I Needed Some Ruby Red Slippers

Tonight I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  You see, I was determined to get my mother's extremely late birthday gift.  I had ordered her DVDs of the Canadian show Corner Gas (hilarious, trust me!) but apparently it is hard to find.  It never came, even after I ordered it.  I recently located a copy and was finally able to give her her gift, five months late. 

On my way to pick up the DVDs, I decided to try and take a rural route to the store to see if it was any shorter than the way I usually went.  I happened to be in an area that was literally flattened by a tornado a few years ago.  I knew it was rainy and very dark looking, but didn't worry until I noticed a really low cloud.  I thought I knew what a wall cloud looked like, until I saw a real one several years ago.  I had no idea that they were so low.  So this afternoon, when I noticed a very oddly shaped dark cloud that was very low to the ground, I noticed.  I called my mother and asked her if we were in any storm warnings.  She looked, said that it was just a small storm that was about to blow over, and that I'd be fine. 

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!  This is not a good sign!

Approximately two and a half minutes later, I found myself in an area with no buildings around.  In hindsight, I did notice branches and leaves swirling around in the air, but I ignored this.  I drove onto this large bridge when suddenly my car was slammed by this freak "pop up" storm.  I couldn't see anything at all.  It was hailing incredibly hard.  My car was swaying side to side.  And where was I? 

On a freaking bridge. 

There was no where I could go, and I didn't know what to do.  I was in major trouble. 

Being calm is just not my forte.  I called my mother, bawling, and yelled into the phone "Are you sure that I'm safe out here?"  Which, by the way, never call your mother crying and asking things like this.  I contemplated what to do.  I mean, in a real tornado you should get as low as possible.  But I was on a very tall, large bridge.  I was seriously concerned that my windshield was going to be broken, and my car was literally swaying from side to side.

Turns out that little freak pop up storm caused quite a stir.  It turned out that I was in a tornado warning.  I was in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time.  The winds were 70 mph and it was quarter to golf ball sized hail.  Just as quickly as it had come, it blew over and I was on the side of the road, teary eyed and petrified.  And THEN, suddenly on the radio, they were telling me to take cover, that I was in grave danger!  Gee, thanks!  A little too late, don't you think?!

I don't know why I can't remain calm at times like this.  If I am at school and something goes wrong, I remain calm.  But on my own?  Not at all.

Last year the stupid tornado sirens went off right before 6 a.m.  I'm a very light sleeper, so I woke up immediately.  I'm also not one to wake up suddenly in the morning.  It makes me rather frantic.  I looked outside and saw a sky that looked exactly like this:

This is also very, very bad.

 So when I turned on the TV and they said "People living in Non-Mommyville need to take cover IMMEDIATELY, you have MAYBE 10 minutes before the storm will hit" I immediately ran around like a chicken with my head cut off.


"Bra, bra, you need a bra, where is your bra? You have to get your purse out of the car.  Hurry Non-Mommy, you have like 9 minutes.  You need shoes!  Shoes!  HURRY!  Should I pack my laptop? Seriously, it's solid black outside and you're worrying about your laptop? Get out of here!   8 minutes!"


They really need to stop giving specific times until you die.


So off to the snooty neighbors house I went.  She's seriously one of those people who smiles at you and says sweetly "Oh, those are an interesting choice of shoes. Hmm."  So here I come, with my hair literally standing straight up, in mismatching clothing (because I just grabbed something to wear), carrying my purse (because, after all, if you are going to lose everything, you'll want a credit card to buy yourself a toothbrush.  Not that my $200 credit limit on my Target credit card was going to help me much). And then I had to sit in her basement and make small talk.  At 6 a.m.  Talk about torture.  I'd rather go through a tornado.   Annnnnnd we sat there.  Listening to it outside.  It was scary. 

I hate storms.  Does anyone know where I can find a remote island that has no scary storms, no UV rays to sunburn me, and is fabulous enough for me to live with my rich, rich husband where we can have lots of babies?  Anyone?

I've Lost a Good Friend

Recently my class was acting like it was a full moon, on party day, with each child acting as if they'd consumed an entire two liter of Mountain Dew.  It was so psycho that I didn't notice a major lifestyle change.

I lost a dear friend.

Goodbye, Fashion Form Push Up Pad.

Sniff sniff.

