You have to wait until the very end for the punchline: My favorite kind, staring me as an idiot.
There are some blogs that have been there with me from the very beginning. I first met Miss Cellania when she linked to my "Note found in the fridge" , way back when my blog was an itsy bitsy baby. Miss Cellania has links, doctored-up photos staring Miss C. herself and YouTube videos from anywhere and everywhere on the internet.
If it's funny, you'll probably see it first on her blog.
Since our first introduction I have sent her, "The sad lonely life of a mom's coffee cup", "Shameful things I have eaten as a mom", "A hypochondriac's Twitter chain" and probably a few others that she has linked on her site.
Thanks Miss. C.
Miss Cellania is a good site to add to your Google Reader/Bloglines so you can check in with her daily. Her posts are bite-sized and every once in a while she'll write something herself, which is always 'ilarious.
It was her support when I first started writing that encouraged me to stay up nights typing-away. There are some people out there that if they think you're funny, you can safely think, "Hey, I must be funny."
Go ahead and send her things that you find on the internet that make you laugh or even things you have written. (She will usually link back a "thanks" if she uses it.) She is always looking for good stuff and she can't see EVERYTHING!...or can she?
Email your own or lifted funny stuff to her at email@example.com.
Thanks again Miss C for your support, example and encouragement! You rule the school and I don't say that to anyone over 10 years-old unless I truly mean it.
Recently, I went on a mission. Not a spiritual one. Not a do-gooder one. A mission to find the perfect fitting bra. I heard rumors that one was "out there" somewhere and when I say "out there" I mean at Nordstom. There, I was told, they have trained professionals with tape measures around their necks who knew their AA, B, DD's.
(That's right, I said AA.)
Some of you might be thinking, she means an "A." No! There is a size called "AA." It's smaller than an "A" and, I think, the most delightful of all bra sizes. Not just a silly "A" and not all show-off-y like "DD".
I'm getting ahead of myself.
So I found myself at Norstrom, face to face with a bra "pro." At least I think she was a pro, she had a real notebook and everything. She was all of 20 year olds and she had recently had eyelash extensions that she "just totally loved." So good. Let's call her "Jen." Jen was very skillful with her measuring tape and listened with compassion as I told my story of the hours spent scavenging through the random A bins at Victoria Secrets sales, the poor sales person sent to the "back room" to find a smaller size in a bra I loved (only to come back defeated and empty-handed or sometimes never to return), and the years of wanderlust looking for the perfect fitting bra.
She scribbled down my numbers, tilted her head and then she said the words that changed it all: "You're a 'AA', not an "A."
"Really?" I said in surprise (not to be mistaken with disappointment). "I didn't know there was such a thing. 'AA,' really?"
Jen nodded sadly, her eyes filled with compassion behind their perfectly coifed lashes, "Yes, it's (pause...she collects herself) smaller than an 'A', " she barely finished.
"Great! Do you have these 'AA' bras of which you speak? Can I try one?" I said with renewed zeal and hope.
She trots off and brings me back five or six. The whole time I'm making jokes like, "So you must have an overstock of these in Orange County...Do you offer a discount on the smaller sizes?" That kind of thing. Obviously not embarrassed or ashamed.
I like the way I am.
After one last crack, something like, "Have you ever sold one of these at South Coast Plaza? Will there be any special ceremony or fanfare?" Ms.-all-of-20-years-old, new-eyelash-extensions, never-stepped-foot-outside-Orange-Countys-limits said, (dramatized pause) "It's okay, you have a pretty face."
Gee thanks, Jen.
He and Bill Cosby were my dad's favorite comedians. So I grew up listening to him and loving him. When some celebrities die it spurs memories that have been tucked away somewhere. Then the headline kicks it out when you're not prepared for it.
When I read Carlin (that's what my dad called him--Carlin) died on Yahoo! I thought about my dad, sitting on his side of the couch, tapping out his pipe, and chuckling hard. He had more of a chuckle than a fully committed laugh, his whole body would shake and Carlin could really get him going.
Unfortunately, so could Gallagher. My brothers and I sat through many a watermelon splattering and bad pun. Not genius by any measure, but funny to my dad, so eventually to us, too.
Carlin was smart and sharp and did a lot of cursing. Though my dad didn't curse, he seemed to approve of us watching him. So there I was, little, listening to the s-bomb and references I didn't get--laughing! That must have been worth the lapse in discretion to my dad.
