Coco, Author at The Shiny Butter Blog

Coco

You Can Always Flee The Scene Before They Kick You Out

May 152013

I was visiting with my neighbor Jan* at her yard sale one Saturday morning when a woman arrived to pick up the wicker furniture that she’d paid for earlier. Jan quickly hopped up to help this woman, who had hardly gotten out of her truck when Jan began carrying the wicker toward the back of the woman’s truck.

I shook my head in judgment and remarked that with the size of that truck and the fact that wicker furniture is not exactly heavy, the woman ought to be able to load it her own self and let Jan tend to her other customers.

This statement set the pace for my day, because this is when Jan looked me in the eye, and informed me of what I could not have known from the yard sale side of the truck, “Coco- the woman’s got one leg!”

So with that news I, too, hopped into action and quickly began brushing leaves off the wicker furniture as I carried a wicker coffee table to the truck. As I loaded the coffee table onto the truck, I could then see for myself that yep, Jan was right, the woman had one leg.

No doubt about it.

By evening, Cindy and Jay across the street were holding one of their parties in their backyard tiki bar, which usually means a block party at the very least. When I arrived, Don, another neighbor, introduced me to his date, whom I said I’d met before and that I liked the paint colors she’d chosen for Don’s house.

Don politely told me his date’s name again.

It went in one ear and out the other because, truth be told, I wasn’t all that interested in her name- didn’t know it before and didn’t need to know it now. Then someone else told me the date’s name- and again, I said there was no need, that we’d met before.

That’s when Jan leaned in close to me, clenched her teeth, and sternly whispered, “Coco, it’s not the same woman. Don’s got a different date tonight!”

Finally, seated at the tiki bar, new people were showing up and I was introduced to a man who, though he was smiling and seemed very pleasant, was mumbling, which really annoys me- there was music and talking going on and I couldn’t hear him. I shook my head, thinking “Typical man- he mumbles,” so I cheerfully said to him, in party sort of way, “Speak up man, I can’t understand you- you’re mumbling!”

At which point Jan grabbed my arm and flung me around behind the tiki bar to say, “Coco, you are not batting a thousand tonight! The man just had a tracheotomy- did you not see the bandage over his throat?!”

I shook my head and said that no, clearly I had not seen the bandage, nor had I seen that the yard sale woman had one leg. And to further strengthen my case, I pointed out that all of Don’s girlfriends looked alike.

Jan released me from her custody and I went back into the thick of the party where I wisely said little more. It wasn’t long before I decided to just walk across the street and go home. As I unlocked my door, I shook my head and muttered to myself, “One leg. I swear.”

I’ve had worse days, but clearly, I’ve had better.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And the guilty. Other than that, this story is totally true.

Stick around, read more:

Leave a Big Tip- You’ll Respect Yourself In The Morning

There’s Crazy In The Air

21 Little-Known Secrets That Only I Will Tell You About Taking Your First Cruise

Posted by Coco 4 Responses »

“I’m Like, The Opposite Of Mormon”

Apr 222013

This is not actually me. Really, it's someone else- a real belly dancer having a little impromptu dance

A Trio of Unrelated, Nearly-Important Stories,

Accompanied by Hit-or-Miss Photos

PLUS

A Bonus Story-ette*

*This is a new word that I’m starting.

♦ ONE ♦

My girlfriend was explaining her plan to keep only fresh food on hand- no more old stuff hanging around in the pantry and fridge. She was sick of things piling up and from now on, she said, she’s going to have a fast turnover in her food supply, replacing her groceries frequently rather than stocking up on things for one day when she might need them, “You know, like the Mormons do.”

That’s when she clarified, in case I didn’t understand, “I’m like, the opposite of Mormon.”

My girlfriend, the fish cleaner

The reality of the situation is that this opposite-of-Mormon thinking may be a challenge for my girlfriend because her refrigerator will always be bountiful- that girl loves a full refrigerator. The sight of good food and lots of it makes her very happy. She’s the friend who looks in your fridge when she comes over, not your medicine cabinet like the rest of us do. I, on the other hand, like my refrigerator to stay just this side of empty, where I can see what’s in there without the bother of bending over to sort through abandoned fake Tupperware. But I believe in my girlfriend, so I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt here and presume that she can find her opposite-of-Mormon balance.

As for me, unlike the controlled environment that is my refrigerator, my pantry had taken a turn for the awful lately. I’m sure that no self-respecting Mormon would let their pantry get like mine had- it was overgrown and weedy, not to mention riddled with evil pantry moths. So I cleaned the whole hateful mess.

GF working the Webber grill

Foods of questionable age were tossed. Four pitiful bags of Scoops that were reduced to the un-scoopable pieces, the unpopular box of garlic/sun-dried tomato Triscuits, the expired jar of apple jelly that I think I moved in with, and the three-year old bottle of off-brand Thai peanut sauce were all bid farewell. I reclaimed lots of bag clips in the clean up, so I’m no longer out of those. I cleaned the shelves of general oldness and grime. I found moth homes in a pile of rags I had heaped in a basket, obviously some time ago. (And here I thought it was food they were after?) I am happy to report that it is once again a sanitary venture to visit me for dinner. (Hey! Don’t judge me!)

So now, my girlfriend and I are both, like, the opposite of Mormon.

Although, should the end times come in our lifetime, we’d damn well better have some Mormon friends if we plan on having enough to eat in order to see what happens next.

♦ TWO ♦

My daughter- she’s 12- lost her cell phone the other week. It was her first phone. She’d managed to keep track of it since I got it for her 4 1/2 months ago, so maybe I shouldn’t complain, but I did bitch enough to make her sort of miserable. I laid it on thick, saying that replacing a phone costs “$300 or $400″ and that I don’t care that some kid at school lost her phone and got a new one right away, because in our family, we don’t take things for granted and that I have no intention of forcing another spoiled child onto society.

The phone in action

I called the cell phone company to have the phone turned off, because I knew for a cold-blooded fact that my child’s phone had gotten into evil hands. I thoroughly explained the ugliness of this scenario to my daughter, what all could happen if someone gets your phone, the irreparable damage they could cause, how they could wreak havoc on our phone bill. And our life.

Maybe she felt guilty, but I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with her.

But within a few days, I quietly had her number activated on my previous phone before she went out of town for the weekend, because no matter how badly I wanted to teach her a lesson, I really did want to communicate with the child. And, well, unlike her 20 year-old brother, she’s a pretty reliable communicator. Maybe it’s a girl thing.

Well I guess the parenting gods saw fit to favor me, as just five days after the terrible day that the phone went missing, it was found.

A sure clue into the future

In a shoe. A neon pink Nike, to be exact.

I asked, “Did the phone just fall into the shoe or did you put it there on purpose?” To her infinite credit, she was honest and told me that she put the phone in the shoe on purpose. Seems it was a good idea at the time, but then she forgot she did it.

Obviously.

But here’s where she and I part company. To me, if she really loved those damn Nikes as much as she said she would when she was lobbying for them, then five whole neon-pink-Nike-less days wouldn’t have gone by before she picked up those shoes and found a phone in one of them, right?

While I’m left scratching my head trying to figure out exactly when I lost my grip, my daughter has moved on entirely and is back to her previous incessant occupation of lobbying for the even riskier-to-lose i-Phone 5.

I swear, the body’s not even cold yet on this phone lost in the shoe thing.

♦ THREE ♦

As I am a strong surfer- on the internet, that is- I was over at the ultra-cool ApartmentTherapy.com, where they mentioned an article about how mid-century modern architecture is dangerous for your kids. As in, not child-proof. As in, it could kill your children!

For those of you who have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, mid-century modern is, well, mid-century, of course, from the 1950s- it’s the time when there were things like sunken living rooms, un-fenced reflecting pools, floating stairs, and ledges with no railings. Dangerous stuff like that.

The article was tongue-in-cheek, so don’t anyone get your panties in a wad over this.

But it reminded me of my grandmother’s family home of a much earlier and equally dangerous architectural era…

Inside the fish pond, I guess

Sometime before I existed, there was a party in the back yard of the old homestead, during which two drunk men (one of which was my grandfather) fell into the small but four-foot-deep fish pond and couldn’t get out for the rest of the party, nor could anyone manage to help them get out. I never heard how the situation was resolved, but for all I know, they slept standing up in the fish pond till they sobered up and came up with a solution the next day. The fish probably felt crowded, though.

By the time I’d come along in the 60s, the fish pond had wisely been converted to a petunia bed.

The danger that was a constant threat for me and my sister, though, was the steep wooden stairs going up to the bedrooms, stairs that made a sharp right turn, each stair narrowing at the turn into a little triangular sliver. My sister and I would cling to the banister for dear life when heading to bed at night. But we did so while walking on the narrowest part of the triangular sliver that we could squeeze our little feet onto. It was the thrill of cheating death.

See those windows on the left?? You’d be scared of those, wouldn’t you?

Then there were the floor to ceiling windows in the sun room on the second floor. We would walk as close as we dared to those windows and peer out to the yard below. We feared that we would uncontrollably throw ourselves toward the large panes and into the wide open air and that our mom would find us in a night-gowned and grass-stained heap the next day.

It was at this house that Frank the horse bit my toe when I was standing on the split rail fence, and where I saw lightning strike a giant oak tree right outside the kitchen window, splitting the tree down the middle. Where my sister and I threw anything and everything into the hog trough to see if the hogs really would eat anything, and where my Aunt Bunny secured a doily with a large rubber band over the goldfish bowl to keep Cindy Lou the cat from swiping at the fish. She was a vicious cat.

