I am trying to get back into the habit of posting on a regular basis, and once a week is regular, right? (side note – if once a week is the only day you’re…mmmm…”eliminating” please seek medical attention).
I couldn’t think of anything to say (not that it’s stopped me before) so I thought I’d share some interesting facts about Thursday. Yes, there are interesting facts. Well, “interesting” might be pushing it, and I’m not sure they’re actually “factual” so….
ANYWAY – Here are some Things about the fourth day of the week (or fifth, if you start on Sunday):
According to live science, Thursday, “Thor’s day,” gets its English name after the hammer-wielding Norse god of thunder, strength and protection. The Roman god Jupiter, as well as being the king of gods, was the god of the sky and thunder. “Thursday” comes from Old English “Þūnresdæg.” (please don’t ask me to pronounce it)
Thor is the son of Odin and Frigga. Wednesday is “Odin’s Day” and Friday is “Frigga’s Day.” Seeing that Thor’s birth mother is actually Jörð, (or Gaea) it makes sense that he should come between them. BTW, the fact that this goddess chose to love and accept Odin’s bastard son makes her my hero.
On non-Thor news –
Thanks to the fact site, I learned that there’s actually a post-hardcore rock band named Thursday. I’m not a fan of hardcore rock, but you can check out their video “Understanding in a Car Crash” here. TBH the only understanding I’ve reached from a car crash is that whiplash sucks big time, and that some insurance adjusters are asshats.
I also discovered that “In some American high schools during the 1950s and 1960s wearing the color green on a Thursday would lead to people believing you were gay.” Really? Green? Rainbows are so much more inclusive.
In case you didn’t know, Jupiter is the Roman equivalent of Thor. In Latin, the possessive case of Jupiter was “lovis” which means that the Latin name for Thursday was “lovis Dies” which my brain insists on translating to “love dies.” Look, Odin was a cheating bastard and Frigga was “forced” to raise Thor as her own. Is it any wonder that love dies?
Sorry, I just can’t seem to get away from Thor. Although Chris Hemsworth is NOT a redhead, he’s still very pretty, and I can totally relate to his version of a stress eating sorrow drowning Thor.
In my search for interesting facts about Thursday, I discovered that you can buy a Mjölnir lamp and now I want one. My birthday is this month #justsaying.
And that’s all there is to print (until next Thursday, at least). Enjoy your Friday eve everyone!
And tell me…do you have any fascinating facts to share? (or pictures of Chris Hemsworth?)
I have a clear memory of being asked that more than once while I was growing up.
Ok – maybe not a clear memory. It’s slightly hazy. Or not so slightly. Geeze Louise people, weren’t you listening when I said that I lie?
Which brings us back to my opening sentence. “Are you telling stories?” was my family’s gentle way of asking if I was being 100% honest, or if I was “telling tall tales.” Full disclosure – I told a lot of stories when I was young. The pendulum swung way to the other side as the years passed, and by my mid-twenties I was brutally honest (TBH I was kind of an asshole).
Somewhere along the way I realized that although honesty may be the best policy, white lies don’t make people cry. But I still like telling stories. Not “tall tales” or “white lies” I mean stories – rambling “get to the point stories” about my day/the news/a social media post. I enjoy sharing stories about my life. My favorite story is the one that kicked off my blog – the story of how this happy anti-suburbanite DINK (Dual Income No Kids) became an Accidental Mother. I have to admit that my stories have gotten longer as I’ve gotten older. I blame hormones – menopause has kicked my ADHD into overdrive, and every thought triggers a new one.
My stories hold no risk. That’s not true – but the risk is small, and not life-threatening (at least I don’t think it is. If it kills me, I’ll pop by to let you know. I might also rearrange the objects on your dresser or turn your lights off and on, because that’s what ghosts do). The greatest risk with me telling stories is that I’ll ramble on and on and on so long that eventually you’ll lose interest, or that I’ll get so far off track that I can’t remember my point and eventually just trail off into an uncomfortable silence.
