How Not to Talk to Your Teen About Drugs

Something is terribly wrong in my household.

Instead of me reprimanding my kids for what they say, they reprimand me.  I'm constantly getting, "Mom, you can't mention your love of beer on Facebook.  You're a teacher."  Really?  As if the two aren't part of a symbiotic relationship.

I'm also told not to talk to my kids' friends about my politics.  "Please, mom. No lectures about factories in Bangladesh.  Just drive us to the mall."

There is no backlash from teens in my fantasy life.

Like the other day.  When I was watching a sitcom with all three of them and a character alluded to marijuana brownies.  I turned to my 20-year old.  "Have you ever had marijuana brownies?"

"Of course not," he replied.

"We'll have to make them for your 21st birthday."

"Mom!" the two oldest yelled, pointing their heads towards their 15-year old sibling.

"What's the big deal?  I'm sure he's heard of marijuana brownies." I turned toward Youngest.  "Have you heard of marijuana brownies?"

He nodded.

And then I get from Oldest, "It's the beer talking. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying," I retorted.  "I'm saying we'll have marijuana brownies for your 21st birthday.  It's much safer than binging on alcohol."

"You won't remember this is the morning," Oldest Son said.

And sure enough, once I woke up I got a "talking to" from Oldest.   "Mom, I don't mind you talking about marijuana around me, but you're being a bad role model for Youngest."

I feel rather indignant when people try to edit me, but I had to admit that maybe Oldest Son was right.  I had a talk with Youngest.

"You know, last night, what I said about marijuana brownies?"

He nodded.

Well...we can't have them because marijuana is illegal.  Now if we lived in Ann Arbor or Boulder Colorado.... Wait.  I mean...it's not just that marijuana is illegal...it's a mind-altering substance.  And if you were to eat the brownies, you'd be sprawled out on the couch with a bag of Doritos laughing your arse off at Saturday Night Live.  Wait.  Saturday Night Live isn't that funny any more even with a side of brownies.  I mean...you'd be sprawled out on the couch with a bag of Doritos and laughing your arse off at Family Guy.  Wait.  You already do that. All the time.  You see what I mean? We don't need marijuana brownies to have a good time!

He nodded.

I rock sometimes.



****



Full disclosure:  I had to look up the word symbiotic to make sure I was using it correctly.  I'm still not sure, but I'm not letting you tell me to replace it.

Meg's Second Bar Fight

My brother is getting a divorce.  

Without saying too much it involves stolen prescription drugs, a private investigator, threats from a married man, and a lawsuit over two horses that were paid for but never acquired (my sister-in-law bought them for a get-rich-quick scheme and my brother, having no place to board them, told the seller to keep the money and the horses).

Anyway, it all kind of takes the heat off me and my divorce.  

Still, my Buddhist-leaning beliefs realize that everyone is in pain.  Which is the reason I approached my sister-in-law's nephew in the bar.  "What's between them is between them," I said.  "We shouldn't let it affect our ability to say hey to each other."

Well, apparently not everyone buys into my Buddhist-leaning beliefs. Especially if they've been at the bar longer than I have, because he turned to me and said, "He's not even your brother."

Not even my brother?   

This was the last thing I expected to hear.  In fact, never once in my 39 years did I ever hear or even think that my brother wasn't my brother.   Technically he's my half-brother.  But my dad adopted him before I was born and we were raised together. Which makes him my brother.

I was so baffled with this guy's retort that my Buddhist-leaning beliefs flew out the bodhi tree, and I put my face in his and well...the rest is not very pretty so let's just say we needed to be separated.

Did I mention that the guy has been to my  home at Christmas and played guitar with my son and drank my expensive micro-brews?

Which is the reason I found myself standing outside of the bar, crying on the street.  If my good intentions can't be received by someone who's consumed mirco-brews in my home at Christmas, what hope is there for the Israelis and the Palestinians?

In the midst of my tears, a young woman with the tattoo, "If you can walk you can dance.  If you can talk you can sing" walked by.

She gave me a hug.

posted at Humor-Blogs

I'm Back But Not All Here

So....I moved. 

