Night Terrors

A few days ago I attended a funeral for a young man in town who was killed in a robbery. I didn’t know the guy, but went in support of the family who was suffering a tragic loss. After the funeral, I had so many appointments and errands that I did not return home until after Steele (now 15 years old) had gone to bed.


First let me say that I make it a habit of kissing and hugging my son regularly throughout the day, especially before he goes to sleep. What can I say? I’m an affectionate person. But this particular night, the events of the day were weighing heavily on my heart. I had watched a mother openly mourn the tragic loss of her only baby boy. Regardless of the fact that he was 25 years old, it had me thinking of how blessed and grateful I was to have a happy, healthy child who was safe from harm.

Overwhelmed by my emotions, I tiptoed into his darkened room and bent over him and kissed his forehead. Quietly I whispered, “I love you Baby Bear.”

Okay, not so quietly apparently because suddenly his eyes flew open like retracting window shades and they were flooded with instant terror. You see, at that very moment as he was jolted awake from his deep slumber, my face could’ve only been maybe 4 inches from his. In the seconds that it took his brain to process the situation, his fear involuntarily escalated his movements and he bounced back with mouth wide open and eyes bugged out searching for answers. My instant reaction was to also jump back in reflex…mainly to avoid getting punched in the face. And then he was like, “Who…what are you doing?!?!” And I’m all, “Aww babe, I just came in to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight because I’m so lucky to have you.” His response? “You scared the crap outta me! I’m tryin’ to sleep, ugh!”

So much for tender loving moments. He laid his head back down and instantly returned to his sleep. I walked out of the room, annoyed as usual.

P.S. Kinda weird how I flipped the script on you and went from such a heart-wrenching post to a “reality bites” one, huh? Well, sometimes I think we over-romanticize how certain aspects of our lives should be. These fantasies sometimes come to fruition, but a lot of the time they just leave us feeling slighted or short-changed. I guess the main thing to remember is to count your blessings. Be happy with all that you DO have, even with its flaws. Because there ARE those out there who would give anything to have what you do…an opportunity to show love to someone special, and receive it in return…eventually.

Attitude...It's What's For Dinner

As the old saying goes, “Mothers of teenagers know why some species eat their young.”

Steele: All we have to do is walk by the Starbucks counter and they start making your drink before you even order it!  That’s pretty bad.  You should probably consider getting help for your caffeine addiction. Oooooo banana bread, can I have one of those?

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Me: What are all those stains on your white hoodie?

Steele: DARN those hot Cheetos!

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Me: (getting ready for a business party) How does this look?

Steele: Well, you kinda have a little muffin top goin’ on.
Me: Yeah I need to change to a looser top.
Steele: Or you could do some crunches.

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Steele: (around 8pm) Oh yeah, I need a poster board for an in-class assignment tomorrow.

Me: Why am I just hearing about it now?!  You really need to let me know these things ahead of time.
Steele: But then we wouldn’t get to enjoy the element of surprise.

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Steele: Uh oh.  That awkward moment when mom realizes she’s just like maw maw.

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Me: (belting out a tune at the top of my lungs) It’s time to tryyyyy defyyyyying graaavity, I think I’ll tryyyy, defyyyyiiing graaavity, and you can’t pull me doooown

Steele: Maybe you should stick to singing songs more in your range


Remember back when they were babies and you would say things like, "Oh...he's just so cute and adorable!  I could just eat him up!"  Well, same concept...different context and tone.  Welcome to the teenage years.

Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain

Recently a friend of mine posted a comment on Facebook regarding her young daughter’s gratitude for magically turning last night’s leftover tortillas into corn chips so she could enjoy a second day snack. It got me reminiscing on the good ole days when Steele was young and gullible innocent…the days of being the wizard BEHIND the curtain. I could do no wrong in those days. My motives were never questioned, my answers to life’s questions carried more weight than Wikipedia, and I had magical powers of healing and insight unmatched by those of even the likes of Superman. I can’t exactly pinpoint for you when and where the reality exposure actually occurred, but something tells me the following incidents played a small part in the demise of my superhero identity.

Sometime in 2001 (Age 4) – The day he discovered I can’t really cook.  He used to always brag about my cooking. He would tell people all the time how I made the best cookies ever.

Steele: Mom, Ms. Jane made the best cookies and I told her they were just like yours and she said that’s because you buy the same kind from the store

Summer 2004 (Age 7) - The day he found out I really DIDN’T have eyes in the back of my head.
Driving home after school one day, I glance in my rearview mirror to find my son digging for treasures deep within the vast cavern of where his brain SHOULD reside

Me: Get that finger out of your nose! It’s disgusting!
I glance back into my rearview mirror to find him rolling his eyes in response

Me: And don’t roll those eyes at me!
His eyes accidentally meet mine in the rearview mirror and my heart stops…I’ve been busted.

Steele: Heeeeeeeeyyy! I just saw you look at me in that mirror! So all this time I thought you were like a circus freak with an invisible third eye and it turns out you were just lying to me? That’s just wrong, mom. So wrong.

December 2006 (Age 9) – The day he discovered that Santa was a fraud…or in the least, the day he revealed that fact to me.

Me: If you don’t clean your room Santa is gonna put you on his naughty list.

