Parental Emojis

The new phenomenon of adults using emojis is just cracking me up and makes me smile each time I see it happen. I think the moment someone over the age of 60 gets their hands on the idea that they can use them, a new world is opened up. No longer do they have to call us and tell us they are happy that the price of gas went down. They can do blow kisses and smiles. They don’t have to tell us how disappointed they are that Rizzoli and Isles is canceled. All they have to do is an unhappy face.

What makes it even funnier is the random symbols. Like when I am told they are going to a movie and after is a whale, a penguin and a hot dog. Makes absolutely no sense and it’s hilarious.

I often wonder what will be the thing that the kids and young adults laugh at me about when I’m in my 60s. Will it be not knowing how to scan my eyeball correctly at the grocery line to pay for my food? Or how to reverse into a parking spot in my flying car using the flyzone app on my iphone 67c?



Blue Light Special

This past month I was stopped by the cops twice in one week. I mean it makes sense since I drive over two hours a day and I don’t know how I am supposed to keep the speed limits on all of these roads. If I did, it would take at least another 15 minutes each day and I would most likely piss off a lot of people.

When I get stopped (and I’ve been stopped a few times in my life), I can only think of maybe one time I’ve gotten a ticket and honestly, I actually don’t really remember that but I must have gotten a ticket at some point.

The thing I’ve learned is that when you are stopped by the cops, just be yourself. And what does that mean for me? It means be funny, sarcastic, busy and indifferent.

One time a long time ago on my way to work on my first day at the job I was stopped for going 80 on the highway (who doesn’t do that??).
Cop: “Do you want a $250 ticket?”
Me: “No.”
Cop: “Then go slower.”
*He didn’t even ask for my registration and license.

Another time I was stopped for going through a yellow light.
Cop: “License and registration”
Me: “Here you go.”
Cop (seeing paperwork in the back from MSPCA “Oh you love animals. I won’t give you a ticket.”

Or how about the last time
Cop: “Any reason you were going fast.”
Me (trying to come with something to say really quick): “No. Not at all.”
Cop: Here’s a warning.

Or the time I got stopped for doing an illegal U-turn and not having my headlights on. It was so bright at the gas station that I didn’t realize they weren’t on when I left.
Cop: “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
Me: “Doing the U-turn.”
Cop: “That and the light.”
Me: “Oh crap.”
Cop: “Be safe. I worry about girls your age. I have a daughter your age.”
*No ticket.

So whatever I am doing is working for me.

Halfway There

Today marks my official halfway mark of the year to 40. I still don’t know how this happened. I remember being 17 like it was yesterday. I remember thinking 40 was so old and that it would be forever until I got there. And now that I know time goes so fast, I can honestly say that I am almost 60!  Ok, ok, maybe that is extreme but you know what I mean.

Today is the big 39.5. I think there should be a card for that. While I am not thrilled at turning 40 and anytime I say this to someone who has already turned 40 they say “it’s not a big deal”, it still seems that way for me. I remember my mom’s 40th birthday!! She got a new diamond ring and I remember the photo that she took with it.

So for the next six months, I’m determined to do a bunch of things I wanted to do before I turned 40. Not that I haven’t done a bunch of really really cool things up until now but still, I might as well have a goal for the next few months. Now obviously, some of the things that WERE on my list are pretty much not going to happen. For example, birth a child or go on an African safari. Mainly because it would be physically impossible for me to birth a baby in six months and it would take me at least a year to actually plan a trip that amazing.

So here is a list of things that I would like to accomplish. If I do just a few I will be happy because I am sure there will be plenty of others added:

  • Plan a huge 40th birthday bash. I’m talking big. Like I want 200 people there and I don’t even care if I know those people. I want people from my past there even if we haven’t talked and really I can’t stand you now. I want people from my present (you too Kevin**) and I want people in my future to come even if I don’t know who they are going to be there. God dammit, I want Leonardo DiCaprio to come! I have gone to so many weddings and baby showers (ok not baby showers because I usually find an excuse on those) and engagement parties (again, I really haven’t had to go to those either). But weddings, bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, anniversary parties, kids birthday parties, adult birthday parties,….I have had to go to a lot of those. And I have had to give lots of gifts and put lots of cards on my fridge and look at lots of photos on Facebook of all these events. And I haven’t had a wedding or a shower or anything of this kind so it’s my turn, people. It’s my turn! I want more presents than I can possibly open in one day. I want people to come from everywhere just to come to my party. I want my invite on people’s fridges for three months so every time they go in for their hummus they think of me. Is that asking too much?
  • I want to see a baby animal being born. Preferably a puppy or a calf. I do not want to assist. I just want to watch.
  • I want to go to Charleston, South Carolina
  • I want to watch the entire series of The Wire
  • I want to read at least ten books
  • I want to make homemade pasta*(see below)
  • I want to fix my *KitchenAid mixer (I’ve said this for over three years)
  • I want to write three chapters of my book
  • I want to send two letters from people in my past just saying hi. The ones who would never expect something from me (even if they end up throwing it in the trash). I mean, they are going to get my save the date too anyway so they can get used to my correspondence.

    (**Kevin’s half birthday is also today.)

Home is where the heart is

This past weekend really set in a reality for me. My parents are putting their house on the market and in just a few weeks it will no longer by our home. After over 33 years, this is hard. Really hard. I knew this day would come and I knew that I would have to kind of put the thought in the back of my brain where my subconscious will only be able to find it in dreams that I will forget that second I wake up.

I can’t imagine another family living in my house. The house I’ve known since I was 7. The house that has all kinds of memories. In a way I always thought I would buy the house and live their with my family. When I realized I probably wasn’t going to do that, I thought for sure that my kids would be able to go visit grandma and grandpa in the house and I could show them all the areas where I grew up and experiences I had.

But now, all I will have are my memories and any photos that I take. Years ago, the house was fully renovated so it’s not like I am saying goodbye to the way it used to be. More, I am saying goodbye to the place that has always been my place of comfort. The place where I could swear there was a pipe with triptophen being pumped throughout because every time I would come home, I would instantly take a nap.

It’s hard to list the memories I have but when my kids do ask me, here are some of the things I will show them in pictures:

The basement where I played school with my teacher edition books filled with red type. Where I would spend countless hours talking to myself and pretending to be the student and the teacher. Where we would do math and science and gym class. The place where I once heard the buzzing of a bumble bee and I ran upstairs to ask my mom if there was a bee on me and screamed louder than I ever heard her. The place where the handsaw was kept that A once used as a joke when I got my finger stuck in my sister’s toy trumpet. He pretended he was going to saw my finger off and I ran away. The place our cat, Julie would hide for hours because she was afraid of the dog.

The top of the staircase where I would listen to parents talk about me after a fight or a temper tantrum that I had. Where they would discuss my father or the fact that I needed therapy or what they were going to do with me. I would be as quiet as I could so they didn’t know I was listening but I am sure they did anyway.

The front door where we would call our dog Chumley after he ran away and get him back by peeling off the plastic on a piece of American cheese. Worked like a charm each time.

The driveway where our cars would always get stuck in the snow in the winter. We had to drive to the top of the driveway across the street and slam on the gas to make it to the top of ours. Or the countless number of hours it took us to shovel after each storm and how the snowplow would come by just as we were finished. But how fun it was to go back into the house and have hot chocolate to warm up.

The backyard where I buried my goldfish blackey, whitey, spot and goldie (I bet you can’t guess their colors) near the shed which I was always afraid to open. Or where the wooden swing set was that I swung on for hours or the white hammock we would play on. Or where my parroquet Larry was thrown into the woods after my cat gave him a heart attack.

Or the place I would keep the hidden key in the garage because for 33 years I have never had an actual key to the house. Where my mom drove through the garage door not once, but twice because she was distracted and it took everything for me not to laugh my ass off (which didn’t work because I did anyway).

My bedroom where I would cry for hours when my junior high and high school friends ditched me on New Year’s Eve and I had to sit alone. Part of the reason to this day I still don’t really love that holiday and it reminds me of loneliness.

The front yard where I used to climb the big tree and practice my fancy gymnastic moves on the front yard to impress the neighbors. Or where I was found by my parents locked out of the house when my older sister and her friend were playing hide and seek with me and they never came out so I couldn’t find them. And how my mom was so mad that my sister was grounded.