The stories I tell others are (hopefully) amusing and light, short and to the point. I aim to entertain – sometimes I miss the mark, but at least my stories won’t put you in danger. Some stories will. It’s hard to believe that stories can be dangerous, but it’s true. Not the stories we tell others (unless you tell them where you hid the body/treasure) – I’m referring to the stories we tell ourselves.
I’ve been hearing a lot about the dangers of the stories we tell ourselves lately. Jen Sincero dedicates a whole chapter to the subject in You Are A Badass, the subject has come up several times in my favorite podcast, and Brene Brown spends a lot of time talking about our Stormy First Draft:
“When something happens that triggers strong emotions, we often immediately create a story to make sense of what happened… a SFD is our brain’s way of making sense of something when we don’t have full information. We are a meaning-making species. In the absence of data, we make up stories because having complete information is a self-protective survival skill. But these stories often magnify our fears and anxieties.”
The universe kept nudging me, but (because I am an obtuse magpie) I didn’t pay attention until it came up yet again in my women’s circle. In all honesty, I didn’t realize how dangerous these stories could be until I heard theirs.
I know what you’re thinking (I do – I’m psychic! No, wait, I’m psychotic. Dammit I can’t remember which) – “How in the H E double toothpicks can stories be dangerous?”
The leader of our women’s circle explained that the stories we tell ourselves keep us stuck in an endless lifecycle loop – we keep repeating our story until we learn from it. Or, to paraphrase Jen Sincero – “If the story you tell yourself is that you cannot find a good life partner, you will continue to date a string of losers people who are the less than perfect match.”
In her book Rising Strong, Brene Brown tells us that “The most dangerous stories we make up are the narratives that diminish our inherent worthiness. We must reclaim the truth about our lovability, divinity, and creativity.” She goes on to say that the first SFD “may be the most dangerous (story) of all….Just because someone isn’t willing or able to love us, it doesn’t mean that we are unlovable.”
The women in my circle are amazing. Smart, talented, articulate. We vary in age, and our backgrounds and personal histories are differ, but the story we’ve told ourselves is the same.
“I’m not worthy.”
I’ve been telling myself that story for fiftyish years now. It kept me in bad relationships and stopped me from pursuing my dreams. I have no doubt that my story gave life to and continues to feed the EIC. I’ve finished that story and am starting a new one. Jen Sincero makes it sound easy. She says that we need to recognize that our story is “how we survived as kids but it doesn’t serve us anymore” and that we need to “Bust yourself in your own tired old broken records right now so you can set about rewriting your stories and create the kind of life you love.” Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? Wish me luck.
I am grateful to the women in my circle for giving me a much needed wake-up call. I owe a debt of gratitude to my long-time friend Dawn “Bambi” Taylor for suggesting that I “check out” Brene Brown. I want to thank Jen Sincero for reminding me that I am a badass. Mostly, I am grateful for all y’all for listening to my rambling story.
So what’s my new story? Not to go all Stuart Smalley on you (and yes, I realize I’m dating myself with that reference – my husband won’t let me date anyone else), but I’m starting with something familiar:
I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
P.S. – for those of you who are interested, I came across an excellent TED talk from Dr. Colleen Georges on how to rewrite the stories we tell ourselves. You can check it out here.
Hey look who’s back! Yep, just when you thought it was safe to return to your news feed, it’s the bad blogger.
Ugh. I’m trying to avoid negative labels, but I’ve already failed. That’s okay – you know what FAIL means, right?
It really should be First Attempt At Learning, but that would mean that I was FAALing, which is far too close to falling – and at my age, falling is something I need to avoid. Failing, however, is different. Failing is important. I know, I know, it seems counter-intuitive – we (as a society, but especially women) view failure as proof that we are unworthy impostors. We are proud of our successes and embarrassed and ashamed by our failures. Don’t believe me? Take a quick glance through your social media feed – do you REALLY think that all of your friends are living perfect lives?
We need to change how we view failure. By stressing the importance of success, we are teaching ourselves (and our children) to fear failure. We are quite literally failing our children by teaching them not to fail. There are plenty of TED talks on the importance of failing, but IMHO the most important reason is that failing means that you are moving out of your comfort zone and trying something new.
