Tag Archives: Little Miss Menopause

Personality Practicality! (Can a 12 Minute Test Actually Peg Who You Really Are??)

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I’ve always known about the Myers–Briggs Personality test and thought it was just a fun little quiz like, “What Your Pasta Preference Says About Your Favorite Sex Position.” Certainly I put zero stock in the reliability or accuracy of it until a recent conversation with Bethany my bossy older sister, (never mind that my mother would name us Stephanie and Bethany!) during which she casually suggested I change the title of this blog to “Once Upon Your Grime” and give housecleaning tips.

BETHANY: Wow. Calm down. You’re so sensitive to constructive criticism. Does “INFP” mean anything to you?

ME: Is that the spin-off of the TV show WKRP in Cincinnati? Is Loni Anderson still blonde and perky?

BETHANY: I have no idea. And no, it’s the initials which I would stake my life on you getting if you were to take that famous online personality test.

ME: Really? INFP??  Lemme guess. That stands for Iconic, Naughty, Friendly, and Perfect? I always wanted to be termed as a little bit “Naughty.”

BETHANY: Err, not quite, Sis. Why don’t you take it yourself and find out. Here’s the link. But I’m absolutely certain I’m correct about you!

So I gave honest answers to all the official nosy questions and sure enough, (much to Know-It-All Bethany’s prediction!) I DID come out with exactly the initials INFP — which I read stood for Introvert (I), Intuition (N), Feeling (F), Perception (P). Only mine had a little dash and another letter too. Like this:  INFP-T

Upon further research I found the “T” was for turbulence. Oh c’mon now. I’m not an airplane! So the implication was that I create Turbulence in life? Why don’t Myers and Briggs just come right out and say, “T is for Tasmanian Devil?”

I refused to be labeled as such and so I took the test again, this time choosing all different responses. And once again, within five minutes, my results INFP were emailed to me. But this time followed by another dash and two letters — TM (Test Manipulator!)

I took that darn test eight more times, completely switching out my answers, using different computers, wearing different clothes, and changing my hairstyles, not to mention while eating shiitake mushrooms — and each time my fate was sealed with those same four initials getting emailed back to me. Branded as a permanent INFP, I slowly began to accept my destiny (and order monogrammed towels!) while exploring what career choices were good for me and who my ideal mate should be.

Finding out I would make a superb Horse-Exerciser, a Bingo Caller, and an Elevator Inspector was not the worst of it. Far more upsetting was that I should never have walked down the aisle with the two men I had married. But the most devastating news of all? Apparently an INFP like like myself is biologically incapable of producing children with the different logical, (normal!) initials all my offspring have! So now I must question whether or not I am really their mother, or were all six kids switched at birth?

My obsession didn’t stop there. I wanted to know how the test could know I was someone who made up jokes with no punchlines to test people’s authenticity (if they still laugh at my nonsense, they’re insincere!) and that instead of buying whole bottles of perfume, I rub magazine pages (with samples of Channel #5 embedded in them) on my wrists and neck.

We’re not talking general everyday personality traits like when horoscopes say Pisces people are creative. (Duh!) No, this thing was eerily Twilight Zonish spot-on for me, and so I put in a call to Myers and Briggs immediately, wanting to know how they could figure this all out from questions like, “Do you prefer to stand in the center of a room or close to the walls in a crowded party?” I was told Myers and Briggs were a nice mother/daughter team who had passed away a long time ago.  Hmmmm.

Only when the I reread the end of my test results and it said, “Recommendation: Start a blog called, Once Upon Your Grime and offer cleaning hints!” did things start to come clear for me. It was Bethany sending me my results all along.

ME: Hi! I’m sure having fun with the “special” link you gave me. Good thing I don’t take it very seriously though. Just curious, what are your own initials?

TIFFANY: HTBW

HTBW = Hates To Be Wrong.  (Naturally!)

Dear Readers, Why don’t you take the test right HERE and see if you agree with the initials you receive and Bethany’s assessment of your personality! Post a comment about it so I can see what my busybody sister has to say about you! (Ps. If you’re an ENFJ male, supposedly you’re my best match.) 

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Timing is Everything in Life!

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If everyone got rid of their clocks, watches, calendars, hourglasses, (and oven timers!) and there was no way to keep track of the elapsing minutes, would our bodies still age? (And our cakes still burn?)

The passage of time plays such a huge part of our lives physically, psychologically, professionally, and socially that I wanted to get reader input to see if there was a general consensus about the amount of time you should wait regarding certain life experiences.

It should be noted that when I started to type the phrase, “How long should you wait….” in an internet search, the first thing that came up was the rest of this sentence: “To date again after a break-up?” That makes sense given there doesn’t seem to be a standard protocol we all agree on for a confusing life event like that. But surprisingly, the second most prevalent question that overwhelmingly popped up after typing in, “How long should you wait….” was “To go swimming after eating a full meal?” Seriously folks?? Are we all still fretting over that silly age-old dilemma? (There are NO cramps people! That was just my Jewish grandmother’s clever way of keeping us out of her pool after she fed us so she could put curlers in her hair.)

The following are the things I often wonder about with time so please chime in if you have an answer. Meanwhile my little (snide?) remarks will be in red font after each question.

How Long Do You Wait?

