A Post It-less Post it Note Tuesday

Dear Daughter;

I am in a bit of a parental pickle and here's why - As your mother, I am supposed to be an example of good taste and good behavior. One of my primary responsiblilities is to teach you to be a fine and upstanding young lady , to make sure that you know right from wrong and use excellent manners in all social situations.

And while it is understood that instilling these attributes is a large part of my motherly job description, I admit that sometimes I fall a little short. Take yesterday for example, I found it impossible to respond in a mature manner and tell you that what you did was not necessarily the right or most lady-like thing to do. It was my job to explain to you that what you did was sort of juvenile and a little disgusting and probably a tad disrespectful to the other people that you share this house with.

The problem is, when you do something like this, I end up laughing so hard that I can't speak or breathe long enough to form the words to correct you. And when your father is the first to find your handiwork, well, that puts the last nail in my measly maturity and I literally roll on the floor in laughter (honestly, I thought that was just an expression until yesterday, but no, it's real).

I am considering hiring a maturity surrogate for moments like these. What's that expression? The first step in solving a problems is admitting that you have a problem. Well, allow me to introduce myself - "My name is DG and I am a Bathroom Humor-aholic."

Please don't faint, it's only paper mache.

Three Signs of Summer

In case you were wondering whether the Summer was officially here or not, here are my three fool proof indicators for arrival of the season:

1. Charred flesh of ruminant mammals

2. Pool's open

3. Shameless displays of hotness

Should I Consider a Clockwork Orange Style Reconditioning?

The following conversation took place last night:

(A mother and daughter are driving to the mall in a green minivan. The daughter is slightly distracted by the promise of shopping, so she hasn't switched her mother's radio station from 80's Alternative to Top 20, like she usually does. Daughter hates mother's music because she says everyone sounds sad and they all sing like "the best cry ever". The song Rock N Roll High School by the Ramones is playing on the radio when the daughter realizes that she needs her music on. She puts her hand on the radio tuner, then stops for a second, and turns to her mother with a confused look on her face.)

DAUGHTER:

Did he just say "I just wanna get some cheese?"

MOTHER:

No, he said chicks.

DAUGHTER:

Is he Irish or something?

MOTHER:

No, he's from Forrest Hills.

DAUGHTER:

Is that in Florida?

End.

P.S - For those of you that are cool enough and smart enough and good lookin enough to like 80's alternative, you can tune into my custom 80's channel on Jango. It's free, it's on the Internets and everyone sounds like "The best cry ever". ; )

http://www.jango.com/stations/259549401/tunein?song_id=50548

Post It Note Tuesday

It's time for Post It Note Tuesday, hosted by Supah Mommy! Go here to link up and get in on the fun.

Look What Fell Off My Family Tree Friday- Teenager Edition - Featuring Me

I don't have a guest poster for this installment, so I will treat myself like one. Allow me to introduce this week's Teenager Edition post from Diary of A Mad Bathroom. If you don't already know Diary, go here to check her out, follow and show love. Enjoy!

Evolution of the American Teenager - 14 Year Olds Across the Decades

by DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom

Year:1955
Hair: Pincurl set, worn combed out or with set hair covered in a kerchief.
Clothes worn: (Casual) Rolled up boys jeans, white tee shirt, sneakers (Dressy) Impossibly tight black pencil skirt, fitted white blouse, heels.
Clothes her mother thought she was wearing: Poodle skirt, cardigan, saddle shoes (all deposited in neighbor's bushes)
Music: Elvis, Bill Haley, Bo Diddley, Little Richard, Chuck Berry
Dumbass Move:
- Sneaking out window to go to the Alan Freed rock n' roll show at the Apollo Theater, NYC .
- Tearing own hair out watching Elvis on TV.
Parental Musical Conflict: Parents burned her Elvis records in fear of his flaming hot sexuality. The church did not approve, so, obviously.
Thinks his/her parents are: Completely out of touch and provincial.
Parents are actually: Completely out of touch and provincial. They thrive financially on one salary and live a cocktails and suits existence that reads like a clip from madmen. Of course, the resulting alcoholism is neither discussed nor addressed as it is merely a cultural norm.
Cultural Issues/Concerns: Other than an intense fear of communism and nuclear war, there were none (except Elvis' hips). Duck and cover.


