We Need A Bigger Boat...

Some people think a boat is private property on the mere basis that if a person pays for the boat, gas, mooring, license, insurance and beer, they own the boat and can make all the rules, but it just ain’t so. If a man owns a truck, he knows before he gets that truck, that he has to help his relatives move things. Because we all say, “Well, Gerry has a truck. He can haul the old refrigerator to the dump.” If a man owns a boat, he knows before he gets that boat, that he has to take relatives out. Because we all say, “Call Gerry, see if he’s going out today.”

Last week I shared that one of the ways to tell if one of your relatives has gotten a boat but they’re holding out on telling you is to check for sunburn under their arms or chin, places where the sun reflects up off the water and finds new skin to burn. But there are some other ways to tell if they’ve gotten a boat:

Have you spotted them a little too often at the ice machine very late at night, or very early in the morning?

Have you noticed any changes in their parking techniques? Do they park normally, or do they cut the car engine and coast in at a shallow angle until the tires bump the curb?

When your cousin visits, does she instinctively jam her purse between your couch cushions?

When you have them to dinner, do they all hold onto their drinks and never put them down until the drink is drunk?

When they go down your hall to the bathroom, are they reaching for handrails that aren’t there?

Any there any linguistic changes? When your cousin is doing a few dishes in your sink and her hubby comes up behind her, as all men do when we are washing dishes, does she firmly tell him, “Honey, you better throttle back....”.

Have any of your relatives shown a sudden interest in UFO abductions? Are any of them claiming that they are “missing time” ? Some of you are thinking, “How stupid. Who wants to thought of as a nut just to avoid telling their family they got a boat?” Answer: It all depends on how nice the boat is. If I had a gorgeous mahogany launch, I’d want my relatives to think I was serial killer who used my victims for chum...

Did any of your relatives give you the JAWS 3 DVD set for a gift recently? Are they sending you clippings of all the sharks attacks they can find? Do they like to cite the fact that all the record breaking Great Whites are caught off of Montauk? Any reason they’d want you to fear salt water?

When you have lunch at their house, do they serve you a smashed sandwich that smells like fish, but it’s ham salad?

When you take the ferry with them, do their children ask, “How come we don’t have to wear preservers on this boat? You said we have to wear preservers whenever...” and you turn to see someone has jammed three oreo’s into that kid’s mouth.

Is your male relative is wearing a St. Christopher medal (Patron Saint of Mariners), but he’s not Catholic?

You look out into his backyard and the garden hose isn’t looped carelessly over a hook on the garage, it’s coiled neatly on the ground.

You go with your female cousin to Jack’s Marina & Toy Emporium (on Shelter Island) for some new games and toys, and you notice that she’s tied off her cart to the counter with a jump rope in a half hitch knot. And for some reason she’s now wandering around in the marina section...

If you’ve figured out someone has a boat, do what I do. Get to their dock early with a cooler of beer. I like to drape my body over the cooler, clutching my crabnet and breathing shallow. When they see me, they’ll see I’m wasting away to practically nothing and sometimes take me out fishing for pity sake. Or the man will just throw the cooler in the boat and not notice the cord from the cooler to my ankle. When he pulls out, I let myself flop in the water, then I use the crabnet to catch to some rigging and pull myself up and in. By the time he makes speed, I’m in like Flynn...

But What If Sunscreen Causes Cancer?

I read recently that the American Cancer Society recommends you use sunscreen if you are going to be exposed to the sun for more than four minutes. So it’s down to walk around with an umbrella like Michael Jackson, or stay in your house and live like a mole. You wanna see the sun? Turn on the nature channel.

Sunscreen is in everything; chapstick, make-up, anti-bug spray, body lotion and, oh yeah, in bottles of sunscreen. Sunscreen is saturating our society and having a negative impact on our culture that no one is talking about.

Stone Age man did not have sunscreen, nor Iron Age people, nor Bronze Age, nor Classical, nor Roman, nor the Dark Ages people (heck they got a break since the dark ages actually were dark), nor the Medieval people, nor the Renaissance folks, nor Industrial Age people, nor the Tupperware Age people, and they all lived. But all of a sudden, in the Microchip Age, we’re all gonna die if we go outside without sunscreen...The makers of sunscreen and ‘Tan in a bottle’ stuff are making a fortune!

Sunburns have a place and purpose in society. You went to the beach, you got a sunburn, you went to a barbecue, you got a sunburn, you went boating, you got a bad sunburn.

When you went to work on Monday with a sunburn, it showed everyone that you actually did something that weekend. It shocked your boss to realize you had a life outside of work. It made an old office love wonder who you were with when you got the burn. You got lotsa extra attention.
“Man, you are fried....”
“Yea, but I had a great time. We went to the beach.....”

Sunburn has the side effect of severe exhaustion. Your pajama’s on your skin never felt as soft and wonderful as when you come home toasted from the beach, take a cool shower, lather on the Noxema and get in your jammies. You slide into bed and are asleep before your head hits the pillow. Try that with SPF 50.

If you had an enemy at the office, there was nothing better than knowing they had a sunburn. Not only could you enjoy each little “ouch” and whimper as they sat down and tried to move around without pain, you could increase their pain with a little careful planning. It might take you awhile to think of something you could congratulate them for, but you’d come up with it eventually. Then, as you’re on your way to get coffee, you come up behind them in their chair and pause to give them a good natured slap on the back, right at the epicenter of their burn, and say, “So, Jerry, heard you got a new electric stapler. Cool. Wish I had one.” And as they look up at you with eyes of agony that ask, “Are you are the anti-Christ?”, you walk your victory lap to the coffee pot.
Sweet.....

In boating communities, sunburn analysis is part of our forensic technique to determine if a relative is lying about having gotten a boat just to keep it to themselves.

“So when were you going to tell us you got a boat, Herb?”
“I don’t have a boat.”
“You have a boat sunburn, you have a boat.”
“Nah, I was at the beach.”
“Nope, I saw you and Janet in the grocery store parking lot. Her hair looked like she stood behind a jet engine.”
“Okay, we went camping.”
“Nope, she walked right by me and didn’t smell like smoke and she wasn’t scratching any bug bites.”
“Look, I didn’t buy a boat. And if I did, I wouldn’t have to announce it to the world!”
“Uh huh. So..... you bought a big boat....”
“There’s no boat I tell you!”
“Hold up your arms, Herb.”
“Ow!”
“You’re sunburned under the arms, that’s a boat burn.”
“Do I look like I have money for a boat?”
“And when you walked by me in the parking lot Herb, you smelled like spilled martini and had dried pimento on your tee-shirt. You wanna continue with this charade, or come clean and tell the family?”
“It’s a very small boat, just fits two people and a cooler. It’s just a floating bathtub really. It folds up and fits into the backseat of the car. You’re not going to tell everyone are you?”
“What’s the boat’s name?”
“It’s..... it’s.... damn......it’s ‘The Grand Poobah’.”
“You are soooo busted..........”

Some of a Beach......

Beach Baskets - Back to the Future

If you decide to live anywhere on the New England coast, you must learn about beach baskets, not to be confused with the high tech “beach carriers” of the west coast. The west coasters have trollies for all their beach stuff with cup holders, picnic tables that fold to the size of a paper plate and somewhere on all their stuff is a digital clock that will work till the first drop of water hits it. No, I'm talkin' good old fashioned wicker beach baskets.

The rule in my family was, if you’re going to the beach, you have to let everyone else know so they can join you if they want. I don’t recall ever being at the beach with just my mom and brothers, there was always assorted family members that showed up and everyone brought their official beach basket or cooler.

The 1950’s: My grandmother had a big wicker beach basket with sides that flipped up. The contents were always the same: sandwiches in tin foil; Peanut Butter and Jelly (P&J's) for the kids, baloney for the men, Noxema, Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, floppy hats, Brownie camera, and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. My grandfather packed the cooler, contents: beer and bait. Whether or not we were going fishing, the bait always stayed in the cooler. Bait served a dual purpose as bait and a biochemical beer protection barrier to keep the women and children from opening that stinky cooler, and worked every time.