  • To announce to friends and family that you’re in love? (I think immediately after you tell people this exciting news, your new lover will confide in you they have a criminal record.)
  • For someone to finally come out of their house and get in your car after you’ve honked your horn loudly? (The worse part about carpooling!)
  • To tell people you’re pregnant? (Religious Jews believe this should NOT be divulged until the first trimester is over, when the chance of miscarriage goes tremendously down. Do you wait?)
  • To submit your writing elsewhere if you haven’t heard back from an editor/publication? (I think giving someone 48 hours to have it dawn on them how clever/funny I am is PLENTY of time! Okay, 3 days if they’re super dense.)
  • To get remarried after the death of a spouse? (My mother tells me lots of women in her age group bring homemade meals to a newly widowed man (at his wife’s funeral!) as a way of saying, “I’m a great cook. Can I be next in line for you??” This is referred to as the “Brisket Brigade!” Oy.)
  • Between applying coats of paint on your walls? (Yes, I really wanna know this! Shouldn’t it be the same as fingernail polish??)
  • Until you set a date after the marriage proposal? (the trend for staying engaged for a long time is a confusing one!)
  • Before tossing bread/muffins/tortillas in the refrigerator after the expiration date? (These date stamps are something we routinely ignore in my house in favor of color-coding. In other words, a red-flag with baked goods would be discovering it’s now green!)
  • Before sending a second text asking, “Hey! Did you get my first text?” (This dilemma drives me crazy because maybe they received it but are purposely ignoring me. Or maybe they texted back and I am the one who NEVER got their response. Where does it end??)
  • Before calling the police if your teenage daughter is not answering her cellphone and none of her friends have seen her? (This will only make sense to someone whose kid routinely retorts, “If I’m grounded, I’m running away from home!”)
  • To nudge someone if they’re not taking their turn in Words With Friends?? (C’mon already. And don’t just resign or forfeit — I don’t wanna win that way!)
  • How long should you date different people before becoming “exclusive” with just one? (It should be the same answer for “how long do you traipse through furniture stores before deciding on a couch?” Won’t there always be a more comfortable, nicer looking sofa?!)
  • How long should you wait after a child is born to have a second? (And God help you when the adults are outnumbered.)
  • Between brushing your teeth and eating? (A conundrum I could never figure out. Brush after eating, makes sense. But then if I get hungry again? The whole cycle repeats itself 80 times a day??)
  • For the sex to get better with your new partner? (Alright, you’ve given them “the initial tour” and they kept getting lost. How long are you expected to wait for them to feel at home in your strange little “town?”) 
  • For a late professor to show up in a classroom at college before leaving? (He does NOT wait for you to show up before teaching!)
  • How long should you wait in bed to drift off to sleep before deciding, “It’s obviously another night of insomnia — those poor online readers are getting another idiotic blogpost from me about timing.” (I have absolutely no comment/opinion on this last one, other than to apologize.)

Readers: Can you answer anything I’ve asked here or do you have your own question about how long to wait for something? Leave either or both in the comments section below! 

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Life Is One Big Query Letter!

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Or at least it should be . . .  if we were always allowed to ask for what we needed and wanted. For instance I wrote a book, I yearned to get it published, so I sent out Query Letters to agents describing what it was about and why I thought it would be of interest to certain readers. I waited for a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’ regarding whether or not I could go to the next step and submit the first twenty pages. Simple.

Now let’s do this with EVERYTHING! Shall we?

Dear Neighbor,

I just moved into the home that was for sale across the street from you and I have a couple of kids whose hobbies include football, shopping, and…and that’s it! I think they’d make the ideal new friends for your son and daughter that I see walking harmoniously together out your front door every morning to catch the school bus. I’d be more than happy to send my daughter’s diary as well as video clips of my son’s game when he was quarterback. Thank you for your consideration!

Little Miss Menopause

 

Dear Gynecologist,

Your receptionist told me you’re not accepting any new patients, however I am of the opinion that you’ve never palpated breasts like mine before and it’s a unique experience no medical doctor should miss. Additionally I’m more agile at slipping my feet into those stirrups than any female this side of the Mississippi — and nobody can undress and get into a paper gown faster than I do. Think you’ll knock three abrupt times, then swiftly open the door to surprise me standing naked? Think again! You ain’t never had a patient like me. In conclusion, may I have my previous OB/GYN forward my medical charts for your perusal? Thank you for your time.

Little Miss Menopause

 

Dear Daughter,

I certainly hope this query letter finds you doing well in college. I’ve been following you on social media recently and I have some thoughts on how you’re leading your life, which I’m certain you’ll find fascinating. Just to give you a little teaser: You’re not dressing appropriately for your internship, the guy you’re dating isn’t from a very good family, and the Bloomin’ Onion you ordered last night from Outback Steakhouse is a heart attack waiting to happen. Please be aware that my advice is destined to become a bestseller, but I wanted you to be the first child to have the opportunity to utilize it. May I send you the complete outline so you can browse through it at your leisure?

Your Mother

 

Dear Parker Brothers,

Through the years I’ve enjoyed your Scrabble, Boggle, Clue, and Risk boardgames. I recently invented a new game I like to call, “Natural Consequences” in which milk spoils when not put back in the refrigerator, husbands don’t get sex when they forget to pitch in around the house, and children’s grades suffer when they don’t study. With your permission, may I send over a few people willing to act out all the fun in a live format for you?

Little Miss Menopause

 

Dear Firstborn Son Who Moved Far Away,

It has come to my attention that we don’t communicate anymore. I cannot remember the last time I heard your deep voice explaining the difference between fission and fusion.  I know a brilliant nuclear engineer and a scatterbrained creative writer don’t have a lot of commonality, but I’ve made a list of stuff we’ve shared (which you may not now recall) during your formative years. Just to give you a sneak preview, one of the things was spontaneous Bear Hugs. May I submit the rest of the list in the hopes that we can find our way back to yesteryear? I miss you son, I really miss you.

Much love always,

Mom

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Readers: Who Would You Send a Query Letter To?

Rose’s Authentic Diary from Titanic Finally Published!

OSCARS-BEST PICTUREEntry #1: Dear Diary, oh rats! We’re boarding the largest vessel ever built and I just realized I forgot to pack Dramamine or Bonine. The weather predicts smooth waters, so hopefully it’ll be a non-issue. Sailing 1st Class is such fun! Here’s my bucket list for this trip:

  1. Learn how to fold towels into cute animal shapes like the cabin stewards do.
  2. NOT to gain ten pounds like all the other women who go on cruises.
  3. Sing, “I Will Survive!” in the Karaoke lounge.

