Tag: funny

The Day Heavy Metal Died

Published on by cmglife4 Comments

John and I were out the other night having a hamburger at a bar that has really good bands playing every Saturday night.  We never get to go because for some reason John will spend $800 on a kayak, but won’t spend $5 on a cover charge.  I picked up a flyer, and it turned out the weekend that Emily and her husband, Paul, were coming there was a showcase of metal bands playing.

“Great,” I said, “we’ll take them here that weekend”.

I sensed John didn’t really believe that I would plan this, but I did. That Saturday, Emily got Grace to sleep, Tristan babysat and off we went. I was really quite proud of myself for planning a night out, just like the old days I thought to myself (really old days, like 30 years ago).

We left at 7.  We got there at 7:10.  We just walked right in, giggling that the bouncer wasn’t there to charge us the cover charge. John was over the moon.  He must have mentioned it a couple of times before the drinks arrived.

We were talking and laughing.  It was really fun until we started to look around and notice the band members coming in one by one, bringing in their equipment.  A lot of them had those t-shirts with very disturbing images on them, devils, hatchets, ghosts, skulls etc.    The table started to doubt what kind of music was going to be played.  Not me, of course, I had seen the flyer.

To prove it to them, I dug around in my purse. After a while I pulled out the flyer, found the date and pointed out that it did indeed say“Metal Band Showcase”.

Paul laughed and said, “Metal is screamo!”

“No, it’s not, Metal is Heavy Metal”, I said a little condescendingly (just a little, really).

“No, mom, Metal is screamo,”Emily said, with a lot of condescension in her voice.

I look at John for help and he gives me a helpless shrug.

“No”, I continue this ridiculous argument, “Heavy Metal is Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones.”

“No, mom,” Emily says patiently, “that’s classic rock”.

“What? I don’t understand”, I keep looking at John begging for some clarity, he’s no help!

Then the band starts and I am still holding on to my naive belief that the band will begin its opening set with “Gotta a Whole Lotta Love”  or “Living on a Prayer”.  No such luck.

The music started out okay, until the singer began to roar into the microphone.  I’m sure there is a technical name for the noise that came out of that kid’s throat, but I can’t imagine that it is more descriptive than roaring.

Everyone thought it was so funny, but I didn’t.  I was thoroughly disappointed.  We left after the drinks and went over to a boring old bar and had chicken wings.  John’s only recollection of that night is that at least he didn’t have to pay the cover charge.

What fresh hell can this be?

Published on by cmglife

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a surviving victim of the catholic school system.  When Allison came home telling me she was assigned St. Catherine of Bologna as a history project, I almost choked on my mouthful of  Lean Cuisine.

After getting myself together, she told me the class was learning about important figures from the Renaissance.  The other kids were assigned fabulous characters like King Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth I and Joan of Arc.  What evil forces were at work when she was assigned a nun? Allison was far from pleased to have to wear a nun’s habit when  the other girls were going to be decked out in all the Renaissance splendor that the era is known for.

Not only did she have to research St. Catherine, but also dress up like her, memorize and recite an entire page of a single spaced typed biography. Oh, yeah, spoken with an Italian accent, oh mio Dio!

No, she is not enrolled in a college preparatory school.  No, she is not in an arts school or even a gifted and talented program.  Just a little ‘ole 5th grader in a charter school that take themselves far too seriously.

The preparation it took for the final presentation was more labor intensive than the summer Olympics in London last year.  Hours of researching, typing, memorizing and  practicing a renaissance era Italian accent with just the right Bolognais dialect.

We started looking at photos of St. Catherine on the internet.  I found some perfectly lovely drawings of her, but all Allison could focus on was the mummified body of the actual original nun preserved and sitting in the chapel of the Poor Clares in Bologna, Italy.  I do not exaggerate.

And then there’s me, catholic PTSD every night I have to think about sewing that damn costume! I am not usually a procrastinator, but with this particular project I could not get my act together and left it until the last minute, or until the Saturday before the Monday she was going to present.  Off we went to store to buy a few yards of white, brown and black broadcloth.  I then proceeded to drape and cut and do a little (very little) sewing.  I thought she looked fabulous, for a dead nun.

That morning I was on pins and needles wondering how it was going. Was she going to choke? Was the wimple staying in place?  Did she remember the rosary?  Was the Little House on the Prairie book wrapped in brown cloth believable as a bible?

