Immature Humor

My husband is ten and a half months younger than me. 


That's nothing. On the cosmic scale we are the exact same age. And when it comes to maturity? He is sooo much older than I am. 


Still, he will never let me forget those ten and a half months. 


Some of the time it's in sneaky ways. He will be talking about what he wants to do when he turns 40 (dive an iceberg), and then in the sweetest voice possible will say "well, we really should talk about what you want to do, since you turn 40 first." Other times it will be more direct. For instance he may tell someone that we just met "I am much, much younger than my wife." 


Then there are the times he is so stealthy about it I barely even notice it. 


We both have iPhones. We both have keep them in black cases, because we have a toddler who likes to drop things, and I got a deal on them. This has led to both of us accidentally taking the other one's phone while rushing out the door, which leaves him unable to check his schedule and me unable to easily check Twitter. You can see the problem. The solution we came up with? Stickers. Just glancing at the back of the phone lets us both know who's is who's. Ryan picked the stickers from the hoards that have taken over our house since Meg was born. This is mine:

This is his: 

Get it? 


Maybe I am older than him when it comes to maturity after all... 

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Right Idea, Wrong Reason

My mother is quitting smoking. But that's not the point of this post. The point of this post is why she is quitting smoking.

Guesses?

Did you say because of her health? You're wrong.

How about because the price of cigarettes is going up, and she is trying to save money? Nope, wrong again.

Did anyone say doing it to help her best friend who is also trying to quit? Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner.

Now, can anyone guess why the friend is quitting? I'll give you a hint, it's not health or money.

Oh, and it's not because smoking is becoming totally socially unacceptable.

Or because it's just generally gross.

Give up? You might as well, because you are never going to guess it.

My Mother's best friend is quitting smoking, and taking my Mom along for the ride, because she is sure the world is going to end on December 21st 2012.

Now, I am sure you are saying "well, if the world is going to end, why doesn't she just enjoy her cigarettes?" After all, that's what I said. You see, she doesn't plan to die in Armageddon, but instead to take off with her family in their RV for a safe place to ride out the storm until society is ready to rebuild.  And in that safe place? It will likely be very hard to find cigarettes. She's quitting now so she won't have to deal with both the apocalypse and nicotine withdrawal.

It would be a brilliant plan if it wasn't so totally and completely insane. And it's led to a brilliant plan of my own.

I am going to start stocking up on cigarettes. If the end of the world is coming, there have got to be some people out there not as prepared as my Mom's friend. There have got to be even more people who will want one last drag before they hurtle out of existence. At the end of days I will be queen -- because I will have all the smokes.

And if the world does not end on December 21st?

I will have one hell of a Christmas present for my mother... and her friend.

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The Reluctant Bride

I have christened my friend Molly the "reluctant bride."

It isn't that she doesn't want to get married. She does, and rightfully so; her fiance is a great guy. It isn't that she doesn't want to have a wedding. She's really looking forward to celebrating her marriage with her family and his at a small ceremony back east. No, she wants the wedding, and the marriage, she just doesn't want to have to do anything too "bridey." 

Pick out invitations? Not interested. 

Peruse bouquets? She doesn't want to carry flowers.

Fantasize about the perfect cake? There will be no fancy cake. 

Thumb through magazines looking for the perfect dress and hairstyle? She bought the dress years ago (on sale), and figures she will just "figure something out with her hair."

I can't even convince her she needs to register for gifts. Now, that's the one that really got me. After all, they are GIFTS! This is one of the only times in your life as an adult you can ask people to give you nice things, and THEY DO! Right now, if I asked a friend or family member to buy me new bed linens they would A) look at me strange, and B) tell me to buy them myself. Molly could totally get those bed linens though, and no one would bat an eye! She might even get too many sets and have to trade them in for other things like chafing dishes, and fluffy bath towels. 

