemed to be perfect.  Perfect house, perfect clothes, semi perfect kids...who made terrible choices when it came to friends.  Seriously, was peer pressure not a thing in the 50's?  If my kids brought home someone named Stinky...or Eddie Haskel...I would sit them down and discuss the wisdom of choosing good friends.  June, however, was a head of her time when it came to the time honored mothering tradition of taking pills to get through the day.  Don't believe me?  Okay, how do you explain the fact that she NEVER RAISED HER VOICE?  Valium is the only answer possible.  She wore stockings every day and never raised her voice.  Yep, Valium.

3)  Shirley Partridge.

As much as I would LOVE to add "Rock Star Matriarch"  to my resume, it's highly unlikely.  Rock star stuff aside, Shirley might have been the closest to REAL a TV mom was going to get in the late 60's and early 70's.  She was often frazzled, raising multiple teens on her own, so who could blame her for putting out once in a while for Reuben Kinkaid, just so they could get a better gig?  (What...she didn't?  Are you sure?)  I do have to take points off, however, for the child switching incident that she didn't seem to notice.  I mean, sure, babies get switched all the time.  But someone stole Chris, her original drummer, and replaced him with some other kid...and she never seemed to notice!

2)  Carole Brady

Often spoken of in the same breath as Shirley Partridge, Carole Brady is more original than we might think.  Sure, she's the epic picture of motherhood from the 70's.  How cool was she, mothering a blended family of six kids?  Very ahead of her time, right?  Oh sure, and she married a gay guy, VERY hip.  She ruled the roost of six kid and a dog in a house that had, for all we know, one bathroom and no working toilet.  How did she do it and still look so great?  One word:  Alice.

1)  Marie Barone

It's a nosy mother, it's an overbearing wife, it's MARIE.  Able to leap all the boundaries of etiquette in a single meal, nosier than a speeding gossip columnist, it's MARIE  Well...while I have a feeling I'd fall into Marie's pattern of smothering love all too easily, two things keep me from it:  I can't abide large amounts of opera, and I do not cook.  (Oh, and yes, she's the other mom of two on the list...but she managed 3 grandchildren...and let's be honest...Frank was a bigger child than all of them.)

So there...five reasons I'll never be a TV mom.

Oh, so this ISN'T the tie that binds us together?

I have cramps.

I don't just have cramps.  I have cramps that would drop a charging elephant.  I have cramps that make it impossible to sit up, stand up, walk, or tie my shoes without moaning.  Basically, I'm a zombie...only instead of brains, I'm looking for the perfect pain med that will relieve cramps.

Did I miss work?

Of course not.  I'm a woman, and as such, I suffer every month the searing pain that feels like everything inside me is being tied into knots and then set on fire while drunken monkeys do the hustle up and down my back, and I do so without missing work.

When I gave birth to a daughter, I knew I had brought into the world another with whom I could commiserate about cramps.  I knew that the day would come that she, too, would beg for not one, but TWO heating pads.  We would shop for dark sweat pants together and think of ways we could lie down all day without missing work or school.

Just give me two fingers of Midol with a Pamparin chaser and I'll be fine.

And so it came to  pass a couple years ago that Peaches joined the ranks of cramp sufferers and our bond, not as mother and daughter, but as women who are handicapped in the gender wars...handicapped by their own monthly clock.  And believe me, when the clock strikes midnight, Cinderella is high tailing it back to her comfy couch, hot tea, and romantic comedy movies.

Peaches and I truly have a bond...and each month it's renewed as we ignore the men in the house who warn us to not sleep on the heating pad while it's on, or who don't bring us the MIDOL FAST ENOUGH.  I believed she and I were truly on the same plane.

Until today.

Today, I have cramps.  I've kept it to myself...mostly because I work with men, and I'm not about to discuss cramps at work...and certainly NOT with Elsie W.  (By the way...have you VOTED YET?)  So I waited until I was taking Peaches to cheer practice before I confessed my agony.

"My ovaries are throbbing."  (I have always had a flair for the humorous.)  I thought that this new way of saying "I HAVE CRAMPS."  Would be appreciated by Peaches.

I thought wrong.

