Tag Archives: Humor

My Boarder Got a Court Order To Sentence Me as a Hoarder!

I've heard of a bouquet of pink Daisies, but this is ridiculous!

I’ve heard of a bouquet of pink Daisies, but this is ridiculous!

I have a female roommate in a spare room in my home (who is also a blogger) and she posted this image of razors from my own bathroom! Imagine my surprise when I told her to delete it or I might sue her for slander (not to mention invasion of privacy!) and she simply smiled and handed me a subpoena to appear before a judge at an official Hoarder trial.

Me!? A person who defines herself first and foremost as a Sentimentalist, now forced to defend myself from Hoarder charges?!  Unthinkable.

I needed witnesses. My six children would certainly help me during my desperate time of need.

Eldest Son:  I don’t know, Mom. Remember when the “Got Junk?” truck parked in our driveway and you told the man, “Everything in this house is absolutely necessary and has a distinct purpose. But you can take my ex-husband.”

Me: That doesn’t make me a hoarder. That makes me clever.

Middle Son: What about the huge stack of Hoarder Self-Help books on your desk?

Daughter: What desk? Mom has a desk?

Me: Never mind, young lady. I’ll have you all know that’s not hoarding, that’s being a collector. Like the stamp collection you had at age five, sweetheart.

Middle Son: Which you still have. Along with all our other Firsts. Our first pair of real pants, shirts, dresses, pajamas, bathing suits, little hats and ties — even our first diapers.

Me: Have you ever tried to have a used diaper bronzed?

Youngest Son: (reluctantly) Okay Mom, we’ll be your star witnesses and tell the jury you’re not a Messy Mom, but actually just a Memory-Maker Mother. But when the judge yells, “Order in the court” I promise I’m gonna shout back, “Why should it be any different here than in our house?”

Me:  Good kids!

On the day of my trial, I carried an armful of evidence. Nineteen very heavy 200-page photo albums bursting with pictures of children’s various school artwork, (which Martha Stewart advised was a good way to capture the memory so I could toss all those ceramic ashtrays and toothpick sculptures in actual garbage pails) so that had to count for something, right? Of course my youngest daughter creatively decoupaged all our garbage pails, so I saved all 8 of them, along with all the contents inside.

My roommate took the stand and proceeded to use the 1950’s movie “The Blob” as an analogy for living with me, “The Slob.”

Roommate: . . . and her mess slowly takes over the entire house, consuming everything in its wake like a grotesque gelatinous monster. One time the family searched high and low for their passports for a trip to Mexico. May I submit . . .

Judge: This isn’t 50 Shades of Grey.

Roommate: I meant may I submit exhibit A? Her file cabinet for important documents looks like this.

FullSizeRender (7)

Roommate: Nobody found what they needed to fly to Acapulco so the poor kids had to hang up a bunch of piñatas (which she still had in her garage from a Mexican themed party) make some guacamole, and shout “Olé!” instead. Even if they located their passports, I doubt they could even find their front door to leave!

Judge: Alright Miss, err what’s your full name?

Roommate:  Fig. Fig Ment

Judge: That’s an odd name. Alright Miss Ment, I’ve heard enough from you. You may step down. We’ll bring Miss Menopause up to the stand to explain why she would have so many pink razors in the first place, which was the original issue at hand.

Me: It’s very simple, Your Honor. It’s plainly just a case of being an environmentalist AND having high self-esteem.

Judge: Fascinating. Go on.

Me: After I shave my legs, I have every intention of throwing the razor away, but then I read the package and it says, “Reusable two or three times.” So to be more green, I save it in a special container. But the next week when I go to shave my legs, I reach for the old razor and think, “I’m 51 years old, I’ve raised 6 kids, I’ve published on The Huffington Post. Don’t I deserve a fresh new razor?” And so it goes each time.

Roommate: For cryin’ out loud — They’re made to be “throwaways!” After a couple of weeks, how come the defendant doesn’t ever throw her “special” container away???!!!!

Judge: No talking out of turn. Order in the court!!

I immediately look at my youngest son, but he wisely remains silent.

Judge: (kindly) Little Miss Menopause, I had a mother just like you. Neurotic. Collected all our soap scraps and sewed them inside washcloths to save guests a step in washing their hands. You may leave the stand. We’ll hear from your roommate again about what she was doing in your bathroom in the first place. Very suspicious since she has her own bathroom!

Roommate: I had to use her bathroom because I accidentally used too much toilet paper and clogged my toilet.

Judge: Did you blog about that as well?

Roommate: Yes.

Judge: I’ve made my decision. Miss Menopause is nothing more than a sweet Memory-Making Mother, so she can go free. But you, Miss Fig Ment, are a Toilet Paper Hogger Clogger Blogger. And that’s a crime I cannot overlook!

Middle Son: But my mother doesn’t even have a roommate! She’s just a Fig Ment of her imagination.

Oldest Daughter:  Yeah, we’re sorry to have wasted your time. Our mother is a writer and has a wild imagination. We think she just feels bad because she’s a horrible housekeeper, so she made this whole thing up.

Judge: Then the court rules that your mother is guilty of having a Guilty Conscience. And that’s punishment enough. Go home and help your mother clean the house, kids.  Next case!