And then stuff happened: the search for a roommate, a visit to a divorce lawyer, incidents with the kids--incidents involving the hospital and the police (SEPARATE INCIDENTS INVOLVING THE HOSPITAL AND THE POLICE that is), forgetting what floor I parked on in a Chicago garage (love that panic button), an echo cardiogram, a lung x-ray, an internet outage, another lung x-ray, a Yo La Tengo concert, a trip to Ikea, an Irish dance performance, a urine test, a 12 semester course load on-line, another urine test script that I haven't gotten done yet, an Avett Brothers show, Transformers II, two many Two-Hearted Ales, and a Google search stumble of dog+raccoon+scrotum.

Whew.

Things are finally getting back to normal. And for me normal is hosting a stranger on my couch. Here's Michael, a member of Couchsurfing.org who is biking the 48 states.




I mean, wouldn't you host him, too?


I've missed you all and will drop by soon. BTW, anyone Bloghering it?

Why I'm A Better Mom In My Fantasy Life

Because in my fantasy life, Teen doesn't come to me before my morning coffee and proudly parade his Facebook page with beer quotes in front of me:

"Yes, madam, I am drunk. But in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.
Winston Churchill 

It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or the fourteenth.
George F. Burns 

I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.
Frank Sinatra 

And in my fantasy life, Teen doesn't laugh in my face when I lecture him on how things he posts on the internet for the world to see could effect how people think of him or even his chances for getting a decent job. 

And in my fantasy life, I'm not a Hypocrite Mom who posts things on the internet for the world to see that could effect how people think of me or even my chances for getting a decent job.

And in my fantasy life, I certainly don't own a t-shirt like this:

Stay tuned:  Shagging Up With The Boyfriend--A San Francisco Treat

posted at Humor-Blogs

A Mostfina Christmas

It was two years ago Christmas evening. The kids were involved in various electronic activities and Spousal Unit was on his 3rd hour of YouTubing --everything from the Colbert Report to soccer to old Stones concerts.

I was seeking comfort with some expensive micro-brews.

Unit's sister from New York called around 10:00 pm. A short time later, I heard a knock on the door.

Bored, I jumped up eagerly and opened the door to find a 26-year old male holding a bottle of Aquafina and a Denzel Washington film.



"Is this the home of the Krouses'?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "They live next door." And because if I am anything, I am helpful, I said "Are you really going to the Krouses' on Christmas night with a bottle of Aquafina?"





And then in the spirit of the season, I offered him a bottle of wine to take.

And in the spirit of my attention-starved situation, I asked him to come in and have a beer before he settled into his Denzel flick. Because after all, my motto has always been:



As I ushered him through the house, I shrieked to my husband still on the phone, "Tell your sister my Christmas wish came true and he's hot!"

Tim graciously accepted my invitation and joined my family by the fire for an ale and gummy bears. At first the kids were confused by the addition of a total stranger in our home. So I explained to them that is what Jesus would do.

We sat together and Tim talked about building multi-million dollar homes on the West Coast and also his experiences as a Big Brother. A perfect combination of power and sensitivity as far as I'm concerned.

After two beers and an hour of conversation, Tim departed for the neighbors' house with wine in one hand and my CD mix in the other. (Had I been truly myself, I would have sent him off with a better choice of a movie, but I can, on occasion, show restraint).

And just so you don't think me the total crazed middle-aged housewife that I am, I spent the next hour playing a family game while tickling my daughter's feet.

If I've learned anything from this experience, it's that one should not lounge around in sweatpants on Christmas evening, for it is truly a magical time with unexpected gifts on your doorstep. I am, however, grateful I was wearing a bra.



I can also tell you that my husband was grateful for the stranger in the night, as he benefited from it later when the kids were in bed.

He announced to the family at breakfast this morning, "Tim can visit any time!"

That's right, everyone loves a:




Hope your holiday wishes came true.



Posted at Humor-Blogs.

Meg's First and Last Bar Fight (Maybe)

Drinking and emailing...

we've all done it. Maybe you've heard of the new Google Goggles, a free email filter that activates after dark and on weekends? 

The idea is to help protect people emailing under the influence by asking them to solve five math problems in a minute before sending the message.



I suppose this is a good idea for someone like me.

As you may know, I have no problem expressing my opinion--whether it's Neil Diamond v Neil Young, Sarah Palin v Sarah Silverman v. or Bud Light v. Commodore Perry IPA, or Dogfish 90 Minute, or Stone Ruination, or Bell's Two-Hearted Ale.