Eight years ago, I was going to be in a wedding.  The dress was way too big on top for me.  No matter what, there was just too much space in the upper chestal region.  When I arrived for the wedding, there was nothing left to be done.  So I purchased my new best friends, the Fashion Form Push Up Pad.  It's like a little boob shaped balloon you slip into your bra to turn your little mosquito bites into juicy, juicy mangoes (I stole that from "Bend It Like Beckham").  I got them just for the wedding, but then I discovered the joy of the push up pad in my every day bras!  They've gone on many a date with me.  They keep things nice and smooth on cold days.  They're wonderful.  For eight years I've been washing them and wearing them.  It's just messed up that I'm not a teeny stick of a person, but I don't have boobs.  I mean, come on, I should at least get to have some boobs out of the deal!

I noticed recently that one of them looked a little weird when I took it out of the washer, but I didn't think anything of it.  I mean, they are like 8 years old!

After the crazy day in my classroom I came home and sat down, and looked down.  Something was definitely amiss down there.  The little air filled ballooney part of the pad had shifted somehow to the TOP of the pad instead of the bottom of the pad where it should be.  But then the best part was, apparently this shift made my fake boob spin all the way around in my bra, and stick out of the top!!  MY FAKE BOOB WAS STICKING OUT OF MY BRA.  Seriously, how talented must I be to be able to turn my fake boob all the way around with no hands?  How am I still single?!?!

I didn't notice anyone looking at my chest weirdly.

Dear God, if you are listening, please let me not have walked around looking like a dipwad all day long with a third boob sticking out of my chest.

Please, God.  Please.

It's time for a new purchase.  Good bye, old friends.

You men have it so easy.

Christmas Rules According to Non-Mommy

The Christmas season is approaching and I already see people preparing for the holidays.  As you consider what you listen to, what you eat, and how you decorate for Christmas, I hope you will keep in mind the following rules in regards to Christmas:

1.  Harry Potter is not a Christmas movie.  Containing a Christmas scene does not a Christmas movie make.

2.  LED lights are of the devil.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, one bulb going out doesn't knock out the whole strand, and you can plug in 43 strands at once, and they are way more energy efficient, blah, blah, blah.  They just are so...cold.  Flouresent.  Unappealing.  I can't handle the light!  It's so uncozy.  Some day when I die, they are going to make an episode of "Hoarders" (sickly fascinating show, by the way) about me.  Instead of finding me taped to my bedside toilet so I don't fall into the garbage and dead cats around me, they are going to find my home packed to the ceiling with boxes of REAL Christmas lights and REAL lightbulbs.

3.  Never, ever, ever, EVER mix regular lights with LED lights.  LED lights are bad enough, but the two lights should NOT be mixed!

4.  Inflatables.  They are not my favorite, but you should never do a yard full.  And don't even GET me started on how it looks during the day with them deflated all over the yard.  I have to stifle the urge to yell "The carnage!  THE CHRISTMAS CARNAGE!"

5.  The following song should never be played at Christmas time (or ever, although this video is so ridiculous it's almost funny):



6.  Don't put red or green bulbs in your outdoor light fixtures.  The first thing I think is "drug deal."

7.  Don't ever, ever make a dessert that LOOKS like those Oreo balls (hehe) but really make stupid CREAM PUFFS.  I hate cream, and that was a most unpleasant, gagging surprise.  And yes, the sexual overtones in this rule are not lost on me.  I wasn't intending that, truly.

8.  This song should be put to rest permanently as well:

I realize it makes a lot of people cry, and feel very sentimental, but...call me Scrooge if you must.  I want to blow my brains out when I hear this song.

9.  Instead of watching music videos that make you want to hurl, you should instead watch CLASSICS like this one!

I loved this cartoon as a kid, and still enjoy it today.

10.  Send Christmas cards.  Don't resist.  Getting real mail is such a rare treat these days.  It's totally worth the cost.

 I have other nuggets of wisdom, but I'll leave you with 10!  I know that some of you will consider this a little premature, but you can't plan ahead enough when considering these important Christmas rules!

Bis vivit qui bene vivit

About a year ago, I sat in the front yard of my parents' house, watching my dad scramble all over the roof at precarious angles, installing Christmas lights.  He was crawling around like a monkey and scaring the crap out of me.  From my sunny spot on the grass, I yelled "If you kill yourself, I will be really mad at you.  I still need you!"

Four months later, my beloved father passed away unexpectedly. 

For years I have longed more than anything in the world to be married and have children.  For years I have been frustrated and driven to tears that I was still alone.  This, my friends, has been one of the greatest gifts of my singleness, and it took one of my biggest nightmares for me to realize it.

I have been single and going at it alone for a long time.  It hasn't been easy, but because I have no family of my own, I frequently found myself with my parents.  There was no juggling of holiday schedules - it was just the three of us.  If I wanted to get away for a weekend?  Go spend the weekend at Mom and Dad's.
 