She looked at me, horror frozen on her face like those weird "pudding faces" you see in TV commercials.  Then she said, "Why would you say something like that?"

Hey, I thought it was funny.  Why do I say 90% of anything I say?  Because I think it's funny.

Peaches, however, did not think this was funny.

"What, you have a problem with that?"

"No.  But why...why would you say something like that?"

Friends, there was no one else in the car.  No one else nearby.  I've said stuff WAY worse than that..."Okay, fine,"  I said, "I thought it would be more colorful than saying, 'I have cramps' for the tenth time."

"well, stop being colorful."  She got out of the car.  "And good luck with your cramps."

Yeah, good luck with my cramps.  Guess who is going to use up all the GOOD Midol and NOT buy any more.  Good luck with that!

I need to go lie down now, eat some toast, and watch Biggest Loser.  Does that count as a workout?  Someone go ask KRAM.  I can't right now.

I have cramps.

Laundry list Friday: Five things I SHOULD have said.

Hello all!

Where did this week go?  Wow!  How can it be the weekend already?

So Skippy turned 18 this week...I guess that's where it went.  I was busy hiding from the fact that one of my children is now old enough to vote.

Which brings to me today's topic:  Politics.  I have some very strong opinions on the matter, but I have found that the people who ask me about my political beliefs really don't want to hear them so much as want to be sure I agree with their own.  And when I don't...and I almost never do...I'm the one belittled and called names.  So, I long ago adopted a policy of non communication when it came to politics.

So imagine my surprise, shock, annoyance, when, whilst enjoying a perfectly lovely lunch at Burger King one day this week, I was approached by a middle aged white guy and asked about my political leanings.

Probably not what they want to be a selling point, but I love BK because the place is
always empty!

I should back up a bit.  When I have the rare luxury of having a car at my disposal during the work day, I like to take my lunch at a nearby Burger King.  I like this place for a couple reasons:  1)  It's almost always deserted.  2)  I loathe their fries, and therefore the caloric count on my lunch is lower.  3)  The manager of the place is completely cool and usually has the big screen TV tuned to some oldies TV channel.  On the day in question, however, there were a few people, and the TV was tuned to a news channel, where President Obama was making a speech about something or another.  I don't listen to any political speeches because they are 45% lies, 45% white noise, and 10% balderdash.

I told you few people like my political views.

Anyway, I was sitting in a booth, eating lunch and READING A BOOK.  I was actively READING A BOOK.

What about that pose would have invited the following conversation:

"Hey, what do you think about the President's speech?"

I looked up, shocked that anyone was just walking up to me and starting in on a conversation.  But, being raised Lutheran, I was taught to respect my elders and since I always think of myself as being the youngest person in the room, I acknowledged him.  "It's okay."

And then this came:  "I used to live in Illinois.  Now I live in Madison.  I didn't used to know anything about politics.  Now I know the difference between a liberal and republican and conservative."

What I said was, "I suppose, living in Madison, you do hear a lot about politics."  And I returned to my book.

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to drive him away.  he stood there, watching the TV, standing right next to me like we were doing this together.  I could not have shown less interest.  He attempted to continue a conversation, but frankly, I get 57 minutes for lunch, and I wasn't about to waste them on some guy who trolls the Burger King looking for women he can stun with his vast knowledge of politics.

As I was going through the rest of my day, I realized that there were responses I should have said that would have driven him away from my table...and possibly spared the next woman he might consider annoying.  And therefore, I give you these five responses to his statement listed above.

5)  You do not, however, seem to know the difference between someone who wants to chat and someone who wants to be left ALONE.

4)  Well, gold star for you Buddy.  Was there anything else you needed?  Because I already have a special adult I have to monitor at work...I don't need to add anyone else to that list.

3)  Hey, I used to live in Michigan, and I didn't know anything about annoying losers.  Now I live here and I know the difference between an annoying loser and a guy I want to talk to. 

2)  Oh good!  Because I was just saying the other day how I didn't know the difference and I was so hoping that a pasty middle aged white guy would interrupt my lunch one day and tell me.