But really, in an email, what's the worst that can happen?

Someone accuses me of being the liberal hippie feminist beer snob that I am (with exceptional taste in film and music). And then what? Maybe I don't get invited to their kid's bat mitzvah? And like, I save $50.00. And put it towards more expensive micro brews?

No, it's more when I express myself in the real world, after having a few real beers, that I can get into real trouble.

This is what happened a couple of years ago.

I was at a bar ordering a beer from the bartender when I saw a big guy next to me paying for two Bud Lights. I held up my bottle and calmly and politely said to him, Hey, have you ever had one of these? 

His reply, That don't make you a snob, that's makes you a b*tch.

I stood dumbstruck as he took his beers and went to sit down at a table with his girlfriend and another couple. He was right. I was a b*tch (I am nothing if not reflective).

So I strolled over to the table to apologize. The guy told me to go away. I stood where I was and continued my apology (I am nothing if not persistent).

He stood up. Did I mention he was big?

You need to leave now.

Look, I'm only trying to say I'm sorry.

He took a step closer and put his face in mine.

Go. Now.

I stood still. Why are you being so hostile?

His girlfriend stood up. You heard him. Leave.

I held my ground. I'm just trying to talk to you.

If you don't go, I will make you go.

I held my ground. Are you serious? This is what's wrong with the world. People can't work out their problems.

We don't want to work it out. We want you outta here.

The girlfriend stepped closer.

You heard him. Outta here.

The other couple glared up at me.

But I just want to apologize.

Go, he grunted. Before you get hurt.

I held my ground.

Now, he shouted.

Now, she shouted.

OK. (I am nothing if not reasonable--eventually).

So you see, I'm not sure having a protective filter for emails is really what I need. I think it's more along the lines of something like this:

In the interest of full disclosure, I went to a booth and cried for 15 minutes, wondering why we all just couldn't get along.

**************************************************

Find more unfiltered thoughts at Humor-Blogs.

1-2-Skip A Few 100! Meg's Blogoversary!!

Three lovely handfuls, a big black lab who attacks people, it is amazing--my 100th post. 

To celebrate I will adhere to the virtual time-honored tradition of sharing some little known facts about myself.

1. I love Wilco.
2. I love micro-brewed beers.



3. I love John Cusack.
4. I'm a wiseass.
5. Not necessarily in that order.

6. I taught English for two years in Tokyo and always introduced myself to my classes with this icebreaker: tell 3 things about yourself and one of them must be a lie. Here are my three:

-When I was 17, I was suspended from school.
-When I was 18, I hitch-hiked across the country.
-When I was 19, I was arrested and put in jail.


Which one is the lie? My Japanese students got it wrong every time.


7. I've never been suspended from school.

8. I’ve been to Nam. Vietnam.



9. And also China, Thailand, South Korea, Europe, Turkey, Mexico, Nicaragua and the Toronto film festival where they have over 300 movies from 55 different countries.

10. I’ve never water-skied barefoot like the Hypocritical One, but I did do a sailing course with Outward Bound in Maine and ended up being an instructor there one summer.

11. I have a huge collection of memorabilia dolls ranging from Barry Goldwater to Barry Gibbs.



12. I’m a member of The Couch Surfing Project.

13. I did a solo backpacking trip to Europe after college.

14. I hate milk.

15. My greatest talent is in arranging the song order on CD mixes. I’m an excellent arranger.

16. And I have excellent taste in music.

17. Like Wilco.

18. I’ve worked for the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for four years writing about small school reform.

19.  I recently learned how to add color to my posts.

20. I’m currently drinking white wine because it has fewer carbs than beer.

21. And it’s hell.

22. And I hate it.

23. But not as much as I hate milk.

24. I have choreographed and performed with an Adult Irish step dancing group. And we're on You Tube. And like my friend Randy says, "They just don't let anybody on there."

25. After high school I hitchhiked across the country with my best friend. We were on the road for a month. It was the greatest time of my life.




26. When I was 19, I was arrested for “park curfew” and “unauthorized use of a city swimming pool". In layman’s terms that means skinny-dipping.

27. Ya see, I really am a Hippie for Obama.

28. A wine-drinking Hippie for Obama.

29. But hopefully not for long. The wine-drinking, that is.


You can make my blogoversary by smiley-ing me at Humor Blogs.

