jumping off diving board**This post is syndicated with The Levison Group and originally appeared in various publications across the U.S.**

It’s summertime and the living’s easy. Well, maybe the living isn’t easy but it’s definitely summertime.

Summer is my favorite time of year and lounging at the pool is one of my favorite pastimes, and not just because there’s a great concession stand. However, I can never escape my legal tendencies, even at the pool, and every year when I go I think about the legalities behind it.

People undoubtedly injure themselves every year at their local swimming hole. From belly flops to slip and falls, the pool most certainly has its fair share of lawsuits.

So why is it that none of us sign a waiver when we’re admitted? Obviously the pool hasn’t hired me as their lawyer because if it did it would require everyone to sign a waiver before accessing the pool.

I’ve thought about what it should include, and here is my proposed waiver.

  • I agree not to run at the pool. I’m not sure why I would run around the pool as it’s all the same body of water and one part isn’t any more exciting than the other.
  • I will throw away my trash from the snack bar so ant farms don’t set up camp around the only available table. I will also agree to give the rest of my pretzel with cheese to the woman who has been eying it since I sat down.
  • I will not stand on the diving board while yelling to my friends about what kind of jump to do. I will collaborate with my friends and come to a decision about the jump before approaching the board.
  • I will not bring water guns to the pool and shoot them at unsuspecting people who didn’t want to get blasted in the face with chlorine water. I’m not sure why I would bring a gun that shoots water to be used while simultaneously standing in water.

kids at pool

  • I will not shove my body into a suit from last season and parade around the pool. I will accept that I have gained a few pounds and buy the next size up.
  • I will not spray sunscreen. I will use the stuff from the bottle because the spray sunscreen is ridiculous. I’m not that lazy.
  • I will not yell at my friends across the pool about stupid stuff.
  • I will read up-to-date magazines so I can share them with other pool goers when I’m done. Everyone deserves to be caught up on the latest celebrity gossip.
  • I will not throw a tantrum like it’s the end of the world when my parents make me leave the pool. I will come back the next day. And the next.
  • I will wear shoes in the restroom, because it’s gross not to
  •  I will ignore the fact that the lifeguards are all 16 years old and weigh 100 pounds and couldn’t even save my left foot if I was drowning.

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  • If I fall asleep at the pool I won’t snore. If I do, I understand if other pool goers move my chair away from them.
  • I will not block the exit ladder in the deep end of the pool. If I’m under 10 years old I shouldn’t be in the deep end anyway.
  • I will not talk loudly on my cell phone while laying out. I realize, however, it’s acceptable to do so only if I discuss juicy gossip on the phone and then let other pool goers in on the details.
  • I will not ask my friends whether that was a good cannon ball. It’s a cannon ball. There’s no skill.

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Maybe this waiver wouldn’t deter these behaviors from happening at the pool, but it would at least give a basis to kick people out for their idiotic behavior. Then again, if people were kicked out for violating these rules, there would be no one but me left at the pool. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so bad.

Hey local pool, call me.

The real pool rules

ambushed.jpg<<<<<<<I’m re-posting this one, as it happened over Christmas, but it’s one of my all-time favorite stories, and it’s such a funny memory.  I think you will enjoy, assuming you like pubes humor.

If you don’t like humor about pubes, you probably shouldn’t be reading this blog anyway…

ENJOY!>>>>>>>

Beautiful, right?

Beautiful, right?

Yes, I realize that brilliant graphic above and the title of this post isn’t how you spell “ambushed.”  I was trying to give you a hint as to what this blog post would be about, and I wanted to do it creatively, because I’m awesome that way.

Hopefully you can look past the spelling and look to the hilarity of the story.  You should, because the story is amaze-balls.

And before we go any further, how awesome is my drawing for this one?  I did it on Paint and it only took me an hour.  I’m so talented.

Every year, Matt and I go to Mexico to celebrate the Christmas holiday.  By “celebrate” we mean we lay in the sun all day, drink fruity drinks, and occasionally look at each other and say “Oh crap, its Christmas!  I totally forgot!”

We don’t go to Mexico because we don’t like Christmas; we just don’t like cold weather, or obligatory functions, or any kind of holiday that requires purchasing gifts.  (If you have a job and/or a bank account, you can buy yourself a gift.  I’m not waiting in line to get you a gift card to Starbucks.  FYI.)

drinks on the beachThis year was no different and we spent the holidays lounging on the beach, silently passing judgment on people as they walked by. (Sometimes not so silently, depending on the quantity and potency of the cocktails.)