My father and I have always been close.  I could talk to him unlike anyone else.  We had similar senses of humor.  He was so giving and loving.  I loved to spend time with him.  I loved to go to the hardware store with him, even as an adult.  I enjoyed going on motorcycle rides with him.  I liked that at night, when my mom would go to bed early, Dad and I would still be up late talking.  We spoke on the phone almost every day.  The last year of his life he was traveling quite a bit.  I made a concerted effort to call him every time that he traveled so that he wouldn't get lonely.

He was the only man in my life.  I could always count on him.  He could talk me off of a ledge better than anyone.  Tonight I lay in bed, tears streaming down my face, missing him so much it literally takes my breath away.  But through the tears, I am still so very thankful for this season of singlehood in my life.  I was able to get to know my father on a much deeper level because I had the time for it.  How blessed was I?

After his death, people would cluck sympathetically and ask if we were close.  I think regardless of closeness, death will always hurt.  But what really shocks me is how many people say to me "I can't imagine how much that hurts, but I can't even THINK about losing my mom."  I find this so sad.  Don't get me wrong.  I am extremely close to my mother and I don't even want to try to imagine my life without her.  But it's sad that in our society, fathers are not stepping up to the plate.  It's sad that their value is downplayed.  Fathers are so critically important.  I had the best.

In the next few weeks, I face some hard times ahead without my dad.  It seems like he was just here.  It is wrong that he's gone.  I don't wish him back.  I know he's in a better place.  But I still long for a tight hug from him.  For a phone call from him.  For him to try to show me some ridiculous plane crash video that he found online (that requires me to ask "This isn't one of those trick videos that anything will jump out of and scare me, is it?").  To listen to him sing as loudly as he could in church, his toe tapping and his hands beating the rhythm on the pew in front of him.

He may not have been the man I was looking for during this season of my life, but I was never alone.  I had my dad.  And I'm so grateful for that time.

I Wonder What They Think of Obama?

Alternately titled:  Rough Times in France

I am seriously considering a trip to England this summer.  It's been a while since I have traveled outside of the country and I think I might just die if I don't use the old passport again.  Also, there are plenty of rumors that Prince William will be getting married this summer and I think it would be really cool to be in England during a royal wedding.  The cougar inside of me cries at the idea of him getting married, but I'm willing to put those feelings aside so I can see lots of bunting in England.

 The last time I went to England, a friend and I took a trip over to France.  This was my second trip to France.  It is not my favorite place in the world, but I still went.  Then...the following trauma ensued.

I was sitting in an outdoor cafe, eating lunch with my British friend and her French friend, minding my own business, when I noticed a small French man in a beret.  He was an old man and was shuffling along.  The three of us were visiting and enjoying the sunny day.  I said something, and the old man suddenly froze, shooting me a deadly look.  I had no idea what he was doing, so I continued on with the conversation.  No doubt it was something really important like wondering about the weird rotating toilet seat in the bathroom at another cafe we'd been at.

 Suddenly, the old man began shouting at me in French.  I had no idea what he was saying.  He was very animated, screaming and waving his arms.  I tried to pretend there was no crazy man shrieking at me, and kept eating my salad, trying to avoid eye contact with him.  Then, the old man began SPITTING ON MY SHOES.  I repeat, SPITTING ON MY SHOES.  I continued to eat, acting like it was completely normal for a short man in a beret to spit on me while I eat.

He shuffled away, and conveniently, the police drove by.  When I no longer needed them!  The French woman at the table said that she was confused by what he was saying, and didn't know what he thought we were.  We kind of chuckled and continued to visit and eat.

 Pretty soon, my French best friend was back!  He began immediately spitting on me and started screaming at me again.  He wasn't doing it to my British friend, or the French woman, just little innocent me.  The French woman was trying to reason with him and he shuffled off again.  After he left, the French woman said that he was calling the three of us lesbian whores and telling me that Americans were going to get the French all killed.  He told me to tell President Bush that he didn't support the war and to stop it.

You know, all Americans know the president.  Sure, French Dude, we're like this:

 I'll pass on your message!

So, with spit on my shoes and an apparent invisible target on my back, I left the cafe.  It was a Sunday and we had to take the Metro to get back to the hotel.  We purchased tickets to the Metro, but mine wouldn't work.  I tried and tried.  There was no one at the ticket counter because it was a Sunday.  I had paid for the ticket, but it wasn't recognizing it.  The only solution was to cozy up to the French woman and go through the turnstile as one person, all the while staring at the surveillance camera watching my every move, mouthing "I'm sorry!  I did pay for it!" and praying I didn't go to French prison.

So, as I contemplate another trip to Europe, I wonder - what is the political mood over there?  Do they like President Obama?  Should I bring rain boots for shoes?