Oh Not Halloween Again

fashion graffiti indoors man
Photo by Alexander Orihuela on Pexels.com

So here we are again, my least favorite time of year. Some of you are like, wait, what, she doesn’t like free candy? I don’t mind free candy but I’m neither trick or treating age nor mom of trick or treaters age. I’m old and so Halloween is a gigantic reminder that scary dolls name Annabelle and Poltergeists that suck you into the television, are going to be around for the fucking entire month. Oh sure, you like a good scare once in a while to remind you that you are alive. But come on, that’s what rollercoasters and almost choking to death is for. This stupid holiday is not a reminder to me that I should be thankful to alive, it is more of “Fucking Assholes Wanting to Scare me are around every corner!”

When did this madness begin, you are probably wondering? Let me tell you, it was childhood. My brothers and their friends may have taken this God for saken holiday too far. They would be out (its the seventies and eighties so that means hanging out at the mall) and I would be home alone hanging out with the dog, my only faithful companion. My sister may have been home or she may have been cooler than me and had friends and things to do *you decide which! I am in my living room choreographing the electric slide (you don’t know, I could have) and all of a sudden someone would knock on our front door. No one used our front door, which is hilarious because I’m a grown ass adult and SAME, a different front door, but yeah no one uses it, so basically its the pizza door!

In fact our front doo, from my childhood, involved moving things out of the way to answer it. There I am in my leotard, which is weird because I am home alone and not going to dance, moving things out of the way to answer the door. The Front Door, the scariest of all doors, because no one uses it. I finally get whatever was in front of the door out of the way and open the wooden door but leaving the glass door barrier locked in case it is someone nefarious. But I look out and there is not a soul to be seen. I go back to my choreographing Thriller….(again you don’t know, I may have been brilliant and there were no cell phones to capture my amazing choreographing talents) and there is a knock on the door, the front door. I look at the dog and the dog could give two shits about someone knocking on my front door. I take that as a sign that all is well. I walk over to the door and again no one is there. I go back to choreographing footloose (haha, I was literally not choreographing footloose, our living room was not that big) this is when I hear someone rustling in the bushes. I turn off the lights to pretend I’m not home. I know its too late for this but maybe they think I ran out to buy some milk, as a child and in my leotard. As I am sitting in the dark with the dog I decide I should check on what was rustling in the bushes, it could be my cat. I look out and there is some fucking creep sitting in my bushes. I am sickened with fear. I crawl over to the door to make certain that it is locked. It was. I then crawl to the kitchen to the back door to make sure it was locked, it wasn’t, because it never was. There were a hundred people that lived in our house, a locked door would have been mayhem. I reach up to the handle and lock it. As I do there was some sort of zombie ghoul peeking in the top window.

Just as I was crawling to the safety of my bedroom to hide and hyperventilate and piss my pants probably, I had to go past the basement door to get there. The basement door flings open and there is the most terrifying face I have ever seen. He reaches out and grabs my stocking feet. I pull my foot all the way in my tights, certain that I can Houdini my way out of them, when I hear laughter. Not just any laughter, but asshole brother and friends laughter. They reach up to take off their Halloween masks and that is the most single terrifying motion a person can do to me to this day, I was certain that this was going to be the day that I finally learn the true identity of my brothers and they were going to be even more horrible underneath the halloween masks that they were wearing. But nope just their naturally beautiful faces with their gorgeous blue eyes and their wonderful laughter ringing out.

I stand up and leave go to put real clothes on because I am suddenly aware that I am being weird and I don’t want to be caught in the act of weirdness. I am changing in my room and I hear my brothers and their friends laughing at how scared I was. I am crying in my room and changing. I finally get some composure and I go out and try to act as if all is well. However this is when the worst of it happened. They were all doing the choreography (the electric slide probably, haha) and mocking my weirdness. My, home alone, weirdness! UMMMMM! Excuse me, that was not ready for the stage yet, you cannot pick on me for my unrefined choreography. So needless to say Halloween is not my favorite holiday. I don’t need your free candy, I know where they sell it. Also Santa brings a new batch at Christmas anyway.

Moral of my story: I don’t blame my brothers for my fear that was all on me. My imagination was way more terrifying than anything they were ever going to do to me. I dabbled with the idea of putting my imaginations in a horror book but I would be more afraid with people mocking that it wasn’t that terrifying. My imagination has been frightening me for years, I couldn’t handle the idea that someone reading my book and thinking that unicorn was not that scary even if it had red eyes and a lion’s mouth. Any way, I guess what I am saying is that I am most afraid of judgement and not being accepted. I am also afraid of many other things but they aren’t real. Trick or Treat? I chose Treat, Always the Treat!

I Went To Paris, It was hilarious!


So readers I recently went to Paris. It first started with the flight (the intent is you’re going to sleep on the eight hour plan ride and you’re going to land in the morning well rested because you’re going to be required to function) the reality is I stayed up all night. In fact at one point I looked over at my husband and asked him to slip me a mickey. I’m not really sure what a mickey is but I was desperate and needed sleep. My husband, who isn’t a 1940’s gangster, did not have a mickey so I went back to pretending that I was asleep. When we landed we had to go through customs and I had to pee really bad. I was like “How am I going to go through customs while I am doing the pee pee dance? They are going to think I’m smuggling things into their beautiful country via my coochie!” Plus anytime that authority figures are involved I immediately feel guilty like I have inadvertently committed a crime unbeknownst to me! Like I’m some sort of fucking blackout criminal and could be wanted for all I know! I definitely have to find a toilet before I go through customs. Finally a sign that says “Toilette” and I’m like cool. But when I get to the fucking toilette I realize that I don’t know enough french not to piss in the men’s room. Luckily their french toilette lady wears a dress too. Thank goodness. As I walk into the toilette I was secretly hoping they didn’t have those water shooters things to clean my asshole because is that even sanitary? Nope they didn’t have that so I didn’t have to worry about getting syphilis shot up my bumhole.

Finally we get through customs and I guess I am not a blackout criminal or perhaps they haven’t heard about me because I made it in. Now we get into the cab and head to our hotel. I’m exhausted because of all the energy I wasted trying to “Be Cool” through customs that I have no actual energy for anything else. We arrive at our hotel and as I get out there are armed guards approaching the car. What the Fuck did I actually do? Is this why my husband didn’t have any mickey left? Did he use it on me to get me to go on some blackout crime spree. My husband sees me trying to breath and he said “Oh I guess I should have told you that they have armed guards patrolling the streets here!”  I, trying to do what a normal person does, and not really sure what that would be, I smile and wave at them…the fucking armed guards. My husband slapped my hand out of the air and says “Don’t do that!”

“Okay!” was my response.