Toronto Story Part II

Disclaimer: Toronto Story Part II may not live up to part I. I mean, what could be more fun than having an immigration officer interrogating you and chatting you up at the same time?

Back to Jewish Dancer Dude, my college friend (ex lover if you were paying attention). He’s one cool guy who’s made his living as a dancer with Toronto’s premiere dance companies without having to wait tables. Although, he did do a brief stint as a film extra--if you see any movies with SWAT teams, look for him. You have to have a special certification to do that, you know.

Disclaimer #2: I feel badly about mentioning the ex-lover thing. Just pretend you never read that.

Anyway, get this. As a dance instructor, he’s had this Canadian actress in class:




Neve Campbell.

For those of you who live in Russia, Neve used to be engaged to My John Cusack. How’s that for stalking twice removed?

And for those of you who think Neve is sexier than this woman:



and want to see more of her, Neve--not Steffi--google her images. There's even one with her kissing a topless Denise Richards.

Anyway, Dancer Dude is married to Opera Singer Woman. Once I got over the fact that she is younger and hotter than me, I was cool with it.

Opera Singer has performed with the Canadian Opera Company, aka COC. Seriously.

Now she’s with the Iseler Singers, a professional 20- voice chamber choir. And a featured soloist, no less.

I can personally vouch for her voice—getting onto an elevator with a young woman on her way to a bat mitzvah, we all broke into Hava Nagila, including 3-year old Lucas, their son.

Yep, 3-year old Lucas, who when he isn’t singing Hebrew folk songs, does a mean guitar impression of Smoke on the Water.

Bored yet?

BTW, did I tell you I ran into Nicholas Cage going into the club I was coming out of?



OK. OK. That was a few years ago at the festival. Before Lucas. Days when Dancer Dude and Opera Singer Woman and I would barhop and afterpary till 4:00 in the morning.

Afterparty as a verb. I made that up.

So now with a toddler around, Dancer Dude is back in school studying to be an Osetopath. That’s an MD Lite.

And in his spare time he’s a Chauffeur Guy. And guess who Chauffeur Guy drove around for five days last week:





And guess which buddy of Adrien Brody’s also rode in the car on the way to a bar:



And for those of you from Russia, I love Mark Ruffalo almost as much as I love John Cusack.

I also love bars.

Chauffeur Guy doesn’t steer and tell, but he did say that Brody is engaged (he won’t say to whom) and that Ruffalo is very green, usually escorted around in a hybrid vehicle.

In short, because my very cool friends are very busy I usually have to film it alone. Film it--made that one up too. Afterwards, I wait at a bar for Chauffeur Guy to drop off his last client and pick me up.

Which is how I met the Iranian, the guy from Northern Ireland, a Chinese-Canadian oil guy who claims we have enough reserves to last forever, and a short Italian man who does wait tables.

What can I say? I can't help it other woman don't sit at bars alone.

Disclaimer #3: Lest you get the wrong idea, I totally respect Mark Ruffalo for his mind. And about the beer, well, I really don't drink that much.

OK I do. But I don't drink and drive. Chauffeur Guy drives. And no offense to Russians or short Italian waiters. I love vodka and red wine, too.

Bored yet?

I am. So I'll continue this story in Part III: Films and Famous People.

Meanwhile, give a still hungover blogger a smiley at Humor-Blogs.

Porn For Women and other Good Stuff

My name is Meg. And I'm addicted to the Internet.

As Tiggyblog has written, there are lots of us out here. We have everything we need save a micro-brew from that world wide web.


I get my news and sports from Dickipedia:


I get my collectible dolls from eBay. I can't wait for this Birds Barbie to come out:






And I also get my sex from the internet. But porn for women is a bit different than porn for men:





As long as I have legs to walk on, you'll NEVER have to take out the garbage.








I made some Niman Ranch lamb tenderloin with garlic and black pepper, and Indonesian soy sauce for dinner. I hope that sounds OK.







I like to get to these things before I have to be asked.



Yes, I loves me some of those guys.

See, when you spend as much time on the web as I do, housework starts to pile up.







With porn for women, I can kill two birds with one stone.

Or two birds with one Barbie, whatever the case may be.