Turns out, the house didn’t kill us after all- nor did Cindy Lou, but I think we were luckier than some of the mid-century kids.

♦ And Now Here’s Your Bonus Story-ette ♦

This friend of mine went on a strict and lengthy diet that left her short on calories and long on hunger. For a while she was a hero about it, but she eventually succumbed- she ate an entire jar of bread and butter pickles.

Not pizza or Ruffles and french onion dip, but bread and butter pickles.

I don’t even think she had a sandwich with them.

This is not the actual jar- that one’s long gone

Hang out a while and read some more:

Blindsided By The Kindle

Excuse Me, 40, What Did You Just Say To Me??

It’s A Yard Sale And Tempers Are Flaring Amongst The Kitchen Gadgets

There’s Crazy In The Air

Posted by Coco 8 Responses »

It’s True- The Gays Have An Agenda And They’re Taking Over Everything

Mar 272013

Used with permission from plantingpeace.org

Far be it from me to keep my opinion to myself.

I have this friend who is addicted like a crackhead to reading the letters to the editor in her local newspaper. She probably needs help, but who am I to say.

So it’s no big surprise that she runs across letters that cause her to scream out loud and call out to her friends to respond to such letters. She gets quite a few of us to drop everything to try and right the ship of common sense and compassion. I do my best to keep up.

(Once, though, a letter writer had such poor writing skills that I commented on that instead. I referred to Anne Lamott‘s wise words when I called his letter a “shitty first draft.” But this was not exactly what my friend had in mind.)

So yesterday said friend put out her plea. Dutifully, I clicked on the link that she sent in order to read the letter online and then I proceeded to respond with my comment.

♦♦♦

The author, a Mr. Benson, wrote his letter to the editor in order to assert that, as a principled conservative, Senator Rob Portman of Ohio should not have reversed his stance on gay marriage just because his son had come out as gay. The writer explained his opinion, basing it on what was logical to him. But, since you are reading this blog, you might have guessed that I found his arguments to be full of holes.

So I wrote my comment, but when I clicked the “publish” button to submit my response, I received the message that my comment was awaiting moderation. But 24 hours later, it still hadn’t shown up and I assumed that it got lost in cyberspace, so I said, “Fuck it,” and now here it is for you and the whole world wide web to read.

Since I don’t want to violate any copyright laws by printing the letter here, I’ll include this link to the letter so you can take a look at it.

What you see below is my response to this letter to the editor, but with a bit more time put into it than the original version. In other words, this is the more polished version that I would have liked to have written in the first place.

Also, this version is longer than the original. Let’s just think of this one as the dance mix.

♦♦♦

While Mr. Benson longs for a time when things were “less divisive” in the United States, I’m going to assert that there never was such a time.

Though I recognize that we are experiencing a heightened level of outward division right now, let us recall our country’s divisive history:

- First thing, we fought the Native Americans and took their land when they wouldn’t just give it to us. Divisive.

- Next, we parted ways with the British and began a revolution to break free of them. Divisive.

- We continued to take land from the Native Americans as we forced our way further across the continent. Divisive.

- All this time we were buying and selling humans who, of course, desired otherwise. Divisive.

- Not even 100 years after declaring our independence, we were engaged in a Civil War. Divisive.

- After that, the North occupied the defeated and embittered South. Divisive.

- Meanwhile, though the slaves had been granted their freedom, laws were enacted to ensure their oppression. Divisive.

♦♦♦

And on and on it goes…

While we were all rallied together during the great wars, there was always a dark underbelly, such as the forced encampment of Japanese Americans during WWII. And while some were dallying about in the idyllic 50s, African Americans were still not given access to their own rights as American citizens. And let’s not overlook the efforts of our foremothers to secure rights for women. Then along came the Vietnam War.

Divisive.

There has been no period in U.S. history when a ”great majority” of Americans, as Mr. Benson sees it, gave credence to the Bible, making for the non-divisive days which Mr. Benson believes existed. What Mr. Benson imagines as a past where things were more clear-cut and less confusing was in reality a past that, in many ways, we are lucky to have lived through as a nation. Not to deny that lovely things have passed with the times, but this insistence on olden days and better times is a fantasy.

There was never such a time.

It’s wishful thinking to look at our nation’s past and conveniently decide that we were all of one mind and faith and living in harmony. When any citizens in the United States are lacking for the rights that are theirs, it’s pie in the sky thinking to imagine that the Bible ever brought us all together. Because it didn’t.

And it was never supposed to. At least not according to our Constitution.

♦♦♦

Right now, the issue on the table is that there are American citizens who are being denied their full rights, and though Mr. Benson may believe that turning to Biblical principles would get everyone on the same page and re-create that “great majority,” I’ll just point out that there are countless denominations and varieties of Christians due to the fact that it’s near impossible to get all Christians to agree on what, exactly, the Bible says about anything, let alone gay marriage. Again, divisive.

What Mr. Benson longs for exists only in a collective imagination that has invented a place and time where equality, justice, and the inalienable rights that belong to every citizen of the United States are withheld from some because God says so.

Since Mr. Benson’s letter quickly establishes that his point of view is that of someone who has not often, if ever, been on the receiving end of being denied justice or his full rights as an American citizen, it stands to reason that the rest of his letter does not take a turn for the better.

♦♦♦

So back to Senator Portman.

I’ll give Senator Portman the benefit of the doubt and assume that he made his decision honestly and not as a political move. And I’ll overlook the fact that it took his son coming out as gay two years ago to at last force the Senator’s hand on the subject.

Simply, Senator Portman chose to love his son, rather than reject him.

Senator Portman changed his stance on gay marriage because love has a powerful way of changing hearts and minds. It’s not a feeling, as Mr. Benson claims, that Senator Portman has given in to; it’s the greatest commandment itself that the Senator has obeyed, the one that Jesus added to the Ten Commandments; that we are to “love God with all our heart, mind, and soul, and to love our neighbor as our self.”

It was the prideful practice of standing by “the law” at all costs that Jesus overturned, and Senator Portman’s decision to love his son instead of saying “I love you, but…” is a modern-day example of someone rising above legalistic B.S.

♦♦♦

It’s a tired old argument that Mr. Benson then brings up, saying that marriage between anyone but a man and a woman will lead to all manner of bizarre relationships that we will be forced to call marriage. This cowardly retreat is nothing but a distraction designed to bring up images that are irrelevant and far from what is actually the issue. It’s nonsense and he and everyone who brings it up knows it is. It’s desperate and ridiculous, and it completely and conveniently ignores the truly bizarre, and dare I say, unholy behavior of a great many who profess exactly what Mr. Benson does.

♦♦♦

Moving on.

Along with the fact that homosexuals don’t actually have a “lifestyle” because they are, in fact, simply Americans like Mr. Benson is, doing the best they can in life, I don’t believe that God is fiercely opposed to their very existence, as Mr. Benson states and goes on to try and prove.

I recognize that he is a Biblical literalist and I’d like to kindly point out that while he is such, not everyone else is, and though Mr. Benson may believe he is right and everyone who believes otherwise is wrong, that’s not how it works. Believers come in all stripes and Biblical literalists do not own the Bible. I read the Bible and I’m more than familiar with the passages that Mr. Benson holds true on the subject, and yet I don’t suppose he wants to be the one to judge that I am not a Christian because I don’t believe what he thinks I ought to believe. I’m tired of people presuming to know the mind of God and that they are privy to the mysteries of the Bible.

♦♦♦

As for his final statement, it is apparently not clear to Mr. Benson that this whole thing is not about sexual behavior, in spite of his desire to liken this civil rights issue to the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, nor is anyone seeking “preferential treatment,” as he claims. I suppose he believes that the rights that he already has but are withheld from other citizens are his because he is deserving and other citizens are not.

Mr. Benson’s literal view of the Bible, no matter how correct he believes himself to be and no matter how strongly he feels the need to warn our nation of sure destruction, is not what this discussion is about, because what we are debating here is whether to support full rights for all citizens of our nation.

Mr. Benson and those who hold like opinions can continue to dig their heels in, but this nation does not belong to, nor was it founded upon one religion. Separation of church and state is clearly mandated in our Constitution and religious opinion is prohibited from influencing how we, as the United States of America, make our laws.

♦♦♦

Finally, I offer Mr. Benson my observation that what appears to have happened to Senator Portman is that his heart has softened.

And with that, I sincerely hope the same for all of us.

♦♦♦

Go on, read some more:

Leave A Big Tip- You’ll Respect Yourself In The Morning

To Courtney: Why I Ignored Your Friend Request On Facebook

Surprise Me!

Posted by Coco 8 Responses »

What Mardi Gras Has To Do With The Easter Bunny, According To Me

Feb 152013

“What did those women do to their heads??” was the question about three customers in my section at the restaurant.

Some church ladies came in for lunch and had clearly been to an Ash Wednesday service, as they had black smudges on their foreheads. But this was not, in fact, clear to some of the wait staff who were neither of the Episcopal persuasion like myself, nor of any religious persuasion, really, so the fact that it was Ash Wednesday meant nothing except that my three customers still had something on with their foreheads and my co-workers still didn’t get why.