When someone you love dies you say good-bye to them, but then there follows a million other little good-byes. So, though George Carlin was a stranger, I felt tied to him and his passing forced another good-bye to my dad.
I just can't help myself.
I'm a smart a** of the worst kind, the kind that doesn't care if there's anyone there to laugh but me. I amuse myself and now that I have a blog it encourages me to act out even more.
I was at an appointment for Ben yesterday. As we waited in the teal green and pink waiting room I noticed (and who couldn't notice) the massive clock on the wall behind the check-in nurse. I mean this thing was beyond Pottery Barn big clock. It was ginormous, but stylish in a Tuscan kind of way.
It was almost spiteful in its bigness. Like the person who bought it was thinking, "Let's see if 3,000 people a day ask me what time it is now!" As they try to cram it in their hatchback they mumble, "Someone would have to be a complete idiot to ask me with this clock behind me."
Back in the waiting room I just couldn't help myself. The scene played out in my head a few times. I felt peaked and clammy from trying not to do it. "Fine!" I tell myself.
I approached the counter, "Excuse me, can you please tell me what time it is?" I asked the scribbling nurse. She didn't look up to see I was smiling to indicate I was only joking. She just pointed her ball point at the Big Ben clock.
"Just kidding," I said and went to take my seat. "Marcy will think it's funny," I tell myself as I go back to reading a three month old People.
I plugged in the iron last night and all the lights in the house started to flicker. There was some sort of power surge...or maybe it was the house rejecting a foreign appliance. I don't think I have ever used it in this house before. I truly am a disgrace to the housewife.
Picture lifted from the Etsy shop of michelemaule
Went to see "Sex and the City" last night with Jill and I take it back, I liked the movie very much. I trashed the series on The Mom Blog and here , but I'm not too proud to say I misjudged those four girls. They were funny, loyal and adorable--all things I look for in a girlfriend. SJP's personality broke through the frivolousness and I loved how she couldn't see anything w/out glasses--which she refused to get.
The only thing I'm going to stick-by is my impression of "Big." I didn't give a flying flip if they ended up together or not. There was no draw there. He still seemed like an arrogant weasel to me. (...and he needed to button his shirt up just one more button...come on...you can do it...just one more--oogie.)
Because we are both like-silly-ed, Jill and I instantly laughed and thought of things to say:
Jill, "I've always been fond of Sarah."
Me, "Oh, I don't know, how about Bruce and Connie?"
When it came time to order, we were shaky with expectation--would she ask us the same question?
But, with great disappointment she said, "What is your name?" to Jill.
Can't have everything I suppose...
Had a date last night with a charming 4 year old. We went to The Old Spaghetti Factory in Newport Beach. We sat in the trolley, drank Italian sodas, and ate three loaves of bread! He was such a gentleman, he pushed all the crosswalk buttons for me on our way there and he even let me finish his vegetables!
After dinner we went for a walk on the beach. He found a shiny penny on the boardwalk and threw it in the ocean and made a wish with it.
"What did you wish for?" I asked him later in the car.
"I hope you're my mommy forever!" he said as he batted his enormous eyelashes.
Oh, and "I hope I get to have a Transformer party for my birthday (next March)," he added.
What a smooth operator...
When naming your animals, you always have to consider how a new name will fit with all of the other pet's names. So, when naming our new puppy, we had to think about what would go well with "Hazel." I like naming animals with proper "people" names, but my idea of naming him "Doug" was quickly dismissed. So, in keeping with the feel of "Hazel" we came up with George.
George and Hazel sounds like the couple that would come into Hershel's, a New York-style diner I used to work at years ago--and order sweet and sour cabbage soup. It wasn't EVER hot enough for Hazel. It was cold according to Hazel and there wasn't anything anyone could say that could change her mind. Flames could be leaping from the bowl and setting the curtains on fire and she would still send it back.
This was to George's great displeasure. He would say, "Hazel, that waitress (me) can't make that soup any hotter without burning herself. Is that what you want?" (Always with the guilty and worst case scenario.)
Hazel would just wave away his complaints with her gloved hand and send it back. I would make it hotter than any human could stand and she would dip her little finger in it, proclaim it "hot enough" and let it sit there for 1/2 an hour to cool off.