Do a gal who is behind on the laundry a favor and VOTE FOR THIS POST at Humor-Blogs.

Questions My Exchange Student Might Ask (if he could speak English)

Q Do all American kids eat dinner in front of the TV?

A Only kids whose moms blog.

Q Why is the silverware always in the caddy on the sink board and not in the drawer?

A I’m German, and it’s efficient.

Q I’ve been wearing my sneakers without socks lately. Does it really take three days to do the laundry?

A Dude, they’re in the dryer?

Q Why do you use your bare hand to sweep the ants from the kitchen counter onto the floor instead of a serviette?

A It’s called a napkin.

Q …instead of a napkin. Wait…isn’t that what women use for…

A No. That’s sanitary napkin.

Q You mean there are napkins that are unsanitary?

A Yes. I mean, No. What was your question?

Q The ants, with your bare hand?

A E-ffic-ient.

Q But why do you yell “DIE, ANT, DIE” when you do it?

A Dude, you weren’t listening carefully. I yell, “DIE, ANT, DIE, I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE THE CHUCK NORRIS OF THE ANNOYING CREATURE WORLD AND CAN CARRY 86 TIMES YOUR BODY WEIGHT.”

Q OK. Concerning napkins. Do all Americans use them in their coffee makers?

A Only the ones who forget to buy coffee liners and paper towels.



Q Do you really mean only the ones who blog?

A Now you’re catching on.

Q On a different topic, is it permitted to sneak bottled beer into blues festivals like you did the other day?

A Sacha, such an imagination.

Q It is typical for Americans to begin drinking at 4 pm?

A Like I told you many times, It’s 5 pm somewhere (and he’s supposedly a student with international experience).

Q Why do you keep turning that ceramic vase on your kitchen counter every night?



A Sassy Sally obviously can’t sleep with her clothes on.



Q What does OMFG stand for and why are your kids always saying it?

A I’ll go check on those socks for you now.



p.s. Does anyone know of ant houses that really work?

VOTE for this post at Humor-Blogs
and check out the other somewhat funny folks there.

When It Comes to French, I Rock!

In my fantasy life, my French is perfect. In real life, as I’ve mentioned, my French consists of speaking English with a Pepe Le Pew accent. In truth, I don’t need to speak French at all. That’s because I’m a MEESL teacher (Most Excellent English as a Second Language teacher). Having taught both here and abroad, I’m well versed in the ways of communicating with foreigners.

The other day, our family and Sacha were invited over to a friend’s house. We walked up the drive way and saw that our host, Slovenian Irish Dance American History Teacher Guy, was grilling something in his big green ceramic egg (whose sheer size I think is intended to compensate for something else, but never mind).



Host Showing Off His French And His Grill: Oeuf!

Sacha: eyebrows furrowed

Host Trying a Different Pronunciation: Ooolf!

My Ebayer in Solidarity: Ooolf!

Sacha: Ooolf?

Professional MEESL Teacher Showing Them How It's Done: Egg! I begin flapping my elbows and clucking.

Sacha: Chicken?

Professional MEESL Teacher and Thespian Extraordinaire: E-gggg! I flap my elbows again, cluck and then cradle my arms.

Sacha: Baby Chicken?

Host Who Doesn't Know When To Quit: Uulf!

My Ebayer in Solidarity: Uulf!

Sacha: Uulf?

Professional MEESL Teacher Who Feels Victory Around the Corner: E-e-gggaa! I flap my elbows, cluck, cradle my arms, put my left leg in, take my left leg out....then I curl my hands in an oval shape and pantomime cracking it open and stirring. E-G-G. Omelette. Egg!

Sacha: Ah, yes. “If”.

Professional and Gloating MEESL Teacher: Yes! Egg!

Host: olf!

Sacha: No “If”.

EBayer: uulf?

Sacha: No, "If".

Host: "F"?

Thirsty MEESL Teacher Putting Imaginary Bottle To Mouth And Chugging: Excuse me, I''l be back.

Speaking of failed outings, Nanny Goats suggested we take Sacha to Dave and Busters, which I thought was brilliant. Only we don’t have one here. So I took Sacha to a blues festival instead. Do you think he minded sitting outside in the rain?



If you like the blues, vote for this post at Humor-Blogs.