1)  What, exactly, is it about me that invited you to walk up and start talking to me?  Was it the book I'm reading?  Was it the food I'm eating?  The fact that I'm doing both at the same time while looking at my watch, which would indicate that I have very little time to be here, to do these two things? Maybe you find me attractive?  Perhaps the short haircut, the extra weight, and the man's wedding band on my finger confused you.  No, I don't want to be your very first lesbian friend, mostly because I am not interested in making friends with men who think discussing politics of any kind with a strange woman in a Burger King is a good way to meet people, but also because, well, I'm not a lesbian.  So sorry, you don't get to up your cool factor by impressing me in any way.  Which, by the way would be impossible if your opening line is that you know the difference between a liberal and a conservative.  Good job Pinky and the Brain...my kids have known the difference between those two groups since they were about 8 years old.  Of course, they also know that you don't bother someone who is reading a book and eating, alone, in a public place.  Of course, I taught them that.  I'm there mother, you see.  Did your mother not teach you that?  Did you not have a mother?  Were you raised by wolves, and that's why you're so completely socially inappropriate?  No?  You had a mother?  So then, what, exactly, is your excuse?

So my friends, there you have it.  Five things I should have said, but didn't.  My advice is that we all make lists of clever responses for various situations that arise in our social lives.  We never have them ready when we need them, but we think of them later.  So learn from me...be prepared!  Make a list that you can shut down annoying, stupid, or bothersome questioners with a quick slash of wit.

To be fair, the guy sort of looked like this:

Had he looked like...say this:  

 

I would have put my book down.  And discussed anything.  Is that wrong?  Is that a double standard?  Okay, it is a double standard.  I don't care. I'm being honest. 

Okay friends, remember one other thing:  VOTE ON YOUR FAVORITE TITLE!  Right there top right hand corner of the blog!  Just click on your favorite title for my next book!

I have proof that KRAM and Elsie are in cahoots!

Good  evening.

I'm not  a superstitious girl.  Well, except when it comes to my Green Bay Packers jersey on game days...and then I am.  (Hey, they were very stinky until I put that on during the 2nd quarter yesterday...that's not a coincidence!)  Anyway, I'm not a superstitious person, and I'm not paranoid.  I believe I have proof...ACTUAL PROOF....that KRAM is forcing me to lose weight and he's using Elsie W to do it.

For those of you who don't recall...KRAM is the long suffering personal trainer I sometimes see when I sometimes to go Gold's Gym.  He's a lovely man, who recently became a papa.  (Which means he's going to find out that I wasn't slacking all along...once you have kids you lose all of your "me" time.)  Now, I haven't been to Gold's much in the last couple months.  But when I made my triumphant...and awkward...return last Tuesday, I realized that he'd been behind something that had bothered me for a week.

It's clear to me now that KRAM is having Elsie W eat my lunch to control my weight. 

Don't believe me?  Why should you?  Well, except that I don't make up stuff in this blog, that's why.

See, a couple weeks ago, I noted that things of mine were missing from the fridge.  It started with a new, unopened, bottle of coffee creamer.  I asked Elsie about it.  At first she said she never saw it.  Then she admitted she tossed it out, claiming it looked like sour milk.  (Her own ghastly collection of half eaten food and fruit fly laden salad dressing bottles, however, are still in the fridge.)

More recently, for reasons no one knows, Elsie forgot her lunch  (Though she keeps a grocery store in the fridge)  and just HAD TO HAVE A YOGURT.  She claims she thought she was eating NBM's yogurt, but in reality...it was mine.  It made up half my lunch.

Now I was perfectly willing to lay this at the foot of the greatest nitwit to live...Elsie...but then I went to the gym on Tuesday and chatted with KRAM for the first time in ages.  And I couldn't get away from one little thing.

The man had a twinkle in his eye.

Sure, he's a new pop.  Sure, he's happy to see me back in the gym.  Sure, he remembers I like Rick Springfield.

But then he said something that gave him away.

"You're looking slimmer."

To quote Valerie from "The Princess Bride;"

""LIAR!  LAIR!"

I do not look slimmer.  I certainly didn't that evening.  So now I know, without a doubt, the man is in cahoots with the human shark.  He's found the one person close enough to me and shameless enough to dispose of or eat my food. 

