Chuckle #458 | June 29th, 2011
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You hear about nutty cat hoarding ladies and think “how crazy is that?!” But take a hard look at your own “collections”. Just because you hoard Tupperware or scented candles instead of cats and dirty underwear doesn’t mean that you are normal. It means that you are just a teeny DNA twist away from a full blown crackpot. At least that’s what my husband tells me.
I don’t deny my own hoarding tendencies. I gleefully stockpile used party decorations (fuzzy dice anyone?), travel coffee cups, coolers and old magazines. My teenage daughters did not escape the hoarder gene. They’ve got clothes coming out their ears. Their emotional attachment to certain 5th grade crop tops and torn jeans borders on the absurd.
This inability to “let go” means that every couple years we have to get rid of half a ton of clothes.
This year’s purge was particularly productive, yielding a massive four foot diameter pile of outgrown stuff, some of it going back two or three years. The Yankee in me wouldn’t let me just pack it all up for Goodwill and be done with it. No, I had to try on every single teeny bopper thing.
As it turns out, the pile of cast offs was chock-full of Daisy Dukes, you know, the indecent short shorts that teenage girls wear so they can get sent home before the geometry midterm? Well, against my better judgment, I snatched up seven absolutely adorable and completely inappropriate pairs of “booty shorts” from the pile.
This year I not only hoed-out my daughters’ closets, but I managed to add a little “ho” to my own.
Trust me when I say that I would never buy anything that titillating, but these were free and therefore irresistible. Daisy Dukes are cool according to Katie Perry. And “coolness” is decidedly lacking in my current wardrobe of mom jeans, t-shirts, and orthopedic flip flop inserts.
I think the adrenalin rush of wearing my new shorts will help delay the onset of menopause. And unlike hormone replacement therapy, the only negative side effect is a bit of uncomfortable thigh chafing.
Given the severity of the middle school dress code, I can’t quite figure out why my daughters owned so many pairs of short shorts in the first place. The school rules clearly state that shorts must come to the tips of your fingers when your arms are held at your sides. The shorts I’ve seen prancing into school are way cheekier than that. Either the girls at school have severely stunted arms, or no one is playing by the rules.
So who exactly is monitoring the length of shorts at school? It creeps me out to think that the principal is trolling the hallways with a ruler in hand and a gleam in his eye. I’d like to believe that the school nurse is somehow involved with assessing female inseams and crotches. And that’s only slightly less creepy.
The shorts I inherited from my daughters are fairly tame since I still pay for most of their clothes in order to have some say about whether they leave the house looking like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver. Which I do, barely.
I don’t mind if my daughters wear “short-ish” shorts. I’m not a prude. My bottom line is that their shorts should not resemble a thong in any way; they should not expose even a peek of cheek; they should not look painted on; and most of all, they should not make dad faint.
Capris are nice. How come girls don’t wear those anymore? And what about pedal pushers or clam diggers? Gidget looked absolutely adorable in pedal pushers, but un-cool 50s moms thought that they would lead directly to unwanted pregnancies. (As, I assure you, will booty shorts.)
So how do I teach my daughters that (exposing) LESS (flesh) IS MORE? That emulating an Amish Geisha can be far more tantalizing than a Lady Gaga? Somehow my long speeches about self-respect and circumspection seem hypocritical when I’m looking so very fine in their hand-me-down Daisy Dukes…
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Traveling on Pins and Needles
Chuckle #456 | June 15th, 2011
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My daughter practically hyperventilates when she sees a hypodermic needle. She freaks at the mere thought of shots. Getting her the full complement of childhood vaccinations was so traumatic that even electroshock therapy (our “go to” remedy) failed to jolt her out of her needle willies.
And it’s not just my daughter who suffers. What about my husband and I? We can’t exactly put her up for adoption the week before her check-up every year. (Child Services would become suspicious.) No, we have to pretend that “everything is ok” while our normally reserved daughter goes berserk and the nurses run for their lives.