I’m back bitches!
I’m sorry I’ve been MIA (again). I was going to blame it on Covid/stress/life or the fact that Time is a wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey thing, but then I remembered what they* say – “When you point a finger, there are three more pointing back at you.”
Yes, the pandemic and stress and work and grief and life contributed to my writer’s block, but I have no one to blame but myself. I have been going through stuff, but hasn’t everyone? Actually, I’ve been going through All The Stuff. I have spent the past 6 months organizing and getting rid of things. Boxes of books and clothes – donated. Old papers – shredded. Pictures – all stored in one bin (OMG digital albums are so much easier). I haven’t exactly morphed into Marie Kondo, but I have been purging. If I could just stop binging all the beers I’d be able to lose the Covid15.
But that wasn’t my point. Yes, I actually have one. Once again, the train has gone off the track. TBH not only has it gone off the track, the cars have rolled down the hill and into the lake.
ANYWAY. I’ve been wanting to write, but was having a hard time coming up with a topic. The longer I went without writing, the harder it was to begin again. It bothered me at first, but I found ways to avoid looking at the empty page (empty page? HA! I didn’t even bother opening the notebook). It’s amazing how many things we can find that “need” to be done when we’re trying to avoid doing the thing we should be doing or the one that scares us (Hey, writing is scary. So are spiders).
I started listening to audiobooks at work (I know this fact seems completely random, but hang in there, it will make sense in a minute – or maybe it won’t. Hang in there anyway). This week I am listening to Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes. I love her – not only because her shows are AMAZING, but because she is a strong, powerful woman who admits that it is impossible to do it all (no matter what Cosmo magazine says). She begins by telling us why we should say “yes” to things:
“Saying no has gotten me here. Here sucks. Saying yes might be my way to someplace better. If not a way to someplace better, at least to someplace different.”
NBC news listed the top five lessons from her book. The first one resonated. That’s a lie (for those of you who are new here, I lie and swear – alot). It didn’t just resonate, it shouted my name and slapped me upside the head:
1) Say ‘Yes’ to Using Your Voice
Rhimes confesses to hiding her voice in her Grey’s Anatomy character Cristina Yang, allowing Yang to say all the things she wasn’t brave enough to say in the real world. But when Rhimes accepted that the real world could benefit from hearing her actual voice — that she could stand up and speak out on important issues and actually affect change — she swallowed her fears, wiped off her sweaty palms and began to speak.
Being Rhimes-level successful isn’t a prerequisite for using your voice. The single qualifier is that you’re a person on earth. You inherently matter and so does your experience. Whether it’s on a stage or through your Twitter feed, you have the power to impact your corner of the world for the better by swallowing your fear, standing up for what’s right and speaking out in love. You never know how your voice can change a person’s life.
One more time for the people in the back:
You inherently matter, and so does your experience.
Writing is scary. Speaking up is scary. Spiders are scary. Hell, just living is scary. It’s scary enough during “normal” times, and the times we are living in are nowhere close to normal.
Swallow your fear and start to speak. Someone needs to hear your story.
*Who are “they’ anyway, five little men on a hill?
Editors note – Griefball is kind of like dodgeball, but not as painful. Or more painful, but without the giant red balls (if you or someone you love has giant red balls, please seek immediate medical attention).
Well, it’s Wednesday again – and my attempt to reboot my blog with theme days (Motivational Monday, Weird/Wacky Wednesdays) is not working for me. I’m not surprised. I’ve always been more of a “go with the flow” hippy/dippy chick (which irritates my inner Virgo no end). Plans are good, but we need to make room for all of Life’s surprises – or, as my Jewish grandmother would say Mann Tracht, Un Gott Lacht (Man plans, and God Laughs).
Which is just a long-winded explanation excuse for why I’m not sharing news of the weird.
Can I be honest? (does anyone ever respond to that with “no, please lie to me”?) I’m not in the mood for weird and wacky. I tried being light and funny, but Tears of a Clown started running through my head (yes, it’s an earworm – if I have to suffer, so do you).