So, between waiting on customers, making fresh coffee, and rolling silverware and napkins into little bundles, I explained the whole story like this:

Shrove Tuesday, also known as pancake night to many churchgoers, and otherwise known as Mardi Gras or Fat Tuesday, is the day before Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday is the day that Jesus set out for the desert and then spent forty days out there trying to get the devil, who had followed him out there, off his back.

People eat a lot of pancakes and party excessively the day before Lent because there’s about to be a fairly dry spell coming up in church where you have to say I’m sorry a lot until Jesus and the Easter Bunny show up a month and a half later.

The Shiny Butter Blog

This draggy period of time is known as Lent.

Ash Wednesday ushers in Lent with church services where the priest or whoever’s in charge dips their thumb in a little pot of ashes and makes a little cross, which actually just looks more like a smudge, on your forehead with the ashes while saying- just like in the 70s song by Kansas, “From dust you’ve come and to dust you shall return.” This is designed to humble your ass and give you something to think about for these next forty days.

Lent is when people give up things like cursing and Thin Mints in order to show solidarity with Jesus having to put up with the world’s original asshole, known as Satan, bugging the crap out of him while he was just trying to get some peace and quiet away from his busy life as the Messiah.

The forty days in the desert with the devil had Jesus rolling his eyes and saying things like, “Man shalt not live by bread alone” and “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God” because the devil was trying to get Jesus to switch teams by offering him mansions and a billion dollars and stuff and taunting him about being the Son of God, hoping that finally, Jesus would see what fun he could be having instead of that stressful job of being the Messiah, and would red rover, red rover on over to the dark side.

Eventually though, just like in The Devil Went Down to Georgia, Satan lost and went back home to Hell. Jesus put down his fiddle and got on a donkey, sometimes referred to as an ass, which he rode into town for a little one man parade while people waved palms over his head and made a big commotion about him being the King of the Jews. The Jews had been waiting a long time for the Messiah, so they had a fair amount of emotion invested in this guy.

The Shiny Butter Blog

This was Palm Sunday.

But it turned out to be a bad week since the Old Guard was fairly well threatened by Jesus going around claiming to be the Messiah that the prophets had been predicting for hundreds of years. By this time, Jesus had amassed a lot of groupies and he was bucking the system something fierce by calling out the Old Guard a lot and hanging out with poor folks and women.

The Old Guard had reached its limit and put a price on Jesus’ head.

This bad week, now called Holy Week, was when Jesus became a wanted man, so now Jesus and his buddies the twelve disciples had to sneak around.

On Thursday, they had the Last Supper, which some churches call Maundy Thursday, where Jesus and the guys got together with a loaf of bread and some wine. Or grape juice, depending on which church you go to. This is when Jesus started the “body and blood” thing since he pretty much knew what was about to happen and he wanted something for people to remember him by.

It was on this night that Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, something that servants did for important people back then because people wore sandals everywhere and their feet got plenty dirty. The disciples told Jesus that he shouldn’t be washing their feet but that it should be the other way around. This was when the “leader as servant” trend began.

The Shiny Butter Blog

This is also the night when Jesus said that one of his twelve friends would betray him, casting a pall over the night, which was already going nowhere fast because the disciples couldn’t see the big picture in all of this, even though Jesus had spelled it out for them time and time again.

Sure enough, Judas, probably exactly as seen in the all the movie versions of the story, received a handful of cash from the cops and in turn, conveniently had Jesus right there with him.

By Friday, the cops were beating Jesus and rolling dice to divvy up his clothes.

They then stood him in front of a huge crowd while the bossman, Pontius Pilate tried to figure out what to do with him, because it seemed to Pontius Pilate that while Jesus may be a little nuts, he was not an actual criminal. But the crowd got in an unreasonable frenzy, because crowds do that, and they yelled for Pontius Pilate to crucify Jesus, which is what they did back then for the death penalty. Pontius Pilate didn’t feel right about it so he said he’d washed his hands of the whole thing.

But even so, the crowd was in that frenzy and Pontius Pilate himself was at their mercy.

Jesus had to carry his own cross- which is why we sometimes say we have a cross to bear, to the “Place of the Skull” where they did all the death sentences in that town. It was a grueling walk and Jesus fell a couple of times from already having been beaten down pretty bad. His mom and his women friends, possibly even the lovely Mary Magdalene, gave him water and helped him along as best they could.

Then Jesus was taken away from his mother and his friends and thrown down onto the cross while the guys in charge nailed him to it and hoisted it up. I imagine that they had put a pretty good-sized hole in the ground with a post hole digger in order to make this work.

It was a slow and awful process to die on a cross and at this point Jesus was pretty disappointed in God and said so out loud. The King James version goes like this, “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?” but, just like when he was talking to the devil, Jesus actually spoke in his own language, not seventeenth century English.

His mom and his friends were all around him and the women were crying and wailing. At around 3 pm he died and they say that the sky went black and that the curtain at the altar in the town church tore itself in two. This was a sign that Jesus had rocked the world.

At some point, Judas realized that things had all gone terribly wrong and he went and hung himself.

This day is known as Good Friday.

The Shiny Butter Blog

The women took Jesus’ body and wrapped it up like a mummy and put all kinds of oils on it, which is what they did to bodies then, and the body was taken to a tomb which was then closed off with an enormous stone and had guards in front of it to ensure that Jesus’ followers would not come and steal the body and say that Jesus had risen from the dead, like he kept saying he would.

The next day, Saturday, which is now called Holy Saturday, was a really hard day for Jesus’ disciples. Nothing had worked out the way they thought it would and it was like everything was ruined. They prayed all day and night, which church people now do on Holy Saturday and call it the Great Easter Vigil.

The next day when the women showed up at the tomb to tend to Jesus’ body, the guards were gone, the stone had been rolled away, and Jesus’ body was gone. Then an angel came- of course- and told the women that Jesus wasn’t there, which they could plainly see, and that he had indeed risen from the dead.

So the women went to get the guys and tell them what had happened and someone came out of nowhere and started walking along with them, asking them what was up. They were jazzed up from finding the tomb empty and then talking to the angel about it and told him the whole story before they realized that it was Jesus himself walking with them. (This was the first of a series of surprise appearances Jesus would make over the next few weeks.)

The Shiny Butter Blog

This is the day we call Easter, which conveniently for us, may have happened on a Sunday. And what the Easter Bunny has to do with it, is that Easter coincided with the arrival of spring and the people back then were really into the seasons changing and celebrated spring with things like eggs and bunnies and other symbols of fertility which was a big deal then- and new birth, which tied in very nicely with the resurrection theme that Jesus started when he rose from the dead and started Easter.

———-

Finally, a few customers and several pots of coffee later, I wrapped up the story by clarifying that Easter is the biggest thing in the church year because of Jesus whooping up on the devil and rising from the dead and all, even though Christmas gets more air time and has better shopping. But Easter does include a lot of chocolate and usually a ham, so there’s something to be said for that.

Oh, go on, read some more stuff:

Leave A Big Tip- You’ll Respect Yourself In The Morning

Don’t Make Me Knit My Brow

First, North Carolina Gets All Paranoid About The Scary Gays, And Then The POTUS Just Up And Evolves

To Courtney: Why I Ignored Your Friend Request On Facebook

Posted by Coco 4 Responses »

Leave A Big Tip- You’ll Respect Yourself In The Morning

Jan 282013

When I lived in Boston in the 80s, we’d go to this bar where there was a waitress named Hilda who had high hair like Tammy Wynette and wore a button that said “Leave a big tip!” Hilda would bring us big plates full of food, along with long-neck Budweisers. We’d have a good time.

And we’d leave a big tip.

I never forgot Hilda and her Leave a big tip! button. Which is why I’m coming to you now.

See, I’ve been out waiting tables lately. You know, for research.

And as it turns out, waiting tables is not as fun as it was a good number of years ago when I was perhaps a little younger, which means I’ve made some serious and very grown-up observations that I feel I must share with you- and that I feel you must share far and wide, if you would be so kind.

(Please understand that I float back and forth here between “you,” meaning you the reader who is likely a reasonable person, and “you,” meaning the kind of customer who is most certainly not always right.)

I’m talking about tips.

Tips are vital to your server and it’s not because they want to know what you think of the service they gave you.

It’s because they make $2.13 an hour.

No shit. That’s the federal minimum wage for servers and it hasn’t changed in over twenty years- hasn’t moved even a penny.

A friend of mine told me just the other day that she did not know this. And some people simply don’t believe it, choosing instead (because they are bottom-feeding scum) to say things like, “You get paid to do a job- get over it.”

Like $8 after taxes for a six-hour shift amounts to getting paid in the US of A.

All over the U.S. servers make $2.13 an hour.

The official logic is that what a server makes in tips is supposed to get them up to speed with the federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour for everyone else. And if that doesn’t happen, the restaurant is supposed to make up the difference, but most servers don’t know this or are afraid to approach the bossman about it for fear of losing shifts when the bossman goes to make the schedule.

Again, I am not fucking with you. You try working like this.

So.

Leave a big tip.

At least 20%. And if your bill is kinda’ low because you didn’t order much or you’re having a cheap breakfast at the Pancake Palace, I suggest you leave a minimum $2 tip. I mean, if you’re gonna leave a dollar, what’s it gonna kill you to leave another one? And never, for the love of the Baby Jesus, leave less than a dollar. This is not 1950.

