UnCool Is The New Cool

I just tried to be "cool" by watching the MTV Music Awards (and besides, I couldn't sleep and all of the Law & Order episodes were repeats). You know, catch up on what the "kids" are listening to, broaden my limited musical horizons, check out the new bands, and TRY, with an open mind, to figure out:
a. what the popular appeal of "Rap" is

b. how those guys can wear the equivalent of sixteen bicycle chains and a garden hose around their necks and still stand upright

c. what they are actually SAYING after they thank God (who MUST have stock invested in MTV) and start their speeches with "YOBRO"...beyond that, they might as well be speaking Dinka. Is there a "Rapper to English" translation guide I should purchase?

And the ceremony itself was conducted like it had a severe case of ADD-there was so much fast moving, multi colored, Acid inspired stuff going on simultaneously that I began to get dizzy. The music videos themselves? Didn't get them. Bands with stupid names who model their showcase songs in videos that are just weird moving versions of Salvador Dali paintings. I'm just NOT that deep-but neither are they. OOPs-I'm sorry...they're artists.

In fact, the show was SO lame that I lasted about a half an hour before I realized that I would've thanked anyone who broke into my house, put a gun to my head, and forced me to snack on brussel sprouts and watch 24 hours of C-Span rather than spend another second allowing this brain cell burning entertainment to occupy my television screen.

So it's official-I'm terminally uncool. Stamp it on my passport for all I care. I'm cool with that.

Meanwhile, does anyone have a Tom Jones CD I can borrow?

Chick Stuff

Ok nooprah-since our subjects should be limited to food and chick stuff, I'm going for the ultimate chick issue today (I think I have food pretty much covered). May you feel, after reading this post, that you have just sat through a Women's Discussion Group.

I don't want my period anymore. I don't NEED my period anymore. It makes me

Irritable
Fat
Depressed
Pissed off that I have my period.

God REALLY fucked up on this one. And simple calculations support my claim. Are You There God....It's Me, Janet!

Most girls get their periods somewhere around the age of 12. And most parents I know don't say to their daughters at age 12

"Congratualtions honey! You are now officially a woman. You may now USE that period and go out and get pregnant! " (Unless their Mormons)

Nope. We're just stuck with ALREADY unbearable teenage girls who, once a month, are SO bad they make you wish there was an assisted suicide center at every major Mall (I'd actually go to the Mall for that).

The fact is, they won't actually NEED the obnoxious monthy ritual until they're AT LEAST in their 20's. Let's say 25. That's 13 years of needless moodiness and inconvenience for EVERYONE involved.

And since most Americans have, on average, 2.5 children (and congratulations to those who have the .5 kids-you only have to buy half of the food, clothing, college costs etc. as those of us who have 100% children), what happens when they're finished?

NOTHING. And unless you're one of those freaks who decides to have a kid at 55, you get to look forward to a couple of decades of MORE needless periods until you hit Menopause, which, I'm told, just makes you cranky, moody and irritable for an indeterminable stretch of time. And you never know when it's going to happen.

God must hate women. Why can't we just write Him a letter, when we're ready to have kids, and say "Ok God! You can turn the faucet on now!" And when we're DONE having kids, we could just write again and say "Thank-you. You can turn it off." Sort of like a stove-you turn it ON when you're cooking and OFF when you're done. It's a simple concept.

Oh Yeah! I forgot...I referred to God as HIM...what does He give a shit! The only female He let off the hook was Mary (according to what they taught me in Bible classes, anyway) and that's because she was, sorta, a member of HIS family. AND He made sure (again, according to the crap I was taught) He had a son. A little selfish of you God, don't you think?

The whole system is flawed, and if I were elected God it would be the FIRST item on my agenda to fix. I'd move onto poverty, world peace, etc. only AFTER I fixed the Menstrual Mess.

Meanwhile, I think I'll go buy some Midol.

Hurray Middle School!!!!!

My youngest daughter started her first day of Middle School today, and she was scared shitless.