I also hope to meet another rich guy on our deck because my engagement to Cal isn’t going so well. Anchors aweigh! (Or should that be anchors away? Hmmmm….)

Entry #2: Today I decided a good way to attract another man is to pretend to jump overboard. I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic and I’ve got a good suicide routine. Right on cue, a boy named Jack Dawson appeared and I let him talk me down from the railing to safety, when suddenly my high heel caught in my fancy gown’s fabric and I slipped overboard for real. OMG! Do you realize I could’ve actually died? Note to Self: Enroll in acting lessons once back on dry land. Who knows, I may turn out to be another Kate Winslet!

Entry #3: Found out Mr. Dawson is extremely poor. A real 3rd class citizen. Rats! Hey, I know… marrying him would be a really good way to get back at my controlling mother after all the money she’s spent on my finishing school. (I hereby promise I’m never gonna let you go, Jack!) In fact, tomorrow I’m going to flirt with him a little. I’ll giggle a lot, flounce my shoulders, tousle my hair, and then ask him to teach me how to spit like a man. Romantic sigh…

Entry #4  Apparently Jack is an artist who specializes in sketching naked french girls who recline on fainting couches, wearing nothing but large, blue sparkling pendant necklaces. But I’m gonna ask him to draw me wearing a life-vest. That’s not kinky. That’s foreshadowing.

Entry #5 Tonight we ran wildly around the E Deck, trying to elude my fiancé’s lunatic henchman who wanted to catch us. I don’t think he knows you only play Marco Polo in swimming pools. We went down below the passenger compartments and got turned-on watching workers handle the heavy equipment. By the time we climbed into this old-fashioned automobile, I knew the front windshield would steam up enough for me to leave a single, sweaty handprint. That’s the kind of thing a movie camera will zoom in on so audiences can use their imaginations. But anything you conjure up won’t be nearly as good as reality because Leonardo  Jack is a total stud. (OMG I’ll never let you go, Jack. I promise!)

Entry #6: Despite Jack being as poor as a church mouse, tonight he announced to anyone within earshot that he’s actually King of the World. I just adore a multi-faceted man. In fact, I’d rather be his whore than Cal’s wife.

Entry #6: Dear Diary, ours was a love story you could really sink your teeth into! I mean seriously it had drama, action, romance, phlegm — everything but the kitchen sink. But then they had to go and frame Jack for thievery, arrest him, and put him in their makeshift slammer. After this awful news finally sunk in, I thought, “How could they sink so low?” Then my heart sank. And all this time I believed my heart would go on and on. “Near, far, wherever you are….” But nope. My heart literally sank. And to top it off, I have this sinking feeling now like, “Maybe we’re all sunk!” 

Entry #7: Something tells me I should learn how to use an axe.

Entry #8: Oh no, Diary! The ship just bumped into a large object! Stay tuned….more later.

Entry #9: Well, apparently the boat crash was just the tip of the iceberg. Too much has happened to jot down here, but suffice it to say, (while floating on a broken ship door) I got major brain freeze when I finally realized what had to be done. It was just time for both of us to move on. That’s right Diary — I had to let Jack go. Besides, he’ll be perfect for The Great Gatsby or The Wolf of Wall Street.

Entry #10: I really liked the last name “Dawson” so I’m marrying Richard Dawson of Family Feud fame!

Entry #11: I’m 100 years old now and being summoned back to the wreckage of Titanic to see about some valuable sapphire diamond they call, “The Heart of the Ocean.” I pawned that old piece of blue glass long ago to pay for my facelift, but I’ll give them a good quote they can use for their blockbuster movie. Ready? Here goes…. “Now you know there really was a man named Jack Dawson and he saved me. In every way that a person can be saved.” That will be a dramatic ending if I die peacefully in my sleep tucked into a warm bed. Or I know! They can make the whole thing be a crazy dream I had, just like Dorothy!

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Behind the Scenes With Famous Diet/Health Gurus

