Chuckle # 453 | May 25th, 2011
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I’m pretty selective about what I bring to Goodwill. Not because I’m embarrassed to donate stuff that isn’t perfect, but because the Goodwill Guy scares me. He has total control over what can go into the Goodwill trailer, and he makes his (seemingly random) decisions without regard for my tender feelings. He is judge, jury, gatekeeper, and the undisputed KING of the Goodwill fiefdom. And I am but a lowly serf.
No matter how unfair he may seem, do not attempt to argue with the Goodwill Guy. He easily takes offence, and he is not a merciful God.
I understand that it must get boring sitting on one’s godlike throne (aka camp chair) at the trailer all day long. So the pleasure Goodwill Guy takes in tormenting innocent do-gooders is probably to be expected. But that doesn’t make it right.
It has gotten to the point where I would almost rather leave my stuff in the “construction debris” area at the dump. Those guys don’t give me any guff. I set my Goodwill rejects down at the edge of the demolition debris and they’re usually gone before I turn my back.
Some people recognize a valuable lampshade when they see it.
There’s no stress and no power struggle when I leave my junk at the dump. On the other hand, there’s no IRS tax donation form either. And therein lies the true source of Goodwill Guy’s godlike powers.
Honestly, the guy is so unpredictable that I don’t know what to take to Goodwill anymore. Just last week he rejected my brand spanking new stretched canvas artwork but he TOOK the cowboy boot shaped beer vase. He claimed that the Goodwill shopper lacked the sophistication to appreciate inspirational art. I think he’s making dangerous assumptions.
Offloading all my valuable “stuff” on Goodwill requires some clever camouflage. Clothes are the one thing that Goodwill will always take because beat-up khakis and slightly imperfect Lacoste shirts can be shipped by the boatload to Africa at a profit. (That explains why you’ll sometimes see pictures of people in refugee camps looking like they are on their way to a polo match.)
So, to make a long story short, if I bury the “iffy” donations under a mound of good looking shirts, I can get rid of almost anything. The trick is to drive away before Goodwill Guy peels back the top layer and finds the 10 year old coffee grinder at the bottom of the box.
(I would argue that Goodwill shoppers must surely drink coffee, but that might make him mad enough to send a plague of locusts after me.)
Trying to clean out my garage shouldn’t be this stressful. I simply want to make a charitable donation and obtain that magical little slip of paper that allows me to take a massive, unsubstantiated tax write-off for my trouble.
If that is too much to ask, maybe it’s time I checked out “Salvation Army Guy.”
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, all rights reserved
What Happens at Prom, Stays Secret from Mom
CHUCKLE #452 | May 19th, 2011
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My son went to Junior Prom last weekend. Don’t ask me how it went, because I know NOTHING. My son is a master the one word, betray nothing, dead pan response. He acts like a junior member of the CIA, code name Agent Aphonic.
As a first time “prom mom”, I am absolutely DESPERATE for details. I don’t need to know if he kissed her or not, I’ll take any news at all. Did the DJ have a beard? Were the tablecloths red? Did they serve Coke or Pepsi? Did anyone fail the breathalyzer? I begged like a junkie, but he gave up nada.
You think I’m joking, but I’m not exaggerating even a tiny bit. Here’s how the 12:30AM prom pick-up/debriefing went…
Son gets in car. Silence falls. Then more silence, followed by an extended period of silence, with an extra serving of catatonically deep silence. None of this seemed to make HIM uncomfortable in the least. Meanwhile I am apoplectic with suppressed curiosity and very close to popping a blood vessel.
I finally say (and I admit that by this point my voice is laced with sarcasm and exasperation) “Dad and the rest of us watched a movie tonight. What, perchance, did YOU do?”
Son: “I went to prom.”
Me: (feigning incredulity) “Really? So that’s what you were doing.”
Son: “Yes.”
Me: “Did your date have fun?”
Son: “I believe so.”
Me: “How was the D.J.?”
Son: “Adequate.”
Me: “What was the room like?”
Son: “Lots of round tables.”
Me: “Who did you sit with?”
Son: “My date.”
Me: “Did you dance?”
Son: “Yes.”
My son would make an excellent POW. He easily fended off a sustained “Gitmom-style” interrogation and gave away NOTHING of interest to the female gender. My giddy Q&A failed to produce any dirt. He showed no mercy, and I’m his mother. Imagine how he’d treat an actual Enemy of State.
I sure hope the Junior CIA appreciates his special skills.