She ended up choking on the speech part (cazzarola!), but got an A for effort.  Phew! I’m glad that is over. Yesterday I got an email from the school announcing a “Civil War Re-Enactment and Ball” for the 5th and 6th graders in April.

Oh, what fresh hell can this be?

Tootsie Rolls

Published on by cmglife

Is it shameful of me to turn my music higher because the voices of my fighting children are bleeding through the music?

I haven’t turned the music that much louder. I can still hear a sharp inflection in one of their voices here and there. I don’t leave the music blaring for very long, my conscience won’t allow me. I tentatively pause my music every two or three minutes and turn it back on when I hear a moment of silence. Unfortunately, I am not totally removed from my family, I can still feel the angry footsteps as they approach.

Tonight the argument is about sorting Halloween candy. My ten year old has just gotten around to dumping out her pillow case full of candy on the floor. My 16 year old, who acts like a 10 year old, is harassing her about giving him the candy he wants before it is thoroughly sorted into piles. I remember how important the sorting was. I asked him if he could remember that far back, have a little empathy. He just gave me a look while loudly chomping on a tootsie roll…..I guess not.

Shattered Dreams Shattered Urinal

Published on by cmglife

Have you ever driven with a teenager? It is a harrowing experience. My son is sixteen and has been driving for about three months. What I don’t quite understand is when I am in the car with him he has no desire to impress me with his honed driving skills, just the opposite. He seems hell bent on showing me just how fast he can take corners, how close he can get to the car ahead of him by slamming on the breaks at just the last moment while changing the songs on his iPod. Needless to say, I drove back home on that trip.

My son lost the first game of the state finals that took place during basically a blizzard. My husband, two daughters, granddaughter and I stuck it out during the rain and wind that turned to snow. It was a heartbreaking loss that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. It was mostly because the boys had endured the atrocious weather conditions for 90 minutes in shorts, played so well, and then at the last ten seconds the other team scored! That is not the point of my story though. After the game, with testosterone and adrenaline pulsing through his system, Tristan jumped in his pickup and tore out of the parking lot. In this process he cut me off! Yes, that’s right, his own mother!

A couple of days later, John asked Tristan to pick up a urinal from the local hardware store. No, this is not a normal request (my husband is building a shop). He instructed Tristan to put the urinal in the back of the pickup, but make sure it is on something so it’s not rolling around the back of the truck bed. This is good advice for the way Tristan drives and it would have been even better had he heard anything John had said. Tristan arrived home with the thing shattered in the back of the bed of the truck. I’m sure he was employing his usual driving techniques and no amount of bubble wrap would have saved it.

So, now he owes for a $50 shattered urinal and is still licking his wounds over his shattered dream of winning the state title. Being a teenager is hard.

Broken Record

Published on by cmglife

I’m proud to announce that an old record was broken tonight! My old record was getting two children and I ready for work and school from bed to out the door  in 30 minutes flat. That includes hair straightening and breakfast!

This is my new record:

4:15   Left for the Physical Therapist appointment scheduled for 4:30.

4:45   Therapist was late. I told him Allison has to be at piano lessons at 5:30.

“How far is it?” he asks.

“Five minutes”, I reply.

“I’ll get you there,” he reassures me confidently.

“Maybe too confidently?” I think nervously.

The therapist called the aide in and they began to “tag team” each shoulder. Handing me some green lens “laser” glasses, the aide started the laser treatment on one shoulder while the therapist began some sort of “gwashing” (phonetically spelled) on the other shoulder. Then they switched.

After ten minutes of that, they began the “electrode” therapy. I wish I could give you the actual medical terminology of these treatments, but would you really care anyway?

5:20   Their bell dinged, time enough to get my coat on and drive across the parking lot to the piano lessons.

5:25   Dropped Allison off at piano lessons.

5:26   Drove to Hobby Lobby to get a poster board for Allison’s science project. Ran into a woman I know from work at the door of the store. I actually parked right next to her in the parking lot before she got out. I didn’t know there was anyone in the car and now I think I might have pissed her off because I drove in kind of fast. I was, as you know, trying to break a speed record.

In the store we exchanged pleasantries:

“Hi, Maggie, how’s it going”? I say wondering if she knew it was me who almost took her car door off.

“Just fine,” she says. Yes, I think she knew it was me.