In fact, my policy- and I will admit that my policy is a direct result of having waited tables before (In other words, I know it’s hellish hard work)- is to tip 20% (or the above-mentioned $2 minimum) even if my server is having an off day or forgets something or doesn’t refill my tea or is new or takes too long bringing my lemon meringue pie.

I’m leaving 20%.

Because I know that my server may have to pay the light bill that day- or may have been laid off from their “real” job like what the people they’re waiting on have- or may have had an argument with the kitchen over a lost order a minute ago- or may not actually be cut out for waiting tables but has to do something to pay the bills- or may be stressed out because they have a tooth ache and no insurance- or maybe has had to go to the bathroom for over two hours but the restaurant has been too busy to take a “break” for that.

Not that I don’t groove on great service. That’s when I’ll leave a stellar tip. Try it! It makes a server’s day. In fact, every now and then someone comes along and leaves a ridiculously large tip and I cannot tell you how this “random” act of kindness makes your server feel.

It puts a spring in their step and it means they will forevermore think nice thoughts whenever they think of you.

For example, I was working this past Christmas Eve and someone left me a $20 tip on their $14 check. I was just hoping for $4 or maybe even $5 since it was Christmas and all, but wow, I thought to myself, I’m going to pass that on one day and do the same thing for someone else.

And yes, I think nice thoughts every time I think of that girl at table two and her veggie omelet with no mushrooms.

This is good for the world.

Not that doing something like this occurred to the sixteen men I waited on recently. They were having a meeting for some kind of club and only half of them ordered something to eat. The other half ordered sodas and tea, which I dutifully refilled again and again.

And again.

Only one of these soda drinkers and tea drinkers left a tip. For over two hours I waited on this group and I made a grand total of $12. I had erroneously assumed that they knew better than to run their already-busy waitress ragged, sit in a restaurant well past closing while people are cleaning around them, and not somehow pay for that service.

Silly me.

Another time I waited on a table of five. They wanted separate checks, which I provided. Their tips varied, but the one that made me spit fire was the woman who ordered the chicken salad sandwich on rye with lettuce but no tomato and had two refills of water with extra lemon and then, on the credit card slip, she rounded her total up to the next dollar, leaving me, get this: 74 cents.

Again, would it have killed her to leave another dollar?

I showed this ticket to another server and we agreed that this woman should never again go out to eat.

If you think about it, you’re relaxing and your server is working. It’s any ordinary day or it’s New Year’s Eve or Easter or Thanksgiving and someone is always there for you. Why begrudge that person a good tip? I remember working on Mother’s Day once and there I was, a mom waiting on people who were taking Mom out to eat on Mother’s Day, and these loving husbands and adult children could not see fit to leave me a better-than-15% tip on Mother’s Day.

This is not good for the world.

So if you’re sitting there looking at your bill and you pull out your phone to open the calculator app so you can figure out if you should leave $2 or $2.40, may I suggest you not nickel and dime your server? May I suggest that you either leave $2.50 (and dispense with the dimes) or just leave $3?

Or here’s the method that I’ve taught my kids: look at the total bill and double it. Then take away two decimal places. Voila: 20%.

I realize that the traditional idea of tipping is that you tip based on the service you get but I can assure you that by and large, your server is trying their hardest. It’s a wretched job unless you’re in a high-end restaurant (and even that’s no guarantee of good tips and nice customers) and it’s all the job that many people have. To me, unless a server is just mean to me, I’m leaving a good tip.

(And no, by high-end restaurant I do not mean Olive Garden or Red Lobster.)

It’s demoralizing to watch how some customers whittle away at your tip for every little thing- the kitchen got backed up, down goes your tip. You had to brew a new pot of coffee and that takes a minute, down goes your tip. You were slammed with a full section and couldn’t get to everyone zippy quick, down goes your tip. Sometimes they even let you know exactly what you did to lose the full tip they were “going to” give you.

It’s as if by purchasing a meal that will come to $30 for two people, they suddenly think they’re royalty.

I want these people to know that servers have special powers over sucky tippers and PIA (pain in the ass) customers and that your karma’s gonna catch up with you at times like this because your server has put a curse on you.

And has put your face on the internet. (Google it- it’s true.)

So leave a big tip.

In conclusion, I have created a handy little list that will help you translate what your server who gave you perfectly good service is actually saying as you are leaving and they are waving, saying, “Ba-bye, have a great day!”

1- If you are a great tipper your server is saying, “Ba-bye, you’re awesome and I hope you win the lottery tonight!”

2- If you are a good tipper and were not a pain in the ass, your server is in fact saying, “Ba-bye, have a great day!”

3- If you were a pain in the ass to wait on but did not leave a bigger than okay tip to make up for your PIA-ness, your server is saying, “Ba-bye, you have no home training and you are a highly inconsiderate person and I hope gas goes up 50 cents before you make it to the gas station.”

4- If you are a bad tipper but otherwise pretty nice, your server is saying, “Ba-bye nice people, I hope you don’t get in my section again before someone lets you know about the 20% thing.”

5- And finally, if you are an all-out bad tipper and a pain in the ass too, your server is actually saying to you, “Ba-bye, I am now going to haunt you in your dreams.”

So.

Leave a big tip.

The Shiny Butter Blog

It’s good for the world.

Go ahead, keep reading:

Don’t Make Me Knit My Brow

So No, I Do Not Have A Grip On My Kids

Posted by Coco 10 Responses »

There’s Crazy In The Air

Dec 062012

Okay, so I’ve been woefully distracted for the last couple of months, but never you mind that because here are a few completely random things- in no particular order- that have happened to me lately that I hope will entertain you but will do little to catch us up where we left off two months ago.

I take a job waiting tables and conclude that bad tippers should be imprisoned.
I pre-pay for some gas, then get in the car and start to drive away, only to have to back up, turn the car off, and get the gas.
An elderly Mormon comes to my door and tries to give me the Book of Mormon, to which I respond, “No thanks, I’m all set- I’m an Episcopalian.” He then responds, “E-Misk-O-Mail-Yon?” I go along with that, he hesitates and slowly says, “Well,… alright then,” before he walks away.
I take a little quiz on Facebook and learn that the things I most want in life are: Love, Fun, and Success. No shit, Sherlock.
I try my sixth-grader’s press-and-stick nails, which stay on surprisingly well.
A cousin traces part of our family tree back to 1404, which impresses me mightily, partly because 1404 is my house number.
I go to a wedding that starts 50 minutes late because the florist thought the wedding was the next day, creating a sudden scramble for flowers which finally arrive an hour later in an unmarked vehicle.
I am once again dismayed to find that a tissue has gone undiscovered through washer/dryer security, so that when I open the dryer I am showered with linty tissue confetti.
After an hour at my desk, I get up to see that a palmetto bug (that’s a big roach for you non-Southerners) has crawled over to die directly behind my desk chair.
The relentless stench in my otherwise perfect Bosch dishwasher has been exorcised by a dishwasher-whisperer.
I bring in and set up an 8-foot tall (live) Christmas tree by myself.
Not for the first time, I get out of the shower having shaved one leg and forgotten the other.
I decide to let my roots grow out and elicit immediate comments and questions from my mother.
I briefly run out of toothpaste and have to use my daughter’s bubble-mint toothpaste.
I get a Chinese fortune that reads, “There is no education like adversity.” Great.
I run into the postman in town and half-jokingly ask if he happens to know if there’s anything in my PO box for me to pick up. To my surprise he knows exactly what’s in my box.
As I’m rushing out of Walmart a woman slaps me on the shoulder and says, “Look, look!” as she gestures wildly toward an exceptional sunset.
And finally: I change the ringtone on my phone to “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye, and I can’t tell you how this has improved my mood.

More posts to help you kill time at work:

It’s Yard Sale Time And Tempers Are Flaring Amongst The Kitchen Gadgets

So No, I Do Not Have A Grip On My Kids

To Courtney: Why I Ignored Your Friend Request On Facebook

And if you have a penchant for some liberal politics:

He Is Too Your President

Don’t Make Me Knit My Brow

First North Carolina Gets All Paranoid About The Scary Gays, Then The POTUS Just Up And Evolves

Posted by Coco 7 Responses »

A Wee Little Bit Of Political Snark For Ya’

Sep 172012

This is a playground rhyme, so say it out loud and spell out the spelled-out word:

Mitt and Lyin’ Ryan were sippin’ on some tea,

S – M – I – R – K – I – N – G,

First comes a flip,

Then comes a flop,

And there goes the chicken from every middle class pot.

Posted by Coco 2 Responses »

Don’t Make Me Knit My Brow

Sep 122012

As you know, I have a conflicted relationship with Facebook, so it’s shaky ground over there for me. It’s my goal to be a good Facebook friend to others, but what with my strong personality and all, I think I sometimes manage to offend someone anyway.

My keep-or-unfriend policy being what it is, people have naturally fallen by the wayside (i.e. I’ve unfriended them), but some people do stay on, in spite of the fact that maybe our views mix like cats and mockingbirds. In other words, I admit that I occassionally post something on Facebook that I know when I push “enter” may aggravate someone.

Yet, I do it anyway- something may be that funny or that serious to me, that I am going to risk offense.

Well here lately, I’ve noticed that some people have a little tummy ache over too much politics showing up in their Facebook bubble space cereal bowl. Well, I can understand that, but if someone doesn’t have the stomach for a big plate full of politics, just leave that shit on the buffet. You can always stick your fingers in your ears and sing la-la-la until the election is over.