The 1960’s: My mother had a nice wicker beach basket too. She was a single mother of four. Her contents were: sandwiches in unmanageably clingy saran wrap; just P&J’s, Noxema, Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, sunglasses replaced floppy hats, kodak camera, tee shirts for sunburn protection, plastic shovels, old kitchen spoons or plastic scoops from the Chock Full of Nuts cans, a magazine for reading which could also be used for shooing flies, swatting children - which could be your kid or some stray kid who wandered into your strike zone, and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. The men brought the cooler, contents: beer and bait.

The 1970’s: My mother got remarried and had another child. As teenager, I convinced her to ditch the old basket for a new insulated plastic beach tote with a flower power design by Peter Max and an easy-tear plastic lining..... The contents were: sandwiches in fold over sandwich bags; P&J for Mom and kids, yogurt for me, sunglasses, sunscreen replaced Noxema, baby oil for me (so I could roast my skin in my string bikini), a transistor radio so Cousin Brucie on 77WABC could turn me over every 15 minutes (all I needed was skewer going through my body), Kodak 110 slim camera, and a can of Bactine spray to replace the bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. It worked just as good, only modern and more expensive. My stepfather packed the cooler, per instructions he received, with beer and bait. But he used to sneak in cokes for my mother which wasn’t really allowed, but the men in the family looked the other way because he was new.

The 1980’s: I had left home, but on my return visits to New York to renew my attitude and accent, I noticed that mother had backslid. The flower power beach tote was mysteriously missing and she had a new wicker beach basket. The contents were: sandwiches in unsealable zip lock bags that could be sealed if you had an extra half hour to line up two skinny white lines and slowly compress with two fingers from one corner to the other; P&J for kids, baloney for men, fruit roll ups, juice boxes, orange drink, sunscreen, sunglasses, a crossword puzzle magazine, Polaroid camera, and Solarcaine spray for jellyfish stings. My stepfather packed the cooler with beer and bait - he was with the program now....

The 1990’s: I returned home as a single mom. I bought a wicker beach basket. Why? Because I understood the wisdom of the New England woman.... you can shake the sand out easier, it’s sturdy, it floats and has enough weight to it so you can discreetly bump your kids along as they walk back to the car. The contents: sandwiches in zip lock bags with "blue and yellow make green" color stripes; P&J for kids, baloney sandwiches for brothers, gummy bears, juice boxes, bottled water, polarized sunglasses, sunscreen spray and tee shirts, some light reading; "101 Ways to Axe Your Ex for Beginners", Noxema, and vinegar for jellyfish stings. Vinegar’s cheaper and effective and you can locate your child by smell, just like a mother seal, which makes you feel closer to nature in case sand in your bathing suit crotch isn’t close enough. The men brought coolers, contents: beer and bait. I had a discussion with my brothers about bringing soft drinks instead of beer but they said, “Then what’s the point of going to the beach?” I had one of those, “If I had testosterone, I’d understand this”, moments, so I left it alone.

The 2000’s: My daughter is grown and gone, so now I’m only one kid away from 'Empty Pest Syndrome'. I bought a sturdy wicker beach basket with sides that flip up. The contents - My new classics: delicious sandwiches in zip lock bags, Noxema, Entenmann’s Ultimate Crumb Cake, YooHoo’s, Sobe’s, sparkly visor, book of crytogram puzzles, digital camera and a bottle of vinegar for jellyfish stings. Gee, I wonder what my brothers will bring.....

Dances With Clams...

For many people, a bathing suit is just something you're almost wearing in front of strangers on a beach. For people who live near salt water, it's alot more than that.

My grandfather, Ervin Flynn, was a bay clammer in Sayville, New York. From early childhood I learned from my family that all bathing suits have a second purpose in life, to hold clams....

I come from a family of big Irish peasants. I can still see my family, waist deep in water treading clams. My Aunt Carol's bathing suit could hold 2 pecks (1/2 buschel) of clams in addition to Aunt Carol. My Aunt Olive could hold 2 pecks of clams, 2 bottles of beer and a churchkey, small bottle of tobasco and a clamming knife. She always loved lunch on the water..... My Uncle Walter (by marriage) was a lifeguard, he liked to wear a red speedo...useless in my family. Speedos have a four clam limit, 2 in front, 2 in back (think of that visual). My grandfather had the big boxer style swim trunks - with pockets. He always wore a tee shirt in the water and tucked it into the trunks. He could put a peck of clams in the Tee shirt, another in the trunks and fit "conks" (snails) into the pockets.

Now that I live on Shelter Island, I am proud to pass this old world knowledge onto my children. My mother, step-father, me, my two perfect children and sometimes a few of my brothers go treading clams in our favorite spot whenever possible.

We wait till the tide is low to go out to the clams. We pick a spot, about waist deep and begin the Clam Dance. You wiggle your feet a few inches into the slimey mud and feel with your toes for clams. Experienced toes can tell a stone (smooth) from clam (ridged). Articulate toes can grip the clam and pass it up to your hand for deposit in your bathing suit. The first few clams pass virtually undetected to your crotch. Since you're in waist deep water, the bouyancy of the salt water keeps the crotch from sagging and the clams from escaping. For men, things can feel a little crowded, for women, well, just don't lose a clam. You tread, talk and tread, for a few hours. Two to three hours of clam dancing should give you a 2 peck yield, roughly clams to the bustline.

Then we wait for any cars to pass that can see us exit the water. The hardest thing about treading clams is getting out of the water with all these clams in your bathing suit. The additional twenty pounds of mollusks shifting and banging together in your suit makes you ambulate very slowly to shore. Each step out of the water, draws the suit down lower and lower. As soon as you're in knee-deep water you reach down to hold in clams that are starting to fall out of your crotch. For people driving by who are from, say, Montana, this can be a frightening site. Islanders only slow down enough to memorize the location of the clambed.

Islanders can tell from your bathing suits if there are any clams left for them. A one bathing suit haul means, there's plenty of clams left. Two bathing suits, enough clams left for one dinner for two of steamed clams, three bathing suit haul means there's enough left for dinner for one, lastly the dreaded four or more bathing suit haul - forget it, these people cleared the bed of all the legal sized clams.

Finally, you make it to land. You tie the sleeves of all available shirts closed, up-end the shirt to act as a sack and start reaching down into your suit for the clams. When you can't reach them from the top, go up from the bottom. Its best to tread clams with family as you will undoubtably expose some personal parts of your body in the de-clamming process. Only family should see the parts of you that you've never seen.

My brother Brian once caught a flounder accidently while dropping a clam in his trunks. Picture a 6'3", 260lbs man emerging from the water. Trunks weighed down with clams and a three pound live one flopping around in the front of his trunks. He was steppin' lively! Our Shinnecock ancestors would have given him the same name we did that day. He was, Dances With Clams......

I HATE President Bush

I'd like to say I hate President Bush, but that's too mild. I detest and despise the beady eyed idiot. Now he's got it all going:

1} He started a war to gain access to the second largest oil field in the Middle East. Halliburton is administering the operations while Chevron, Exxon and Mobil pump out the oil and I presume are storing it here somewhere since all of a sudden we seem to have run out of room at our oil refineries.... gas prices will go up to $4 a gallon, then Bush will command them back down to $3 a gallon, which was his goal when he took office. We'll all be glad we're not paying $4 a gallon, and he and his Texas Oil boys will make billions.

2} He's thrown the borders wide open and is encouraging easement of immigration laws. This is succeeding in flooding the country with cheap labor which will break the unions, another big business goal met. Bush's "plan" to stem the tide of illegals can't be implemented until 2008, the year he leaves office... isn't that convenient?