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Weight Watchers: Hmmm, Where’s Oprah? Oh well, I’d like to call this monthly meeting to order please. We have lots of business to take care of. Who wants to raise the first issue of public awareness that we’d like to put out there?
Jenny Craig: I’d like to bring back the idea that three prepackaged meals a day plus one snack in a vacuum sealed bag will promote a nutritious, convenient, healthy lifestyle, and be an effective way to lose weight.
Atkins: I honestly don’t think people will swallow that nonsense anymore. Now that word has gotten out about processed foods — they know to avoid anything that comes in a box or container.
South Beach Diet: And don’t forget many of them have learned to read labels and eschew anything they can’t pronounce.
Jenny Craig:  Eschew?? My, aren’t we fancy? Well I can rename all my ingredients so they only have one or two syllables! Where exactly is South beach anyhow? South of what??
Paleo: Honestly Jenny, public perception supports the research. Everyone wants to start eating like their ancestors did in the olden days, before there was cardboard, cellophane, and Saran Wrap. You know — stuff they can gather naturally, like nuts, berries, roots, and squirrels.
Nutrisystem:  Oh shut up, you stupid Caveman. That’s never gonna trump prepared meals conveniently delivered straight to their dining room table.
Weight Watchers:  Okay folks. I’m gonna table this discussion, (no pun intended) for a moment while we shift from public awareness to public scareness. What’s up with eggs? It’s been a long time since people have panicked over them for cholesterol reasons. Is it time to put that little tidbit out there again?
Pritikin:  Isn’t there a reliable formula for us to decide when eggs are bad? Something that’s over-easy to remember and will scramble all the facts?
SlimFast Shakes: I believe it goes like this: Eggs starts with “E” and that’s the fifth letter in the alphabet which is an odd number, just like 2017. And “Odd” starts with “O” just like “Out” so eggs are gonna be OUT this year.
Weight Watchers:  Perfect, I’ll send a memo to the news channels and talk show hosts and we’ll put the fear of God back into them. Now before we change our advice about eating ‘organic’ food to eating ‘orgasmic’ food, let’s deal with this whole good fat versus bad fat phenomenon, shall we? What are we claiming is the difference again?
Atkins: Every single fat is not just good, it’s utterly fantastic. There are NO bad fats, only bad carbs.
Eat According to Your Blood Type: Well not so fast there, my Good Man. That’s only true if you’re O positive and trying to boss everyone around about carbohydrates. What about the rest of the population with types A, B, AB and . . .
Atkins: Are you stereotyping my blood?
Pritikin: Is that even a thing? And where’s Oprah and her little wagon filled with animal fat?
Atkins: Well just for the record, I definitely don’t have O Positive blood running thru my veins.
Weight Watchers: We’ll take a short break while Dr. Atkins gets a finger prick.
Atkins: Who died and left you in charge?
Weight Watchers: Uh you did, Dr. Atkins. In 2003 to be precise.
Pritikin: And rumor has it, you croaked from a massive heart attack because your arteries were so clogged with plaque. Whatya got to say for yourself now, Mr. FineFat?
Zone Diet: Lay off him. He was killed when he hit his head on the slippery pavement. Everyone knows the real culprit in our modern day diet is sugar. Ask Oprah. Where is she?
SugarBusters: (raises a Diet Coke bottle) I’ll drink to that!
Jared Fogle From Subway Sandwich Fame: So diet sodas don’t cause dementia and strokes like YouTube says? That’s great news because I’ve been telling everyone to order a Big Gulp with their six-inch turkey sub and bag of chips. That’s how I lost 245 pounds….with just six inches.
Paleo: Sure ya did, Jared. Uh, No fricking way.
Weight Watchers: We’ll take a short break while Mr. Fogle steps on a scale.
Dr. Oz: I hate to break it to you, but I recently had Dr. Gundry on my show, of The Plant Paradox Diet and it turns out that everything we thought was healthy for us like tomatoes, eggplant, beans, peppers, etc. actually contain lectins, which are pure poison to humans. Especially those nightshades.
Jared Fogle: Nobody in my family wears nightshades to sleep anymore. I think that went out with Marilyn Monroe.
Weight Watchers: Hush up, Jared. Just mind your own business and hold on tight to that six-incher of yours, ok? Dr. Oz. can this be true? If so, it’s just what we’ve been waiting for. Lectin sounds deliciously ominous and I think it just might work as the new gluten. Wonderful! Alright we’ve got to wrap up here. But before we do, are there any really oddball foods we can promote as the next big thing?
South Beach Diet: I nominate Chia seeds and Bone Broth.
Weight Watchers: Nice work! Chia seeds — the cute 1970’s little critter with the stupid jingle. And Bone Broth — which sounds like something served in a witch’s cauldron at a Halloween Party.
Jenny Craig: Are we sure about this Chia fad thing? How about ingesting pet rocks or mood rings instead? Should we consult Oprah?
Weight Watchers: Nope Jenny, I’ve made up my mind and we’re sticking with Chia seeds and Bone Broth this year. We might be able to do a public service announcement about Pop Rocks, but that’s not a promise. Meeting adjourned. Next month we brainstorm how to break it to them that taking the recommended 10,000 steps a day causes foot cancer. Now let’s get out there and cause some major mass confusion!
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Bored Blogger Turns Classic Rock Songs Into AP News Articles!

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Domestic Violence Sends Guy Into Outer-Space

(Rocket Man)

 

MARS (AP)   Mr. Elton John of Hollywood was allegedly forced to become an astronaut when his spouse packed his bags pre-flight zero hour nine AM. He was quoted as saying, “I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife. It’s lonely out in space on such a timeless flight.” But male friends who knew him well claim he’ll soon be as high as a kite. Asked why his children didn’t accompany him on the trip, John responded, “Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids. In fact it’s cold as hell.” But thanks to modern technology, rather than a typical drawn-out angry divorce, John will remain a Rocket Man burning out his fuse up here alone. As for any future return flight home, John had this to say, “And I think it’s gonna be a long long time till touch down brings me round again to find I’m not the man they think I am at home. Oh no no no I’m a Rocket Man.” When pressed for an exact date of arrival, his voice echoed and trailed off in a plaintive tone: “And I think it’s gonna be a long long time…And I think it’s gonna be a long long time…”

Black Friday Sale Dupes Woman Into Odd Purchase

(Stairway To Heaven)

 

LOS ANGELES (AP)   An unidentified female victim who was sure “all that glitters is gold” recently bought a Stairway to Heaven. When she gets there she knows if the stores are all closed, with a word she can get what she came for. One witness, a Nordstrom salesperson observed, “There’s a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure ’cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.” Friends expressed concern, citing they never knew the injured party to exhibit shopaholic tendencies. “Maybe she was having an affair with the Rocket Man and this was her only access to reach him,” one neighbor speculated. The woman’s own husband contacted local authorities in the middle of the night to add, “There’s a feeling I get–when I look to the west, Ooooh, and it makes me wonder.” When asked to be more specific, he reiterated, “Oooooh, it really makes me wonder!” Upon further interrogation, including whether his wife ever scoured estate sales or shopped online for other modes of transportation to heaven, the haggard mate of the victim could only recall one instance when his beloved was obsessed with obtaining a rusty old lead zeppelin at a garage sale. “Ooooh, and it makes me wonder,” he repeated once again, appearing Dazed and Confused. “One things for certain … her buying a stairway to heaven means our credit cards will be maxed out for decades.”

 

Pair in Forced Marriage Make The Best of Things

(I Got You, Babe!)

