Friday, May 29, 2009

Top 10 Requirements for Dating My Sons

  1. Please do not call my house 10 times a day, giggle...and hang up. It irritates me, and feeds his over developed male ego.
  2. When you are in my home, I have a very strict 5 times use of the word "like"....unless used properly in a sentence, of course.
  3. Please repect my son if he says "no". Then let me know, so that I can call the local news to let them know that hell has frozen over.
  4. If he doesn't open the door for you, don't get in the car.
  5. If he tells you that he loves you, while in the front seat of the car (that I pay for)....remember this....he said the same thing to me when he wanted me to buy him his own car. I didn't fall for it, and neither should you.
  6. If I am not in my home, then I did not invite you in.....therefore you shouldn't be there.
  7. Please scrape the top three layers of make-up off of your face....that's not where they are looking, anyway.
  8. I am getting older, so my memory is not as good as it used to be. So, once I get used to referring to you as Jonas’s girlfriend, please do not make me have to remember that you are now Nathan's girlfriend.
  9. Know this, he will NEVER put the seat down....I tried, I am truly sorry.
  10. I have raised my son to love and respect women who love and respect themselves. If he forgets, I will be right there to remind him...with my foot.

It Takes a Village

Witty catch phrases have become the cornerstone for morality in this country, of late. We sling them around on a nearly daily basis. “It takes a village”, has become the mantra for every underachieving parent in this country. Its connotation alone denotes apathy toward responsibility. In simple terms, the translation of this phrase is heard in the minds of mothers and fathers, is “it is not just my responsibility to raise my own children, but society’s as well. Therefore, if I succeed, it will be my success, and if I fail, it will be their failure.” This mentality is single-handedly unraveling the core of the family unit.

When one takes the time to look deeper than the surface of a catch phrase, the truth is revealed. A very simple test of this theory can be accomplished, as follows. The only thing required to examine this premise, is a middle, to upper middle class, married, suburban mother of a child ten years of age, or older. Sit down with her, and ask her the following question. “How many phone numbers are contained in your child’s cell phone, and what are their names?” Now, the choice of this question is very important. The answer is profoundly symbolic of how mothers have skirted their responsibility in regard to their children.

I will state the most obvious point first. A ten year old child should not have possession of a cell phone. Where would a ten year old child be long enough, and without supervision, that they require a cell phone ‘in case of an emergency’? The second point you will address will be the apparent lack of knowledge of the information contained within the cell phone. For example, who are the people that your child converses with on a regular basis? Well, thanks to the “village”, we have cell phone “family plans” that are less expensive than individual accounts. This can be a tool for monitoring your child, if you have the proper plan to do so, use it effectively, and actually know who the people are who are listed on the bill. So, if you already have to go through all of the nonsense of looking at the bill online, and checking up on your child, don’t you think that it may better serve to actually spend that time conversing with your child yourself? You can also converse with your child’s friends and their parents without the cell phone ever being in the hands of your child.

Now, you may find this to be fairly nit picky, however, the big picture is very important. This is the message that is being sent to the child, “I am too busy to be concerned about your safety, so I am going to hand you a tool that will inevitably become the largest threat to your safety.” Now, here is where the “village”comes in to play. We can now conference call with three different mothers to arrange carpools, play dates, and pick up times. Then, the most important phone call involved, the one to the child. So, this begs the question, who is physically present with the child? I will answer. It is whoever is operating the activity for the children. Now, I ask you, without that cell phone, what are the other options? The answer is simple, making your child your first priority. The age old idea of making sure that you, as a mother, are present at the end of every football practice. The idea that you, as a mother, are aware of what time, location, and activity your child is participating in, because you have seen it with your own eyes. The idea that you, as a mother, care enough to protect them even from themselves, is one that should be passed on through the generations. Somehow, somewhere, we have lost that idea.

So, now you are thinking, what does this have to do with “it takes a village”? Well, it is very simple. That phrase creates a “pack mentality”. We now have packs of den mothers, each shirking their responsibility onto another. We arm our children with these mobile communication devices, because it justifies the “pack mentality”. In very simple terms, it is a false sense of security, and when it fails, there are other members of the pack that will take the blame. I will ask, at this point, “Are you that member?” I want you to take a minute to answer that question for yourself. You see, it is not the responsibility of the village to raise your child. Let me say that again, it is not the responsibility of the village to raise your child.

The responsibility of the village is to each raise their own child, and to provide a safe and secure environment at home before sending them off to meet the villagers. That same concept applies to that tool that you have armed your child with. It is your responsibility to be aware of who your child is speaking with, and how often. It is your responsibility to protect your child from predators that can now access your child via a method of communication that you provided them. It is your responsibility to know who your child is with, at all times.

A village is comprised of individuals. Once we adopt a pack mentality, individual responsibility becomes more and more obsolete. A mechanical device in the hand of a child is not a tool for their safety, it is a tool for your neglect. The excuses for this behavior are vast, and ridiculous. In this world of both parents working, to support a lifestyle beyond the necessity of the child, we revel in our own greed and selfishness. We have become parents of consumer driven drones. We are in a race to see who can collect the most over priced material items. We spoil our children with material possessions to justify the absence of our presence in their lives. Now folks, that is your village. So, I will ask you one more time, do you really want the village raising your child?