More scared than those journalists who are kidnapped by crazed Muslims in the Middle East, more frightened than a stray cat who was picked up by a drunk Animal Control Officer and accidentally placed in the dog pound....you get my point.

There are several reasons to be terrified by Middle School:

1. Lockers. Elementary schools do not typically have lockers, and kids starting Middle School cite the whole locker experience as one of their biggest fears. Don't ask. I never understood.

2. Changing Classes: Gone are the days of a one teacher classroom-Middle School kids have to actually MOVE AROUND and have different teachers for different subjects. Most would rather crawl back inside the womb where its relatively safe, as long as their mothers would just lay off the heroin for a few months.

3. Older Kids: What if I get lost and end up in the 8th grade wing, with really scary looking 4'3" "gangsta" boys wearing pants that hang down to their knees (Note to Parents of Middle School Boys: if they're going to wear their fathers' pants to school, it's only fitting that their fathers wear their sons' pants to work. New Invention: BELTS) and gaggles of gum snapping "Just look at me the wrong way and I'll eat you alive" girls.

But my daughter, who is just about the sweetest kid on the planet, had a GREAT day.

And you want to know why? The Cafeteria.

Now, those of you who've read previous posts understand that my family has a peculiar interest in food. The way we talk, you'd think we'd all need cranes to haul us out of bed everyday, but in reality, none of us is in any way overweight (OK-I could use a few days at the gym, but it's not like people stare at me and I can still sit comfortably in your standard issue auditorium seat).

It must be in the genes-I blame my father, who was in no way overweight but would've tossed a goat into his spaghetti sauce and let it simmer for hours if he thought it might taste good.

And my daughter is certainly "a member of the family."

ME: So...How was your first day at Middle School?

YOUNGEST: GREAT! You wouldn't believe what they have for lunch! REAL pizza, a choice of sandwiches, and potato tots that are awesome!"

ME: And how were your classes?

YOUNGEST: Really good. But mom, they have a salad bar the size of this whole room in the cafeteria, and they have icecream and chips in the vending machines...

ME: Are your teachers nice?

YOUNGEST: REALLY nice. And guess what? We're going to be able to have Slushies soon!

Now, I'm no Julia Childs, but to be so outmatched by Middle School cafeteria ladies? And what the hell were they feeding her in Elementary School? EELS and crackers?

Oh well. She liked "locker break" too, so I guess she'll do just fine.

Anyone have a cookbook they could suggest?

Awesome Idea!

I watched the Emmy's last night, and even though I've only seen maybe two of the shows nominated, I still thought the whole affair was rather entertaining.

Anyway, since there was some controvery regarding the "gift packages" receieved by presenters and winners, one of the Emmy recipents during an interview after his Big Moment suggested that all of these gift packages should be sent directly to the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

Now, he was obviously well intentioned in making the suggestion, and the shit they stuff into these gift bags are worth a small fortune (to everyone except the people who actually GET them -it would be similar to giving ME a $50.00 Gift Certificate to Stop & Shop), but it struck me as sort of absurd.

In New Orleans, there are people who are still digging through the rubble of what once their homes, fighting with insurance companies, dealing with chronic umemployment and trying to figure out what the fuck they're gonna do next.

Hey! How about sending them gift baskets! I'm sure they'd appreciate:

1. Gift Certificates to some of the most upscale boutiques on Rodeo Drive

2. A couple of free meals at L.A.'s trendiest, most exclusive resturaunts

3. A week long "getaway" at a $2500 per night oceanfront luxury hotel in Malibu

4. Make-up, Spa treatments, manicures, and perhaps an hour with Hollywood's most famous and gifted eyebrow waxer

Not that I'D turn down any of this stuff, but don't you think the folks in New Orleans might prefer something like, I dunno, a roof over their heads and clothes for their kids?

Besides, since their cars (if they had one to begin with) were smashed by trees, swallowed up like the Titanic in raging waters, or simply blew away like Dorothy's house before it landed in Oz. My point....how would these folks GET to LA even if they wanted to partake of the goodies in the baskets?