Steele: Mom, I guess I should go ahead and let you know. I’ve known Santa wasn’t real for a couple of years now. I just didn’t say anything because I wanted to get all of the extra presents at Christmas.

August 2008 (Age 11) – The day he realized he doesn’t ACTUALLY need to hold my hand when walking through a parking lot or crossing the street

I always explained to Steele that it’s important for him to hold my hand when crossing the street because he was small and the drivers around us may not be able to see him walking, but if he held my hand, they could see me and he would be safe.

Me: Wait for me so I can hold your hand! How many times do I have to tell you it’s unsafe for you to walk ahead of me?

Steele: Really Mom? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m taller than you now.

March 2010 (Age 13) – The day he realized he was better at doing mathmatical calculations in his head
At a restaurant as I signed the bill
Steele – Uh, mom? Do you ALWAYS tip the waitress 25%? I wouldn’t say her service was THAT good.

Me: That’s not 20%, it’s 15%.

Steele: Maybe you should just base the tip on the old “two-times-the-tax-rule” from now on. It may be easier than calculating it in your head.

An Easy Mystery to Unravel

I don’t know HOW many times I’ve told Steele, “We have a new puppy in the house. Please remember that while he is being trained, we need to take extra precautions and not provide opportunity for him to create mischief.”

“I KNOW, Mom, I know.” This is usually the reply I get, accompanied by an ever-so-obvious-eye roll. “It’s not just a matter of KNOWING…you have to FOLLOW THROUGH.”

I rarely chastise him about his hurricane aftermath inspired choice of bedroom and bathroom décor. Nor do I nag him on a daily basis about tidying up his bathroom. ALL I ASK is that he make it a point to CLOSE THE DOORS to those rooms before leaving the house, ensuring that Benny "the Jet" does not have access to the temptation that exists within them. Simple, right? So why do I come home on my lunch break to find THIS?!

The older dog, Maggie, just sits there on her perch, with that clueless look on her face. I know she egged him on. She likes to see him get in trouble. And he provides ample opportunity to oblige her, believe me.  He has also discovered that people think he's adorable when he carries around stuffed toys in his mouth.  His get-out-of-jail-free-cuteness-toy-of-choice for this incident was his dinosaur.  Well played again Benny, well played.

Easily ENTertained

Yesterday was Steele’s first appointment with a local ENT specialist. Our goal is to find the source of his chronic sinus problems and resolve the problem once and for all. We rarely visit doctors, mainly because I’m too impatient and I would rather be sick than lose my religion during the grueling waiting room process we are rarely sick.

I walked through the doors with a positive attitude, despite the 30 or so patients who had arrived before me, meeting my gaze with looks of defeat and gloom. I took my place in the waiting room and so it began...

30 minutes in… I decided to distract myself with some light reading. Steele and I flipped through a local magazine and poked fun at all the advertisements by local businesses. One of the ads we came across was this one.

Steele says, “I find it ironic that the addiction recovery center has weed for its logo.”

I must say, I sort of enjoy the fact that my nearly 15 year old son couldn’t identify marijuana even if it were labeled. Good sign…moving on.

1 hour in to waiting time and my left leg began to tingle. I must’ve switched positions 20 times with no success in preventing my butt from falling asleep. I tried to focus on something else to get my mind off of the current situation…not a good idea.

One lady was jamming out to Lady Gaga on her iPhone while her litter of unkempt children ran wild ripping up newspaper and snotting all over the furniture. Another sat snoring next to her over-grown child as he picked his nose and examined his findings (save it for the ENT buddy cause I didn’t need the show). An elderly man muttered complaints under his breath as his wife copied recipes from the Better Homes and Gardens magazine…

Dear God, please deliver me from waiting room hell…thank you.

1.5 hours in and the magic words rang out from the restricted area, “The doctor is ready to see you!” Yay! Our turn! Our turn! We were promptly escorted to a smaller room where we knew the wait would continue. Determined not to lose my mind or my temper, I began looking for things to entertain us. Steele began wildly spinning in his chair as I rifled through cabinets and drawers. Alcohol prep pads? Well don’t mind if I do! Those things are GREAT for cleaning surfaces and they’re sooo portable. Next drawer…

Steele: What in the WORLD is all that?!

Me: Those are the tools the doctor uses I guess

Steele: I don’t know where he thinks he’s gonna stick THAT thing, but wherever it is, I object.

Next drawer…Oh My Gosh…JACKPOT! It was a brand new, sleek and shiny temple touch thermometer! Oh how times have changed since I was a child and your temp was taken *ahem* elsewhere. Immediately we began playing with the device and I registered my very first tech savvy temp reading…

Me: 86.4 degrees…WHAT?! That can’t be right! I would be a cold stiff corpse. Try it again.

Steele: That’s not bad. It IS cold in this room

Me: I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to have a body temp below 97 or something

Steele: Here, let’s retry

Me: 86.4, 86.7, 84.5. Oh Lord it’s getting worse!

Steele: And that was the day mom discovered she was a zombie

A quick knock and the door began to open. I quickly tossed the defective gadget on the table next to me and greeted the doctor. During his exam, he asked if I had any questions…and for some reason only one thing came to mind.

Me: Well, what is the lowest body temperature you can have without your major organs shutting down and death occurring?

Stunned look from the nurse

Doctor: Without what? Are you planning on freezing yourself later?

