Saturday, April 28, 2012
Words of Wisdom
After a baseball game where little man is learning the skill of the bat and ball comradery, he intelligently reminded me: "Mom, it's just a game."
Right!
Kidisms
Little man received a high tech music pod for his birthday. After spending hours with his new gadget, he informed me that I could add a song of my choice, "but nothing from the nineteen hundreds" he explained.
Really, has it come to this? The 1900s? The Classics are now decrepit, dusty, and useless pieces of vinyl? The 1980s metal and Madonna are never to be heard again because they come from another ERA? The 1990s and it's infamous grunge? Old? The Bee-bops and the beginning of rock-rock Elvis style of the 50s mere useless music notes, the anti-war music of the 60s and the folk of the 70s, all of the Nineteen hundreds?
and no longer worthy?
Look out little man. Mommy's gonna get herself one of them there fancy dancy music players, fill it with music of the Ninetten hundreds, then blast it.
You'll love it.
My Friend Deb
My best bud, Deb, recently had brain surgery. She had tumors removed.
When I found out, I was at first traumatized.
I haven't seen much of my friend Deb lately, as our lives are busy. Well, this was a wake-up call reminding me to keep those near and dear to our hearts right where they belong, close.
Her facebook page turned into a memorial of sorts, friends from all over the country (possibly the world) offering up encouragement, support, love, and all things positive to Deb.
I was the one flailing videos, pictures, quotes and hearts. Being me, as my friend Deb would have it. That's why I love her so, I can be me around her. Actually, she's coined many of my now used phrases. She has them, "phrases." (laughing)
Anyway, many people have expressed offering up memories, quotes, scriptures to a special book for her to read. Call me a rebel, but I believe Deb is "blogworthy," and here is a little something for you Deb:
My friend Gary arrived home from a trip to Texas with a wife, quite a few years ago. Her name was "Deb."
"Okay then." I thought. Not suprised at all at my friend Gary.
"Hi Debbie!" I greeted this blonde bombshell upon meeting her.
"It's Deb." She reminded me, scarily. (laughing)
Deb and I striked up an automatic friendship, probably because of our ability to laugh at things, and see things a certain way, our way.
There was a slight problem with our friendship at first. She had this accent.
Most of the time I understood her, but when we went out for a drinks, the more cocktails she drank, the more she slurred, the more I had no clue what she was saying. I was usually just nodding after the second beer on our nights out.
There were, however, times when she would ask me "What does that mean?" When I would get all 'Jersey Girl' in a phrase or two. But she won. I was the one asking "what's that?" more than her. Just the way she way she said "sweet tea" one day had me baffled and required a lenghthy explanation from her, is one example of our language deficit.
But the friendship endured.
I felt the need to take my friend out to places she would feel comfortable. I remembered a place in South Jersey that was a hootin' and hollering country line dancing type of place that I visited once in my life, left vowing never to return. . .but here I was. . .some years later with my friend Deb. Well, what I remembered as a country place turned into a lame sports place, and wasn't fun, not at all.
"No worries Deb, we'll find another country music, line dancing place!" I assurred her.
The memories of the place that we found are somewhat vague, as it was a while ago, I just remember driving a long distance, in the dark, to some place that vowed fun country line dancing and music. I remember finally arriving at this "place" (remember, this was before GPS) and after being lost for about an hour and confused in the scary south Jersey place that promised a hoe-down,we were thrilled to be there. We got out of the car and immediately struck up a conversation with people who arrived at the same time as us. "Yeah, it was out of the way." The strangers agreed. One of us, either me or Deb, expressed our eager anticipation of having a beer. The strangers advised "there was no beer here. No alcohol here." Deb and I stopped in our tracks, looked at one another, got back in the car and left. No words were needed.
Well, the parking lot was nice. If you like mud.
Sorry girlfriend, you gotta like rock-n-roll. Karoke was always fun too.
No, our friendship was not dependent on going out, as Deb is a domesticated goddess and dinner parties are her "thing." Normal and fun conversations were always a part of our rituals.
But we always had fun when we went out.
One day, a hot summer day, I went over to her house for a pre-hang before a concert or something we were supposed to go too. Upon my arrival, Deb handed me one of her famous cocktails with an umbrella in it, and we were sitting in her back yard. I noticed there were men in trees. "Yes, Gary is having the trees cut down." She explained.
"Deb, their all beautiful." I informed her. All of the guys in trees were in shorts only. I wanna say six or seven half-naked guys in trees, me with a cocktail on a lawn chair with my best bud, watching half-naked guys in trees. Gary came out of the house inquiring about what time we were leaving. We told him "we were good." Gary laughed at us and went back in the house.
The memory is still a "best.time.ever."
One time, Deb found a show. One of them shows where the guys get naked. It was in a bar in the Pinelands section of this great state, New Jersey.
