May 9, 2014
I’m going to try this with my kids. They hate when I dance. If they really get annoying, I’ll add some singing.
May 29, 2011
Our society has, at its disposal, easy access to a wealth of information. Despite this, once glance at some of the headlines floating around might have us believe we still don’t know much. In fact, how our clueless human species has managed to survive without these helpful answers and articles remains a mystery. With your welfare in mind, I’ve scoured the web in order to bring you some vital information.
Is it luck or fate that I found this lifesaving information in time for barbecue season? I know I was blissfully ignorant until I read it:
OMG-who knew! Why are grills still on the market?
I came across this question on Shine:
I don’t mean to be nasty, just pragmatic–if you need to ask this question, maybe you shouldn’t be procreating.
This was a headline from the Yahoo homepage:
Mothers of young girls have pondered this question since the introduction of the push-up bra in 1961, but they never had to answer it because push-up bras were made only for adults–until now. Mothers of young girls, the time has come to ponder this question seriously. Think of how much more fulfilling your childhood could have been if you had worn a push-up bra.
As for the makeup issue. That’s such a no brainer. Although “real” makeup is probably better for the complexion, I can barely afford “real” makeup for me. The girls will just have to live with the cheap, fake stuff made especially for children. Their complexion will recover.
For the star-watchers among us, especially those wanting to keep up-to-date on the latest star pregnancies, I recommend this article. It could prevent a potentially embarrassing situation if you run into one of these stars and are tempted to congratulate her on her pregnancy.
Allow me to share a few of my own tidbits of wisdom with you, hopefully saving you from the mental and physical trauma these situations may cause.
1. Never ask a child to guess your age unless you are psychologically strong enough to handle the answer. By the same token, never ask a child if they think you look like a Barbie doll. A friend asked my four-year-old that question. My four-year-old didn’t lie.
2. That romantic dinner for two poses many dangers.
- Undercooked steak (rare or medium rare) may cause food poisoning.
- Shrimp may cause sudden, severe allergic reactions.
- Let’s not forget choking is always a hazard when eating.
- Those candles need to be watched. They may cause a fire.
- Use steak knives with care; they can be deadly.
- The hot tub looks inviting and relaxing but it may reduce male fertility, have high bacteria content leading to skin rashes, and cause strokes.
- Those Spanx you’re wearing to look hot in your new outfit, may affect your circadian rhythms, and leave unsightly marks around your mid-section.
- Those lovely shoes may cause or worsen bunions.
- The music you’re playing may be embedded with subliminal messages or backmasked lyrics.
Go ahead and enjoy your romantic evening, just make sure to keep a watchful eye on everything.
Have you come across any headlines or articles that contain advice we didn’t know we needed?
April 26, 2011
In my relentless quest for knowledge, I came upon a shocking discovery that shattered basic truths of my childhood.
I offer you the truth about Cinderella.
Cinderella’s father was a weak, shallow man who gave into his young daughter’s every whim, avoiding confrontation and discipline at all costs. Cinderella’s fits of rage at being refused anything were legendary throughout the near countryside. Her mother was the only person courageous enough to use the phrase, “No, you may not” with her. Although the tantrums, screamings and tears were trying, Cinderella’s mother did not fear them.
But her mother died and Cinderella became more difficult. Her father realized he could not control her. Leaving Cinderella in the care of the servants, he traveled the far countryside in search of a new wife. There was not a woman in the near countryside who would have him.
In no hurry to return to his enfant terrible, he wooed every woman unfortunate enough to cross his path. In the course of his meanderings, he happened upon a widow with two well-behaved daughters. He pursued her, hoping she could tame Cinderella. His dash and charm soon won the widow over and he insisted they marry without delay. The widow, hoping to include his daughter in the merry festivities, wanted to postpone the nuptials until Cinderella could be sent for. However, fearful the widow would change her mind after meeting Cinderella, he insisted upon haste. They married, and with her two daughters journeyed to his home.
Whisperings among the townsfolk began soon after their arrival. The father, maintaining he must be about managing the estate, was rarely at the manor. The stepmother was left with the care of her wayward stepdaughter. She would not treat Cinderella differently than her own daughters, nor would she tolerate Cinderella’s behavior. Rumor had it that Cinderella had finally been made to comb her hair, say “Please” and “Thank you”, and clean her room (she only allowed servants in to serve her breakfast in bed).
When she turned sixteen, the battle between Cinderella and her stepmother began in earnest. Soon the countryside near and far was abuzz with the goings-on concerning Cinderella. She was hanging out with a bad crowd, spending nights in the forest smoking and drinking. She lost interest in her appearance, wearing rags and not bothering to wash off the ashes from the rowdy bonfire parties she attended.
Things came to a climax when Cinderella pilfered gold coins from the stepmother’s hidden drawer, some of her stepsisters’ jewelry, and then went on a three day bender. She tottered home ragged and smelly.
Her stepmother, at her wits’ end, grounded Cinderella for a month, going so far as to post foreign mercenaries outside Cinderella’s doors and windows. The stepmother recalled a recent brouhaha when another young girl’s lover had been caught climbing up to her bedroom on her hair. As an added precaution, Cinderella was locked in the highest tower of the manor, because her hair didn’t quite reach the ground.
Then an invitation to a ball so grand that it took place over the course of three nights, arrived from the palace. The dates? The last three days of Cinderella’s grounding. Although Cinderella begged, cried and threatened, the stepmother remained firm. Cinderella would not attend the ball.
Cinderella’s father returned home after hearing disparaging remarks about his character and neglect of his family, and unsettling rumors of his daughter’s escapades. He was outraged by his wife’s decision to keep Cinderella from the ball. Still, she would not be swayed. She really cared for the girl. Maybe missing the ball would force her to come to her senses.
