signs you're not a gardenerSpring is in the air, which means your eyes are puffy from pollen and you go from using your heater to your air conditioner all in the span of 24 hours.

For as long as I can remember, my parents spent the weekends in the spring and summer cultivating their gardens (and their wine habit). I always assumed I would follow in their footsteps, albiet those steps were stepping stones in a sea of green grass.

However, for some reason I missed the gardening-loving gene, although I did inherit the wine habit.

I learned the hard way that I didn’t have a green thumb. Unfortunately, my hostas and my manicure fell victim to this lesson.

However, in the hopes of saving the world from unnecessary manicure massacres, I’ve compiled a list to help you figure out if you’re a gardener or not.

1.  You think buying plant food means ordering a salad.

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2.  You like your garden clean and free of dirt.

3.  You prefer to do all gardening indoors.

 

4.  You think a spade is only something in a deck of cards.

 

5.  Wearing gloves isn’t enough to convince you to touch dirt.

 

6.  You can’t keep your artificial plants alive.

 

7.  You don’t look good in hats and your skin is far too delicate for direct sunlight.

8.  You always tip over the watering can.

9.  Even drawings of flowers make you break out in hives.

 

10.  You think gardening is sexy only when it’s done by the sexy hunk you hired.

 

Hopefully this list helped you decide if you have a green thumb.  Personally, it’s not the thumb I think of when I think of gardening.

It’s another finger entirely…


Other places on the web this week where I’m cracking people up!

8 Ridiculously Petty Fights I’ve Actually Had With My Husband

15 Things That Will Surprise You About Men When You Move In

10 “Wierd” Things That Couples Do That Are Totally Normal

 

PerspectiveI rarely cry. I’m not kidding.  I probably break down in tears 2 or 3 times a year.  I’ve just never been one to cry (probably because I’m an ugly crier). Granted, I avoid sad movies and that horrible Sarah McLachlan commercial with the sad animals, but still. I rarely cry.

As you may know, I’ve had some health issues for about a year and a half and for some reason they continue. I’m not sure if it’s because the universe thinks I can take it, or if this is its way of bitch-slapping me.

It’s probably 50/50.

I take a positive approach to everything and have tried to take this on the chin, but it’s getting kind of difficult. I feel crappy all the time and feel like I’m losing a sense of myself because I’m usually a zombie from the medicines. Lately I’ve felt like if I could cry, I might feel better, but then again, I can’t cry.  (See above.)

So today I was feeling especially miserable so I emailed my husband.  I didn’t want to talk but wanted to touch base with him as we normally do throughout the day. I told him I was frustrated.

And then he sent me the most perfect email that changed everything.  He told me he loved our perfect marriage and our life together, and he told me to watch this.

And just like that, I began to cry. No, I began to wail like a baby.

Every negative thought I had about anything just drifted away. I was laying in bed watching this with Shady Jack at my side staring at me, Max at my feet and Bentley licking my tears away. I thought about how my husband was so thoughtful to say that this song reminded him of me and that he knew I needed this. I needed to cry. I needed to be reminded that things aren’t really that bad.

All of a sudden I realized that my life is amazing. Not because I have a huge house or an enormous diamond (because I don’t).  But because I have so many things that are invaluable to me. My dogs, my sweet niece, and my amazing husband. What else did I need?

I realized that what I really needed wasn’t necessarily to cry, but to gain some perspective. The universe wasn’t bitch-slapping me to be mean–it was bitch-slapping me because I needed it. I needed to focus on what’s really important in life. Somehow I got lost along the way worrying about paying the bills and when I’ll be able to return to work.

Yes, those things matter but they don’t matter as much as the love that surrounds me. That’s the real joy and that’s what life is all about.

My mom always says “The best things in life aren’t things.” I’ve always tried to live by that motto, but it’s good to be reminded of it every now and then.

So take a look around you. Not at what you physically have, but at the love that surrounds you. I bet you take it for granted.  I know I did.  But don’t.

