Assisted Procrastination

When I was a kid, too young to understand the song, Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” was a big hit. I loved the song. It was catchy, had all the high “hoo!” sounds a young girl could want, all the words were intelligible, and well, the teen idol Madonna sang it. In that day, that’s about all it took to impress. I was lucky because my mom also enjoyed the same pop music. I remember turning up the radio or the TV (remember when MTV showed videos?) and singing along. One day in particular, I realized I didn’t really understand the lyrics. Who better to ask than mom?

Me: Mom – What’s a virgin?
Mom: A woman who’s never been married.

This about sums up my childhood. Mom really didn’t do much for my social life when it came to comparing of notes with the peers in this area. It hit me instantly following the dumb stares of my friends to realize the extent of her creative definition. I guess it almost worked if you consider that I was still too young to even care about boys in any way that would require a functional definition of the word. In other words, the only boys I knew at that age barely even had cooties.

Fast-forward to adulthood. I decided long ago to be upfront, honest, and age-appropriate with the questions asked. If the questions get too edgy too early, I’ll try subtle distraction.

Last night, I paused too long.

DH, The Kid, and I were watching an old episode of Oprah in which she talks to the founders of Cold Stone Creamery (a magnificently decadent ice cream shop with a twist). Apparently, Oprah had never even heard of them, let alone tasted their fares.  Oprah was pleasantly surprised by their story and their offerings and we were happy she featured them on the show. That is, until the end when Oprah pronounced that she “was a Cold Stone Virgin, but now I’m not!”

And without missing a beat, The Kid’s head whipped around to immediately ask “What’s a virgin?”

I was shocked. I paused. Before I could even understand the question or come up with a satisfactory response, DH answered “Someone who’s never had their ice cream before.”

And in that moment, her entire childhood flashed before my eyes. She’s 7. Who expects that question at 7? In kindergarten, I had to explain that babies do NOT come out of mommies’ butts (contrary to what her classmate had told her). I had no better answer prepared and I certainly was not prepared to discuss anyrthing remotely similar at that moment. My poor mother. She probably had the same shock and pause.

I can only hope that she won’t go to school and teach the other kids about loosing one’s virginity. I’m completely aware that I’ll eventually need to set her straight on the actual definition of the word. Maybe we’ll have a mother-daughter chat over a couple bowls of ice cream. What better way to hide the looks of shock and terror sure to come from both of us than with a completely plausible “brain-freeze” excuse?

This year, I’ve been participating in a “Community Supported Agriculture” program. For those unfamiliar with the concept, this is a program in which I pay a chunk of money in the spring to a local farm in exchange for random fruits and vegetables every week through the fall. I can honestly say, it’s been a fun adventure overall (we’ll not mention the phantom peas or the much touted and equally disappointing black raspberries).

Personally, I like most veggies, but that’s not the case for the entirety of my household. It’s also not the case for ALL veggies provided by this farm (kale again? really? and exactly what IS a Swiss chard?) As part of this food adventure, I’ve spent some time hunting recipes to incorporate foods not typical in our usual diet. I’m happy to say that NONE of the items on the following link were included in either the farm offerings or the recipes I followed. It’s an old fav full of laughs & gags and I believe is the exact opposite of everything a local farm represents. Please enjoy.

Steve, Don’t Eat It!

And while you’re at it, take a look at his recent offerings – a very different experience, but just as humorous.

The Sneeze – Half zine. Half blog. Half not good with fractions.

I firmly believe Steve is a bit off his rocker. His blog is quite enjoyable, though.

Thank you ever so much to V for these delights:

Cake Wrecks

Bridesmaids’ Newest Duty – I’ll just state this now, I will never inject anything into my body just to look better for a wedding. If you want a model in your wedding party, hire one. I’m negotiable on the boob job.

And for this one, I thank Elephant Soap.

dooce

It has monopolized my weekend and I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard at a blog ever. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I sent link after link to friends and coworkers just to share the laughs. I was saddened to learn that one such person had “been reading her for years – she’s great!” Stop HOARDING THE FUNNY!

Recently, I had the opportunity to visit a restroom in an eatery near my home. I entered the restroom which had 4 stalls and took an obviously open one. I was silent (as one should be in a restroom) and proceeding about my business when I heard a sound from the stall next to me.