The turnover we’ve caused among our pediatrician’s staff has wreaked havoc on her practice over the years. I’m surprised she manages to stay in business. It’s a good thing that doctors take that Hippocratic Oath or we’d be buying vaccines on the black market and chasing our daughter around the house with a syringe ourselves.
(Yet another black mark with Child Services.)
I don’t think the nurses are fully aware of the danger they are in as they prep that little tray of needles right under my daughter’s nose. And I am not about to tell them. This is a girl who can pick me up and tuck me under her arm like a Beanie Baby. She could do some serious damage from the depths of a needle induced adrenalin rush.
When she was little, two or three people could immobilize her as long as they knew Krav Maga and were good with knots. Now that she is older, “speed injecting” seems to work best. (The velocity, not the drug.) The most skilled nurses can get in and get out AND avoid the disabling blow to the solar plexus.
And yes, for those curious lawyers out there (you know who you are) we have increased our liability insurance, just in case.
My daughter’s deep seated needle phobia has had some unintended consequences. “Adventure Travel” is out of the question for our family. For us, an adventure vacation is booking a summer cottage on Cape Cod sight unseen via the internet. Those places can be real dumps, with exposed wiring, stained mattresses, and unspeakable infestations.
The excitement of experiencing really deplorable accommodations together is the closest we’ll probably ever get to the third world as a family unit. Hey, we don’t need to face a lion in Africa to bond, though it would be nice.
My daughter will never be a true world traveler, but on the flip side, she won’t be a heroin addict either. (Yes Grandma, I did count that as one of my “blessings”.)
This summer, my two children who are NOT shot averse will head off to South America, where yellow fever, typhoid, hepatitis, rabies, malaria and a slew of other illnesses abound. My husband and I are sadly confined to destinations that are disease free. Many of which we’ve already visited. Oh how we too wish we could risk contracting a potentially deadly blood borne illness.
I used to think that traveling with babies was exhausting. Now I look back fondly on those days and think, at least we were traveling.
If we are to ever hit the road “less” traveled again, we are going to have to find a way to overcome my daughter’s needle issues. I’m thinking heavy sedation, or maybe even hypnosis. For obvious reasons we won’t be giving acupuncture a shot.
If all fails, we just have to remember that the world is a big, beautiful place. There’s plenty to see and do, and several countries that are not currently experiencing an outbreak of Dengue Fever.
Niagara Falls anyone? I hear the Canadian side is both lovely and disease free.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
scroll down to leave comment
My daughter practically hyperventilates when she sees a hypodermic needle. She freaks at the mere thought of shots. Getting her the full complement of childhood vaccinations was so traumatic that even electroshock therapy (our “go to” remedy) failed to jolt her out of her needle willies.
And it’s not just my daughter who suffers. What about my husband and I? We can’t exactly put her up for adoption the week before her check-up every year. (Child Services would become suspicious.) No, we have to pretend that “everything is ok” while our normally reserved daughter goes berserk and the nurses run for their lives.
The turnover we’ve caused among our pediatrician’s staff has wreaked havoc on her practice over the years. I’m surprised she manages to stay in business. It’s a good thing that doctors take that Hippocratic Oath or we’d be buying vaccines on the black market and chasing our daughter around the house with a syringe ourselves.
(Yet another black mark with Child Services.)
I don’t think the nurses are fully aware of the danger they are in as they prep that little tray of needles right under my daughter’s nose. And I am not about to tell them. This is a girl who can pick me up and tuck me under her arm like a Beanie Baby. She could do some serious damage from the depths of a needle induced adrenalin rush.
When she was little, two or three people could immobilize her as long as they knew Krav Maga and were good with knots. Now that she is older, “speed injecting” seems to work best. (The velocity, not the drug.) The most skilled nurses can get in and get out AND avoid the disabling blow to the solar plexus.
And yes, for those curious lawyers out there (you know who you are) we have increased our liability insurance, just in case.
My daughter’s deep seated needle phobia has had some unintended consequences. “Adventure Travel” is out of the question for our family. For us, an adventure vacation is booking a summer cottage on Cape Cod sight unseen via the internet. Those places can be real dumps, with exposed wiring, stained mattresses, and unspeakable infestations.