Thank goodness nobody told His Honor that he was also just a fabrication of my mind because I’ve had writer’s block for weeks now!

Provoking the Provocative & Sensing the Sensuous!

1569_12-whatsapp-funny-status-quotes-relationshipI’ve discovered a fascinating blogger named “Erica Erotica.” Yes, that’s what this 52 year-old gorgeous divorcee writer (who’s very open about her new found sexuality) named herself. She’s my brand new inspiration for bringing a Touch of Tantra into my writing. Because why should she be the only one (at this age) who gets to write classy posts about BDSM, Boudoir, Lingerie, Sexual Fantasies and put up tastefully suggestive photos of herself? And yes those images are all really her.

So definitely check Erica Erotica out — because she’s stunning and seems to knows exactly what she’s talking about.  BUT don’t write yours truly, (I am officially now called, “Stephanie Seductressie!”) off as just another baby boomer blogger. You can bet your blindfold I know what’s what in my own bedroom!

Introducing . . .

Six Smoldering, Sultry, Sex-Sireny Suggestions for Sensuality from Stephanie Seductressie

  1. Always dress in the three S’s — That’s satin, silk or Slinky ® — But don’t force that last one into your wardrobe if it doesn’t come naturally for you.  Very few women can carry off silver metal coils wrapped tightly around their thighs. 

    Imagine this alluringly wrapped around your neck.

    Imagine this creative sex toy alluringly draped around your neck.

2. Focus When Doing Your Kugels — It will make that part stronger and everyone will feel more fulfilled. Now is not the time to switch to whole wheat noodles or add extra eggs in your tried and true recipe. My favorite is HERE. Of course be careful when removing from the oven — you wouldn’t want anything to slip out of your hands and spill all over your clean pelvic floor.

3.  Know How to Handle a Long Tantra — This means you catch it early. As soon as your child screams or falls to the ground, you must swiftly put him in his room for time-out. He will soon figure out throwing a tantra is a waste of time. And speaking of time, after the tantra climaxes, look deeply into your lover’s eyes while teasingly offering a cryptic massage, then slowly state the following, “I’ll be right back. It’s too quiet in our child’s room. I think he’s coloring on the walls.”  (Oh. Maybe that should’ve read offering a cryptic message, NOT massage.)

4. Insert the 3 “L” Words, “Love, Lust & Longing” Into Everyday Conversation — Because how can you go wrong inserting anything??  Seriously, it may feel awkward speaking the following phrases, but trust me the results will be fantastic.  Try, “I simply Love when you empty the trash.” or “I’m writing a grocery Lust, are we out of marshmallows for our hot cocoa? (It’s the marshmallows that add to this sexy scenario) or how about, “Go take a Longing walk off a short pier!” Mmmm, draw the bubble bath asap.

5.  Pose For Boudoir Photos — First practice pronouncing “Boudoir” correctly.  I called to make an appointment for pictures in a “Boudoir setting” and found myself headed to Boulder, Colorado. Alright, so you’re definitely a hot little number all on your own, but bringing in props and really setting the stage in the studio can brighten any photographer’s day. In fact my cameraman kept calling me his little “Testosterone Tramp” because I would lean over enticingly, pressing down firmly on my hormone creme pump as he snapped the perfect shots. Don’t forget to bring your own fan. Forget having it off to the side, giving you that sexy, tousled, windblown hair.  Keep that breezy baby center frame with you, aimed directly on your wrists and the back of your neck where it will do some good.  Unless your studio specializes in Hot Flash Photography.

A prop to inspire a thousand fantasies!

A photo prop to inspire a thousand fantasies!

6.  Lingerie — Wear lots of it.  But let’s get one thing straight – – Spanx, even though it is sold in the Lingerie department, does not count. What an ugly word Spanx is. Sounds like something you just slap on, rather than slide into. Now a “negligee” IS lingerie. In fact anything french sounding will work. So you could wriggle into a little attaché case, or puree a soufflé or even slip on a sexy protégé. But if your lingerie works correctly and he touches you exactly the right way – – in keeping with your french theme . . .  after things “culminate” for you, always shout out, “Touché!”

And now if you’d like to glimpse my actual lingerie (and hear it talk) simply click HERE.

Sincerely YOURS,

Stephanie Seductressie

Me, Myself and HER!

article-2338039-1A2D4055000005DC-603_634x433 (2)It’s happening again. This time at the library. I am just told I have three books that are 8 weeks overdue. “Well that sounds just like you, Stephanie,” I can hear you thinking, my dear reader.

True. Except for the title of the books . . .

  • “The Power of Math in the Real World” 
  • “Confessions of an Obsessive Housecleaner” 
  • “Chocolate. What’s All the Fuss About?” 

Uh huh.  See what I mean?  I immediately snatch back my $27 in late fees, justifying loudly, “That’s not me. It’s her again.”

Librarian:  Her Who?

Me:  There’s Another Stephanie Lewis.

Librarian:  Smart, clean, skinny little devil, isn’t she?

I know “Lewis” is a common last name, and I’m proud to share it with famous people like Jerry, Carl and Shari but really, there has to be precisely another Stephanie Lewis??  And she has to be in my exact neighborhood, running in my same circles, traipsing around respected public institutions, checking out obscure books and pinning the blame on me?