“This is where all the cool people hang out,” I say pleasantly, feeling her coolness and realizing that was a really lame thing to say.

5:35 Drove to the grocery store and checked my watch, 25 minutes left.  I debated with myself and decided to try it. I parked as close as I could to the entrance and collected a shopping cart. I bought juice, bread, cereal, applesauce, yogurt and two packets of gold fish crackers (BOGO). No stories there, it went off without a hitch.

5:55   I arrive back at the piano lessons!

That, my friend, is a new record!

Just walking by…..

Published on by cmglife

I was just walking through the kitchen last night and this caught my eye….????

Shelly T.

Published on by cmglife

I have a friend at work that is trying to train (is that the right word?) me on how to be a better mother to my teenage son. I have never asked her in any way or form for this help nor do I think I need it. But, she has taken me under her wing and I try to pay attention. Her son is brilliant, good looking, tall, athletic and a really nice guy. We try not to roll our eyes as we hear yet another story of his amazing bigger than life accomplishments.

I don’t know how she got the impression that my role in Tristan’s life was less than adequate. It may have started with my ADD. Yes,I have ADD ( tested and everything). Now because of that I have a very hard time staying focused for long periods of time, oh who am I fooling, for ANY period of time.

My friend’s concern started at the beginning of the school year when she asked me which classes Tristan had signed up for.

“AP Chemistry,” I would say not very confidently (you know that little “up speak” we do with the last syllable). I had been told, read his schedule, etc., but was now trying desperately to remember another class. “Spanish, uh, hmm”.

She was on to a new question, “Oh, Spanish II or III?”.

“Three,” I say enthusiastically, feeling the pressure may be off. I’m not really sure if it Spanish III, but I have to prove that I am interested in my son’s education. Then I realize she may have a way of checking on this information, she is a former Assistant Principal of the high school Tristan attends. Maybe she already knows very well what he has and she’s just screwing with me.

“Who does he have?” she asks interested. And the thing is I know she is being sincere. She doesn’t see me as the bug under the microscope that I feel like.

“I would have to check his schedule, I can’t remember,” I mutter uncomfortably. I actually went so far as to print out his schedule and keep it on my desk in case she asked again, which she didn’t.

Every morning she checks in with me and asks me if I’ve checked the paper to see if Tristan has been mentioned in the sports section. He’s in soccer and they are having a really good season.

“ You’ve got to start a scrapbook. I did with Brett.”

A scrapbook? A scrapbook? I have photos from 1998 still sitting waiting to be put into an album. My granddaughter will be 3 years old before I hang her 3 month old photos and she wants me to start a scrapbook? I said she was a friend, I never said we were close.

“I don’t get the paper,” I say apologetically.

“Oh, you’ll have to get the paper, he’ll be in it all the time and you’ll want to cut out the articles for his scrapbook!”

My compliance in this matter has become a slippery slope.

The next day she brought me a “One Month Free” coupon for the Herald.

Gnat in a Glass

Published on by cmglife5 Comments

I am not a violent person as a rule, unless there is a house fly or a fruit fly around. Tonight I am trying to write and having a glass of wine. For some reason the one fruit fly in the house has supersonic scent receptors (making all these scientific terms up) and is buzzing around my head in front of the laptop screen. It’s driving me crazy, I cannot relax. The thing is obviously trying to take a nose dive into my wine. I am trying to keep track of it. Luckily I type better without looking at the key board or the screen. I wonder why that is?  I always type better when I’m talking on the phone too.

Back to the fruit fly….I keep trying to kill it by clapping my hands around it, but it is too small and it keeps getting pushed out on the air stream created by me.

The other day I was trying to take a short nap after work. I lay straight on my back with the tv off and the door to my bedroom open. This way when I fall asleep, a child, a dog or a phone call will inevitably wake me up after 15 min or so. If I don’t do this I will sleep for an hour and then berate myself on how much time I’ve wasted.

This particular afternoon I was lying there, dead tired, when a fly came into the room. Not just your run of the mill house fly, but one of those huge (Blue Bottle?) slow, noisy flies. It would not stop and I couldn’t help follow it with my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t have to get up and find the flyswatter. It did leave at one point, but came back. I finally had to go after it and I did, with a vengeance. Actually enjoying the final kill against the window!