We get all checked into our first hotel and we are in a typical Hilton for my husband’s business meeting. My mother had asked me to send her pictures but so far everything was so typically American that I was finding it difficult to send her pictures. I open the curtains in the Hotel and I see a Sephora across the walkway. I was like well that’s not going to do it. Also I am dirt tired and I’m sweating, why is it so hot here? It was in the seventies and all the french folks are wearing jackets. The heat was on in the hotel room. I like it a nice sixty-eight degrees at all times. My husband told me he already took care of it. I think mostly because he’s concerned that I am one of those people that might spontaneously combust. *It was something we saw on television when we first got married and it stuck with both of us. I climb into the bed and I fall asleep.

When we wake up we decided that we need to eat. We decide to go across to the mall to grab a bite. The mall is the “American Mall” and so we find this “American Steak House” to eat at. They gave use the English menu, but we got the French speaking waitress and so we struggled to get our order in. We ordered the cheese plate and I ordered the chicken with cauliflower my husband ordered the steak with baked potato. When our cheese plate came out, the cheese was deep fried. But this cheese had no business being deep fried. There was goat cheese and some oozing puss cheese that stuck to my chin when I tried to wipe it off, and there were other kinds that I didn’t try. Then when our food came over we both got steak with mashed potatoes. We both chuckled and just ate our food because it was easier then trying to french our way through it. The whole time we were texting our kids to have them translate for us. All three of my kids have taken several years of French so they are pretty fluent. Like “what is Pamplemousse?” turns out it’s grapefruit. Certainly more than me, who knows the song “Frere Jacques” and what Miss Piggy has taught me on the Muppet show, but that’s about it. We get back to the hotel and I brush my teeth and get in my pajamas and I go to bed. Up until this point I have not once looked at the room clock because I had my watch and my phone. So Imagine my surprise when I wake in the middle of the night and roll over to find that it is 00:23 o’clock! Excuse me? What the fuck did you just say to me? What time is it? 00:23 is not a time on a clock it’s how much time you have left on the fucking roast you are cooking. I am trying to math it out and I’m like I don’t even know what time that is supposed to be. Am I stupid? Why can’t I even figure this out?

My husband rolls over in bed *because he can hear me whispering numbers probably. “What time is it?”

“I don’t fucking know, the clock’s broke!” I say to which he replies “Oh!” and goes back to sleep.

It was then that I decide he was right, it doesn’t matter what time it is because I’m in Paris and that is all I need to know. The next day we went back to the mall and got Starbucks coffee. I love how things are mostly the exactly same. Mostly everyone speaks english and I had a great day shopping with my husband. I don’t know how French money works but it makes my husband more angry so I’m guess things are more expensive in French.

The next day I am on my own and it’s raining. I don’t have an umbrella but the hotel has a shopping plaza inside. I go there and decide to buy an umbrella. I walk into the store and the woman Frenches it up and I look at her, shrug and say “English?” She ignored me, so I guess not. I am looking for an umbrella and I don’t speak the language and its a little early for me to text my children to ask them if “Bumber Shoot” is umbrella in French? Because of the six hour time difference they don’t need my ridiculousness in the wee hours. I followed a British guy and he found them. So I grabbed one and waited in line at the register behind him, like a fucking stalker. The same non-english girl rang me up and I gave her money and she gave me a fistful of coins. I have no idea if she gave the proper change because I didn’t count it.

I have to face the restaurant in the hotel by myself. My husband had been to France many times and his mother and grandmother both spoke french as their native tongue. He can navigate the menu pretty well. I now have to trust my instincts and you all know what my instincts are like. I look at the menu and for three days in a row I ordered Latte Macchiato and croque monsieur (which is a grilled ham and cheese sandwich that they call Mr. Crock). At night I have my husband to help with the menu and I became pretty good at making things out.

When my husband’s business was done we were able to go to Paris Proper to do the tourist stuff. My husband booked the most beautiful hotel room in this gorgeous Parisian boutique hotel. The room had a terrace where we could see the Eiffel Tower. *that’s an actual picture of our view in the article. It was such a gorgeous room with tapestry on the wall and so luxuriously decorated. The only problem was that at night it was haunted as fuck. The ghost lady spent the whole night rattling the doorhandles every time I was about to fall asleep. My husband tried to convince me that it was the air conditioner. “Doing what exactly? Trying to get in the room?” ask the crazy lady digging into his back. I’m sure he was hoping he had some mickey now. Instead he had to sleep with the woman he is certain is going to spontaneously combust pressed up against him. He sure as hell doesn’t want to go out that way. Here he is strapped with a bomb and I’m like then I can join this ghost lady and keep her company. I mean if I’m going to spend eternity this place is exactly the type of place I want to do it. Did you get a good look at that view?

I left Paris just as exhausted as I had arrived. I loved being there and I am hoping to go back. I would even stay in that same haunted room if I had to. I think I figured her out. I think she must have worked nights when she was alive because there was zero activity during the day. I think I could have gotten to know her better if I had stayed longer. But she sure had me terrified every night that I slept at her haunted fucking mansion. Next time I’m going to order her a Mr. Crock sandwich and leave it out in the parlor for her. That’ll make her happy. *I had my cholesterol checked when I got back to the states, it was high. Mr. Crock is high in cholesterol I guess.

Moral of my story: I guess I don’t have one, but if you ever get a chance to travel to Paris do it. The people are super nice and welcoming and they mostly spoke english. I do plan on trying to learn some French in case I go back though. If you do go and need some food ideas order the Mr. Crock sandwich its super good. Another thing, don’t do mickeys they are bad for you.

Until next time. 🙂

Technology, have we gone too far?

high angle photo of robot
Photo by Alex Knight on Pexels.com

Welcome to my blog, I’m assuming there will be a new flux of people flocking here due to the title. Technology savvy folks coming to read up on new technology and all they get is the anxious riddled ramblings of a neurotic middle-aged empty-nester. Don’t go, though! Stay! You might learn something new. Damn it! Lost some new readers by the droves, perhaps I should not have over shared in the first paragraph. Well, I’m pretty true to  my nature. So I did promise to talk about technology in the title, I guess I should start.

First I have in my possession a particular brand of products as if I have some sort of affiliation with them, I do not, I just know how to use them. Not to their full capacity, mind you, I use my watch as an actual watch that I can text from. Funny observation from my youngest little angel, “Mom leaves her phone everywhere now because she has her watch. I found her phone sitting outside the other day and mom was nowhere to be found.” So anyway, I find the products super easy to use, as common ordinary things with a twist.