But this is not her worst fault.  Oh that’s right, I know all about her even though we’ve never met. She has an overbite and bleeding gums. She needs her wisdom teeth out, which she’s putting off until her last kid goes to college. Yep, we share the same dentist and our files seem to be interchangeable. I wonder if she ever takes the credit for my cavity-free check-ups?

Back when people rented movies in a physical storefront, she’d be the first one in line, booking in advance all the new releases like “Kramer Vs. Kramer” and “Rain Man.” This Stephanie Lewis had to be a video hog AND have impeccable taste? Upon checking out my own personal selections, I’d be informed (in front of others standing in line!) “We’ll have “Tootsie,” “The Graduate,” and “Ishtar” in for you any day now, Ms. Lewis.” I’d nod, then smile evilly as I secretly printed my name on a reservation slip for “Deep Throat” and “Reefer Madness,” and then never show my face there again.

T’was a little parting fun surprise for Stephanie’s husband, who perhaps thought her crush on Dustin Hoffman was her biggest issue.

Even with all the mistaken identities at medical facilities, including having the wrong prescriptions delivered to my home (once I almost telephoned her to recommend she eat more yogurt for all those yeast infections) plus mix-ups at dry-cleaners, banks and car-dealerships, I think the very worst thing about having the same name as this woman has got to be her utter and complete altruism and philanthropy.

I cannot tell you the number of times my family replays messages left on our home answering machine stating that I’m being recognized at a special dinner for all my volunteer hours at the homeless shelter. Or receiving an award for calling out Bingo for the senior citizens or the tireless hours spent reading to preschoolers. Because my children know me so well, they instantly delete every one of those niceties.

Well big deal. Listen to what I can do… “I-19.  G-42. O-75.”  And that’s not all. “Goodnight stars, Goodnight sky, Goodnight air. And Goodnight Stephanie Lewis’ everywhere!” See? She thinks she’s the only selfless humanitarian around!

Lately I’ve become accustomed to explaining they have the wrong Stephanie Lewis whenever these charitable organizations call, but now I am starting to feel a tad guilty.  I suppose I can find a little time to “give back,” right??  How hard can it be to “Pay it forward” every once in a while?

So it came as no surprise to me when the head of the school PTA called yesterday, informing me I would need to bring my own set of power tools when I came to help set-up for Grad Night at my son’s high school this weekend. Remembering my newfound unselfish philosophy, I gleefully tore apart my house, searching for a stray hammer or wrench so I could show up during her designated shift and finally meet this Stephanie Lewis in the flesh once and for all — a wonder woman who apparently needed no coverage for any of her gray hairs at The Tousled Tresses Salon around the corner.. FullSizeRender (6)

No sooner did I set foot in the high school parking lot when I saw a very pretty lady getting pulled over by campus security as they loudly announced on their walkie-talkies, “We’ve finally apprehended Ms. Lewis. Now we’re gonna collect on her back-owed tickets!” She sat mouth agape in her sparkling red car, no doubt wondering how she’d accrued over $440 dollars in penalties because (obviously!) she’d always diligently ordered that pesky required parking permit.

I scurried away as the Principal of the school and a guidance counselor strode sternly in her direction. Again I knew what this matter was about. Poor woman apparently now had a son who organized not only Senior Ditch Day but also Senior Prank Day and there were 1500 water balloons that had exploded and damaged some antique desks that belonged to Abraham Lincoln.  Tut, tut. My Her son should definitely lose his cellphone for that little indiscretion.

Before I left the scene entirely, I made an impromptu decision to drop by her car and interrupt the commotion for just a moment. As I grabbed her power tool case, (I informed her I’d be happy to fill in for her tonight) I dropped a Hershey’s bar on her front seat. “Here you go, Stephanie. You may as well find out right now why chocolate will be your sudden “go-to comfort food” in this exciting new life of yours.”

Don’t worry – – she’ll be fine.  She might just want to spell Stephanie, “Stefanie” for a bit.

And now if you’ll excuse me dear Readers, I’ve heard that this other Stephanie Lewis has just published an article on Scary Mommy, which is an amazing online magazine that I’ve been dying to get my writing on for months.  I think I’ll just go clarify in the comments section that I’m actually the Stephanie D. Lewis author they should be crediting RIGHT HERE.

Sugar And Spice And My Gender Advice!

imagesA pregnant woman swallows a capsule shaped like a miniature smartphone. Through a special sensor, the gender of her unborn baby is accurately determined and the fetus texts its mommy saying, “Guess what? I’m a boy!!” Okay maybe not. But I’ve got some more realistic (though quirky!) ways for couples who are into this sort of thing. And apparently people are actually throwing lavish parties where they can find out what they’re having at the same time as their guests!  Please come pay me a visit as I list 10 unique ways to reveal the news and if you can leave a comment there instead of here (if it made you laugh, that is) it really helps me get more of my writing featured on these kind of websites.  Just click HERE to read me on the fabulous BLUNTmoms magazine!  Thank you and I’m back in California soon to visit all your amazing blogs!

ps.  If you’ve ever planned a Bar Mitzvah, attended one, or just wonder what the heck that is, I’ve done some humor with 13 tips on how NOT to plan one right HERE.

