Pasta Parade

So, do you think the above pictures show too much pasta for 9 adult women?  . . . because I DEFINITELY DID NOT and thus I think I have a problem.  

Why do I have a problem?  . . . because I chose to make this much pasta for my 8 guests based on how much pasta I MYSELF eat in one meal and yet, AFTER dinner - this is what was left!  WTF!

Clearly - I grossly, disgustingly, dramatically overestimated the average female's ability to overdose on pasta and meat sauce the way I am perfectly capable of doing.  I should have invited men to girl's night.

. . . and so - since these lightweights do not know how to eat rigatoni, my husband and I (aka me, because he annoyingly does not have sauce in his veins) will be eating it for days if not an entire week.

Just toss it you say?  Oh no, I cannot be bothered with that kind of waste.  Do homeless shelters take leftovers?  No?  

Well then, bring on the carb coma.  My great grandmother, whose underarms could wrap around her like a cape and who may have once served us spaghetti for breakfast, would be so proud!

Merry Shitty Christmas

Names have been changed to protect the guilty!

It is Christmas night, 1985.  The whole family is at Grandma's sitting around the kitchen table after hours of gorging on a ham dinner, an assortment of cookies and pies, chocolate and presents!  The kids have been allowed at the grown-up table and I'm swinging my feet as they hang from the big chair, when suddenly something smells really bad.

Everyone sort of looks around, but keeps nibbling and talking.  It finally passes, though shortly after - we smell it again!  It's really bad and now there are comments being made, children laughing, people denying responsibility, etc.

A few moments later Uncle Bob (whose name has been changed) gets up from the table, slips his feet sloppily into boots and leaves the house.  A lot is going on so nobody thinks much of it until maybe fifteen minutes later, when we realize he hasn't come back.

Finally, when he has not returned after a half hour, someone calls his house, which is only a minute down the street.  He doesn't answer because at almost that exact moment Uncle Bob walks back into Grandma's.

Everyone begins asking where he has been and he tries to avoid answering until someone says, "Uncle Bob, did you change your pants?"

(Pause)

"Oh Jesus Christ," yells Uncle Bob, beginning to laugh now . . . and if you knew Uncle Bob you would totally understand how he could find his next statements funny.

"Yes, I changed my pants, OK.  I had gas so I went outside to let it pass and I shit my pants!  I shit my pants so I had to go change 'em."

I have no memory of what happened next and it is better that way. I can't be bothered paying for any more therapy!

You Fail!

The entire post below is written by Marion Brady, NOT me.  I've often wanted to write a similar post, but I guess I couldn't be bothered . . . so here are her words and the words of those she's quoted.  This is quite an amazing read.

WHEN AN ADULT TOOK STANDARDIZED TESTS 

FORCED ON KIDS

 Washington Post "The Answer Sheet" Blog -- December 5, 2011 

By Marion Brady

A longtime friend on the school board of one of the largest school systems in America did something that few public servants are willing to do. He took versions of his state’s high-stakes standardized math and reading tests for 10th graders, and said he’d make his scores public.

By any reasonable measure, my friend is a success. His now-grown kids are well-educated. He has a big house in a good part of town, a paid-for condo in the Caribbean, influential friends, lots of frequent flyer miles, time to give serious attention to his school board responsibilities, etc., etc.

He called me the morning he took the test to say he was sure he had NOT done well.  

Later, upon receiving the results he wrote: “I won’t beat around the bush. The math section had 60 questions. I answered 10 out of the 60 correctly. 

On the reading test, I got 62% . In our system, that’s a “D” and would get me a mandatory assignment to a double block of reading instruction.

He continued, “It seems to me something is seriously wrong. I have a bachelor of science degree, two masters degrees, and 15 credit hours toward a doctorate.

“I help oversee an organization with 22,000 employees and a $3 billion operations and capital budget, and am able to make sense of complex data related to those responsibilities.

“I have a wide circle of friends in various professions. Since taking the test, I’ve detailed its contents as best I can to many of them, particularly the math section, which does more than its share of shoving students in our system out of school and on to the street. Not a single one of them said that the math I described was necessary in their profession.

“It might be argued that I’ve been out of school too long, that if I’d actually been in the 10th grade prior to taking the test, the material would have been fresh. But doesn’t that miss the point? A test that can determine a student’s future life chances should surely relate in some practical way to the requirements of LIFE!  I can’t see how that could possibly be true of the test I took.

“If I’d been required to take those two tests when I was a 10th grader, my life would almost certainly have been very different. I’d have been told I wasn’t ‘college material,’ would probably have believed it, and looked for work appropriate for the level of ability that the TEST said I had.