There is nothing more important or precious than those you love, and that should be what gets you through those hard times. It isn’t money to pay the bills or having the newest gadget. It’s who makes you feel good about yourself and who supports you no matter what.

I’m so thankful for the bitch-slap. I needed it. Hopefully this post will bitch-slap you too.


 

Other Places I’m On The Web This Week!

8 Ridiculously Petty Fights My Husband And I Actually Had (with funny gifs!)

10 “Wierd” Things That Couples Do That Are Actually Totally Normal

15 Things That Will Surprise You About Men When You Move In

 

I have serious writer’s block.  It affects most writers and I’m currently suffering from it, which means you’re suffering from not getting a post….until now.

Fortunately, my friend Ashley over at Big Top Family decided to help me out and do a guest post.  It’s the perfect post because it’s about angry exercising….as if there’s such a thing as happy exercising.

Here is a little about Ashley before we get started with the hilarity.

ashley_homepage_picAshley Allen is a multi-task-dysfunctional mom of three boys, including a set of twins, and a survivor of a weird childhood. She writes a circusy, irreverent humor blog at http://www.bigtopfamily.com about her childhood and adulthood, and always seems to find that the bridge between them isn’t as long as she thinks. When she’s not blogging or juggling the family  balls, you can find her ridonkulous musings on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest

EXERCISERI’ve always had a Love/Loathe relationship with exercise – mostly Loathe. But there have been times in my life that I have actually loved it, even though that love was an Angry Love. Let me explain.

The first time I recall ever consistently exercising, I was 20 years old and in desperate need of an exercise regimen outside of lifting beer mugs and slices of pizza to my greasy lips. I was living and working in a college town, having been ousted from the college itself with a .8 grade point average.  My dad had promptly pulled the plug on financial support, but I stayed in town because I was dating a townie who worked at JC Penney. VERY promising.

I got a job working as a drug store cashier to continue paying my rent, and my roommate happened to work at Pizza Hut, so her free pizza perks kept our grocery budget down.

It didn’t, however, have the same effect on my weight. I gained thirty pounds in the span of a year and a half, and even though my ass was the size of Texas, I couldn’t get it up and motivated to do any exercise at all.

Until I got dumped by Mr. JC Penney.

Mr. JCP was one of the Dipshidiots I mentioned in my Mama’s Boy post. You might recall that one of them was a seminarian? Well, Mr. JCP wasn’t a seminarian during the time we dated, but he went on to be one, I’m told. Back when we were dating, he kept breaking up with me so that he could stay celibate in preparation for his dream of becoming an Anglican Priest. That’s the kind, by the way, that can get married, so, uhhh, let’s not kid ourselves.

My guess is 90 percent of the straight guys who enter the seminary in their twenties have bagged at least one babe or two, and God’s not gonna hold that against them. I mean, being a guy, God’s probably even going to high-five them for it, with one of his gigantic hands.

Anywho. Mr. JCP would break up with me every other month or so because he said that’s what God wanted him to do, and I didn’t get too upset because who can get pissed off at God, for chrissakes? The last time he broke up with me, however, I found out that the Big Man Upstairs had nothing to do with it. In fact, it was the Little Man Downstairs that was calling all the shots, since Mr. JCP had been banging half the desperate bimbos at Penneys, including the married ones!

Devastated, crushed, and completely Looney Tunes, I didn’t show up for work, I wouldn’t leave my room, I stopped showering, I drank a lot of Natural Light, and I gorged myself on everything that Pizza Hut’s expansive menu had to offer. After about a week of this abuse, I looked in my full-length mirror and said, “Aw, HELL naw!” I shimmied my fat ass into some sweatpants, blew the dust off my sneakers, headed outside, and ran faster than Forrest Gump the day he took a bullet to the butt saving other people’s asses in Vietnam.