Year:1979
Hair: Long layered shag style called "The Sauvage" (think Steven Tyler and Joe Perry's late 70's hair), blown dry to a crisp and straightened with a straightening iron.
Clothes worn: Impossibly tight designer jeans, tight and low-cut shirts, concert tee shirts and Candies slides.
Clothes her mother thought she was wearing: Impossibly tight designer jeans, tight and low-cut shirts, concert tee shirts and Candies slides (she doesn't like her daughter's clothes, but she tolerates them, only voicing her displeasure on occasion)
Music: The Cars, The Knack, Blondie, Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Queen
Dumbass Move:
- Too many to mention. Suffice to say, current existence is nothing short of a miracle.
Parental Music Conflict: Mother grudgingly purchases Blondie's "Eat to the the Beat" album but makes it clear that she thinks that Deborah Harry is a "dirt bag".
Thinks his/her parents are: Generally unsavory and embarrassing company. Father sings along to Doo Wop music in the car and lifts one ass cheek to fart, which he seems to do constantly. Mom is reasonably cool but often comes along with the embarrassing dad, lowering her coolness factor considerably.
Parents are actually: Both working full time and exhausted from trying to battle inflation. Weary from the Oil Crisis and meat boycotts of prior years. Pretty savvy about some of the things their kids are doing, but ultimately blind to many of the things that the sexual revolution has introduced to teenagers in the past 20 years.

Year:2010

Hair: Longish, combed forward and over, but not quite emo. Often flat ironed and held at bay by hair product and a beanie.

Clothes worn: Impossibly tight skinny jeans, plaid shorts, tee shirts, Vans slip-ons, boxer shorts

Clothes his mother thought he was wearing: She shops for all his clothes (and washes them) so she knows every last stitch.

Music: All Time Low, A Day to Remember, Brand New, Pierce the Veil

Dumbass Move:

- Getting shot in the neck with an airsoft pellet, while goofing around with his notsobright friends, none of whom were wearing goggles or helmets.

- TBD

Parental Music Conflict: None. Mother likes all his music.

Thinks his/her parents are: Helicopter parents as they expects things like - being texted back, specific pickup and drop off times, use of bicycle and airsoft helmets and other irrational demands.

Parents are actually: Both working and exhausted from trying to battle their way out of the recession. Weary from the the demands of careers that require greater than 40 hours per week in order to ensure success. Overly cautious about drugs as they lost several of their own friends to heroin and cocaine addiction. As a result, they are hyper-aware of pharma parties, meth labs and the growing heroin problem in local high schools.

Post It Note Tuesday

It's time for Post It Note Tuesday, hosted by Supah Mommy! Go here to link up and get in on the fun.

Look What Fell Off My Family Tree Friday - Teenager Edition - The Empress from Good Day, Regular People

Today's post comes to you from the Empress over at Good Day Regular People. It is a thoughtful and funny interpretation of teen speak.



Enjoy!

The following morning exchange occurred on a day when the world's surliest teenager woke up late for school. If this is your first trip to Angstworld, and you're unfamiliar with Angstspeak, I have inserted translations below the actual dialogue. I have become well versed in "Angst" and am available for hire. Fee: free, in the spirit of fellow commiseration.

PARENT: "Hey, darling, you'll be late if you don't get up now."

15 YR OLD: "Why'd you let me sleep so dang late? You NEVER wake me up in time for anything."

HE IS SAYING: "Man, I am so tired, Mom. Can I sleep a bit longer?"

PARENT: "Sorry you'll have to rush, sweetie. I'll help you out. What do you need?"

15 YR OLD: "You still don't know what I need in the morning? How long have I been your son?"

HE IS SAYING: "I'm too tired to think, Mom. You always do it right. Can you do it for me, please?"

PARENT: "Here, I've got breakfast set. Come on down, I'll get your lunch packed. Then you can wash up instead of a shower."

15 YR OLD: "No shower???!! No shower??!! Man, does everyone get gross like that when they get old? I'm taking a shower. You're the one that got me up late. Why do I have to be the one to go without a shower."

HE IS SAYING: "You know how important my appearance is at this age. Please figure out a way to make time stop so I can get in the shower."

PARENT: "Alright. Sneak one in. I can get you to school on time. You're never late, it'll be alright."

15 YR OLD: "Nothing's ever alright at that place. They always find something wrong..I hate having to get a tardy slip. Just get me there, alright?"

HE IS SAYING: "I have a lot of pressures with being cool. Walking in with a tardy slip like a little kid is embarrassing. Please oh please, Mom, break some laws getting me to school on time."

PARENT: "It'll be alright. Come on, honey. Everything is set, and I fixed your breakfast so you can eat it in the car. Get dressed, and you'll make it with 2 minutes to spare. I'll be in the car. Your backpack's already in there, too."

15 YR OLD: "Thanks, Mom."

HE IS SAYING: "Oh, Mom, I am such a fool. Blind and full of bitterness. I'm so sorry for the way I acted toward you. I spoke to you with disrespect and a curt tongue, when all the time you are my mother.Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

PARENT: "Of course I do."

15 YR OLD: "Whatcha say, Mom? Who are you talking to?"

PARENT: "Oh, nothing, honey. Just something I heard in my head. Here, I think you've got some Clearasil left on your face. There. I love you."

The Hemingway Experiment

Write drunk; edit sober - Ernest Hemingway

Now before you get your panties in a bunch, you need to know that I am not in any way comparing my writing to E.H.'s. No, I am simply attempting to test the merits of his famous quote, to see if it improves on my manic musings in any way.