How have we gone too far with technology, you ask? The other day I mentioned that I wanted to go to Greece, using my mouth talking to another human being in person (like the old lady that I am) and then my social media page shows up with Greece advertisements for me. I mean I checked it out because I’m serious that I want to go, but super fucking creepy, Right? People own those devices that they can just shout “Order me more toilet paper!” I mean first of all, have  Y’all tried talk to text? You are definitely not getting toilet paper. You’re going to get a case of some foreign candy from Sweden or Norway. What happens if you are just in the bathroom and you’re like “Fucking A, I am out of toilet paper!” But you just mean on the roll and then your device doesn’t know that because its a fucking robot and next thing you know you have six cases of Norwegian candy and you’re like “Who the fuck keeps sending me this?” and you don’t mind because you have developed a taste for it and you can’t find anything in the US that even comes close to it. Second of all, have you not seen any of those movies when we have fucking robots? Name one that doesn’t end poorly for humans, I’ll wait!

Also, I have read a study on the socialization of younger generations. They are finding it more difficult to socialize in person because on Social media society is very harsh and judgmental. People on social media try to be funny and sarcastic and perhaps just come off as dickish. Why would anyone want to talk to people in the real world when they are calling you a “fucking snowflake” because you care about the environment? And that’s on us, isn’t it? We can blame technology but we have to realize that we are representing ourselves every time we type into social media.

I, as a parent, gave my children cell phones if they were going to be out at their after school activities without me. New technology makes old technology obsolete, such as pay phones, the emergency phone of my day. That way they can reach out to me if they needed me to come pick them up or if there was an emergency. However, once you get them their first emergency phone they are not just using it as a phone.

My oldest daughter, when she got her first cell phone that was all that it could be used for. She could make phone calls and that was it. They also charged you by the minute so it was definitely only used for emergencies. But, before we knew it texting became a thing and shit a whole new language emerged because they charged you by the character. It wasn’t long before your cell phone became a tiny computer that you could obsess about and be insulted anywhere you go. You can be out to dinner with your family while on vacation and be insulted by a relative that you have not had any human contact with in over thirty years. That wasn’t the intent of social media, but that is the reality. Younger people may not realize that we don’t just walk up to a person and go at them for their beliefs and how they voted. They do not realize that in true civilization we are not quite so flagrant with our thoughts and behavior towards others. Then, why are we behaving like that on the internet. Again, that is on us.

Next, think of how many movies you have seen in your lifetime about computers and robots rising up and eliminating humans? I know that I have seen at least six. When I heard that they were creating robots to mimic humans, I was like “Well, this is it!” Robots could be learning our behavior from the worst of it “What we put on our social media pages” and think they know us. No  wonder they want to take us out in the future. We are assholes. I have read that they have created sex robots and that the sex robot has a virus that makes them murder. I mean humans do too, but what the actual fuck?

Has technology gone too far? Maybe, but we have too. We have gone and put our agendas out on our various and assorted social media pages and it has gotten a little out of hand. I’m not scolding you! I found myself doing this too. I have decided that my social media page doesn’t have to be about my worst fears and getting the last word in. I made the change toward lighthearted and positive messages because that’s who I want to be in real life too. I don’t need people to understand what I feel every minute of every day, because my feelings are on me. If I am having a bad day I have to figure that shit out on my own. I don’t have to get various members of society to come to champion me and give me a false sense of reality. If I have a bad day I have to look at my own viewpoint. The truth is a day can’t be neither good nor bad, it is what I am choosing to reflect upon that makes the day such. Sure there are plenty of things in our life that could happen that will impact us negatively. Truth is social media doesn’t change those things. A sense of camaraderie and community is good and we can definitely get that from social media. But it doesn’t replace a human hug. It doesn’t replace good old fashioned self discovery. It doesn’t replace sitting around the table playing a game of cards. It doesn’t replace laughing around a campfire.

What should we do? What can we do? I personally have chosen to put out uplifting messages for others to enjoy or scroll past. I have chose to put my best self out there. Some parents have come up with some really great ideas, such as on game night put your cell phones in a bowl. Some people have decided upon Limiting cell phone usage and screen time. Inviting friends over and getting the children engaged in games and play without their phones is also an option. Teaching etiquette is a “do as I do” situation. Sure seeing some of those memes can get you fired up, the truth is, they are supposed to. What would you do if someone antagonized you out in the real world? I know that I would walk past them. I would try not to make eye contact (which is my husband’s advice) and I would try my best not to engage. If you are passionate about something, that is great. If you would be the type of person that tells everyone you come in contact with, then go on and be yourself. But if you find yourself being someone you don’t recognize on the internet, perhaps take a step back and really do some self reflection.

Moral of my story: Has technology gone too far? The truth is we can utilize technology to be our best selves or we can allow it to run us into a completely uncharted territory of complete savagery. We are humans and what makes humans human? Some scientists would say it is our compassion. Some scientists would say it is our language skills. Some scientists would say that it is our large brains and what we create with it.

I think what makes us human is the hope that working together for a better community brings. Humans when they became bipedal began to make fires and sit around eating together. It brought protection. It brought socialization. It brought communication. Why sit around the blue lights of our computers trying to force others to see things our way? When instead we can be our best selves and offer our protection, socialization and communication in a more positive way. The way we would if we were face to face. Yes, and even take the time to be face to face with some of those people. I hope I didn’t scare you, but instead opened your eyes to the us we can become.

Until next time 🙂


I have tendonitis!

person holding hand
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

So sorry I haven’t written in a while readers. My writing hand is currently in a splint because I have been diagnosed with De Quervain’s tenosynovitis which is a really large for “Owe! My hand hurts when I do things!” So typing is sort of tricky and so is other things like “ANYTHING I FUCKING DO WITH MY RIGHT HAND!!!!!” So needless to say I haven’t been able to log in to my blog and joke about how much I hate being injured.

I’m not a baby when I am hurt…..I’m quite the opposite of baby, I want to say that the opposite of baby is adult, BUT that’s not what I am. I’m more “I can do it and ignore the pain and also diagnose myself with the internet.” This, that I am describing, isn’t really an adult because an adult would say “Oh my right hand sort of hurts every time I use it” and go to the doctors. This is not what I did. What I did was “Owe, this hurts maybe I should see what WebMD says I am dying of.” I take my phone out and type in ‘Wrist and thumb pain” and see all the things that come up. The most common diagnosis was tendonitis and de Quervain’s disease and then there was the ‘It could be bone cancer?!’ and I was like nope not bone cancer because it said I would be losing weight and my extra chins disagree. De Quervain’s has a simple test you can try to do to diagnose yourself called the “Finklestein Test” in which you tuck your thumb into your fingers and try to bend your wrist down. “Mother fucker, does that hurt! Yup, this is definitely what I have.”

I then see what the treatment for my tendonitis/ de Quervain’s disease is and I do that. Here’s the thing, it got to be so unbearable that I had to go to the real doctor. The real doctor says “Oh, you have tendonitis and shows me the same fucking picture I used to diagnose myself with.” But what he does do is send me to a hand specialist that gives me an injection and a doctor approved splint, unlike the one that I bought off the internet.

“When can I take this off?”

