humor

Open Letter to my favorite Ex-Vice President

April 8, 2014 By Barbara 1 Comment

Dear Mr. Gore,

I’m writing to you today because I have this blog and your name just popped into my head. I read that your chokra hasn’t been working lately. Perhaps your friend Mr. DiCaprio can give you some pointers or at least loan you some of his extra viagra. I hear he was strutting his chokra a lot in his new movie about a wolf in New York City. I didn’t see it because it looked stupid and besides I couldn’t afford the exorbitant ticket fee. I have to pay my taxes.

Most people probably don’t thank you enough for all you do, sir. Flying hither and yon around the world, leaving a jumbo jet-sized carbon footprint, but obviously giving back to the smog-choked throngs below with your servant attitude by tossing out your sound-bites of wisdom about saving the planet for the next generation by not driving cars but instead taking the bus. So thank you, from the bottom of my carbon-coated heart.

I won’t bring up the silly Global Warming thing, cause I know you’ve heard from those nasty anti-believing peons too many times already. How dare they attack your theory about the ice caps melting by last year! Who are they to disprove such genius science? You have all the biggest and best experts backing you up and until temperatures drop below zero for days and days on end, the Minnesota governor actually cancels school for fear that some child’s extremities will crack off waiting for the bus, and the ice is so thick on the lakes that fishermen can’t drill through, then I… never mind.

Now that the weather is tamer and weathermen have gone back to light-hearted joking and making shadow puppets on their green boards, we slowly unthaw here in Minnesota and commence trekking to the bus stop in water-logged shoes and hanging our laundry out to grow stiff on the line. Because that’s what the little people without jets and limos and mansions do to save energy for you, Mr. Gore. Rest easy in your imported Italian leather recliner while you read the news on your seventy-five inch movie screen by the dim glow of 4000 Watts of energy-saving curly fluorescent bulbs.

We are as green as gourds here in Minnesota! We despise plastic bags, electricity, and running water. Save a Wolf, drink a Caribou. That’s our state motto. I don’t know what it means, but I think it has something to do with coffee.

I agree with you that it is totally unfair that Mr. Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize when you are the one who has worked tirelessly in pursuit of recognition for… something. Anything!

Mr. Gore, you have been an inspiration to me ever since you tried to kiss your wife on national television during one of those presidential campaigns. You didn’t even care that you looked like a cardboard cutout of a guy who’d been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in. You just did what came natural and forced yourself on a woman who apparently didn’t really like you even then. But it all worked out, right? Now that she’s the ex. At least you don’t have to pretend anymore.

I know you still won’t concede on the presidential thing. Obviously, you were a strong-willed child, cause that stubborn, poochie-lip, streak in your character is still waging war with reality. Sadly, Mr. Bush did win and he did become president despite your refusal to acknowledge the obvious. But you can always take pride in the fact that you suffered your shame behind open doors… and a very bushy beard that would have competed pretty well against those duck dynasty guys if they’d been around back then. You might have even gotten on their show as an extra.

Well, I must close this missive for now. I’m truly thankful for all you’ve done for our country… wait, what did you do?

Until the next time I see you on national television at the UN promoting some “green” company that you have money invested in…

Your devoted fan,

Barbara

Barbie’s getting her groove back

February 18, 2014 By Barbara 2 Comments

If you only know me from my twitter picture you probably haven’t noticed, but the past year or so has not been kind to my physique. I’d like to say that it was on account of my last pregnancy, but since my daughter was born twenty-six years ago… Actually, too much of my favorite things took me down the road to Spreadsville. Not a town I enjoyed living in. So I decided to do something about it… besides cry in my Dairy Queen Blizzard.

Going into my fifth week of Venus Factor workouts and calorie counting is definitely giving me results. I feel the inches slowly melting away like that pile of snow outside on this 40º day.

I’d be the first to say that it’s hard. A lot harder than putting ON the pounds. But every day I feel a little bit of accomplishment and I’m definitely seeing a thinner me.

Shrinking boobs–not to be confused with shrinking violets–is a sure sign that I’m losing weight. When I look in the mirror and find that my bra is no longer overflowing, I rejoice. Given that I’ve never had silicone shoved into my chest, I’m thrilled at the change. Because everyone knows that skinny girls do not have boobs. Unlike the original Barbie, which was apparently the model for all Hollywood plastic surgeons in the past thirty years.

