I love the last few days of the year because every magazine, blog and new broadcast has a list. S I wanted to jump in the fray and make a list of my own.
The new words I learned in 2010. Understand, not all of these are actually new words, the Oxford dictionary just added “frenemy”, and that one has been around since Lindsey Lohan made good movies, right?
So here are some of my new words for 2010
1. Bromance and Brotatt. I didn’t know what a “brotatt” was until my two oldest children went out together and got tattoed together.
2. Swaggerific I suspect this one has been around for years but super cool urban hipsters never tell the middle aged white lady about cool new words. So, i just learned about swaggerific.
3. Madoff’d as in ripped off. That waitress totally madoff’d me.
4. Catastrophizing I love this one becasue I know the person who does this. Catastrophizing is the ability to turn every problem, no matter how minor, into an absolute disaster or catastrophy. “We are out of orange juice. Oh no! we will all die of scurvy!”
5. Asstastic mean terrible.
6. Mad Mugging…I heard that two years ago but still love it. Mad Mugging means looking all mean and grouchy “Stop mad mugging me right now!”
Yeah, I know, some of these are really old. But give me a break. I’m the same woman who, when we first got internet and started talking to people via the computer, thought LOL meant “loser on line”.
*Happy New Year, and don’t forget to eat your blackeyed peas. DH
Tags: new slang words 2010
Jack is a bartender at a Go Go bar in Manhattan and he met a super pretty Argentinian girl who was just visiting the city for a few day. They decided to have a late dinner at an African/French restaurant. Maybe she was impressed with the fact that he can speak French.
After dinner they wanted to go skating but the ice skating rink in Central Park was closed. Because Jack is 23, I guess, the obvious solution was to sneak in (I like saying they “snuck in” rather than they “broke in”. )
They were sliding around on the ice and everything was good until the Zamboni driver found them and called the police. The police arrived, of course, and kicked them out of Central Park.
Now that’s a date! Criminal activity,a Zambonie driver, the police and African food.
I told this exciting and romantic tale to my friend, Cara, who is in her mid-20s. “Aaarrr,’ she moaned, “I got married too early, I’ll never break into a skating rink and get kicked out by the cops”.
First let me say I disagree with Cara. If she wants to break into an ice skating rink she’s married to the right guy. He loves her so much he’ll do anything for her, even if it involves light weight criminal activity.
But not every girl is so lucky. Lots of times, twenty minutes after the marrige, the new husband sits down to watch tv and he doens’t get up for years. The ugly truth is, sometimes, there’s a lot more excitement in the dating part of a relationship.
So girls, if you are under the age of 25 and thinking about marriage, slow that pony down. Holy Cow! Have some fun first, be silly and semi-dangerous and goofy for as long as you can. If he loves you he’ll wait.
And remember, always keep an eye on the zambonie driver and any parent who doesn’t live vicariously through their children must have really boring kids.
*Thanks for reading hampoland, share it with a friend if you want, that would be great. DH
New Years is just a belt- notch away so it’s time for a ”fat blog”. This is made easier because I live in Arkansas and we are one of 14 states that make up the American “Stroke Ally”.
That’s right. If you live in Arkansas you are nearly 30 percent more likely to have a stroke, doesn’t matter if you are black or white. What does matter, they think, is how much freaking fried catfish we eat. (I need some more tartar sauce with that,please.) So our beloved catfish, the meat without feet, is killing us. And it’s been going on since 1962. Apparently, the catfish have been working on this plan for a while.
Last week, while in Walgreens I saw The Ultimate Foot Washer, (as seen on tv) and the box said, “so you never have to bend over again”. Seriously, bending over is something we now avoid? OMG, our ancestors were bending over all the time right up until they died. They picked up roots and babies, rocks to throw at dinosaurs and grub worms for their stew. But we don’t want to bend over to wash our feet. What he hell is going on here? It’s no wonder Wal-Mart has had to double their fleet of “fat people store scooters”.
So, it’s almost the New Year. You are making resolutions, please add bending over to wash your own feet to that list. And keep an eye on that catfish. He’s a thinker.
*Thanks for reading and I hope you have a great New Year. DH
Tags: catfish, fat pants, loose weight, stroke alley
I’ve got great news for middle class and lower middle class Americans. Because our financial situation was pretty bleak this year, my husband Alex and I spent about $1,500 less on Christmas for our family of six.
And guess what? I swear to you, It was one of the best years we’ve ever had (except for the fact that my son Jack was in NYC. Snowed in, sucks to be him this week).
Alright, here’s the Dr. Seuss moment I promised….apparently Christmas really isn’t about the money. I swear we did not do any of the folksy/crafty stuff that some people do at Christmas. I didn’t knit my children underwear, we only made one batch of cookies. I did make a vat of Chex Party Mix, thinking I would give it away, but I ended up eating it all myself and getting sick.