We don’t do this to be mean, but mostly just to entertain ourselves, and because there are some seriously freaky people in this world…or at least in Puerto Vallarta over the holidays.

A few days ago I was scanning my surroundings, just taking in the scenery.  Okay, so what I was really doing was looking around for the waiter on the beach to check on the status of my refill of my Bahama mama drink.

He was nowhere to be found (probably/hopefully because he was making me another drink).  Instead of finding the waiter, I found something far better.

A young woman, probably in her early 20s, was walking up the beach from the water.  She was skinny and wearing a tiny bikini.  As I looked at her, I noticed something on her crotch area.  Immediately, I suspected she somehow got seaweed caught on her leg while she was in the ocean.

Because I’m a super caring person (and because I wanted to check on my drink status), I decided to get up  further investigate.  I figured if she had seaweed on her lady parts, she would probably want to know so she could remove it.  It’s the least I could do.

photo credit: jenny downing via photopin cc

photo credit: jenny downing via photopin cc

Oh god, how I wish it was seaweed on the inner parts of her legs.  If only….

As I approached, I realized it wasn’t seaweed, but rather an explosion of pubic hair coming out of her bikini and crawling down her legs.

I say it was crawling because I swear it was alive and quite mobile.  I saw it swaying in the wind and immediately imagined what it would look like when she was in the water.

The movement of it would most likely be confused by a snorkeling 10 year old as a different kind of seaweed.

It looked like it was busting out of her bikini bottom, as if it was trying to escape the constraints of her tiny cotton suit.  I could almost hear it gasping for air, or at least for a good shampoo and conditioner.

Naturally, I alerted my husband immediately.  I feel like this is one of those obligations a wife has to her husband.

In addition to honoring and cherishing, blah blah blah, I think there’s something in the vows about promising to alert your husband at the sighting of out of control bush at a beach.

photo credit: •●pfaff via photopin cc

photo credit: •●pfaff via photopin cc

If it isn’t in the vows, it should be, because that’s the kind of stuff that can break up a marriage otherwise.  I’m a caring wife that way.

Matt’s reaction was similar to mine.  He was horrified and happy, all at the same time.  We were both completely intrigued and decided to try to get a closer look.  Who was this creature who felt so uninhibited as to display her female whiskers.

Also, we wanted to make sure we took our camera to capture a photo of this remarkable sighting.  After all, I’m a journalist and this was just the kind of investigation you, my readers, depend upon.

I failed.  Just FYI so you don’t get all excited about seeing a photo of an untamed bush, and then you get disappointed when you don’t find it.  Part of you knew I would fail because I’m not really that great of a journalist, and I think posting photos of a stranger’s bush might put my blog into a porn category.

I’m not ready for that kind of traffic yet, so for now, you’re going to have to use your imagination.  Plus, this isn’t that kind of blog.  I try to keep it classy, people.

As we got closer to her, we confirmed what we already knew.  It was an overgrown forest between her legs.

No, it wasn’t a forest, it was a goddamn jungle.  Perhaps she wasn’t capable of trimming or removing it because it was just too strong…like maybe it was the Hulk Hogan of pubic hair.  I wondered if it wore a bandanna and called everyone “brother.”

bush.jpg

Please note the image is an artist rendering.  It’s not an actual photo.

I could only imagine what kind of sheers would be needed to slay that dragon down south.  Perhaps that’s why it was so out of control.  No razor could tame it.

No blade would step up to the task.  What she needed was Arthur from Disney’s beloved “The Sword in the Stone.”  Perhaps he was the only thing strong enough to tame that mane.

*Of note:  Arthur is also known in the movie as “Wart” which poses an interesting question about whether the massive bush was hiding something more serious…like herpes.  It also demonstrates my uncanny knowledge of Disney movies and characters.

Perhaps the only thing that would knock out a mass of hair that size would be a fire.  But then again, if she used that method, she would have a burning bush, and I don’t think that’s what Moses was talking about in the Bible.  However, he was in the dessert sand, so perhaps there’s some truth to this theory…

We approached cautiously, careful not to alarm it. I couldn’t help but say “It looks like she has two dead animals plastered to the sides of her legs.”

I bet two dead animals would smell better than what she’s got going on down there,” was my humble husband’s response.  I suspect he wasn’t wrong.

Blond Boy Crying

We followed her flowing fringe until “Miss Bush” arrived at her destination.  Unfortunately, it was not the salon for a wax.  Rather, she met up with her “friends” who were lounging on chairs on the beach.  The reason I use the term “friends” so loosely is because anyone who lets another person go out in public with pubic hair like that, is no friend at all.