Of Lice & Men (a miniature hell!)

FullSizeRender-4Okay, that’s my ridiculous attempt at silver linings and seeing the glass half full. Seriously? A family with six kids gets sent plague #3 ?! There must be an error somewhere.

“Dear God, I would like to apply for the (#9)Darkness or the (#2)Frogs or (#8)Locusts plague instead. Thank you.”

I also find it fascinating that two of my biggest phobias just happen to rhyme. LICE and MICE. I also don’t have great rapport with dry ICE or brown wild RICE either, but that’s another blog.

She’s just a little girl and already I’ve doused her head with Tea-Tree & Lavender Essential Oil, Campho-Phenique, Listerine Mouthwash, and Cetaphyl Cleanser. She won’t even bat an eye when she joins a college sorority and has to go through their hazing phase. On three successive nights I wrapped her scalp in mayonnaise, then olive oil and finally vinegar in the hopes of smothering these critters. On the 4th night I just tossed up a Caesar salad instead.

 Here Are  My 10 Astute Lice Observations After Dealing with this Trauma for Far Too Long.

  1. Close-Up: Whatever you do, NEVER look at a picture on the Internet of a single louse under a microscope. You will either shave your child’s head or send her to boarding school for six months so THEY can deal with these monstrous, grotesque, gargantuan inhabitants.
  2. Machinery: There is something called a LouseBuster which will make you look twice, thinking it says, “SpouseBuster.”LouseBuster It doesn’t but should.
  3. Professionals: There are people who get rid of lice for a price. I amused myself thinking up names for their businesses while I waited for them to run through each individual strand of my daughter’s long hair with a “Nit-onator” comb. The salon was simply called, “The Nit-Picker.”  How dull is that? Might I suggest “The Lice Whisperer” or “Sugar & Spice & Everything Lice.” or “Tip of the Liceberg” or “Once bitten, Lice Shy” or “Breaking the Lice” or  “At Nit’s End” or “Nit’s a Small World After All!” or “Playing Nit By Ear.” or “A No-Win Nituation” or “Laying Nit On The Line.” or “Like Nit or Lump Nit.” or “I wouldn’t touch Nit with a Ten-Foot Pole!” or “Get Over Nit!” and my personal favorite,  “Nit happens!” Gosh, who needs to blog?  I’ll just sit around and name parasitic petulance companies all day long.
  4. Longevity: Because live lice and nits cannot survive without their host scalp for longer than 48 hours, you don’t have to clean your home, you just need to starve it of humans. Move to a new residence!
  5. The Blame Game: Stay in Offensive mode when you report this experience (and you really should!) to the parents of your kid’s friends. Insist that it’s their unkempt child who gave it to your precious tot in the first place. Don’t back down on this one, trust me.
  6. Neat Freak: You will never clean your house as thoroughly as you will after a lice infestation. And by “you,” I mean your spouse.
  7. Facts: According to “Lice Literature” they can hold their teeny tiny little breaths for up to 8 hours. So if the plan is to jump in a chlorinated pool, you’ll need scuba gear. Also, they cannot jump or fly. Now that’s just a bold-faced lie — explain to me how they get on the body part that is the furthest away from the ground? I’ll believe this statement the day lice start colonizing toes and feet.
  8. Paranoia: If you go to your child’s pediatrician for the initial diagnosis (because you’re confused about identifying a nit from a piece of dandruff) and the Dr. suddenly exclaims, “Oh wow, her scalp is just teeming with them. Come closer Mom — let me educate you on what they look like,” and you run from the examination room screaming, “Teeming?? Teeming?! Who SAYS that??” Expect the physician to scribble notes in your child’s medical file about future hereditary mental illness.
  9. Mystery: If you want to capture someone’s attention, walk into Target and ask the clerk, “On what aisle would I find products to kill . . .” then whisper the rest in her ear. Ten people will follow you around the store.
  10. Controversy: If you keep your child home from school, the head-lice have won! Seriously, if you’re sick of reading about mommy/childhood vaccination wars, just write a post saying you sent your kid to school with a full-blown, active case of lice. Save this blog for April Fool’s Day.
  11. Drama:  When the lice problem finally goes away (and it will!) you will be reduced to your best Scarlett O’hara impersonation, dropping to your knees on old shag carpet, holding up the empty casing of a nit while shouting to the heavens, “As God as my witness, I’ll never be itchy again!”

And now since my home is so clean you can eat off the floor, I’m issuing a formal invitation to come for dinner tonight. Just don’t show-up empty-handed. That’s a pest-peeve of mine.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/miniature/

There are Lice Salons where classy coiffed parasites get perms and blow-drys!

There are “Lice Salons” where classy coiffed parasites can get perms and blow-drys!

When Bloggers’ Worlds Collide! (An offbeat Meet & Greet)

IMG_0083 (1)It was finally happening!   The cleverly hilarious and wise blogger/poetess Marissa Bergen, AKA “The Rock & Roll Supermom” who blogs at Glorious Results of a Misspent Youth was coming to my town and suggested we meet at Starbucks. I don’t even drink coffee!  What would I do with myself for an hour?  How to hide my anxiety if I can’t pour cream in something and stir every five minutes? My anonymity would be shattered! She’ll find me so unfunny in real life, it won’t even be funny. I can only amuse people in writing. I better have some good one-liners and punchlines ready to go in case of emergency.