One part of me is annoyed.  I mean...come on...my coffee creamer?  That's sacred!

But the other part of me says, "Well played.   And when I sell enough copies of the book...I'm going to actually pay for a couple sessions with you!"

Meanwhile...I guess KRAM is just going to have to keep telling Elsie to eat my food.

BTW, Happy Birthday to my childhood hero, Randy Mantooth.  (And to my sis in law...we'll call her Jamie.)

I can't be the only one who's given this a thought!

Good morning!

Sorry I've been away much of the week.  I've been blocking chapters for my upcoming office work book...have you voted for the title yet?...so I haven't been blogging much this week.

Thursday night I held a Party lite Candle Party at my home.  I've talked about these parties before, so I won't bore you with the details.  The women I have over to these parties are pros...they don't need to hear the sales pitch.  They are there to laugh out loud and to purchase candles.  It's probably the easiest party a consultant has all year.

The laughing out loud part is great.  Picture a room full of women who typically don't know each other outside of my living room.  But when they are all together, they can get on a topic of discussion that will have them snorting cola/appletini/wine out of their collective nostrils.

Such was the case Thursday night.  I have no idea how we got on the topic.  Who of us ever traces a conversation from it's ridiculous conclusion to the moment it started?  (Try it...it's hilarious.)

We started by talking about baseball.  The Milwaukee Brewers are doing quite well this season, and my friend Sheena  (she knows who she is) has a deep obsession with the team.  Sort of like me with the Detroit Redwings...only she gets to were shorts to the games.  So we talked about the Brewers, which lead us to a topic we ALL love...the Green Bay Packers.

It's Wisconsin...you're going to talk about two things:  the weather, and the Packers.

Talk about the Packers, since the season is only one game old, reverted back to a discussion about the Super Bowl, which my family watched at Sheena's house.  It was the first time I'd been to Sheena's house for a major sporting event.  When there's a big game...I tend to stay home.  I'm not saying I get into the game too much...but I will say that I firmly believe that if I STAND UP through the entire game, no matter where it is played, the Packers will win.  I believe that Refs can hear me from my living room.  I believe that players of the opposing teams will feel shame when I insult them.  I feel the Packer players themselves feel as if an angel is protecting them...as long as I am standing up.

No, I don't pray.  I stop short of that.  At least...up until the Super Bowl.

We went to Sheena's house because my husband likes to go to football parties.  As a man...no one expects him to socialize in the kitchen.  No one expects him to talk about the merits of ranch dressing as opposed to blue cheese on chicken wings.  He gets to watch the game man style:  In a chair, holding a beer.

So having never been to Sheena's house for a game, I was worried that I would again have to discuss dips while Hubby got to see the game.  I should not have been worried.  Sheena is a woman after my own heart when it comes to sports.  She sets out the food, points to it and says, "HELP YOUR OWN SELVES, I'M WATCHING THE GAME." 

We had a wonderful time at her house.  The woman knows how to through a football party.  But that fourth quarter had me not only standing, but pacing in a circle through Sheena's house.  I couldn't watch.  I could only walk.

I have heard your prayer...and I shall give you
a Superbowl championship!

And I prayed.  I paced, and I prayed...it was a first for me.

Oh yeah...and it worked.  So I'll be adding that to my repertoire.

But that's not why I bring this up.  I bring up the Superbowl and my prayer because all that came up on Thursday at the candle party.  We were talking about wacthing the Super Bowl, and I admitted that I prayed.  The general consensus in the room is that yes, God is a Packers fan.  It's a sentiment almost every Wisconsin resident...and a few Bears fans who can't deny it...will cling to.  So we talked about how God is a Packer fan.

And then...well then it got weird.

If it says it on a shirt...it must be true!

Someone then said, "And Jesus wears an Aaron Rogers jersey on game day."

Maybe it was all the fumes from the lit candles.  Maybe it was the high I was on from nibbling the beer bread and dips I'd made for the party.  More likely it was the fact that when I'm with my friends, I get a kick out of being the most shocking person in the room.  Because then I said, "No, Jesus probably doesn't wear a jersey.  He's pretty set with the white robe.  But I'll bet He wears Packer Boxer shorts under the robe."