“It makes no sense to me that a test with the potential for shaping a student’s entire future has so little apparent relevance to adult, real-world functioning. Who decided the kind of questions and their level of difficulty? Using what criteria? To whom did they have to defend their decisions? As subject-matter specialists, how qualified were they to make general judgments about the needs of this state’s children in a future they can’t possibly predict? Who set the pass-fail “cut score”? How?

“I can’t escape the conclusion that decisions about the [state test] in particular and standardized tests in general are being made by individuals who lack perspective and aren’t really accountable.”

Here you have it . . . in 13 words, a concise summary of what’s wrong with present corporately driven education change:

Decisions are being made by individuals who lack perspective and aren’t really accountable.

Those decisions are shaped not by knowledge or understanding of educating, but by ideology, politics, hubris, greed, ignorance and various combinations thereof . . . and then they’re sold to the public by the rich and powerful.

Bernard Kaplan, who runs one of the highest-achieving schools in the state states, “It’s education by humiliation.  “I’ve never seen teachers and principals so degraded.”

Another principal, Mario Fernandez, called the evaluation process a product of “ludicrous, shallow thinking. They’re expecting a tornado to go through a junkyard and have a brand new Mercedes pop up.”

My school board member-friend who took the test ended with this: “I can’t escape the conclusion that those of us who are expected to follow through on decisions that have been made for us are doing something ethically questionable.”

He’s wrong. What they’re being made to do isn’t ethically questionable.  It’s ethically unacceptable. Ethically reprehensible. Ethically indefensible.

How many of the approximately 100,000 school principals in the U.S. would join the revolt if their ethical principles trumped their fears of retribution? Why haven’t they been asked?

Road Rage

It is a cold winter afternoon circa 1980.  I am 6.  My sister is 4.  We are in the back seat of the car my mother is driving on a country road, and we are not wearing seat belts - as you will soon see.

My sister and I have been fighting for many minutes, stopping only when our mother yells at us to stop and only because we are scared enough of her not to fight while she is yelling, but not scared enough (yet) to stop fighting altogether.

We have just resumed our incessant arguing and smacking each other across the seat when my mother turns around and our heads jerk as she almost veers off the road.  She is furious now, as she bellows the classic: "If I have to pull this car over, you two are going to be sorry."

Our mother goes on yelling at us, but this time it is different.  We are already scared when she then tells us that not only will we stop fighting, but we are not to talk at all.  She does not want to hear one more word, and I quote:

". . . not one more God damn word!"

We have clearly pushed her too far and I remember being very unsure about what would happen if I said one more God damn word. I did know, however, that I COULDN'T BE BOTHERED finding out.

My sister and I move as far away from one another as we can then, each of us tight against the opposite backseat door.  We don't say a word.  We barely breathe.

A few moments later I hear a clicking sound and look over to see my sister fidgeting with the lock.  Normally I would have called out: "Moooooom, Staci's playing with the lock," but this time I keep quiet.

My sister continues playing with the door while I watch, wanting so much to tell on her or hit her or yell at her, when suddenly -  the door comes open and my sister falls out.  That's right, she falls out!

Stunned, I whip my head to the front seat to see what my mom will do.

She does not do anything.  She continues driving, looking straight ahead.  My mouth opens to yell to her, but then I remember:

". . . you two are going to be sorry . . . not one more God damn word!"

I am paralyzed.  Maybe my mom had somehow opened that door.  Maybe my sister was the first to go and this was my warning.  I don't speak.

After what seems like forever (but years later my mom would say was just a tenth of a mile or so) we go around a little bend and that's when she feels it.  My mother quickly turns to look over her right shoulder, where my sister should have been sitting, and immediately hits the breaks.

"Jeannette . . . oh my God . . . where is your sister?"

I swallow hard, wanting to say something but remembering " . . . not one more God damn word."

My mother has pulled the car over by now and is turned toward me, frantic, looking out the back window down the snowy road where my little sister is lying in what looks like a big pile of discarded winter clothing - right in the road!

"Jesus Christ Jeannette!  Why didn't you tell me your sister fell out of the car?"

Tentatively I respond, "Because you told us not to talk."

There is no Santa!

Twenty-eight years ago a nine year old was riding in the passenger's seat of her mom's car (no doubt without a seat belt), off to who-knows-where on a cold December day.

Me: Mom, someone at school today told me there's no Santa.
Mom: Oh.
Me: So is it true?  Is there no Santa?
Mom: Well . . .
Me: She said YOU are Santa, Mom.  Are you Santa?  Do you give us all those presents?