The excitement of experiencing really deplorable accommodations together is the closest we’ll probably ever get to the third world as a family unit. Hey, we don’t need to face a lion in Africa to bond, though it would be nice.
My daughter will never be a true world traveler, but on the flip side, she won’t be a heroin addict either. (Yes Grandma, I did count that as one of my “blessings”.)
This summer, my two children who are NOT shot averse will head off to South America, where yellow fever, typhoid, hepatitis, rabies, malaria and a slew of other illnesses abound. My husband and I are sadly confined to destinations that are disease free. Many of which we’ve already visited. Oh how we too wish we could risk contracting a potentially deadly blood borne illness.
I used to think that traveling with babies was exhausting. Now I look back fondly on those days and think, at least we were traveling.
If we are to ever hit the road “less” traveled again, we are going to have to find a way to overcome my daughter’s needle issues. I’m thinking heavy sedation, or maybe even hypnosis. For obvious reasons we won’t be giving acupuncture a shot.
If all fails, we just have to remember that the world is a big, beautiful place. There’s plenty to see and do, and several countries that are not currently experiencing an outbreak of Dengue Fever.
Niagara Falls anyone? I hear the Canadian side is both lovely and disease free.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
Bunnies with BALLS
Chuckle #455 | June 8th, 2011
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I don’t often use bad language, even under my breath at infuriating drivers who don’t signal. My mantra is what you’d call “laissez-faire”, or, do nothing. Very libertarian. But that was before the bunnies invaded my perfectly manicured yard and ATE IT. I’m now considering what dark and unseemly actions I can take against said bunnies, using the Caddy Shack script as a jumping off point.
There are times, like now, when I wish I could handle a bolt action .22 like Sarah Palin. If I could, my bunny troubles would be over “pretty darn quick-like”, as Sarah would say.
The bunnies in my yard are seriously bad_ss. (Pardon my French.) People whose yards lack basic landscaping, such as shrubs, grass, and flowering plants of any kind, think bunnies are adorable. The rest of us are stockpiling ammo.
Film and literature is full of evil apocalyptic rabbits because writers think it is clever to create juxtapositions, like “bad guy” bunnies. This would be even cleverer if it hadn’t already been done like, a million times. Think Wallace & Gromit’s Were-Rabbit, Monty Python’s Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, and the psychotic Boingo of Hoodwinked - all very, very naughty bunnies.
My personal bunny troubles began this past spring when some well-meaning neighborhood parents asked animal control to relocate a pack of coyotes. I liked those coyotes. Even though none of us could venture outside after dusk, the coyotes had done an admirable job of keeping the population of feral bunnies in check.
Once the coyotes were gone the bunnies came back with a vengeance (and with a taste for expensive nursery grown perennials.) My gorgeous front door planters immediately became "the" local bunny salad bar and social club. I'm NOT flattered.
I grieved for my pansies and wept for my petunias. Then I got mad.
If I were British, the rat poison would have come out weeks ago. If I were more like Sarah Palin I would have shot’em from the roof then sold each little rabbit foot as a good luck charm from my kid's lemonade stand. But I’m neither, AND I’m reluctant to be seen shopping at the gun counter at Walmart. So instead, I asked one of my experienced gardening friends for advice.
Surely, I thought, there is a more humane way to drive the little beasts away, like exploding their eardrums with high frequency radio waves or something.
My friend first suggested I take up Falconry since falcons are known to enjoy dismembering bunnies just as much as coyotes, if not more. I liked the idea of a “circle of life” solution, but Falconry seemed a bit overly complicated. (Not to mention messy.)
She then suggested using cayenne pepper. Having once accidently rubbed cayenne pepper into my eyes at a pizza restaurant, I know how agonizing just a teeny bit can be. All I had to do, she said, was sprinkle some on my flower beds and the bunnies would seek greener pastures, or they would self-combust.
The cayenne pepper seems to be working. My only regret is that because I have no night vision goggles I cannot see how bunnies react to extra spicy "buffalo style" pansy petals. I bet they hop around a lot, real crazy-like, and become very difficult to shoot.