3} With the recent Supreme Court decision to grant private corporations 'eminent domain' over private property, three of the deciding Justices being Republicans, Bush clears the path for big business, especially the oil business, to build wherever it wants to.

I don't understand how America can listen to his 'pro-life, pro-family' rhetoric while he sets up America for a depression more terrible than the 1930's. Unemployment and abortions have soared since he first became president. It's only a matter of time before he implements a draft. He's breaking every campaign promise. He's not in Iraq-Nam for their freedom. We're stealing their oil, that's why we're there. Iraq didn't have a navy or air force, they were never a threat to us. What were they going to do...strap a bomb on a camel and send it by cargo ship? Iraq was as much threat to the US as a fart in a windstorm. If we were fighting for freedom, we'd be in about 4 African countries right now....too bad Africa doesn't have oil...

And I believe he was part of the bombing of the World Trade Center, go check out www.septembereleventh.org, 911Truth.org, oilempire.us. When you look at the film, frame by frame, you can see for yourself that something shoots out from under the plane just before it hits the tower. There was a reason why Bush sat in that classroom and continued reading about the little goat after he was notified of the first crash....he knew the second one was coming. Please don't take my word. Go look at these and other websites like them and decide for yourself.

We Need a New Constitution!

Happy Fourth of July!
The American Manifesto

Such a big fuss this week just because the Supreme Court gave the government the right to bulldoze your house to build a tax generating shopping mall that would spark the local economy. Republicans, Democrats, Conservatives, Liberals, not nobody, nowhere, no how, seems to like this decision.

Thomas Jefferson said: “The right to procure property and to use it for one’s own enjoyment is essential to the freedom of every person, and our other rights would mean little without these rights of property ownership.” “The true foundation of republican government is the equal right of every citizen in his person and property management. ....a right given by nature to all men,...that of rescuing their own property wrongfully taken.”

But what does Tom know about today’s America? I’m sure if he knew we export $3 billion dollars a year worth of scrap metal and raw materials to China and we import $30 billion a year worth of manufactured goods from China, sold thru giants like Walmart, he’d understand that a Walmart anywhere would bring a lot more money to the local coffers than some old houses.

Of course, exporting all that scrap metal does bother me a bit. We sold thousands of tons scrap metal to Japan in the 1930’s. Do you think? Nah...it couldn't happen again.

President Theodore Roosevelt said: “In every civilized society property rights must be carefully safeguarded; ordinarily and in the great majority of cases, human rights and property rights are fundamentally and in the long run identical.”

But what does Teddy know about today’s America? It’s because of him we’re stuck with all these huge National Parks. When I think of the profit loss from all that wasted real estate....

The Fifth Amendment to the Constitution says:
“No person shall be ....deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.” (Traditionally, eminent domain has been utilized to facilitate transportation, the supplying of water and power, et.al..)

Here’s the crux of the whole problem. This old document, the Constitution. We should tear it up and start over. It was written for ordinary people. Who cares about them? We need one written for the new America...Corporate America. Why, we could use this handy old document I found on the internet, it’s perfect!

From the Communist Manifesto: “Private property must, therefore, be abolished and in its place must come the common utilization of all instruments of production and the distribution of all products according to common agreement – in a word, what is called the communal ownership of goods. In fact, the abolition of private property is, doubtless, the shortest and most significant way to characterize the revolution in the whole social order which has been made necessary by the development of industry – and for this reason it is rightly advanced by communists as their main demand.”

We could call it the American Manifesto. I like the sound of that....manifesto rhymes with pesto and we all like that, so I think it has a chance to get through congress. That oughta work good for corporations like Microsoft who makes software for Communist China, IBM who sold their PC division to China, and Walmart who puts China to work (Were you wondering where China got the money to bid on Union 76 Oil?).

The five Justices who decided that the government can take your home away and give it to corporate developers whenever it wants to: John Paul Stevens (Republican), Anthony M. Kennedy (Republican), David H. Souter (Republican), Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Democrat), Stephen G. Breyer (Democrat).

But I wonder if these five can really override these fifty: NEW HAMPSHIRE: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton. MASSACHUSETTS: John Hancock, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry. RHODE ISLAND: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery. CONNECTICUT: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott. NEW YORK: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris. NEW JERSEY: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark. PENNSYLVANIA: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross. DELAWARE: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean. MARYLAND: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton. VIRGINIA: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton. NORTH CAROLINA: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn. SOUTH CAROLINA: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton. GEORGIA: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton.

Remember what Abraham Lincoln said: “The people will get as good a government as they are willing to work for and as bad a government as they are willing to stand for. “

Manifesto rhymes with pesto, which has a good chance as long as people don’t use their noodles for thinking.

Barbecue and the Meaning of Life

Like everyone else, I miss things from my youth. I miss the body that I used to hate because I thought I was so fat at size 16. I miss gravity defying breasts. I miss perfect eyesight. I don’t think it’s a function of age that our eyesight weakens with time. It is a gift from G-d. The soft focus of myopia keeps our mate’s face youthful and attractive forever, or until we put on our glasses - whichever comes first. I’ve learned that the best way to take ten years off of my face is to knock the glasses off of his, or accidentally place them under the rear tire of any parked vehicle.

But what I miss the most is energy. The Aztecs called it “the age of never.” When suddenly you think to yourself, moving was never this hard before. Cleaning the whole house never took this much time before. Walking to the store was never so far, and uphill both ways!

One night you’re at a party. It’s 1 a.m. and suddenly you think to yourself, “I gotta get outta here. I gotta be at work at eight.” A few years go by and on the way to another party you say to yourself, “No matter what, I’m leaving by midnight.” A few more years go by and you find yourself saying to your host, “I gotta leave by 11 PM. If I don’t get at least 5 hours of sleep, my whole day will be shot.” Next you’re asking on the phone, “Well, what time does the party actually start?” You’re asking because you’re thinking, “I’ll take a nap before I go then I won’t be tired tomorrow if I stay late.”

For men, here’s where the big shift happens. Here’s what separates the Hard Working Joe from the Good Time Charlie, the young bucks from the warriors. One day a Good Time Charlie who has worked exhausted one time too many, begins to notice something that other men around his age are starting to do.

He notices that men gather in broad daylight on weekend afternoons. They roast raw meat which attracts women and children who praise them for their ability to roast meats of all types. Just like a night time party, they can drink beer and tell stories. Good Time Charlie has discovered another gift from G-d, fire...or, as modern man calls it....barbecue.

Fire in the form of barbecue is the warrior’s party time. He discovers he likes barbecues better. They end earlier and he can get a whole night’s sleep! Plus, barbecues are far more manly than parties. At parties, women put out tables of fancy dishes with lots of noodles, a hungry man needs to eat three plates to feel satisfied. Not so at a barbecue. The women still bring the noodle dishes, but he gets to eat slabs of meat marinated in garlic, onion, peppers and every available gas generating vegetable on the market. Combined with the beer and the baked beans, he learns never to turn his back to the barbecue flames.

Barbecue’s appeal to a man’s primitive soul. He must gather a bag of special black rocks. His hands become soiled as he piles the stones into the pit he has dug or purchased from Sears. Only he, the firemaker, can stuff tinder between the stones just right. Only he, the firemaker, can douse the magic stones with the water that ignites. All the women and children must stand at a safe distance, for they are only allowed to watch. The firemaker ignites a small stick with fire and then he tries to light the tinder around the black firestones. But he forgot to say the magic words, words so magical that women must cover the ears of small children. So he lights another small stick, says the unrepeatable magic words and tries again. This process is repeated until the fire god has heard enough already of the unrepeatable magic words and unleashes a burst of flames.

The fire must be nursed into a controlled blaze. When the stones are hot enough, which can only be judged from the thermostat that is genetically coded into the palms of all men, the flesh of the slain animals and fishes can be placed over the blaze by the firemaker. When enough time has gone by, and the firemaker has heard enough praise of his mastery of the fire pit, and he has heard enough begging and pleading from the starving women and children, he announces the food is ready. Everyone lines up, holds their plates humbly, eyes down, as they entreat the firemaker for sustenance.