Today is the deathaversary of my brother of heart. It’s been a rough week. Last week was his heavenly birthday, and today marks four years since he “shuffled off his mortal coil.” It’s weird. It feels like forever ago, and yet, it feels like I just talked talked to him yesterday. It could be because Time has been melted by the Pandemic, or that he keeps popping up in Facebook Memories. Then again, if The Sixth Sense is to be believed, it’s because he talks to me when I think I’m dreaming. He’s one ofthe many friends and family members who pop up at inopportune times (i.e. when I’m dreaming of fruity rum being served up poolside by cabana boys.)
I used to think that there was a time limit to grief. I was wrong. I also thought that there were stages to grief. I was wrong about that too. Or maybe not quite. There are stages to grief, but there isn’t linear progression from loss to healing. Sana’s post explains it better. “Grief is hard to understand as it entails so many different emotions and looks differently for each person.” Her post includes the perfect image for how grief works.
So today is a grey day. As it so happens, it’s grey outside too. I love the rain, but the fact that the sky is reflecting my mood is weird, which means this is the perfect post for a Wednesday after all.
So tell me – how do you deal with grief and earworms?
For those of you who are younger than dirt, here’s Smokey:
It’s Motivational Monday. To be perfectly honest, I’m not feeling very motivated. But as I said earlier, I am trying to be a better blogger, so I am learning to write even when I don’t feel up to the challenge (yay me! Um…yeah. Even that small attempt at a boost failed to make me feel any less Meh.)
I could blame the environment (literal, political, social – take your pick) or the fact that this time of year SUCKS ASS (too many heavenly birthdays and deathaversaries) but it doesn’t really matter. To be honest (albeit not perfectly) it’s entirely possible that I’m just a Bitch (I’m sure my housemates would vote for the last one. After 14 months of quarantine, we’re all shopping for white oleander).
The why is not important. What matters is that I’m writing even though I don’t want to – because it’s Monday, and it’s the first day of a new month, which means it’s a good time to begin again quick reminder – you can choose to begin again at any moment – now is as good a time as any). I also got a nudge from Love Yourself Infinitely:
How To Move Forward In Life » Love Yourself Infinitely
“Life is not a bed of roses. We all learn this truth one day, in one form or the other. There are times when we feel alone, face setbacks, and end up feeling stuck in one place. This fear of failure or disappointment leaves one stagnant. Sometimes it is lack of motivation, positivity, or mere courage that holds us back from getting up and moving forward in life.”
I’ve been watching the replay of “Becoming Unstoppable: a 1-Day Live Confidence-Building Virtual Event” lead by Jamie Kern Lima. She created the event to celebrate the release of her book Believe It. The book tells her story of overcoming doubt, fear and haters (“No one is going to buy makeup from someone who has your body”). Her story is amazing, as were the guests who showed up during her event. So much love and support from so many incredible people. You should check out her video, book and website.
I was going to share some of the advice from the event, but my husband has been binging Fringe for the umpteenth time (seems random, but stay with me, I have a point).. If you haven’t seen it, you should check out the first season at the very least (writing, cast and story are superb). I love Walter, and on Friday he said something that resonate. Something I want to leave you with.
“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You have no idea how extraordinary you are. If you embrace that, there is no end to what you can do” – Walter Bishop, The Last Sam Weiss (S3 Ep21)
*Quick note – grammar is important “Love, me” is completely different than my original title “Love me?”
And here’s a little Walter Bishop for your entertainment
Actually, it’s not. Today is Wednesday. It is. Trust me. I know that the pandemic and lock down has messed with our minds and that time has become a big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, but it’s Wednesday. I think. I mean, I thought yesterday was Wednesday, but (checking calendar) yes, today is Wednesday.
Wednesdays are usually dedicated to News of the Weird, but today is also my brother’s birthday. This may be confusing to those who know me, because I only have one brother, and he used to be younger than me (now that he’s 50 he gets to be the older sibling). I’m talking about my other brother.
Mario was not my brother by blood, but he was my brother of heart, and today would have been his 63rd birthday. I miss him more than ever and I’m just not in the mood for weird and wacky – which is funny (ironic?) because Mario worked really hard to make people laugh, no matter how much pain he was in.