The room erupted in laughter.  I'm not sure if it's because the idea of Jesus wearing boxers is so funny...but seriously, who hasn't thought about it.  We all see that picture of Jesus in His robes, sitting there, talking to the little children.  Who among us hasn't once looked at that picture and wondered, silently, "What does He were under there?"

It cannot be just me.

Can it?

Someone please tell me I'm not the only one who's wondered if Jesus wears underwear!

It might be just the way my brain works...because as she was leaving the party, Sheena turned to me and said, "I'm not sure I'm ready to believe Jesus is a boxer guy."

We both laughed at the idea...but I did note that she didn't question whether or not Jesus is a Packer fan.

See, this is Wisconsin.  There's just no question about it.

Well, they're coming to take one of us away...that much I know!

Hello my friends!

As many of you know, I am a big fan of the Dr. Demento Show.  For those of you not in the know...this is a radio show full of goofy music and just all out funny stuff.  Granted, I haven't listened in a long time, but there was a time when I never missed it.  It was the way I ended my weekend and prepared for the week ahead.

One of the most memorable songs played by the good doctor was "They're coming to take me away ah-haa!" 

I bring this up because today...wait for it...I realized that it's become a battle for the survival.  It's Elsie W or it's me.  One of us is going to go insane and be carted off.  Granted, she has a BIG head start on me, but I feel like I'm catching up.

See, last week was all about her car.  That's a drama I'm saving for the book...which reminds me...have you voted for a title yet?  The saga of her car repair is one that makes me laugh and makes me want to drink...heavily.

But that is NOTHING compared to the saga of her MRI.  Before this is over and she actually has the test, they may be doing a full brain scan on me.

It was today that did it.  Up until today, the woes of her back pain and the basic grievance she has against our new health plan  (which is perfectly FINE, especially when you figure in the cost.  Of course, she is also medicating her CAT with human meds, so that cost does add up.) was something she kept pretty much to herself, or behind the closed door of the conference room where she spent 95 minutes of her 60 minute lunch hour yammering at one unsuspecting customer service grunt or another.  These calls almost always involved her calling information...and you know that makes me smile.

But not today.  No, today, she arrived at work at 10:27.  I can only assume, since her normal start time is 11, that she meant to get there at 10 because she's still trying to make up for all the work she "missed" during the saga of the car.  (Believe me...it's hilarious.)  However, by 11:02 she was in need of a break.  So break she did, for about 15 minutes.  Then, she asked, as she always does, when I planned on taking my lunch.  I told her, as I always do, that I planned on taking my lunch at 1:30.  And she said, as is fast becoming her habit, that she was going to take another "15 minute break to walk around the building."

That break lasted about 25 minutes. 

When I got back from lunch at 3  (I work until 5...start at about 7:30, and allow myself two trips to the ladies' room.  Ponder that.)  she announced that she was taking "the rest of her lunch."  Now, by my math, she had 20 minutes left.  Which means I was not surprised at all when it took her that long to prepare the feast of food she calls lunch.  (The rest of us know it as her third meal at work.)

THEN, she locked herself in the conference room where, for the next 90 minutes she could be heard shouting at someone about whether or not she needed to be preregistered for an MRI under our plan.  (Those of you not familiar with the US medical care system, it is pretty much a RULE that you call ahead to make sure your care provider is going to cover whatever test or procedure you're having done if you're having it done at a hospital, as she was.)  She, however, was of the opinion that she did not need the clearance because she "read it someplace in the book."

(I should note that on the back of our health care card it does say you need to preregister for any in or out patient procedure.  I read that out loud to her, which gave her ammunition in her battle against the "idiots" she was talking to.  How did she glean from what I read that she did NOT need to preregister?  Read on.)

After 90 minutes, and just a short time before I was going to go home, she emerged from the conference room, only to sit down at her desk and dial her desk phone.  At this point she held her cell to one ear and her desk phone to the other and spent the next 15 minutes shouting at two separate insurance companies at the same time. 

At 5 PM, as I was waiting for my ride home, she showed no signs of slowing down.  In fact, having read the back of my card, she was POSITIVE that she did NOT need preregistration for the MRI because...as she clearly explained..."AN MRI IS A TEST...not a procedure."