Or the kitchen where we would eat dinner every night as a family believe it or not. Without TV! In fact, the TV was turned off if it was on which made us all talk to each other and where I think I developed my complete and udder revolting sound of listening to chewing. Where we would either be laughing or yelling. Where A. once put my head in a plate of spaghetti after I told him to shut up. I love spaghetti so that really isn’t a punishment. Where we would have dessert each night and it was usually always ice cream and I would whip it up and call it witch’s stew.

I won’t be able to actually show my kids these things and the hundreds of more memories that I have but I can show them photos and give them the three thousand pounds of letters and cards that I have saved over the years. And they can put those bins in my basement so in 20 years, I can say to them “Are you ever going to take your bins out of my basement??”

Friends with benefits

Do you ever meet someone and just instantly want to become friends but you have no idea how to become that person’s friend or it would just be weird asking after awhile. I feel that way about my massage therapist. She is so cool and I know we would be friends. She is about ten years younger than me but she is just so sweet and mellow and interesting.

I go every 3-4 weeks now for a 90 minute massage because it feels amazing but also I think it is really helping my back. Anyway last night I scheduled a massage on May 5, which is my half birthday but also Cinco de Mayo. I was like “yay you can celebrate my half birthday with me” and then it took everything for me not to be like “want to go get a margarita after?” Not that she would think it was weird and she would probably love to be my friend, but maybe after pounding on my body for 90 minutes, a margarita would be weird? I don’t know.

Thank god I’ve never wanted to be friends with my gynecologist!


It’s a dying shame


Sometimes bad things bring out the worst in people. Sometimes bad brings out the best in people. Same thing goes for the good.

In this case, I think bad is actually bringing out the best in my dad. He has never been an emotional person and we have never had conversations that require feelings. I tried that when I was younger and I would always end up crying and being so disappointed. Every year for Valentine’s Day instead of candy or chocolate or a card my dad would give me an 8×10 portrait of himself that I think he got from work and I remember vividly one year writing all over it “i love my dad more than anyone else in the world. i want to live with him.” I mean that’s pretty typical for kids with divorced parents I think. There are always times when kids blame whoever it is that is living with them and want to be somewhere else. But my wicked stepmother wouldn’t let me. She would only let me come visit during the times the divorce agreement said I could, which was two weekends per month. Never more. So alas, after awhile I began to realize that writing all over a photo wouldn’t change anything and I wouldn’t be living with him.

And the emotional conversations stopped quicker and quicker when I realized that no matter how I felt, that woman had some sort of power over the situation and my feelings were irrelevant. I became the “selfish daughter” “the needy daughter” “the daughter who wanted his money” when really I was just the daughter who wanted love and attention and yes, a new pair of shoes every now and then.

So now that she is dying, it’s the first time in my life I have seen my dad as a human with emotions and I think he might actually have them and have rational thoughts. And he can feel things like sadness and express those feelings to me. And while those feelings must be so hard for him, we all go through them and I am glad to know that half my DNA may not actually be made of stone.

So when she does die, I’ll be there to support the best I can. Not for her. But for him. Because there was a time in my life all I wanted was his love and I think somewhere in a pile of things, I might still have that black and white photo to prove it. But I think I remember ripping that one up when the stepmother wouldn’t let my dad pay for a medical procedure I wanted because she didn’t think it was needed. And by all means, she knew best.


Car Thoughts #4763

The other day there was a car in front of me that had a Sig Sauer bumper sticker. He stopped short so I had to stop short. That got me thinking and wondering about whether he had a gun in his car. If he had a gun in his car, where does he put it? And if the gun for some reason was in the backseat and I hit him and the gun went off and killed him, would I be charged with second degree murder?

Years ago when I had a job I hated, I would apply to anything I could find. I remember applying to this company and telling them how interested I was in that marketing position. It would have been like jury duty during that interview.

Interviewer: “How do you feel about guns?”
Me: “I hate them.”
Interviewer: “Thanks for coming in. You are exempt from this position. You won’t be validated for your parking.”