Daunted and fuming about the dearth of prom intelligence, I decided to fight fire with fire. I gave him The Silent Treatment. Ha, I thought. This will teach the inarticulate little man-in-training a lesson. Big mistake. Men like the silent treatment. In their opinion, the less we talk the better.
I know at least one mom whose son tells her stuff without first being tasered. This is not normal behavior for a teenage boy, but I don’t want to tell her that because 1) I am jealous and 2) talking to her is the only way I can get information about what my son is doing since the two boys are friends.
My daughter tells me not to despair because when she goes to prom she will tell me everything. She’s a sweet girl, but I’m still going to ask her to put that in writing.
So in just two short years I will get my prom questions answered. Until then, out of spite, I am responding to my son using just two words: “leftovers” and “maybe.” I too can play this game. At some point he will BEG to hear a compound sentence.
Yep. Any day now…still waiting…
------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, USA
scroll down to leave a comment
My son went to Junior Prom last weekend. Don’t ask me how it went, because I know NOTHING. My son is a master the one word, betray nothing, dead pan response. He acts like a junior member of the CIA, code name Agent Aphonic.
As a first time “prom mom”, I am absolutely DESPERATE for details. I don’t need to know if he kissed her or not, I’ll take any news at all. Did the DJ have a beard? Were the tablecloths red? Did they serve Coke or Pepsi? Did anyone fail the breathalyzer? I begged like a junkie, but he gave up nada.
You think I’m joking, but I’m not exaggerating even a tiny bit. Here’s how the 12:30AM prom pick-up/debriefing went…
Son gets in car. Silence falls. Then more silence, followed by an extended period of silence, with an extra serving of catatonically deep silence. None of this seemed to make HIM uncomfortable in the least. Meanwhile I am apoplectic with suppressed curiosity and very close to popping a blood vessel.
I finally say (and I admit that by this point my voice is laced with sarcasm and exasperation) “Dad and the rest of us watched a movie tonight. What, perchance, did YOU do?”
Son: “I went to prom.”
Me: (feigning incredulity) “Really? So that’s what you were doing.”
Son: “Yes.”
Me: “Did your date have fun?”
Son: “I believe so.”
Me: “How was the D.J.?”
Son: “Adequate.”
Me: “What was the room like?”
Son: “Lots of round tables.”
Me: “Who did you sit with?”
Son: “My date.”
Me: “Did you dance?”
Son: “Yes.”
My son would make an excellent POW. He easily fended off a sustained “Gitmom-style” interrogation and gave away NOTHING of interest to the female gender. My giddy Q&A failed to produce any dirt. He showed no mercy, and I’m his mother. Imagine how he’d treat an actual Enemy of State.
I sure hope the Junior CIA appreciates his special skills.
Daunted and fuming about the dearth of prom intelligence, I decided to fight fire with fire. I gave him The Silent Treatment. Ha, I thought. This will teach the inarticulate little man-in-training a lesson. Big mistake. Men like the silent treatment. In their opinion, the less we talk the better.
I know at least one mom whose son tells her stuff without first being tasered. This is not normal behavior for a teenage boy, but I don’t want to tell her that because 1) I am jealous and 2) talking to her is the only way I can get information about what my son is doing since the two boys are friends.
My daughter tells me not to despair because when she goes to prom she will tell me everything. She’s a sweet girl, but I’m still going to ask her to put that in writing.
So in just two short years I will get my prom questions answered. Until then, out of spite, I am responding to my son using just two words: “leftovers” and “maybe.” I too can play this game. At some point he will BEG to hear a compound sentence.
Yep. Any day now…still waiting…
------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, USA
Did You Just 'Dis My Dog?
Chuckle #451 | May 11th, 2011
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Do you ever hang out with an adorable, younger friend who sucks up compliments and attention like a turkey baster? My dog does it all the time. He knows exactly how it must feel to be Brad Pitt’s bar buddy. You see, my friend and I walk our dogs together and her DOG is off the charts cute. My dog isn’t given the time of day when he’s with his pooch pal “Mr. T”.
I can handle being overlooked, but my dog? I feel for him.
Random strangers on the street go all goo-goo ga-ga over “Mr. T” while they ignore my dog. I try not to mind, but heck yeah, I’m hurt. But I can’t act sad because dogs pick up on human emotions and I don’t want him to be permanently scarred.
Little old ladies sure can be mean.