The warriors know that microwaves are bad magic used by women. It is barbecue, which contains fire given to man by G-d, that is the good magic. As one of my brothers, whose nickname is Mongo, once said at a barbecue, “Nuker bad. Mongo no like nuker. Fire...fire good. Mongo like fire...”

Age is Just a Number, and Mine is UP!!!

One of my best buddies just turned 50 and she was having a terrible time with it. So I thought I’d cheer her up by telling her not to think of her body as 50, but just think of her boobs as 25 years old apiece. It didn’t have the elevating effect I had hoped. As she cracked the seal on the bottle of Amaretto, I thought I’d point out some other advantages of age. I might need these pointers myself someday, very far in the future of course.....

As a mature woman;

* You have the ability to talk to authority figures without having to picture them naked in order to avoid feeling intimidated.

* You’re not afraid if the school calls about your child. Teachers and Principals no longer scare you because you know you can take ‘em.

* You know if you date or marry someone 20 years younger, you look like a fool. 43 year old Tom Cruise, jumping on Oprah's couch professing his love for 26 year old Katie somebody, is a prime example. He's 19 years older and could in fact, be her father. Somehow I don't think he'd have the same chance with her if he was Tom at the gas station......

* You can fully assess a person by looking at their shoes. Are they bachelors in crappy sneakers that they think they can wear with anything? Are they young gals who can still face the pain of high heels? Are they in those awful orange orthopedic shoes because they gave their lives (God Bless 'em) to waitressing? Are they in Birkenstocks? I gotta tell you about Birkenstocks... it's true what their ads say, "If you knew how comfortable they were, you'd be in them now." Birkenstocks are sneaky.. I started with one pair..they mated in my closet and now they even have grand children.

* You can talk about how moronic men are in their presence, because you know they aren't listening anyway.

* The risk of being kidnapped goes down 50% more with each additional year of age.

* People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.

* Male doctors no longer want you to undress completely, just uncover whatever is absolutely necessary...

* Pharmacists treat you so much nicer now that you are a source of increasing revenue.

* Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.

* No one expects you to run into a burning building to save anything.

* You too, can command family members from a recliner.

* There's not much left to learn the hard way.

* Your joints are more accurate than The Weather Channel.

* In a hostage situation, you’ll probably get released in the first group.

* Forget Estee Lauder, you know that all the beauty you need is only a light switch away.

* You know if it has tires or testicles, you're going to have trouble with it.

* Cooking with wine doesn’t mean it goes in the food.

* You’ve been the peacemaker long enough, from now on, whatever shit hits the fan will be evenly distributed.

* One of the advantages and disadvantages of menopause is that your photographic memory is running out of film, allowing you to forget what you got arrested for in 1968 - dancing topless in Central Park.

* And that picture of you dancing topless in Central Park in 1968 with your boobs painted like daisies used be to hidden in a drawer. Now it’s on the mantle just to remind you that inside that mature body is a radiant seventeen year old girl who still knows all the words to ‘Mellow Yellow’.

* You’ve learned not to leave the store without the pants that match the jacket.

* Not only can your boobs no longer pass the pencil test, they can't even pass the same test with a laptop...

* Your Drivers License picture is starting to look good.

* You know that bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.

* You can live with the fact that some days are a total waste of makeup.

* The bad news is, by now everyone has a bad back. The good news is, you’re just one more back injury away from qualifying for that handicapped parking permit.

* Now, losing a pet is like losing a child. But losing a man is like losing a pet used to be. You know you can always pick up another if you really want to go through all that training again....

* Screw Women’s Lib, you have to take a man with you for any conversations with car repairmen or the repair costs will go up 25%.

* You know if a man starts a conversation with, “I never wanted to hurt you....” , he can just stop there because you know it’s shorthand for, “I want to be with this other woman but I don’t want you to cry and make me feel guilty for being a schmuck”. But at this age, even if you cry him a river, you know how to build a bridge and get the fuck over it.

* You know the three biggest lies a woman hears in her life are: 1] I swear I’ll pull out in time; 2] The check is in the mail; 3] I’m from the government and I’m here to help you.

* You’re ready for a woman president because you know when women get stressed we shop, we don’t invade other countries.

PC = Fascism with good manners

“...and they’re all made out of ticky tacky, and they all look just the same.”

I was thinking of all the poor smokers who stand around outside the bars just to have a cigarette. They smoke outside in the cold, the rain, the heat. It’s just not right. I can’t recall who said it, but I agree, political correctness is just fascism with good manners.

I’m not a smoker. I can’t stand it. But I think it’s deplorable that smokers have become second class citizens. They have to apologize for having a lousy cigarette. They pay outrageous taxes for their little pack of smokes. I know it’s a bad habit, but who’s perfect? We all do things that are bad for our health. If I were a smoker, I’d organize other smokers and restaurant owners to repeal the law that prohibits smoking in bars and add a law for ventilation. What’s next on the PC hit list? No drinking in bars?

Now that the PC Machine has gotten away with beating up smokers, they’re coming after overweight people. All of a sudden, the whole country has to lose weight. Some people, like me, really do need to lose weight. But most people are being made to feel terrible about an extra twenty pounds, it’s ridiculous. There are other things to worry about, like Jay Leno said, “you can’t take nail clippers on an airplane, but 10,000 illegal aliens can cross the borders every day. So much for Homeland Security!”

Based on what the PC Machine did to the smokers, I predict this for the future of my kind...
Fast Food staff will not to sell anything to us but salads.
We’ll have to stand outside of Dunkin' Donuts to eat our apple fritters where everyone can see us and know that we are bad.
Doctors will save time diagnosing us by attributing all ailments to weight.
Obesity will be an allowable cause to file for divorce.
The on screen warnings in the movie theaters will be: No smoking; Remember to turn off your cell phones; No talking during the picture; No eating unless you are height /weight
proportionate.
Stores will add a hefty fat tax at the register for any sweets or snacks being purchased by a chubby.

Someday I’ll be in the car with my skinny friend Charlotte who eats so frequently, she even keeps food in her car! My luck, I’ll be the one driving when the cops are doing spot checks for carb abuse. If you’re caught illegally eating, you get put in the tank overnight. But you don’t get bread and water, you get celery and water.

“Quick, Charlotte! Peel off the label from the Krispy Kreme box and give it to me.”
“What for? Why are you sticking it on your forehead?”
“Shhhhh............ Yes officer?”
“Good evening ma’am,” the officer says as he shines a flashlight in my face. “You appear to be a carbo. Have you had any illegal carbs tonight?”
“No officer, as you can see, I’m on the patch.”

After the chubbies, I predict the PC Machine will go after the computer people. They are too sedentary and that’s not healthy! Studies will suddenly hit the media about clots in their legs from sitting, eye fatigue from Solitaire, heart stress from excessive coke/coffee intake, social devolvement from working with the same small group who get excited by a new screen saver. Anything linked to sitting in front of a computer will become a crisis. Soon they will have to work on a treadmill with their computers in front of them. They’ll have to get a physician’s note to sit more than one hour per shift. Workers who continue to sit in a comfortable chair to do their work will get the fish eye, like a smoker with a cigarette or a chubby with a donut.

After the computer people, it will be people who commute too many hours in a day. Their increased stress aggravates their medical conditions. They fatigue and cause accidents. They get road rage and kill people. They use more than their fair share of gas which drives up prices, and they produce extra pollution from their long commute. OnStar will track your movements and notify DMV if you are a commute abuser, afterall, it’s for your own good....

Laugh now, but everyone’s turn will come. Something you’re doing right now is not PC approved, and you will have to stop it or face legislation to protect you. If we tried, we could stop the PC Machine by heightening our esteem for personal freedom. It would be like...uh....like living in America!