Right...I'm sure that's going to clear things up completely.

When I left, or rather fled, from the office, she was pacing back and forth in the show room, her hair a wild cotton candy cloud, and my copy of the insurance coverage book clung in her really red fake fingernails.  (I hold out no hope that that hasn't been shredded and doused in coffee.)  She was moving in to hour 3 of her rant against her former insurance company, her current insurance company, the clinic, and the hospital.  I'm not sure who she had on the line when I ran out the door, but these words ring in my ears:

"OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO SHOOT MYSELF IN THE HEAD BECAUSE YOU ARE SUCH A GROUP OF INCOMPETENT IDIOTS!"

I relayed that to Hubby, right after I yelled, "DRIVE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DRIVE!"  He suggested, the next time she says something like that, I quietly dial 911 and ask that someone come to take my coworker into protective custody.

Well, it's either that, or they're going to cart me away, curled in the fetal position, sucking my thumb.

DROP YOUR INSURANCE CARD!

So I leave you now my friends because Hubby, who knows me well, has just put "Princess Bride" into the blu ray player.  I'm going to my happy place!

Grandma, there's a big fat blogger in the toilet!

Hey everyone!

Since we've been having such magnificent weather here in Wisconsin the last several weeks and since, let's face it, I'm just not getting over to Gold's  (sorry KRAM...I'm still adjusting to my life.)  I've been taking walks at lunch time.  Granted, it's not a sweaty run on a treadmill, but at least I'm getting out of the building and moving my fanny.

One of the things I like doing is walking over to the Culver's, which winds up being almost a mile an a half round trip.  Now, before you get all up in arms about my destination, no, I do NOT eat at Culver's all the time.  But I have about 40 minutes for a walk, and this is a good stop and turn around point.

And, truth be told, I really like using their bathroom.

Those of you who know me know that I have issues using public restrooms.  I'm very particular about where I will and won't go.  Porta potties are right out...unless it is an absolute necessity.  I also don't do gas stations, unless they are Kwik Trip.  Highway rest stops?  Maybe, but not in Indiana (sorry, too many bad experiences there.)  And as for restaurants, I generally do use those...with the exception that I refuse to use a McDonald's restaurant if it's just off the interstate.



This sort of thing isn't
my problem at Culver's.



But the Culver's near my work has a nice enough rest room.  It's generally tidy, there isn't a ton of water on the counter  (seriously...why can people NOT wipe up after themselves?  I'm not buying for one second that bathroom counters sweat so much there are puddles.)  and there is almost always paper towel.  (I haven't quite made the jump to hand driers.  I need the confidence paper products give me.)  Also, unlike at work, I am not the only person capable of changing the toilet roll.

Anyway, so the other day I was on my walk, and I stopped at the restroom for a break.  While I was in there, a grandmother, I'm guessing since she sounded like a grandma, and her young grandson came in.  From the sound of things, they used the handicapped stall because grandson needed a bit of help and let's face it, all other bathroom stalls are far too narrow.  (This isn't my fat imagination either...bathroom stalls, like airplane seats, are getting more narrow.  I'd never stop going to an eatery that had stalls I didn't have to back into because they were too narrow for me to turn around.)



Only one of these is human sized...



The point of all this is that the conversation between these two made me laugh, and I'll share it with you because I hope it does the same:

"Oooh grandma, this is a nice bathroom."

"Yes, it is."



"But I don't have to go potty grandma."

"Well, let's just try anyway."

"Grandma, what does that sign say?"

"Please do not flush down any...paper.  Use the box instead."

(I'm guessing grandma didn't want to have to explain "feminine products" to her grandson.)

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're not supposed to flush down stuff that doesnt' belong in the toilet."

"But toilet paper is paper."

"Right, but it's toilet paper."

"So it goes in the toilet."

"Right."

"And poop.  Poop goes in the toilet."

"Right."

"So grandma...what's in the box?"

(AT this point I hear the soft squeak of a sani box lid being opened, and then a quicker squeak of it being slammed shut.)

"Oh nothing, nothing you need to see."



"But what is it?"

"Are you about done?"

"I said I don't have to go."