“You have to wear it for three months and when you come back we will talk more.” doctor says

“Can I take it off to chop vegetables?”

“You can take it off to shower.”

“Can I take it off to work out?”

“No! You can ONLY take it off to shower.”

“Can I still use my elliptical machine?”

“Do you use your thumb and wrist to use your elliptical machine?”

“No!” I lie

“You don’t do this?” doctor mimics the hand motions of using an elliptical machine

“I don’t have to!” I smile

“You can work out, but only lower body and you have to wear the splint. You are going to have to buy sleeves to wear under the splint to absorb the sweat. You can get those off of the internet.”

I already know this because I have been a doctor for like four months now….I mean not a real doctor but a “WebMD doctor”.

“I can do that.” I say.

“Can you take your splint off to chop vegetables and to write and to work out?” doctor asks trying to trick me.

“No!” I answer sadly.

“The best thing for your wrist and thumb is rest.”

“Rest is my least favorite word. Physical therapy and working myself into shape is my favorite prescription.” I say smiling.

“That’s not what you are going to do though. You will rest your hand and when you come back we will see if you need surgery, which will be more resting. So when can you take your splint off?”

“For showers and in three months.”

“Now you may be in the splint closer to six months.”

“My fucking lower body is going to be jacked!” I exclaimed.

He laughs because he knows that I am not an adult…LOL! “Rest that wrist and thumb and  I will see you in six weeks.”

“Not three months?”

“I think I am going to check on you sooner.”

Well played doctor, well played! I have been resting my wrist and thumb and wearing my splint, mostly all of the time. I have been working out with my splint on. I have been washing my splint because I have been working out in it and that’s gross. I have my other splint that I bought on the internet that I wear when I am not wearing the doctor one. I have the tan lines to prove that I have been wearing it and so that’s funny.

I have school starting in August and I’m not sure what I am going to do in my art class but the professor said we could use whatever medium we want, so I may be using finger paints. Hey wait maybe I’m not the opposite of a baby after all.

Moral of my story: When you are injured, go to the doctors and stop trying to work through it. Also if you need to rest, you should probably do that. I don’t really know I’m the worst when it comes to injuries, I don’t like to rest and heal. So I guess don’t be Becki. I typed this blog with my splint on and mostly with my left hand. I may not blog every week but when I come back I hope to have more ideas to write about. Please let me know what you have all been up to in my absence. I would love to hear from you all.

Until next time. 🙂

Vacuuming! *don’t worry people its funny

appliance carpet chores device
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Did you all collectively groan when you saw the title of today’s blog? Yes vacuuming is not my favorite thing. In fact it is my least favorite chore in the world to have to complete. First of all it is noisy and it can leave you vulnerable to attack by humans, ghosts and or monsters from the ethereal plain. Second of all it is heavy and if it has great suction that fucking thing can get stuck to the stairs and you are standing there trying to turn it off while the machine is coming towards you at rapid speeds.

Let me explain….when I was a child my mother doled out chores to her children. My sister and I were to take care of household chores because we were using the “Little House on the Prairie” rules in our house. Girls do household chores and boys take care of the horses and farm, except we didn’t have horses and farm, so instead they had to take care of the trash. My brothers were older so they also had to babysit and boy babysitting involves a bike ramp and small children lying on the ground so that my brother can “Evil  Kenevil” over them. *no small children were ever killed and only slightly injured during these daring stunts.

My chores were to fold the laundry, which I love doing. Dusting which is a hideous job but can be done while watching Luke and Laura’s wedding on General Hospital and vacuuming, which can’t be done while doing another thing besides praying for your fucking life. Not today Satan, not today!!!!

Vacuuming has been something that I have had to do in my adult life too. *Insert small breathy sobbing noises here!

I have had to vacuum my two bedroom apartment all on one floor. It was easy because there was no back breaking lifting the fucking two thousand pound vacuum up and down the stairs. I have had to vacuum the haunted house that we built in Massachusetts. I raced through that fucking place “Our Father who art in heaven…..” I had to vacuum our transition apartment when we moved to Pennsylvania, the floor that practical broke my son’s jaw.

And I have to vacuum my current home. *even though the snotty little kid in the neighborhood said I needed to do it more, you know what small child the process of vacuuming gives me anxiety, okay. I mean you can’t even hear people creep up on you. You are totally vulnerable because you can’t vacuum whilst holding a weapon because the equipment is soooo fucking heavy! So take your popsicle outside with the rest of the children and let it drip down your fucking arm out there if you don’t want dog hair to stick to you!!!!!

I have owned several vacuums in my lifetime and I will say this “THEY ARE NOT ALL CREATED EQUAL!” Some break within a month and you are like “Shit! All I did was suck up a bathrobe tie and then all of a sudden the fucking thing is smoking and it smells like that time I burned eggs. *I’ve only burned eggs the one time. That is not a smell you want to repeat.

Some give you massive anal leakage and hemorrhoids from lifting it up the stairs. Some vacuums do not get the small stuff you are trying to pick up like that God Forsaken craft sand that your mother in law gave to the kids as a gift. She is wonderful the sand is not it is related to glitter and glitter is for fucking life. Some vacuums don’t pick up the big things even though the commercial is showing you that it will suck up quarters, that is a euphemism for the money you wasted buying the Damn thing. It’s like sucking all of your swear jar change in one fell swoop and now you can’t go to Disney. I even have a vacuum that runs by itself. I call her Rosie and she is my best friend but she is needy and is constantly telling me that she needs the little tank emptied. I am like “Bitch there is not anything in here!” Then she is like I’m done and I look around the house and I remember what it was like when I asked my children to vacuum. One room is spotless, one room is half done, every other room has trails of where the vacuum has been passed through once. Are you kidding me Rosie this is your only fucking job.

Recently I was vacuuming and I put on my earphones while I vacuum and listen to music because younger me was wrong you can totally listen to music and dance with the vacuum cleaner whilst vacuuming up all of the pet dander and fur. I was upstairs twirling around and singing because I thought that I was alone in the house. *not that I need to be alone in the house to sing….but I was doing my biggest singing and not at all using my demure stage voice. When someone taps me on my shoulder *in the few minutes it took me to turn around my brain put together this summation of what I was about to face. It’s a murdering ghost demon that is here for your soul and also it wants to leave your bloody corpse behind and there is no way for you to protect yourself, you should holler as loud as you can to alert your husband who is outside on his lawnmower to attract his attention, not that he could save you but so that he can join you in your demise because that mother fucker said to death do us part and he is not getting off that fucking easy!!!! When I scream I see my husband there with his hands up to prove that he is not some trickster demon coming in all innocent like my husband to then unhinge his jaw and eat my fucking face off! He is laughing and I turn the vacuum cleaner off and take my earphones off and I look at him like “Why are you interrupting my show? Are you fucking dying? Is there an ice cream truck *which is actually pronounced “Ding Dong Truck” what is the emergency? Because honestly these are the only two reasons I can think of for anyone to interrupt me while I am vacuuming and in my zone.

