Common Sense, Dancing

I think one of the biggest problems of the stay-at-home-mom is the lack of a peer audience. It’s really hard to move through your day, taking in a variety of news and experiences, and not have an outlet for them. Certainly Twitter has helped in that arena — you get 140 characters to say, “What the hell was that I just heard?” — but it’s not the same as being able to turn to someone else and say, “What the hell was that?” and get near-instant feedback and camaraderie.

[Actually, I turn to strangers all the time and make small declarations about stuff. Usually I’ll do this standing in a line {like in Shop-Rite} when we’re both looking at the same trashy News of the World headlines. I find this tactic somewhat unfulfilling, however, since it often results in that startled “why-is-this-crazy-lady-who-may-very-well-still-be-in-her-pajamas-at-10:30-here-at-the-grocery-store” look and a subtle collecting of produce for a move to another checkout aisle. I try not to take it too personally. My pajamas are fine — they could totally be a cute summer outfit.]

At any rate, back to my need for a friend to be with me during my SAHM shift. I don’t have anyone, at least not someone who’s with me for the full 8 hours, so I make little comments in my head and hope to remember them later to share with my husband, other mothers at after-school pickup, or (less appropriately, probably) my 14 year old daughter.

Today, however, I’ll share with you (Hey! Leave your milk and bread where they are. I’m on to you):

From my junk folder on my Hotmail account, I found this: I am Mrs Stella Ethan, a Christian. I have picked you for an inheritance, Everything is available.  Please contact me for more details. It made me laugh out loud. (Thanks to Joann at Laundry Hurts My Feelings for pointing out the delightful bon mots that can be found in the spam folder.)

From the spam folder on this blog site: Why god (sic) allows this sort of thing to continue is a mystery.  Sent from my iPad 4G. There is much about this that intrigues me. What is god (sic) allowing to continue? My site? That seems harsh. I can’t figure out which post it’s attached to, so I’m going to assume it’s about the spanx/Brazilian supermodel post and be inclined to agree. Also — it’s sent from an iPad? I think iPads should be used for good, not spam.

By all accounts, Michael Bolton’s foray into ballroom dance on DWTS was a mess. And having been criticized for the judges on his debacle and subsequently booted off,  Mr. Bolton has taken to the media to cry that he was mistreated. He wants an apology. Insert comment about apologizing for his career, for the When a Man Loves a Woman remake, for his hair, for…C’mon man. Get a clue.

When I grow up I’m going to invent a silent dental drill. I will win the Nobel Peace Prize for this, not to mention the respect of dental professionals everywhere (although, considering their mental state this may not be such a coup).

The masons working on my house are from Poland so, obviously, they converse in Polish on the job. When they talk to each other, it sounds kinda mean. I’m stressed just listening to them. I’m told they’re not yelling, but it sure sounds that way. Having studied Russian (a relative of Polish) for a million years, this never occurred to me. Perhaps this explains the slavic affect — grumpy and mean — because they’re being pseudo-yelled at all day long.

Will the children eventually notice if I start throwing out the socks I find lying around on the first floor? I will certainly feel better in the short term, but how will this come back to bite me later? I need someone to do a risks/benefits analysis for me.

Tony Curtis died this week, Eddie Fisher died last week. All you over-75’s in SAG better get your affairs in order. One of you is next.

With regard to the above, these are two good examples of taking better care of yourself while you are young. Both = ridden hard and put away wet.

Hot air balloons are common around here in the spring, summer and fall. They are lovely to look at. But actually go up in one? No thanks. Stuff like this happens: American Balloonists Missing During Race. Honestly. If God intended us to float around in balloons, I’d be a lot less dense (I mean, physically. What did you infer?).

The last sign of the Apocalypse was just brought to my attention, and so I’m going to wrap this up and make sure there aren’t too many expired cans of Spaghetti-O’s in my basement bomb shelter. Some Einstein in the Publishing World has given Snooki the go-ahead to write a novel. OH MY SWEET CHEESES (thank you Phil from Modern Family. My new favorite expression). There are so many fantastic writers clamoring for book deals, and someone intends to slaughter trees and digital bytes to put this woman’s “work” Out There?

Gotta go. Must pick up water at Shop-Rite. I’m not even going to change: flip-flops and pajama pants are fine for this — it’s an emergency. And you can be sure I’ll be chatting up my fellow Line-rs at checkout. Startled looks be damned.

In my zeal to get this out, I neglected to note it’s a Word Up, Yo! post. Join the fun…