"But you haven't gone in a long time and you just ate.  Try to go."

(I hear the exaggerated sounds of of newly potty trained child pushing.  Then a I hear a surprised giggle.)

"Grandma...you don't know...I have a big poop coming!"



"I thought you might."

"A great big giant poop!"

"Yes, that's nice."

"I think this poop is bigger than I am!"

(What's a grandmother going to say to that?)

"So I wanna see it?"

I hear little feet hitting the floor and a flushing.  Then I hear this:

"Grandma...is that all there was?"

"Yes."

"That wasn't a very big poop.  I thought it was going to be bigger."

(Hey kid, remember this moment because someday your wife is going to put on 50 pounds in a pregnancy and push out an 8 pound baby...Yeah, I thought my kids were going to be bigger, too.)

They washed hands and left.  I waited a moment so that they wouldn't know Id been listening. 

Well, that and I had to stop laughing.

So my friends, remember this:  No matter where you are, no matter what you're doing...you're probably being observed by someone who writes a blog.  And if you're really unlucky...that someone might just be me!

Hubby makes a big verbal misstep...and learns a new word.

(In order to fully understand today's blog, you must know one thing:   Subaru spends a very large part of their advertising budget on outlets that cater to the gay and lesbian markets.  It has been my husband's experience over almost 20 years in the car service business that the majority of Subaru customers who come in for service are from the the gay and lesbian community. Also, please remember, my aim to to make you laugh at my everyday life, not to offend.  )




My poor husband.

He tries so very, very hard NOT to be mentioned in this blog.  He really does.  But every once in a while, he says something, or, in this case nearly says something, that gets him into the blog and he knows it before the words ever completely come out of his mouth.

Today hubby Peaches and I were going do a tour of second hand stores.  half Price books, Goodwill, and Salvation Army, all of which were having a Labor Day sale.  This was NOT a dressing up trip.  Repeat, this was NOT a dressing up trip.

I donned the following:  Baggy cargo pants, a white t shirt, pink clogs and a chunky purple man's watch.  Since it was chilly, I also tossed on a baggy denim shirt.  Not fashion forward, but I was going to do a tour of second hand stores.  I was clean, and I had eyeliner on.  My hair, since it's so freakin' short, is really easy to keep.  Sort of wash and wear on most days. 

So, got the mental picture? 

We're driving along chatting about this an that when I realize that we are behind a dark green Subaru Forester.  I love that car. It's sort of my dream car. I love the color, I love the fact that it's a wagon, but not a wagon because it's cool, and I love...again, I love the color.  I've wanted one for many years.  So I make comment:

"Hey, look, we're driving behind my dream car. "

Hubby says, "yes, yes we are.  And you're looking pretty su...oh crud."

I look at him and say, "I'm looking what...like a Subarau customer?  Go ahead...say it!  Say it!  I look like a lesbian today."

"This is going in your blog, isn't it?"

"Oh this is SOOOOOOOOO going in my blog!"

"What did you just call Mom?"

We both turn...we'd forgotten Peaches was in the back seat.  "Your father just called me a lesbian."

"I did not!  I was saying you looked like a subaru customer because you looked so...outdoorsy.  You got the cargo pants on...the dednim shirt, like you're going to go for a hike...outdoorsy."

"You called mom a lesbian?  dad!"  Peaches is not horrified so much as she laughing herself silly in thge back seat.  "Does that make you a beard?"

"A what?"  hubby has no idea what this term means.

"A beard.  Like a woman who dates a gay guy."

"Where did you learn that word?"

It's now my time to laugh myself stupid.  "Hubby, i've known that words for years."

"Yeah dad, everyone knows that word."

"Well, I don't know it.  Did you get that from a TV show?"

"well, I got it from Glee, dad."

Hubby makes a face. 

"I got it from a book."  I say.  "How did you not know that term?"

"Well, I don't read those kinds of books."

"I think I got it from....who was the guy that wrote 'Sons and Lovers?'"

"DH  Lawrence?"

"Yeah.  I think I got it from DH Lawrence."

"You did not get the term BEARD from DH Lawrence!"

"Maybe, maybe not...but we are getting off topic.  You said I looked like a lesbian!"