I have a ways to go, but along this journey I have learned a few things:

Warning: When on a diet, avoid all food-scented products. Strawberry kiwi shaving gel and Almond Joy lip balm are not a good idea when you are sugar deprived and coming down off a chocolate high. Inedible calories are not worth biting into a bar of soap. It may stop your children’s filthy mouths but it will most definitely NOT stop yours when this happens.

McDonalds is not the main culprit for America’s obesity problem. It’s actually Chili’s. There is NOTHING that you can eat there under a billion fat grams. Trust me. The salads are more fattening than pound cake. (Obviously why I love it so…)

A treadmill, once thought to be a good place to hang things from, is actually a wonderful tool for burning calories. Who’d have thunk it? It also lets me multitask, combining the thing I love most –reading – with something I don’t love quite so much – exercise. But I do love my nook.

When on an exercise ball… don’t fall off. Especially if you have hand weights sitting on the floor nearby. Can you say concussion?

Balance is something that can be learned again. Just don’t let go of the wall until you’ve learned it. And don’t fall on the exercise ball. Can you say bounce, drop, and smack?

When choosing low calorie, high protein foods, don’t shop in the cookie aisle. Or the baking aisle. Or the deli aisle. In fact, it’s best if you just stay home and send someone else to the store.

ps. keep lots of this on hand>>>>>>

Barbara

Stretching the truth

February 1, 2014 By Barbara 4 Comments

It’s threatening to snow out… again. So, to get my mind off the cursed weather and harsh reality that I will be out snow-blowing and shoveling soon – (my husband very thoughtfully had back surgery recently) – I thought I’d write a blog.

When I was growing up, we lived mostly on the West Coast. Not along the coast but more in the desert climate. So the weather was never very harsh or snowy. We had snow, but my father’s childhood “stories” of ten foot drifts did not materialize for us no matter how hard we prayed.

So snowy we aren't even wearing our coats. — So snowy we aren’t even wearing our coats.

This got me thinking about how we tend to glamorize, exaggerate, or sometimes downplay a past experience to make it more palatable or exciting.

My grandmother once told me that when their family of six was very young, they lived in a tiny mobile trailer that was so small… “if you cursed the cat you’d get a mouthful of fur.”

My husband likes to tell our kids that we were so poor when we first got married we had to dig through the couch cushions for enough change just to buy milk. Okay, maybe we did that once, but not on a continuing basis. The couch wasn’t exactly a money tree. We had to actually drop money out of our pockets when we sat down. Sadly, it didn’t produce money on its own. So if we didn’t have money for milk to begin with… rickets.

My mom tells a story from her childhood where “evil” neighbor boys talked her into getting on a horse and then took off galloping across the field so her horse would follow, nearly sending her to her death. Being that she was already frightened of horses because her mother had told her the terrifying story about her aunt being nearly trampled to death as a toddler, I think those boys could have walked the horses and she would have thought she was going to die.

I know for a fact that parents often tell young children things that may be stretching the truth just a bit, in order to get them to follow direction.

When I was in kindergarten, before the invention of Elmer’s glue sticks, we had paste. Containers of thick, sticky gunk left in the hands of five-year-olds was probably never a wise idea, but some kids took it to the next level. They didn’t just wipe it all over things they

This kindergartener would never eat paste. Ick!

shouldn’t; they ate the stuff. Why??? you may ask. Didn’t they have a government-funded hot lunch program? Of course they did. We lived in California, after all. The reason some children chose this path will forever be shrouded in mystery. Or as the owl on the Tootsie Pop commercial said, “the world may never know.” To stop a bad habit before it started, my mom told me to just say no to paste because it was made from dead horses and cow hoofs. My grandpa had an old horse that had died recently. I certainly didn’t want to be eating ol’ Bessy. But more than that, I just didn’t want to be as stupid as kids who did. Of course I wasn’t supposed to say stupid either. Some bad paths cannot be altered.

When my children were young and started thinking they should have a cushy ride through life, I nipped that dream in the bud. They asked for the crust to be cut off their sandwiches. I told them I couldn’t do that because the crust was where the vitamins were and if they wanted to survive childhood, they would eat it.

I also told my children that I suffered excruciating labor pain to bring them into this world and give them life… but that’s totally true of course. And they owe me big time.

Do you have a story that you’ve been told or that you tell, that may not be “totally” accurate? Come on… share it. We won’t tell anyone.

Spinal Vortex

January 12, 2014 By Barbara 4 Comments

This year has started off with a bang, or rather, a blast of air so cold they made up a special name for the sub zero temperatures. Polar Vortex. (How many weather nerds does it take to coin a term that sounds like a cross between a Christmas cartoon and a Star Trek episode? The world may never know.)