Mario had health issues which made it difficult for him to stand or walk, but it didn’t stop him from doing..well, anything. He just didn’t let it stop him. Period. He still drove to and hiked in his happiest place on earth (Yosemite). He still went to hockey games and worked 60 hour weeks and stood up when people entered the room and rolled around on the ground with his furbaby.
I know that the past 14 months have been hard for everyone. I KNOW that we’re tired of being locked in – that we miss our friends and family and movies and plays and travel and school and restaurants and all the things that made up our “normal” lives. I also know that (for most of us, at least) we are very lucky. We can still call or zoom or skype or facetime with those we love. We can order food from our favorite restaurants and stream movies in our living room. We can hike (thanks to the lockdown, the girl and I discovered a whole slew of trails close to our home) or “sweat to the oldies.”
It is in our nature to mourn the things that are missing and moan about the things we lack. It takes a conscious effort to appreciate what we have – but if we are to survive this year with sanity (somewhat) intact, it’s what we need to do.
I used to laugh when I heard people talking about “gratitude journals” and “the power of gratitude.” I thought it was a hippy-dippy mindset, and that the uber rich celebrities pushing the practice couldn’t possibly know how hard my life was. Trust me when I say the past 10 years haven’t been a cakewalk (side not – have you ever been on a cakewalk? Weirdest game ever).
This is hard for me to admit, but I was wr…
I was wro….wrrrrrrr….
Huh. I thought I only had issues with the n-word. Guess I was wrrrr….(OMG let’s not start THAT again).
I was mistaken.
If we are to survive the quarantine with sanity (somewhat) intact, we need to shift our focus from what we CAN’T do to what we CAN. We need to stop wallowing in our worries and start wondering about what we could do to help our friends and neighbors. It’s weird, but research shows that “In helping others, you help yourself.”
Huh. Wednesday turned out to be weird after all.
One last tip to holding on to your sanity – remember that this too shall pass. It may pass like a kidney stone, but it will pass.
Also, furbabies make everything better..
*In my search for a “meh” photo, I found this incredible shirt. Someone needs to buy it for me. I would buy it, but I’m feeling “meh.”
Happy Monday! How was your weekend? I had every intention of Getting Things Done, but the Universe had other plans. Of course, the EIC insists that I am making excuses, and I am just lazy. The EIC is an asshole, and he is constantly barraging me with a slew of negative labels. Lazy. Stupid. Bad. The good news is that I am getting better at ignoring him. We shouldn’t believe labels, but if we’re going to use them, we should pick the ones that are empowering and uplifting. Confused? Let me explain. Ugh. Now I have The Princess Bride running through my head.
Back BM (Before Motherhood) I was an actress. When I first started out, I had horrible stage fright. HORRIBLE, as in “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out or throw up on stage.” Fortunately, I had an incredible acting coach, and he gave me some important advice: Nervous and Excited feel exactly the same – the only difference is the way you label it.
Sounds simple, right? It’s simple and effective. When I stopped labeling my butterflies and sweaty palms as nervous/afraid and started seeing it as “excited” I had a huge breakthrough. Changing the label changed my mindset, and I was able to use the energy to fuel my performance.
Let me be clear – labels are useful for clothing and food (especially when you’re gluten sensitive, like the girl) – but other than that, they’re at best useless. AT BEST. But if we’re going to label ourselves, we need to choose carefully.
In a “There is no such thing as a coincidence” I came across a live event featuring Mel Robbins (thank you Facebook). In case you hadn’t heard of her (I hadn’t) she wrote The Five Second Rule, and she has a YouTube channel. She spent most of her time discussing about the negative narrative that runs through our head and the fact that we need to stop treating ourselves badly.
I’ve spent too many years listening to the endless loop of negative voices telling me what I’m not. The good news is that it’s a new year and a new week which means it’s a good time to begin again. Then again, you can make a fresh start at any moment.
I won’t say “Have a great week” because that’s a lot of pressure for those of us who are people pleasers – instead I’ll say “Have a week.” Stay safe, and please be as kind to yourself as you are to your friends.