But understand that I intend to gorge myself on it.

While there are people wishing for November 6th to just come and go already, I feel like someone’s got to keep up with what is pretty much a national emergency. And that someone is me. Right now, I can’t just zip it and worry that someone might throw up if they see one more political post. This being a presidential election year, I am out loud and in public over this mess.

My concerns run along these lines:

That if the Republican Party had at least a decent pair of candidates, they’d be wiping the floor with the Democrats right now, because, let’s face it, these last 3 1/2 years have been more challenging than not. Plus, the economy is still having to use a nebulizer every five minutes.
That even though the Wrong-ney/Lyin’ Ryan ticket is slimy, they still might win because they have sucked up all the money in the world through a rolled-up hundred dollar bill.
That even though the Wrong-ney/Lyin’ Ryan ticket is also the most heinous pair of candidates ever, they still might win because the GOP has spent its whole campaign wad bottom-feeding its way into the dark recesses of people’s fear, anger, and feelings of indigestion.
That the GOP is going to succeed at suppressing enough votes to actually win in swing states where they’re all about suppressing those votes. If the GOP were riding high instead of desperate, they’d be hyperactively making it easier to vote, not harder.
That too many Democratic voters and undecided voters will continue along their merry little way on November 6th and not get around to voting after all.
That the people who have their sleeves rolled up and work gloves on trying to see to it that the GOP doesn’t simply buy themselves a crappy president on November 6th are going to cave under the pressure of their Facebook friends telling them to back off with the politics.
That the Democratic Party will get all rabbit-like and think it’s won the election already due to a spring in their step after what appears to be the best Democratic National Convention in decades, while the Republican Party turtles its way across the finish line.
That we might end up with a President who once drove 1,200 miles with his dog strapped to the roof of his car.

Yes, I may be engaging in something that is altogether counter to the simple goal of killing a little time at work, but I’m still going to assert myself. After all, that’s what some people actually love about me. All I’m trying to do here is be a Super Hero and save the country from ruin. And do note that I try hard to balance funny posts with political posts.

Honest. I try hard.

So while I’m getting my Super Blogger Woman cape on, take heart and maybe take some Tums for the next two months- get a big bottle, in fact. The election will come to pass, something big will have happened, half the country will be tremendously offended and angry, and the other half will have fainted in disbelief.

And life will go on .

But after all of this, on November 7th, no matter who we are, who we love, or who we voted for, in the end- according to Wanda Sykes, anyway- we are all united… by our love for delicious flavored Vodkas.

So, either drink your special Vodka with me or head over to Pinterest and look at creative Vodka drinks there for a few weeks- I’ll never know you were ignoring me and we’ll still respect each other in the morning.

More fun stuff:

So No, I Do Not Have A Grip On My Kids

Bucking The System- The Early Years

My Dashboard Hula Girl And Her Horrific Accident

Good Wine, A Great Sale, Cheap Gas, And A Chilly Wind

Posted by Coco 8 Responses »

Meet My New Dashboard Hula Girl, “Sweet KeAloha”

Sep 012012

She came with the name, so far be it from me to suggest a change. Not after what we’ve been through over here, what with my last dashboard hula girl, Fernanda, being so weak as to fall over melted in the heat and all.

You can clearly see by the expression on Sweet KeAloha’s face that she is concentrating, that she is serious about her craft- and perhaps even more serious about her role as Fernanda’s replacement. Where Fernanda had a pleasant, maybe even a little bit naïve demeanor, Sweet KeAloha clearly knows that she may or may not keep her job, that the heat around here is formidable, that she herself could also be the victim of an intense dashboard glue-melting incident.

Sweet KeAloha knows that she, too, may prove to be weak like Fernanda and see an early end to her dashboard career.

So to be clear about her intention of keeping her job, this new girl is working hard, showing us what Fernanda took for granted- that she’s supposed to be up there dancing on that dashboard. Where Fernanda was, shall we say, a little slow, Sweet KeAloha is shimmying and shaking and jiggling like a, well, like a hula girl should- as in, “shaking like jelly, ’cause jam don’t shake like that.”

I mean, she apparently grooves on sharp turns, bumpy roads, and idling at lights. It’s been just a few days and already, everyone who rides with her is impressed with her dancing.

Where, you might ask, did we find such a fine dashboard hula girl as Sweet KeAloha?

She’s directly from Hawaii, is where- a gift from my sister and brother-in-law living over there in the land of lovely. Oh, they’d read all about Fernanda’s troubles and ultimate bad luck and set out to do a little recruiting. I feel certain that the interview process was rigorous, because the fact is, a lot is riding on this girl. And let’s just hope she’s got it in her.

Now, are you ready? There’s something super special that is not immediately obvious about Sweet KeAloha, something that took me a few days to notice:

She’s topless.

Yep, she’s from Hawaii alright. Using nothing but her lei and her ukulele to cover herself. (And also take note that perhaps her skirt is riding a little low in the back..)

This girl is serious, indeed. She doesn’t even care that we’re talking family car here.

But you know, whatever it takes. It’s the dog days of summer right now and if Sweet KeAloha can withstand this weather without incident, I think we may have a winner.

Even if she does have a little discretion problem.

The Only Back-To-School Guide You Need- 29 Things I Think It’s Only Fair That You Know

Aug 212012

True to my benevolent nature, this list is filled with things that you will not hear from anyone else because others are trying to shield you from the vast, insider secrets that make up the back-to-school ritual.

It’s probably a conspiracy, but I can’t say for sure.

Anyway, since I feel that educating parents is of paramount importance here, consider this admittedly incomplete and scatterbrained list your rough guide to knowing what would all be smoke and mirrors otherwise.

This list covers a variety of ages and it’s a little all over the place. Just work with me.

And if you have insider knowledge and see that I’ve forgotten something, just let me know, okay? Together we can bust this whole mess wide open.

(Note: This list is about regular back-to-school, not homeschool back-to-school. I know about homeschooling- been there, done that for five years, in fact, but we’re going on a different little trip right now.)

So alrighty then, here goes:

#1- Let me make it clear- Junior is not as excited about going back to school as Junior is about getting new shoes.

#2- If it’s going to make you bitchy, do not sign the volunteer sheet. (See #12.)

#3- You can go out and buy all the supplies that they tell you to buy before school starts, but Junior is going to come home with an entirely new list on the first day of school.

#4- It’s somewhere within the first two weeks of school that Junior will come home with the fundraiser packet. Good luck with that, is all I can tell you.

And if you’ve been buying stuff from other people’s kids for years, then by all means, hit those parents up right this second.

#5- Don’t buy the expensive pencils (which really are better) if all the pencils are going into a shared pencil pool- no sense in letting someone else’s little neanderthal chew up all the Ticonderoga pencils that you sprung for because of your painful memories of having to put up with those stupid cheap pencils that break every time you sharpen them.

#6- Now let’s get serious:

If you are a poor working schmuck and your child is in elementary school- or heaven help you, preschool, you are shit out of luck, because every time you turn around, there is something you need to show up for. Some kind of cute program that you will feel obliged to attend because your kid is, well, so damned cute and you need to let the other parents (read: moms) see the brilliant parent of this darling prodigy.

You may need a more flexible job at this time.

#7- If you cannot attend said programs, you will be judged.

Mostly by the teachers, followed by the other parents who must have a secret income source that they are keeping from you, because somehow they seem to have nothing else to do during the day. (If there is a conspiracy, these parents are part of it.)

#8- If your child does something stupid one day- like throws a hissy fit over not wanting to wear a coat on a bitterly cold day or refuses to comb their hair or bathe one day, you will be judged by the teachers. The mom will be judged more harshly than the dad in these cases.

This is a good time to pin the “I dressed myself today” button on Junior- have it at the ready. It’s just too bad you can’t use this all the way through high school. And college too, obviously.

#9- Or if your child is maybe an asshole or a whiny princess at school, you will be judged by the teachers- and all of them, not just your own child’s teacher.

Because teachers talk about your kid to other teachers. And they talk about you, too.

#10- If you are said working schmuck and cannot make it to all the programs and cute events, make it abundantly clear that you work.

Try to look very busy.

#11- If you work from home, you are advised to keep this information to yourself, so just let it be known that you work.

Again, try to look very busy, because the teachers really don’t give a shit that you work from home- if they find out you’re home all day, then they will assert that you should be 100% available during the school day.

#12- On a positive note, you can get on the teacher’s good side nice and fast by picking up things on the “we could also use…” list while you are doing your back-to-school shopping- these are things that the teacher needs and will buy out of their own pocket otherwise, ’cause goodness knows our tax dollars don’t stretch but so far- but don’t get me started…

You can even get a little crazy here and give the teacher gift cards periodically throughout the year- this is brown-nosing as an art form. But the teacher will be okay with this.

This is also a good way to counter #2; above.

#13- At some point around 4th or 5th grade, after all you’ve done for this kid, it all changes and Junior no longer wants to see your face at school.

Sorry.

#14- When you’re doing your back-to-school shopping, go ahead and get a pack of poster board and a tri-fold display board or two to have on hand. You will need these around 10 PM one night, quite unexpectedly.

Oh, and have some old magazines stashed somewhere, too- a collage will be involved.

#15- No one will ever use all the glue sticks you will be asked to buy over the course of Junior’s school career. After first grade, you’ve got all the glue sticks you’ll ever need because they multiply.