I’m no weather expert, but I came up with a few suggestions of my own. Appaloosa of Death, Freezer Games, Re Ice-Aged, Last of the Americans, Gone with the Freeze, or perhaps as a show of support to a man who has for years flown around the world in his private jet, crying out like Chicken Little, “The ice caps are melting! The ice caps are melting!”… The Al Gore Show.

Anyway, on the absolute coldest day of the year, this past Monday, my husband went in for back surgery. Definitely a double whammy, right? Not only did I have to get up at five in the morning on a Monday and brave death-defying temperatures, but I had to put on a happy face and act all positive and supportive. Just so you know, I’m not a morning person or a Monday person. I guess you can safely say I’m more of a – just leave me alone and let me suck down a quart of coffee before you speak to me – person.

I know it’s quite out of character for me to share a personal story from my life, but I thought you should all know that I’m not just a prolific and awe-inspiring writer, but a real person too. If you cut me, will I not bleed? Probably. If my husband has back surgery, will I not suffer along with him? Definitely.

So, before the sun came up, I was hanging out in the waiting room of the hospital, doing what the sign said… waiting. Finally, my name was called and I was told that my husband was out of surgery and in recovery and they’d meet me upstairs in his room. I gathered up all the toys I’d brought to keep myself occupied during the seven hour ordeal: computer, eReader, cell phone, and backpack, and gratefully left the waiting room behind.

Upstairs, I found my husband’s room. He wasn’t in it. I waited another forty-five minutes before they arrived with a very pasty, pale version of my man, wearing a paper gown and covered with a blanket so thin it must have been made from anorexic cotton. Two middle-aged nurses went nonchalantly about their business as if pulling a naked, drugged man who just had his spine cut open, from a gurney to the bed with what looked like a plastic sled, was about as important as tossing a sack of potatoes into a grocery cart. All I can say is… it was a merciful thing he was still feeling no pain.

Being the good wife that I am, I brought him comfy clothes the next day when I returned in the morning to pick him up. After all, it was still a dozen or so degrees below zero outside and that paper gown was not at all becoming. Especially from behind.

Once I had him ensconced in our sleep number bed at home, drugged well and good, and had

given him his smart phone back, I felt that my good wife activities had come to an end. But I would be wrong. Apparently at this time, there is no servant app available for Samsung.

So now I am a part-time writer and a part-time caregiver. At least for the next few days. I admit that nursing is not my calling or my gift. I assumed from watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and Scrubs, that sarcasm was at least a six credit class in med school, but it doesn’t seem to work so well in real life.

To top my week off, our wonderful church family sent my husband a beautiful green plant with get-well wishes. Thank you very much.

So, not only am I expected to nurse my man back to health, fetch and carry, and prepare three meals a day like a short order cook, (Webster’s Definition: call for carry out), I now have to see to the care and watering of a plant that will likely struggle for life against all odds, then slowly wither and croak sometime around the first day of spring. I know from watching morning television that an Australian accent always accompanies a green thumb. I have neither. But after my sarcastic nursing technique went down like a lead balloon, I’m thinking I may have been wrong about other things as well. Like maybe you don’t have to talk to your plants with an Australian accent to keep them alive.

Maybe I’ll try a Sicilian accent…

Barbara

Lessons Learned in 2013

January 3, 2014 By Barbara 2 Comments

Everybody has lists. The morning news shows – or celebrity love fests as I like to call them – all had end-of-year videos with their choices of top things, people, news stories, and deaths that they believe accurately depict the past year. Well, I’ve got my list too. A list of things I learned through the past twelve months that I was probably better off not knowing.

I learned that no matter how long it’s been since I’ve stretched out on the freezing ground to make a snow angel, the memory was way more enjoyable than the reality.

I learned what teddy bears look like twerking. (Believe me, the world would be a better place NOT knowing that.)

I learned no matter how awful an actress Miley Cyrus ever was on Disney, she was still able to trick the world into believing that at least she wouldn’t be as bad of an influence on our kids as Lindsay Lohan.

I learned that if Van Damme does the splits while standing on two moving Volvo trucks, there will be many who follow with parody.

I learned that the “knockout game” is only a hate crime if the victim is black. Otherwise it’s just a “poor entertainment choice.”

I learned that Al Gore didn’t really invent the Internet. (I think it may have been Chuck Norris.)

I learned that obesity is just another word for love of Chipolte.