I was trying to get all philosophical about the aggression and the fly and why it is easy to kill a fly, but I am too old and busy for that! Hate to say it, but “been there done that”!

You know that fruit flies have a 5 day lifespan; well I think it has died. Or it’s made its way into my glass and I’ve swallowed it without knowing, either way, it got what it deserved!

Wardrobe Malfunctions

Published on by cmglife

I’ve decided I’m going to just throw this shirt away. It’s been slipping over to one side or the other all day. I went into the bathroom and saw that my bra strap was exposed. How long has it been that way? My mind searches the last few encounters…who have I interacted with my undergarments showing?

Yeah, I’m throwing it away as soon as I get home! I’m not going to wash it, put it in the back of the closet until a few months go by. One morning on a desperate “nothing to wear day” I pull it out not remembering why I put it back there in the first place.

I’m going to throw it away tonight so I don’t innocently wear it and then look down and see my bra strap again. Then what am I to do? I have to spend the whole day adjusting and pulling the bra strap back all while trying to look perfectly normal.

I should go through my closet at the same time and throw out those pants that the button has been missing for a year! Sew it back on you say? Maybe in a former life! I will throw out that shirt that is just a smidge too low in the front and therefore having to hike it up every two minutes! I’m going to finally take out the staples of the hem of my favorite pants and replace it with two sided tape!

Yes, I’m feeling liberated already!

My cry is “NO MORE WARDROBE MALFUNCTIONS”!

ADD Laundry

Published on by cmglife

Housekeeping, especially laundry, with ADD has its special challenges, like it never gets done!

When you do laundry in my opinion that’s all you should be doing, any distraction at all is detrimental to the process. My laundry never gets finished. I sometimes do the right thing and take all the laundry baskets out to the living room where there is a big area to sort and make piles. I have devised one of my own systems. My stuff, husband’s stuff, kids stuff and towels. So far it hasn’t caused too much problem. The odd pink whites here and there over the years, it’s worth it, my system works!

On this particular day I have no plan, I’m just picking up piles from the individual rooms and stuffing them in the washer.  So I pick up one pile and put it in the washing machine, put the detergent in and turn it on. If I stayed there or somewhere close and waited for it I could have it done in record time, but no. I have to watch tv, read a book, get on the computer, do the dishes, get on the phone…….

So now the load number one is still sitting in the washer for 20 minutes before I remember I am doing the laundry. Twenty minutes, not too bad, I have all day. Next I put load number one into the dryer, dryer sheet and turn it on. Then it’s load number 2, I put it in the washing machine, put the detergent in and go finish what I was doing. Right, I can’t remember what I was doing before load number two, I’ll start a something new, that’s a better idea.

So another 20 minutes go by and I think about the laundry then realizing the dryer takes an hour so therefore there is at least 40 minutes left. I keep moving on. One hour goes by and I remember the laundry in the dryer, go to take it out and take load number two out of the washer to put in the dryer, but….. did you catch it before? I didn’t turn it on! This has been going on all my adult life. If I go to hell, this would be my hell, laundry. There is nothing I hate more!

After you get it out of the dryer, it’s still not done.  Doing laundry is like going grocery shopping, it’s such a process! Write the list, go to the store, buy the items, put the items on the checkout counter, put the bags into the cart, take the bags out of the cart, put the bags into the car, take the bags into the house, put the groceries away. And you haven’t even made dinner yet! I’m exhausted just remembering.

Back to the laundry, after they’re out of the dryer then they have to be folded. My husband tries to help out; he’s not one of those that doesn’t do any housework. He has to, it just wouldn’t get done sometimes, it’s more about self-preservation than charity. To keep the clean clothes separate from the dirty, he pours all the clean laundry on the couch. That is great if it ever gets folded. By the time I get around to it, the kids have sat all over it, half the socks are in between the couch cushions and my leopard print  underwear are the only thing visible from the front door when the neighbor stops by. Sometimes he’ll put it on the bed so I am forced to fold it and put it away so I can go to sleep.

Putting laundry away is the one process that never gets completely finished. I’ve had my son’s socks and underwear on my dresser since last week. I’ve got a stray belt and pair of shorts still lying on my nightstand.

While I’ve been writing this I am doing laundry and I’m going now to check to see if I put the dryer on for the wet load, because I didn’t the first time and now it’s 6:00 in the evening. I started at 8:30 this morning.