"No." I said.
Deb begged.
"Absolutely not." I informed her.
I don't like those shows anyway, their pretty disturbing because the guys are sooooo stuck on themselves I just want to puke. That with the fact that this scheduled event was in the boonies, I just envisioned toothless wonders and flannels getting naked.
"No!" I adamantly refused.
I don't know how she persuaded me to go, what type of guilt trip I endured, but I went. With an attitude I insisted we sit in the back. pfft. I was at the show.
Well, I don't remember how or why, but the show wasn't as bad as I originally anticipated and when Deb reminded me it was time to leave, I refused. One of the very handsome dancers and I struck up a lengthy conversation and I WOULD NOT leave. It was the second time, and last time, I literally had to be pulled from a bar.
Deb was there for me during my marriage, during the birth of little man, I saved her from being there during my divorce. . .yet, at a barbeque at her house last summer (or was it the summer before?) She offered up some sound advice, as she does.
She's one of the few that "let me be."
Like when I started going to church. Deb didn't condenm or judge, she actually had some sort of Texan religion in her and understood a lot of it. This was years ago, and my first stint with a Christian New Jersey church. It was a stoggy, tight, strict, bizarre church and I brought my friend Deb one Sunday who was going through an early menopause and when she endured her hot flashes, it appeared as if she was convulsing. As much as I felt very sorry for her at the time, I'm finding this very funny now.
Or when i would call the house phone at what I believe to be late morning, no answer, then call the cell, no answer, then call the house phone again, no answer, then the significant other's cell, to finally get a groggy "hello?"
"Oh," I replied. "Are you sleeping?" I would apologetically ask.
"And we love you for it anyway." Deb said.
Well, when I saw Deb after her brain surgery, she knew that we had a bond, as she told me.
And we laughed. Like we do.
I love you Deb, and many memories are still to come!
When I found out, I was at first traumatized.
I haven't seen much of my friend Deb lately, as our lives are busy. Well, this was a wake-up call reminding me to keep those near and dear to our hearts right where they belong, close.
Her facebook page turned into a memorial of sorts, friends from all over the country (possibly the world) offering up encouragement, support, love, and all things positive to Deb.
I was the one flailing videos, pictures, quotes and hearts. Being me, as my friend Deb would have it. That's why I love her so, I can be me around her. Actually, she's coined many of my now used phrases. She has them, "phrases." (laughing)
Anyway, many people have expressed offering up memories, quotes, scriptures to a special book for her to read. Call me a rebel, but I believe Deb is "blogworthy," and here is a little something for you Deb:
My friend Gary arrived home from a trip to Texas with a wife, quite a few years ago. Her name was "Deb."
"Okay then." I thought. Not suprised at all at my friend Gary.
"Hi Debbie!" I greeted this blonde bombshell upon meeting her.
"It's Deb." She reminded me, scarily. (laughing)
Deb and I striked up an automatic friendship, probably because of our ability to laugh at things, and see things a certain way, our way.
There was a slight problem with our friendship at first. She had this accent.
Most of the time I understood her, but when we went out for a drinks, the more cocktails she drank, the more she slurred, the more I had no clue what she was saying. I was usually just nodding after the second beer on our nights out.
There were, however, times when she would ask me "What does that mean?" When I would get all 'Jersey Girl' in a phrase or two. But she won. I was the one asking "what's that?" more than her. Just the way she way she said "sweet tea" one day had me baffled and required a lenghthy explanation from her, is one example of our language deficit.
But the friendship endured.
I felt the need to take my friend out to places she would feel comfortable. I remembered a place in South Jersey that was a hootin' and hollering country line dancing type of place that I visited once in my life, left vowing never to return. . .but here I was. . .some years later with my friend Deb. Well, what I remembered as a country place turned into a lame sports place, and wasn't fun, not at all.
"No worries Deb, we'll find another country music, line dancing place!" I assurred her.
The memories of the place that we found are somewhat vague, as it was a while ago, I just remember driving a long distance, in the dark, to some place that vowed fun country line dancing and music. I remember finally arriving at this "place" (remember, this was before GPS) and after being lost for about an hour and confused in the scary south Jersey place that promised a hoe-down,we were thrilled to be there. We got out of the car and immediately struck up a conversation with people who arrived at the same time as us. "Yeah, it was out of the way." The strangers agreed. One of us, either me or Deb, expressed our eager anticipation of having a beer. The strangers advised "there was no beer here. No alcohol here." Deb and I stopped in our tracks, looked at one another, got back in the car and left. No words were needed.
Well, the parking lot was nice. If you like mud.
Sorry girlfriend, you gotta like rock-n-roll. Karoke was always fun too.
No, our friendship was not dependent on going out, as Deb is a domesticated goddess and dinner parties are her "thing." Normal and fun conversations were always a part of our rituals.