Am-BUSHEDBut her friends got what they deserved, because she began talking to them while continuing to stand…while they continued to lounge in their chairs.  This provided a front row viewing of the lady mustache she was sporting.  (I just made up that term “lady mustache.”  Let’s make that a thing.)

It was obvious by their faces that her friends were aware of the vagina wig.  (There’s another one! “Vagina wig” is pure gold!  I can’t stop with creating these slang terms!)

But funnier than the faces of her friends staring down the barrel of her beard, was the face of the clearly traumatized 14 year old boy standing nearby.  I’m completely serious.

Matt and I had to stifle our laughter at that poor, tortured soul who was horrified and wanted to look away, but couldn’t find the strength to turn away from the lady sideburns.

(That’s it.  I’m going on the road with this act and all the names I’m making up for a woman’s bush.)

I wanted to comfort the poor lass, and tell him not all women’s genitalia looked like the base player from Guns ‘N’ Roses.  (Slash may have been an ugly dude, but he knew how to stroke that guitar.)

I also wanted to give him this month’s edition of Playboy to show him what classy pubic hair look like, but Matt left it on the plane for an uncomfortable stewardess to find.  (He finds this prank hilarious.  He also likes to whip it out in the middle of the flight and make the person next to him extremely uncomfortable.  And I’m talking about whipping out the Playboy magazine, not something else, you perv.)

It was at that point that we decided to go back to our lounge chairs and stop staring at the freak show of frizz.  It was starting to look angry and I swear that thing waved at me as we walked by.

We returned to our lounge chairs stunned and scarred from what we just viewed.  We knew we would never be the same, and for as long as we lived, the Mexico Christmas vacation of 2012 would forever be known to us simply as “Bushapalooza.”  We’re having t-shirts made.

photo (75)My husband I just went to Las Vegas for a “vacation.”  I use the term loosely because my idea of vacation is chilling by the pool, reading a book and silently judging the women who think they look good in a thong bikini.  (They don’t.)

Vegas is the opposite of that, with the exception of women in thong bikinis.  There’s lots of those.  There’s also lots of men in thong bikinis too.

Vegas doesn’t discriminate.

I’d never been to Vegas so I didn’t know what to expect.  When I arrived I was overwhelmed and wish someone would have prepared me for the shit show I was stepping into.

Because I’m good to you like that, I’ve made a list of a few things you should know if you are going to Vegas.  I’d like to prevent others from experiencing the horror that was my first time there.

Here it goes…

1.  There’s shopping.  Lots and lots of shopping

photo credit: Marshall Astor - Food Fetishist via photopin cc<

My favorite indulgence!
photo credit: Marshall Astor – Food Fetishist via photopin cc<

I’m a fan of capitalism and free market, but Vegas is ridiculous when it comes to shopping.  Not only are there shops and stores everywhere you go, there are people on the street corners hawking everything from water bottles to free cds of their music.

Right, like the guy in the street with the stinky pits and the nasty teeth is going to be the next big music star.

Wait. Is that how Kid Rock was discovered?

Vegas doesn’t just slap you in the face with commerce, it punches you in the nose and then the stomach, and while you’re keeled over in pain, it gives you an atomic wedgie….and then it charges you for the experience.

Make sure you bring cash; not only for the shopping, but also for the alcohol you will need to numb the pain of the sucker punch to the wallet.

2.  Penny slots aren’t actually penny slots

My winnings!

My winnings!

Don’t be fooled!  Remember #1 above where I talked about how commerce bitch slaps you?  (I hope so, as it was only a few lines ago.  If you’ve forgotten, you should probably see a doctor about that.)

Although the penny slots say they’re a penny, they’re big fat liars with their pants on fire.  While it’s true they take pennies, it takes 40 of them for one spin of the slot, or in this high tech world, a push of a button.

There is no other option other than to bet $0.40 a spin.  Maybe if you’re a high roller you can afford such ridiculousness.  I, however, cannot, partly because of item #3.

3.  Everything costs a million dollars

These nachos, a margarita and a mojito at the pool cost $70.00...BEFORE TIP!

These nachos, a margarita and a mojito at the pool cost $70.00…BEFORE TIP!

Want a small Diet Coke fountain soda?  That will be $5.00 plus tip.

What about a small bottle of water?  That will also be $5.00 plus tip.