Of course, I only made it about a block before I passed out and had to receive mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from a random pedestrian. (Not really, but you get my point. I was out of shape). That day, though not exactly epic in terms of miles run or calories burned, was a hugely pivotal day because on it, The Angry Exerciser was born.

The Angry Exerciser was a fat-burning persona of vengeance who APPEARED to the casual onlooker to be running, stair-climbing, or ellipticalling herself to death, but internally, she was kicking ass in a mixed martial arts cage match with cheaters, liars, various JC Penney employees, and the occasional clergyman.

In six month’s time, I was able to shed the extra thirty pounds, buy a new wardrobe, move out of the college town, and start taking community college classes so that I could eventually go back to a four-year-college. I dialed my exercise regimen back to a maintenance level of twice or three times a week, and eventually I noticed that The Angry Exerciser had packed her bags and gone on vacation.

That wasn’t the last I would see of her, though, not by a long shot. She would be back many, many, many more times in my life, when some Ass Hat would dump me, cheat on me, tell me I was gaining weight, flirt with one of my friends, stop calling me, stand me up for a date, do the White Man’s Overbite with some other girl on the dance floor, or all of the above.

Eventually, The Angry Exerciser just decided to unpack her travel suitcase and move in with me, because being the co-dependent type, I woke up one day and found I couldn’t do a lick of exercise without her.

Even now, nineteen years (oh, for Eff’s sake, really? NINETEEN YEARS?), one husband, and three kids later, though I don’t have any cheaters or liars to currently fuel The Angry Exerciser’s rage, I still desperately need her in order to work out. So I trick her, coax her out with her old memories, put ear buds in her ears, and make her listen to Pink, Kelly Clarkson, Maroon 5, Miranda Lambert, Cee-Lo Green (you know the one), Florence + the Machine, and yes, shudder, Miley Cyrus. (I can’t stand the little twerker, but who can resist “Wrecking Ball?” Who)?!

I do whatever it takes to get The Angry Exerciser back, because even though the Mind and Heart can heal themselves from Dipshidiot Rejection, the Ass never forgets.

New Year's resolutionsI hate new year’s resolutions.  The obvious reason is that I hate agreeing to do things that might be difficult.  That’s why I’ve never successfully completed a jigsaw puzzle, or an entire episode of the news.

I also hate resolutions because I like to think that I’m pure perfection, and I don’t need any improvement, which probably just shows I’m in a state of denial, but I don’t care.  I like to think I’m fabulous and without flaws.

Another reason I hate new year’s resolutions is because I will always fail to keep them, which just further reminds me that I’m a failure, and brings back childhood memories of letting down my 5th grade kickball team when I whiffed the ball and lost the game.

I still can’t look at a red kickball without getting misty-eyed.

So this year I decided I would make some resolutions that I knew I could keep.  That way, I would feel good about myself and my success, instead of feeling bad about myself and drowning my sorrows in Grey Goose.

Come to think of it, I will also celebrate my success with Grey Goose, so either way, there’s vodka on the table.  Here are a few of my resolutions for this year.  They should be your resolutions too because I think they’re pretty easy for anyone to keep.

1.  Eat good food

girl eating hot dogJust to be clear, this resolution isn’t to eat healthy food; it’s to eat good tasting food.  The two are completely different, despite what my personal trainer and my mother say.

Newsflash:  Spaghetti squash doesn’t taste anything like pasta, no matter how much you douse it in marinara.  So pass the pasta and shut it.

If I made a resolution to eat healthy food, the Chipotle I had for lunch and the Domino’s I had for dinner would not meet with that resolution, and I like to think of myself as a winner.

So vowing to eat delicious food this year is not only a resolution I know I can keep, it’s one I will take quite seriously. I’m dedicated to myself like that.

2.  Have as many embarrassing moments as possible

baboonThis is one resolution I can stick to even without trying.

For some reason, I manage to embarrass myself regularly; the way some people accomplish goals, or breathe air.

From dropping the bottom of my dress in the toilet to opening the door on a perfect stranger using the toilet, I get myself into some embarrassing situations.