I had only met one other blogger, and that was only in my imagination right HERE. It didn’t go well!  But my biggest fear with Marissa was that she’d speak in rhymes so witty, I’d look like an idiot if I didn’t at least quote Dr. Seuss.

The Day of Our Meeting I Calmed Myself Down With the Following Reminders:

  1. She’s just a normal, down-to-earth blogger like the rest of us.
  2. She has to log in with a password (and sometimes forgets it) just like I do.
  3. She puts on her titles one word at a time.
  4. She sometimes gets tongue-tied and doesn’t know if what she’s saying even has a point.

And most importantly . . .

She can’t always End her poems with a surprise Twist and a Rhyme.

Surely she’s Penned something that must’ve Missed at one Time??

Everything would work out just fine, I told myself over and over as I played her voicemail on my cell phone which would give me the time and place to meet her. She had an adorable East Coast accent but her final sentence was :

“I look forward to meeting you, oh Stephanie

I think we’ll have lotsa fun, oh definitely!”

OMG! Did you see what she did there with Stephanie and definitely?  It’s starting already!  Nobody’s ever rhymed my name before. I need to funny myself up and FAST!

But first my daughter straightens my 80’s style hair because she always tell me I look like Fran Drescher. Besides Marissa just wrote about hair right HERE.  Next I worry that she won’t recognize me without my trademark pouf.

I drive to Starbucks fretting and meditating on Seinfeld and Shel Silverstein.

I barely got my kids fed supper. Where will I park?  I can’t be late!

Maybe I should take an upper. Will I trip in the dark? That’d be great!

Oh god, my rhythm and meter are so off! And I never use the word, “Supper.”  I say “Dinner.”  What a contrived mess!

I scramble inside Starbucks and see the most beautiful poet standing before me. She embraces me briefly before remembering one of my posts about hating hugs. She says,

Sorry I didn’t mean to hug you.

I sure hope that didn’t bug you.

What??  Such ease and natural fluidity! How can she do that?? What to say? What to do? What would I do if I were on her blog leaving a comment?

“That was terrific, Marissa.  You sure are brilliant.  Was that from the Daily Prompt?  I bet WordPress Freshly Presses this one!”  She looks at me oddly.  Oh here I go.  Putting my foot in my mouth already. I have to calm down. But wait, she’s speaking again.  Listen!

“You’re gonna think that I’m the absolute worst.

But I left our hotel without bringing my purse!”

Well she was a little off on that rhyme, but still!  Unbelievable! Thinking fast on my feet, I mumble . . .

“That’s okay. I do not like coffee in a cup, not in a mug, don’t fill ‘er up.

I do not drink Starbucks at night, so forgetting your wallet is always quite right.

No worries, Sham I am!”

That was horrible. What was I thinking with that one?  I really need to stick to my blog’s gimmick and not cross into her territory.  People begin to stare and Marissa wisely whisks us into a dark corner. We sit down and she tells me how funny my blog is and that I never fail to make her laugh. That’s my cue!  The pressure is really on now! Immediately I scrawl on a napkin:

“Did you hear about the fire in the shoe factory?”  

I hold it up for her to read. She shakes her head no, a little puzzled. I continue writing on the napkin.

“A hundred soles were lost!”

She discreetly moves her chair back a few inches. So far, so good.

We talk about kids, blogs, and everything under the sun.

We don’t mention squids or dogs, but still we’re having fun!

Whenever there’s a lull in conversation or an awkward silence, I simply hold up one of my pre-printed index cards with a riddle on it. So far I’ve stumped her on three of them. She’s not quite as brilliant as I thought because her jaw just drops and she stares helplessly, clearing her throat.  Who doesn’t know “What’s black and white and read all over?” I mean….c’mon now!

But time flies when you’re away from your bratty kids (mine, not hers!) and before we know it, we must part ways. I walk her out to her car because that’s the polite thing to do with out-of-town guests.

When she opens her driver’s door, that’s when I see it!  A brown leather purse sitting in plain sight on her passenger seat. This is her surprise twist ending!  She had money all along!

She turns to me and recites . . .

I thought I’d be nervous, trip over my words and fall

Or say the wrong thing, or not be able to rhyme at all.

So I decided to intentionally forget my ugly purse,

Giving me lotsa opportunities to speak in verse.

But it was just so perfect, so great, so cool….

As the night unfolded, it was plain you were the bigger fool!

Then we took our photo, gave a final hug and agreed to never speak of this again.

So of course we both went home and blogged about it.

Thank you for the fun, Marissa!

Signed,

Little Miss Menopause (and you thought you’d get “Little Miss Sunshine??”)

A Blog Only a Mother Could Love!

Both Mom and WordPress will make you feel guilty that this cake is not very creative!

Both Mom and WordPress will make you feel guilty that this cake is not very creative!

Okay, I know! Neither my Mother nor WordPress would approve of my recycling material but gratefully I have 1 or 2 new readers since last Mother’s Day who I hope might agree with these 8 comparisons.