#16- Now, I don’t know exactly what this has to do with back-to-school, but it is universally known that non-teenagers will be impossible to wake up on school mornings, yet will shoot out of bed at 7 AM on the weekends, whereas teenagers, of course, are just sleepwalking till at least noon every day.

I guess I just felt like stating the obvious here, in case this situation has had you baffled.

Now that I think about this, we could probably change the course of the nation if we sent all the teenagers to night school.

#17- Even if you are trying to save money, don’t skimp on the backpack. This will not pay off- the discount backpack will fall apart, you’ll have to rush out and get a couple more before school is over, and you will end up wishing you’d just gotten the LL Bean one in the first place.

And whatever you do, don’t get sucked into the messenger bag trend- Junior will tire of this inconvenient thing, so don’t waste your money.

#18- As soon as you have to buy the $100 calculator (middle school), put Junior’s name on it in paint really huge because someone wants to steal that damned calculator. Tell Junior you are unconcerned with how stupid the $100 calculator now looks.

#19- If Junior is going to middle school, this is when they decide whether or not to join the band. My advice to you is this: talk to Junior ahead of time about the virtues of the flute.

It’s very small- and Junior is already carrying more than you’d need to climb Mt. Everest- and the flute produces the least offensive sound of all the band instruments, which is especially important for you at home since Junior may or may not be particularly musical.

Which you will soon find out.

#20- Try to get the events schedule early in the year- dances, football games, concerts, festivals, plays, field trips, and so forth.

It’s good to have this mess on your calendar, because otherwise you’re constantly blindsided by not only all the nickel-and-diming, but also by the fact that when something gets in the way of your at-home vegetating time, you’ll be able to mentally prepare for the interruption.

You will also be able to cut back on your drinking in time to get in the car and go get Junior from the dance or the late-arriving field trip.

#21- Not only will you have to pay a fairly hefty athletic fee at the beginning of the year should Junior play sports, but you will also have to pay to attend Junior’s games.

Yes, you have to pay to see Junior play. Even if Junior is on the bench, you have to pay.

#22- Be warned that sports teams sometimes practice very early in the morning and play well into the night, even when the game is two hours away, sometimes even bringing Junior home near midnight. And nowadays games and matches are held any day of the week, even on Sunday mornings and holiday weekends.

For some reason, this system seems to be designed to make Junior too tired to both do homework and get a good night’s rest. And I don’t really get the point of this.

#23- If this is senior year, BRACE YOURSELF.

This will be the most expensive year of your life thus far.

Senior pictures, class ring, personalized pages in the yearbook, cap and gown (yes, you have to buy those- and of course they’re overpriced), Senior trip, Homecoming, Prom, graduation invitations, college applications- these are in the neighborhood of $75 now! (And the school will have Junior applying to far more colleges than you and I even knew existed!)

But do take tissues with you to graduation. It’ll get to you, no doubt about it.

#24- I realize this is a little down the road from the actual back-to-school season, but you need all the ammunition you can get when it comes to Senior year:

Senior skip day and Senior prank day may be institutions, but it doesn’t mean that they’ve gotten all the kinks out- ask Junior a lot of questions, lest your child piss off the principal real bad for removing all the seating from the assembly hall on Senior prank day, like mine did.

(This required time and tools- I honestly don’t know how my child pulled this off. Nothing on this scale ever happens at home.)

#25- School lunches have not improved, yet it is still very uncool to take a homemade lunch. Just accept this fact, Emeril.

You’ll be appreciated later in life.

#26- When it’s time for Junior to start driving to school, start saving- the parking fee is gonna kill you.

I hear it’s upwards of $100 and more now.

#27- Junior will not use the desk that you so lovingly researched, invested in, and set up for homework. Junior may not even do homework at the kitchen table like we used to do. Instead, it’s more likely that Junior will loaf around with the computer in an unmade bed and look entirely unproductive doing so.

You may find this deeply disturbing.

#28- Oh yeah! Show up at orientation. Dress kinda’ nice and talk to everyone- you can make or break Junior’s entire school year depending on the impression you make on the teachers and staff at orientation.

Do not blow this off.

#29- And most important of all back-to-school info that no one else will tell you is this: don’t fuck up the carpool line. Everyone will hate you if you fuck up the car pool line.

Well, Shoot- My Summer Vacation Has Come And Gone

Aug 072012

We set out for our three-week journey at 9:30 PM on a Tuesday, intending to drive till we could drive no more. All was well, but for an unexpected 2 AM traffic jam in our nation’s capital.

Surreal.

At 3 AM we decided to stop driving while we were still in good spirits, so we found a Sleep-Inn somewhere in Maryland, where my GF promptly misplaced the credit card she had just used. SO, between having to change from a mildewy-smelling room at 3 AM and looking for a lost credit card at 3 AM, we got a little testy.

The credit card turned up deep inside a tote bag (not under the car or in the hotel hallway or somewhere lost behind the check-in desk…), we got a fresh new room, we showered off all the travel dirt, and finally got a few hours’ sleep. We needed to be in upstate New York for a 6:30 PM meeting, which seemed do-able.

Our New York contact moaned ominously when we innocently said we were looking forward to heading north through the Americana countryside. Should have been a clue, right? We imagined a lovely drive up 81 through Pennsylvania, as I remember how beautiful 81 was when I used to drive south from home toward college.

But I guess that was 30 years ago.

Though getting through Maryland and heading toward Pennsylvania was indeed picturesque in places, it turns out that Interstate 81 is crowded and congested, and what my dad used to call a Chinese cluster-fuck.

We arrived to a heat wave in upstate New York right about 5 PM after a tiring drive that felt like we were literally driving straight up the map. We were starving and thirsty, so we stopped into a pizza joint and nearly got run down by someone’s granny, who decided she was in a New York hurry when she busted past us, pushing us out of her way as we tried to leave the pizza joint with our dinner and drinks.

I kid you not, this really happened. We then saw her standing in the parking lot chatting. In a hurry to go nowhere.

We pined for Southern hospitality at that moment.

We checked into the Super 8 Motel, which I will warn you right now, does not have an elevator or the rolling carts that you use to carry your stuff to your room. In fact, the guy at the desk did not even know what I meant when I asked for a cart. But the Super 8 was nicely situated amongst plenty of shade trees- an important little detail in a New York heat wave.

We dragged our luggage and booze and dinner to the second floor, ate our dinner, and made it to the meeting.

The next day, we suffered the heat a bit, as a/c is not the norm in upstate New York, but when our host’s mom treated us to dinner- ham, home-grown asparagus, mashed potatoes and ham gravy, slaw, and the most unbelievable strawberry-rhubarb pie, the heat was overridden and we found the hospitality we were looking for.

Whew, New York was redeemed.

Another meeting that evening and then we headed to the casino (my first casino) where we stayed till the wee hours, the zenith being when we found the slot machines with the arm- you know, so that we could pull the lever down with each bid:

We drank,we caroused, we laughed, we took pictures with the phone.

Then we got caught by the bouncer for doing I’m-not-sure-what, who just said- with a very straight and scary face, “Don’t do that.”

So we immediately cleaned up our act and left for the parking lot to take more pictures:

The next day- a bit on the early side after a night at the casino, the New York leg of our trip ended and we headed to Vermont. Now, that was the lovely drive we expected, complete with an Amish roadside vegetable stand and picturesque villages along the way.

We then spent the week in Vermont doing lovely New England things…

We dined in the garden every evening but one.

We visited a bountiful Farmer’s Market on Saturday:

We explored a quaint New England downtown.

We shopped at a co-op that was like nothing we’d ever seen.

We crossed covered bridges:

We spent an afternoon at “Saint-Gaudin’s” Estate in New Hampshire:

I took up hula hoop making as a little vacation pastime. (Okay, so maybe this isn’t particularly New England-y):

We had dinner under a grape arbor with relatives who lived in a magical New England setting:

And we got a lot of sleep.

It was all pretty vacation-y.

And yep, it was hot there, too, bless their New England hearts. But as a Southerner, that really is not the kind of heat you’ll catch me complaining about. Surely, I know better.

With a truly relaxing week behind us, we drove to Boston to spend a day and then pick up GF’s daughter at the airport at midnight.

I had not been to Boston since I lived there in the 80s. An afternoon was not nearly enough time to catch up, so what did we do? Went to the North End, walked around a bit, and lounged by the water eating cannolis.

In my years living in Boston, I never managed to see much of the North End other than a restaurant now and then, never mind lie around doing nothing but eating cannolis and watching the boats in Boston Harbor.

It was luxurious.

After a while we got up from our little paradise and walked around some more. A good friend from college who is all settled down in Boston now met us for a beer and then walked us over to Ida’s, where we had dinner reservations.

Well, wouldn’t you know that GF’s daughter’s plane didn’t make it out of our small town that day and wouldn’t be arriving in Boston till the next day?

Sooooo, we ended up back at the hotel (all the way up in Revere- not quite the “airport” hotel we’d been sold) on the early side of the evening, which meant we got up the next day for the hotel breakfast and went back into town to tour Beacon Hill and the Back Bay this time, including running across several truly welcoming churches (but more on that later).

All beautiful, and as you could predict, we ended up on another park bench in the shade, this time on Commonwealth Ave, lying around and finishing up last night’s dinner from Ida’s.

Sometime that afternoon, we got on the T, which conveniently goes straight to the airport, picked up GF’s daughter and went back to the North End for more food! Are you wondering what is it about the North End?