Yeah yeah-I'm a cynic. They could always sell them on E-Bay, afterall. Once their computers are airdried and back in top working order, that is.

Kids With Cans

They may not be the biggest problem facing our nation today, but they're right up there with health care and Social Security.

I'm talking about those cute kids who stand in front of grocery stores and convenience stores all dressed up in their adorable little league or mini cheerleading outfits and shove a can in your face "requesting" that you give them some money for their particular cause.

They stress me out.

Sometimes their parents are with them, giving you that "If you don't stop and dig through your purse and find some money to put in my kid's can then you are a scumbag loser mass murderer" look. I HATE Kids With Cans.

And for some reason, they're all out on the same day. So if you need to do some errands, suddenly the world is infested by Kids With Cans.

Stop at the local 7-11 to grab a soda and who's standing by the door? Kids With Cans.

Grocery Store: Kids With Cans

Wal-Mart: Kids With Cans

Bank, Post Office, Dry Cleaners: More Fucking Kids With Cans.

And something tells me that if I were to go to my local Wal-Mart and told the manager that I was a little down on my luck and could I please stand in front of his store and beg, he would have Security escort me out and my picture would be forever posted in the employee break room as a person who was NEVER allowed in the store again.

But not KIDS With Cans.

I personally think they're worse than those cashiers who are instructed to ask you "Would you like to donate a dollar to the Jimmy Fund?" whenever you buy a pack of gum. I very very badly WANT to say "If I wanted to donate a dollar to the Jimmy Fund then I'd put a dollar in an envelope and send it to the fucking Jimmy Fund!" But I'm too polite. I Just Say No (Thanks Nancy-that phrase comes in handy sometimes!). Which still translates into "You're a cheap bitch who won't even cough up a buck for children with severe disabilities."

But I still don't mind them as much as the Kids With Cans.

Can we make them go away please?

Do NOT Marry These Guys

As I've stated previously my husband requirements are pretty basic. But below I have listed men you should NEVER EVER marry. Or even have coffee with.

Since most of the guys listed are famous and are actually already married, we in the academic world would consider them "Archetypes," which means "any man who is even remotely similar to the listmakers." If one of their kind should approach you and ask you for your number, immediately "Stop, Drop, and Roll..." Ooops. Wrong Dangerous Situation advice. I meant just turn around and run really really really fast, like you were being chased by a high speed train full of crazed Muslim fanatics pumped on Methamphetamines holding hand held nuclear weapons (Apple must make those by now) burning American flags, in the opposite direction. Which means wicked fast.

There is no particular rank order here-I trust you can do that by yourself.

1. Lance Bass: Gay guys make lousy husbands. To women, anyway. Espcially if they've ever been in an "All Boy's Band." Gross.

2. Any Rapper: First of all, they don't have names. J-Z, P-Diddy, R2D2, OCD... what the fuck is THAT about? They wear "Bling," gold teeth (these guys would've been a windfall for Nazi Concentration Camps Commanders),live in "Cribs," shoot eachother, think every conversation needs to rhyme, and figure out a way to include "YO" in every sentence. And, of course, they treat women, I mean "Bitches and Hoes," with the utmost respect. The rhyming thing would bug me most though.

3. The enormous, grumpy, paranoid guy who sits behind the counter of his dingy, small town family owned since WWI convenience store, and acts like you're doing HIM a favor when you buy a Diet Coke that's probably been on the shelf since 1981. (Although, to give this guy SOME credit, he still sells candy cigarettes. That's such a "Fuck-You" to the modern world that it almost requires admiration.)

4. Bobby Brown: "Do you, Bobby Brown, take Whitney Houston to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor, cherish her, and turn her from a beautiful, internationally acclaimed and fabulously successful recording artist into gutter crawling, skeletal looking shameless crack whore addict? And will you punch her in the face periodically?"