How far down the “rabbit hole” have I fallen in defense of my yard? Pretty far. But as Lewis Carroll says, a psychotic bunny invasion demands an equally psychotic solution.
Of course, he was hallucinating at the time.
--------------------------------------------------------
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
I don’t often use bad language, even under my breath at infuriating drivers who don’t signal. My mantra is what you’d call “laissez-faire”, or, do nothing. Very libertarian. But that was before the bunnies invaded my perfectly manicured yard and ATE IT. I’m now considering what dark and unseemly actions I can take against said bunnies, using the Caddy Shack script as a jumping off point.
There are times, like now, when I wish I could handle a bolt action .22 like Sarah Palin. If I could, my bunny troubles would be over “pretty darn quick-like”, as Sarah would say.
The bunnies in my yard are seriously bad_ss. (Pardon my French.) People whose yards lack basic landscaping, such as shrubs, grass, and flowering plants of any kind, think bunnies are adorable. The rest of us are stockpiling ammo.
Film and literature is full of evil apocalyptic rabbits because writers think it is clever to create juxtapositions, like “bad guy” bunnies. This would be even cleverer if it hadn’t already been done like, a million times. Think Wallace & Gromit’s Were-Rabbit, Monty Python’s Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, and the psychotic Boingo of Hoodwinked - all very, very naughty bunnies.
My personal bunny troubles began this past spring when some well-meaning neighborhood parents asked animal control to relocate a pack of coyotes. I liked those coyotes. Even though none of us could venture outside after dusk, the coyotes had done an admirable job of keeping the population of feral bunnies in check.
Once the coyotes were gone the bunnies came back with a vengeance (and with a taste for expensive nursery grown perennials.) My gorgeous front door planters immediately became "the" local bunny salad bar and social club. I'm NOT flattered.
I grieved for my pansies and wept for my petunias. Then I got mad.
If I were British, the rat poison would have come out weeks ago. If I were more like Sarah Palin I would have shot’em from the roof then sold each little rabbit foot as a good luck charm from my kid's lemonade stand. But I’m neither, AND I’m reluctant to be seen shopping at the gun counter at Walmart. So instead, I asked one of my experienced gardening friends for advice.
Surely, I thought, there is a more humane way to drive the little beasts away, like exploding their eardrums with high frequency radio waves or something.
My friend first suggested I take up Falconry since falcons are known to enjoy dismembering bunnies just as much as coyotes, if not more. I liked the idea of a “circle of life” solution, but Falconry seemed a bit overly complicated. (Not to mention messy.)
She then suggested using cayenne pepper. Having once accidently rubbed cayenne pepper into my eyes at a pizza restaurant, I know how agonizing just a teeny bit can be. All I had to do, she said, was sprinkle some on my flower beds and the bunnies would seek greener pastures, or they would self-combust.
The cayenne pepper seems to be working. My only regret is that because I have no night vision goggles I cannot see how bunnies react to extra spicy "buffalo style" pansy petals. I bet they hop around a lot, real crazy-like, and become very difficult to shoot.
How far down the “rabbit hole” have I fallen in defense of my yard? Pretty far. But as Lewis Carroll says, a psychotic bunny invasion demands an equally psychotic solution.
Of course, he was hallucinating at the time.
--------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
The Dangers and Delights of DEET
Chuckle #454 | June 1st, 2011
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Every spring, hardy New Hampshire natives endure an extended period of bug induced human misery. The locals affectionately call this special time of year Black Fly Season. You would think that people would be clever enough to abandon the state during the “season”. But they don’t, because their excessive use of DEET has caused massive neurological damage.
They stay because they simply don’t remember how BAD bug season can get.
Collective amnesia is the only logical explanation for why the population of NH keeps growing despite the bugs and the ludicrous property taxes. It sure isn't for the hot girls at the strip clubs.
I totally understand where these folks are coming from though. Given the choice between bathing in 29% DEET or being the human happy hour snack for a swarm of black flies, I’d pick the debilitating poison every time. The scary side effects of DEET don’t scare me quite as much as NH bugs.