But we always had fun when we went out.
One day, a hot summer day, I went over to her house for a pre-hang before a concert or something we were supposed to go too. Upon my arrival, Deb handed me one of her famous cocktails with an umbrella in it, and we were sitting in her back yard. I noticed there were men in trees. "Yes, Gary is having the trees cut down." She explained.
"Deb, their all beautiful." I informed her. All of the guys in trees were in shorts only. I wanna say six or seven half-naked guys in trees, me with a cocktail on a lawn chair with my best bud, watching half-naked guys in trees. Gary came out of the house inquiring about what time we were leaving. We told him "we were good." Gary laughed at us and went back in the house.
The memory is still a "best.time.ever."
One time, Deb found a show. One of them shows where the guys get naked. It was in a bar in the Pinelands section of this great state, New Jersey.
"No." I said.
Deb begged.
"Absolutely not." I informed her.
I don't like those shows anyway, their pretty disturbing because the guys are sooooo stuck on themselves I just want to puke. That with the fact that this scheduled event was in the boonies, I just envisioned toothless wonders and flannels getting naked.
"No!" I adamantly refused.
I don't know how she persuaded me to go, what type of guilt trip I endured, but I went. With an attitude I insisted we sit in the back. pfft. I was at the show.
Well, I don't remember how or why, but the show wasn't as bad as I originally anticipated and when Deb reminded me it was time to leave, I refused. One of the very handsome dancers and I struck up a lengthy conversation and I WOULD NOT leave. It was the second time, and last time, I literally had to be pulled from a bar.
Deb was there for me during my marriage, during the birth of little man, I saved her from being there during my divorce. . .yet, at a barbeque at her house last summer (or was it the summer before?) She offered up some sound advice, as she does.
She's one of the few that "let me be."
Like when I started going to church. Deb didn't condenm or judge, she actually had some sort of Texan religion in her and understood a lot of it. This was years ago, and my first stint with a Christian New Jersey church. It was a stoggy, tight, strict, bizarre church and I brought my friend Deb one Sunday who was going through an early menopause and when she endured her hot flashes, it appeared as if she was convulsing. As much as I felt very sorry for her at the time, I'm finding this very funny now.
Or when i would call the house phone at what I believe to be late morning, no answer, then call the cell, no answer, then call the house phone again, no answer, then the significant other's cell, to finally get a groggy "hello?"
"Oh," I replied. "Are you sleeping?" I would apologetically ask.
"And we love you for it anyway." Deb said.
Well, when I saw Deb after her brain surgery, she knew that we had a bond, as she told me.
And we laughed. Like we do.
I love you Deb, and many memories are still to come!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
OH! About the Videos!
I came here this morning to blog about something else, then saw the videos! Oh yeah! I almost forgot aboout them!
A few weeks ago, a video ran ramput on Facebook and I was fortunate to view it in the newsfeed and subsequently "share it." It was called Jesus>Church. Yes, Jesus is greater than the church.
The video consists of a kid, I'm guessing early 20s, doing a sort of "rap" version of a poem that he wrote expressing, in an extradorinary way, of why Jesus and the church are oh so different. Jesus wouldn't even hear of half of the stuff that goes on in these churches, Amen!
I loved the poem so much I just had to put it here, on this blog. In my limited technological skill ability, adding the "video gadget" to this blog was time consuming but I did eventually conquer my goal! Unfortunately, youtube insists that four videos post, not just one. I don't know why youtube insists on the quad gadget, but it's the poem about Jesus and the church that is supposed to be here.
I did, however, view the videos that were attached to the title Jesus>Church and I have to tell you, George Carlin had me peeing my pants. It was funny, and sadly, how half of the world wrongly views God.
Hey George, I bet you know better now!
The other videos that automatically popped up were good too. There was a commentary on psychopathic religious cults that so doesn't define Jesus either.
I highly recommend checking out the videos!
A few weeks ago, a video ran ramput on Facebook and I was fortunate to view it in the newsfeed and subsequently "share it." It was called Jesus>Church. Yes, Jesus is greater than the church.
The video consists of a kid, I'm guessing early 20s, doing a sort of "rap" version of a poem that he wrote expressing, in an extradorinary way, of why Jesus and the church are oh so different. Jesus wouldn't even hear of half of the stuff that goes on in these churches, Amen!
I loved the poem so much I just had to put it here, on this blog. In my limited technological skill ability, adding the "video gadget" to this blog was time consuming but I did eventually conquer my goal! Unfortunately, youtube insists that four videos post, not just one. I don't know why youtube insists on the quad gadget, but it's the poem about Jesus and the church that is supposed to be here.
I did, however, view the videos that were attached to the title Jesus>Church and I have to tell you, George Carlin had me peeing my pants. It was funny, and sadly, how half of the world wrongly views God.
Hey George, I bet you know better now!