5. Rick Santorum: Republican Senator from PA, who's ideas of "family values" include scarring his children for life by bringing his prematurely born (read: DEAD) baby home from the hospital and forcing everyone in the family to hold it, cuddle it, sing to it, and have "family pictures" taken before he allowed a proper burial. Aren't there places, with straightjackets, for people like this? I guess the U.S Senate will have to do.

6. Michael Jackson: A romantic evening with this guy might involve reassuring him that, Honest-to-God, NOONE can tell you had plastic surgery, sharing a couple of glasses of wine (Jesus Juice) slipped into Pepsi cans, and inviting the neighborhood kids over to watch his personal home videos. Creep Meters don't have a number high enough for this guy.

7. Osama Bin Ladin: Lives in a cave, has a bunch of other wives, kills thousands of people for a living, and thinks Whitney Houston is "Hot." What a catch! This guy sorely needs to watch The GodFather, Parts I-II, to see how truly "classy" mass murderers behave.

8. Kevin Federline: YOUR problem Britney!!!! He's not only a leech, but I'll bet he's pretty smelly too. Time to move back to the trailor park, Princess of Pop.

9. O.J. Simpson: If you don't mind ending up dead, he used to be a good football player. I think.

10. Bill O'Reilly: I cannot even imagine what the dinnertime conversation is at HIS house, since his wife and children probably have duct tape over their mouths because HE'S the only one allowed to talk. Really Loud. And sex with Bill O'Reilly??? Let's just say I wouldn't interrupt him during one of his 35 second "No Spin Zone" episodes. Remind me to send a sympathy card to his ACTUAL wife.

11. Slugs. These types can read anything except the "Help Wanted" ads. Eventually,they become so embedded into your livingroom couch that you need to enlist professional Slug Removal Services to pry them out. Since I've personaly never had a slug in my home, my advice may be meaningless. But I think the first thing I'd do is shut off the cable-what's a slug to do without Jerry Springer and Judge Judy?

That's my list. Remember ladies....Archetypes. (I just had to use the word one more time.)

The Great Lunch Debate

Below is a transcript of the actual e-mail debate between by siblings regarding the True Meaning of Lunch. I have edited out only non-lunch related banter and personal e-mail addresses. I have, however, included actual dates when appropriate so you can get a sense of how long this RETARDED argument has been going on. My sister, Stupidhead Joanne will be referred to as "Joanne (real name: Joanne). My Idiot brother will be referred to as Richard (real name: Richard).

I did not receive permission from either of the "authors" to reproduce this discussion, so, like any good journalist, I am putting my life in danger.

To: Joanne
Subject" IT'S LUNCH TIME!!!!!!!

I was going to go for the Steak Tips, Rice, Veggies, and of course, rollbuttermilk, but you know, I went for the Joanne Special. Ham and Swiss on a bulkie (lettuce and hot peppers), chips, pickles, AND a big steaming bowl of beef rotini soup and crackersmilk.
Lunch is the reason to live! I love lunch!

Well, gotta go....can't type and eat LUNCH at the same time you know...Did I mention that I love lunch?

TO: Richard
Subject: IT'S LUNCH TIME!!!!!!!

Well I see you came to your senses at the last minute and didn't break the Joanne lunch rule which says, in essence, that lunch is lunch.
It's NOT dinner, and should not be treated as such. Acceptable lunch foods include:
Soup
Sandwich
Salad
And any combination thereof. For example, soup and salad, soup and sandwich, sandwich and salad*
*While acceptable, the sandwich/salad combination is frowned upon. A little too dinner-like.
rollbuttermilk is always ok.
Soda is also acceptable as a beverage, as is water. Coffee or tea are not.

To: Joanne
Subject: "IT'S LUNCH TIME!!!!!!!

You may THINK I've changed my lunch values, but you are sadly mistaken.
Although I can appreciate a traditional soup and salad lunch, it is by no means a fare that one can sustain their entire lunch requirements on.