Come to think of it…many of them involve toilets.  I don’t even want to know what that suggests about me.

3.  Come up with new and interesting excuses for why I can’t go to the gym

sickNo more “I’m sick” or “I pulled my scrotum.”

Those are old excuses that died with 2014, and any dream I had of fitting into clothes from the Juniors department ever again.

I’m also pretty sure that my physical trainer has caught on to the fact that one can only biologically have 2 sets of grandparents, yet I’ve managed to have nearly 6 of them die in the last year.

I think he’s starting to do that math.  This year I’m going to come up with new material for why I can’t make it to my workouts. Nothing is off limits this year.

I’m going to dig deep and dream big and look up new conditions on WebMD.

4.  Dress comfortably

sweater and hatSince I own a pair of Pajama Jeans, this is one resolution I’m confident I can keep.  I plan on not letting constricting pants get in the way of my comfort.  Please note this resolution goes hand in hand with resolution number 1.

Gone are the days of wearing pants that button, and dresses that cling to my fat rolls.  This year I’m going to branch out and wear more flowy clothes, which basically means I will be increasing my trips to the maternity clothes outlets.

If any of you have coupons for Motherhood, send them my way.  Those maternity pants aren’t cheap and I’m going to be tight on cash, especially considering all the good food I’ll be purchasing, and the money I’ll be wasting on a gym membership I won’t use.

5.  Make financially irresponsible purchases

pennies and manThis will be a fun resolution to keep, and one that will most likely encourage late night television viewing.  Nothing is a bigger waste of money than “only sold on TV” items that can easily be found at the local Wal-mart for a fraction of the price.

And with a Wal-mart purchase, there is the free added bonus of the sighting of a 55 year old male wearing a bathrobe and Speedo while demanding he be referred to as “Mr. Muscles.”

In addition to ridiculous television purchases, I also plan on buying lots of storage items that, ironically, will contribute to my storage problem by taking up space in my small house.

And maybe this year’s the year I finally let my husband buy a moped and start a moped gang.  He wants to call it Rolling Thunder.

I think this is a good start to my list of realistic resolutions.  I will keep you posted on my progress, but until then, I’m going to grab a Hostess snack cake (or 3) and call my trainer to tell him I won’t be at the gym tomorrow because my basement flooded and my workout gear is floating in sewage.

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Other Places You Can Find Me On The Internet This Week

Oh Marriage! The 7 Funniest Things My Husband’s Ever Said To Me

10 Signs You’re Pushing 40 And Don’t Give An Eff

9 Awkward Stages of Seeing A Facebook Friend In Real Life

Life Lessons Learned From A Christmas StoryOne of my favorite things about the Christmas holiday is the 24-hour marathon of  A Christmas Story that plays every year on TBS.  Other favorites include bourbon and vodka, but then again, that’s just a Tuesday night at the Newlin household.

I love the Christmas season because it makes it completely acceptable to drink before noon…in my jammies…while noshing on three different kinds of cookies…and watching A Christmas Story, which brings us full circle.

I’ve been watching A Christmas Story for more than a decade and every time I watch it I learn something new.  For instance, I now know that having your Christmas dinner at a Chinese restaurant is completely acceptable, so long as you don’t order the duck.

I also know that the Bumpkisses are the worst neighbors ever and they really need to feed their dogs more regularly.

I’ve also learned that the ominious threat of “Not a finger!” makes no sense, yet is somehow terrifying when said in a serious tone.

Because it’s that time of year again and we’re all going to binge on our favorite Christmas movie, while eating turkey of course, I thought I would lay out some of the life lessons we’ve learned from Ralphie and his family.

I did the lessons in Gifs because it’s funnier that way and it means I don’t have to write anything after each point, which is also a bonus.

Enjoy the lessons and enjoy watching A Christmas Story at least 5 times this season.  Anything less is simply unpatriotic.

“Not a finger!”