Now that all my kids are out of diapers, my dog is my baby. You ‘dis my dog; you ‘dis me. Think about it. Would you compliment one mom on her baby and completely ignore the other mom’s baby even if that other baby’s face left you speechless with despair? I don’t think so. You would come up with SOMETHING to say, and it should probably not include the phrase “Satan’s Spawn”.
Yes I know my dog is a mixed breed whose origins cannot be readily identified. AND he has surprisingly stubby legs for a canine that comes from poodle stock. But he is NOT butt ugly and he doesn’t deserve to be shunned like a leper.
I don’t know why I’m not surprised by this blatant display of superficiality. Actually, I do know why. People are shallow. They judge other people AND dogs by their looks.
I don’t care what they think. My dog is pure awesomeness. Those midsection thickened ladies speed-walking in their Shapeups should take a look in the mirror at their own spandex clad behinds. (Oh yeah, I said it.) My dog and I don’t need public adoration to know that we are special, even on bad haircut days.
Do dogs have feelings? Since we can’t be entirely sure, people should try to be fair and toss the homely dog a bone once in a while.
Someday I’m going to find a friend whose dog has the same “attractiveness” level as my dog. Then I can avoid all the time consuming fawning and drama that keeps us from getting to the park.
I’d like to think that being the owner of “the supermodel dog” gets old after a while. I can tell you that it sometimes does get a little old for the owner's her friend.
--------------------------------------------------
Get Your Weekly Chuckle via Email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2010, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT all rights reserved
scroll down to leave a comment
Do you ever hang out with an adorable, younger friend who sucks up compliments and attention like a turkey baster? My dog does it all the time. He knows exactly how it must feel to be Brad Pitt’s bar buddy. You see, my friend and I walk our dogs together and her DOG is off the charts cute. My dog isn’t given the time of day when he’s with his pooch pal “Mr. T”.
I can handle being overlooked, but my dog? I feel for him.
Random strangers on the street go all goo-goo ga-ga over “Mr. T” while they ignore my dog. I try not to mind, but heck yeah, I’m hurt. But I can’t act sad because dogs pick up on human emotions and I don’t want him to be permanently scarred.
Little old ladies sure can be mean.
Now that all my kids are out of diapers, my dog is my baby. You ‘dis my dog; you ‘dis me. Think about it. Would you compliment one mom on her baby and completely ignore the other mom’s baby even if that other baby’s face left you speechless with despair? I don’t think so. You would come up with SOMETHING to say, and it should probably not include the phrase “Satan’s Spawn”.
Yes I know my dog is a mixed breed whose origins cannot be readily identified. AND he has surprisingly stubby legs for a canine that comes from poodle stock. But he is NOT butt ugly and he doesn’t deserve to be shunned like a leper.
I don’t know why I’m not surprised by this blatant display of superficiality. Actually, I do know why. People are shallow. They judge other people AND dogs by their looks.
I don’t care what they think. My dog is pure awesomeness. Those midsection thickened ladies speed-walking in their Shapeups should take a look in the mirror at their own spandex clad behinds. (Oh yeah, I said it.) My dog and I don’t need public adoration to know that we are special, even on bad haircut days.
Do dogs have feelings? Since we can’t be entirely sure, people should try to be fair and toss the homely dog a bone once in a while.
Someday I’m going to find a friend whose dog has the same “attractiveness” level as my dog. Then I can avoid all the time consuming fawning and drama that keeps us from getting to the park.
I’d like to think that being the owner of “the supermodel dog” gets old after a while. I can tell you that it sometimes does get a little old for the owner's her friend.
--------------------------------------------------
Get Your Weekly Chuckle via Email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2010, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT all rights reserved
The Magic of Millinery
Chuckle #450 | May 4th, 2011
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Seth Meyers may have said it best …“I’m just thankful to live in a nation that doesn’t wear hats like that.” This got me thinking. Wacky hats definitely spiced-up the otherwise stodgy Kate and Willy nuptials, but the royal wedding needed much more excitement to make it worth watching, especially for an American audience.
Here’s what I was thinking…
1) Why stop with a hat that looks like a “Kracken” attack? Why not have “transformer” hats that would offer both form AND function. A hat that could double as a gin still or turn into an umbrella could be huge in the UK.
2) Sir Elton should have been invited to perform instead of just sit on his tush – what a waste. And I’m pretty sure his hat would have outshone them all.
3) There should have been at least a hundred more Arch Bishops ‘cause you just can’t have too many of those pointy Bishop hats no matter what the event.
4) What kind of “red carpet” was that! Where was Joan Rivers?
5) I would very much have liked to see how the wacky hats handled high winds.