I would like to propose that the soup and salad menu be SUBSTITUTED for a "hot" lunch, say, twice a week. For the sake of argument, let's say Tuesday and Thursday. This would leave Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for more hearty meals. A few examples, found in Corporate Cafe's all over America, might be;

Mac & Cheese...rollbuttermilk
American Chop Suey...rollbuttermilk
Meatloaf, Mashed Potatoes, Veggies, Gravy...rollbuttermilk
Chili (always a favorite)...rollbuttermilk

And yes, dare to throw caution to the wind around those special holidays. Indulge yourself with a full menu like;
Turkey, Potatoes, Stuffing, Veggies...rollbuttermilk.

You can take the lunch out of the Entree, but you can NOT take the Entree out of the lunch.
And you can quote me on that!

To: Richard
Subject: IT'S LUNCH TIME!!!!!!!

While I can appreciate your position on introducing a little variety into the lunchtime menu, I think you're forgetting the very essence of lunch itself. Lunch can stand on its own. Lunch has its own heart, and its own soul. It is not just "dinner lite," with dinner foods served in smaller portions. Or worse yet, simply a late breakfast, with omeletts as the featured entree. And we won't even TALK about that horrifying hybrid, the "Brunch."

Ever since the fourth Earl of Sandwich ate a piece of roastbeef between two slices of bread, lunch has had its own brand of portable, hand-held lunchbox ready food.

Across America, for the past few generations, lunch has meant peanut butter and jelly sandwiches , perhaps with a bag of chips and a thermos full of Campbell's chicken noodle soup all nestled snugly into a tv-show-themed lunchbox. (Remember how they smelled inside? mmmmmmm).
As adults, we continue the time honored lunchtime tradition, but a tuna sandwich or perhaps salami and cheese would take the place of the PB & J. Imagine Fred and Barney sliding down the back of the Dinosaur, Ralph and Norton sitting down for their midday meal, and opening their lunchboxes to...what?...American Chop Suey? Chicken a la King?

I think you see what I'm saying. Steeped in tradition, lunch should, in my opinion, remain what it was meant to be.

And I'm sorry, but I must officially refuse your proposal for 3 days of more hearty meals and 2 actual LUNCH meals. I'm sure if you search your heart, you will come to agree. Because the bottom line is...I...as you clearly do too..LOVE lunch.

To: Joanne
Subject: IT'S LUNCH TIME!!!!!!!

Well Joanne, I see you haven't yet opened your eyes to the wonderful lunchtime possibilities that now exist. For you to broaden your lunch horizens, maybe a little MODERN history lesson is in order.

Look at your wall. See that calendar? What's it say? 9 more months till the year 2000! And here you are, still thinking of lunch as Fred and Barney did? In what, the year 3,000,00,000,000,000 B.C.!

Well I for one like to think that society, and yes, mankind as a whole, has risen a couple of steps above the "brown bag." Heck, it's been over thirty years now since lunch lines, leading to the cafeteria, began "forming at the rear" in schools all over America.

At the front of these lines was the magic that lead to two of the most important lunch discoveries ever made. First, it was discovered that by keeping the refrigerator right there in the lunch line, a COLD carton of milk could readily be distributed to each and every hungry young student in America. This begged the question "if the milk can be issued COLD, why not supply the food HOT!."

Yes, the very foundation of lunch itself was about to be shattered. A new era of lunch was being ushered in!

Gone forever were the PB & J sandwiches with jelly soaked through one side of the bread, a "Little Debbie" snackcake, and a warm carton of milk.

A lunch Renaissance was sparked when that first child pushed his tray along and proudly sang out "DOUBLES!" while a hairnetted old lady scooped deep into that chaffing dish of American Chopped Suey and piled that steaming goo all the way to the ceiling. In that single act, Wax Paper had been replaced by Tupperware and all the world had to do was sit back and await the invention of the microwave.

Lunch can now take its rightful place as the tasty, social break with exciting diverse menus designed to get us through the day from morning to night.

The rest, they say, is history.