1.  Soap is poisonous if ingested.  It will cause blindness.


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2.  Never give in to peer pressure.


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3.  It’s important to get bundled up for the cold.


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4.  It’s never too early to start thinking about Easter.


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5.  Ovaltine is one big scam.


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6.  Santa Claus is not nice to the naughty.


http://giphy.com/gifs/a-christmas-story-30-day-movie-challenge-love-hate-relationship-jdaleXLrjjbqg

7.  Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to get your kid to eat.


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8.  Super glue actually can’t fix everything.


http://giphy.com/gifs/a-christmas-story-the-flintstones-leg-lamp-10UFbWsPdaHKww

9.  Icicles can be very dangerous.


http://giphy.com/gifs/a-christmas-story-peter-billingsley-movie-classics-1mUONUzCUuJbi

10.  A Red Rider BB Gun really will shoot your eye out.


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11.  Major Awards are best when they’re Italian.


http://giphy.com/gifs/christmas-boho-a-story-N9bIdFOs3JV3q

12. Never back down from a triple dog dare.


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13. The f— word is THE word.


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CuddlyChristmasHopefully by now you’re decorated for the holidays.  Hopefully for you, your neighbors have limited the amount of inflatable snowmen they’ve put on their front lawn.  I didn’t bode so well despite my pleas that nothing really says the holidays quite like no decorations on the outside and listening to Metallica at a reasonable volume.

Again, I didn’t bode well.

We put up a Christmas tree for the holidays, although I’m not sure why since we have approximately 2 square feet of extra space in our house and shoving a fake tree with lights and a sh*t ton of balls on it doesn’t seem like a good use of space.  But I digress.

Every year we put up our tree and I always wonder what our dogs think of it.  However, I’m pretty in tune with my dogs so I asked them what they saw when they looked at our tree and they gave me a pretty accurate description.

Here it is in a graphic, because you love graphics.  And Bentley, Max and Shady Jack say “Happy holidays” to all of you!

What your dog sees when he looks at the (3)

 

 

 

-Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer-It’s no secret that I’m not the hugest Christmas person in the world, which makes no sense, as Christmas has all the makings of a Lisa Newlin favorite holiday.  Food?  Check.  Presents?  Check?  Oversized sweaters to hide the extra cookies you’re smuggling home from grandma’s house? Check.

Wait, why am I not more crazy about this holiday?

One thing I’m definitely not a fan of is Christmas music.  I know.  Ba hum bug.  I just don’t like hearing the same annoying songs every single year for two months.  Forever.  Until I die.  At least Miley Cyrus has an expiration date of when they’ll stop playing her music on the radio. (Fingers crossed.)

But the chipmunks? Those f*ckers will be singing about a flipping hula hoop well after I’ve left this world.

Granted, some holiday songs are more bearable than others, and then there are some that are just weird.  As you may recall, last year I wrote about how “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” was really just a song by a creepy kid.  In that same vein, this year I decided to take another Christmas carol we all merrily sing around the tree and break it down a bit.

Which song did I choose? A song about murder, alcoholism, pill addiction and hope for the holidays.

Let’s get this bad boy started with the beginning line that’s completely grammatically incorrect.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,”

Um, please tell me this is what you’re yelling to the 911 operator and not what you’re jotting down as the beginning of a catchy tune.  I sincerely hope you didn’t learn of your me-maw’s demise and immediately think “There’s a jingle in there somewhere, I know it.”  Please tell me CPR was attempted.

Coming home from our house Christmas Eve.”

Seriously?  You let an elderly woman walk home by herself on Christmas Eve?  If that’s how you treat her during the holiday season, I’d hate to see what you do to her when it isn’t such a hospitable month. Give the woman a ride.  Geez.

You can say there’s no such thing as santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.”

Seriously?!  You followed up a declaration that your sweet old granny was murdered with a sentence of hope and believing in a mythical creature?!  I just hope you believed in modern medicine because I suspect old gran needed to believe in some morphine and a neck brace.