“Did you order something huge from amazon?” He asks me *he is usually the one who shops amazon for every need he has.

“Oh it’s my lanterns!” I announce. So here is a funny thing about me, I have bought things from amazon without checking the size of things. I have bought little tiny lanterns that looked huge in the picture and then when they came in were only five inches tall, and I bought enormous matches to light my candle so that I don’t burn my fingers except these particular matches actually take two people to light….so I am not great when it comes to knowing what exactly it is that I am buying. So now my husband is looking at me thinking that I have purchased some cartoonishly large lanterns for the deck. But its not that it is that I bought a large quantity of them because…..well let’s just say because and leave it at that.

“Why are there so many?” he asks as we open the box.

“Because I didn’t know how large they were going to be and if they were super small like the last time I was going to use them a different way.”

“Becki, they have a way to check the size before you buy them! You don’t have to be surprised every fucking time you get something in the mail.”

“But sometimes I am surprised, so I bought more of them!” I say and I smile and he just shakes his head and goes back outside to finish his yard work *because we sort of do the whole “Little House on the Prairie” rules at my house too, but they aren’t law at our house because I have mowed the lawn and my husband has vacuumed. Honestly I would much prefer Mowing the lawn than vacuuming. First of all it’s a riding lawn mower and its basically a go-kart and it too is loud so I listen to music and dance drive while using it….but it is also a weapon and that murdering ghost demon does not stand a chance against me on a lawn mowing go-kart because I will run his ass down. I will mulch his nefarious presence and carry on with my day. But instead I have to go back to my vacuuming and what the hell can I do with that stupid contraption? Suck him up in it? Then I have to lean over and empty him out of the canister and take the risk of being possessed. I mean this isn’t “Ghostbusters” I don’t have a plasma container to seal him up in. That is why they come after you when you are vacuuming! They are looking to kill or possess or the third and even worst option both. That’s where zombies come from…I am not about to be a zombie because those things do not look great.

Moral of my story if you are vacuuming remember you can suck  the murderous ghost demon up with your machine but you will have to immediately throw the fucking thing out because if you empty the bin into the trash you will get possessed. Also not all vacuums are created equal get one with a plasma container and start driving a hearse because one day you will be needed to save the world. Also if you have both sons and daughters, guess what, they are equal and you can give them equal chores, no more “Little House on the Prairie” rules because you want your children prepared to handle any situation on their own. And when purchasing anything online check the measurements because you don’t want to be surprised by the cartoonish sized thing in your backyard. Unless you are like me and find it hilarious.

Until next time 🙂

My Daughter’s Hilarious Wish List

beige and brown bear plush toy on brown branch during day time
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

When my children were little we were very broke and couldn’t afford cable. My children didn’t watch tv except for the PBS channel. Which was great except for my children didn’t know what toys existed in the world. When it came time for Birthday and Christmas wish lists my oldest daughter was incredibly creative. She would go into great detail as to what the things on her list were actually able to do. My mother, bless her heart, would go in search of these things without realizing that they were made up.

“Becki, I can’t find what your little baby angel wants for her birthday. Do you know where she saw it? Or who made it?”

Me, knowing full well what is coming at me, stands there not at all ready to ask the question that I must ask, “What did she ask for?”

“It’s a bear that walks and talks and drinks tea!”

“That’s a cartoon called Little Bear, Mom, they don’t actually make those.”

My mother looking at me and says “Well that was all that she wants!”

In my day we would circle things that we wanted in the toy store flier to get the knock off version of it. My daughter asks for a real live walking, talking, tea drinking bear and my mother searches the depth of the Earth trying to find one. Now I am trying to figure out what to do because it is the only thing that she has asked for. She wants the walking, talking, tea drinking bear that she saw on little bear. She wants a furry friend to romp around the English country side with. We lived in Massachusetts.

“I don’t want to disappoint her!” my mother says. Which is completely true! None of us wanted to disappoint the sweet little girl. She never asked for anything but when asked she said these completely unreal things that she wanted. So my mother would take her out and have her search for her gift. They would have a day together, just the two of them. It was valuable.

Another example: “Sweetie what would you like for Christmas?”

“I want Balto.”

“A stuffed animal Balto?” (for those of you that do not know, Balto was an animated movie about a dog that had to race against time in Alaska to get the medicine that saved his friend who was dying of diphtheria)

“No, the real Balto in case I am dying of diphtheria and he has to save me!” she was two years old. My two year old is needing this dog that will save her from the deadly disease of diphtheria that she has been vaccinated for. What do I say to that? No! No you can’t have a life saving fucking dog. You don’t live in Nome, Alaska. You have already had that medicine but it was delivered by the middle aged doctor in a cold sterile office on the other side of town. It was less traumatic and more routine procedure! Keep in mind, SHE IS TWO YEARS OLD!!!!

So I took her out to look at the toys and asked her very poignant questions so that I could get the best option B. It was a full day of she and I talking and really getting to know each other.

She once asked for a fairy catcher. A Fucking Fairy Catcher!!!! What in the fucking hell is that? I don’t even know. So I followed it up with the follow up questions “Can you describe it to me?”

“It looks like a house and it has little plates and cups and a table that I can feed them. I will keep them in their very own little garden and they can be friends with the dragonflies.” She smiled at me and she had the BIGGEST Bluest eyes you will ever see and all she is asking for is this fucking made up shit that doesn’t exist and I really want to give it to her. So I got her a doll house. And a stuffed bear. And a stuffed Balto dog. But most importantly we spent time together talking. I was learning that my daughter was beautiful and intelligent and sensitive. She was so creative and fun to be around.

My oldest daughter to this day hates to make wish lists. She is in her twenties and she gets super stressed out by it. I know that somewhere along the way it was because she asked for these remarkably wonderful things and instead she got some cheap knockoff version of what she was asking for. Ah, Yes, the circle of life. I asked for a Barbie Doll and I got the “Barbara Doll” which was Barbie’s cousin thrice removed. She didn’t bend and her legs didn’t move. My daughter asked for the REAL LIVE Balto that would save her from a deadly childhood disease and instead she got Stuffed Balto dog that didn’t move or save lives.

At a certain point children have to learn to accept little disappointments and Wish lists are a good place to start. Truth be told my oldest daughter doesn’t actually feel like she needs anything and that is why she hates making a list.