Me: No, I was just curious. (Obviously I couldn’t explain the source of my curiosity without disclosing the fact that I had played with his broken toys)

Doctor: (laughing nervously now) Well, I’m not really sure to be honest.

Steele: Yeah mom, he’s just the ear, nose and throat doctor not a coroner.

Me: Oh well, I just thought it might be a common knowledge thing among doctors.

Doctor: Okay, do you have any questions regarding the treatment options?

Me: Yes. What were they again?

After discussing treatment plans with the doctor, I rose to shake his hand and our attention was drawn to the 3 alcohol prep packets that fell on the floor between us. I was all, “Umm, they’re really handy for cleaning surfaces.” And he’s all, “No big deal, everyone likes to take some home after visits.” And I’m all, “Like a good patient reward or something!” And he says, “Well in that case I’ll have to ask you to return yours.”

Ha ha Dr. Witty. Keep laughing at your own little jokes. We’re all VERY amused. I’m thinking about finding another ENT for future visits. I’m not sure we made the best impression on this one.

Santa Got Lost In Translation

Ahh family tradition…a few years ago my mother inadvertently began a new sort of Christmas family tradition by gifting my father a little gem of sorts. It was a t-shirt. And, harmless as it may seem, the long-term ramifications of this gift could not possibly been foreseen. As usual, along with Christmas activities came the annual sporting of the t-shirt…and thus, the memories and laughter begin…

My mother did not move to the states until adulthood, and although throughout my lifetime she has adapted to American culture and terminology, she sometimes gets a little lost in translation. Case in point, the Christmas family celebration of 2006.

Mom was effortlessly making her way through the piles of wrapped gifts when she announced the “super sale” she found while shopping a novelty store in New Orleans that season. She was like, “I found the cutest store full of coffee cups, t-shirts, and hand towels and EVERYTHING was on clearance! I bought a TON of them and now I can give them to everyone!” Dad unwrapped his new treasure and as he examined the bright red t-shirt, his eyes lit up and a roar of laughter welled from within. Mom was all, “Isn’t that the cutest little Santa?! I got such a good deal!” It was then that my father turned the shirt for my sisters and I to see. Immediately we were in tears laughing.

Mom: I know! Isn’t the Santa so funny?!
Me: I don’t think it’s the Santa that’s so funny, mom.
Annie: Oh My Gosh! Three Hos are better than One!! Bahahahahahahahaha
Mom: Yeah, like Ho Ho Ho! Because it’s Santa…get it?
Annie: Oh, we GET it! Do YOU get it.
Dad: (in tears now gasping for breath) THAT is a good shirt, Momma, Ima put it on RIGHT now.
Me: Dad, you can’t wear that today! Everyone will be over later for dinner!
Dad: It’s my new Christmas shirt your momma got me and Ima wear it.
Mom: Okay Annie, this one’s for you. Here, open it…
It’s been five Christmases since the revealing of this “dirty Santa”, and every year my dad pulls out the shirt and wears it. Sometimes visitors will mention how great it is and my mom will chime in with, “I have another one in the closet if you want it!” I still am not sure if anyone told her exactly what the shirt implied. Either way, it brings fun to the family Christmas every year.

There's a United Nations Meeting In My Belly

So my thankful week of gut busting is over and I find myself left with two things to show for it, leftover pie for breakfast and this little post to bring insight into the “melting pot” of a feast that my family calls Thanksgiving.  Okay…in all actuality, if it were my mom talking, she would put a slight Filipino accent spin on it and say Thanksgibbing.  My dad would abbreviate it with that southern drawl and call it Thanksgivin’.  Either way, you’ll be full when it’s over.

I was the host this year for the evening meal, so we DID actually have a traditional American meal, but my parents did not want to pass on the opportunity to host a few friends (and myself, of course) for their own “traditional” occasion during the lunch hour.   It was an eclectic mix of friends and food.  

It was a Melting Pot of Goodness...MmmmmMmmmm

So here you are…the menu at my parents Cajun Asian Turkey Day:

-Seafood Gumbo

-Cornbread Dressing
-Potato Salad
-Turkey (purposely not listed first because it is more obligatory than anything else)
-Spring Rolls
-Fruit and Vegtable fusion salad with sesame ginger dressing
-Miscellaneous assortment of store bought pies (whatever ones were on sale that day)
-left over Sinigang (Filipino broth-based soup with pork, radishes, green vegetables, etc.)

Was there gravy?  No.  Dad forgot and mom began her anti-gravy coalition when I was around 5 years old.  Mash potatoes?  No.  But there was a fresh pot of jasmine rice available.  Is that a giant bag of popcorn in the background?  Yes it is.  That’s what is known as the random “WOW factor” food item of the feast.  You never know what you’re gonna get.  And this year…we got popcorn.  You’re welcome.

The Honeymoon Is OVER!

Okay, so a few posts back I introduced that adorable little fur ball of fun, Benny. Everything about this new member of our family is charming...irresistably darling. We have forgiven him for chewing on our toes, leaving puppy chow crumbs on the floor, or leaving a puddle behind for us to step in…all at the bat of those big brown eyes. But yesterday…oh yesterday…Benny just went a little too far…

Check out my pretty new “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” shoes. Don’t you just L-O-V-E them? Well I do! I got them last week. I woke with anticipation to wear them for the first time yesterday. I carefully selected an outfit to pair with my new shoes because, well, you KNOW that it’s ALL about getting a great pair of shoes and then putting an entire outfit together to compliment them. I get dressed and pull out the pièce de résistance…and that’s when I lost it.