Long Pause

Me: (angrily) You ARE Santa, aren't you? You are!
Mom:  Yes, honey, I am Santa, but I don't want you to tell your sisters, OK?
Me: I can't believe this.  I can't believe there's no Santa.

Mom tries to explain, but I cut her off.

Me: Wait a minute. If you're Santa, then . . . NO!  You're The Tooth Fairy too and the Easter Bunny?
Mom: Yes, honey, I'm them too.
Me: (starting to cry, still angry though) I can't believe this (but if I had known it then I surely would have said: "I can't be bothered with this!")
Mom: I'm sorry you're upset.
Me: I'm sorry you're a liar!  Does Dad know about this?

Mom, probably trying not to laugh: Yes, he knows.

There is another long pause and then something terrifying occurs to me.

Me: Oh my God Mom.  I mean . . . well, I guess I shouldn't say God because he's probably not real either.  Are you God Mom?  Are you God too?

Long Pause

Mom: Yes, I'm God too.

Heaven or Hell?

Caller on Catholic Radio:
Hi.  I'm calling because I have a friend whose baby just died and she was told by a member of the catholic church that because she did not baptize the baby before her death, the baby would NOT go to heaven.  Could this be true?  And will the baby go to hell?

Me:
Stunned.
Waiting.
Holding my breath.
Standing in front of the mirror motionless, when I should be getting ready for work.

Catholic Radio Host:
Well,  m'am, the teaching of the church is that we just do not know what happens to a baby who is not baptized before his/her death.  We can't say for certain that this baby will go to heaven, but we do know that God wants us all to be saved and so we trust in the mercy of God.

Me:
Stunned.
Waiting.
Holding my breath.
Standing in front of the mirror motionless, when I should be getting ready for work.

Mercy?  A baby needs God's mercy?

Now I'm wondering if they will give the phone number again so I can call and ask:

Do you know for sure what happens to little boys and girls who are naughty?  I mean - does Santa really have a list and will he really give all of their presents away to good little boys and girls?

They do give the number again, but I don't call.  I can't be bothered with this insanity.

I wish I could say one quick thing to the mother who lost her baby though.  I'd say:

I have a better idea about where your baby is.  I bet she's right above where you carried her for nine months - She's in your heart!  And . . . that is where she always will be if you don't let anyone tell you different.

The Hiv

. . . had a routine exam done two weeks ago, as a standard procedure in applying for a life insurance policy.  Before drawing my blood they asked that I sign a form authorizing this lab work to be tested for HIV.  Of course, I signed the form and of course, like most of you, was thinking I have nothing to be worried about.  My list of non-risky behavior includes, but is not limited to:

married
monogamous
not an IV drug user
never had a transfusion

Still, it bothered me to be expecting the results of this test.  I guess it made me realize . . . you just never know.  About a lot of things in life, you just never really know.

After a couple of days though, I forgot about the HIV test.  Even when the results came, I still didn't remember it, as I leisurely opened the envelope and read results for bilirubin, cholesterol, glucose, etc.  Then, there it was at the bottom of the list.

HIV      -      NEG

I was surprised to find myself relieved.  About a lot of things in life, you just never really know.

One thing is for sure though, I can't be bothered with HIV!

FACE IT!

I jokingly complain a lot about frizzy hair and other imperfections and probably always will.  The truth is though - some days it is not so funny.  Some days we really feel like no matter what we do we can't quite look good enough and today was one of those days for me.  Today was an "Oh my hair is freakin frizzy and hmmm, is that a few more fine lines I see on this not so glowing anymore face" kind of days.  


Then, I came home to read this (below) on my cousin Jolene's facebook page: 

In case you don't know, a majority of the ads and photos in Glamour magazine deal with botox, losing weight, wearing makeup . . . and are designed to coerce women into conforming to society's vision of femininity. However, towards the end of the magazine they have a memoir by Stephanie Nielson. Hypocritical? Or trying to be subversive? I'm not sure which...


I didn't understand, because I had not yet heard of Stephanie Nielson.  I googled her name.  This is what I found:

Stephanie, Before Plane Crash

Stephanie, After Plane Crash That

Left her Entire Face and Body Burned

So no, now I CAN'T BE BOTHERED worrying about frizzy hair and inevitable laugh lines. This girl is beautiful and so are you and so is everyone else and you damn well better go take a look in the mirror and just be grateful.

Going Back

Sometimes, do you find yourself wanting to cry sad tears not happy ones, when you see your old friends walking down the aisle or celebrating anniversaries or finding great careers or driving nice cars or building their own houses or having kids who have 5th birthday parties . . . because it painfully reminds you of how much time has passed since the days when the most important things in your lives were just - EACH OTHER - and how you will never be able to go back, but sometimes you just really, really, really want to?

