Tag Archives: sarcasm

A Little Pot Goes a Long Way

Writing has been difficult this summer.  I blame my lack of sleep.  And having kids.  And now a dog.  And the color blue.

I went out to dinner with a friend last night.  We had a wonderful time discussing life and how confused people make us and how one should feel about people with amazing genetics and how does one raise normal kids and how can we get friends who take us to Paris and is that table of guys going to hit on that table of girls.

World Peace should be occurring now because of us.

(If it doesn’t, it’s due to the conversation at the table to our right.)

I came back to the condo on the lake around 9:45 with 2 of the kids.  Kevin was mountain biking with the eldest child.

I walked into our bedroom and smelled pot.  A lot of pot.

Way more than I smelled at the Santana concert.  Or when walking past the 420 camp at Venice Beach.

And that’s A LOT.

I told the kids to stay in their room and then I walked around outside.  Our place is next to a bar, so I figured someone from there was doing something in the field in front of the garage.  But it didn’t smell as strong the farther I got from our condo.  I walked back between the garage and house and I saw a pink unicorn.

Kidding.

The garage door was open and I became freaked out.  Then the dog barked at her reflection in the window but maybe she wasn’t barking at her reflection because then she came into my room and barked at nothing and she doesn’t bark unless she wants something and she didn’t want anything and were there harden criminals outside our bedroom and what would I do if there were and if it’s medicinal marijuana should I call an ambulance or should I ask for a drag?

By the time Kevin came home, the pot smell had dissipated. No one was around.  I didn’t even find a joint on the ground.

The new rule should be that if I get freaked out, there should be some evidence somewhere that I had a reason to be freaked out.

And cinnamon and nutmeg should be added to joints smoked outside my bedroom.

HEY!  I just made this another cooking post.  I can feel a book deal just around the corner.

She hides her vicious guard dog side.

Watch out pot smoking intruders! She hides her vicious guard dog side.

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Cub Scouts and Poker

I’m spending the day at a Cub Scout Day Camp.  I’m in charge of 11 8-10 yr old boys.

I went to the information meeting.  They will occasionally have free time or a class will end early and I’m supposed to entertain them.

(insert a swear word)

In the bags we are carrying everywhere we go, there will be a deck of playing cards we can use for entertainment.

(insert a different swear word)

So being who I am, I’m googling “How to Play Poker” and “How to Teach Cub Scouts Poker.”

They can bring money for the trade post.

I’m hoping I have all of their money by the end of the day.

Because I volunteered for this.

And I should really be paid.

(insert a picture of me with a new pair of shoes.)

I am not actually going to teach 8-10 year old kids poker.  This is all a joke.  (I feel I need to post this disclaimer due to the fact people who take everything seriously are usually the most vocal ones on the internet.)

Mistakes While Making Toast

Instead of showing you how to make toast today, I thought it would be more educational to show you what NOT to do while making toast.

(Even though it’s summer vacation, it’s important to continually learn.)

1.IMG_3066Placing the butter on the toaster will not mean your toast will be buttered when it pops up.  It only means you have too many things on your counter and you should get rid of the stuff you don’t actually use.  (And for Pete’s sake, stop buying spatulas.)

2.IMG_3067Make sure the correct plug is plugged in.  Otherwise you will move onto something else and realize 20 minutes later, you don’t have any toast.

3. IMG_3068Look at the dial because your child may have just used it and only want heated bread.  Not toast.  (Why does the toaster even go down this low?  It cooks NOTHING and is just annoying.)

4. IMG_3070Don’t make toast right before bed.  It’s not very edible the next morning when you go to make more toast and realize you already have some.

My final advice is to buy the same toaster as your mother.  This is so your daughter won’t continually ask why Grandma’s toast is better than yours.  For her 10th birthday, she may even ask your mother for her toaster.

Just buy a Sunbeam toaster.  (Or don’t.  What if it isn’t the toaster?  What if I buy the Sunbeam toaster and it turns out to be me?  Insert shudder.)

I hope this has helped.

(Teachers may use this educational post free of charge.)

(Sunbeam – if you read this, I’d be willing to write product reviews if you send some toasters to me.)

The Set Up

Would you set up two friends? Is it a good idea to set up friends? What about a friend and someone you know fairly well but haven’t seen for a long time? Or two people who have rhyming names you’ve never met?

I’ve had two successes. They got married because I was in their lives. I’m amazing. At the same time, I’m still friends with only one of those couples. So there may be more to the story than I know.

But I’ve had many, many, many, many failures. I may actually be quite horrible at setting people up. If it were a college class, according to my percentage, I would’ve failed. Maybe even been asked to leave the university.

And yet I keep going.

Why?

I think my main problem is that I think all of my friends should be friends. I think if you hang out with me, you have things in common.

I’m beginning to think that some people only have the fact they hang out with me in common. That might not be enough for a relationship.

It’s enough for all of my relationships. It should be enough for every relationship.

If it’s not, I think you’re just too picky.

Everyone should lower their standards.

Have just one.

“Do you get along with Marianne? You do? Let’s get married.”

I think I just solved a major international issue.

I’m running for President next.

 

This statue was made after I introduced two people and they realized they both knew me.

This statue was made after I introduced two people and they realized they both knew me.

Headaches and White Powder

I had a migraine.