8 Ways WordPress And Mothers Are Alike:

1. PRESSURE!    WordPress(ure?) sends me these “naggy little reminder” notifications when I have not met my “One Published Post Per Week” goal.  They sound like this,  “Uh Oh.  Have you forgotten something? It’s been a while since you’ve published anything new!”  But yet just like Mom, WordPress never acknowledges when I’ve far exceeded those expectations (four posts in a week?!)  C’mon a little extra love?  Cookies and Milk before bed?  Grrrr,  Just like Mom – -always quick to point out that one darn B+  even though the rest were straight A’s.

2.  BARE NECESSITIES!    WordPress lets you have the basics for free but you’ll have to pay extra for any custom designs to make your blog uniquely yours.  Mom provided room and board and three square meals a day, but if you wanted to go to Disneyland or shop at Nordstrom, those “life upgrades” were gonna cost ya!

3.  REWARDS!   Remember sticker charts?  If you kept your room clean for a week, you got taken out for ice-cream?  Well, we all know that WordPress offers the chance to be “Freshly Pressed.”  But darn it, I’ve emptied the trash, dusted and vacuumed hundreds of times on my blog . . . and my only reward has been having my allergies clear up.  So WordPress – –  If you’re gonna dangle the “Freshly Pressed Carrot”  – – be clear in the steps we need to take to finally reach it.

4.  SELF-DOUBT!   Before I did anything even slightly risky, my mother had some applicable, yet tragic horror story to deter me or make me think twice about my abilities.  “Go ahead, ride your bike in bad weather.  Lisa Carter rode her 10-speed in the rain two weeks ago and now all that’s left of her is a soggy pair of size 3 Keds strapped to her bike pedals.  Is that what you want??”  On WordPress, when I am just about to delete something, up pops a little window with what I like to call a “Lisa Carter Warning Message,” It says, “Are You Sure You Want To Do That?”photo-359

5.  CONTEMPLATION!    WordPress features “The Daily Post,” which offers different Weekly Challenges. They are fun and rewarding opportunities for writing.  i.e. “Think About a Time When You Did Something So Terrific, Everyone Cheered For You.”  or  “How Has Blogging Helped You Stay Out of Therapy?”  Whereas Your mother issued some Weekly Challenges that maybe weren’t quite as fun or rewarding. “You Just Think About What You Did Wrong and By The Time I Come Back Into Your Room, You Better Have a Handwritten Apology!”   And of course your mom is the one who single-handedly drove you into therapy.

6.  ENRICHMENT!  WordPress offers a variety of themes with lots of ways to showcase your talent.  Some play up your photography skills, others emphasize your writing more prominently.  Still more themes can help you start a business or heighten your salesmanship skills with products.  Mom read books to you, enrolled you in summer camps and gave you voice lessons so you could become a more well-rounded person.  (But I’m still waiting for someone to ask me to play, “You’re a Grand Old Flag” at a social get-together – – My Mom promised me piano lessons would make me popular at parties.)

7.  LOVE!  WordPress gave birth to all the rest of our millions of online Siblings (our Followers!) and helps us stay connected to each other by holding daily Family Reunions (The Reader).  WordPress also encourages our cyber brothers and sisters to continue to offer us support and attention by leaving kind comments.  Sure, there’s gonna be some sibling rivalry reflected in those comments (Mom likes My Poetry Best . . .  so mmmnyeah!) and some “sticking out your tongue” remarks  (Ha Ha, I have more followers than you. Check out my stats.  Made ya look!!) but overall there’s lotsa WordPress Love to go around.

8.  PUNISHMENT!    “You march right into your “Log-In” window, sign on, and write one final farewell post.  And you better make it good because from now on, you’re suspended from all your WordPress blogging privileges until further notice.  You’re lucky I’m giving you a chance to say Goodbye.  Some other Blogging Websites will shut you down for violations you’re not even aware of.  And you lose every single one of your posts! FOR LIFE.   Now don’t you take that typing tone with me, Bloggy Boy.  When I was your age, we had to write in tedious diaries.  With real tiny silver keys. And we had to turn the heavy pages, both ways, with only one finger. Next time you’ll think twice before you disobey Mama WordPress!”

Dear  WordPress – – I hope you enjoyed this post.  Because I did NOT get you a bouquet of roses this year.

Love, Little Miss Menopause

ps.  You’ll be so proud of me.  I finally have my picture next to the queen of humor writers – – Erma Bombeck!  Click HERE

“LOOK MA!  NO HANDS!”

Don't worry - - BOTH hands are on the keyboard at all times!

Don’t worry – – BOTH hands are on the keyboard at all times!

Rejection As The Best Motivation?

crop380w_istock_000012132005xsmallDear Editor,

I received your recent rejection notice and unfortunately it’s just not what I’m looking for at this time. It’s certainly a well-crafted piece and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors, rejecting other aspiring writers. You may try me again in the future with something more upbeat.

Sincerely,

Stephanie D. Lewis

Aha! Rejecting the rejection letters! That’s the smart thing to do. I wish I could say that IS what I do. Instead when my writing gets turned down, it motivates me to try that much harder to get published in that particular venue. I become obsessively relentless. In fact, I seem to stop submitting to all the other places that actually like my stuff, in order to pursue chasing after the one place that clearly wants nothing to do with me. Sounds perfectly healthy, right?