Ya, me neither.  Who can be bothered with that crap?

Dumb Bitch!

Dumb bitch?  What?  You seriously just called me a dumb bitch!  Oh my God.

At first, I am embarrassed to admit, I got a little choked up when I saw you call me this.  That's right, I read your lips, mean man, and there is absolutely no doubt you looked me right in the eye and called me a dumb bitch after . . .


. . . I very, very, very tentatively inched my way around the end of a line of cars in the parking lot (as I swear I always do because I am obsessive about my car), when suddenly you came flying around the corner, but really DIDN'T COME ANYWHERE NEAR HITTING ME due to how cautious I was being. 

So why am I a dumb bitch?  Were you just mad because you didn't realize, until after hitting the breaks on your precious BMW, that I had been two steps ahead of you and ya hadn't really needed to slow down in the first place?  Did that make you feel stupid so you decided to take it out on me, the dumb bitch?  Shockingly, it really startled me and hurt my feelings, but . . . 

. . . that initial reaction quickly turned to a pure jolt of anger as you roared past me and I realized what a complete jack-hole you are, and that's why I followed you to the end of the parking lot, where I thought you were about to park, feeling compelled to let you know that I am in fact NOT a dumb bitch.  I can't believe I followed you, but I did.  However, there was never an opportunity to say anything because you turned around, gave me a strange look and headed right back out to the street.  Hmm, big fat scaredy-cat? 

I'm not really sure why you never parked, but its definitely a good thing.  I can't be bothered having confrontations with old crotchety men in parking lots.  Plus, the truth is you were probably having a bad day or you are just mean or something that really has nothing to do with me - so I'm over it.  


Nonetheless, I will leave you with a list of dumb bitches so you know for sure the next time you think you see one.

DUMB BITCH LIST:
- Casey Anthony
- Susan Smith
- Andrea Yates
- Diane Downs
- Aileen Wuornos
- You

Vote for Me for God!

Seriously, I'm thinking we should start holding elections for God.  I mean really, this one's body of work just isn't good, you have to admit, and we have probably given him long enough to get it right (like at least a few thousand years or something).  It seems like the right time to find someone who is better suited for the demands of this position.

Honestly, if Barak Obama had done even half of what God has done (or not done) we would impeach him tomorrow.  Poor Obama has an approval rating of something like 39% and all people think he's done is screw up health care and our economy . . . but God?  Well, just look at only a few examples of his work below.  How many of you would get to keep your jobs if these or similar events and people happened on your watch:

The Holocaust, World Wars, The Cuban Missile Crisis, AIDS, Cancer, 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, Assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., The Great Depression, Slavery, Columbine, Charles Manson, Global Warming, Forest Fires, Floods, Drought, Famine . . . 

I'd go on, but really - I CAN'T BE BOTHERED.  If the above list does not convince you that God should be an elected position, I don't know what will.

So, cast your nominations. Who would make a good Universe Leader?  Here are some suggestions to get you started.

- Santa Clause (he can fly and has presents)
- Oprah (she's Oprah)
- Bill Gates (he totally knows stuff)
- Tom Hanks (nicest guy)
- Captain Sully (landed US air flight 1549 safely in the Hudson freakin river, I already think he IS God!)
- Charlie Sheen (tiger blood, winning)

One last thing: Lets really insist that the campaigns be only positive, no exceptions.  That seems the Godly thing to do.  I mean, can you imagine someone running for God and smearing an opponent?

When you're here, you're family?

Isn't that what Olive Garden says on their commercials?  I'm pretty sure, though the truth is, not surprisingly, I COULDN'T BE BOTHERED checking it out for sure.  Regardless, the facebook status update my cousin posted a few days ago is still shocking and disappointing.

He and his family (wife, 3 kids) were at a Florida Olive Garden and discovered that a little girl was there to celebrate her birthday and excited to have the staff sing to her.  However, they'd recently adopted a new policy against singing Happy Birthday to patrons because others had complained.  Others actually went to the trouble of complaining and Olive Garden actually stopped this tradition of singing Happy Birthday.

Every time this happens in a restaurant I must admit I roll my eyes and have no desire ever to have some strange group of waitresses sing Happy Birthday to me.  But what sort of birthday scrooge do you have to be to actually complain?  News Flash:.  You are not at some swanky high-end establishment where they serve 6 courses over a 3 hour period and your bill is equal to a mortgage payment.  You are at the Olive Garden jackhole.  They will bring you soup, salad and breadsticks 'til you puke and you might still get change for a 20 dollar bill. 