 

PALM SPRINGS (AP)   Victims of a modern day arranged marriage, a young couple found out the hard way that being in love isn’t everything. “They say our love won’t pay the rent,” stated Mr. Bono. “Before it’s earned, our money’s all been spent,” lamented his exotic, half-breed wife who volunteered only her first name, as Cher. The bride’s father and perpetrator of this forced union is wanted in 13 other states for additional human trafficking crimes, but managed to give the couple the following advice before he absconded, “Don’t let them say your hair’s too long, cause I don’t care with you I can’t go wrong.” During times of extreme grief or fear, rather then resenting each other for their lost dating years, the committed duo remind one another, “And when I’m sad, you’re a clown. And if I get scared, you’re always around.” But the main way they’ve sustained their romance has been singing ad nauseam to each other, “I got you, Babe.” Blech.

 

 Labor Dispute Results in Crowded Nightclub Joy

(The Piano Man)

 

NEW YORK (AP)   At 9:00 on a Saturday as the regular crowd shuffled in, many patrons allegedly inundated a helpless pianist with random musical requests. Some were sad, some were sweet, and some were incomplete as people struggled with their memories, substituting “La la la, di da da La la, di da da da dum” for actual lyrics. Even the bartender, who was identified only as John and who gave free drinks, was quick with a joke, or to light up a smoke, seemed to hold the compassionate piano player accountable for his own unhappiness and the fact that he couldn’t break free from the nightclub to become a movie star. “Bill, I believe this is killing me,” he was quoted as saying. Other innocent bystanders included a real estate novelist, a waitress practicing politics, and some businessmen slowly getting stoned. One witness claimed the piano sounded like a carnival and the microphone smelled like a beer, but this could not be substantiated. In fact many customers ordered the drink special of the night, called “Loneliness” and this seemed to evoke a common sentiment that if the pianist would only sing them the right kind of song with the melody they were all in the mood for, everyone would be feeling alright. The manager finally appeared and gave a smile, aware that it was his establishment that helped everyone forget about life for a while. It was unknown whether the Piano Man later sought therapy for the extreme pressure he felt during this incident.

Depression and Suicide Over Specks of Dirt

(Dust In The Wind)

 

KANSAS (AP)    A former housecleaner with high hopes of reinventing herself as a songwriter closed her eyes, only for a moment and the moment’s gone. All the dreams passed before her eyes — a curiosity. The young female’s parents, who paid for her to go back to college claimed she was very despondent, just sprawling around their 3-bedroom filthy, and very drafty house. Asked if the lyrics she created were any good, they simultaneously replied, “Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea. All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see. Dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind.” It is suspected that genetics, not allergies to dust/mold,  played a part in the young woman’s inherited pessimism. Her last words scrawled in a suicide note read, “Now don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. It slips away, and all your money won’t another minute buy. Dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind.” Her final refrain was repeated 2X. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be sent to Black & Decker, the manufacturer of the cordless Dustbuster.
NOTE: Dear Readers, I’m now taking requests for a Part 2! Or feel free to leave one of your own creations in the comments.
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Why People You Know In Real Life Want Your Blog To Fail!

haters-gonna-hate-bloggers-gonna-blogI have officially been blogging for 3.5 years now and the people who are my biggest fans (and my best supporters!) are those I haven’t even met (yet!) and who’ve never watched me grow up and feel no particular attachment to my success. That’s right — all my cyber friends really go out of their way to cheer me on. But what about my adoring family and all my real world “in the flesh” friends, you ask? They absolutely cannot be bothered to give my blog the time of day.  In fact, I just eavesdropped on this conversation the other day from two people who love me very much.

My Grandmother: So what does our girl do all day long again? She’s a Bragger? A Blotter?  A Blooper? A Blabber?

My Mother:  She’s a Blogger!

My Grandmother:  And for this we sent her to college?  What does she put on her blog anyhow?

My Mother: They’re called pillars or poles. Something like that.

Me: (bursts into room) Posts, Ma. I put posts on my blog.

That’s actually not so bad. We don’t really expect people who aren’t in this field to understand what it is we do. That’s fairly innocent. But did you know that not only are the people you’re closest to in real life not supportive, they’re downright hoping your blog gets shut down?

Why Real People Want You To Quit Blogging!

  1. THREATENED: If you announce that you’re starting a blog, heaven help you. Be prepared to get sabotaged. Just like those who proclaim they’re starting a diet and suddenly homemade Toll House cookies on platters are left on doorsteps by friends who’ve never baked before in their life.  Your success as a blogger means that people will spend less time with you because (let’s face it) blogging can consume your every waking moment.
  2. SLOTHFUL: If you don’t write stuff, they won’t have to pretend to read stuff! Your family and friends are incredibly lazy. Just let that sink in for a moment. At family reunions, I hand my brother printed out pages of my blog because I know he won’t ever bother to click on the links I text him. And this way I can oversee which parts he likes by monitoring his facial expressions as I peer over his shoulder while he reads. “What??  That line about how controlling our mother is doesn’t even get a chuckle?” I chastise. “I think it warrants a guffaw at the very least.” The Laugh Police is out in full force.
  3. FEARFUL: They don’t want to be IN your blog. That’s right. We’re in need of material and they’re the ones we have daily contact with. My family and friends preface everything they tell me now with, “And this stays between us! So don’t even think about sneaking it on your blog even if you change my name, my gender, or my profession.” My 15.5 year-old daughter refuses to learn to drive unless I give up blogging.  I am bribing her to get behind the wheel, my pen poised.
  4. NO CONTROL: You’ve entered the blogosphere and are socializing with a whole new set of people named, “Food For Thought” and “Diary of a Scatterbrain” and frankly the people in your normal daily life can’t come along to these Posting Parties. They will wonder if someone who goes by “Biff Sock Pow!” is a harmless comic book character or looking to do you real harm.
  5. SOUR GRAPES: They’re jealous because they secretly wanted to start their own blog but you already beat them to it — so now it looks like they’re just big fat copycats without an original idea in their head. Work with me on this one, will ya? It could be possible.
  6. MAGAZINES: They’re old school and believe the only real way to ingest information, entertainment, and knowledge is to turn tangible pages in their hot little hands. Every time I get published, it never fails that my mother asks, “Which magazine? Cosmo? Glamour, People?” And I always say, “It’s going up on an online blog, Ma. But it gets a million hits a year!” Only to hear her retort, “I hope they have good insurance. Those hit and run drivers, I’ll tell you. They cause lots of damage.”
  7. MEMORY ISSUES: There are a percentage of your friends who can’t even remember your name, let alone what you wrote on today’s post. They’re wanting to avoid the grilling and interrogation that inevitably happens if they become a regular reader. When I was married, I regularly quizzed my husband on what he thought of my topics, the title, the hook, the ending, and if he found anything that needed fixing like typos or punctuation. I desperately wanted his input but he couldn’t recollect a thing about my blog. It got so bad that he finally told me he was resigning as my editor because he had “Correctile dysfunction.”
  8. JUST ANOTHER NUMBER: Your family and friends don’t want to turn into a run of the mill statistic. They know you watch your Google analytics like a hawk and you can see when or IF they’ve tuned in to your blog. And if they did read it, but failed to leave a “like” or a “comment” — well that’s a crime punishable to the fullest extent of the relationship. That’s right! If they’re going to give you the silent treatment on your blog, you’re not going to speak to them in real life.
  9. FOLLOW THE LEADER: Many people bristle at the thought that they’re gonna become one of your “followers.” “Really??” My cousin recently told me. “I watched you grow up, a goofy little girl who stuttered and wore “waiting for a flood” pants with your Farrah Fawcett hairdo which by the way you somehow still wear today?  Farrah Fawcett went down the drain in the 80’s, ya know. I should follow you? I’d rather play Simon Says!”