“BENNNNYYYYYYYY you ROTTEN little ball of TERROR!!!!!! Where is he?!?! I’m going to BEAT him with my new shoe!!” He slowly rounds the corner into the hallway and we meet face-to-face, like a stand-off in the old country westerns. He, with his rotten cuteness and I with my damaged Gianni Bini red patent leather mary jane pump. SOMEONE was not going to make it out alive…SOMEONE with four stubby little legs and a bark that mimics a squeaky toy. He took his first shot… cocked his little floppy ears up, tilted his head to the side and gazed at me with the innocence of a newborn child. I was determined not to waiver. I marched toward him with the shoe in my hand, prepared to teach him a proper lesson, and then…he lost his balance and fell over like a little piece of freshly chopped timber.

My heart welled up and I began to giggle, which only made him roll over on his back and shoot those eyes at me from the upside-down cute angle. I was defeated. He had won. How could I stay mad at this little guy? Lesson learned. I can’t compete with that action. He owns me, and I should have known better than to leave my closet door ajar. Well played Benny Bop…well played.

You Betta Check Yo-Self!

Ahhh the conveniences of the modern age…how did we ever do without? God knew better than to create me during the 18th century. I’m a modern girl and I EMBRACE anything that makes my life easier and saves time during menial daily chores…well, almost anything.

Take, for instance, the self-checkout line…a dream come true for the impatient shopper right? More like a NIGHTMARE! Yes…apparently I am self-checkout impaired. What can I say? It just wasn’t my calling to excel in the checkout line. Had you asked the 8 year old me I would have whole-heartedly agreed that I was the checkout QUEEN…no wait…checkout PRINCESS (because the princess is ALWAYS more beautiful than the queen…Disney taught me that).

One of my favorite toys of all time was our cash register that had the three color coins and a cash drawer that dinged when it opened to provide the change. Oh how I loved the sound of that bell! It was the indication of sweet reward at the end of a transaction. It spawned a chemical reaction in my brain sending me to heights of anticipation rivaling the result of Pavlov’s dog experiment. Alysson and I would fight daily over who was the glamorous cashier and who was the lowly grocery shopper. I always won the role of cashier…it was my right as the oldest. Surely with all that checkout experience this new technology would be like putty in my hands…a world of convenience at my fingertips!

My arms were full of “quick trip” items and I was juggling to keep them from falling to the ground. “Who needs a basket, “I thought, “It’s really only a couple of items.” I approached the checkout area only to be greeted with line after line of people who apparently had all day to grocery shop with their coupons, their price checks on aisle three and their cell phone conversations. But wait…what was that in the distance? An oasis of time-saving technology, apparently known as the “Self-Checkout Lane”! Jiminy Cricket, THIS was for ME! And there was no one in line! It was like winning the lottery! Probably everyone else was too intimidated by change or technology or anything good for them. That’s okay…I’ll show them how it’s done!

Step-by-step instructions for use of the machine? No thank you, I got this!

SCO: Welcome! Please scan the first item.

Me: Well don’t mind if I do.

SCO: (after I scanned the first item and placed it in the plastic bag) Please scan the first item

Me: Wha? I already did.

So I removed the item from the bag, and proceeded to scan it again, because obviously my scanning skills were too ninja quick for this machine to process.

SCO: Please return item to the bagging area.

Me: Well make up your mind lady! Do you want me to scan it or return the item to the bag?

SCO: Please return item to the bagging area!

Me: OKAAAAY! No need to yell. Jeez!

SCO: Please return item to the bagging area!

Me: I already did! Can’t you see it there?!

SCO: Error…please wait for assistance. Error….

Just then I looked up, only to find a red light similar to those found on the rooftop of an AMBULANCE flashing as the machine repeated “Error…please wait for assistance…” Yes folks…for your red light special entertainment of the day we have Abby, the cashiering FAILURE. Was I being arrested for removing my item from the bagging area? This machine totally thought I was stealing the item I know it! She was out to frame me for this and I was NOT going down without a fight! I started frantically pushing the cancel button, then scanning another item. But that didn’t work so I tried putting all my items in the bag. Maybe if I gave her more stuff she would be satisfied…maybe not.

The old lady in line behind me rolled her eyes and moved to the next lane. Apparently I was holding her up from more important things. It took the store manager an eternity to get over to my station and turn off the alarms, reset the machine, and then “self-checkout” my five items for me as I watched. Then, par for course, my cash was not of acceptable quality to be received as payment by the machine, so I had to follow the manager to an open register where she accepted my payment.

All in all I’m pretty sure I would have saved time by waiting in line and letting a professional handle my purchase. Also, I’m pretty sure self-checkouts are of the devil!

He’s Got Electric Boots and a Mohair Suit

Our family dynamic has taken an interesting turn into retro cuteness with our newest addition…Benny “the Jet”. He’s an adopted eclectic mixture of terriers and other small breeds with a personality that packs a punch! Mischievous, playful, inquisitive, and full of spunk, this little guy has owned our house…and our hearts since the day we brought him home.