She’d been drinking too much egg nog,”

Okay, now I’m really starting to like this gram, assuming the egg nog was actually bourbon.  Around the holidays, that’s what I call my bourbon just because it sounds more festive than “I’m going to sit by the fire and polish off a pint of bourbon all by myself.”  See?  Egg nog just sounds better.

And we begged her not to go.”

TOP SECRETUm, was me-maw a 300 pound body builder?  Couldn’t you just stop the frail granny from leaving by simply putting your hand across the door jam and taking her walker?  Really?  You had to beg her to stay and when she refused you were all “You’re on your own old hag!”

Nice.  Real.  Fricking.  Nice.

But she’d left her medication,
So she stumbled out the door into the snow.”

ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!  This woman was drinking and forgot her medication so you let her STUMBLE into the SNOW?!  You guys really are a bunch of a-holes.  Don’t you know that “A Christmas Story” runs on a continuous loop for 24 hours on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day?

Perhaps you should have torn yourself away from that beloved classic for just a few minutes to make sure your arthritic mimi didn’t fall into the snow in her alcohol-induced state.

When they found her Christmas mornin‘”

YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW SHE WAS DEAD UNTIL THE MORNING WHEN SOMEONE ELSE FOUND HER?!  You didn’t bother to check to see if your drunk me-maw who needed her pills made it home in the effing dark?

I find this a little hard to believe if I’m also to believe that you “begged her not to go.”  I’m beginning to think you didn’t care as much about granny as you claim to.

At the scene of the attack,
There were hoof prints on her forehead,”

He doesn't even seem sorry for runningI hope at this point you’re feeling at least a little bad about the fact you left her out in the cold to get ravaged by wild animals.  And I swear to God if you tell me this was a vampire attack and that Edward Cullen is responsible…I will….just…I will just….

And when you saw the hoof prints on her forehead, please tell me that at least then you called the authorities.  I’m sure CSI could come in to do their thing although I doubt they have a database for hoof prints and their corresponding offenders.

And incriminatin’ Claus marks on her back.”

What.  The.  Hell?  First of all, what are “Claus marks” and second of all, how are they incriminatin’? And third, do you not know proper English? Not only did you allow for a negligent homicide of your gram-gram, you don’t even know how to formulate words or sentences.  I’m beginning to understand why Gram was such an alcoholic pill popper.

You should be ashamed of yourselves.  Instead of writing a nice eulogy for your Gammy, or perhaps going on the news to warn of the dangers of an “incriminatin’ Claus” and his rag-tag reindeer, you decided to write a holiday jingle about her death and how she was left outside in the snow all night long to die simply because you guys couldn’t be bothered to pull yourselves away from the TV?

But hey, at least you ended the song with an uplifting statement about how some people don’t believe in Santa Claus, but you and Grandpa believe.  I realize you meant to suggest…wait…I have no fricking clue what you meant to suggest.  If you truly believed Santa mowed down your Gams, then of course you believe….because he’s guilty.  You should file a police report.

And why are you writing it like believing in the man who took your sweet Gran away  from this world is a positive thing? Is believing in Charles Manson also something we should sing to our kids about?  I’m thinking you and Grandpa are missing your moral compasses.  Perhaps they’re out in the snow clutched in Gran-Gran’s lifeless hands.

I hope you guys didn’t get anything in the will.

Shopping as a teen v as an adultI’ve been shopping for a lot of years, although all that practice still doesn’t make me good at it.  Despite my best efforts, I’m not overly interested in shopping.

I suspect it’s because I like to hoard my money and then splurge on extravagent things like a day at the spa…or underwear without holes in them.

Despite my inability to properly shop, I’ve come to a few realizations when it comes to spending money.  There are definitely differences between how you shop as a teenager and how you shop as an adult.

I guess I never realized it until recently when a friend was telling me about her teen’s purchases at the mall, half of which she made her daughter return because collectively, with all those outfits, there was enough material to make only a stocking cap.  True story.