On the off chance that this is typical human nature behavior and other people have similar responses, I’ve decided to take up rejection letters as a new hobby to see if it also motivates those around me to try their very best.

Recent Rejection Letters I’ve Sent

Dear Children,

Thank you for making your bunk-bed this morning. However, I regret to inform you it’s not exactly what I had in mind. The top sheet was all bunched up below the comforter, (simulating a sleeping body that creeped me out) the pillows were strewn haphazardly, and there were 8 used tissues crumpled in the center of the bottom bunk. Even the cat turned up her nose and slept in her Kitty Krib this morning.  Perhaps bed-making is not your niche and you would be better suited for playing Wii or skateboarding instead.

All my best,

Mom

Dear Bride-To-Be,

I am in receipt of the Halloween costume dress you picked out for me to wear as your maid-of-honor. I am sorry to be returning it at this juncture in time, but it’s just not a good fit for me. Literally. Also the eggplant color is horrific and if you think any woman would ever wear this again as a festive party dress, you’re sadly mistaken. I do appreciate you thinking of me in this capacity and look forward to future gowns you might submit for me to wear as I walk down the aisle to stand up for you at your wedding.

Thank you again,

Stephanie

ps. You two are all wrong for one another. Don’t be surprised if you get a rejection letter from your groom.

Dear Chef at Outback Steakhouse,

Thank you for auditioning this filet mignon on my plate. I’m sorry but it just wasn’t up to the caliber of flavor and tenderness I’m accustomed to. Feel free to try me again in about twenty minutes with more of your recent accomplishments, especially any vanilla offerings drenched in hot fudge and whipped cream that might be presented “on the house.”

Signed,

Your Customer at Table 9

Dear Dr. Goldstein,

Thank you for recently diagnosing my constant mood swings and elaborate white lies as Borderline Personality Disorder. While the acronym BPD is certainly impressive sounding, the whole label just doesn’t ring true for me. I could just be tired, irritable, and disenchanted with constantly getting asked to be a maid-of-honor. Ever think of that, Doc? I would like to invite you to submit a second opinion of my delicate condition in a few more weeks. However if you suggest I’m pregnant, you’ll never work in this town again.

Thank you for the recent appointment!

Stephanie D. Lewis

Dear Faithful Blog Follower,

It is with utmost appreciation that I thank you for taking the time to read “Once Upon Your Prime” and click the “Like” box. You certainly do so with aplomb and bravado. However lately your comments seem a bit jaded as if this is the 13th or 14th clever posting you’ve read in a row from me.  Though that may be the case, the redundant use of the word “genius” becomes rather tiresome. Ho Hum. At this point in time, due to the high volume of comments I’m currently receiving on “Once Upon Your Prime” (a whopping 3-5 per month!) I will be closing this particular section, so do not attempt to leave even an original comment as it will be promptly exiled.

Thank you for your understanding,

Little Miss Menopause

So far, the reverse psychology method of my rejection letters seems to have elicited some interesting results. a) A military style bed so tightly made, I could bounce a quarter off of it. b) A stylish black bridesmaid dress that I will proudly wear to my next funeral. c) Roasted chicken so garlicky I wouldn’t dare kiss someone even with ten breath mints. (But healthier than steak and the chef only spit on the parsley!)  (D) A physician’s diagnosis of “Just being your everyday, garden-variety bitch.” E) Followers who were so offended at my quirky humor, they promptly unsubscribed to my blog.

Oh dear . . . please come back my dear reader.  It was just an experiment in human nature.Mad-Rejection-Letter.jpg (1)

Gee Mom, You’re NOT What I Ordered!

Do NOT choose me if you throw your clothes on the floor, kid!

Do NOT choose me if you throw your clothes on the floor, kid!

Many people believe that before conception, babies are actually able to pick out exactly which mother they would like to be born to. There must be a catalogue of some sort that the “man upstairs” presents them with so they can make an educated choice.

In honor of Mother’s Day coming up soon, I’d like to share just a partial glimpse with you now:

 Mommy Menu

(New selections added every Sunday)

Mommy #6,035 – A frugal female but a good cook so you won’t go hungry. After weaning you from the breast, (at age 4) she’ll whip up culinary masterpieces with a bottle of hot sauce, cupcake sprinkles and some beef jerky, which she purchased with expired coupons. Quick tempered, won’t put up with unmade beds, smart mouths, or even pierced ears. But you’ll never hear, “Because I said so.” Currently single, but actively looking for a husband – so please like adventure. Note: Must buy own car and pay for college with this model of mother.

Mommy #27,686,235 – You’ll have four older siblings and always be considered “the oops” baby. She’s endearingly “scatterbrained” which is a nice way of saying you better have an affinity for cold chicken nuggets, Halloween costumes that are actually old sports uniforms, and be able to do your laundry at age six. Make that four. She’ll beg you to arrange your own carpool to and from baseball practice. (Uses the term “carpool” loosely since she’ll regularly forget when it’s her turn to drive.) Learn to be ultra polite so her more “together” friends will feel sorry for you and step in to help. There’s a Mother Code for that. Bonus: Your older brother is totally cool and makes the high school swim team which means you’ll always have a pool in your backyard!