I'm Trying Not To Be Upset About Diesel

linking to Bossy instead of me. I mean, Bossy and I are virtually blogosphere twins. We both blog about John Cusack, which sounds more kinky than it is, really. We both blog about our hair. So help me understand. Is it my Lloyd Dobler finger puppet you don’t like?



Is it my bangs you’re afraid of?



Seriously Diesel, the only difference between us is that Bossy blogs about construction workers eating lunch on her lawn, and I blog about my French exchange student who diets. Do you have something against the French? Or diets?

Or is it me? My blogging about beer? My not blogging about beer? My couchsurfing? My Hamell stalking? My Jeff Tweedy? My Cher doll?

Dude, is it Ringo?

Or maybe it’s because JD does things for me, which sounds more kinky than it is, really.

Or maybe it’s because I keep posting this photo, which seems more kinky than it is, really.



Is it because I gave that award to Brent and not to you? Cause dude, I’ve got something even better in store for you. And by in store here, I mean in my Etsy shop.

That’s right. In order to get into your good graces I have named a pair of earrings after you: Diesel Dangly Earrings. They’re fun and flirty just like me, just like Bossy. But you won’t find them on Bossy’s site. They are a Meg exclusive.



And wait…there’s more:

I’ll also be hosting my first caption contest soon with the prize being your book, Antisocial Commentary. That is, after I win the book from you first--which means I’ll have to actually enter your caption contests, which I will--once I finish my video, Meg Loves Diesel.

Call me a whore, it wouldn't be the first time I've heard that. And “to get into your good graces” sounds kinky and is intended to.

You can vote for this post at Humor-Blogs where there is a lot more behind the scenes drama than you might think. Unless, of course, you hate my bangs too.

I Say, Let Them Be As Miserable As The Rest Of Us

Gays, that is. If they think being married is so special, I've got some land I'd like to sell them along the Mississippi. I mean, as far as I'm concerned everyone has the right to be stupid and miserable and married. But it seems a group of Republicans don't agree.

This week they re-introduced the Federal Marriage Amendment to the Constitution which essentially says that marriage is between a man and a woman, which essentially excludes marriage between those who pee the same way, which essentially means by prohibiting gays from marrying, Republicans are actually promoting premarital sex.

But that's not the odd thing.

Supporters of the bill include Senators David Vitter (R-LA) and Larry Craig (R-Idaho). Remember them? Vitter hired prostitutes and Craig was caught soliciting gay sex in an airport. Not actually poster boys for the sanctity of marriage between two people who pee differently.




I mean, this kind of stuff is why I Prefer My Fantasy Life folks. And why I prefer those Humor Blogs.

In Which Iwillfuckingtearyouapart Doesn't

She visited. She reviewed. She liked my Cher doll. It was either Love Bites, Calamity, Professor Booty, or Queen Mutha from Ask and Ye Shall Receive who reviewed my blog.

Here’s what she had to say:

--Her photo of the beer bottles beats to death the endless parade of adorable kiddie photos that we typically see on mommy blogs.



Thanks, I do so love my beer bottles (full). But I’m not sure this is a mommy blog. I know I wouldn’t want my mommy to read it.

--I laughed my well-padded butt off at her bit about leaving food in the car.

Thanks again. But it wasn’t a ‘bit.’ It was and IS a fact of my freakin’ life.

--Her side bar has ads, which I hate. She also has a lot of useless widgets that really could go, but they didn't bother me - much. That's because my eye caught the sweet jewelry that she makes. My review could have been bought for the little blue bracelet that she crafted.

Sorry, but I love my ads. Currently they include: Custom Beer Labels, Beer Shirts, Beer Glasses and John Cusack Ringtones. Once when I blogged about former Governor’s Spitzer’s mistress, there was an ad to meet ‘real cheating housewives.’ I mean, the ads are kind of an abridged version of my life.

As for that little blue bracelet? Thank you so much. It’s great to get a review and make a sale in one transaction. You see, folks, that bracelet is the only thing I have ever sold at my Etsy shop. Thing is … I would have given it to you, fellow Cher Doll Enthusiast—no not as a bribe for a review, but to be my new best friend. These reviewers drink and smoke and like sex and soccer games (not combined). And I need more friends like that.

And speaking of friends who like sex and soccer (think Beckham), special thanks to Jen at Daily Mish Mash for giving me my first award. It is an award that Memoirs of a Mommy made up to honor the donor who gave her son a heart.