I actually thought about registering for her, but I decided I don't want to be the "crazy friend" of the "reluctant bride." Also, I was kind of worried if I did that I would have to write the thank you notes for all the gifts. I still have flashbacks of that from my wedding -- and that was 7 years ago. I mean, after about the 76 note about flatware and kitchen utensils all creativity goes out the window.  I think at one point I actually wrote a thank you featuring the sentence "the rack will surely add 'spice' to our marriage."

I digress. 

I guess things could be worse. I could have "bridezilla" as a friend. Or "perfect theme wedding bride." Oh, or the worst bride I have heard of as of late: "grow all the food (including the chickens) for the wedding bride." That one scares the shit out of me. I mean, there is micromanaging, and then there is that woman. I'm sure she pictures perfect plates with home grown herbs sprinkled on them, but I see her curled in the fetal position, covered in chicken blood and mumbling about aphids eating the lettuce. I definitely prefer Molly to that nightmare.  

Still... 

Maybe if I could just get Molly to do one "bridey" thing: like commit to a tea party shower, or go on a crash diet that requires her to be on a feeding tube...

Of course, either of those things might push her over the edge from "reluctant" to "runaway." Dammit. 

If only she would just ask for a toaster. 

WHY DOESN'T SHE WANT A TOASTER?

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Rove-ing Utah

Three or four times a week I see Karl Rove.

Well, not actually Karl Rove, I don't watch that much FOX News. A Karl Rove look alike. Utah is lousy with them. Men (and, occasionally women, bless their hearts) who look just like the dark lord of the GOP. Not just a passing resemblance either. Dead on. So much so that most of the time Ryan and I (and whoever else may be with us) actually have a short conversation about whether or not it actually is him.

Don't remember what he looks like? Here's a reminder...

Yep. He's a looker.

He looks like roughly 10% the population of Utah. I don't think it's an accident either.

No, I am not saying that "Rove chic" is a thing here. Nor am I saying our genes are Roved (although he did grow up here). What I am saying is I believe people who naturally look like Karl Rove have moved here to find safe haven.

Think about it. It makes sense.

Poor chubby guys (and gals) were living happily in Vermont, or Oregon, or Wisconsin when suddenly, in 2000, they begin being mistaken for what is now the face of the far right wing. They try to lose weight, buy new glasses, buy Subaurus and put HRC bumper stickers on them, invest in shirts that say "I am not Karl Rove," but nothing seems to work. Neighbors start gathering pitchforks. They are pariahs. So, they start looking for a place where the fact they have a Republican doppelgänger  will be a positive.

Utah. The state that would change it's name to "Republicanada" if that didn't sound so much like "Canada" where godless socialists live.

I haven't done the research to prove my theory (that would be work), but I am pretty sure I'm right. I bet if I went through the records at the DMV I would find a large number of balding, pleasantly plump, bespectacled new residents applying for licenses around 2003.

Every time I see a Rovian now I want to tell them to "stay strong." After all, there is a Democrat in the White House now, and probably will be until 2016; eventually Rove will have to retire, and people will forget who he was. Then they can return to their liberal, hippie homes without fearing retribution.

At least I hope that happens. Rove could be having himself cloned, or be planning to have his head jarred ala "Futurama." I really hope that isn't the case though. The more of these Roveugees that come into the state, the more likely that Meg's graduating class will end up looking like an episode of "Face the Nation." How is she going to hang that picture on the wall of her dorm room at Howard University? She'll have to go to Bob Jones University just to fit in.

Of course, there she might actually see Karl Rove.

I just hope she doesn't mistake him for the butcher at our local grocery store. Or the teller at the bank. Or one of the board members of the local Planned Parenthood chapter....

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The Silent Epidemic

I can't believe we are dealing with addiction before the age of three. 


It started innocently enough, with just a little taste, socially. 


Soon, Meg had to have it daily. Then she demanded it hourly. Now she claims she can't function without it. 


When we don't give her any she goes through horrible tantrums of withdrawal. 


Oh, dear God, Pez addiction is a special kind of parental hell. 

On the surface it seems so harmless. Chalky, fruity, candy that can be doled out in small portions, with a colorful container to hold the rest. 