We simply gave fewer presents this year but we still had just as much fun. On Christmas morning we had ridiculously good time eating beef jerky and trying to bounce ping pong balls (Santa put those in our stockings though we do not have a ping pong table) into a garbage can. We had just as much fun with the Jenga blocks as we did with the new WII Game (we only bought one twenty dollar WII Game though we discussed getting three). And Sandor loved the presents from Big Lots as much as he liked the stuff from the Department store.
We shot each other with knock off Nerf Guns.The actual Nerf stuff is super expensive and all the bullets get lost anyway, right? And we watched A Christmas Story on TBS throughout the day.
Mary bought super goofy books on the clearance table at the book store so we all played with a Dinosaur Pop Up Book and one called How Many Elephants in A Blue Whale? The answer? It takes 25 elephants to make a blue whale. And Alex bought Lexi some toe socks from a guy on the side of the road…3 pairs for 5 dollars!
Our friends, Katie who is 14 and Sambo who is 19, came over then we piled up on the couch to watch Rocky IV. That’s the one where Rocky beats the evil Russian empire and the roided up fighter, Ivan Drago. Nothing says Christmas to me like pounding some Russians.
That was our Christmas and it was so beautiful and actually pretty cheap. I guess what brings joy to our family are the stupid and beautiful traditions, not the gifts.
* My friend Cara has a great blog at http://thebargainhuntingmommy.blogspot.com/ and it really helped me save money this year. She’s a well dressed cheap-o.
Fountain Lake, the community I live in, is tiny and decidedly red neck. I just ran a couple of errands, two nights before Christmas, and was overwhelmed by the Holiday Spirit.
In Fountain Lake the Holiday Spirit is a little different, but just as sweet.
First, I spotted three Wise Men and an Angel waving at strangers in front of the Fountain Lake Liquor Store and Sub-Way. How beautiful is that?
Then Pat, the generally tight video store owner, didn’t collect my late charges. He said, “Merry Christmas,” and waved me away. Cool!
As I passed Insane Auto, a buy here, pay here car lot, I realized there, behind the light up nativity scene, right behind Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus there was a pick-up truck wrapped in Christmas lights! It was so pretty I almost teared up because the Insane Auto folks obviously spent a lot of time putting their lights and decorations out and it graces the Fountain Lake community, every year.
And finally, Tony, my daughter’s, tatted- up, kickboxing coach surprised everyone by making fudge. I sure didn’t see that one coming.
Every community celebrates the Christmas season differently. At Sandor’s school in the Christmas pagent this year there were six little kids dressed as reindeer with antlers. One of them actually had a beanie with real deer antlers poking out. A six point buck died for the Ft. Lake Christmas play. How about that?
So love and appreciate your community, whether it’s a Starbuck sipping village with tiny silver and gold lights or a Rebel Yelling crossroads where camouflage, lip gloss and a Santa hat constitute party wear.
*Thanks so much for reading Hampoland. Merry Christmas!
Tags: MMA, redneck christmas
This is not a Christmas story, it’s an endorsement for one of those things you see on tv and think, “that’s sooo stupid.’ I’m not endorsing the Shake Weight, and I’ll have to unfriend you on Facebook you if you own a Snuggie.
But the Cami Secrets finally arrived in Wal-Mart, so I didn’t have to order it off tv. And I’m so excited.
CAMI SECRETS! My family is embarrassed. Lexie said if I write about this I’ll loose all my cool. “Don’t do it Mom, please,” she pleaded. But I have to. This little piece of fabric attaches to your bra strap and takes the place of a Cami or undershirt. As the ad said, “no more embarrassing cleavage”. Ok, Alex hates that, he lives for boobage.
Then my family gave me an ultimatum. You have to wear it for a day and see if it works. Ok, fine by me. They thought bad things would happen, that it would fly up in my face if the wind blew. Lex and Alex even came up with a disturbing scenario.The Cami Secret blows up in my face while I’m driving. I crash into cars, then more people are blinded by the exposed cleavage and the pile up continues.
Guess what? Nothing bad happened,I love the Cami Secret even if I look like a doof. Now, if I’d ordered it off tv I would have gotten something like 26 different colors for just $9.99, Instead, becasue I bought my in a store I only got three. But I’ll muddle through.
When I was 14 my friend, Nancy (there’s an old school name you don’t hear much anymore) was dating an older boy named Johnny Murino.
He was a handsome, charming, 17 year old stoner who’d been in juvenile lock up twice.
I would never ever have been allowed to date a boy like Johnny but Nancy’s mom was not so protective.
Two days before Christmas my mom saw Johnny standing outside Nancy’s front door, smoking a cigarette. No one was home, still Johnny stayed by the door for almost an hour, until mom invited him to wait in our house.
