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What’s the Question, Again?

19 Feb

I’ve discovered in the last month that taking a philosophy class is not really conducive to humor blogging. I write what I experience, and it’s hard to find hilarity in the problem of evil. Wrestling with Theasymachus’ challenge doesn’t easily transition into comic dissections of Johnny Weir’s sequined outfits at the Olympics.

Although, really?

Forget John Locke’s classic “the Prince and the Cobbler” example. For the 21st century, let’s recast it. What if a woodland nymph woke up in the body of an Olympic figure skater. Which would he REALLY be? Athlete or sprite?

That’s funny if you’re a philosophy major. Trust me.

I tweeted to a fellow blogger the other day that I hadn’t posted in almost 2 weeks and got this response.

“Why haven’t you?”

And I replied: “Taking philosophy class. Issues my mind wrestling with not typical blog material.”

And whether accidental double-tweeting, or being deep and reflective, the answer came back again.

“Why haven’t you?”

I don’t really have an answer for that. Funny is safe, the triple axel I know I can land to polite applause. Serious is the quad that might be awesome, or might send me sprawling. Yes, we’re back to the figure skaters. That’s what’s inside my brain right now.

Philosophy and the Olympics. Socrates and Sequins. Aristotle and big air.

Sometimes, there are also LOLCats.

My point? (And yes, I have one). I don’t know why you read this blog. I’m always amazed you do, honestly. All of you: the real-life friends and the people I’ve never met. The commenters and the lurkers. The one-time visitors and those of you that click every single day.

But, after a career of answering the “Who, What, When, Where?” questions, I am finding myself these days more often wrestling with the “Why?” It’s not a comfortable process. Still, I think I have to write about it. So the blog? Maybe not bringing the funny as often, but I am going to be bringing the posting.

If that’s not your thing, I totally get it. If it is? Thanks for listening.

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Shoe In… Or Shoe Out?

30 Sep
Yeah, whatever, I know I'm too old for these.

Yeah, whatever, I know I'm too old for these.

 

I have a little bit of a weakness for unexpected shoes. Tonight, saw these Ed Hardy shoes. Wanted these. Dismissed these as “age inappropriate.” Went back to visit them on the shelf again. Tweeted. Weighed opinions.

Like Nicole, who said “don’t make me call you a douchebaguette.”

Jennifer first advised that I look for Stuart Weitzmann instead, then said “those are so you.”

Another tweeting friend asked where I got them and would I care if she copied me.

And Bren helpfully informed me,  “You know there’s a whole song called “Eff Ed Hardy.”

Then I bought the shoes.

And now, because the audience participation is so much fun and I want to try a poll, why don’t you vote?

But guess what. Here’s what I’m figuring out about myself after 4 decades here. Regardless of your votes cast here today, I love the shoes. I will unapologetically wear the shoes. Be fine with that, or not. It’s cool either way.

On a Roll

27 Sep

As you may have noticed, the “post every day in September” goal has been derailed. So I’m playing catch up. Pretend this is Saturday, not Sunday. I’m totally going to cheat and post four quick posts in a row. And they’ll all have a question for you at the end, so pay attention.

Silliest video someone’s sent me a clip to this week? The rolling bulldog puppy who just can’t get over. I totally have days like these.

So the next time I’m having one, what’s something you’ve seen that made you laugh? Go on, leave us a link.

And Then, I Found a Horse Head in My Bed

27 Sep

As you may have noticed, the “post every day in September” goal has been derailed. So I’m playing catch up. Pretend this is Friday, not Sunday. I’m totally going to cheat and post four quick posts in a row. And they’ll all have a question for you at the end, so pay attention.

Earlier today, I was going to get busy catching up on my blog posts, but I got derailed by helping the kids with last-minute homework, running up to the store, and then I needed to obtain compromising photos so I could bribe a Federal agent. After that, I had to set up a money-laundering operation in Russia, then travel to Cuba to bank the earnings from selling my cigars on the black market.

Yes. I am a loving wife, stay-home mom, college student, freelance writer, and mafia kingpin. At least on Facebook’s Mafia Wars.

I try to keep my Mafia life quiet. I don’t let the game publish updates to my home page like “Dawn just iced another opponent, bringing her body count to 178.” I do not send numerous messages to all my friends begging them to join my mafia.

But Mafia Wars is definitely my favorite means of procrastination. Why blog when you can bludgeon?

Now you know my criminal secrets. So tell me yours. Watching entire seasons of “The Family Guy” on DVD? Crossword puzzles? Reading this blog? What’s your most popular distraction when you know you should be doing something else?

Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina

27 Sep

As you may have noticed, the “post every day in September” goal has been derailed. So I’m playing catch up. Pretend this is Thursday, not Sunday. I’m totally going to cheat and post four quick posts in a row. And they’ll all have a question for you at the end, so pay attention.