Graduation, Greyhound, Gone!

Sometimes a Great Notion...

This is what’s happening in my house this week, I bet this is happening all over America. It proves that you need incredible strength to raise a teenager; strength to handle their crisis, strength to get through sleepless nights of worry, and strength not to laugh in the face of their moronic logic.

My daughter opened the huge gift wrapped box and stared at her graduation gift in horrified disbelief.... “Luggage? You got me luggage? What did I ever do to deserve luggage for a graduation gift? I need a car!”

““What did I ever do to deserve luggage for a graduation gift?”" I repeated silently in my mind. “Oh, let me count the ways,” I thought, “you have aggravated me to the breadth and depths and height's my soul can reach... You have tested every limit, broken every rule, manipulated every situation you could, lied, gotten your friends to cover your lies in exchange for covering theirs, dated and attempted to bring into my home men I would have scraped off the bottom of my shoe, just to spite me.” That’s what I was thinking, and after all, it’s the thought that counts...

So I said, “It’s a very nice matching six piece set! Monogrammed no less. It wasn’t cheap. 10 year warranty. It will last you a long time. What’s not to like?”

“It’s luggage! LUGGAGE! I’m your child, why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Wait, I’m confused,“ I said, stifling a giggle, “for the past four years haven’t you said “I’m NOT a child anymore stop treating me like one!” and “I can’t wait to graduate and get away from you! You are such a control freak!” Wasn’t that you?”

“I was a kid. What did you expect me to say?”

“So you’re still a kid and I can expect you to obey me, or you’re not a kid and you’re responsible for yourself just like an.....adult?”

“I’m not a kid, but I’m still your child and your responsibility till I’m 18 and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Suppressing my laughter and employing years of discipline to keep a straight face while talking to a teenager, I said, “You’re eighteen in 27 days. Adulthood, you know.....that big nasty thing in the rearview mirror of your life I’ve been warning you about...will be here in 28 days. Since you’re not planning on college anymore, you’ll have to make plans, which will include moving out. I thought the luggage would help. It’s not a car, but hey, each piece has wheels like a car and can hold all your clothes like a car, and if you make a ‘broooom, brooom’, sound, you can pretend it’s a car. Luggage is how people moved before cars were invented. I know I’ve said this before, but maybe you’re in a mental space to hear this now....If you got a JOB, you would be paid MONEY which you can use to buy a CAR.”

“Look, I just want to have my Senior summer off, okay? I want have fun with my friends. I’m so stressed out I can’t even think!”

“You finished classes in January. You worked a job three days and quit. Since then, you’ve done whatever you wanted. You’re here once a week to do laundry, eat everything in the kitchen, fight with me, get money and leave. Exactly what stress are you under?” I am now covering my mouth with my hand to help keep from laughing out loud because if I do, she’ll get furious that I’m not taking her seriously and then we’ll have to have this conversation again next week.

“You don’t know anything about my life.”

“So tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Okay don’t. It’s your life.”

“But if I told you what was going on, you’d understand me a lot more and have more sympathy.”

“So tell me.”

“I can’t. It’s too complicated. I have to please everyone, my boyfriend, all my friends, and you too.”

“You don’t please me. You have no plans for your future and you're dating a bum.”

"You are so judgemental! Why can't you give him a chance? Why do you hate him?"

"Well, let's see...he's a high school drop out, 21 years old, did a year in prison for drugs, has a five year old illegitimate child he doesn't pay support for, unemployed, sleeps on bean bags on the floor of his best friends apartment who deals drugs, no car, no money, and uses my daughter for sex and money.... you're right! What's not to like?"

“You see? No one can please you!

“Okay, so if you move in with the guys you’re essentially living with now, you won’t have to please me at all and you’ll have less stress, right?”

“You see how controlling you are? You know I can’t move in with them until I can pay them rent. You always get all up in my business! That’s why I’m never home. I CAN’T LIVE WITH YOU!”

“Wait.....wait.....wait...... I have this really great idea......”

Graduate and GET LOST!

Wailing and Whaling

It’s that time of year that destroys parents’ budgets; proms, graduation, graduation parties, graduation party DWI’s, graduation party arrests, graduation party bail bonds, graduation party pregnancies, graduation property damage lawsuits...ahhhh youth......

Some people divide America between Democrats and Republicans. I divide them between the golf people and the boat people. I don’t understand golf people much because I’m a boat person. Golf people are mean to me. I went golfing for the first time with coworkers years ago. They laughed at me all day because the only thing I could use was the putter. At the end of the day, in the pro shop, the pro said, “Show me your stance.” My coworkers, who were golf people, guffawed as a restrained smile came across the pro’s face as I lined up the curved side of the club with the imaginary ball on the carpet of the shop. Then he said to me, “You’re left handed.” I said, “Thanks, I know.” The pro excused himself to the back of the shop where he could laugh at me in private. That’s how I learned that golf people hate left handed people....

After my exposure to the golf people, I realized I was better off with my own kind. So I returned to the boat people whose ropes, crab nets and outboards don’t care if you’re right or left handed. Moreover, you don’t have to own a whole boat to be a boat person. Right now my boat consists of a very nice bell and some seat cushions. You’re allowed to acquire your boat slowly over time. I’m gathering all my deck stuff and coolers now. In time, I’ll put a hull under all this stuff and eventually some salt water under the hull. A lot of boat people acquire their boats this way, in incremental pieces. High school graduation, while an important passage in a parents’ life signifying their impending freedom, has drastic effects on their boat acquisition schedule.

As graduating Seniors look out into the audience, they will see their parents wailing. The kids will be thinking, “Gee, Mom and Dad are crying because they love me so much and they hate to see me grow up and leave them.” Maybe the golf parents will be thinking that, but not the boat parents. The boat parents will be thinking:

“$125 for prom shoes.....$87.50 for the graduation shoes.. why couldn’t she wear the prom shoes to graduation? I could’a got 6 pairs topsiders for her two crappy pairs.”

“Why do they need a limo to go anywhere? For the price of that limo rental I coulda got that used boat trailer. I got that nice outboard now....but what if I find a boat this summer ? I got no trailer.....”

“$472 for Prom dress? $256.32 for a school ring. $75 for a yearbook.... that could’a been mine...my mooring fees and maybe a little canvas...”

“$92 for rented tuxedo. $121 for puke removal from rented tuxedo. $168 for rented tuxedo shoes because he lost one on the beach.....could'a bought the polymer and brushes to refinish the deck.”

“$1157 property damage to repair the Smith’s fence... $750 to re-sod the tire tracks from their lawn....$538 to replace ceramic lawn trolls from Germany.... Look at him smiling at me from the stage, that little shit.... He thinks I’m crying because I’m sad to see him graduate and go. Tears of joy my man! The next boat you sink will be your own.”

“$368 for the gold class ring. She had to have the gold one. Had to have it, would die without it. She can’t find it now. It might be at Brittany’s house....it might be a Mike’s... it might be sleeping with the fishes....”Daddy, don’t be so materialistic,” she says, “it’s just a ring, what’s the big deal?” Paint, my dear, enough marine paint for the whole boat. You know my boat? The one sitting in the back yard because it needs PAINT?”

“That’s right, smile and wave at me, Kenny....you’re 18 in three days. You move out in four. But you don’t know that yet. You think Daddy and I got you that van for graduation because we love you. Bet you don’t know that the back seat flips down to create enough cubic feet for all your stuff, and most importantly, your sleeping bag..... Our new boarder will pay us $500 a month for your room and kitchen privileges. That’s right baby, Mommy’s smiling out here in the audience because she’s thinkin’ Boston Whaler, chilled wine, and Daddy in the moonlight ....”

Runaway Bride...Keep Running!

Okay, so this girl gets cold feet and takes a bus ACROSS THE COUNTRY to escape her wedding. Her boyfriend goes on the news and says he forgives her and will still marry her. Geez... you’d think he’d get the hint..