Neither comes with a happy ending.  Believe me, I asked.  For that price, I’d expect at least a butt grab, but the waiter was NOT on board with my advances.

Before you come out to Vegas, might I recommend taking out a second mortgage on your house just to pay for dinner and drinks?  And don’t eat too much, as that will force you to go to the restroom.

Although Vegas charges you for every single indulgence, they can’t seem to put anything other than 2-ply toilet paper in the restrooms.

You probably have to pay extra for additional ply.

4.  Bling is everywhere

bling at pool

This is an actual photo of someone at one of the pools in Vegas. BLING!

Make sure you pack your sunglasses because it gets extra bright when the sun reflects off the sequined bikinis at the pool.

I’m not sure if it’s a requirement in Vegas that all women be adorned with glitter, sequins or rhinestones, but I suspect it is.  From teenagers to grandmas, nearly every woman sparkles with the finest rhinestones Hobby Lobby has to offer.

Here’s a tip:  Pack a glue gun with extra glue sticks.

You can make a killing offering to glue fallen sequins back on outfits.  You should probably offer to glue the legs shut of some of these sparkling women, although I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere near their jackpot.

You will NOT come out a winner, I can assure you.

5.  There aren’t free drinks on the casino floor

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablito_garza/8360706964/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablito_garza/8360706964/

Contrary to popular belief, you aren’t served free alcohol while you’re gambling.  They make you pay for that too.  (See #3 above.)

Come to think of it, perhaps they give out free drinks, but only to people betting more than $0.40 a spin on the Airplane! slot machine. (The slot machine is just as much fun as the movie, although it doesn’t say “Surely you can’t be serious,” when you bet the minimum. Wouldn’t it be cool if it did?)

That’s all the tips I have for Vegas virgins.  The irony of that sentence is that no one in Vegas is a virgin.  No one.

If you’d like one final overriding tip, might I suggest you go somewhere else for your trip and avoid Vegas all together?

Yes, I might.

Things you should kow before going to Vegas

how to play vegas bingoMatt and I have birthdays that are 3 years and 3 days apart.  Judging by my lack of crow’s feet, you know I’m the younger of the two.

I’m also a liar.

Every year we do something special for our birthdays, which usually involves a vacation.  No matter what we do, an iced cookie cake is always involved.  We take our birthdays far too seriously not to include cookie cake.

This year we went to Vegas to celebrate.  It was my first time there and judging by what I saw, I will most likely never return.  I know they say “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” but much of what happened in Vegas continues to haunt my nightmares.

As I repeatedly reminded Matt, “Vegas is not my jam.”  (Grape jam, however, is totally my jam.)

photo credit: vsmoothe via photopin cc

photo credit: vsmoothe via photopin cc

It takes forever to walk anywhere in Vegas and with 100 degree heat and not a beer in sight, it makes for a long afternoon (for Matt, as he has to hear me complain.)

To make the trip more enjoyable, I decided to make a game out of the freak shows we saw.  I created a Vegas Bingo card, and Matt and I tried to find all of the items on the card.

I’ve included our Vegas Bingo card below, complete with the color key so you can know the degree of difficulty for each item.  For those of you that are color blind, I’m sorry you can’t see the color scheme, but you should easily be able to figure out which sightings are more rare than others.

So here you go:  Vegas Bingo, Lisa Newlin style.

vegas bingo key

Vegas Bingo

113It’s summer time, which means it’s time to hit the pool instead of hitting the gym.

Yeah right, like I hit the gym the rest of the year.

If did, I probably would enjoy the pool a bit more.  Hence, my theory for how to survive the swimsuit season.  Read about it here.  It’s an awesome idea.  (Duh).

So now that you’re equipped to go to the pool and not feel bad about how you look in a swimming suit (because you read my post), you need a few more staples.

Not stomach staples.  You look great the way you are.  Didn’t you read my swimsuit theory?

Read about the five things you need to take to the pool here.  Yes, I’m making you go to another site.  Deal with it.

You know you’d click just about anywhere to learn about what to take to the pool.  So one more click!

arrows

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/me-time/2013-06-a-summer-survival-kit-for-the-pool.html

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(RECIPE AT THE BOTTOM OF OF THIS POST)

Back CameraThis Memorial Day, my friend St. Frick (not his real name), invited us to his house for a pool party.  St. Frick is known for his ability to throw amazing parties (and his ability to shove five profane words into a sentence comprised of only three words.  It’s a talent).

We knew we would be in for a good time and we knew the only logical answer was to tell him we would be there.