The name, you ask? Well, his name was initially Elvis Aaron Presley (because there is a little hound dog in all of us). So we were on the long drive home when the radio chimed in with Elton John’s classic tune, and wouldn’t you know…little “Elvis” sat up, cocked his ears, and started howling. It was the funniest thing ever. The song ended and he quieted instantly. I began to tease him saying things like, “Elvis? Do you like Benny and the Jets?” And every time he heard the word Benny, his little head turned and his ears stood at attention. Needless to say, Elvis had left the building and Benny was here to stay.

I know, right? Benny “the Jet” Miller. It sounds a little mafia. But you don’t know the half of it. Yesterday I brought him home a bone and he was chewing it and using the blunt end as a teaser toy for our other dog Maggie. At some point my cousin Del looks over and was all, “O-M-G that bone looks like a cigar in his mouth!” Yes people…Benny “the Jet” Miller went all gangsta, and earned his street cred. This little guy means business.

For Halloween, Benny surprised us with this uncanny impression of George Burns.  You're Welcome.

The Halloweaster Bunny

I’m not a big Halloween person; maybe because my parents barely acknowledged the holiday throughout my childhood. And also there was the fact that we lived in a more rural area so our annual trick-or-treat visitors would total somewhere along the lines of two neighborhood kids…three if Michael Hickman wasn’t in trouble that night. The four acre distance between homes was a pretty good deterrent for parents becoming motivated to walk the kids from house to house; not to mention the idea of children wandering the streets after dark dressed like hooligans and begging for food like paupers only to come home and fight a battle over how much chocolate is too much before bedtime.

Muahahaha!  I vant to suck your Cadbury mini eggs!

I do recall one particular Halloween, however, where my mother made an extra effort to put her own spin on celebrate the occasion. You should know that my mother is a well-educated woman who sometimes falls victim to culture shock. She moved to the United States as an adult, so while she does understand the concepts of all American holidays and the meaning behind them, she sometimes gets “lost in translation” when it comes to the actual traditions. Case in point:

Halloween night, 2003. I was an adult; however, my 6 year old son was excited and filled with anticipation for special Halloween with his maw maw. I was excited for a night out with friends and a free babysitter. I got to my mother’s house and walked inside where she whisked him away and promptly returned with a bright orange foam pumpkin sporting arms and legs and bearing an uncanny resemblance to my son. Her witch hat didn’t quite go with the hospital scrubs she wore to work that day, but mom ALWAYS had a way of making things work in her favor. “Hellooooo Brandon! I am Glenda the good nurse-witch! And we are gonna have soooo much fun hunting for Halloween candy! Peter Cottontail has visited and there are candies and surprises hidden alllll around us!” She grabbed his little hands and started bouncing around with her 70’s disco moves singing "Here comes Peter Cottontail. Hoppin’ down the bunny trail…"

Wait…what? I was lost. Peter Cottontail? Please tell me my dad was not about to jump out of the hall closet wearing cover-alls, bunny ears and his Sunday church shoes. (He didn’t by the way…BIG relief) So I was all, “Mom, Peter Cottontail? That's an Easter thing.  Aren't you going trick-or-treating tonight?” And she was like, “Of course! We are gonna trick-or-treat right here to find all the goodies, right Brandon!?!” And of course Brandon was practically jumping up and down and screaming “Let’s go maw maw!! Bye mom! Let’s go!”

Apparently, after work, my mom bought a few bags of Halloween candy and hid the pieces of candy all around her house for Brandon to find.  And yes, in the end there was a "golden prize egg".  Because a hunt wouldn't be the same without one!  My mom always had a way of making things exciting for little kids. Her enthusiasm is contagious to say the least. To this day I have a theory that my son enjoys going over to their house strictly for the possibility of finding candy in the least expected places.  Kind of like a modern day Hansel and Gretel effect.  Maybe there was something to this whole Halloweaster bunny concept.

I DO...Everything You Say From Now On

So another family wedding coming up this weekend and my cousin is the beautiful bossy blushing bride. Kidding, she’s far from the bridezilla type, but a little conversation she shared with me today had me questioning it for a moment.
The other day my cousin, the bride, was going over the last minute details of the wedding events for this weekend, and she says to her fiancé, “Okay babe, so Friday you need to meet me at the church to help decorate for the wedding.”

And he was like, “No wait, I already made plans to go hunting on Friday so I won’t be there.”

And she was all, “Well you NEED to be there because I need your help getting everything set up.”

And he was like, “But I talked to my mom about it and she said I didn’t need to be there for that part.”

And she was all, “Oh…okay, but just so you know, once we are married Saturday, I’M the boss of you, NOT your mom. Got it? Love you! Have fun hunting!”

I love this girl…she’s so right…and he can’t say there wasn’t fair warning.

Snap, Crackle, POP Culture Overload

Recently my family traveled from all over the world to gather in New Orleans for my sister’s wedding.  One of the great things about a destination wedding is that the guests can treat the weekend as a vacation as well as support the bride and groom.  It’s pretty much a win-win situation. 

My family members are all pretty much reluctant to hang around each other for extended periods of time independent, so we all branched off and did our own things around the French Quarter during our down time between scheduled wedding festivities.  On one of the days I met up for lunch with my sister, Joyce, and her husband, Ted, who were visiting from their home in New York.  Ted was giving me a run-down on that day’s events, which included several historical building tours.