So I got to thinking about the differences between shopping as a teen and shopping as an adult, and I think you’ll agree that I’m right on this.  But then again, aren’t I always?

Teen:  You buy your clothes at prestigious boutiques

Adult: You buy your clothes at the same place you buy your milk

Teen: You purchase accessories for each outfit

Adult: You figure your wedding ring is accessory enough

Teen:  You take friends with you to shop

Adult: You browse while your kids are in the restroom

Teen:  You won’t buy something another woman already owns because you don’t want to copy her

Adult:  You don’t remember what clothes anyone owns and don’t care if you copy

Teen:  You hope your boyfriend notices your new outfit

Adult:  You hope your husband doesn’t notice your new outfit

Teen:  You buy your make-up at the fancy make-up counter

Adult:  You guy your make-up at the drugstore, which has a counter at the checkout

Overall, I’m glad to be shopping as an adult, mostly because the biggest difference between shopping as an adult and shopping as a teen is that when you’re an adult, you actually have money!

Happy shopping.  Feel free to buy me something nice.

******This was originally published a year or two ago but my mom was just in town and I was reminded that my slow transformation into becoming her has picked up speed.  Hence, the need for this to be republished.******

My mom's purse and her blinged out phone case.

My mom’s purse and her blinged out phone case.

This is my future.  Look at it.  Is it a photo of a purse with faux fur on it?  Yes, yes it is.

HELP!Is it adorable?  Yes, but that’s not the point.  And the blinged out phone cover? Also adorable, but also gaudy, no?

The point is this:  I’m turning into my mother.

Don’t get my wrong, I tolerate love my mother, so turning into her is isn’t a bad thing.

But so soon?  So quickly?

I figured I’d be at least late 50s before the resemblences started creeping in.  Apparently not.

I’ve been denying it for years, but it’s quickly becoming a realization I don’t think I can deny anymore.  The transformation has begun!

<to be read in a loud voice with ominous music in the background.>

I know, I know, few more horrific words have ever been uttered.  It’s what every young girl fears the most.

Well, that and the clap, but I guess since I dodged that bullet, I’m stuck with the other fear.

Whether it’s the lesser of two evils is something I’m not sure of, although I know one of them can be cured with penicillin.

It came on gradually (the transformation, not the clap). I think both ailments may come on gradually but the transformation into my mother didn’t involve itchiness or the urge to pee myself.

Either way, I noticed the changes slowly.

Uttering a cheesy phrase under my breath was the first sign.

Want an example?  Well, you’re getting one.

my slow transformation into becoming herWhen watching an episode of Law & Order: SVU, the opening credits indicated one of the actors was named B.D. Wong.

Without even thinking, I yelled out “He B.D. Wong guy for the job!”

Is that joke hilarious?  Of course it is, which is why I began cracking up immediately after I said it.

But then I looked around the room and saw the expressions I knew so well; the eye rolls, the moaning in irritation.

I know them because that’s my standard response to my mother’s jokes that aren’t really that punny.  (Ha!  Punny!  I’m on a roll!)

Simple enough.  I figured it was just one instance of bad joke-telling.  If Seth McFarlane can do it, so can I.

But then it moved onto conspiracy theories.  That’s when I started to notice I may need to seek help.

Was the government trying to take over my life by taxing me to death?  Obviously, as evidenced by this year’s tax return.

Did my office have a secret stash of cookies my coworkers hide from me because they know I’d eat them if I knew about them?  Probably.

But let’s face it; that’s probably a good idea on their part.

One thing I do know for sure, though, is that YES, all the kids really are on drugs these days.  Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

As if these small tendencies creeping into my life weren’t enough, another symptom appeared that made it far more real.  The humming started.  That’s when I knew it was serious.

It was one thing to believe every kid over the age of 14 was a heroin junkee.  (I blame “the MTV” and the video games.)