End of e-mail exchange. And THAT folks, is the gene pool I swim in daily.

Lunch

Because, collectively, my family has the IQ of a garden type variety snake, some of my siblings have very specific rules about food, particularly lunch.

The lunch debate dates back years, and since we are a group that can have a prolonged discussion about what constitutes a "cookout," or what type of tomatoes are allowed to be used in a sauce (I was not personally part of that discussion since besides being a New Englander who's never been to Fenway Park, I'm also an Italian woman who has NEVER made spaghetti sauce-my siblings just shook their heads in disgust when I revealed THAT little secret), you can imagine how "heated" the lunch debate has become.

The argument is really between my sister Joanne (who has rules about pretty much EVERYTHING-she should have been a prison guard) and my brother Richard.

According to Richard, "lunch" can constitute just about anything-meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy, a plate of pasta with meatballs, fried chicken...whatever's being served up.

Joannne finds this line of thinking inconceivable. Lunch, in her mind, is not "Dinner Lite." A tuna sandwich with chips, perhaps a bowl of soup with a salad...those are acceptable lunch items. But in her mind anyone who thinks they're eating "lunch" when the menu involves mashed potatoes and gravy is just fooling themselves.

This disagreement has been going on for years, and neither side is willing to give an inch. I think it's time to take it to the United Nations.

Important Correction

I recently wrote a piece in which I stated that my brother Richard spent a good portion of his adolesence running from the police.

He informed me that I was not allowed to make blanket statements regarding a person's obvious skills without backing them up with statistical data.

So for those of you who follow sports, the stats are as follows:

3,000 Chases
2,999 Escapes

He made not received a Gold Medal, but I'll bet earned some silver handcuffs.

You're Not Taking My Hairspray!

I just read that the Ozone Layer won't recover until 2065 instead of 2050, as experts had previously thought.

HOLY SHIT!

I don't mean to get Al Gore's knickers all in a knot, but I know about as much about the Ozone as I do about mechanical engineering. I think it involves Global Warming, which has always been fine with me because I hate Winter. But far more significantly, somehow my aerosal deodorant and hairspray cans are to blame for its problems.

First of all, hairspray from any other container besides an aerosal can is just plain wimpy. I can't just "squirt squirt squirt" MY hair with some pussy nonaerosal super hold hairspray-my carefully styled do would be flatter than a saltine cracker before I made it from my front door to my car to go to work. And what happens when I become REALLY old and have to go to a salon for the traditional once a week hair treatment? Those stylists practically superglue old ladies hair to keep it from moving until their next appointments. And guess how they do it? VERY heavy applications of good old fashioned aerosal hairspray-those salons must look like gas chambers on any given Monday when the Bingo set shows up for their weekly grooming.

And in terms of aerosal deodorant vs. the roll on type? It smells better.

So what if I don't do my part for the environment on this one teeny issue? Frankly, I'm not going to be around whether the Ozone Layer recovers in 2050 OR 2065 anyway. And I DID provide the world with environmentally sound daughters who have naturally curly hair. So excuse me environmentalists if I continue to spray away. And I wish the Ozone Layer well-I'll even send it a card or something if you'd like me to-but I plan on spending my short visit on this planet looking (and smelling) as reasonably attractive as possible.

Politics Are Stupid

The last politician I was in love with was Bill Clinton, In fact, I still love him-if he were within eyesight of me right now, I'd flash him the "thumb and index finger to ear" sign and whisper "Call Me." Sorry Hillary, but I have a feeling you could give a shit less.

But I'm no naive schoolgirl (just a naive school teacher). A politician is a politician. They try to be smooth and savvy, and spend tons of money on campaign ads that are so boring and canned that we thank God there's a "mute" button on our clickers. Can't one of these guys (and gals) have enough creativity to include, say, a talking duck, in their television pitches?

I don't care if you went to Harvard, balanced your checkbook successfully for 30 years, and found a cure for AIDS. I'm a hard working American citizen, and I deserve a political commercial that at least includes dancing bears. Is that too much to ask?