Ted: It was pretty neat.  The ceilings and walls were covered with beautiful paintings, you know, like that artist guy, Leonard Da…what’s that guy’s name again?  Leonardo Da…

Me: Caprio?

Silence

Joyce: Isn’t that the guy from Titanic?

Me: Oh yeah…ooops.

Ted: Vinci!  Da Vinci.  Yeah… him.  Beautiful paintings.

It was then that I realized I probably needed to scale back my pop culture magazine consumption and visit a few high culture art exhibits before my brain turns to mush and I go all “Jersey Shore” intelligence on people.

Yeah, we’re a cultured bunch.

Won't YOU be my Neighbor?

So the other day my "special" dog Maggie decided to bolt through the front door into the neighborhood. It was trash day and there was a smorgasbord of rotten people food displayed at everyone’s curbside and ripe for the taking. My arms were full of shopping bags and I did not have time to act quickly enough to stop her escape. There she was, eyes widened with excitement, tongue waving in the wind, smiling from ear-to-ear as she rounded the front corner of the house and disappeared from my view.

I yell, “Steele!!! Maggie just took off! Hurry, run and catch her before she becomes road kill!” From the opposite end of the house I hear the quickening pace of bare feet thumping on our hardwood floors, then the front door slams, and silence.

Can you tell we have this drill pretty much under control? Yep, it happens every couple of months, and sporadically enough to warrant letting our guard down and trusting that her “wild” days are long past, only to be disappointed time and time again.

I take a deep breath and begin putting away my things, confident that my son will prevail in the battle of wit and dexterity that is no doubt occurring on my front lawn at this very moment. And, as expected, about five minutes later Steele walks in, Maggie cradled in his arms panting and licking him between grunts.

So I tell him, “Great job as usual, babe.” And he’s all, “Well, I met the new neighbors!”

Me: New neighbors?

Steele: Apparently there’s a new Arabic family moving in down the block. You know, the really conservative dressers with all the robes to cover everything but half their face?

Me: Yeah, how did you meet them? Were they walking around the block?

Steele: Not exactly. I was so caught up in catching Maggie, I didn’t notice where I was running. Maggie would stop running just long enough for me to get like two inches from her and then she would bolt in the other direction. So I finally outsmarted her and grabbed her and I was like, “Aha! Gotcha ya little stinker!” And then I looked up and I was pretty much face-to-face with our new neighbors. I was in their garage...while they were moving their things in...standing between them and their front door.

Me: Well, did you say ‘Hello, welcome to the neighborhood?’

Steele: Not exactly, I kinda just said “Sorry.  Excuse me. I was trying to catch my dog.”

It was at this moment that my son put Maggie down on the ground and I realized what had just transpired down the block. My 14 year old son, in his haste to save my dog from her own stupidity, ran out of the front door wearing nothing but Looney tunes lounge shorts and a look of determination.

Me: Well, did you say anything else?

Steele: The lady was trying not to laugh at me. I couldn’t blame her. It’s not every day you‘re welcomed to the neighborhood by a half-naked teenager chasing a retarded dog in circles in your front yard. But she was nice, she said ‘Nice to meet you.’ And I told her it was nice meeting her too. Then I left as fast as I could.

Me: Hmmm, maybe we should make them cookies one day soon.

Steele: Or maybe we should just avoid them from now on.

Welcome to the neighborhood!

Don, A Girl's Best Friend?

Last week my sister Annie, her husband Mitch, my brother Chris, Steele and I met at my parents’ house for dinner. It was just casual home-cooked meal accompanied by conversation about upcoming family events and the latest work drama. When out of the blue my mom looks across the table at Annie’s hand and she’s all, “Annie! That ring is BEAUTIFUL! Where did you get it?” And Annie was like, “I got it at Don’s Pharmasave. Same place I get my medication.”

Her response was met with brief silence broken by my uncontrolled laughter. Now THAT is a ONE-STOP-SHOP!


I'll take that ring, a box of Cracker Jacks, and a refill on my Valium prescription, please!



MAID OF disHONOR

My sister Alysson is FINALLY getting married this weekend, and I was forced asked to participate in the ceremony as her bridesmaid, along with our other sister Annie. It’s really a no-brainer. I mean, of COURSE I’ll be there to support my favorite sister on her special day as she freaks out and murders everyone in a bridezilla rampage joins in matrimony with that poor sucker the love of her life, Miah.

The bride was blissfully unaware that her bridesmaids
had already abandoned her for a sale on designer shoes.

So last night, the bride and I were discussing last minute details for this weekend…on speakerphone so her fiance’ was included in the conversation:

Me: Okay, so things are falling into place now. Annie went yesterday and got her tan and I have an appointment to get my nails done on Tuesday. Did you confirm our appointments with the hair stylist for Friday? I’m a little worried about Annie’s bridesmaid dress fitting properly, but just in case, I’m packing a necessities bag to bring to New Orleans this weekend. You know, important things we may need like bobby pins in case Annie or I need them for our hair, safety pins in case our dresses malfunction, duct tape…well, we won’t talk about what the duct tape is for...

Bride: WAIT! What exactly are you packing for ME? Helloo! You’re supposed to be making sure that I’m taken care of the day of my wedding. Thank goodness I have a new sister-in-law, my only sister who actually CARES about what MY needs are.