I learned that middle age is much like middle-earth. A horrible place where nothing is what it seems, time disappears in a blur, and weird things begin to grow in weird places.

I learned that there is a shortage of Chicago criminals to fill important political positions… hence the selection of John Kerry for Secretary of State.

I learned that “just say no” may work for drugs but it doesn’t even put a dent in a serious chocolate addiction.

I learned that news sources will always choose hysterical accusations and/or innuendo over actual facts.

I learned that there is a very thin line between love and hate… hence my Christmas online shopping spree at Amazon.

I learned that Honey Boo Boo is actually a young child and not a character on Yogi Bear.

I learned that many people believe putting Amish and Bloodsuckers in the same book title is close to heresy. My apologies to any vampires who may have been offended by this association.

I learned that global warming is no longer alive and well, but buried beneath tons of snow and ice and crying like a baby.

Happy New Year puppy — pictures purchased from fotolia.com

Happy New Year and welcome 2014!! I’m sure there will be many more lessons to learn in the coming months.

What did you learn this past year? Leave a comment and share!

Barbara

Lightning Strikes in the Zombie Zone

December 8, 2013 By Barbara Leave a Comment

Everywhere you look there are signs of Christmas. Red and white decorations, flashing lights, ringing bells, decked out trees, horrendous amounts of traffic, and of course… crowded stores.

In the last few years, online shopping has gained in popularity. It’s nicer for many reasons. You don’t have to actually wait in lines, talk to people, or have the chance of catching a communicable disease off a germ-laden cart. Virtual carts are so much more civilized, don’t you think? And snot-free.

At the online mega store that shall not be named, there are “lightning deals” every hour. It’s like a game show without a host. You never know what you will find, or what you might want for that matter… until you see it.

Bright, colorful products shine before you, while a clock ticks down like a time-bomb. These set deadlines put you into high alert and you go into what I call – the Zombie Zone. You must have _________, (insert object of desire) even if you’ve never needed one before.

Like a flesh-eating creature looking at a plate of brains… Your eyes widen and gleam. Your breath shortens. Your fingers poise over the buy-now button. If you’re really into the Zombie Zone, you may even growl. Hesitate even for a moment and someone else quicker but far less deserving will grab what you want, and you will be bereft… and hungry. You might never have the chance to slap your palm down over the answer button on the Wheel Of Fortune, but you can and will win buy something here… anything. Your cart is empty. Time to fill it up…

That!! Click now!!

A megaphone in red and white. You’ve always wanted one of those. You can call your children to dinner without opening the door or raising your voice.

A total body epilator. Because everyone has unwanted hair and by all means it should be eliminated. You don’t want to turn into Genghis Khan, do you?

An easy wring mop & bucket. Okay, that’s just cruel. Whoever is choosing these items to go on sale for Christmas is laughing his or her head off right about now. There will definitely be some angry wives this year.

A dumbbell rack. Dumbbells not included. Enough said.

A guitar. Every teenager’s fantasy; to pick up one of these instruments and suddenly start rocking out without ever taking a lesson. Not gonna happen, but luckily they make great wall art after your teen has given up the dream.

Cameras. Because even though you take pictures with your cell phone ten or fifteen times a day, you need an official camera for proper family photos that aren’t downloaded directly to Facebook. Or you can buy it for Grandma. She doesn’t even know about Facebook.

Games. You must buy a new game for Christmas. It’s one of those unwritten rules. Those boxes with tiny pieces and cards may never get taken out of the downstairs closet once the New Year sets in, but it doesn’t matter. You have to buy one. It’s been a tradition since Egyptian Pharaoh families played Senet during those lazy afternoons when there was nothing else to do but watch sandstorms through the front window of the pyramid.

Lucky jewelry. There are enough horseshoe and four-leave clover necklaces on sale this week to deck out a Leprechaun Cavalry. Perfect for those relatives you have no idea what to buy and they should feel lucky to get anything at all from you.

Watches. These seem to be in great abundance this year, even though cell phones have pretty much negated the wearing of a time-piece. But jewelry is jewelry. Even if you can’t tell time, you can wear it like a boss. (I have no idea what that means but it sounds pretty hip, right? …maybe not.) Anyway, remember that if you’re buying one for your husband, get one with lots of bells and whistles. It’ll keep him busy and he won’t notice all the boxes you got for yourself.

Good luck winning purchasing Christmas presents this year. Hope you find some real treasures. Of course if you’re looking for books… Look no further. I’ve got what you need.