Here in the People's Republic of Massachusetts, we've got the following prominent politicians:

Governor Mitt "Guy Smiley" Romney. A perfect fit for this state as an enormously wealthy MilkToast Morman. Grab another wife or two Mitt-because you ain't gonna be the next President.

Lt. Governor "Something" Healy. She WANTS to be the next Governor of our fair state, but I can smell "bitch" a mile away. Her television ads make me want to wrap a rope around my neck.

Boston Mayor "Mumbles Menino." Has anyone REALLY understood a word he's said since he's been in office? Maybe that's the key to success in politics.

Senior Senator Ted "Splash" Kennedy. I actually like the guy, and think he's one of the best, hardest working Senators in the country. But there are some
past "incidents" you just can't file away. And could you do something about your ex-wife?

Junior Senator John Kerry. Thanks a bunch for the last election. Perhaps the Democrats might consider running someone without a Hapsburg chin and weird wife next time around?

Maybe I'll throw my hat in the ring, or my ring in the hat. Whatever. Noone would care what I actually stand for, but I'm certainly LOUD enough for the job. And I promise my television ads will include snakes on a plane.

School Sports

Back to school doesn't mean I'M the only one walking through the Gates of Hell for another fun packed year. My daughters are going back as well.

First there's the back to school shopping, which MUST involve the Mall. I am one of those people who would rather do a tour of duty in Iraq than go to the Mall, especially with two daughters. But, according to the pre and full blown pubescent experts on these matters, you can't wear ANYTHING in public unless its purchased at the Mall. So in my thinking, an $80.00 pair of pre-ripped jeans (bought at an acceptable store) and a $40.00 vest the size of a table napkin (again, purchased at an approved retail spot, IN THE MALL) might be cheaper than a lifetime of therapy for my poor children should they arrive at school in clothing acquired at an unacceptable location. It would be the equivalent of showing up on the first day wearing plaid skirts, "Hello Kitty" tee shirts, and penny loafers. Their lives would be officially over. (Although I think that's the oufit I might wear on MY first day...)

Secondly, both of my daughters are involved in sports. Sports are good, as long as I'm not playing them. Now my youngest has been playing soccer since she could crawl (I'm pretty sure they have a "Crawling Baby Soccer League" in my town) and she loves it. But her involvement isn't "school associated" yet, so I have no concerns about her. Besides, she's a great student, wants to achieve, and is kind and polite to her teachers and classmates.

But my oldest is going into the 9th grade and will be starting the year on the school's Cross Country team. She's FAST-and those genes
don't come from my side of the family. As much as I hate to give him any credit, my ex was a state ranked track runner in his day and coached runners for decades (Although, just to give MY family its due, my brother Richard spent a good portion of his adolesence running from the police-while there may have been noone there with a stopwatch...just a gun and a flashlight... he obviously had some skills). But she's also lazy.

I'm not sure she "gets it," but high school sports involve practices EVERYDAY, rain, shine, hailstorms, volcanic eruptions...whatever. And the actual running part may compromise her eyeliner or worse yet, make her hair frizzy. And what if her teamates aren't "cool?" What if she doesn't win EVERY Meet? What if What if What if????

She'll start, because both my ex and I have her convinced that running will make her butt and her boobs bigger (don't ask-it's the latest adolescent girl bodily obsession). And I'll give her the benefit of the doubt that she'll follow through on the season. She's my kid, afterall, and at least she had enough sense to dismiss Cheerleading
as "retarded."

Welcome to Thailand Mr. Pedophile

Thailand might just be the creepiest place on earth. While I've never been there personally, everyone on the planet knows it's like a Club Med for the NAMBLA crowd. They organize group trips and probably drive around in chartered busses like a bunch of Japanese tourists in Paris. And I'm sure they take lots of pictures too. The Thai government must use that same ad campaign Las Vegas uses...you know "What Happens in Thailand Stays in Thailand."