Our family spent Saturday evening at a high school football game. We don’t have high school kids, of course, my husband and I are still practically teenagers (hahahahahahaha!), but they start indoctrination early in Texas. One day last week, I got a frantic text from my middle-school daughter.

“MOM! Can u leave cash in the office they are selling (Insert Generic School Name Here – What, do you think I am crazy?) shirts!!! Even a plush (insert mascot name here)! Adorable limited offer! I need a shirt for the game.”

Never mind that a) My daughter wants to go to the magnet school for the arts, not the high school in question. b) she had not expressed any previous interest in football, and c) She is not supposed to be texting from school. By gosh by golly she needed a shirt.

So she got a shirt, and her dad and I got all the reason we needed to drag her and her brother to a high school football game. Awesome.

I love everything about high school football. The players on the sidelines all waving at the crowd to get on its feet, the marching bands, the very earnest cheerleaders, the armchair coaches in the stands, all of it. Especially the concession stand nachos.

But in this game, a player went down. Hard. Trainers and coaches from both teams rushed out. Players on both teams, on the field and on the sidelines, all went down on one knee. Cheerleaders grasped each others hands and froze. And the screaming stadium fell completely silent, holding its collective breath, willing the player to get up.

When he stood, supported by his coaches, and limped off the field, the relief was just as palpable. It washed over the stadium in a wave of applause.

In the middle of everything that seems to separate us, here was a stadium full of thousands of people. They came to cheer opposite teams. Surely among them, opposite views on politics, on religion, on all sorts of things.  But none of those mattered when a kid went down.

And I found tears sliding down my cheeks,  — tears of worry, and relief, and thankfulness that in the midst of everything, a stadium can be silenced by our common humanity.

Now the question: What last made you cry or tear up?

We have a winner!

23 Sep

Julie “nose” her smells. She has sniffed out the source of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad smell that invaded the car last week.

I asked for your guesses in my post about the smell, and my gosh, you people like a good guessing game. I write about deep spiritual struggles, and three brave souls offer a comment. I dare you to “name that smell” and you come out in droves. It’s ok, I don’t judge.

Also, many of you offered excellent guesses. Fish heads, dog poop, dead terrorists (thanks, Jack Bauer), curry gone south, a forgotten gym bag. One former co-worker suggested perhaps it was my husband. For the record, I will report that he is not particularly stinky, and is also alive and well.

But Julie guessed correctly. The offending odor came from:

Danimals Yogurt Smoothie. Delicious Unless Left in Car

Danimals Yogurt Smoothie. Delicious Unless Left in Car

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes! A delicious Danimals Yogurt Smoothie! Left unattended, it rolled under the seats where it proceeded to fester in a most malodorous way. Please do not try and replicate this experience at home. The FDA has already investigated claims that my children were trying to create chemical weapons of mass nose destruction.

And congratulations to Julie, who learned through experience, her younger brother having been similarly irresponsible with the disposable of a half-eaten yogurt. She wins a free frozen and non-stinky yogurt at Red Mango at her earliest convenience.

The rest of you, go clean your cars!

Tabled for Discussion

15 Sep

The purse analysis I artfully provided for Janelle earlier this week sparked a follow-up request from my friend Elizabeth, who wanted to know “What’s on your bedside table? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Now, the last time that line actually worked on me, it was uttered by a boy in my kindergarten class. That trip to the supply closet did not go well. Neither did my trip home after the parent-teacher conference that ensued. Oh look, day 15 of blogging every day and we have a complete failure of my internal filter. That’s awesome.

Anyway, back to Elizabeth’s question. Unlike that boy in kindergarten, I think she has nothing but the purest intentions.

So, here is a picture of what’s on my bedside table.

006

  • My alarm clock, which is industrial-strength since I have worn out 2 snooze buttons on previous alarms.
  • A milk-glass lamp that was my grandmother’s.
  • A copy of The Go-Giver, which I read last week. It was a schmaltzy parable, and I am a wee bit cynical, but I still thought it had some interesting points.
  • An olive oil candle
  • Envelopes from the Emily Morgan Hotel where we had my daughter’s slumber party last weekend. I’m going to mail her and her friend the pictures I took in the pilfered envelopes.
  • The little plastic jar on top of the book used to have 50 pairs of disposable ear plugs in it, because I am the world’s lightest sleeper. I have one pair left.
  • There’s also a highlighter in the jar and some blister treatment for a football-related injury I received weekend before last. Ok, I wore new shoes to the Texas game without socks. It was a long walk to the top of the stadium.
  • On the bottom shelf, there are 4 books: The Bible, a study guide for a sermon series we were doing at church called The StoryTwilight and a travel guide to Wyoming.
  • Finally, a little painting of some wildflowers in a vase that my mom painted me. She is an amazingly talented artist and an even more gifted mother.

Ok, your turn. What’s on your bedside table? Elizabeth wants to know.

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