We arrived at his place and discovered he and some other friends were already in the pool.  Judging by the various beer cans strewn about, they also appeared to have started the party without us (although I still contend a party doesn’t start until I arrive).

I immediately headed to the pool house to grab some libations and catch up with our friends.  I opened the refrigerator and this is what I saw:

At first I thought they were sliced lemons, which would go nicely with my Grey Goose, but upon closer inspection I realized they weren’t lemons, but Jello shots in a lemon rind.

Is that what it’s called?  A rind?

I was beside myself with joy.

Back CameraI decided to try one of them immediately.  After all, I didn’t want to be rude.  I was his guest and I was raiding his fridge to see what free stuff I could find.

What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do a Jello shot (or three)?

They were delicious.  I decided to have a few more and bring them poolside for others to enjoy.  They were refreshing and alcohol laden, which are two of my favorite things.

I grabbed a couple more and sat on the edge of the pool.  It was like I was being healthy and eating fruit by the pool…if fruit was made of three parts gelatin and two parts vodka.  (If it was, I would eat a lot more fruit).

What kind of person comes up with this idea?  Obviously an awesome person.  I just didn’t know who would be brilliant enough to come up with this recipe.

Normally, if I’m motivated enough to make Jello, it’s done in a dirty bowl with cracks at the bottom courtesy of the time one of my dogs used it as a chew toy.

Don’t judge.  The bowl still works…just think twice about eating Jello when you come to my house…and watch for dog hair.

Back CameraDo you see these amazing Jello shots?  Look how perfectly sliced they are!

Upon closer inspection, I was amazed to discover there were no slices of skin on them, nor were there bloody lemon peels (or rinds.  Are we calling them rinds?).

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m pretty sure I would slice a finger straight off if I was going to slice up these lemon Jello shots.

Naturally, it would be my husband’s finger I sliced, and not mine.  After all, he would be the one holding the lemons while I sliced them.

After several Jello shots, a girl can’t be expected to hold the lemons steady.

Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that when I make Jello shots I’m usually wasted on several of the shots by the time we get to the slicing portion of the recipe.

But everyone is like that, right?

recycleAs if these delicious gems of goodness weren’t already perfect, I realized there was another plus to them.  They are environmentally friendly!

You know my love of animals and of this beautiful planet (which is made even more beautiful by the presence of Jake Gyllenhaal and Andrew Garfield).

So with this recipe I can load up on liquor without feeling guilty about the environment.

I don’t need to be worried about filling the landfill with little Jello shots cups (mostly because when I eat these I will be too blitzed to think straight).

Actually,I’m probably helping the environment by doing Jello shots this way.  I am using biodegradable material for good use, while also supporting recycling.

I’m so considerate.

This is yet another way to give back to Mother Earth while drinking to excess.  Who knew being an environmentalist would be so fun?

The best lemon jello shotsDoes this mean I can stop shaving my arm pits?

Another bonus to these shots is that neighbors going through my trash (or just looking out their window to see me sprawled out on the lawn), won’t judge me for the large amount of plastic containers strewn about me and my body.

Rather, they will assume my drinking caught up with me and my liver finally gave out.  This makes for a peaceful afternoon nap on the front lawn…the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

What’s that you say?  Your neighbors don’t go through your trash?  Sure.

Whatever.  Keep telling yourself that, but do yourself a favor and go outside some night and see if your Us Weekly magazines are still in your trash can.

My guess is they’re not, as the nosy neighbor down the street wants to keep up with the Kardashians but can’t afford a magazine subscription (or cable…or the internet….those fricking Kardashians are everywhere).

So since I’m totally awesome and you guys are just dying to know how these Jello shots are made, I will tell you.  It’s actually fairly easy.  Here it goes:

RECIPE

1.  Cut several lemons in half. (You can also uses oranges, limes or watermelons)
2.  Scoop out the insides of each half lemon so it’s hollow.  (I suggest dumping the insides of the lemon into a large container of Grey Goose and water.)
3.  Make Jello as per the instructions.  (If you are making this for a party that I will be attending, please multiply the alcohol content by two.  Who am I kidding?  Multiply it by three.)
4.  Pour the liquid Jello into the halves, making sure not to overfill them.
5.  Place the lemon halves in muffin pans to hold them upright.
6.  Place the lemon halves in the refrigerator and allow the Jello to set.
7.  Once the Jello is done,  remove the lemon halves and slice the halves into smaller pieces.

Yes, it’s that easy.  I know.  Can you believe it?