Honestly, whoever would go so far as to complain to management about this needs to really take a step back and think about life.  Then - get over yourself and just use the birthday spectacle like I do: as a brilliant opportunity to make fun of yet one more thing.  There is so much to complain about in this life.  HAPPY Birthday is not on the list.  For a complete list, see me!

Oh, and guess what? My cousin and his family don't give a rat's a** about Olive Garden's new policy.  They sang Happy Birthday themselves to that little girl and I guarantee this was a lot more obnoxious than the well-rehearsed staff.  You should hear our family's version of Happy Birthday!

God Made Me Do It

I will never understand how someone can say: "God put me there to help that girl," when the girl being helped was just abducted, raped and tortured by a lunatic.  Shouldn't God just have prevented that from happening in the first place, rather than putting you there to help her?

Can anyone explain this?  Why would God operate this way?

Oh wait, maybe God works the nightshift and this girl was abducted before his shift began so he could only put someone there to help her after hours . . . after her abduction, rape and attempted murder.  That actually makes more sense.  Maybe that's how it goes.

. . .  or not.

If God is what many believe him to be - like a parent watching over us - how many of you parents out there would let things like this and worse happen to your children, only to save them later, but not all of them - just some?   Is God trying to teach us lessons with all of this suffering?  Kids do sometimes have to suffer to learn lessons. 

"God put me there to help that girl" seems to make about as much sense as a father putting his young child in a car with no car seat or seat belt, then driving 65 miles per hour off a cliff, where the child is ejected through the windshield and nearly dies.  Then, the parent calls 911 and first responders save the child.  Would that make sense?  Would that be OK?

Maybe things just happen and maybe those here on earth, not God, are actually in control and responsible for these things that happen, good and bad.  Maybe the universe unfolds as a reaction to all of us and some of us end up in exactly the right place at the right time. And some do not.

I want to believe in a God who watches over us, but it is very hard to do that when there is so much suffering in the world.  Any talk of God is a highly personal and complicated conversation though, so we should stop here.  Maybe I've already said too much and this isn't meant to offend anyone, especially God.  No, no.  I CAN'T BE BOTHERED with the wrath of God!

Religion & Underwear at The Gym

Maybe I just think too much about my underwear and not enough about religion because I can tell you this:

I  would not be caught dead in a pair of stretched out faded granny panties that go well above my belly button and have a pin-head hole in them if was going to be taking my pants off in a very crowded locker room AND I would tell my Muslim hubby to take a hike (only not that nicely) if he expected me to wear sweaty head garb to kick boxing.  No thank you.  

You don't think these things really happen?  Well, here is some information to show that women really should not wear panties more suitable for cleaning up oil spills in your garage and they do wear Muslim dress to work out and I am sorry but . . . 

We cannot be bothered with religion or bad underwear at the gym!

Female Body Builder May 

Change Dress Code for Muslim Women

Analysis Shows Ugly Underwear Can Ruin Your Day

By Nanci Hellmich, USA TODAY

Women own an average of 21 pairs of underwear, and many say an ill-fitting or ugly pair can ruin their day, a new survey shows.

"We know that bad hair days can affect women's moods, but who knew that bad underwear days could also ruin their day," says Lisa Lee Freeman, editor in chief of ShopSmart magazine, from the publisher ofConsumer Reports. Their research center conducted a telephone survey of 1,008 women 18 and older about intimate apparel.

Almost half of women (47%) say they feel sexier and more confident wearing a nice or special pair of panties. "The first thing we put on in the morning does make a difference in our day," Freeman says.

Classroom Crap

So, I'm a 4th grade teacher and the worst thing about teaching is having to pack up your classroom at the end of the year for various reasons - to move to another room, to switch grade levels, to have it thoroughly cleaned, etc.  Regardless of the reason, this is a real nightmare.  


This year though, I am packing to leave the general education classroom to be a math support teacher where I will share a much smaller room with another person who is even more organized and afraid of "stuff" than I am.  So today, as I was about to begin packing, I very suddenly and very simply realized that I COULD NOT BE BOTHERED with all the STUFF!  


Wanna guess what I did?  


I started drawing names and asking kids to pick things from the classroom they might want.  That's right - I pulled a name out of a bin and that kid got to ask for something in the classroom that was not purchased by the school and in most cases, he/she got the response: "Take it, its yours, and take this to go with it."


The kids told me they felt like it was Christmas or a free yard sale and that it was possibly the best day of the year.  Kids!