Allow me to set the stage for you; it's 7:00 PM on Saturday night, dinner is over, I know where my children are and I have decided to open a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I have a tendency to be conservative with wine and save it for times when it can be shared with someone. It is a beverage best enjoyed in a convivial setting, but like the bitches in the L'Oreal commercials say,"I'm worth it."

The link between drinking and writing is one worth exploring as I am a die hard fan of the writing of(alleged) former drunk extraordinaire, Elvis Costello. Though sober now, he was supposedly a spectacular drunk for much of his early career. And while all I can remember about Hemmingway's The Old Man and The Sea is that the old man urinated over the side of his boat, I can quote the lyrics of the Trust album like a televangelist quotes the bible.

At this point in my experiment, I am about 2/3 of the way through the bottle. I wouldn't call myself drunk, but I can definitely feel my my filter fading away. That filter is what keeps me from embedding videos of The Farting Preacher in my posts (investigate for yourself, I don't want to risk the fire and brimstone) and keeps me from saying things like "everyone on the Food Network is a summa cum laude douche bag". I'm not an angry drunk, but I certainly can't maintain my PC facade. I mean, I'm looking at Bobby Flay. Maybe that's not the wine talking.

So I leave this post now and move on to drunk baking. I have a hankerin' for Russian Tea Cookies that can't be tamed by a fruity white wine. Say a prayer that I don't burn myself alive in the process. I will edit this hot mess in the morning and we'll see if Hemingway's theory holds water. If this does not look like the train wreck that I am expecting, I may have to adopt a six toed cat and move to Key West with nothing but the clothes on my back and a couple of cases of vodka. We'll see.

Morning After Notes:

This post, while pointless, neither suffered at the hand of the wine nor gained anything at all. It is merely an experiment in wasted time. So my morning after assessment is that with regard to this particular quote, Hemingway had his head up his ass.

The results of the drunk baking have some merit however. The cookies I made are spectacular. Perhaps the quote should have been "Bake drunk; eat sober" . Perhaps if I consume enough vodka, I might have the stones to attempt my culinary nemesis - puff pastry. But first I'll have to up my homeowner's insurance.

Look What Fell Off My Family Tree Friday - Teenager Edition - Sarah Lindahl

The first installation in the Teenager addition of Look What Fell Off My Family Tree is from Sarah Lindahl. When not dropping knowledge about teenagers at my place, Sarah is the author of the blog "So. . .What Else?". Pop over there and show her some love after you read this:

Why Intelligent Design is Such a Stupid Idea

Sarah Lindahl

In a word; teenagers. Sam is fast approaching teenagehood, his birthday is at the end of the month and he will be thirteen. He's a very nice boy and I'm not expecting any horrific behavior from him but even if he does act like an asshole from time to time in the next ten years I will probably have to write it off as teenager-induced mental illness.

Already there is evidence of the hormones racing through his veins - a creepy little mustache (that he is ridiculously proud of); growing like the incredible hulk, (if the hulk only grew tall and didn't put on any muscle mass); and fits of emotional overload. I can't really blame the guy because his brain is being marinated in new hormones and chemicals at a rate that his little synapses have never experienced. And coupled with the newly marinated brain, his frontal lobe, the part of the brain that is responsible for judgement, reasoning, and emotions, is going to be taking a developmental break for the next several years, in the middle of which he is going to be DYING to drive a car and have sex. Sounds like a mean joke, doesn't it?

Teenagers are as stupid and helpless as toddlers when it comes to navigating the real world, but unlike toddlers, they resent their parents and don't talk a fraction as much as toddlers, so you never know what's really going on in their heads. When they do occasionally tell you what they're really thinking about, the adult instinct is to say, "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," because what they said is probably the stupidest thing you ever heard. But, of course, if you say that they won't tell you anything anymore, so you have to bite your tongue and listen to the ridiculous theory about how having a huge snowplow attached to the front of your compact car is a good idea.

I've been thinking about getting full-time work again, but with this teenage thing looming, maybe now is not the best time. Sam will be easy compared to Kira (I hate to even think about that), so perhaps now is not the best time to leave them to their own devices. We've been lulled into complacence while they were in elementary school, but soon the ultimate-parenting starts up again. I hope we are ready.

That, among many other reasons, is why I think intelligent design is such a stupid theory. Another is the fact that the prostate gland, which ALWAYS gets enlarged later in life, goes around the urethra. How dumb is that?

If I was going to intelligently design a human, the control center (brain) wouldn't be teetering on the top of a skinny neck, just begging to be hacked off or cracked open, it would be in the center of the body. And eyes would be on stalks and would be able to regenerate. I could write a book on how I would design a human, but I won't bore you with any more details because I don't want you to be thinking "that is the stupidest thing I ever heard."
How would you design a human?

Post It Note Tuesday

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