“Mom, I already have everything I need. Maybe just pay my rent!” or “Why don’t we get together and go shopping!” she responds, now in her twenties. Maybe she always knew that she didn’t need anything and she would say such outrageous things because the question was so outrageous to her. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetie?” this is an outrageous question and my two year old knew it. She understood that. “What would you like for your Birthday?” another outrageous question. My oldest daughter is practical, in fact so isn’t her brother and sister. They now will ask for experiences, such as “Take me to a show!” or “Why don’t we all go to the amusement park?” Basically what my children now ask for is “Can we all get together and spend time with each other? Can we give each other a bit of ourselves to enjoy without worry and time constraints?” And they are right!

Moral of my story: In this hustle bustle world my daughter valued time more than anything. She valued the search for impossible gifts more than the gift itself. What your children want more than anything in the world is for your whole family to be together. They want you to focus on them. They want to play boardgames and to laugh with you. They want to sit on your lap and read. They want you to be present in their lives. The greatest gift of all is time! Give your time to your children and see how precious it is. Turn off the screens and the worries and the constant pull of the outside world and invest some quiet moments in your children. It is the one gift that they will never be disappointed with.

I Slept Wrong And My Neck Is Paying

alone bed bedroom blur
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Oh My GAWD guys, I have been walking around for days with a crick in my neck. I am a hunchback because somehow I have slept wrong. I mean HOW was I sleeping? Was I doing headstands in my slumber? Am I actually doing an acrobatic routine without waking? Am I entered in some shut eye olympics? Or Am I sleeping with my neck wrenched to one side without knowing it? There are so many questions and secretly I am hoping that it is the shut eye olympics and that I have won a Gold Medal in the Snooze Gymnast category. But more likely I am losing the Olympic Dozing Wrestling category instead.

Truth be told: and this is more conjecture than truth, so you know “Truth”, I think it’s because I was holding on for dear life to keep some covers while sleeping. My husband has been traveling a lot and he is a selfish sleeper when he comes home after being gone for weeks at a time. When he gets home he cocoons himself in the blankets and eventually gets hot. When he gets hot he throws the blankets off onto the floor. And not back over to me the frozen lady holding onto her little shoulder corner trying to stay toasty and sleeping.

I woke up one day and passive aggressively said “Oh at least the floor is warm when I step on it!” He really didn’t hear me because he was sleeping….comfortably….like a fucking asshole!!!!!

I try to let that shit go. But I did try to mention it in a constructive way “Hey, honey when we fall asleep tonight can you stop taking all of the blankets? I mean I wouldn’t want you to have some sort of accident.” Jokingly of course.

Him “Yeah sure.”

So naturally he slept and I slept with a death grip on the blankets and every time he pulled them I pulled them back. You know restful the way nighttime should be.

Now that we have done this nighttime wrestling match I woke up with a sore shoulder, neck and back. He doesn’t even really know that he’s doing it. I know he isn’t doing it on purpose and there have been times when I will get my own blanket and just admit defeat like an intelligent person should. But now I can’t turn my neck because I wasn’t being that intelligent defeated person.

Bedtime is for rejuvenating yourself. I am not rejuvenated and honestly I understand Lucy and Ricky’s bedtime situation. I mean not the twin sized beds because those are small but queen sized beds would be good. (for those of you who do not know Lucy and Ricky, its mostly because you are young and vibrant and not at all oldish like me, but there was this show called I Love Lucy and it was in black and white. Also I would like to point out that I saw it as reruns and I am only pointing this out to save my vanity. But either way they were a married couple similar to Bert and Ernie and in separate twin sized beds.)

I have slept wrong either way and I am suffering and in pain and trying to get some sort of relief. When did sleeping become dangerous to my health. Is this what my future looks like now? Am I just going to have to get used turning my head to the left only? Either way I will have to work out these kinks so naturally I sat at my computer and began typing this morning, which obviously was a mistake because apparently typing uses all of your upper body to accomplish. So as I write this through gritted teeth and tears in my eyes. I just wanted you all to know I slept wrong and my neck is paying for it.

moral of my story: At a certain point in your marriage separate beds makes more sense.

Until next time

What? You wanted a better moral than that one? Me too readers me too! How about this one…..I may be the gold medalist in snooze gymnastics but I’ve definitely lost the dozing wrestling match. If you see any of these nighttime Olympics on television or youtube let me know. I would like to see when I won the gold medal. Also I am grateful to have a bed to sleep in and a roof over my head and covers to fight over with someone that I love. I truly am fortunate. I know that. My neck doesn’t know that but my heart does and she is the asshole that I follow in most cases.

Until next time 🙂 <- smiling like a winner of a gold medalist

Writer’s Block And Being Human

brown notebook in between of a type writer and gray and black camera
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I have been suffering from writer’s block. Which is strange since I am writing mostly about my life and my memories. I am still living and have the experiences of life every single day. I cut people off in traffic. I hold the door for people at the gas station. I trip over my own feet. Just recently I got a new elliptical machine and for the first few times using it I realized how uncoordinated I really am. So it isn’t that I don’t have memories or life to write about. So what is the problem?

The problem with writing about my life is that one singular person is not having a life, it is intertwined with other people’s lives and how do I tell my story without telling their’s? I purposely do not write names of my loving family mostly because I am not trying to tell their story. I am telling mine.

We all come to this world with our own set of eyes. We can all have the same experiences but walk away with our own version of what the hell just happened. For instance when I wrote about my children heading to the dingle and how terrified I was that they would fall in…they told me that they were heading toward the dingle on purpose, the dingle was the destination in their contraption from hell.

I want to tell my story without embarrassing those who have crossed my path. My version is unique to me. I have been acutely aware that people in the same experience may experience it differently and I also understand that this can cause many arguments and fights. This is exactly why I would have my children do “mock trials” when they were arguing. They had to bring their case to “Mom’s court” and this was so that my children understood that there is always more than one side. I wanted my children to be understanding and compassionate. I wanted them to have an open mind and a willingness to hear another person out. What would the world look like if we listened as much as we talked? Look at social media, it is set up around throwing your ideas out there and not listening to anyone else’s ideas. Maybe they need time in “Mom’s court”?

I remember one time my son and I were having a heated discussion, which was strange because he was not one that pushed the envelope, and I stood there in the HEAT and less listening and more shouting. I finally said to him “One of us needs a time out and I don’t even know which one, so I am going to my room and you are going to yours. When we both have calmed down we will try to hear each other out.” Being aware of my limitations as a human and remaining humble helped me as a parent. I was not always right and I was able to admit it. In that ability it didn’t create a weak mother who had children walking over her. Instead my children and I had respect for one another. We worked together to resolve our differences and it taught them that it is perfectly okay to not know everything.

When I became a parent, and adult for that matter, I was like “Who the fuck allowed this to happen? I don’t know everything yet. How the hell can I parent when I don’t know everything?” Then when they handed me my little pink swaddle I was like “Hey there little angel. You and I are going to figure this out together, how does that sound?” We did figure it out together. My children grew to be confident and compassionate and humble. They knew that it was perfectly normal to learn and grow well into adulthood. They don’t have to know everything.