"I did not.  I was going to say you looked like a Subaru driver.  Which is what you want to be because your favorite car is that Subaru Forester!"

I set my gaze out the front of the car.  "Just keep digging."

Which he did.  For the rest of the day, I kid you not, the man was super affectionate.  It was like we were in college again.  He was all hugging at Goodwill, was very supportive of all my movie choices at half Price Books and didn't say one word negatively about the clothes I was trying on a Kohl's.  (Oh come on...I looked in a mirror...) 

Unfortunately for Hubby, he's also given himself another one of those dreaded questions.  You know the ones..."Does this make me look fat/old/slutty?  Well, I now get to add  "LESBIAN?"  to that list!

So it turned out to be a win for me!

Laundry List Friday: Let the voting begin!

Good afternoon all!

I know, I know...it's Saturday.  And I also realize that my poll includes 10, not 5, titles to vote on.  Well, I got some late arriving suggestions that were just too good to pass up.

The titles are in NO particular order, but I will give a little bit of a shout out to the originators (and therefore those in the running for the grand prize of all my published books....or possibly an Amazon gift card if you already have the books) for each title.

I should explain that the book, while initially set to cover the humor from many of my jobs, will now be of a single purpose:  To Chronicle the humor of just one woman:  LCW, or Elsie W, as I am calling her.  Even with that minor change, I believe I have a great group of readers and followers, and we've come up with a solid list of 10 titles to choose from.

And the Oompa Loompas Thought They had it Bad.  This from my good friend "Marie" who has been following my work woes for a good long time.  Willy Wonka saved the Oompa Loompahs from terrible work conditions...but none of them had to sit next to Elsie W.

Horror Stories from the Front Lines in a Small Office
This is from reader Markdotnet who I suspect is also a fan of Bob and Brian's horror stories.

So get Your Own Brain...Mine's Being Used.

College Friend "Lisle" sent in this gem after reading my almost daily LCW updates on Face book.

Office Survival Manual, Part One: The Caring and Feeding of Your Coworkers


This from High School friend "Andi."  (She's clearly my smartest friend!)  I also like the Part One aspect...meaning I have permission to write more!  LOL!


I can't fix STUPID, but I sure would like to poke at it with a stick

I realize this is actually a title of one my recent posts, but my oldest friend "Roxanne" pointed out that it really fits as a good title for this project, and therefore she gets the entry credit.

How Does She NOT Fall Down More?


This one sent in via my website.  What...I have a website?  Yes, I do. Click here!  It was anonymous, so I'll have to check my web records.  Of course, I like it because I say this a lot about good old LCW.

Elsie W.: She never ceases to amaze

This was actually a team effort between two people I do not believe have every met.  Hubby...who suggested I simply name the book after the woman who is the source of the stories, and Face Book friend SPS  (Her real initials of course)


If Men are From Mars, Women from Venus, What Planet is My Coworker From?
 
This is from Face Book friend ABB  (Again, real initials.)  Dangling preposition aside, I think it's hilarious...and it might get confused with another very popular book, which means people might buy it by accident!  (I'll take all the sales I can get!)
 
Where Competence Goes to Die:  The Elsie W Story
 
I love this one from fellow Bob and Brian/You Still Can't Win player, "MTBS." (He knows who he is.)  Sure, I added the last bit, but that front part is all genius.
 
The Daily Drain:  Working with Elsie W.
 
College mate "Rhonda" gave me this idea, tying in the type of work we do to the book.  Again, I added that last bit, but playing with the double meaning of the word "drain" was all "Rhonda's"  idea.
 
So there are my favorite ten titles.  Voting is open until October 31, (Something about Halloween seemed fitting.)   at which time I will close the voting and we will have a winner.

BTW, you vote by clicking on your favorite title in the list there on the right hand column of this blog.  Yes, you can vote more than once.  Why not?  I'm not better than "American Idol."  Wait, maybe I am...I don't charge texting fees!
 
Thank you to all my readers, friends, and contributors.  And remember, if you made a suggestion and you don't see it here, it's not that it was bad...it's just that it wasn't, as they say in the publishing industry, "what we are looking for at this time."