And if you make this recipe, I will require you to bring over the equivalent of three whole lemons of Jello shots.

You didn’t think you were going to get this recipe entirely for free, did you?

311

It’s the holiday weekend, which marks the beginning of summer, or as I like to call it, the beginning of BBQ season.

Summertime is the perfect excuse to always have french onion dip in your fridge, and at least 3 bags of Ruffles potato chips in the cupboard.

Okay, since it’s not 1932 and you don’t have a cupboard, you can keep them in your pantry.

But with all the fun of the summer months also comes the dreadful swim suit debacle.

Questions like “why didn’t I start a diet in January?” or “why do I eat so many carbs?” or “how is 2 Broke Girls still on the air?” regularly float through my head this time of year.

Seriously, who watches that show?

A better way to view theWith the dreaded bathing suit season comes the thought of dieting, hunger, and the inevitable bad mood that follows when you cut off access to this girl’s carbs.

However, this year I have a different point of view to the bathing suit season.

Instead of starving myself and forcing those around me to become alcohol dependent, as that is the only way to deal with me when I’m trying to eat less than 3,000 calories a day, I’ve come up with a new approach.

Isn't this a better site to see on the beach than flabby thighs?

Isn’t this a better site to see on the beach than flabby thighs? (I’m sure she’s reading Immanuel Kant….or maybe it’s just a book with pretty pictures. Where’s Waldo may be over her head.)

I’m not going to focus on how I look in a bathing suit. I’m going to focus on those around me and how they look in said bathing suit.  (Not mine.  They can wear their own suits.)

I realize this doesn’t immediately make sense, but neither does Justin Beiber getting another album.  Bear with me.

I’ve decided that during the summer months when I’m lounging by the pool, I’m only going to surround myself with skinny people with awesome bodies.

Yes, you read that right.

I am willingly going to be the fattest person in my entourage instead of realizing halfway through the day that I’m the lovable fat friend and the only one in the group wearing Spanx and still looking overweight.

Instead, I’m going to embrace it and make a conscious effort to be around only skinny people.

The reason?  No, I’m not a masochist, although for some reason I continue to buy the Greek veggie dip telling myself every time “this time it’s gonna be good.”

Aside from that form of self torture, I’m not really into that.

But I figure if I surround myself with skinny people who look good at the pool, my view for the day will be delightful.

These chicks seem pumped about the idea.

These chicks seem pumped about the idea.

As far as the eye can see I will view attractive, bronzed bodies with minimal cellulite and the ability to walk without their legs rubbing together.

It will be perfection!

After all, I’m not the one who has to stare at flabby arms and a gut filled with Chipotle…that’s my friends who have to do that!  Suckas!!!!

I think this idea is fool proof and it will be effective immediately.

I realize this seems like discrimination, but I like to think of it as a beautification requirement where I am surrounded by “happy little bodies,” which are much like the “happy little trees” Bob Ross used to paint, although hopefully these bodies will have less bush.

Yes, I really just made that joke.  Low brow?  Yes.  Hilarious?  Also yes.

So if I ask you to go to the pool with me this summer, you should take it as a compliment.

Aside from the fact you will have the honor of chilling with me poolside and partaking in my awesome snacks, of which you can only have one, you should also be happy to know that I consider you a hard body who will make me feel better about myself.

And isn’t that really what friendships are all about?

Sibling day 123

Check out the Little House on the Prairie outfits. Totally appropriate here.

Apparently today is National Siblings Day.  I’ve never heard of this made-up holiday, but I’m a little upset it isn’t celebrated with cake and a day off work.

Isn’t that the best way to honor our siblings?

I learned of this day through Twitter, as it certainly wasn’t through my own sibling.  I was unaware of the holiday, as Us Weekly the respected periodicals I read made no mention of this occasion.

Thus, I have no idea what it means, although I’m sure it requires purchasing gifts for your older sibling.  That seems like the right way to celebrate.

I’m anxiously awaiting my UPS delivery.

I have one very lucky younger brother, Smohawk (not his real name).  I say he’s lucky because, I mean, duh.  He’s my younger brother.

However, I suspect he probably doesn’t see it that way, mostly because it must have been devastating growing up in the shadow of such an inspiring older sister.

pink dress photoAnd I literally mean he was in my shadow.  I made him walk behind me.

I’m not sure what the point of National Siblings Day is, but I can only assume it’s a day to reflect upon your siblings.  Thus, I will do so by telling you a story about him.