Now I need to present it to three others—oh the pressure. OK. Well here goes:

My Writer-Turned-Beader-Turned-Blogger Buddy Kris at Life Needs a Primer because she's one funny gal and needs to be encouraged to blog more often.

Tracy at Tiny Mantras because she does things to make the rest of us look bad (like cutting her long hair and donating to wigs for cancer patients).

Brent at The Ominous Comma to cheer him up for the whole Dr. Toboggans fiasco. Plus those Humor Blogger guys really need more precious little heart awards on their sites. Don't you agree?

To Share More Love, visit Humor-Blogs.

My Husband Went on the Stone Brewery Tour and All I Got Was a Stupid T-Shirt

And the pleasure of taking six kids to Mission Beach. That’s right. We’re visiting MY friend in San Diego. MY friend who I haven’t seen in 8 months since she's moved. MY friend who I have a desperate need to talk to. MY friend who has a desperate need to talk to me.

And the guys take off.



And for those who know me, when it comes to beer or baseball the beach, I will choose beer.

Which, to be truthful is what I did. Because MY friend likes to drink. And she's as relaxed as I am about leaving her kids to swim in front of the lifeguard. So we go to a café and order drinks and guacamole. And more drinks.

And we don’t care when the kids crowd around the Monster Energy Truck like vultures for free cans of the stuff.



We don’t care if it has caffeine in it. We don't even care if it has alcohol in it.




Because now everyone is happy.

To keep me happy, check out Humor-Blogs. For more vacation folly, scroll down.

Traveling With Kids Increases Alcohol Consumption

You already knew that. But really, creativity while traveling is overrated AND A PAIN IN THE BEHIND.

While we’re crossing the Mojave Desert, my kids can’t play GameBoys like other kids. No, they waste precious hours by videotaping. My daughter turns the camera on herself and lipsyncs while her brothers belt out “This Land is Your Land.” After making a mockery of Woody Guthrie, they sing every song that Simple Plan ever recorded. And then Greenday.

And do you think that just once they could look out the window and enjoy the barren landscape. Not our kids. They’re more interested in making bets on how high the temperature will climb. And then they take snapshots of each and every change.



Spending time at a friend’s house proves to be an equal disaster. Instead of staying out of our way by watching TV, the kids insist on picking fruit from the trees in the yard and killing two hours making fresh orange juice, grapefruit juice and lemonade.



When it comes time to clean up, they disappear to the pool where they each toss in their shoes to see whose will make it across the water the fastest. I mean, think of the money we wasted on iPods!!!



And stopping in a restaurant is no better. They can’t be content to do the word scramble on the placemat. Not them. First, they must sample every form of artificial sweetener on the table and then, after discovering a fun poster in the bathroom, they take turns running in and out reporting on the effects of beer.



Mom, did you know beer plus a sad face makes you happy and cross-eyed? Mom, did you know beer plus a fat woman makes you see a thin woman? Mom, did you know that....

Very interesting, I interrupt. But kids, did you know that beer plus noisy children makes you drink more beer? So run over there and get me the waiter! Pronto!

For more on beer, GameBoys and lemonade, check out Humor-Blogs.

Beer Saves The Day, Again

So Husband does not accompany us to Universal Studios. That'll teach us! But really what could be more fun than blocking the cash register in the Simpson's Kwikie Mart and barking:

To Spoiled Daughter -- "No, we do not need a Homer ice cube tray."

To Spoiled Teen: -- "Put that Duff energy drink back!"

To Spoiled Ten-Year Old: -- "You cannot buy that Bart t-shirt that says, And Your Point Is?"

Actually I gave into the And Your Point Is shirt, figuring I could wear it myself when we reconnect with Husband.

Which we do. In a place that has wings, and caffeinated drinks and vegetarian pesto pizza. A place called BJ's brew pub. And for the first time in the last 48 hours, everyone is happy.

And to keep me happy for the next 12 days with these people, please click Humor-Blogs. Just click. That's all.

Baseball or Beer? Don't Make Me Choose

And so the school year ends and the Ten-Year Old, a Texas Ranger, is playing against the Yankees. If they win, they challenge the Cardinals at 5:00 this evening. Which is a Problem. A Big one. My dear friends are hosting a fundraiser for their Unitarian Universalist Church at 5:00 this evening. Not that I'm all religious-like. But the fundraiser is a beer tasting.