Me: Oh! Well, I guess we just assumed you had it all together on your end. We all know Annie can be a hot mess sometimes. Hahaha

Bride: I’m gonna need snacks, drinks, a fan, all kinds of things and I’m going to count on you guys to make sure I’m eating and getting enough water and not sweating too much and that kind of stuff.

Me: Well then what kind of snacks do I need to pack for you? Don’t you like those chewy chips ahoy cookies?

Bride: No

Me: the crunchy ones?

Bride: No. I want Oreos, I like Oreos. And anything with peanut butter or chocolate would be good.

Me: Oreos? Um…no, they will turn your teeth black on your wedding day. I’m banning the Oreos. See? I got yo back gurl!

Bride: Then just get the blonde ones.

Me: Ooooooooh the GOLDEN Oreos. I really like those! They are soooo yummy!

Groom a/k/a Peanut Gallery: Great, now she’s gonna eat all your Oreos, too.

FAIL. Okay, so I’m not the best bridesmaid in the world. Realistically, we were BOUND to find SOMETHING I couldn’t do perfectly right? And hey, at least I’m not the worst! I’m pretty sure my other sister will prove to be the worst.

Well, THAT was an Easy "A"

So, our little family is adapting to our new environment for the school year. Not only is this Steele’s first year of high school, it’s his first year in public school, and there are tons of new things to learn. For instance…correct wording is important!

I submit to you Exhibit “A”, our conversation yesterday evening…

Me: So how was school today? Anything new and exciting?

Steele: Well, I aced a drug test.

Me: a WHAT?

Steele: Today I experienced my first drug test ever. It was pretty cool.

Me: What? What do you mean drug test? Surely they can’t drug test minors without the consent of the parents. That seems a little odd. (Let me interject here that my concern was not for whether or not my child would PASS a drug test, but for what reason they were doing so without notifying parents)

Steele: Well, they did, and I aced it of course. So can I get a little extra video game time tonight as a reward?

Me: Hold on. Are you telling me they had each student pee in a cup under supervision at school today? Was it random, or was everyone chosen?

Steele: They checked every…wait, did you say “pee in a cup”? Why would they make us do that?

Me: For the drug test

Steele: Noooo, they just brought in these really awesome drug-sniffing dogs and walked around all of our desks and backpacks. Why would they make us pee in a cup?

Me: That’s what you DO for a drug test, son. What they did today was a drug SEARCH, not a drug TEST. OMG

Steele: Well, whatever it was, I ACED it!

And yet another small piece of the innocence is lost. Not so much because he was part of a random drug search, but because he expected ample reward for passing a “drug test”. Like an ex-con at a parole hearing. Pray for my sanity people! Amen.

The Dangling Chad of Vending

Yesterday was a long day at work, extended an extra couple of hours beyond the normal 5pm by a real estate closing. I decided to keep a positive attitude about the whole working-late-to-accommodate-clients thing, and treat myself to the yummy goodness that can only be found in a bag of Peanut M&Ms.

I climbed 2 flights of stairs to the vending machine instead of taking the elevator, in order to justify the extra calories.  But let’s face it, I really didn’t need to do this because we ALL know that Peanut M&Ms are a solid source of protein, and that makes them health food. BONUS!

85 cents for a bag of M&Ms?!?! OMG since WHEN are M&Ms a high priced commodity? I remember when you could get a bag of M&Ms for…oh wait, we just won’t go there. I fork up the dough and put in the code and then WHAT?! So disappointed…I was trapped in some parallel universe where my every happiness for the next 2 hours was driven by the outcome of a scandal equivalent to a “dangling chad” of vending!

Isn't it amazing how even the most non-violent of people can so quickly become the incredible hulk against an inanimate object witholding sweet treasures? Why?  Why?!

 So I did what any other rational human being would do. I Googled for an answer to my problem. Needless to say, the answer was less than desirable. And yes, there were many articles offering advise on how to properly dislodge candy from a  rigged rebellious machine.   I thought I was gonna get some kind of insider information like secret codes to punch in, or the location of a hidden rest button that would refund my money.  I was left slightly disappointed with the advise that I found.  You can read one here ~ How to Free a Stuck Item from a Vending Machine

Oh REALLY? You mean if I pay an extra 85 cents and purchase ANOTHER bag of M&Ms it will inevitably push out the first one? Well why didn’t I think of that? Oh what’s that you say? It may NOT work? So another viable option would be to find someone with a key to the vending machine for assistance? Really? What a revelation!

Despite my sarcastic mutterings in response to the advise-for-people-with-no-common-sense-whatsoever, I chose to follow that advise, and I purchased a second bag of candy. Today as I snack on these unwanted M&Ms, I cannot help but be left with a somewhat bittersweet taste in my mouth. No, not because of the combination of chocolate coated by a candy shell encompassing a rotten peanut, but because I did not choose this second bag of M&Ms…it chose me. And I can’t help but question its motive.

My Comment Has More Likes Than Yours

Does anyone else find that Facebook has literally changed the way our generation interacts with one another? Sure, it has its good points, but what about the bad ones? And then there’s those “grey area” issues. I’d like to refer to these as the “ugly” because you really never know how that person will react to finding out what you did.  It's probably all a big conspiracy by large corporations to keep us all preoccupied with the minutiae of everyday life so that we don't recognize the diminishing quality of service and product they provide while the price point increases annually.  Especially tv sitcom production companies.  I mean, what's up with that people?  But I digress...here are my personal Facebook observations...