Oh, that really got to George. (But never enough to leave me an extra tip.)
George and Hazel--they are perfect for each other.
I don't know if it's summer, the heat, my new bangs, but I am feeling uninspired. I have been here before and I know it will pass.
Because I'm basically an optimist, I think this must just be a refueling time for me. I'm still storing up ideas--just have no desire to spill them onto my Mac. You know what it is? I feel like more is going out than coming in. So, I need to read, watch some movies, talk to old friends, learn something new and just sit for a while.
Let's see where this goes...
Picture lifted from My Folk Lover on Etsy.
"It's hard to get by, just upon a smile." Cat Stevens, Wild World
"You can't hide your lyin eyes," The Eagles
"Lived nine lives, gunned down ten," Ride like the wind, Christopher Cross
"Someone left the cake out in the rain," MacArthur Park, Donna Summers
"Suzanne the plans they made put an end to you." James Taylor, Fire and Rain
If you want to give me some advise, or are just dying to see me again on Daybreak OC again, then click here to go to The Mom Blog.
This is when Hazel and George first meet. She still isn't sure about him.
The cat, Kitty Kitty, took one look and said, "You've got to be friggin' kidding me with this" and proceeded to angrily text all of her friends--Y R NOT Going to BELV it! A Nw K9! L8R GG puke frbal in spite KK
No reaction from Peter Rabbit.
There I am, graduation from 8th grade from the now-defunct Park View Elementary in Huntington Beach, 1982. I love this picture, braces and all. It brings back that afternoon in June so many years ago with crystal-clear glee.
It was one of the happiest days of my life.
Don't you remember that feeling of being young and completely unfettered and joyful? School was over and I had the new world of High School waiting for me after a summer of going to the beach and hanging out with my friends. I wasn't hammered by the worries of adulthood, or even the jittery angst of a teenager.
I would give anything to have that feeling just for an hour today, but I think it's reserved for kids of a certain age, as it should be. Every cliche about youth seems to reveal itself as true as the years pass.
The innocence and simplicity of that time is best personified in the inscriptions and signatures in my old Junior High yearbooks. It's funny, I found I was drawn more to the signatures than to who was voted "Class Flirt" or who won the baffling "Citizenship Award."
In my yearbook inscriptions, the girls professed their undying friendship and the boys proclaimed, with astonishing clarity, their true feelings. I remember the honor and slight terror when handed a yearbook to sign; its owner hovering above me with a look that said, "This better be good. I wrote an entire three paragraphs on the back page of yours and claimed you as a FF (Friend Forever)."
While reading my yearbooks, one thing that popped out at me was the request for me to "Stay Sweet." This was written over and over again: "Suzanne, stay sweet." So, either my friends thought there was a clear danger of crossing over to the dark side or it was just a filler comment like "Have a bitchin' summer. See ya at the beach," which also habitually appears in every Orange County yearbook.
Some of the comments were touching and sweet. Reading them now, I wish I would have known more about what was going on behind the Vuarnet sunglasses of my Van-tennis-shoe-wearing contemperaries. In some of them, little stories peek through and remind me how important even the most fleeting relationship can be when you are young.
You can look at my yearbooks below, just click to enlarge them, but here are some excerpts:
Yep, Chip said I was "the prettiest girl in 7th grade" but, I found out later in my first lesson in the brutal reality that was adolescent boys, he signed that same thing in two other girl's books.
"You have been the best friend a guy could have. When I first came here you were the first one to make friends with me. I always want us to be friends. You are the BEST! and I mean it." Danny.
"I'm sorry I was so mean to you sometimes. I wish we could have been better friends, but I know it's my fault...PS sorry for being such a jerk." Sean
"I like you because you aren't stuck-up like some people!" Nichole
"In 7th grade we weren't good friends and then in 8th we got to get to be good friends and now we are just friends..." Bridgette
When our class graduated, we choose the song by Styx, "The Best of Times," to accompany us down the aisle. We were the first year to break from the standard, "We've Only Just Begun," by the Carpenters.
I remember when they called my name, my older brothers and all of their friends cheered wildly from the back row. I can still see them jumping, whistling and waving their arms unabashedly in the late afternoon sun. I acted as if I were embarrassed by their show, but deep inside I embraced the great honor of even being acknowledged by high school boys.
"Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime...these are the best of times."