Take this time to stop, and think. I want you to think about the times you have made excuses for your own, and your child’s behavior. I want you to think about your responsibility within the village. This is what needs to be understood. The term “It takes a village” means that we, as parents and members of society are the village. It is not an intangible force that you can call on when you fail at being a functional member. So please, take the cell phones away, unplug the video games, cook a meal that doesn’t come out of a can, or a bag, and sit down with your child. Talk to them, find out who they are. The phone can ring, and your emails will still be waiting when you are finished. If you do, you may very well uncover the next village warrior. A warrior full of strength, pride, and determination. You can of course, not heed this warning, and go about the status quo, after all, every village has warriors, leaders, followers, and fools. Which one would you like your child to be?

I Have a Theory

I have a theory. I firmly believe that once every five years, every person in this country should be required to work one week in the retail or food service fields. I don’t mean stocking shelves, taking inventory or washing dishes. I mean working directly with the general public, at large. At some point, most of us have had that experience in our youth. If you have not, then I am fairly sure that I have met you, or dealt with people like you. For those of you who have had this experience, how quickly you forget.

For several years, I was employed by a small local garden center. During the difficult financial times, I would work day shift at the garden center, and night shift as a waitress in a local bar. I would like you to listen to the following story about one day in my life, and then I have a question for you.

My day began with “the coupon lady”. You know who I am talking about. She holds up the line for ten minutes looking through her enormous purse, searching for that expired coupon. I just want to know what part of “expiration date” it is that people don’t understand. This, of course, spawns a five minute long argument about why I cannot accept a coupon that expired three months ago. People, pay attention now, this is not like the fine print on your credit card agreement. It is printed very visibly so that you are aware that it will expire. It is not there just to try to “trick you”. We mean it. There is no loophole, or hidden agenda. It is simply just a date that means that you can’t use it anymore!

Just at the point that I was beginning to recover from the coupon lady, in walks the “I know that it was MY fault that the product that I purchased failed, but I am going to return it, throw a tantrum, lie and generally ruin your day” lady. Now remember, this is a garden center. We sold live plants. Well, at least that is how they left our store. This lady repeatedly tried to convince me that the plant that she had purchased died because WE didn’t inform her that she had to take it out of the heavy black plastic pot before she planted it. How do you argue with that kind of logic?

Immediately following the joy of her company, in strolled the cherry on the sundae of my day. I affectionately refer to her as a “serial complainer”. I know this because she began screaming and complaining before she even got close enough for me to smell her overpowering cheap perfume. She has her performance perfected into a skilled art. Her M.O. is to attempt to intimidate whomever is unlucky enough to be her targeted victim. Today there was a fatal flaw in her plan. That flaw was me.

After her performance, which included many aggressive hand gestures and sneers, I had a pretty good idea of what she was after. Basically she wanted the cost of her plant reduced because we did not have “exactly what she was looking for”. What she did not know, was that I had the power to grant her request at my discretion as a customer service. So after her repeated insults and nasty innuendos, something funny struck me, and I could not help myself. I said, “Excuse me ma’am, but do you have any idea how many boogers you have eaten over the years?” Her expression was priceless. She was frozen like a deer trapped in oncoming headlights. She replied is her usual snarky tone, “EXCUSE ME? WHAT is THAT supposed to mean?” So, I explained it to her this way, “Ma’am, you are one of those people that complain and yell at your waitress BEFORE you get your food, aren’t you? So, I ask you again, do you have any idea how many boogers you have eaten over the years?” She demanded to see the manager. I gave her more bad news. I was the manager. She briefly stuttered a few more insults and stormed out the door. I still wonder, years later, if that woman thinks of my words whenever she looks at the meal placed in front of her by the waitress with the suspicious smile.

As my day at the garden center was winding down, it was time to begin my shift at the local bar. It was a typical night of fending off unwanted advances, and dodging the staggering drink sloshers. It was typical, that is, until the local Don Juan in his polyester Hawaiian print shirt ordered a flaming shot. For those of you who do not know, that is a shot that is literally lit on fire. He proceeded to spill it all over his highly flammable fashion statement, thus lighting himself on fire. In a matter of moments, a man who could barely speak or walk a straight line, was stark naked in the middle of a crowded bar. His animal print underwear really did clash with his Hawaiian print shirt, by the way.

That night was the end of my waitressing career. I turned in my apron, and realized that there was no way that they paid me enough to deal with that after working a twelve hour shift at another job. Now, here comes the question that I would like you to answer. If you bear any resemblance to any of the unsavory people that I just mentioned, I have to ask you this. Do YOU have any idea how many boogers that you have eaten over the years?

Fireworks!