If you are a parent or adult and you feel like “Who the fuck is in charge up there? I am not ready for this!” I say to you, it’s okay! You grow every single day. You are allowed to say to your children “I don’t know, but we can learn together.” You can ask for help. You can go to therapy. You can join a support group. You can take some classes. You can continue to learn and grow and to really get to know yourself. You can ask yourself “Am I giving myself the very best?” “Am I living my life as I intended?” “What is my purpose?” You honestly do not really ever have to have an answer. Your answer to these questions can change a million times over. This is how we grow.

As I have always told my children: You are going to make mistakes, make the ones where you can face yourself in the mirror! If you are having a hard time living with your mistakes then explore them and try to find out what your mistakes are trying to teach you.

Also I have said: You are not better than anyone else and no one is better than you. We were all created in the image of God. All of us. Even those people you do not like. Loving God means loving yourself and others, even those you do not agree with.

Please don’t think I am perfect because I so am NOT by any stretch of the imagination. I know I am imperfect. I know I have limitations and short comings. Such as, when my husband does laundry, I am livid. Why? My cats have a full drawer of sweaters that used to be mine (because he shrinks them all). One time he turned an entire batch of clothes pink and we couldn’t afford to buy new. My oldest daughter HATES the color pink, probably because my blood would boil every time I dressed her in her matching pepto bismol colored outfits. EVERYTHING she owned was this fucking color. It wasn’t even a pretty color pink. It was a weird color pink. So now when I get sick and he tries to help with doing the laundry I have to tell myself that he is trying to be nice and that I shouldn’t make a voodoo doll of him. I try exceptionally hard not to hate him when he says “I did laundry!” I know this about myself and so now I ask myself “How important is it?” shrunken clothes is not that important. HE is! My husband and our relationship is way more important than my favorite sweater. It took me a lot of therapy and self reflection to be able to say those words and mean it. Honestly isn’t he sweet for helping me? I think it is really very kind. And now my cats have a full drawer of sweaters and they get to hate him now. How do I tell that story without everyone knowing that my husband is no Mr. Mom?

That’s my point! It isn’t about him. It is about me. It is how I deal with it. I really do try to let it go. I try to be forgiving of him. The same as when I accidentally wash his clothes without checking the pockets first. How many times do I have to find shreds of paper in the dryer before I think “I need to check pockets!”? I bring him the tiny bits of paper and say “I hope this wasn’t important!” In that instance I forgive myself because I am being honest and upfront about it. He forgives me too because he usually says “Nope, it’s fine!”

Moral of my story: I find it difficult to tell my story without trying to tell everyone else’s. I hope that all of you realize that this is my truth on this blog and I do not speak for anyone else. Also we are not perfect and we can humble ourselves a bit to realize that no one else is going to be perfect either. Take the time to get to know yourself and who you want to be. None of us wants to be the person that backs into our husband’s truck taking out both cars in one hasty swoop, But we totally fucking are! (I mean I did that but I am sure you all have an equivalent story, right?) We are going to make mistakes we can either repeat them or we can learn from them. My husband has decided to repeat the laundry one and I have learned to let it go because his voodoo doll can not take much more abuse. Also we spend our all of our lives in a stage of forgiveness, either needing forgiveness or giving forgiveness or both. If we are going to forgive ourselves we have to be honest with ourselves. If we are going to forgive others we have to be honest with ourselves.

Until next time! 🙂

Oh The Swing Set Games That We Played

woman wearing grey long sleeved top photography
Photo by Artem Bali on Pexels.com

When I was young we had a swing set in our yard. Our Yard was built on a hill and we had very little flat places to put the swing set. So our swing set was on the lower plot of land that my parents owned. It was also near the tree line behind our house. We all had our “self appointed” swing that we used. I don’t ever remember our older brothers using the swing set. There was four little ones and we four used the swing set. My brother, we will call him number three, used one of the single swings, my sister used the other single swings and my youngest brother and I used the see-saw swing, or as we called it the space ship.

One day I went out to the swings, which was not unusual, because I both loved to be outside and I loved to swing. I was out there using one of the single swings because the swing rules were fast and loose that way. I was there swinging and probably singing some made up songs about clouds and birds, because I was cool like that, when number three came out and said to me “Hey, try to kick me in the face.”

Yes you read that correctly, one of our made up games was “Try to kick me in the face!” I was swinging and swinging. I was pumping my legs harder and harder. I was kicking my legs forward and reaching further with my toes trying to stretch so far so that I could kick my brother in the face. I didn’t want to kick him in the face but it was the object of the game. I don’t know what I was going to win, I mean probably an ass beating, but thems are the rules and I play by the rules. So as I was pumping and stretching and reaching and doing my best to kick my brother in the face, as he was standing out of my reach, I didn’t realize that the puny fucking swing set was giving up or maybe it was trying to help because that bitch of a swing set was humping up out of the ground. Finally the swing set tipped over and there I was on the ground. My brother did not get kicked in the face and as far as I know he didn’t even get hurt. BUT the aluminum slide did. That slide bent in half. So when my brother and I put the swing set upright the slide had this ninety degree angle in it. We both looked at it with wide eyes and decided that we had better fix it. I mean how the hell could we burn our asses on a hot slide if we couldn’t even use it. So we bent it back and now there was the hope of tetanus too. So if you rode our slide you had to wear long pants or else you were risking lockjaw.

Another game we played on the swing set was try to flip over the top bar. Also ended with the swing set tipping over. My youngest brother and I, as I had mentioned, rode the space ship swing and man did we go on some lovely adventures with that thing. WE saw aliens and walked on the moon. There was the time we all piled on it to see if we could swing if all the neighborhood children were on it all together. Also tipping the swing over. I got a fat lip with that one because I was horse laughing as we were all trying to swing and I’m pretty sure my jagged ass buck teeth took a chunk out of  someone’s skull.

As we grew older we didn’t use the swings as much and one day it was gone. That was probably a sad day for that tired, old bent up swing set. We kids all growing up and not using it anymore. The aluminum slide heated up in the hot sun but there were no asses to burn. No legs to stick to it as they were trying to make it to the bottom and no kid not quite down the slide to be ejected off by the momentum of the impatient kid behind them. To my recollection we never played “try to kick me in the face” on the slide. That would have been too easy. But we have all tried to ride down the hot aluminum slide all together and I got stuck and the weight of all the kids behind me pushed me forward while my shorts rode all the way up my asshole and crotch so far that I had to floss them out of my teeth that night at bed time. Yes a swing set is filled with so many possibilities.