I wasn’t supposed to.

I just had a nice new dose of Botox to freeze my brain.

I can’t feel my forehead so I shouldn’t have headaches.  But as I was lying on a yoga mat, trying to straighten my leg without falling over, my vision went funny.  I ignored it until there was no denying what was happening. I dug through my purse looking for my migraine meds as I hurried to my car.

I hadn’t had a migraine for a year or so and the pill in my purse was old.  Very old.

I peeled open the aluminum packaging and the pill crumbled to a powder.

Now migraines make me a bit loopy.  The pain was already starting and I knew it was going to be bad.  So I stood on the street, in front of a local distillery, licking white powder off of my hands like a mad woman.

I looked up, saw the distillery, and for a split second I wanted to yell: “I have a migraine” just in case anyone was watching my intense drug-seeking actions.  But the pain was building.  I realized I didn’t care and hurried home.

However.

I decided that in case someone did see me and that person happens upon this blog, I want you to know:

I may have ingested as much of that white powder as I could,

But I never inhaled.

Baseball caps help keep out the pain.  And this one helps me be full of glee.

Baseball caps help keep out the pain. And this one helps me be full of glee.

Last Weekend Part 2

And now for the rest of Mother’s Day weekend.

(Sorry it’s late.  I became ill.  When I am ill, I revert to the 1800’s and take to bed waiting for someone to spoon feed me broth.  This never actually happens.)

If you want to forget it’s Mother’s Day, I highly recommend finishing a half marathon the day after spending 9 hours at Disneyland.  Then AFTER the half, spend the next 9 hours at California Adventure.  You will be so sore, you will forget what day it actually is.

At least that’s what happened to me.

I’ve been suffering from Plantar Fasciitis so I didn’t expect to finish.  I actually didn’t plan on doing it at all but there wasn’t anyone to sell my bib to and when you get to Disneyland you become possessed and think anything is possible if you wish upon a star.

So I walked down the green carpet and picked up my stuff and with the music and the people and the fairy dust, I declared to Amber that I was going to do it.  I thought I would just walk through the parks and meet all of the characters they had along the race. Then I would demand a metal because I’d already paid for it.

Amber and Brittany ran.  I said goodbye and turned on some NPR.

Because I didn’t care about my time, I posed.

I'm unsure I will ever run in tulle again.

I’m unsure I will ever run in tulle again.

And posed.

I find standing next to chipmunks to be slimming

I find standing next to chipmunks to be slimming

And posed.

I want to do a Star Wars race.

I want to do a Star Wars race.

And then I was out of the parks.

Here’s the thing.  I was almost halfway by then and I thought I could do it.  No biggie.

13.1 miles without training is a biggie.  But I kept going.  And I finished.

My headband says "Run like it's Midnight"

My headband says “Run like it’s Midnight”

I may not have told my podiatrist I did this.  He was not sure it would be beneficial to my foot.  I have yet to notice a difference but I may have put my healing back a while.

It’s not my fault.

Stupidity usually couples with stubbornness.

And there was that stupid fairy dust…

(I won’t be entering another race until I’m fully healed, however.  I at least learn.  Sometimes.  When I limp.)

Happy Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is a fascinating day. Mothers either love it or hate it. I’ve met very few who do not have at least some opinion about it.

I’m somewhere in between.

I like receiving flowers but don’t want to eat breakfast. I love handmade gifts but sometimes I think there’s a lot of pressure to enjoy the day and be happy and pretend we know we are doing a good job.

I think that’s the part moms don’t like… The wondering if we are doing a good job.

But there’s no way to know. Right now my kids are really good. Yes they drive me nuts and they fight and they leave clothes everywhere and I have driven to my husband’s office to switch cars with him and leave him the car with the kids in it because I couldn’t take it anymore, but essentially they are really good kids.

That doesn’t guarantee they won’t make questionable decisions in the future.   And if they do, that doesn’t necessarily reflect on me as a mother.

I can try my hardest to be a good mom, whatever that may be, and love them and tell them I love them, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes and they won’t make mistakes and there is no way to measure what a good mom is.

So Mother’s Day can be hard to swallow.

At the same time, the fact we have taken on the role of parent should be respected and honored. It is not an easy job and on average, we are trying as hard as we can to do our best.

We should realize what a monumental task just trying to do right by our children is.  Especially in a time where we are bombarded with messages about just what a “good” parent is.  (I have been heard saying, “She’s a Pinterest Mom” with a mixture of shock, horror, envy and even a little fear in my voice.)

But, on average, we get up and take care of our kids and muddle through the best we know how.

That deserves a nice bouquet of flowers.

Or new shoes.  Lots of new shoes.

This isn't a perfect picture, but some things are better in real life.

I already have these shoes.  So they would not be a good Mother’s Day gift.

But I’d personally prefer a non-child made breakfast. (Unless the child is a pastry genius.)

Oh. And those weird church talks. I could do without those too.

(In the interest of full disclaimer, I am fleeing this Mother’s Day.  It’s just too much this year.  And I think it’s okay when the day can be too much to take a vacation from it.  I’m taking a literal vacation and going to California with two friends for 72 hours.  It’s just 72 hours but I still feel incredibly guilty for leaving my family on Mother’s Day.  Mother’s Guilt.  We need a day to celebrate that too.)