We drew names until every child was chosen 3 times and on some turns they didn't just get one thing, but a bin, basket or bag full of things!  At the end of the day kids were walking out to the buses with plaques that read World's Best Teacher,  with homemade board games, bags full of fabric, decorative plastic apples and Christmas decorations. 


If I ever go back to the traditional classroom, I am really going to wish I had this stuff, but right now I just wish I could hear the dinner conversations tonight as one student tries to explain why he brought home an old "Time Out" bench or another makes a case for keeping the wicker basket full of old cards and magnets.

Sad Songs

Do you ever hear a song from some of the happiest most wonderful moments in your life and have it end up turning around on you and making you so sad you cry your eyes out - unable to even listen to it, or is that just me?

The thing is, some moments were so amazing and joyful and once-in-a-lifetime-incredible that it almost hurts now to think of them because you can't go back.  Its not that everything is terrible now, life is still full and blessed, but some of the most rich and beautiful times only happen once, and are gone way too soon.

After walking down the aisle to a song I have loved since the moment it was released in 2004, I can no longer listen to it.  I actually change the station whenever it comes on and skip it on my ipod (note though, I won't remove it).  Its "God Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts and the first time I heard it 7 years ago I swear I said:

Someday I am going to walk on my dad's arm to that song and he is going to give me away to an amazing husband and I am going to bless this road that is so damn broken right now.

It didn't occur to me then that once it happened, I'd never be able to listen to it again.  I mean really, whose bright idea was it to have us dream of white dresses, cake, dancing and prince charming since we were 6 years old and then let us only do it one freakin' time (well, for the first time anyway).  I really think we should be allowed to renew our vows at least once every two years - complete with a bridal shower, registry, reception, all of it!    We only get to do it once though . . . and then its over and you can't go back and that is sad.

Want to hear about another one?  Are there any of my college girls out there who can hear "Brown Eyed Girl" without thinking about dancing in a bar in Brockport, or whatever college town you were in . . .  beer in your hand and all your best friends around, singin' like it was written just for you?  Maybe your college song is another one, but no matter what song it is, it brings you back to those days when you were finally on your own,  just beginning the path that would be all yours, scared to death at times but loving every minute because you found a bunch of girlfriends who were right there with you and guess what?   They'd picked the same path so you had some hands to hold on the long journey.

When I hear that song I want to put on a body suit (1992, they were totally in!) and tight jeans and get in a drunken circle with at least 10 girls and belt it out.  I want to dance and laugh and not care that much about anything except having fun and a song written just for us - brown eyed girls.  I can still listen to it, but it hurts a little every time.

Oh my God, I don't even know if I can talk about childhood songs.  I could cry right now and I'm not even listening to them.  What are they?  Oh, how about some 8-tracks of Kenny Rogers, "Through the Years," or a little bit of Elvis and "Love me Tender." These both bring me back to dancing in our living room with my sisters and my brother crying in his crib and dad laying on the couch and the smell of mom's sauce on the stove.  Think of your song and close your eyes and I bet you too will be ten years old and you'll see your childhood bedroom, the kitchen counters and the couch.  These songs are so complicated because families are so complicated and they bring you back to all the times that shaped you - good and bad.  That makes me think of the new Miranda Lambert song: "The House that Built Me."  Its beautiful and awful at the same time and I haven't heard it once without crying, so maybe I shouldn't listen to it anymore.

I mean really, I can't be bothered with all of this "remember when," which reminds me of the Allan Jackson song "Remember When," which is all about this stuff - the memories we carry with us.

"Remember when, thirty seemed so old?  
Now looking back, it was just a stepping stone . . . . . . 
Oh I'd do it all again.  
Remember when."

Car Trouble!

OK, I am going to insist that anyone reading this immediately remove the following items from your car if they are in there . . . and if they are - you seriously need to rethink how you are living your life.

- Beanie Babies and other stuffed friends in the back window

- Fake flowers (yes, spotted on the grill of a car as well as in the back window)

- Anything hanging from your antennae 

- Seat covers, steering wheel covers and yes - seat belt covers, spotted for the first time today

That's right - this entire post is prompted by my first sighting of a set of leopard print seat-belt-strap-covers stretching across the chests of an 80 year old couple in the car behind me today.  I have to believe the guy was being held hostage by these stupid things and probably hates 'em too, but still - there he sat. I bet he'd rather get in a fatal accident than have one of his bingo buddies see him wearing that damn thing and quite frankly, so would I!