And there you have it. Nine creative reasons why the people in your life want you to delete your blog. And a few more interesting explanations (justifications) would be left in the comment section below, by all my well-meaning friends and relatives — but NONE of them will ever read my blog!

Important Note: if you have real life relationships who genuinely WANT to be the wind beneath your wings with regards to your blogging craft, but they’re not sure how — immediately direct them right HERE because this is brilliant advice authored by a Christine Carter, (a highly supportive cyber friend of mine!) that will guide them on exactly how they can help you and perhaps more importantly, WHY they should help you.

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

20 Tips on How NOT To Create a Successful Blog!

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  1. Decide that you need a new hobby, but because you’re a raging alcoholic and also because you have terrible knee injuries, home beer-brewing or bodybuilding would be risky and painful. By default, blogging seems a sobering and safe pastime.
  2. Announce to everyone and their uncle that your exciting mystery blog (more colorful and explosive than fireworks!) will burst into the World Wide Web on July 4th, 2017.
  3. Starting July 1st, send countdown emails to everyone you know. “4 More Days Until Mystery Blog!” then “3 More Days Until Mystery Blog!” etc. until finally it’s just “1 More Day Until Mystery Blog!”
  4. Become nervous with all the pressure and expectations you’ve built up and on the day of your blog’s birth, scramble for a good domain name and any interesting content.
  5. Call your new baby simply, “My Mystery Blog!” and make your first post a list of good places to view fireworks across the country. There! That oughta hold ’em until July 5th.
  6. Realize you need someone to host your blog, but nobody has the good manners to offer. Don’t be a rude guest and blatantly ask someone to host it for you. Briefly consider hiring Hostess, but then you’d have to write about Twinkies and Cupcakes. Conclude you’ve read enough Martha Stewart magazines to be able to Self-Host.
  7. Install WordPress even though you’ve never even installed carpet, tile, or a kitchen sink before. But don’t worry about installing any of those “plugins” — after all, it’s not like you need an outlet for a toaster. And certainly skip over anything that has the word “Yoast” in it. If they can’t be bothered to correct their typo in the word “Toast,” why should you be bothered to prepare bread with jam? Just have a bagel and cream-cheese instead.
  8. Choose whatever theme you prefer. Just avoid flying toasters as that’s passé.
  9. Contemplate whether you want to allow comments or not. Go ahead and permit comments, but make sure the people who leave them must first prove they are human by solving for X if Y = Yoast. To the 10th power.
  10. Find your blogging niche, which is just another way of saying “write what you’re passion about.” It can be anything except for Passion itself. Being passionate about passion is like being curious about curiosity. You’re not Alice in Wonderland.
  11. Define your ideal reader and then promptly forget about your blogging niche. From now on, you’ll want to solely cater your writing specifically for your new Followers. Example: Your very first subscriber goes by the name of, “Eat to the Beat!” They’re probably into food, so blog about recipes. However they might also be into music so write about Billboard’s Top 40. Your next follower’s name is “MamaBelly” so be sure and make your post about getting pregnant. However “MamaBelly” could mean they want to lose weight, so cover your bases and review the 5 Best Low Carb Diets. Your third and fourth subscriber’s names are “Raindrops on Roses” and “Where the Sun Don’t Shine” so play it safe and just blog about the weather. Keep incorporating a wide variety of topics in each post until every single reader feels you’re speaking directly to them. Never write just for yourself — you’re the last person who will be reading your blog.
  12. When people begin to remark it’s impossible to predict your subject matter, remind them that’s why you are “A Mystery Blog.” Tag your stuff with words like, “Guess What Now?” and “Mishmash” and “Hodgepodge.”
  13. Figure out the best time of day to post a new blog, taking into consideration all the different time zones of your 8 followers. Evening hours work best if you want your blog to be considered a cure for insomnia.
  14. Decide you’ve lived your life a bit too safely, never running a red light or telling a single white lie. Google lots of awesome photo images for your blog posts and then cut n’ paste without paying for them or giving proper attribution. Stay up late at night flirting with disaster and tempting fate each time your blog is viewed.
  15. Hire a lawyer to plea bargain on your behalf for Copyright Infringement.
  16. Admit that this whole thing is far more work than you thought and invite a friend to co-author your blog with you. But always place your initials in parenthesis after an especially witty sentence so that readers will continue to know it’s really still YOU they’re laughing at. (LMM)
  17. Never visit other blogs. Once you begin reading their stuff, you will be distracted from writing your own. Or worse, accused of trespassing. It’s “a blog eat blog world out there” so mind your own business! If you do peruse other blogs, take care to leave zero evidence behind. Even a short “this was great!” comment can enable the blog owner to retrace the breadcrumbs back to your blog and then the jig is up. Didn’t your mother ever read Hansel and Gretel to you?
  18. Invite businesses onto your site so you can make money by keeping a percentage of what they sell. Hookers will fight over who gets to stand in front of your blog advertising “their wares.” But that happens on popular street corners as well. A good pimp will settle disputes.
  19. Don’t write articles with titles on, “How NOT to Do Something.” This will be confusing, deceiving, and contradictory. Should people do as you say but NOT as you do? No! Should they NOT do as you say and NOT do as you do? Yes!
  20. And lastly, check your statistics obsessively because they will tell the entire story of your success. If you see a lot of search terms having to do with raging alcoholics and terrible knee injuries, congratulate yourself on choosing the best hobby for you . . . BLOGGING!