As I said before, I am tired of newsfeeds and headlines filled with bad, sad, doom and gloom (anyone else missing John Krasinsky’s Some Good News?). In an attempt to bring some light and levity to our lives, I am dedicating Wednesdays to
NEWS OF THE WEIRD
Is it me, or has this entire week has been weird? (Don’t answer that. I know I’m weird).
It appears that being in lockdown for 300+ days has finally gotten to me, and I have lost my grip on the space-time continuum. True story – I just tried to convince my supervisor that President’s day (February 15th) was LAST week. Now it’s possible that future me came back in time to cover today’s shift because today’s me went into the future to…what? Buy some shoes? Figure out which stock to buy or what sports team to bet on? Bringing back Gray’s Sports Almanac worked out so well for Marty McFly.
It’s also possible that The Doctor is right. Time is a wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey THING.
Which is the longwinded way of saying that my “weird news of the week” is not from this week at all, but, just ICYMI – these stories of zoom meetings gone wrong made me LOL (is LOL still allowed? I know that the laughing/crying emoji has fallen out of favor). I have to admit that being “a woman of a certain age” means that new technology can be challenging – but I have never accidently turned myself into a cat or flipped myself upside down.
My last humpday story may not be weird, but try to make the leap with me. NASA has sent yet another rover to Mars. Perseverance should land on the red planet Thursday. Touchdown in the Jezero Crater is scheduled for 12:30 PST. You can watch it here.
It’s not exactly weird (ok, the fact that we’ve spent over 12.9 billion dollars on Mars-related projects is weird) but my question may be:
It’s Fat Tuesday, and I should be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, but I’m not.
I’ve never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras (TBH I’ve never been to New Orleans for anything) and I had every intention of going this year. Sigh. You know what they say about good intentions….
I have good excuses for not going (good excuses are still just excuses):
The Girl got accepted into a nursing program, and all of our pennies are going to college fees (we have to support her so she can support us).
The Guy JUST started a new job (more hours, better pay, better benefits) and can’t take time off. When I mentioned going on a girl’s trip, he guilted me with his big brown eyes.
I hate crowds (yet another reason to go THIS year).
Crawfish are creepy (but so are drunk people peeing in the alley).
The Mardi Gras parade was cancelled AGAIN. I love the fact that people are decorating their houses, but I don’t think houses can throw beads. Well, the Monster House could, but she’d just use the beads as bait to lure you in and eat you.
We’re not supposed to go anywhere and I am a Virgo (at least I’m not a Cancer).
So instead of drinking Hurricanes and stuffing my face with beignets, I am sitting in front of my computer with a cup of “coffee”* listening to Zydeco and tossing beads at my family when they least expect it (they don’t seem very appreciative).
Because I’m NOT in N’awlins I have been looking up “fun facts” about Fat Tuesday/Mardi Gras. Feel free to comment below with any trivia/pictures/recipes.
1. Crawfish are also called “mudbugs.” I have to admit that I side with Peachtown’s opinion that crawfish are disgusting. The writer points out the fact that “you’re eating bugs” (of course, crawfish are not actually insects) and “you’re eating organs” but it was the last two that I find particularly stomach churning:
1a – You’re eating poop Crawfish have veins full of waste that are attached to the pieces of meat people extract and eat. While some remove the veins, others overlook them and scarf them down like it’s no big deal. The only problem is it is a big deal, because it’s poop. This is alarming evidence in support of outsider opinions as to why crawfish are disgusting. If you like to eat poop, no one is going to judge your life choices, but you should know the reality of what you’re putting into your mouth. And here is where everything comes to a head
1b – You’re sucking heads. This is the smoking gun. Louisiana folks love sucking the juice out of crawfish heads. Sucking heads. The juice. Out of heads. It’s actually hard to say that with a straight face, so it’s good this is typed. But hardcore crawfish fanatics love the juices that resonate within mudbug shells, and they aren’t ashamed of it. Regardless of how tasty it is, you should consider how this must look to people who are unfamiliar with this highly seductive ‘act.’ It’s perfectly natural to people in Louisiana, but the whole ordeal can seem strange to outsiders.