I was thrilled and nervous when he accepted because he was bad and cool and 17. He sat in the kitchen while my mom fixed dinner. She was making stuffed bell peppers and convinced Johnny to try one for the first time…and he liked them. That Christmas mom made sure there was a package under the tree for Johnny.
For the next few months Johnny Murino was a regular guest in our kitchen. He would carry groceries in for my mom, sweep the porch, try new foods, smoke cigarettes and visit. Then Johnny and Nancy broke up, so mom and johnny kind of broke up too.
A year latter, right around Christmas mom was in a 7-11 Convenience Store. She looked up and three young thug looking boys, all in black hoodies, kind of burst through the door and she was absolutely certain they were about to rob the 7-11. She said she started instinctively backing up, tword the slurpie machine, until one guy looked over at her, and it was Johnny Murino. He smiled and said, “Hey Mrs. McDaniel, how have you been?” He gave mom a hug, then hurriedly picked up a pack of gum, dropped a dollar on the counter and quickly herded his boys out the door.
She watched them huddle up in the parking lot then they left in a beat up car with no license plate.
Mom always used this story to illustrate why it’s important to be nice to everyone, even those on a different path and with different priorities. And when she told the story of Johnny Murino she always finished it with, “and as I watching them pull out of the parking lot I thought ‘and Merry Christmas too all and to all a good night.”
Mom always had a flair for the dramatic.
I’m not saying we had a crappy Christmas tree, it was beautiful, but it smelled like death and poop. We didn’t realize there was something wrong with the tree until it was in the house and decorated. As the lights sparkled and shone, warming the Frasier Fur branches the tree started to reek. I mean, it smell like a dead cat was stuck in there.
People come over and squinted because of the odor and I had to explain, “it’s the tree, something is wrong with it.”
We literally searched it’s branches, thinking there was a rotting animal corpse hanging next to an ornament. Or sweaty boxer hiding in the corner.I sprayed it with lysol and pine freshener, nothing helped. It was awful and embarrassing. People speculated, once we assured there there wasn’t a dead creature hanging around, maybe a skunk sprayed our tree, maybe it was covered in some malfurious chemical. It was so bad the kids were afraid Santa would back out of the house, offended by the odor. How could something so lovely smell so freaking terrible.
Finally, I tucked a whole bunch of fabrich softner sheets between the branches. That almost helped.
Generally, I put off taking down the tree. I’ve been known to wait until late January because I love our Christmas trees and hate packing up the ornaments. Not last year. December 26 I yanked that putrid bad boy down, threw it in the yard and set it one fire. I waited for screaming noises
(maybe the tree was posessed) but I heard nothing but the crackeling of burning pine.
So this year I’m trying to be more thankful. My tree smells just fine and life is good.
One of my big kids recently came home, I knew he/she was home because there were empty Gogurt containers on the mouse pad, next to the computer.
I knew they were home because someone ate Animal Crackers in the bathroom and left the empty bag on the counter.
I knew they had been home, though their car was gone, because the house was an inferno and the tv was on, really really really loud. MTV, some reality show with beautiful people, boys with shaved chests and girls with amazing boobs.
And the orange juice was on the counter.
Things are a mess and I love it so much when my great big beautiful grown children come home. They play Uno and 4-wheeler football with 8 year old Sandor. They make me listen to new music, show me pictures of facebook, do Lexie’s hair and make up and tell me how great my pot roast is and they snuggle. So grown children, leave those sticky Gogurt tubes anywhere you want just keep coming home and hugging us.
Comments OffTags: grown children
When they were both in elementary school Ann lived on Prospect Avenue. It was an elegant colonial home, white, with a big back yard that ran into West Mountain.
Irvin’s large and loud family struggled during the depression, when they were kids. He lived on Whittington Avenue, which was on the opposite side of West Mountain.
Two or three afternoons a week Irvin would use the deer trails and run up and over West Mountain because he wanted to see and play with Ann. Now, West Mountain isn’t a terribly large mountain but it is very steep and rugged. He was only eight or nine years old so the trip took him almost an hour. In the winter, he had to run home, in the dark and cold but he didn’t mind. He always said the scary run was worth it if he got to see Ann.
He knew the trails perfectly and every time landed exactly in Ann’s manicured backyard.
Well, Daddy Jack, Ann’s father wasn’t thrilled about this scruffy little boy showing up in his back yard. Ann was an only child, protected and adored. So, he told the maids the children could only see each other and play once a week.
Still Irvin ran over the mountain three times a week, hoping Daddy Jack would change his mind. The maids felt sorry for Irvin so, on the days he wasn’t allowed to see Ann they left a plate of cookies or sandwich and glass of milk so he’d have the strength to make the trip home.
When Irvin died in the 1970s he was only 51 or 52. But he left a note for the family that read, “make sure you leave my ashes on West Mountain I’ll always be running over that hill, trying to reach my girl”.