What could that be? It isn’t! No! It’s a cell phone ringing. And is that rummaging I hear? No! Please tell me it’s not!

Yes folks, SHE DID IT! She answered the phone while in the stall doing her own business! And she had a conversation that all could hear without any consideration for other occupants or the person on the phone. This didn’t even sound like an important conversation. Not a long-lost friend, an emergency with the kids, or even plans for the afternoon. It was a casual conversation. I was dumbfounded and knew I should do something quickly. So I flushed. Then I smiled knowing there was no way the other person would want to continue a conversation and she would now be mortified. Nope, she kept on conversing then flushed and exited her stall.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she then proceeded to the only sink to wash her hands (one at a time so she could hold the phone and not interrupt the conversation) while the rest of us stood in line watching her futile and inconvenient attempt to multi-task. Some people are just oblivious to those around them.

Please, don’t ever call me while in the restroom or answer my call while you’re preoccupied with the same. I promise to be understanding when you return my call only moments later.

First off, this is NOT an apology. Instead, consider it a glimpse for those of you who have not participated in my recent adventures.

1. Friday – The washer is pronounced dead.
2. Sunday – The microwave is pronounced dead.
3. Wednesday – The Son arrives during freak thunderstorms which last in excess of 4 hours , causing power and phone outages still being felt by residents in the area.
4. Thursday – The in-laws arrive after their 2 day drive halfway across the country.
5. Friday evening – Receiver for the entirety of “stuff” hooked to the TV pronounced dead. Actually, the sound coming from it forced it to be put to death like a Triple Crown candidate heading into race #3.
6. Later Friday evening/Saturday morning – The Vomitous Plague hits The Kid who hasn’t thrown up in over 4 years. Needless to say, this was a new and not so fun adventure for all beginning with her traveling from her upstairs bedroom all the way to the basement leaving a trail of destruction behind her that we have yet to return to its previous state. Strawberry shortcake and orange juice will be off my list of crave-able foods for a while.
7. Saturday Noonish- Pick up ice cream cake (1/2 sheet cake size) for The Son’s 13th birthday party.
8. Saturday Just After Noonish – Scream obscenities typically reserved for sailors and inner-city NY gang members when I realized that said ice cream cake is approximately 2 inches too wide for the deep freezer and does not fit in the inside freezer. Did I mention it was 100+ degrees out that day?
9. Saturday afternoon – Return cake to store and thank them profusely for holding it a few more hours. I went back and retrieved it yet again after grilling dinner. Did I mention it was 100+ that day? The grill made it up over 500 degrees in only a few minutes. I guess the need for a “warm-up” wasn’t really necessary.
10. “Local” family arrives and, surprisingly, dinner and dessert go off without a hitch. This was the first opportunity to use the new LONG dining table, plates, and silverware. My pride ran over when I realized that there was room for all and no one had to share seats, plates, or utensils. Could this be a turn in luck?
11. Sunday – House inhabitants total 7 (not including pets) and the washer and microwave are still out of commission.
12. Monday – In-laws leave on their return trip home.
13. Tuesday – Remaining house guest (whose purpose is supervising The Son) comes down with The Sinus Infection from Hell coupled with The Vomitous Plague.
14. Thursday – New washer is delivered! All gather to marvel at the new entertainment that is a front load washer. Whose idea was it to add slot machine sound effects to the controls on home appliances? If I have to listen to this for another 6 years, I wish them #6.
15. Friday – A “gentleman” I can only describe as Jame Gumb installed my new French Doors. To sum him up best, his speech, mannerisms, and appearance were EXACTLY that of Jame Gumb (Silence of the Lambs). The good news is that, unlike the character to whom I compare him, he is a Buddhist Christian who meditates, has a long distance relationship with a Filipino woman (whom he will meet for the first time next week), prefers installing windows because they pay more, and may possibly have another person in his head to whom he speaks periodically. He did NOT bring a dog named Precious and never asked anyone in the house to “rub the lotion on its skin” – Thank God!
16. Friday – The new microwave arrived. Can I tell you how much I’ve been craving microwave popcorn (likely due to my inability to make any for over a week)?
17. Saturday – I finally admitted that I’m sick of strawberries and now can’t wait for blueberries.