Is it a wonder they found that weird guy who claims to have killed Jon Benet Ramsy in Thailand? What if you had a friend who said to you in casual conversation "You know, I'm a middle aged unattached guy who loves children, so I think I'm going to go to Thailand and teach elementary school." Every security alarm, smoke detector, and carbon monoxide siren in your house would immediately be set off. Sort of the same thing that happens when I cook.

Flights to Thailand must have a type of EZ Pass for pedophiles. Airport Announcement: "All first class passengers and pedophiles may now board the plane." And when they go through customs, do the officials ask "Are you here for business or child molestation?"
Pedophile: "Child Molestation."
Official: (Stamps Passport) "Enjoy your stay."

It wouldn't be much different than having some Muslim wearing an attractive, state of the art suicide bomb vest try to board a plane in the U.S. while chanting "Death to America" and having the airport security officials say "You're all set. Enjoy your flight."

I'm sure there's stuff about Thailand that's good, but I'm not going to actually do any RESEARCH (read: WORK) to find out.

I think we should just send in ground troops. Unless you have a better idea.

Confessions of a True Blue New Englander

Since I'm going for the "fresh start" thing, I decided to make one teeny eenie weenie confession public (and don't be concerned-it's not about my sex life....it may be a little worse to some of you though).

Allow me to preface: I've lived in New England my entire life (a year abroad in "Old England" doesn't count). I've endured a lifetime of trying to warm my car up at 6 AM for a half hour during Winters and shoveling truckloads of snow manually (what's the point of snow, anyway?), enjoying "Springs" which last approximately two days, and frolicking in the Atlantic when the water is about 40 degrees during August. (Yeah, Autumn's nice, but I have to go back to school, so I don't even count it as a season-it's just a stress inducer).
I love New England.

So here's my confession; I've never once been to Fenway Park. Ever. I don't even know what the "Green Monster" is (I know what the "Liquid Monster" is, but I don't think they're related). If you were an out of towner and asked me directions to Fenway, even if I had a map, compass, astrolabe, power drill, and a group of idiots standing behind me with poster boards that said "I Have A Sign" I'd still say "Take Rt. 1 to Boston and then find someone who's been there."

I've made this confession to a select few friends, and they've looked at me like I was Andrea Yates. I KNOW it's a cultural icon, I KNOW I should at LEAST visit the hallowed ground once (I even won tickets to a game during a workplace raffle last year and gave them away), I KNOW it's the Mecca of Baseball. But I'm just not all that interested. I've never gazed at the "real" Mona Lisa either-does that make me some kind of a criminal?

I do all of the other New England stuff (I saw the "Old Man of the Mountain"several times before his facelift gave way, for example, and I say "wicked" constantly) but I guess Fenway just doesn't top my "Must Visit" list. Does this make me a treasonous New Englander?

So you know what will happen now? When I die, my obituary will state my name and age, accompanied by the headline "Never Went To Fenway Park." No good deeds I've ever performed during my lifetime would would overshadow this one little infraction. And then noone will come to my funeral, including my own family.

Extreme Makeover

This new blog name makes me feel like I've had an extreme makeover-only I don't actually LOOK any different.

Fresh new start, a whole new outlook...it's a pain in the ass, frankly.

In fact, I've been so busy today trying to figure out whatever the fuck I did to my own little piece of cyberspace that I lost sight of what was really important-finding stupid things to write about and then writing about them.

So just to get me warmed up and back in "the game" again, I'll resort to a CNN Headline: "Kittens Saved From Frying Pan." You can always rely on cats to give you something completely retarded to report on.

Whew. That took everything I had-you can figure out what the story said because I'm too exhausted from my housekeeping accident to really READ the article.

Once Upon a Time I Was Momenger

Because I have a cerebral cortex approximately the size of a teabag, I managed to so totally screw up my blog today that I had to start a whole brand new one with a whole brand new name! It's really fun being stupid!

I am now Bemisdown, but in my heart I will always be Momenger (weep weep). What the hell.