It’s Italian. So say no more.

After a day of touring and eating, we elbowed through the Haymarket right at closing time and picked up some good deals on fruits and veggies for our upcoming week on the Cape. We made one more stop at our hotel to reunite with the car and begin our final week of vacation.

With just one road onto the Cape, our plan was to avoid heavy traffic by arriving later than the upcoming week’s renters. We rolled onto the Cape at 8:15 PM but suddenly we were in a rush- we had to get a week’s worth of groceries and the store closed at 9.

Good thing we had a list.

The store didn’t carry alcohol, though, so as we drove toward the end of the Cape , we got to thinking that Why, yes, we’d love to have a drink before the evening’s end, and so in the nick of time, we rushed into a liquor store at two minutes till closing. As we walked in, the guy actually said, “You have two minutes.” We chose fast, he locked the door behind us, and we made it to the house to pour a drink and unpack the groceries (in that order) soon after.

The house at the Cape is peaceful and perfectly situated. The days are spent on the deck overlooking a view so spectacular that it’s been made into postcards. Life is simple, and high tide, sunset, and cocktail hour are the landmarks of the day.

A couple of times we left this idyllic setting and went to Provincetown for a little fun, but we were more like homebodies and could hardly drag ourselves away.

We lounged, we played in the water, we sat in the sun, we cooked, we ate lobsters, we ate clams and mussels, and we napped.

Like I said before, it was all very vacation-y.

Eventually, with our third week of vacation behind us, it was time to head south again. We stopped overnight at GF’s sister’s house close to the beginning of the Cape so that we’d have an easy start to our trip the next day.

Before our summer’s final Cape Cod lobster dinner that evening, we enjoyed a tour of the garden- and a fairly luxurious chicken coop, along with holding a little hula-hooping contest around the garden.

When dinnertime came, we ate the yummy lobsters, drank some yummy wine, and visited a while before bed.

In the morning we loaded up the car, hula hoops and all, for the long drive back down the map. Savoring the hypnotic hours of driving, we prepared for re-entry.

In the wee hours, we arrived safely at last with suntans, full bellies, gifts and souvenirs, and three adventurous weeks of stories to tell.

But wouldn’t it be nice to bring a few things back with you that you only manage to do on vacation? Like relaxing more, taking time for cocktail hour, getting enough sleep, getting a nice tan, and eating lobster and cannolis?

Well, yeah, all that would be just great, but what kind of dullsville blog would that make for if I had that kind of eazy-peazy life? Like you really want to read about me on a permanent vacation, right?

No, I don’t guess you do. And besides, there’s no danger of that anyway- I would be as big as a barn if I ate that many cannolis.

Posted by Coco 8 Responses »

It’s A Yard Sale, So Why Didn’t The Wicker Sell??

Jul 202012

(This post was set to go out weeks ago, but techno difficulties stopped it at the door. So… without further ado, here you go!)

I am certain you’ve been on the edge of your seat over this yard sale of mine, especially after that ugly kitchen gadget incident ushering in the final days of gathering and pricing.

The yard sale started, as all yard sales must, when I felt my house closing in on me.

So I began to gather things that irritated me, that I was sick of, had too many of, or didn’t know why I still owned.

I piled my considerable excess by the front door and pushed my tired old futon sofa and worn-out wingbacks toward the pile- and I am happy to report that I mostly resisted the siren’s call to go a’ whistlin’ down memory lane during all of this excavation. Finally, a few days before the sale, I began the pricing.

I priced the goods to go, but I generously left a little room for sport.

I placed an ad in the paper on Wednesday before the sale. It contained the statement: “No Early Birds!”

I placed an ad on craigslist on Friday that also contained the statement: “No Early Birds!”

I went to bed around 11:30 on Friday night- I did not pull an all-nighter, but got up insanely early on Saturday- like 4 AM. I did not consider putting my contacts in first thing when I got up, but instead wore my glasses till 6…

My eyeballs thanked me for this.

My GF and I dragged everything to the yard and politely told the earlybirds at 5:45 AM to go away till 7, that 7 AM was gracious early enough for them to start their day of shopping and some of them argued over this- at 5:45 AM!

Well, by 6:30 AM, we were ready and open for shopping.

In spite of having an ample $40 in change, the first people to arrive all had twenties. I even lost one sale when I could not give change for her $4 purchase to my my umpteenth customer with a twenty. The woman was irritated- evidently she mistook my yard sale for a convenience store.

As is always the case, the damnedest things sold, and the damnedest things were still sitting in the yard at noon.

For example, the three 50-packs of cardboard Budweiser coasters sold in a flash and with zero price haggling, while the wicker settee and chair got next to no attention. I’ve sold a considerable amount of raggedy wicker at yard sales before, so this was an inconceivable departure.

I found I had to keep an eye out for people who started wandering onto my front porch or around to the back of my house presumably looking for more of my stuff to buy- they were either in a yard sale trance or nosy.

Once my kids got involved, they fine-tooth combed through everything and told me how much they loved all of it and wished I wouldn’t sell it.

I shouted and waved them away.

By around noon, GF and I started boxing up everything that didn’t sell, but of course a new wave of shoppers then arrived, so I sold some more stuff, including an entirely beat-up lampshade priced at a quarter. Honestly, that thing simply should have been in the trash, but there’s no accounting for taste, I guess, so now I’m a quarter richer for not second-guessing the lampshade.

I put the big stuff that didn’t sell by the curb. It was now free and was all gone by the next day.

I sat down and counted my money, deeming it sufficient to pay a few pressing bills.

We carried the boxed rejects to Goodwill, headed straight to Target for a great sale on toilet paper, went out for ice cream, spent a little time at home resting- and finally, we went to a friend’s house for grilled shrimp, fresh artichokes, much-needed drinks, and a welcome evening soaking in her new hot tub.

I’ve come to the now-obvious conclusion that this last step is what I’d been overlooking with all my past yard sales.

I may be slow, but eventually I catch on.

The Hard-Won Maiden Voyage Of The New Shiny Butter Blog

Jul 182012

Technical difficulties be damned- The Shiny Butter Blog will not be stopped.

But we are sort of starting afresh, as I have lost my entire mailing list. Which means that you’re gonna have to “sign up” all over again in order to get your Shiny Butter Blog updates delivered to your inbox- see the box on the right.

So, thanks- it means a lot to me to have you on my subscribers list.

If you’re new here, just hold your wild horses a sec while I explain.

For the regulars, you may have noticed that there was about a month there where The Shiny Butter Blog and I were lost in cyberspace.

It happened when I did an update to my blogging software and poof, there went access to my blog’s admin area- the blog and I were floating around out there gravity-less and wondering if we’d ever make it back to your computer screen.

I was on vacation when this happened and even though I had my computer along, I needed some serious thinking cap action to figure out what just happened. And with an already stuffed brain that’s only a little bit techie anyway, I couldn’t seem to get my issue resolved while on vacation. (Imagine that.)

It wasn’t until after my vacation that I was able to get back to my own desk and roll my sleeves up and get to work on my problem.

But I’m pretty flippin’ smart, as it turns out.

Well, kinda’ smart, in that through sleuthing and poking around on the internet, I more or less recreated The Shiny Butter Blog using a different format (or “theme,” for my blogging friends who know what I’m talking about). I had to basically start back at square 1.5, as I had obliterated access to the format I was using when I did the update, thus the kinda’ new look you see now.

Whew, that was scary.

I miss some of the elements of the former look and that cool European vibe, so I’m working on recreating what I did like. Obviously, I can drop what I didn’t like, so I guess it’s a win/win.

So go ahead and re-sign up on the right in the box with the lucky cat (!) and you’ll be getting all the future posts from The Shiny Butter Blog- straight-up flavor, fresh and unfiltered.

Just the way you like it.

Posted by Coco Comments Off

Uh-Oh- I’ve Got Two Five-Pound Lobsters And I’m In Over My Head

Jul 142012

If only five-pound lobsters were the reason that you’ve not heard from me lately.

Instead, the unthinkable has been going on for a few weeks now…

I’m having technical problems with The Shiny Butter Blog and I’m in over my head, even though I am consulting the experts, who only speak “Expert,” as it turns out. So I have answers that I cannot fully understand or follow through on.

Everyday’s a school day, I guess.

Anyhoo, I’ve been lost without my blog and have a whole lot to tell you from my recent three-week trip (that included giant lobsters, of course), but for the moment, I just wanted to let you know that I’m on it and you’ll hear from me soon.

But I guess ol’ patience is a virtue and all that, so at least I can talk to you now, which I could not do until today because I could not get behind the scenes to write a thing. It’s a wee bit of progress.

Meanwhile, just oogle over those five-pound lobsters and I promise you, I’m on it over here in techie land.

Listing a bit, but I’m on it.

Posted by Coco 2 Responses »

It’s Yard Sale Time And Tempers Are Flaring Amongst The Kitchen Gadgets

Jun 142012

It’s yard sale time and that means crap is all over the house.

OMG.

Before I started going through everything in sight I thought, “I’m gonna have to cancel this- I don’t have enough stuff.” Now I’m to the point of, “Oh no, I need another week.”

But it’s too late. The ad is in the paper. People are coming over at 7 AM on Saturday, so I might as well get up at the crack of dark and drag my crap out into the yard.

I’ve got piles and piles and now, but for clearing off one more piece of furniture (a dusty and overloaded Ikea desk), it’s time to price it all.