In reality it is so different. One Pez quickly turns into a whole pack for our sugar starved toddler, and then the empty container mocks her with the fact she NEEDS more candy. She can still smell it on the plastic, still kind of taste the residue if she licks it, and she feels she HAS TO HAVE it refilled. 


There is nothing that can distract her from it, either. No way to make her forget. With other past obsessions (stickers, tic tacs, mylar balloons) she has forgotten all about them once they are gone. She may ask about them once or twice, but more in a nostalgic way. With Pez the dispensers are always there, smiling, reminding Meg she is out of candy. I guess I could throw them away, but I've been on Ebay, a couple of them could eventually be sold to put her through college. 


What makes it even worse is the fact there are so many Pez dealers out there. They hide in plain sight, you would never suspect them. Grandma? Check. Aunts? Check. Friends wanting to bring a "treat?" Big check. I would hope they just are ignorant patsies, unaware of the Pez cartel they are muling for, but I think at least a few of them must actively be working for big sugar. 


Meg will, literally, do anything for Pez. I hate to admit it, but I have actually exploited this at times. That's right, I'm an enabler. 


I can't help it. I'm so weak. 


I am willing to trade Pez for eating six bites of dinner when she is lying on the floor claiming she isn't hungry. I am willing to trade it for hair washing too. I am even willing to trade TWO packs to get her to do things like wear underwear and use the potty for a whole afternoon without an accident. I would trade it for brushing her teeth, but that seems counter intuitive. 


The only thing that gives me comfort is the fact we are not alone in all this. The family next door is dealing with the same situation. Their daughter is four. 


I just hope she and Meg don't steal a car in order to make a score. 

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Things I Have Learned From Pinterest

I, like pretty much every other person on the planet with two X chromosomes, have fallen prey to Pinterest. How could I not? I'm lazy and would like to be a better person, and Pinterest makes it seem like I can improve my lifestyle by surfing the web. Also, it makes me feel better about my slacker state, because it shows me other people are slacking as well by what they pin. Sure, it may look like they are coming up with great ideas for meals, playtime, and their homes, but I can read the subtext... 

1. No one wants to eat their vegetables -- or chicken breasts.  Seriously, there are so many recipes for chicken on the site at times I think it's sponsored by the poultry farmers of America. Then I remember that chicken breasts are the one thing pretty much everyone buys, and no one really knows how to prepare with flavor. There are equally as many recipes for "jazzing up" vegetables. You know what doesn't need "jazzing" to make it palatable? Ice cream. You don't need a "pin" to remind you. 

2. Everyone is disorganized. Organization tips are the chicken of the home design pages. Oh, and almost all organization can apparently be done with hanging shoe racks. I am expecting any day to see a pin with children stuffed into plastic sleeves hanging on the back of a closet door. 

3. There are very few "good hair" days. Women with straight hair are pinning advice on curling it. Women with curly hair are pinning advice on straightening it. Brunettes are looking for home streaking tips. Blondes are looking at "low lights." Everyone wants to find something "different" and "romantic" to do with it. I'm betting very few do. 

4. Playing with kids can be a drag. I love my daughter, I really do, but there are some times when I just have no idea what to do with her except sit her in front of the TV with a bag of refined sugar. Pinterest let's me know I am not alone. There are thousands of "car games," and "rainy day activities," and "play time ideas" that don't cost a lot of money, and don't need a lot of time to set up. Oh, and most of them can be organized with hanging shoe racks!   

5. Remembering more than five things is hard. Recipes with five ingredients or less spread faster on Pinterest than rumors about celebrity pregnancies on TMZ. Ditto for crafts with five pieces or less, photo shoot ideas with five props or less, and cleaning solutions with five steps or less. I guess six makes our brains explode. 

I've also noticed that a lot of people are apparently planning parties with great themes and really cute food that they aren't inviting me to, but I that's a topic for another post. Or for my therapist. 

Of course, it could just be that the parties are all in their minds... After all, actually throwing a party is work. 

That is sooo un-Pinterest.  

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