But it’s quite another to hum songs loudly in public. Worst of all?  I found myself trying to hum the harmony.

FOR SHAME!

Now it’s just snowballing.  I find myself drawn to sparkly things that most people, and Lisa from 5 years ago, would have found gaudy.  But now, a part of me thinks “That’s kind of pretty.  Look at it sparkle.”

For some reason, my taste in glittery things has skyrocketed and there’s no way to stop it.  Why would I buy a pair of plain glasses when I could get a pair with rhinestones blinged out on the sides?

I wouldn’t.

I guess they say that acceptance is the first step.  I’m not sure if I’m there yet, but I suppose I’m on the road to that destination, not paying attention and sideswiping vehicles as I go.

Maybe it’s not so bad.

After all, my mom isn’t that far away from the senior citizen discount, and I love saving money.

Plus, the sparkly tops and glittery glasses will make it easier for people to find me when I inevitably fall down or get lost on the street looking for my car.

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butterbur-51919I’ve always been a fan of Kermit The Frog.  He’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of green.  After all, it isn’t easy.

Kermit is definitely a sexy beast who looks good with or without clothing, yet Kermit is the epitome of nudity.  When you think about it, he’s the only Muppet who can pull off the totally nude look.

Okay, so maybe Rowlf The Dog is naked, but he always has that piano at waist level, which tells me he’s insecure about something.  I suspect I know what it is…

He’s not neutered, of course.  Geez.  You guys are such pervs.

<insert public service message about spaying/neutering your animals or I will cut your balls off.>

Where is this post going?  Good question.

If you’re still reading and haven’t gone to PBS to watch Sesame Street, then I will tell you where this post is headed.

To the gutter.  Or actually, to the streets.  Follow my logic.

For some reason, in thinking about Kermit, I began to wonder if Kermit was a lover or a fighter.  He always pushes away Miss Piggy’s advances, which suggests he may be a fighter. But who would he fight with? That annoying Elmo? Hopefully.

Which begs the question: Who would win if Kermit got into a fight with Elmo?

kermit-64718

I’m not talking about one of those “You took the last fruit roll-up so I’m going to kick you in the shins and run away” fights.  I’m talking about a true fight.  With biting and crap.  Who would win?

That frisky frog is one good looking dude, but is he scrappy?  He seems like such a nice guy, and he does let Miss Piggy walk all over him.

Okay, she doesn’t literally walk all over him, as that would most certainly crush his rib cage…unless he’s into that sort of thing.

Wait, a frog doesn’t have ribs.  Plus for Kermie!

SMACKDOWNBut what about his physical prowess?  He has scrawny arms, but is he strong?  Does he work his core, or only his glamour muscles?

He might be an underrated opponent just because of his size, yet he might be able to bench press like a sonofabitch.

I’ve seen it done.  Not by an amphibian, but by scrawny guys at the gym whose moms drop them off after swim practice.

But then there’s Elmo.  I don’t know what species he is, other than a creeper who talks like a child despite the fact he frequently wears business suits.

I think he’s supposed to be a monster of some sort, but I don’t know any monsters who giggle like school girls.

Come to think of it, maybe he’s neutered, and that’s why he has such a high-pitched voice.

That could be a point in his corner for overpowering Kermit, as he wouldn’t have his manly monster parts to get in the way of a smackdown.

Instead of making you read my word vomit, which is clearly what this post is, I’ve decided to make a tally of things each opponent has going for and against him.

You’re welcome.

Elmo Pros

 

Elmo Con (1)

So there you have it:  my thoughts on who would win in a fight on Sesame Street.  The outcome is unclear, and I suppose I will leave it up to you to decide who would prevail in this matchup of Muppets.

Let me know your thoughts, and if I can figure out how to do a little chart of everyone’s answers, I will.  And by “I” I mean if someone else can figure that out. We all know I can’t figure that out.  If I could, I would have done it already.

So let me know who you think would win, and your thoughts on why. This is a very important topic.  It’s really for the kids.