My children played push the ice down the slide to the other one who would try to catch it. That one ended with a new pair of glasses and a bloody nose. My children had a high tech swing set with a bumpy plastic slide and as far as I know nobody got wedgies or burned asses from that one. But they did all try to ride down it together and catapulted their little sister off the first hump and she came running in for a band aid. When I finally saw what she needed a band aid for I was so impressed because she cut herself but good. But like the true medical specialist that she was at eight the wound was band aided without cleaning. She trapped the dirt in the wound. But what she really wanted to do is get back outside to play because her brother and sister were finally playing with her.

Moral of my story: Swing sets are a good time. Kids may get a little bumped and bruised, but that is okay. We used our imaginations and we got fresh air. My swing set gave me many good memories. My children’s swing set gave me even more. A swing set is the perfect toy. Also they make slides out of plastic because I am sure some one got stuck and got some two degree burns from the old aluminum ones. Those got hot and sticky sweaty kids trying to slide down them didn’t exactly go as planned.

Until next time 🙂

Meeting people in elevators

gold colored chandelier
Photo by Michael Morse on Pexels.com

Elevators are such a strange social arrangement. How are we supposed to behave here? I mean we are all shoved into a metal box similar to the tube I send my demands for money at the bank in. *some people call this a withdrawal slip. 

As we are all standing there shoulder to shoulder what is the appropriate way to behave? Whatever the appropriate way is, you can bet your sweet ass I am not going to do it. I have this social nervousness that brings a stand-up comedian out of me. I see those poor trapped souls as an audience for my shenanigans.

Typical people on the elevator. Press the button once. Wait for the elevator. Check to see which elevator is opening by indicator lights. Step onto the elevator. Politely nod and smile as the elevator glides down to your stop. Should the door open and someone gets on or off, you shift to make room for a more comfortable space for all others in the elevator. As you exit you may say something, you probably won’t.

Me on the elevator. Press button for elevator. wait a hot second. Press button again in case the button doesn’t know its job. Stand and try to guess which one will open. Put bets on which one. “It’s going to be the last one on the right. I think this middle one is broken. I never took the middle one. If it is the middle one do I get on it? I mean now in my mind that fucking thing is a death trap.” I press the button again because it is obviously broken. Doesn’t anything in this hotel work? Stand and hope that it isn’t the middle one that opens. I hear a ding and I now look to see which door opens. I walk over and that elevator has a few too many people in it for my comfort level. I smile and say “I’ll get the next one.” The elevator door closes and I push the button again. The same elevator door opens. They all looked super annoyed I shrug and say “Still waiting for the next one, but thanks for circling back.” I now wait a beat and press the button again. As I am standing there waiting for the elevator I am now really hoping that it isn’t this hunk of junk middle one, because now that I think of it I am pretty certain I heard someone died in it once. It’s haunted and only goes to the thirteenth floor. Okay maybe I didn’t hear it, maybe I saw it on a commercial for a movie that I was never going to watch. The next ding indicates the middle one and there, in the middle one, is a young couple and I step in. I step in and say “Good Morning!” with  a large smile. They both smile and then begin to look at their phones. “What’s on your agenda today?” I ask because I mean if we are going to be forced to fight demons together we might as well get to know each other first. They both smile and say “Oh we are going to go out to the pool!” The elevator makes a noise and I look at them and say “Sounds like this thing is being operated by monkeys.” They laugh politely! “I actually thought this one was broken because I haven’t actually used it yet!” That’s usually when the elevator starts to work more as a prop and is in on the joke. Now I’ve made them nervous and they begin to really look at their phones. The door opens and a business man gets on with his badge. “Hello, Mark!” He looks at me and looks confused. “Are you here for the convention?” Mark asks. “No!” I say. He looks even more confused. “I was just telling these two lovely people who I thought this elevator was broken. Well to be honest I actually thought it may have been one that was possessed and would only stop on the thirteenth floor and we would all die. But I know that can’t happen because,” I point to the number panel “There isn’t a thirteenth floor. How super scary would that be if the door opened and there was some old timey bell hop there and was all ‘welcome to the thirteenth floor’ I would totally shit myself.” Everyone in the elevator now a little more jumpy chuckles nervously. The door opens and everyone jumps a bit. “I step aside to let the new member of the audience on. “Good morning, How are you today?” I ask. This person smiles and stands a little further away from me. “Oh Mark, I think Joan over here is going to the same conference as you.” I nudge Mark. He looks at Joan and says “Oh are you here for the ass scratchers convention?” She smiles and says “No I am here for the ingrown toenail convention.” *these aren’t real conventions that I am aware of. They both kind of grimace and I think ‘that was super fucking awkward. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, because that was brutal to watch.’ The elevator makes a strange motion and I say “Hey guys we are almost to the thirteenth floor.” and I laugh. They all look at me with this strange look on their faces. I guess they don’t think that I am that funny. The doors open on the pool floor and I step aside so that the young couple can get out. When Mark and Joan get out I am a little surprised because they aren’t even wearing swim clothes, unless they are going to the pool in their suits, which I doubt. A nice woman steps on and we ride the elevator down to the lobby together and as she is stepping out I say “Have a nice day!” Which is premature because now she and I have to walk all the way to the coffee shop together in weird silence.

Now that is just an ordinary elevator ride for me. In Vegas I can do a better bit because of the audience, it’s typically drunk or tipsy adults and I can turn up my material. My sister and a friend of hers and I were in Vegas with our husbands. Us ladies were in an elevator together with a small group of people. There was a young couple and another man with us. There was a floor 23 and it was a rather large button on the panel in the elevators obviously a big frigging deal. Someone in the elevator asked “I wonder what floor 23 is!” We all start guessing and I am thinking ‘Oh this is a delightful crowd that came to see my show.’ So the young guy in the back said “I heard it was a sex club.” I was all like ‘fucking awesome! These folks are in for a treat.” So I look straight at this guy and his wife and I say “Well if that is the case my safe word is *insert choking sound* because you never know if you’ll even be able to speak. It’s hard to enunciate the word POTATO with a gag in your mouth.” The other man hits a button for the next floor and immediately exits the elevator. I look at my sister and her friend and honestly ask “Too far?” because sometimes that’s the case. Some people know that I’m joking and Other people do not. The young girl, with the culprit who egged me on, was staring at her phone. I was sitting in silence as I listened to everyone else ring out with laughter. My job here has been done. I said “I’m here all week folks. I am typically playing through floors twenty to thirty!”

So I honestly don’t know what you’re supposed to do on an elevator. All I know is that if you are in Vegas and I have embarrassed you, I truly apologize. I honestly was just trying to entertain you. If I made you laugh, then you’re welcome.

Moral of my story: I am still not sure how to behave in an elevator. I just think that if we are all going to be standing that close to each other maybe we can strike up a conversation. Also be safe talking to strangers, they may not think you’re funny at all and that hurts. And if the elevator does open on a mysterious thirteenth floor with some old timey bell hop to greet you, maybe hit that close door button and see if that saves you. Otherwise it was really nice knowing you.

Until next time 🙂