Cinderella’s father refused to attend the ball with his wife and her daughters. He spent the evening drinking with an old friend, Charles Perrault, bemoaning the sad turn his life had taken and wishing he could leave behind an untarnished legacy. Charles was empathetic, well aware of the trials of marriage and of raising teenagers.
The next day, Charles, inspired by the father’s plight and intrigued with the notion of rewriting the father’s history, penned a short but captivating work of speculative fiction, Cinderella or The Little Glass Slipper. He was so pleased with the results, he included it in his Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l’Oye. (Tales from Times Past with Morals: Stories of Mother Goose). Concerned that the inaccuracies might tarnish his own reputation, he published the work under the name of his son Pierre (Perrault) Darmancourt. The rest is history.
Or is it? The cruel deception of Cinderella’s rags to riches story renders suspect all the fairy tales we have come to love and believe. I, for one, will read them will a little more skepticism than I once did.
April 1, 2011
Chances are you’ve never heard of the “Detroit Tiger Curse” or where it came from. I can’t keep it to myself any longer. I need to tell someone.
I live in a suburb of Detroit. Everyone loves our baseball team, the Tigers. A few years ago the Tiger’s slogan was “Who’s your Tiger?”. Everyone had a Tiger. I decided I wanted one too.
I chose my first Tiger, Nate Robertson, after watching an interview with him. I knew he was the one for me. He seemed like such a nice guy with a nice smile. He was a very good pitcher too. And to top it off, his wife had just had a baby. He was a family man.
I watched with dismay as his stats began to slide. I began to pray for him. He had a baby to support for heaven’s sake. When he got sent back to the minors, I cried.
My kids told me to get a another Tiger. As if it could be that easy. Did they not learn loyalty from me?
Even after Nate left the Tigers, it was a while before I could choose another. But the time came. Although I would never forget Nate, I had to have a new Tiger to cheer for. I was determined to pick one that would last. No pitchers. A young one. Good-looking wouldn’t hurt either.
I watched the games with an eagle eye. I didn’t pay attention to what was going on; just to the players.
Hey, number 26 just hit another home run! Who is he? Brennan. I love that name and he’s good looking (name and looks: the same strategy I use for choosing wine). I didn’t want to make a rash decision so I kept my eye on him. When I found out that he hit a home run his first time at bat in the major league just a month earlier, I made my choice. Brennan Boesch became my new Tiger. (I’m sorry, Nate).
Things were great for a few months. His name was being bandied around for Rookie of the Year. Then the nightmare began again. Boesch hit 12 home runs and had 49 RBIs in the first half of the season. In the second half, he hit 2 home runs and had 18 RBIs. I had cursed him as well.
Officially, the “Who’s Your Tiger?” campaign was discarded a few years ago, but here we still have our Tigers and no front office can take that away from us.
As the 2011 season gets underway, I am faced with a dilemma. Can I be selfless? Do I relinquish Brennan Boesch in an effort to reverse the curse I’ve placed on him? Or do I selfishly hold on, and hope and pray during the season that the curse will be broken?
BTW-Click on the link to read a great interview with Brennan:
PS-I still miss you Nate.
March 26, 2011
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be married to a rock star?
I admit to dreams in high school of a rock star wedding–like Elton John’s song, “Tiny Dancer”. That is the epitome of rock and roll matrimonial bliss.
Little, petite ballerina (she may be tiny, but to be rock star wife a certain part of her anatomy must be well-endowed) married to tall, gorgeous, long-haired Rockstar, with great biceps. Maybe he’s the drummer. (He wouldn’t look like Elton John, nothing personal.)
Rockstar is so besotted with Tiny Dancer. Yes, that is actually the first word that comes to mind when I think of him. You can just tell from the song that they have a great sex life. He would never cheat on her. She is always on his mind.
All day long she sews clothes for the guys in the band. I wonder how much of these guys she gets to see while she’s fitting them, but I know Tiny Dancer would never notice. She loves her Rockstar too much. I imagine she sews all their clothes by hand with meticulously even, strong, tiny stitches. No machine for Tiny Dancer; it would not be practical on the bus.
What kind of things does she sew for the band? Rockstar cannot be a KISS wannabe or a glam-rocker with glittery leggings and nipple-baring silk tanks. He is a tight jeans kind of guy. Plain tanks or cool t’s (NOT Plain White T’s). Maybe she’s just along to mend the rips in the tight jeans (or even make strategic, stylish rips) and darn the sheets of linen and the socks.
She dances in the sand while Rockstar sits on a rotting log and watches with admiration. She is the most beautiful, delicate, well-endowed creature he has ever seen. But he doesn’t join her; he’s too awkward. Soon the bus is gassed up and it’s time to leave the beach and head to the next gig. Tiny Dancer sits next to Rockstar and leans against his six-pack abs while she threads a needle or reads a book. If it’s dark, she can count the headlights; she finds it very relaxing after her busy day.
She yawns and Rockstar looks down at her with love in his eyes. Then he puts his pen back to the paper and finishes the beautiful rock love song he is writing for her. Actually, I think he’s using an iPad.
Does she know women throw their bras at him every night?
This is a parody.
Wikipedia says: Often, the most satisfying element of a good parody is seeing others mistake it for the genuine article.
I thought this was very obviously a parody, until my husband and best friend took it literally and thought I was reliving “misty-eyed high school memories” (husband’s exact words). The people who know me best took it much more seriously than I intended.
I am curious how the people who don’t know me took it. What was your reaction? Did you realize it was a parody or did you take it seriously? Thanks!
Want to see the song? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoskDZRLOCs Can you believe he was ever that young!?
Watch Stefano Langone sing it on this week’s American Idol: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=od5odyXqZeM