Listen, it simply is not fashionable to decorate your car in anything, nothing at all.  Wash it, vacuum it, fill it up with gas and get on the road.  Oh, and do not even get me started on the soda cans, paperwork, clothes and other debris I saw floating around the car I parked next to today.  Cars doubling as another room in the house - I CAN'T EVEN BE BOTHERED getting into that right now.  It should carry at least the same weight as a DWI.  

Call me.  I will have the front, back and trunk cleared out and vacuumed in less than 15 minutes - guaranteed!

Girls

Out of all of your experiences:  the ones that have made you laugh your ass off, cry your heart out, scream at the top of your lungs, dance, sing and jump on the bed - are there any quite like the ones you have had with your girlfriends?

I don't think so . . . and I don't think I could ever live without the girls in my life either.  I don't know if they know that, but I do.  I tried for a while too.  We all have.  You know when you are young and stupid (or maybe even not so young, but still stupid) and you meet that guy who makes you think you don't need friends anymore?  Ya, you know what I mean.  Thank God we all snap out of it eventually, and hopefully before our greatest friends are long gone, 'cause I will tell you what - girls will love you and fight for you and yell at you and forgive you and build you up and hold your hand and keep promises and give you the time of your life - like nobody else will.

Well, OK,  if you are lucky enough to find an amazing husband or partner like I did and if you have parents, siblings, cousins . . . who you love deeply then yes, you will get that from them too.  Family though - that is an entirely different post.  This is about girlfriends, just girlfriends - the ones who, unlike your family, choose you!  Its about girlfriends, the ones who stay - even without a legal agreement or vows or money - they stay.  Some for just a very long time, as long as you need them, and others -  forever!

My first girlfriend, aside from my sister, I found on the school bus at 5 years old.  We both had on dresses and knee socks and we sat together on that bus almost every school day for 13 years and shared bumpy rides and smooth ones and she actually isn't in my life anymore and that makes me sad, but she was in my life for close to 30 years and that is amazing.  Those first friends - they teach you what it means and what it doesn't mean to be a friend and that can't ever be replaced.

Elementary school girlfriends are supposed to be hard to find because they are all too busy being mean to each other, but not mine.  I found them in the back of the room at the cloak closet, on the playground and in the hallways and most of them were with me still in high school and some are even now.  We saw each other through so many firsts: first boyfriends, first dances, first drinks, first cars and we said our first real goodbyes to these girls too - as we headed off to college and other places and made promises that we'd never lose touch and for those first summers (more firsts!) we didn't, but then eventually we did.  The thing about girls though - they find their ways back to each other, the best ones anyway, even if it takes years.  We saw one another grow up and we'll see one another grow old because we're from the same town.  Our families are still there and old buildings and roads and spots where we made our first memories together and now all of our sentences begin with "Remember when . . . " There is a bond in that and that's why these girls can't ever be replaced.

College girlfriends are scared when they meet but you can't tell because they are always drunk (lmao). . . and so begins the friendships formed over kegs, fake IDs, shared bathrooms, eating at 2am, falling asleep in class, and the list goes on.  If you are like me - lucky enough to find yourself trying to mock sorority life and then suddenly realizing its everything you didn't know you were looking for - you will spend a night with these girls even 15 years later (last night, hence this post today) and feel just as tied to them as you ever were.  On the car ride home, between chugs of water in an effort to hydrate, all I could think was what if I'd never met these girls?  How different my life would be and not for the better.  College girlfriends know you in a way others don't because they lived with you, saw you in every possible circumstance and not many of those were pretty.  Plus, lets face it, while we do not condone underage excessive drinking, there is undoubtedly something about the friendships created and maintained over lots of partying, something about those stories that bond you for life.  The true test though - if, when the partying is over you still want to be together, you've really found something.  I did, and that's why these girls can't ever be replaced.

The girls you find at work - when you are finally out in the real world trying to make a life for yourself and where, if everyone stays put (and in my profession they often do), you are possibly going to be together every day for about 30 years - are girls you might not notice at first.  Eventually though, many will emerge as friends, some as good friends and others among your best.  These are women who see you every day trying to do and be all that you can and supporting you in how hard it often is, then celebrating with you when you get it right.  They understand the stresses and the joys because theirs are the same.  Invariably too, because now you are really into it - this thing called life - you are going to notice when something isn't right and somebody isn't OK and you're going to stop working long enough to take care of each other and that's when it really happens - that thing called friendship.  There it is again, only this time in such an unlikely place as work.  One day, you might even find yourself in tears behind your desk suddenly unable to do your job and these women, if you are lucky, will flank you and pull you in and lift you up and be there while you heal, trying to find ways to lighten the load until you can carry it again . . . and right there is why these girls can't ever be replaced.