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

How NOT To Plan a Summer BBQ in 15 Easy Steps (Plus Bonus Swimming Pool Etiquette! Uh, NOT!)

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Yup, Summer is Upon Us! Here’s how NOT to Plan a BBQ Get-Together!

  1. Feel guilty remembering last July when you were grilling steaks in your backyard, the newly moved-in next-door neighbor popped his fat head over the fence and yelled, “Mmm, something sure smells good!”
  2. Resolve to invite anyone who lives within “Wafting Aroma” distance.
  3. Rethink leaving notification flyers under everyone’s welcome mat on their front doorstep because that’s what pushy realtors and obnoxious cable companies do. Instead hang “Everyone is Welcome to Our Backyard Cookout” posters on group mailboxes.
  4. Hide your shock when the postman personally delivers bills/letters to your porch and then asks if it’s okay to bring his cousins and their kids?
  5. Overhear through your open window two mothers chatting on the sidewalk below, “Do you know her? I don’t either. How lame. Maybe she has no other friends.”
  6. Realize you wrote “Potluck” on the invites to promote camaraderie and teamwork, but now everyone will probably just think you’re cheap. Also since you didn’t do that organized Martha Stewart trick where you divide the alphabet into A-L = side dish/drinks and M-Z = main course/appetizer, there will now be 17 containers of Costco white chocolate macadamia nut cookies on your dessert table.
  7. Knock on individual doors because you forgot to put RSVP info in your flyer. Act surprised when the first neighbors (The Coopers?) thank you for inviting them, but then they remark they’ll only come if they’ll know someone else there. Reassure them that the O’Donnell family will definitely be attending, because you know they like them. Break a sweat running to the O’Donnell house and casually mention the Cooper family will be at your BBQ and you hope they’ll come too?
  8. Pray that the Coopers and the O’Donnells never EVER bring this topic up in conversation with one another.
  9. Go in your backyard and fret that your plants are dying, your lawn furniture is tattered, and everyone else’s property is surely a better place to hold a BBQ than yours. And what’s there to do back here after scarfing down burgers? Absolutely nothing.
  10. Re-landscape, buy patio seating, and put in an underground swimming pool with a built-in waterslide.
  11. Make the case to your husband that you need to repaint your home’s interior as neighbors need to walk thru your entire house to get to the backyard because if they go via the side gate, it stinks due to trashcans. Keep talking about Benjamin Moore “Swiss Coffee Shoreline” color palette when he interrupts and says he’ll simply relocate the garbage barrels inside your garage.
  12. Phone a marriage counselor when the divorce papers are delivered.
  13. Field phone calls from your siblings and parents who complain they were looking forward to a quiet family reunion BBQ but now you had to go and invite a bunch of strangers so now they’re not coming.
  14. Traipse around the entire neighborhood canceling your event when the local weatherman claims an unseasonable rainstorm is hitting San Diego this weekend.
  15. Ask what looks like your mailman’s grandma to please pass the butter for the corn-on-the-cob and then tell the mailman’s cousin’s children that you’d appreciate if they’d use their indoor voices while sitting at your formal dining room table.

Do’s And Don’ts To Get Along Swimmingly At a Community Pool!

This season you may be visiting a group swimming pool, so here’s my official list of Do’s and Don’ts, which you are encouraged to take with a grain of salt. (Or if your pool isn’t a saltwater based system– a capful of chlorine.)

  • DO arrive at the community pool with proper identification and whatever keycard you need to get through the gate. DON’T shout out to nearby sunbathers on lounge chairs from behind the bars, “Listen! I really do live here. I can prove it. Maybe you know my neighbors, The Coopers or The Odonnells? You can call them to verify my residency. Ready? 760 – 944 …” And DON’T rattle off a list of neighborhood trivia (like previous fires, burglaries, times car alarms go off in the morning, or who the mailman is sleeping with) as further evidence. If you’re desperate (and you really do reside in the development) DO make your best puppy dog expression at the individuals sitting under the umbrellas nearest the fence and offer to share your oatmeal cookies or fudge brownies with them if they let you in.
  • DON’T bring oatmeal cookies or fudge brownies to a pool! It will exacerbate the current ant problem. But DO bring “Ants on a Log” (the old peanut-butter on celery sticks with raisins to get kids to eat healthy) because the ants will view this snack as a prophetic bad omen and march off the premises.
  • If it’s forbidden to play “Marco Polo” (and it should be!) DON’T tell your children it’s okay to start shouting “Parco Molo!” at the top of their lungs instead. Just DON’T. Also while swimming, DO offer friendly salutations to people you recognize strolling by, but if they casually inquire, “So how’s the water today?” DON’T automatically answer with that tired cliché, “Like a bathtub!” There are many other ways to describe a warm pool so DO be creative. DO say, “Like a beach in Hawaii” or “like toasty hot cocoa.” DON’T say, “Like about 85 kids recently peed in it.”
  • Remember license plate holders that proudly declared, “My other car is a Porsche?” DO post a sign on your chest claiming, “My other bathing suit is a string bikini!” DON’T recline on your back overtly reading scandalous books with inappropriate covers for others to gawk at. But DO make phony dustjackets that say, “Dog-Paddling for Dummies” or “10 Wholesome Short Stories to Read at Public Swimming Pools” to slip over your provocative novels, because you shouldn’t have to miss all those juicy chapters!
  • DO use the outdoor shower that’s usually provided before you jump in the pool because that’s its primary purpose, to clean off your yuckiness. DON’T assume the shower was built for your personal grooming habits after your swim, which means DON’T bring a deep-conditioner, a razor, a loofah brush, an acne facial mask, a fogless mirror, and a luxurious bathmat. DO bring a rubber-ducky cuz that’s just plain cute.
  • And finally, DO let that family (with the really sad eyes and a bag full of oatmeal cookies and fudge brownies) with no key or ID into the community pool, because it’s probably my six kids and me. And I swear (on my other bikini) that we really do live here!