And besides, who needs ovaries at age 47?
My body has adapted very well to highly toxic levels of DEET. Don’t polyps grow out of everyone’s navels? My NH neighbor tells me that the facial twitching is temporary and will be gone by Christmas. Just the same, I’d occasionally like to able to dash to my car without having to apply a chemical weapon strength bug spray. So I’ve decided to go native. This year for my birthday, I’m asking for a full body titanium fly net, just like my neighbor’s.
I bet most of you don’t even know what that is. (Except maybe the Minnesotans.)
I already own five head nets, but those only protect my head, hence the clever name. My daughter is concerned that I will look completely ridiculous and will make the family appear crazy by association. She has a point. And for her benefit, I will remove my full body netting before I go into the local market. And because I love her, I will NOT tell her that everyone in town already thinks we are crazy summer people.
If you didn’t notice, humankind is engaged in an epic struggle against bugs, but in the end, the best defense against them is wind. If there is a strong enough wind I can stand outside wearing no DEET or net and taunt the little buggers with my exposed flesh as they are blown by. I delight in watching them beat their little wings frantically towards me to no avail. Once in a while one of the mightier flies will get close enough to lick me on his way past, but NONE are able to hold position long enough to buzz or bite.
Twenty knots sure makes for a nice spring day in NH.
There is ONE other “bug repelling” tactic that I’ve thought about, but haven’t had the guts to try. Surely you too have considered experimenting with your dog’s supply of Frontline? Think about it. One enticing little pill each month and you too could be bug free.
The side effects couldn’t possibly be any worse than applying Backwoods Off! eight times a day. Could they?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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
Every spring, hardy New Hampshire natives endure an extended period of bug induced human misery. The locals affectionately call this special time of year Black Fly Season. You would think that people would be clever enough to abandon the state during the “season”. But they don’t, because their excessive use of DEET has caused massive neurological damage.
They stay because they simply don’t remember how BAD bug season can get.
Collective amnesia is the only logical explanation for why the population of NH keeps growing despite the bugs and the ludicrous property taxes. It sure isn't for the hot girls at the strip clubs.
I totally understand where these folks are coming from though. Given the choice between bathing in 29% DEET or being the human happy hour snack for a swarm of black flies, I’d pick the debilitating poison every time. The scary side effects of DEET don’t scare me quite as much as NH bugs.
And besides, who needs ovaries at age 47?
My body has adapted very well to highly toxic levels of DEET. Don’t polyps grow out of everyone’s navels? My NH neighbor tells me that the facial twitching is temporary and will be gone by Christmas. Just the same, I’d occasionally like to able to dash to my car without having to apply a chemical weapon strength bug spray. So I’ve decided to go native. This year for my birthday, I’m asking for a full body titanium fly net, just like my neighbor’s.
I bet most of you don’t even know what that is. (Except maybe the Minnesotans.)
I already own five head nets, but those only protect my head, hence the clever name. My daughter is concerned that I will look completely ridiculous and will make the family appear crazy by association. She has a point. And for her benefit, I will remove my full body netting before I go into the local market. And because I love her, I will NOT tell her that everyone in town already thinks we are crazy summer people.
If you didn’t notice, humankind is engaged in an epic struggle against bugs, but in the end, the best defense against them is wind. If there is a strong enough wind I can stand outside wearing no DEET or net and taunt the little buggers with my exposed flesh as they are blown by. I delight in watching them beat their little wings frantically towards me to no avail. Once in a while one of the mightier flies will get close enough to lick me on his way past, but NONE are able to hold position long enough to buzz or bite.
Twenty knots sure makes for a nice spring day in NH.
There is ONE other “bug repelling” tactic that I’ve thought about, but haven’t had the guts to try. Surely you too have considered experimenting with your dog’s supply of Frontline? Think about it. One enticing little pill each month and you too could be bug free.
The side effects couldn’t possibly be any worse than applying Backwoods Off! eight times a day. Could they?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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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