I have so many stories about him that I don’t know where to start.  Since he has a daughter who is the love of my life, I will keep the story nice, so as not to affect my visitation rights with her.  If she didn’t exist, however, it would be “game on.”

I’m two years older than my brother, which means I was the boss growing up.  Actually, I’m sure even if I was the younger sister, I’d still be the boss.

There was never a question about who the boss was in our house.

If only Tony Danza could have suffered that same fate. But when it came to growing up with me, there were no Tony Danza issues other than the age-old question of whether he made a better housekeeper than Mr. Belvedere.  (He didn’t.)

Since I was an oppressive  a thoughtful older sister, I frequently made him do things he didn’t want to do.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise, as I boss you guys around all the time.  You like it.

I suspect my brother did what I told him to because I was scary and he feared my wrath.  He was a smart kid.

So when we were younger and home for the summer, he always wanted to watch The Price is Right.

Christmas bear shirtsAlthough I love Bob Barker, he was on the same time as a show I enjoyed called Little House on the Prairie.  You may have heard of it.  It was (and still is) the authority on all things 1880.

I loved the show and didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to watch it every day.  Obviously my brother was unpatriotic since he hated learning about our nation’s history and didn’t appreciate getting nuggets of wisdom from Ma and Pa.

Despite my brother’s clear disdain for all things American, he sat and watched this show with me every day, instead of watching what he’d prefer to watch,  The Price is Right.

I realize he stayed and watched because he was scared of me, and because I sat on his feet so he couldn’t get up.  Didn’t he know I was trying to teach him about life on the prairie, dammnit?

I was basically giving him a history lesson and all he wanted to do was watch Bob Barker hold his skinny microphone.

NOTE:  “Skinny microphone” isn’t a euphemism for something else.  He literally had a slim microphone.

National Sibling DayIf Smohawk would have to go to the bathroom, I would allow him to go, but only at commercial breaks.

I didn’t have a bathroom pass to give him, but he knew by the look in my eye there would be no excuses for missing even a second of Nellie Olsen and her manipulative antics.

The way my brother tells it, I was cruel and mean.  I disagree.  I mean, sure, I was strict about the television program he viewed, but I wanted him to be prepared for life, and the numerous runaway buggies and inadvertent barn fires that can occur if one isn’t careful.

But mean?  No.  Was his breakfast contingent on whether he watched each episode and then provide a written recap?  Of course it was.  Isn’t that what all younger brothers do?

So I guess today I will celebrate my younger brother, Smohawk, who I’m sure is living a better life today because he learned how to take precautions to prevent scarlet fever and dysentery.

You’re welcome, my dear brother.  You’re welcome.

Christmas in a golf hat

Apparently my brother was Bagger-Fricking-Vance. And check out the sweet mullett I was rocking and TOTALLY pulling off.

Dear Summer,

You are my favorite season of the year, and I’m sad to see you go.  I keep trying to convince you to stay, but apparently I “repulse you in swimwear.”  Whatever.  I still love you because you give me an excuse to wear flowy dresses that hide my stomach fat.

Not only do they hide bulges, the dresses allow me to get away with not wearing Spanx, which makes me more pleasant to others.  I’m far happier when I’m not scratching my crotch every five seconds and whining that my ribs are breaking from the force of nylon.  Thanks for that.

So I guess I will send you off with a farewell letter.  It’s the only thing I can do since you won’t stay in exchange for a sweet coupon book that entitles you to discounts at local restaurants.  Apparently you aren’t a thrifty shopper.  Noted.  Instead, I will send you off with a goodbye letter and count down the days until I see your lovely face again (and then curse myself for not dieting over the winter).

I guess this means I can say “so long” to the poorly behaved kids at the pool (or maybe I can yell this with excitement instead).  Looks like you will have to fend for yourself another year without having me around to give you dirty looks and remind you that you’re not special.  You’re really not.  Your mom might tell you that you’re improving with your swimming lessons, but we both know your dives suck.

Sayonara messy ponytail.  Most people wore you because it was trendy, but I wore you because I’m lazy and was excited that something messy was in style for once.  Unfortunately, other disheveled looks like rumpled dresses and stained t-shirts haven’t hit the fashion circuit…yet.