6) Given how dangerous some of those hats looked, I expected to see more hat related royal blood-letting, such as punctured lungs and loss of sight etc. “Hat fight club” would be totally worth watching.
7) If this was America there would surely have been some brawls due to hat obstructed views. Unfortunately upper class Brits are too polite to brawl, except in Parliament and over soccer. Or maybe they just didn’t catch the royals “duking” it out on film.
8) Best hat ever? The crown that will someday provide coverage for William’s increasingly shiny pate.
Seriously, if you are going to marry a prematurely bald guy, he might as well be the future King of England.
More mother country factoids you may or may not have known…
1) Most of the weird head pieces you saw at the royal wedding are called “fascinators”. Really.
2) The gravity defying placement of royal hats is achieved with pins, combs and clips, and in the case of Posh Spice, an oversized forehead and industrial strength glue.
3) In my humble commoner opinion, the Prime Minister’s wife was technically wearing a headband and was therefore embarrassingly “under-hatted”. (And you probably heard that the PM was planning to wear a business suit instead of a morning coat until thankfully, someone with sense intervened.)
4) With Brits complaining about the cost of royal family upkeep, it is brilliant of William to have allied himself with a family that has its own business. If the royal thingy doesn’t work out, he can always help Pippa sell party favors.
5) Meanwhile the royal couple is saving money for a down payment on a palace of their own by shacking up with Charles and Camilla. I agree that this could be very awkward, but economically it makes perfect sense.
In the end there is just ONE THING that I am just dying to know. Did the Best Man and Maid of Honor hook up at the reception or not? Tight lipped Brits will never tell, which means I’m going to have to spend another 5 bucks on People Magazine this month.
And just maybe I’ll get myself a hat. I think Princess Beatrice’s Cthulhu number would totally rock at hat fight club.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
scroll down to leave a comment
Seth Meyers may have said it best …“I’m just thankful to live in a nation that doesn’t wear hats like that.” This got me thinking. Wacky hats definitely spiced-up the otherwise stodgy Kate and Willy nuptials, but the royal wedding needed much more excitement to make it worth watching, especially for an American audience.
Here’s what I was thinking…
1) Why stop with a hat that looks like a “Kracken” attack? Why not have “transformer” hats that would offer both form AND function. A hat that could double as a gin still or turn into an umbrella could be huge in the UK.
2) Sir Elton should have been invited to perform instead of just sit on his tush – what a waste. And I’m pretty sure his hat would have outshone them all.
3) There should have been at least a hundred more Arch Bishops ‘cause you just can’t have too many of those pointy Bishop hats no matter what the event.
4) What kind of “red carpet” was that! Where was Joan Rivers?
5) I would very much have liked to see how the wacky hats handled high winds.
6) Given how dangerous some of those hats looked, I expected to see more hat related royal blood-letting, such as punctured lungs and loss of sight etc. “Hat fight club” would be totally worth watching.
7) If this was America there would surely have been some brawls due to hat obstructed views. Unfortunately upper class Brits are too polite to brawl, except in Parliament and over soccer. Or maybe they just didn’t catch the royals “duking” it out on film.
8) Best hat ever? The crown that will someday provide coverage for William’s increasingly shiny pate.
Seriously, if you are going to marry a prematurely bald guy, he might as well be the future King of England.
More mother country factoids you may or may not have known…
1) Most of the weird head pieces you saw at the royal wedding are called “fascinators”. Really.
2) The gravity defying placement of royal hats is achieved with pins, combs and clips, and in the case of Posh Spice, an oversized forehead and industrial strength glue.
3) In my humble commoner opinion, the Prime Minister’s wife was technically wearing a headband and was therefore embarrassingly “under-hatted”. (And you probably heard that the PM was planning to wear a business suit instead of a morning coat until thankfully, someone with sense intervened.)
4) With Brits complaining about the cost of royal family upkeep, it is brilliant of William to have allied himself with a family that has its own business. If the royal thingy doesn’t work out, he can always help Pippa sell party favors.
5) Meanwhile the royal couple is saving money for a down payment on a palace of their own by shacking up with Charles and Camilla. I agree that this could be very awkward, but economically it makes perfect sense.
In the end there is just ONE THING that I am just dying to know. Did the Best Man and Maid of Honor hook up at the reception or not? Tight lipped Brits will never tell, which means I’m going to have to spend another 5 bucks on People Magazine this month.
And just maybe I’ll get myself a hat. I think Princess Beatrice’s Cthulhu number would totally rock at hat fight club.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
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