Mommy # 18,633 – Control freaks unite. You’ll be a homebirth, your cord blood will be banked, she’ll grind her own baby food, and color code the Legos. Also nobody touches you without wearing full scrubs and mask. And this is at your Bar Mitzvah. Your house will be spotless and she might even sterilize your tallywhacker before you masturbate. When you’re 17, she’ll have a nervous breakdown and repetitively utter the mantra, “Always secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others.” She’ll make the perfect scapegoat when you’re in therapy for the rest of your life.

Mommy #312 – You’ll hit the jackpot with self-help books when you’re raised by this version of Mama. Postpartum depression, binge-eater, germaphobe, co-dependent, OCD, emotional intensity disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, histrionic personality disorder, intermittent explosive disorder, reactive attachment disorder, arachnophobia, and fear of flying. Plus she’ll start a blog about motherhood, which she’ll title, “Does This Straight Jacket Make Me Look Fat?”

Mommy # 318,206 — This one has the perfect nanny all interviewed so she’s ready to go back to her legal career in six weeks. But if you’re a real charmer, she’s gonna feel guilty and you just may snag yourself a full-time, super smart mother who will ask you to cite statutes and precedents when you ask for cookies and milk. Full Disclosure: She will constantly remind you what she gave up to raise you.

Mommy #1 – “The Perfect Mother.” Sorry, but this style is currently out of stock. Actually Perfect Mothers sat in the warehouse for thousands of years so they were all sent back to the factory. No baby ever requests a perfect mother because – – what’s the fun in that? Children are the best teachers and they just want a mommy who has open arms, heart, mind and soul. And a ton of LOVE to give, in return for all they’ll receive.

There’s No Place Like Home! (Especially Your Old One)

red-shoesSometimes a walk down memory lane will lead you straight to the front porch of the home you grew up in, or raised your own family. It’s a great “field trip” to teach children about their roots and it may be cathartic for you as well. I have six kids and decided to show each of them the apartment or house where they spent their childhood days. We were able to recapture a lot of nostalgia, get good photos, and even release some emotional baggage from visiting our environments of yesteryear. So would you dare go back?? I say yes!

8 Of My Best Tips On Implementing This Unusual Endeavor:

  1. Mystery and Adventure: Approach this in an impromptu fashion. Don’t tell children in advance where you’re going and why. It could lead to disappointment if the new owners aren’t home or worse, uncooperative. The house could be torn down or surrounded with one of those charming huge termite tents. I made the mistake of enticing my 6-year-old son with viewing his old bedroom and when the new owners refused, he pounded on the door shouting, “Let me in or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down.”
  2. Be reassuring! When you ring the bell of your old home, remember everything is familiar to you, but you’re complete strangers to the people answering the door! Set the new owner’s mind at ease that you’re not a realtor or soliciting magazines. Say something like, “Oh look Darling, there’s the same threshold you carried me over after our wedding, you tiger!” Be prepared for them to mentally calculate how much you weigh and scrutinize the size of your husband’s arms. Also, upon departing, resist the urge to place an “Open House!” sign on their lawn.
  3. Offer evidence. Say something very specific that will prove you really lived there. In the case of the home where I was pregnant with twins, we had written a little term of endearment on the floor tile where my water broke. “Little Fishies Started Here!” When I marched the current residents over to the exact spot to show them this cute piece of trivia, they had constructed an aquarium on top of it. Hmmm. I shudder to think what they would’ve built had we scrawled, “Conception took place here.”
  4. Stay a short time. You’re not arriving with your wedding china and recreating a family dinner. Ten minutes is the maximum you should stay if they’re willing to give you a brief tour.
  5. Don’t Be Nosy. It’s not a good idea to ask if your neighbor across the street ever got that much needed nose job. And for goodness sake, don’t critique their decorating skills. The last thing they’ll want to hear is that you can’t believe they put their bed against the same wall you used to keep the diaper pail.
  6. No Bad News. Try not to walk through their kitchen reminiscing about the time little Sarah choked on a chicken bone. Or confess your dog peed all over the master bedroom carpeting. One time I was thrown out because I took a little creative license (from the Poltergeist movie) and announced the home was built on top of old Indian burial grounds. Sheesh. No sense of humor.
  7. Don’t Get Emotional. If you’re prone to sentimentality when you look through old photos or watch home movies, prepare yourself in advance. I learned the hard way when we visited the home my beloved architect father designed for us. I burst into tears as soon as I saw the lovely stained glass windows in my bedroom had been replaced with bricks, the pink walls were painted gray and my white shag carpeting turned into concrete. The only thing missing was a hole in the ground for a toilet and it could’ve been Cellblock 9.
  8. Leave on a high note. Thank them profusely for their hospitality and give them a joyful parting tidbit like, “We hope you’ll have many happy occasions here just like our Christmas family reunions!” Clamp your hand over your kid’s mouth if he starts to say things like “Yeah, and Santa Clause NEVER delivers the good toys that need assembly to this house. And the tooth fairy always leaves “IOU” notes under the pillow!”