We all know the courtship initiation dance. You notice each other. You make excuses to accidentally bump into each other. Women spend hours selecting the right outfit, doing hair and make-up, all in preparation for that critical accidental meeting. He suggests coffee, which comes out of his mouth as, “Uh... you wanna have coffee sometime?” But which registers in a woman’s mind as, “GAME ON!!!”

But something we never quite get organized is an exit strategy. We always hope we won’t need one, but usually we do. It always amazes me how long our body and mind gives us hints before our soul believes it.

The honeymoon phase, the first three months, feels so great it addicts us for life to try to get that feeling back. We all know the honeymoon phase will end and we all hope that the residual feelings will be good enough to continue to float the relationship. Sometimes they are and we can grow that into love and marriage.

Usually, the residual feelings aren’t good enough to keep us going, but it takes us awhile to realize it. I don’t know what men notice, but women start to notice small things first. One day, all of a sudden, the smell of stale beer being poured out in the sink disgusts you. Dumping out full ashtrays angers you. The sound of multiple belts slapping against his closet door and waking you in the morning sounds like a freight train roaring by the bed. His dragon breath morning kiss which was tolerable and almost endearing two months ago is now so awful you’ll get up before him and make coffee.

Little resentments add up, but you keep excusing them away until the three deadly signs show up. The three signs sent by the woman’s brain tell her soul, “Do what you want, but we are outta here!”. First, you start to avoid his calls and you feel annoyed that he’s calling again. Second, you can’t deny that you feel relieved to be alone, either in his place or yours. When he finally leaves the house, you feel a wave of pressure release. Now, women can ignore these two final warnings for a little while, but then the third and final ‘killer diller’ happens... you get that deep internal shudder of repulsion with it’s dash of nausea, through your whole body when he kisses you. You can have sex and escape it, but somehow an intimate kiss is such a direct connect you couldn’t fake it anymore even if you wanted to. The first time it happens, you know in that instant, it’s over and ain’t nuthin’ to do about it. So now, you have to find the exit...

Terminating a relationship is like taking a Band-Aid off his hairy arm. You can do it fast or slow, either way, he’s going to get hurt to some extent.

Some women take what I call the Path of the Bitch. This is when you turn into a bad girlfriend to drive him away. It always works, but it can take months to drive off a guy because you’re still sleeping with him and cooking for him because you feel guilty about wanting to leave. Men will tolerate anything if they’re getting sex and food. The Path of the Bitch ends when you stop giving him food and sex at which point he says, “Is something wrong?” By now, all your feelings for him are gone and you just pack and run.

Then there’s the Path of the Nice Girl. This is when you kindly enumerate for him all the reasons why things aren’t working out. He swears to change and you agree to stay in the relationship while he changes. Meanwhile, you expose him to every female you can in the hope he will leave you for her. Of course he’s still getting food and sex, so you can be sure nothing will change. Nice Girls often slide out of one relationship by starting another, even with a less desirable guy.

Ultimately, there’s the Path of Paul. You see, Paul Simon, said it best in his song, “There Must Be Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover”. Download this song, write down all the methods listed. Any one of them is perfect ! ”Just slip out the back, Jack. Make a new plan, Stan. ... Hop on the bus, Gus. You don’t need to discuss much... Just drop off the key, Lee... and get yourself free....”

Mother's Day? Oy Vey!

Happy Mother’s Day!

I have two friends who opted to stay on their professional career paths and not have children. They have plenty of money, drive late model cars, own their own houses. They know the differences between different cruise lines. They’ve been to several other countries. They have flat stomachs, few wrinkles, perky boobs, men still pursue them, and they are extremely happy with their choice not to have children.

I stayed in that group as long as I could until I got pregnant and then they threw me out! I tried to convince them that motherhood doesn’t necessarily follow pregnancy. I could leave the kid on the steps of a convent, or on a ride in Disneyland, or maybe in a booth in a restaurant... I figured somebody would notice it and pick it up. But they said they’d heard that before, and that if I looked at it after it was born, I’d probably want to take it home, then I’d probably feed it, and it would be all downhill from there.

They were right.. and two years later they were right again. But they were not right about it being all downhill. There are some plateau’s along the way and there is a bottom. I know for instance, that three or four weeks after I’m dead, I’ll be able to stop worrying about the kids. By that time I’ll have met with their guardian angels and reviewed their list of things to guard and I will make it clear to these angels, that I will be watching them, so they’d better not slack off.

For the career gals who just fell off the wagon and motherhood is now less than nine months away, here are my pointers and advice.
* Any kitchen utensils you can’t find, are outside in the dirt.
* You will have sticky floors and a filthy oven for the next eighteen years.
* To insure a clean refrigerator, invite your mother over at least once a month. If your mother is not the “I have to clean something whenever I visit my daughter” type, you can rent mine for $10 a pop. She not only cleans, she scolds your husband for not helping you more!
* If your hubby thinks that working 40 hours a week is equivalent to 168 hours a week (that’s 24 hours times 7), arrange to leave for a weekend and don’t leave him any instructions since he thinks it’s so easy. The kids won’t die and he will learn a lot.

My ex made it nearly 16 hours before calling me. He was napping on the couch when our 2 year old son beaned him with a full juice bottle. He woke to discover our 4 year old daughter loved making cakes from scratch and could turn on the oven herself; his wallet and one shoe were in the toilet; and the cat had vomited. I would have listened to his pathetic yammering, but I was pool side at a friend’s house and besides.....”how hard is it to watch two kids?”

* Your vacuum is your best friend. Never mind getting one that can filter out bacteria smaller than one micron, get the one that sucks up Barbie shoes and raisinets and come with a fine comb attachment to suction out head lice.
* You’ll have to read “Goodnight Moon” two to four times a night depending on whether or not you came up with an acceptable reason to give them cold formula tylenol.
* Don’t buy any new furniture till they leave home, besides, you can’t afford it anyway.
* Don’t believe the advertisements, no car seat is easy to install or wrangle. You’re better off putting the kid in the trunk if you can pull it off.
* Stop watching the news because anything happening to any child anywhere will make you crazy.
* You won’t be able to read anything longer than a Reader’s Digest article for a long time.
* Remember how you ridiculed women who watched soap’s? I couldn’t fathom how anyone could watch that crap before I was a mom. Soap’s become your friend. They show you that somewhere women have shirts without stains. Somewhere, romantic evenings are still taking place. Somewhere women have matching sheet sets.

For me, it was seeing a beautifully set table. My eyes would travel from the TV table to my table full of tupperware and Beauty and the Beast bowls and then quickly back to the TV so I could delve into the fantasy of a small festive dinner party with friends. As I watched, my fingertips would glide over my table in search of stuck cherrio's to pick off.

So what’s the upside? Well, once I got a bouquet of dandelions, snapped off at the heads, handed to me from a sticky hand. My daughter beamed as she said, “I pick these for my best mother I know...”

Think He's Ready for Marriage?

Ready or Knot....