This picture makes me hungry for breakfast...I should Facebook about it.

The Good : Catch up with old friends from school The Bad: Meet up with said friends and discover you no longer have ANYTHING in common The Ugly: When you are talking to them in person, you have to be careful not to talk about something they didn’t actually tell you, but that you learned from Facebook stalking their profile.

The Good : Self Esteem boost from hundreds of birthday greetings The Bad: Feeling guilty for not logging on to FB on one of your friends birthdays and wishing them a happy birthday on the right day The Ugly: Facebooking a happy birthday remark that is a little more detailed than most of their wall comments instead of actually calling your cousin on their special day

The Good : The ability to sound more community and politically minded or “in the know” by copying repost statuses The Bad: Offending half of your friends by posting something a little edgy The Ugly: Finding out you reposted a hoax or propaganda

The Good : Keeping up with all of your “real life” friends The Bad: reading every insignificant detail of their daily life The Ugly: Having a conversation about every single insignificant detail because by the time you see each other, there’s nothing left to talk about

The Good : Being able to communicate effectively with a group of friends about your party, group meeting, or grand opening events The Bad: Someone shows up to the event whom you barely know or recognize and you have to pretend you are long lost friends The Ugly: Someone you actually KNOW sees the event info between mutual friend statuses and wonders why they were not invited to join

The Good : You can keep a great conversation going without interrupting your regular schedule The Bad: Any mutual friend can offer their two cents whenever they like The Ugly: You don’t really know how to wrap the convo up, so you just comment with “lol”

The Good : You don’t have to wait for your friend to get you the double prints of photos from your trip because once you are tagged, you have your copies The Bad: You do not get to prescreen the photos and weed out the uglies before you are tagged The Ugly: people tag you in photos completely unrelated to you so if you don’t catch it and your friends are looking through your photos, they find some chick who either looks like a porn star, phsyco or just a photo of a random planking monkey

The Good : An opportunistic outlet to speak your mind or rant about how you were wronged The Bad: Everyone who sees your rant quietly thinks you need to update your prescription and get over it The Ugly: You misspell half the words in your rant about how much smarter you are than the person who wronged you.

The Good : You always know what’s going on around town The Bad: you see your friend or sibling check in at the mall after turning down your request to help you with a project because they are at too sick to leave home The Ugly: You comment on their check in to ask about the new doctor’s office in the mall

I’d love to continue this all day, but I gotta go check my Facebook.  It seems that I have been looped in to a 3 month long Poke war with a friend who just doesn't know how to give up!!  No really, we don't know how to end it...it just keeps going!  So help a girl out and continue my list in comments below.

Lobsters, Shared Toilets and Stairs – Oh My!

So my parents recently returned from a trip to New England, Portsmouth to be exact. I stopped by their house on Monday morning to get a free cup of coffee visit for a while. Up until that day, the only news I had received from their trip was my mom’s random calls from New Hampshire.

Me: Hello?

Mom: Abby! You HAVE to see this BEAUTIFUL car we rented! It’s a Crown Vic. We are riding in style girl! The scenery is so beautiful here! And the Crown Vic has leather, and lots of cup holders, GPS…

Me: So I take it you arrived safely?

Mom: And it has the climate control too! Such a nice car. Crown VIC.

Me: Okay, have fun mom! I gotta go! Love you!

Mom: Oh, Abby, I wanted to ask you something…ummm..what was it I was gonna ask you?

Me: I don't know, mom.

Dad: (barely audible in the background) Joji, get off that phone and tell me where the next turn is on that map there!

Mom: Charles! Just listen to the GPS

Dad: I can’t understand what that thing is talking about! Just look at the map!

disconnected

So anyway...back to the coffee conversation.  I asked my dad how his trip went and he began describing basically the parts that were important to him.

Dad: Your mom must’ve ate lobster for every single meal. She can EAT some lobster. She put them things away like they was crawfish. We was at this one restaurant where they had them 1.5 pound lobsters. An your momma tells the waiter, ‘Ooooooo the lobster is only $12?! I’ll have TWO!’ They looked at her like she had T-total lost her mind, ya know. Cuz normally people only eat one.

Me: Yeah I know. So besides eating lobster, what all did you guys do?

Dad: Well, your momma wanted to stay at one of them bread and breakfasts.

Me: I’m pretty sure it’s called a BED and breakfast, Dad.

Dad: Well, whatever it is, them things ain’t nice at all. First of all, they have these narrow, steep old staircases. An’ you have to haul ALL your luggage to the 3rd floor. But worse than that, they only got ONE BATHROOM for three guest rooms. You have to knock on the door to make sure nobody is in there. An’ lemme tell ya, you can FORGET going to the bathroom in your underwear in the middle of the night. You have to get fully dressed just to take a piss in the middle of the night! Now that’s just ridiculous! I wouldn’t stay in one uh them bread and breakfasts again for all the tea in china. They’re for suckers.

Me: Is that it?

Dad: Yeah, pretty much. We mostly just drove around lookin’ for more lobster.

Yeah, my parents will not be writing for travel book companies any time soon.