Goodbye constant stream of sweat going down my back into my pants.  You always seemed to come around at bad times, but your presence made me giggle (mostly because it tickled).  I won’t even hold a grudge against you for all the times you made my ass hospitable to swamp-like creatures.

boy splashing

See you later ladies at the pool, with bodies of women in their twenties, and faces that haven’t seen sunscreen in years.  I will miss mocking you and trying to figure out if your outfit came from Charlotte Russe or Forever 21.  (P.S.  You are not Forever 21.  You’re not even “Forever 39” despite the fact you’ve had a 39th birthday the last 5 years.  We can count and we’ve been counting both the years of your birthdays and the crows feet around your eyes.)  I think I will miss you most of all.

Until we meet again,
Lisa

As you know, I recently did a scathing letter to the forty-something mom at the pool.  You’re welcome.  But since I’m an equal opportunity hater, I’ve decided the forty-something dad at the pool also needs a letter…just to keep things fair.  Okay, it’s not that I’m necessarily a hater.  I’m not.  I’m just an easily annoyed person who pents up all her rage and irritation and then takes it out on this blog that a total of five people read.  Here it goes.

Dear forty something dad at the pool,

Yeah, I’m looking at you.  But not because of your sexy body and No Fear swimming trunks. I’m looking at you because you’re a disaster.  And you’re not a disaster the way I am…where I play it off cute and make people laugh (hopefully).  You’re a disaster that makes me both happy and sad at the same time…kind of like eating all the guacamole.  So here are a few things you should know.

1.  You don’t have a six pack.

At least not on your body you don’t.  Although you may be sucking in your gut, you will need a lot more than a simple inhalation of breath to make that thing look attractive.  Here’s a hint:  when people talk about “six pack abs,” they aren’t talking about downing a six pack in 30 minutes.  Yes, that six pack technically goes to the area covered by your abs, but that’s not what they’re referring to.  They’re talking about crunches.  Do some.  But not now.  I don’t want to see your butt crack while you attempt to work out.  Save that shit for your mirror at home.

2.  You need a trim.

I’m not talking about your rapidly receding hair line; I’m talking about your chest hair.  You could french braid it, slap a bow on it and send it off to first grade.  No one wants to see that.  I’m not saying you should get your entire chest waxed.  I’m pretty sure you don’t have enough money to pay for that much time with a salon technician (or that many days off work).  I’m just saying perhaps you should run a pair of scissors over your chest every now and again.  If I can see your chest hair floating in the pool around you like a life vest, it’s too long.  And if you aren’t going to heed my advice, shampoo that shit every now and again.  It’s getting dandruff.

3.  Your butt crack isn’t attractive.

You may like to see a hint of a woman’s crack while she’s wearing a string bikini.  Maybe you think that’s sexy, I don’t know.  However, I assure you women don’t feel the same way about your crack.  The last thing we want to see when we go to the pool is your crusty crack and the hair peeking out from it.  (Take my advice on #2 above and apply it to this as well.)  No one cares about your junk in the trunk.  Hike up those shorts and get a wash rag in there every now and again.  You’re stinking up the pool and making us all sick, and we still want to get snow cones later.

4.  Stop pretending you’re super cool.

Seriously.  We all saw you pull up in the parking lot in your 1999 Dodge minivan.  Not only did we see it, we heard it because you seem to be missing a muffler (and any understanding of what women find attractive).  So put away your fancy keys with what you call a “clicker thing” that unlocks the doors.  We’ve all got one of those.  It isn’t super cool technology that just came out.  We are also no longer taping television shows on VHS, so don’t invite the poor lifeguard over to watch “taped” episodes of Dallas.  She doesn’t know what that means and I’m pretty sure she’s calling the authorities on you right now.  You better get to that van and skedaddle before the cops arrive.

dad with kids at pool

5.   Jumping off the high dive isn’t going to impress anyone other than your five-year old.

Yes, we can all see that you’re capable of climbing the ladder to the high dive.  That’s probably because you climb ladders everyday as part of your regular job.  We’re not impressed.  We also don’t care that you can make “a big ole’ splash” and yell “cannonball” when you jump off the board.  You aren’t the first person to do that and you won’t be the last.  The seventh grader behind you is getting ready to do the same thing, and he’s cuter than you and has less credit card debt.

Do you know what’s impressive to a woman?  A 401k and a dental plan.  You clearly don’t know about the latter as you have sunflower seeds in your teeth from about a week ago.  Grab some floss and get off the high dive.  And seriously, pull up your trunks.  You could smuggle a small child inside that deep crack of yours.

So there you go.  I’m equally offensive to both men and women.  I just hope none of them read this blog, as there are a few weeks left of summer and I still want to be let back into the pool.  I’ve got several more cannonballs to do!

Love,
Lisa