2. Fat Tuesday was originally known as Shrove Tuesday and is also known as Packi Day after the rich, jelly-filled donuts made by Poles in Poland and the U.S, but
3. The French call it Mardi Gras. Wikipedia says that “as a celebration of life before the more-somber occasion of Ash Wednesday, (it) nearly always involves the use of masks and costumes by its participants, and the most popular celebratory colors are purple, green, and gold. Mardi Gras is often celebrated during Shrovetide (Sunday through Fat Tuesday).
4. The typical colors of Mardi Gras beads, also called “throws” have meanings. The Purple represents justice, the Green symbolizes faith and the Gold exemplifies power.
5. “Zydeco” can refer to either the dance or the music, and
6. There is a difference between Cajun Music and Zydeco.
7. I can play the hell out of washboard tie. Well, not really, but after a few Hurricanes, who can be sure?
Fat Tuesday wouldn’t be the same without a Fais do-do, so I’ll leave you with two of our faves – Laissez le bon temps rouler!
*useful tip #27: as long as you blow on your mug before taking a sip, nobody in the zoom meeting knows any different)
Hello and welcome to your mid-week update from the anti-suburban suburbanite.
I realize that my musings have been infrequent at best, but (as I said before) I am trying to be a better blogger…or at least one who posts on a consistent basis. I have also decided to go back to the beginning, and focus this blog on parenthood, suburbia and anything and everything twisty.*
I am dedicating Wednesdays to News of the Weird. Weird and wild and wacky and all things W. We are here to celebrate all things weird and wonderful to and to remember that normal is just a setting on your washing machine.
I’m no Jon Stewart, but I have found one or two pieces that made me laugh out loud.
Are you in the market for a new house? Have you run out of ideas as to how to effectively impose a “no phones/electronics” rule? According to UPI, there’s a house in Vermont that might be perfect to you:
The house for sale at 43 Courthouse Drive in Guildhall, Vermont, has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, an updated kitchen and seven jail cells, complete with barred windows, toilets and cots. UPI reported that the property, listed for $149,111, used to serve as the Essex County jail, with the jailer’s quarters attached to the back of the house. Out of use since 1969, the cells are now covered in dust and, according to the listing, just aiting for a creative buyer to “bring…ideas on what this 28-foot-by-40-foot wing could be!”
I’m not sure that locking a recalcitrant teen in a dusty jail cell is the best idea (unless you want CPS knocking on your door) but I’ve had moments where it would have proven useful – if only for a place for this tired mommy to take a time-out.
I came across this post from January Nelson a while ago (Time being the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey thing that it is, “a while ago” could be anywhere from a month to more than a year ago):
I curated these funny stories from funny Tumblr stories. Get ready for a hurricane of LOL as you read all these funny short stories:
Now that’s what I call stupid: In my junior year of high school, this guy asked me on a date. He rented a Redbox movie and made a pizza. We were watching the movie and the oven beeped so the pizza was done. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “This is the worst part.” I then watched this boy open the oven and pull the pizza out with his bare hands, rack and all, screaming at the top of his lungs. We never had a second date.
I feel sorry for the boy. He reminds me of a former coworker – her name has been changed to protect the innocent. And “Clueless” was extremely innocent and/or overly sheltered (maybe both). She was in her twenties, living alone, with zero life skills. I have several stories I could share, but I’ve gone on long enough for one post. She called me for cooking help.
Clueless – “How do you open a can of soup?” (please note, this was in the days before pop-tops)
Me – ??? “A can of soup?”
Clueless – “Yes. Do I just punch holes in the top?”
Me – “Is it a can of bullion?”
Clueless – “No. Chicken and noodles.”
My daughter isn’t much of a cook (she takes after her mother that way) – but even she knows that the noodles would get stuck in the holes.
So tell me – are your Wednesdays as weird as mine?
*I am moving my battles with the Black Dog and Brain Weasels to another blog. If you’re interested, you can follow me here.