I don’t recall who said it, but “...spring is when a young man’s thoughts gradually turn to that which a young woman has been thinking of all winter.”
Yep. Birds do it, bees do it, even girls with Ph.D.’s do it....Spring causes a burst of euphoria in our physical, spiritual and worst of all, emotional worlds. In the course of wanting to revamp the house, clear out the closets, de-clutter our lives, and all the mania that comes with spring, we begin to wonder if, possibly, there’s remote chance, it could happen...., maybe it will occur to him, since he’s been living with you for three years, to pop the question.
Initially that sounds wonderful. But you may have waited so long while auditioning for the role of wife, that you lost track yourself. You may have matured a little and now you need to pause and ask yourself, is he ready for marriage...to ME? Here’s a little check list I’ve developed to help you out:
* If you both come home from work at the same time, or especially if you come in after him, and he asks, “What’s for dinner?” , he ain’t ready.
* If he’s lived with you so long, he can’t remember the recipe for making a sandwich, he ain’t ready.
* If he waits for you to come home to clean and bandage his cut because he can’t stand the sight of blood, but watches intensely and whimpers and ‘ouches’ as you clean and bandage the wound, he ain’t ready.
* If he’d rather go without a Band-Aid than wear one with Care Bears on it ‘cause he’s afraid the boys at work will tease him, he ain’t ready.
* If he has completely lost the ability to find his keys, glasses, insurance cards, and any important papers and has come to believe that you have a uterine homing device for these items, he ain’t ready.
* If he thinks beer is one of the four basic food groups, he ain’t ready.
* If he volunteers to ‘babysit’ his own children.... he ain’t ready.
* If it is now your job to entertain his parents, he ain’t ready.
* If he has lost all comprehension of clothing management; he doesn’t know where new clothes come from, or where dirty clothes go, or how they get clean, or how they reappear in his closet, he ain’t ready.
* If he acts like a petulant child when asked to help clean the house he lives in and ‘deliberately on purpose’ screws up any household chore so that you will takeover in disgust and do it yourself, he ain’t ready.
* If he dares to complain about what you cook and never cooks himself, he ain’t ready.
* If he challenges what you spend but defends every dime he spends, he ain’t ready.
* If he ever stands in the bathroom and hollers, “Honey, come look at this!” He ain’t ready.
* If he thinks his driving skills have improved with time and experience and yours have gotten worse, he ain’t ready.
* If he only lets you take a bubble bath while he watches the kids in exchange for sex later, he ain’t ready.
* If he still doesn’t understand that he doesn’t have to understand why you need flowers on special occasions and also for no apparent reason, he ain’t ready.
* If he is doing something outside and calls to you, “Hey honey, watch me....”, he ain’t ready.
* If he’s willing for you to have natural childbirth, but he’s not willing to have a natural vasectomy, he ain’t ready.
* If you go to all your medical tests and exams alone, but you have to come with him for his, he ain’t ready.
* If you always end up eating at his favorites places because he pouts if you eat at yours, he ain’t ready.
* If he can buy condoms, but he can’t buy tampons, he ain’t ready.
* If he can’t change a poopy diaper, he ain’t ready.
* If he thinks he can watch a toddler and a football game from a lazyboy, he ain’t ready.
* If the words, “I’m sorry,” or “I was wrong,” , burn a hole in the roof of his mouth, he ain’t ready.
* If he hears you slamming cabinets in the kitchen and isn’t smart enough to get out of the house before you kill him, he ain’t ready.
* If he knows he’s not the sharpest bulb in the drawer but realizes he’s fortunate beyond belief that you have pitied him enough to deign to allow him into your life, well, he still ain’t ready...but if the ring is big enough, you could make an exception...

The Driveway From Hell...

The Driveway from Hell

I only guarantee a minimum of 10% truth per column. But today's column is all true, none of the characters have been changed despite years of trying.

My mother and step-father live in a house on West Neck Road that has the worst driveway on the eastern seaboard. It was designed by an engineer with a degree from the Helen Keller School of Engineering. He had to be blind or drunk, possibly both. Going down the driveway puts you at a 40 degree incline at least. It only takes a moment to get down, but it can take days to get up.

If you’re driving, you have to race to the top and shoot halfway out onto West Neck Road causing oncoming traffic to slam on their brakes. In the summer, because it’s busy, you send someone up first who stands in the middle of the road to stop traffic and gives you the signal to gun it and get up that hill.

My parents bid farewell to company several times each visit. They wave good-bye on the back porch and watch the company go up the hill. The wave again when they roll back down. Mother shouts her instruction to gun it and waves good-bye again. But they never gun it enough, so soon she waves hello again as they roll back down for the third time. The third time is usually the charm. The driver now knows he must use “the Force” to get up this friggin’ hill. He grips the steering wheels, downshifts all the way, eyes forward and up to the top and halfway into the street. There, that wasn’t so bad now was it?

Backseat passengers are usually advised to walk to the top of the driveway and let the car get out first before they get in, otherwise the rear-end of the car whams against the big hump right at the top. This hump has a documented history of removing oil pans and mufflers. As a matter of fact, in the Midas Muffler disclaimer, it reads, "This warranty is null and void if you ever visit Beaudry's."

In winter, my folks don’t even try to escape in the car. They climb to the top clutching the posts that flank the driveway, one post at a time till they make it to the summit, where I pick them up. The hump is steeper than the rest of the hill. On one very cold morning, mother climbed up the driveway and practically hurled herself over the hump and heaved herself into my van, clutching the door and seat so she wouldn't fall back down the driveway.

“(pant)...Thank God there wasn’t (pant)... a hardware store on the way up that (really bad word) driveway, (pant)... or I would’ve bought a knife (pant).. and stabbed myself!”

Sometimes I simply deliver the groceries. I park at the top of Mom’s driveway. I tie the IGA bags closed and slide them down to Ma and Pa Beaudry at the bottom of Kamikaze Hill. You want that chicken to go? No problem! It’s gone!

I try to park at the top of the hill and walk down. It’s easy in the summer, and even easier in the winter. One step and shwoosh... you’re at the back door.

Recently on one of our bitter cold days, the snow had a nice crust of ice on it. I stopped my van at the top of the driveway to pick up my son after work. My mother stood at the bottom of the hill encouraging him, I stood at the top doing the same. My son only weighed 65 lbs at the time and couldn't break through the ice for traction. He would take two steps, fall, and slide all the way back down. He needed ice picks and petons to make the climb. It took the poor kid about thirty minutes to climb up twenty feet. Neither my mother nor I could get him because we knew we couldn’t stay vertical on this icey driveway. The fact that we were laughing hysterically as my son did a Buster Keaton routine, probably didn’t help either.

My Mother rents out a lovely room out in the summer. She always warns people about this driveway but it doesn’t help. I see guests turn that corner and suddenly their vehicle is at that frightening pitch ! They have the same look you get when the roller coaster jerks to the top and pauses on the crest just before it releases you to that big plunge.

Someday the folks will get the driveway paved and pitched lower. It’s really only been like that since they moved here 25 years ago, I guess we all can manage another year...

Comments During Colonoscopies

Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam were quite humorous..... A physician claimed that the following are actual comments made by his patients (predominately male) while he was performing their colonoscopies:

1. "Take it easy, Doc. You're boldly going where no man has gone before!
2. "Find Amelia Earhart yet?"
3. "Can you hear me NOW?"
4. "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
5. "You know, in Arkansas, we're now legally married."
6. "Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?"
7. "You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out..."
8. "Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!"
9. "If your hand doesn't fit, you must quit!
10. "Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity."
11. "You used to be an executive at Enron, didn't you?"
12. "God, now I know why I am not gay."
And the best one of all...
13. "Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head is not up here?"

Charles & Camilla, Best in Show

Well, they finally made it. I'm happy for them. Charles was forced into an arranged marriage with Diana and it ended bad for both of them. He always wanted Camilla. Now he has her.

The really good news is that they're too old to reproduce because neither of them is remotely attractive and any offspring would have to be kept in the secret cellar for ugly royal children.

I think of that underrated, but hysterical movie, 'Dirty Rotten Scoundrels' starring Michael Caine and Steve Martin. Steve plays a character called Ruprick, a deranged royal child kept chained to a wall. It gave me a great idea for managing my teens. It's not a cruel as it sounds. My teens never complain about the chains. Probably the crushed valium in their gruel helps...

My daughter will be 18 in 114 days, 6 hours and 17 minutes. That means in 114 days, 6 hours, and 18 minutes I will have one teen left to launch on my way to freedom!

I know what you're thinking... if they're that much trouble, why did I have them? There's a perfectly logical explanation. It was a party, I had a little wine, my husband looked good to me....I think it was my husband... oh well, who can remember the details after all this time?

The Loss of the Pope....

This isn't a funny column.