With beer.

What to do?

My son is a pitcher.



My friends are beer connoisseurs.

And did I mention it's a fundraiser?

It's all about balance. So I go to the beer tasting instead of the first half of the game. And without trying to sterotype, you gotta love those UUs. They bike to their beer tastings, they wear Birkenstocks, they make great Costco gaucamole. And you get to know people like Pat (pictured with the lovely Mrs. Host in the background).



A few years ago, because Pat's significant other doesn't like to travel, she took her 16-year old grandson for a 39 day trip on the Oregon Trail while listening to ICP all the way there. On the return trip, she insisted he listen to her classical music. He slept the whole way.

Here is the host of our tasting wearing a Lord of the Beer shirt (more meaningful if you realize he's an American History teacher of Slovenian descent who does Irish Step Dancing).



Lord of the Beer begins the event with an Egyptian proverb: “Do not cease to drink beer, to eat, to intoxicate thyself, to make love, and to celebrate the good days.”

I couldn't agree more.

We start with lagers from Slovenia and work our way up the hops scale. We are told that the difference between lagers and ales is that one is bottom yeast fermented and one is top. Plus lagers are brewed at a cooler temperature.

Before the next selection is brought out, a Czech proverb is read: “A fine beer may be judged with only one sip, but it's better to be thoroughly sure.”

I take a few extra sips to make sure.

I stagger to the nearby baseball diamond. I arrive in time to wipe away the tears from my son's eyes because they lost quickly to the team that was stacked with the most "travel team" players. We return home (with the promise of a Webkins for being a good sport) and I stager back over to the fundraiser.

I'm oddly committed that way.

By now the UUs are into the IPAs (India Pale Ale). We learn they get their name from the British trade route to India where they stored the brew at warmer temperatures to help preserve it. ( I'm convinced if the Brits would have landed in the Middle East, they would have added hops to the toubouli).



We also learn there's a debate in the beer world about the trend to add extra hops, which raises the alcohol content to the equivalent of a bottle of bourbon. While the brew master of Brooklyn Brewry thinks this is like adding more salt to a really tasty dish, the Bells and the Dogfish Head folks think it's like adding more garlic to the hommos.

And after several glasses of double IPAs, I couldn't agree more. I love garlicy hommos.

Soon there's another quote: “Drinking beer doesn't make you fat, It makes you lean....against bars, tables, chairs, and poles.”

And then out come the stouts.

And the Belgians.

And the home brew.

And the continuous calls from kids at home, too lazy to make themselves something to eat.

What to do?

I fill a bowl with torilla chips and borrow a tub of gaucamole form the refrigerator. This is the beauty of friends who are Unitarian. They let you take things. I stagger home to the lovely family.

Before I depart, another quote is read. This one by Benjamin Franklin: "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

I couldn't agree more.



Hey, I'm off to the West Coast again--this time with the family. If all works out, I'll have some scheduled "stuff" posted. If all doesn't work out, check out Humor-Blogs. My ratings are slipping there faster than my parenting skills.

I Didn't Have To Sleep With Anyone, I Swear

My blog has made the top posts at Humor-Blogs three times in a row. And I’m number 5 on the crude humor list there, right up there with Retail Hell Underground and Angry Seafood. This proves to someone I live with that my appeal reaches farther than the Mommyhood. Thank you Humor-Blogs.



In a Not-So-Wordless-Wednesday I'd also like to thank Lisa Renee at Glass City Jungle for the mention in Toledo’s Free Press weekly. And I'm on Alltop! Excuse me while I do my happy dance..... OK. You see, I need all the validation I can get--read tomorrow's post to see why.

While I do have one foot in the fantasy word, I do have the other foot in the real world. Click here to read my editorial in the Free Press called, ‘Is It the Schools Who are Failing?’ It's an issue I care deeply about.

And stay tuned for Couch-Surfing in Chicago. It's an activity I care deeply about.

For more Wordless Wednesdays, click here. To keep me hoppy, yes hoppy as in beer, click Humor-Blogs. To see Spitzer's mistress again, note my new profile photo. A girl's got to fantasize, right?