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Yes, You CAN Interview Yourself . . . And You Definitely Should!

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Welcome to today’s much anticipated (at least by the interviewer herself) Q & A session with the renown “Little Miss Menopause.” The questions will be asked by Stephanie D. Lewis, (SDL) essentially the exact same person as Little Miss Menopause (LMM) although if you believe in different personas, then this is a totally legit interview! So here we go . . .

SDL: Welcome Little Miss Menopause! It’s so nice to have you here. And you needn’t waste readers’ time by responding, “thank you for having me!” so let’s just get into our first question, shall we? How did you come to call yourself Little Miss Menopause?”

LMM: Well before I was a blogger, I wrote for an organization called, “Wine, Women & Hormones” and they paid me to make hot flashes, muffintops, and memory loss funny. I thought mid-life symptoms were the extent of my humor so I started this blog titled, “Once Upon Your Prime” and then I further boxed myself in by naming myself after the female change of life.

SDL: Way to go. I suppose it’s lucky you weren’t writing for a company about puberty or you might have been called, “Little Miss Menstruation!”

LMM:  Ha. I’ll be the funny one. Okay, we’ll split the one-liners equally. Next question?

SDL: How long have you been writing for?

LMM: I had a feeling you’d ask me that. I kept a diary from about 7th grade on. It was Snoopy brand (fittingly!) and had a lock with this silver minuscule key, but I always assumed that because I peeked inside everyone else’s diary, mine was also being heavily perused — so I’d purposely weave in these really entertaining fictional anecdotes. It turns out my family respected my rights and nobody ever violated my privacy.

SDL And so you you started intentionally leaving it unlocked, right? To tempt people. When that didn’t work, you actually left a post-it note with, “Please read!” on top, right? But still nobody picked it up.

LMM: Yes, yes! How did you know all that?

SDL: Because you’re boring, predictable, and also I was kinda there. So let’s see, next question . . . how did you manage to break into writing for The Huffington Post?

LMM: That wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to a BLogHer writer’s conference in 2014 where Ms. Huffington was the keynote speaker.

SDL: Cornered her with the ole boring diary, did you?

LMM: No, I pretended I was already a Huff Post columnist but that I’d recently been unfairly let go. I pleaded for another chance and promised I’d be funnier. So I got myself rehired when I was never really hired in the first place!

SDL: And if you were never hired, you could never be fired either. You steal a lot of stuff from Seinfeld’s character Kramer, doncha?

LMM: Speak for yourself. So what made you decide to interview me? Or shall we just drop this whole reporter pretense and ask, what made you decide to interview yourself, Stephanie?

SDL: The idea came to me last week that everyone deserves the chance (even if they’re not famous) to have stimulating questions thrown at them. I waited around to see if anyone would ask me anything, but only my kids approached me with a certain amount of curiosity. They asked me what was for dinner? I finally decided there was nothing wrong with doing this myself. It’s part of my personal Self-Care which I just wrote about in the entry below this one. (Small plug!) Now mind you, I didn’t have to disclose that this was a self-interview because nobody would have figured it out, but I pride myself on being brutally honest.

LMM: Yes, I’m sure Arianna Huffington would concur. So might this interview thing also be in honor of finally hitting a certain number of followers that has been your long time goal? And if so, what’s that number?

SDL:  I’m not going to disclose how many followers I have, are you crazy? Some people would think it’s too high or too low. Just like my weight, I wouldn’t tell you that either.

LMM:  I already know what you weigh, fool. Remember? I am you. You are me. Ohh yeah, that’s right . . .  we use one of those scales that doesn’t show our weight, it only specifies if we’ve gained or lost. Which is like a doctor not telling you what your diagnosis is, only if you’re getting better or worse. Don’t you think? Of what use is that?

SDL: I’m kinda getting sick of you. And somehow you’ve turned this whole thing around so now you’re the one interviewing me. Let’s just cut to the chase and issue our challenge already.

LMM: Alrighty. If you’re reading this and you’re feeling brave (and quirky!) try interviewing yourself on your own blog. C’mon! What have you got to lose? It’s fun and everyone should do it. Just like masturbation.

SDL: OMG. I am so relieved that my persona said that last line, and not me! How totally embarrassing. Anyhow, if you take me (us!) up on this self-interview challenge, feel free to come back and post a link in the comments section. Thank you! And thank you for your time Little Miss Menopause.

LMM:  No, I’m thanking YOU!

SDL: Nope, thank YOU!  Now sign off.

LMM: No, you sign off. I want the last word.

SDL: Unbelievable. Seriously?? Goodbye.

LMM:  Aha … Gotcha!

SDL: Could you be a more Immature persona??

Various microphones aligned at press conference isolated over a