Are there more?  Maybe.  Right now though, because of my GD college girlfriends who kept me up until 3:00 on the morning, I just can't be bothered!

Sometimes having girlfriends is a real headache.

Frizz

Hey scientists, doctors and other smart people - let me get this straight (no pun intended):

You can get a man on the moon, open up a chest to repair a beating heart, remove an ovary from a female body, fertilize it and implant it back into the uterus so a human being can grow . . .

BUT YOU CAN'T DEVELOP ANYTHING TO EFFECTIVELY COMBAT FRIZZY HAIR!?!?

I do not understand this.  How hard can it be?  You seriously can't create a formula that will keep a 95 degree day, under 87% humidity, from turning someone with otherwise healthy looking, smooth hair into one of the muppets on crack?  I don't believe it.  Are you just too good for anti-frizz?

Well, consider the damage we frizz freaks are doing to our communities. I mean honestly, I think nasty, moisture soaked curls all over my head today were actually interfering with satellite signals and possibly causing accidents.  That's right - accidents.  Over the course of the day I, no joke, had to pull over for 2 ambulances and 3 police vehicles and that is no lie.  Surely this was caused by frizz interference because a head of hair this out of control has to have an impact.

Oh, let me guess, you CAN'T BE BOTHERED!

Whatevs.

Top 5 Awful Things I'd Rather Have Than Frizz:

1.  diarrhea

2.  temporary blindness

3.  a hangover

4.  10 stubbed toes

5.  taxes

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Lord God
Ruler of the Universe * Lives in Heaven * From Heaven *
Married to Mary * Born on BC 00, 0000  *  Likes: Big Bangs

Lord God
Ran into Satan again today . . . total asshole.
2 billion years ago     

Madonna
I hear ya LG.  Life is a mystery.  Everyone must stand alone. 

Reverend Al Sharpton
You ain't kiddin' man. He hasn't changed from way back - growin up in the ghetto 2gether.








Lord God

Movin' to a new cloud, can't wait.

2.5 billion years ago     

Santa

Ooooh, we might be neighbors.  Ho Ho Ho.

Lord God

Long day causing earthquakes and tsunamis, headin to bed, don' forget to say your prayers.

                          3 billion years ago     

Jeannette Evans Maloy

Can't be bothered!

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Follow the Rules!

Seriously, if we stop to think about it, SOME parts of life are really NOT that hard.  Others are very hard, yes, but the parts that come with the rule book no . . . not so hard.  If we are unsure which parts are in the rule book, below is an abridged version I found, but if you are like me you will realize - you already know 'em don't you?  So, lets just make all of our lives a lot easier - and follow them!

Abridged Version, In No Particular Order:

Rule #1  Pay your damn bills (real rule book does not swear) and anything else you owe - FIRST.  Well, I guess that does mean we need a 4th grade math education because we have to add up all our expenses and subtract it from what we make . . . again - not that hard.  Where this gets hard I guess (besides unemployment, bad economy, etc.)  is that this beautiful life has so much to offer and lots of other people have it and we might want it too and so yes, it can really suck to have to witness that and not be able to or know how to have the same.  For example, I sometimes regret being a teacher in a VW Jetta instead of a gazillionaire in my own private JETta.  Oh well.  Get a good therapist and get over it or figure out how to have what they have too.

Rule #2  If you are a liar, stop lying.  Don't lie to yourself and don't lie to others. To lie is to cheat and cheating is not following the rules. On the other hand, if you are like me and have sometimes believed there was no elephant in the room and never had been an elephant in the room, even when elephant shit was all over the floor - take a deep breath and get the hell out of there!

Rule #3  Eat right and exercise, then accept the body you have.  This isn't easy, but it isn't that hard (the eat right/exercise part) either so its sort of heartbreaking when we don't do it.  If a girl with one leg can run a marathon then we can take a few walks every week and eat more apples than we do chips.  Your body isn't a temple or anything (that's kind of weird), but it is pretty important.  Take care of it . . .  and when you get down because it still isn't perfect - try watching a guy who was born without arms and legs tell a room full of teenagers how much he loves life.

Rule #4   We must not make babies if we can't afford them or have no idea how to also make . . . a DECENT HUMAN BEING & CITIZEN!  Enough said.

Rule #5   Floss.

It's possible this list is not complete and there are more basic "Life is not so Hard Rules."  Post 'em here if you think so, 'cause I can't be bothered.

Certainly there is a Part II, about all the things that make life really hard.  Nonetheless,

"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste and remember . . . even with all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world." - Max Ehrmann, Desiderata