There are moments in life when you just have to stop and ask yourself, “What was I thinking?” I experienced one of those moments last July fourth. One could easily say that this was a comedy of errors that could have carried dire consequences. Luckily, only one man truly suffered. My poor neighbor committed the worst offense possible. He said to his wife, (who was six months pregnant) “Everything will be fine, I know what I am doing!” Then he did something so, typical.

Every year, this poor man buys hundreds of dollars worth of illegal fireworks. He lights them off during his annual July fourth cook out that is held in his backyard. We always have a great time, and he has a huge turnout. This year was no exception. He approached me and explained that his backyard held too many people and that his wife was “getting all paranoid” about the fireworks being lit off. I can’t imagine why! Her brother is missing his thumb from the infamous “M80 incident” when he was a teen. So, he asked me if he could light them off in my yard so that they were farther away from the tent and guests.

Here is that moment, folks! Like a fool, I said, “Yes.” Do you know how you just feel a bad thing coming in the pit of your stomach? Well, I just chalked it up to eating too much potato salad. I was wrong. Everything went well, until I breathed a sigh of relief as he lit off the grand finale. There were five large mortars set up on a board in the grass. He lit all five at once. The blast of the first one tipped the board, aiming the remaining four at my family room window. Needless to say, the “grand finale” went off in my family room. That is, of course, after they blew through my brand new window. Then there was the astute observation of my one inebriated neighbors who said, “WOW! That wudda have been rully cool if the blinds weren’t down!” The other, slightly less inebriated fools thought that they could put the fire out with a garden hose. Too bad it was about seventy five feet too short! Luckily, one man had the presence of mind to grab the sofa cushions that were on fire and take them outside.

That’s right, as luck would have it, all that I lost was a fifteen year old sofa and an insured window. My neighbor, on the other hand, lost much more than that. When I arrived home from work the following day, I saw my window boarded up, and lovingly wrapped in clear plastic. Then there was an even more pitiful sight than that. My neighbor was on his hands and knees picking up every single minuscule piece of paper from my yard. Anyone who has lit off fireworks knows the mess that they make, and he had lit enough to consume three hours of entertainment. His wife stood over him with her arms folded and planted firmly on her ample belly. The look on her face, as she pointed to every piece of paper that he had missed, could run a man’s blood cold. I looked at his dejected demeanor, and I realized that he had lost more than just his pride that day. He had lost the ability to ever win another argument with his wife. I think that, all things considered, my damage was much less than his.

There is a lesson here for all those who want to hear it. The phrase “famous last words” didn’t come about accidentally. That man will remember those words for the rest of his married life. I have only one piece of advice for him. You better buck up honey, it is going to be a very long forty or fifty years!

Given a Choice

How many lashings
How much anguish
before the collapsing
inevitable vanquish

One holds the course steady
using the pain as as her flight
for those who are ready
to follow the night

The darkness conceals the wounds that are there
allowing the path to take a new turn
the peaceful embrace when heart is aware
with every new cut, a lesson is learned.

To lash out in anger, holds no relief
to love and be kind
binds all her grief
pain becomes peace, then heals her mind

a lifetime of bearing pain from the start
can become toxic infection
it can callous the heart
or become resurrection

given a choice between pain and malaise
her choice will be clear
through the choking gray haze
life's lessons appear.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

FOOTBALL ANNOUNCERS!!!!!!

I am watching the Super Bowl, and what do I hear???
FOOTBALL ANNOUNCERS!!!!!!

Ok, the qualifications of this job are? here are my guesses...
– you must be able to drone on endlessly without catching your breath....
– all the while being very deft at not tripping over the ramblings of the shmuck next to you....
– you must be able to interject conjured excitement, even though you really could not give a
damn who wins...
– you must be able to ALMOST pronounce the player's last names...
BUT this one is my favorite...
– YOU MUST HAVE A GIFT FOR STATING THE OBVIOUS...

for example...
“look at that Jim, it looks like the ball slipped out, and caused an accidental fumble!!!!”... ummm, is there any other kind?

“Well, here's what they are gonna wanna do here, either move the football up the middle, or along the sides...”
really? not backwards... you sure?

“Ok, it looks like they are going to do one of two things, either pass the football down the field, or hand it off...”
you sure they don't want to just hold it?

“Now, what the defense wants to do here, is stop forward momentum...”
hence the term DEFENSE......geesh

“One of these two teams will be the winner....” WOW!

“Now their goal here, is to continue to move the chains forward...”
ok, even they know this one is stupid, so they try to hide it with chains, and not BALL!

“He's gonna wanna get into the endzone on this next play....”
after all, that IS how you get the most points... right?

“They are gonna want to get good field position on this kickoff return...”
hey, you don't know that, maybe they like a challenge

“they are really going to need to limit the amount of penalties in this game...”
again...obvious self explanatory terminology here

“he's gonna want to make sure he kicks that ball through the uprights, here...”
seriously?...it's not just a performance, void of point value?

Ok...so...hold on...I heard this one... just now.
“oh, he's going to regret throwing that interception there...”

HAHAHAHAHAHHAH!!!!!!!! GO STEELERS!!!!!