The other videos that automatically popped up were good too. There was a commentary on psychopathic religious cults that so doesn't define Jesus either.
I highly recommend checking out the videos!
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Thank God That's Over
The Holidays.
Yes, I am relieved that the Holidays are over, and yes, I endured yet another Christmas, my harsh opinion of the "rent-a-Jesus-day" diminishing, and I was actually able to calm a Christian friend off the same ledge I was once on, offering up positive feedback to her dismay and sadness of the frustrating Holiday, stating "But at least people DO acknowledge Jesus one day a year. It's better than nothing." And, as a Christian, I am thankful that we do get to shove Jesus down people's throats once a year without the normal sterotyping and defense mechanisms that we endure should His name come up in conversation on any other day of the year, except of course, Christmas.
Little man, ever so determined to remain believing in Santa Claus, made it all perfectly clear this year:
"Mom. Some kids say that it's your parents that bring you presents, and not Santa. Well, I told them I believe in Santa because my mom's always broke and you wouldn't believe the gifts I got! There's no way my mom got them!" He flatly stated a few days after the fact.
"I know!" I told little man.
Thanks Santa. a/k/a Jesus in this house.
Yes, I am relieved that the Holidays are over, and yes, I endured yet another Christmas, my harsh opinion of the "rent-a-Jesus-day" diminishing, and I was actually able to calm a Christian friend off the same ledge I was once on, offering up positive feedback to her dismay and sadness of the frustrating Holiday, stating "But at least people DO acknowledge Jesus one day a year. It's better than nothing." And, as a Christian, I am thankful that we do get to shove Jesus down people's throats once a year without the normal sterotyping and defense mechanisms that we endure should His name come up in conversation on any other day of the year, except of course, Christmas.
Little man, ever so determined to remain believing in Santa Claus, made it all perfectly clear this year:
"Mom. Some kids say that it's your parents that bring you presents, and not Santa. Well, I told them I believe in Santa because my mom's always broke and you wouldn't believe the gifts I got! There's no way my mom got them!" He flatly stated a few days after the fact.
"I know!" I told little man.
Thanks Santa. a/k/a Jesus in this house.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Kidisms
Studying vocabulary words weekly is often tricky. I try to use the learning tool of "association" when little man gets stuck on a word. This week, the word of confusion was "dense."
"Just think of blood." I say.
"Ewww!" Little man says.
I go on to explain, "think of all the cells in blood. The cells are dense in blood."
Long pause from little man.
Then he asked, oh so quizzically, "What's a cell?"
I laughed all day.
"Just think of blood." I say.
"Ewww!" Little man says.
I go on to explain, "think of all the cells in blood. The cells are dense in blood."
Long pause from little man.
Then he asked, oh so quizzically, "What's a cell?"
I laughed all day.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Friends
My friend Vicki and I took a little vacation with out little men a couple of months ago. One night while on vacation we took the boys to a nice crab restaurant with the selling point of an indoor playground. We sat in a booth and had a very nice dinner. The boys were bouncing back and forth from the playground to the booth throughout the dinner, and the seating arrangements at the booth changed several times, as it appeared that we played "who's sitting next to who?" throughout dinner.
You never really know or become aware of your surroundings until the hostess sits about 12 guys in a table next to your booth. Vicki and I became very quiet, and very aware.
I was still sporting my crab bib, which I removed as inconspicuously as I could. Then I brought to the attention to Vicki that we were sitting on the same side of the booth. She brought to my atttention that we were sharing a piece of cake. I laughed for days. Do people think we're lesbians? Possibly.
This past weekend Vicki and I decided to go out for dinner. She found this place, and it was a very nice place. After placing our order off the menu, I noticed the advertisement for the restaurant on the back of the menu: "Voted the most romantic and scenic resturant. . ." I showed Vicki and we laughed.
"Are people going to think we're lesbians?" I wondered. So what if they do. But, I doubt they think it because we do keep a distance between us. Needless to say, we didn't share any cake after dinner.
Life is about laughing.
You never really know or become aware of your surroundings until the hostess sits about 12 guys in a table next to your booth. Vicki and I became very quiet, and very aware.
I was still sporting my crab bib, which I removed as inconspicuously as I could. Then I brought to the attention to Vicki that we were sitting on the same side of the booth. She brought to my atttention that we were sharing a piece of cake. I laughed for days. Do people think we're lesbians? Possibly.
This past weekend Vicki and I decided to go out for dinner. She found this place, and it was a very nice place. After placing our order off the menu, I noticed the advertisement for the restaurant on the back of the menu: "Voted the most romantic and scenic resturant. . ." I showed Vicki and we laughed.
"Are people going to think we're lesbians?" I wondered. So what if they do. But, I doubt they think it because we do keep a distance between us. Needless to say, we didn't share any cake after dinner.
Life is about laughing.
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