I watched the funeral of Pope John Paul II on EWTN and Fox News this morning. It was very moving....4 million people came to pay their respects. They say it's the largest funeral in history.

I was thinking back to when he became Pope in 1978. How amazed the world was that the Church had elected a Polish Pope. I recall the crowd of millions people he drew in Mexico City just three months later. I think it's still the Guiness record for an audience.

I recall when he went to Communist Poland. I remember how amazed the news organizations were that he drew crowds of hundreds of thousands everywhere he went despite a government news blackout on his visit! The Poles saw that when they gathered in strength, the police couldn't stop them. I remember how John Paul told them to seek their freedom, all the while surrounded by communist officials. I recall feeling afraid for his safety. To speak against any communist government was an offense for which you could be imprisoned for as long as they felt like it...

Who can forget the crowds of Poles chanting "We want God" ? A country whose government had closed all but a few token churches. Despite communism's best efforts to squelch religion as the "opium of the people", the Poles kept the faith.

We didn't know it then, but that was the beginning of the end of communism in Poland and eventually the end of communism in eastern Europe. Because it was after the Pope's visit that the strikes in the Gdansk shipyards occured and Lech Walesa led the Pole to democracy. And once the Poles threw off the yoke of communist oppression, the other USSR countries followed in turn with John Paul II facilitating the fall of communism every chance he got. Until finally, on Christmas Eve 1991, the Berlin Wall fell without any violence, not a single shot fired.

Whether you're a Catholic, a recovering Catholic, maybe coming home Catholic, or a non-Catholic, you have to admire this remarkable man. Just like Mother Theresa, his humanity transcended all borders and boundaries.

God bless and keep you John Paul II. We didn't always agree, but you were part of my life.
I miss you already, Sally

Honesty with him... Whaddaya Nuts?

Honesty in Relationships... Whaddaya Nuts?

There is a disturbing belief in this country that honesty is critical in relationships, like marriage for instance. This is a doomed concept. Honesty belongs in business transactions, not in relationships. Honesty may be aesthetically pleasing but it will eventually fail.

All questions have honest responses and correct responses. Men have to learn that the honest response will not get them sex, but the correct response could get them sex. Women need to learn that the honest response could get them sex, but the correct response could get them shopping money.

For instance, when a woman makes a new dish for dinner and it tastes like buffalo chips, his honest response is, "Dear, this tastes like buffalo poop." This response will hurt the woman and the man will not get sex.

The correct response is, "Well, I can tell you put alot of effort into this Sweetie. But, I hate to see you work so hard in the kitchen. Next time you get the urge to try something new tell me and I take us to a restaurant that we haven't been to before." This response will get an affectionate response and may even get the man sex.

See the difference ? Okay, let's try another one. A man notices that his wifes' dress is too tight and reveals extra poundage. The honest response is, " Whoa, baby, you got more rolls than a bakery! Did you use WD-40 to help you slide that big butt into that dress ?" This response, although honest, will not get the man sex. It may even prevent it for up to four weeks.

The correct response is, " Honey, I love the way your body moves under that dress. Matter of fact, I love it too much, if you wear that with me to the party I'll be too worked up to talk to my friends. Darling, here's the credit card, go to Macy's and find something less distracting." This response will definately put the wife in a receptive mood. A prime example of how well the correct response can work.

Now, lets try one for the women.
A man comes home way too late from work. He didn't call and he's obviously been drinking.
The honest response is, " You son of a mongrel dog! Where in the hell have you been ? Do you know I've called every emergency room in the county !!!! Why didn't you call ? " This honest response is very common for this type of situation, but not wise. Anger excites men, especially one's that are half in the bag already. A woman in this situation could end up having endless sex with a man who has had what I call the 'Cain Cocktail'. That's that turning point drink when he still thinks he Cain, but he's just not Abel....

The correct response is, "Darling, I hope you were having a good time. Let me help you undress. Let me pour you another drink so you can get to sleep quickly, you must be exhausted. Honey, I don't want to wake you in the morning so let me have your wallet now. I need the credit card to find you something to give your mother for her birthday." A perfect example of how the correct response can get a woman some shopping money.

Remember that honesty is only for people who are walking out on their jobs. Other than that, it has no place in the real world and certainly not in something as fragile as marriage.

Men In Trucks... they MUST go fast!!!

M.I.T.s

MIT's are Men In Trucks, they must go fast! They must be there ahead of you! There's no where to rush to, but by G-d, they have to get where you're not going ahead of you! MIT's must go fast or their private parts will fall off.

There is a highly defined pecker order for MITs eight years and older. New truck MITs are in a different catagory. New trucks are driven by rich men and wannabes. They can't measure up to the classic MITs. The different levels of classic MITs as follows:

First, you have your lowest level MITs. Level #1. These men drive an ordinary old pick-up truck. It must be at least eight years old and have no dogs, no trailer hitch and an uncracked windshield.

Level #2 MITs have a eight year or older truck with a tool box, trailer hitch and one dog in the back of an undetermined breed. They're used duct tape to repair the drivers seat.

Level #3 MITs have a ten year old truck, the tool box has a broken lock, two dings in windshield, a trailer hitch and one Labrador in the back. Level #3 MITs know how to make dashboard pizza. This is when you bring last nights cold pizza to work with you and leave it on the dashboard to warm in the sun and be ready by lunch. They hate MIMs (Moms In Minivans). They hunt them and get behind they just so they can see if they can make them drive faster.

Level #4 MITs have all of the above qualifying features plus have now used up an entire roll of duct tape on car seat repair. Level #4's are towing a small trailer containing a lawn mover and several large green trash barrels. They can identify every man in town by the vehicle he drives.

Level #5 MITs have all of the above plus two black Labs and fishing poles in the back. The driver must wear sunglasses repaired with black electrical tape. Level #5 MITs know exactly where to park at the jobsite to get the maximum amount of sun needed to cook dashboard lasagna, manicotti, warm blueberry muffins and keep coffee hot. The truck is dented but the dents have not rusted.

Level #6 MITs have all of the above features and two full Gatoraide bottles that contain a yellow liquid that is not Gatoraide.... rolling around the floor on the passenger side. The driver's side door can only be opened by reaching through the window and lifting the handle from the outside. The dents on the side of the truck have rusted into a mottled textured look. Level #6 MITs can be identified as they pass by the rust patterns the dents have now created, like spots on a leopard. From Level #6 and up, only the driver knows all the tricks required to drive this truck.

Level #7 MITs. Much like the Level #6's except that the driver hasn't even bothered to take the keys out of the ignition in over two years. There is now a small ragged back support cushion in the concave depression that was formerly known as the seatback. Level #7 MITs can not only cook on the dashboard, they can cook on the manifold. This is the Clint Eastwood level of cool MIT. When Level #7 MITs pull over and raise their hoods...they're just turning over the burritos...

Level #8 MITs are Level #7's that either have a salvaged door of a different color, or a plywood tailgate, or any other type of repair that involves permantly affixing plywood to the vehicle. It is the Steven Seagal level of MIT cool, they shape the plywood with their bare hands. At this age and level there is an everpresent bottle of Advil in the glove compartment.

Level #9 MIT's can be identified by the sound of their engines ten minutes before you see them. These trucks can only be driven by men with faded tatoos. They have a cooler and rod holders affixed to the front bumper. They know the cooking times of anything on a manifold. Their carseats are now an exact mold of their backs and behind, absolutely no one else can physically sit in the drivers seat without falling over. They are mature and more refined MITs now. They don't worry about their enemies, the MIMs (Moms in Minivans). They have now learned to love their enemies....whenever possible.

Level 10 MITs. Very rare, but there are a few. In addition to all of the above, they have bumper stickers that say, "Horn Broke, Watch for Finger". This is the Arnold Schwartzenegger level of MIT. He knows all the other MITs in town. And yea, though he drives though the valley in the shadow of debt, he fears no evil... for he knows where you live...