Oh joy.

I know you won’t have a bit of trouble believing that I have a nice full glass of wine to accompany my masking tape and Sharpee. I guess my evening is pretty much set now.

So now we’ve had a yard sale related accident (not counting my broken nail), which you can expect when working furiously- workplace safety is always the first thing to go when you’re rushing.

Here’s what happened:

I was rifling through a kitchen drawer looking for good yard sale material and ran across this (harmless) Pampered Chef Nylon Knife and thought, “Well, I’ve never used that” so I grabbed it for the cause. But it was already involved in an ugly brawl with the Pampered Chef Julienne Peeler, which has teeth on it like a bear trap.

The Julienne Peeler was clearly winning.

I tried in utter vain to separate the two but they were going at it head to head, with the Nylon Knife putting up a valient fight, though remember I told you it is harmless and so you can see by the picture how things are turning out for the knife.

Naturally, I got my college student involved.

He’s smart.

But we all know the dangers of getting in the middle of a domestic dispute, so yep, you guessed it, I basically set him up.

He sustained a nasty thumb injury due to the bear-trap teeth of the brutal Julienne Peeler and is feeling all kinds of inconvenienced trying to just function in general, but he is especially disabled when working on his jewelry making, which has him aggravated to no end.

As a result of the injury, we’ve decided to leave the star-crossed lovers alone to work it out between them before the whole thing turns into a household bloodbath. I don’t know what will happen to them without our help.

Meanwhile, with my wine, masking tape, and a Sharpee in hand, I’m ready to price this stuff to go. All I could possibly need now is some Duct Tape, a can of WD40, and a tube of Super Glue, and I’ll be ready for anything else this yard sale throws at me.

Except I can’t handle any more gadget-on-gadget violence.

That’s simply where I draw the line from now on- and I really don’t think I’m being unreasonable here.

Unrelated P.S: As of the day I’m writing this, if you Google “wearing a grass skirt and thong,” you will find The Shiny Butter Blog on the first page of Google- how about that?!?

Posted by Coco 14 Responses »

So No, I Do Not Have A Grip On My Kids

Jun 122012

With my internet out, I might normally kick back and read, but this last time I started cleaning everything in sight- including the windows.

I know, I couldn’t believe it either.

I dusted, I swept and vacuumed, I cleaned the toilet, I washed the dishes, and I cleaned every window I could reach. And finally, I cleaned the front porch windows by my desk- and believe me when I tell you, the difference was dramatic.

(All this cleanliness and clarity got me to thinking in metaphors, but for your benefit and mine, I’ll ltake another course here.)

So while I was standing on a stool spraying Windex and scrubbing all the front-porch grime off the windows and the sills, my 11 year old, little miss smarty pants, asks what’s with all the cleaning lately? I said, “Oh, I don’t know- I guess it’s just spring and people get to cleaning in the spring.

To which she replied, “Well, you didn’t last year.”

And that made me a little testy. I asked her if it was really necessary for her to take me to the table over everthing, because that really is what she does.

See, nothing gets by her and she calls me out on everything:

“Why are you just having a glass of wine for dinner?”
“You’re so cranky- did you stay up too late again?”
“You haven’t paid me my allowance in three weeks. Did you spend my money on bills again?”
“Just because my brother didn’t get a phone until he was 15 doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be for me, Mama. Things are different now than they were when he was 11.”
“I have to have [the most expensive] Nikes because that’s what kids need. You can’t understand because when you were my age, they didn’t have Nikes, so you just don’t know what it’s like.”
“I need an i-pod touch because I would be able to stay out of your hair that way. That’s why all the other kids’ parents get them i-pod touches and i-pads and Kindle Fires. You should know this.“
“For once, can’t we just buy something that’s not used or on clearance?”

I feel like I am on a reality show with this kid watching everything I do- it’s like she’s even got a camera inside my head.

Meanwhile, my son has dropped in from college for the summer.

And just like when he arrived the first time 19 years ago, I’ve got a lot of adjusting to do:

The door to his room is permanently closed, where I’d had it open earlier because I had the room clean because no one but the cat went in there. But now there are clothes draped about. The curtains haven’t been opened, in spite of the newly-cleaned windows. The bed has been made, but only sort of. There’s trash in there.
His stuff is all over the house- and most notably, his jewelry making supplies have taken over the kitchen- which really works out for me on the one hand because he’s making a lot of beautiful jewelry for me, and on the other hand, well, the kitchen is a bit hard to navigate:
He likes to play his music perhaps a little loud for my taste.
Just as I am about to go into our one and only bathroom, he seems to think the exact same thing about a split second before I do.
He leaves his wet towel on the bed.
He sometimes leaves food in the sink.
He keeps a different schedule than I do and likes to watch TV late into the night.
He seems vaguely aware of my presence in the house.
He’s using my car.
When I got in the car the other day, I found that he had changed my CD. And that’s just crossing the line.
So basically, I have a roommate who’s stolen my car.

Now if, as you read this, you realize that you would do things differently as a parent and you say to yourself, “My child would never…” then I assure you that your child most definitely will do that thing that you are so certain will not happen on your watch.

Better take it back right now, before it’s too late.

If you say to yourself as you read this, “Well, she wouldn’t be having that problem with her kids if she would just…,” well then you just ordered up for yourself a heaping plate of your own words to eat.

You will be smote by the forces of the universe for asserting your superiority, however innocently.

Parenting is eat up with traps, the hardest one to avoid being one that makes you a great parent when you don’t have kids and lands you anxiously awaiting cocktail hour if you do have kids.

So take a load off and don’t even consider parenting if you are faint of heart or weak of spirit, stomach, or resolve.

Because compared to the parenting, even the Iditorod is nothing but a sprint.

Now, go call your folks and say something nice.

Confessions Of A Luxury Camper

Jun 072012

You see, in spite of the fact that my wardrobe appears to be incompatible with the camping lifestyle (not to be confused with “the gay lifestyle,” whatever that is), I like to camp.

And I’m here to tell you: it’s easier to put on a dress in a tent than it is long pants.

I’m also here to tell you that even when camping, you won’t see me wearing sneakers as everyday shoes. To me, they are specialty-use only, meant for actual exercise- or yard work.

So… in preparation for this year’s Memorial Day camping trip to the Virginia Women’s Music Festival, tucked away in central Virginia, first I did my pedicure- and then I chose my shoes: a fancy little pair of flat thongs that my sister brought home from her exotic travels to Indonesia (yes, flats!), a quirky pair of black platform thongs, and my Frye boots.

So very practical.

I also took my lucite-heeled mules strictly for my Friday evening as MC on stage. Not too bad for grass and dirt walking, though admittedly not ideal. I was certainly not under the impression that I would do any major camping in these shoes.

See- I’m luxury-minded, yet still very practical.

Just for Friday night

(Note: This post is my longest ever! I won’t be offended if you hang up on me BUT maybe you’ll sit back, put your feet on your desk, and read on because you are, deep down, oh so very curious.)

Because I spent a period of time a while back as a minimalist camper carrying as little as possible, we used to camp in a sharp and snappy little 4-person backpacker’s tent (which we all know is really only for two people).

But these days, while a certain member of our party is a backpacker- that’s her story and she’s sticking to it- the rest of us have sworn off little tents.

GF and I have graduated to an 8-person Coleman Taj-Ma-Tent (with a hinged door!) that we keep borrowing from a couple of cool friends who’ve graduated to the next level- a pop-up camper. I can see us going pop-up eventually, but that could mean giving up the nice sites that only tent campers get, so we’re weighing the pros and cons.

Anyhoo, on our annual trip to “CampOut,” we once again lounged in the Taj-Ma-Tent, only this time we didn’t even share it like we’d done before. We had the place to ourselves!

Yes, that’s right; two of us in an 8-person tent.

Still, though, a certain unnamed camper one-upped us this year with her brand-new 9-person Taj-Ma-Tent with two hinged doors. It was like a department store, that tent.

But I’m telling you, this big-tent thing is the life:

A hinged walk-on-in door, a queen-sized mattress with a rug at the foot and room for our matching Vera Bradley* duffle bags, a bed-side table (alright- an upside down crate), and space to walk around.

The lap of luxury.

(*Um… for the record, we got 100% reliable info from a member of our party that Vera Bradley’ sister- who is friends with our friend- has a fabulous girlfriend of many years! Who knew?)

Anyway, we all joined forces in a group site called “Woody,” which meant that we had a minimum of eight campers, which pretty much discourages minimalism if you think about it.

Our site, ready-made with hammock

Yep, we’ve moved on.

Give me a Taj-Ma-Tent and a village of friends, a Coleman stove complete with frying pans and a tea kettle , multiple coolers, a screened-in kitchen, and a well-stocked bar ANY day.

The kitchen & bar

To further illustrate the level of luxury on this camping trip, the folks at CampOut offer up three kick-ass meals a day plus snacks, hot-water-under-the-stars-showers-with-adjacent-flowerbeds, pre-set-up campsites (tent and all!), air mattress blow-up services, ice delivery, and trash pick-up- and they’ll even haul your stuff to your site for you.

Yes, I’m talking five-star camping here.

We’ve arrived to this festival a day early three years in a row now, which I totally recommend for the relaxation factor. The festival music starts Friday night and for the second year, I was fortunate to hang out backstage with the uber-cool stage crew and stars and then get on stage as Friday night’s MC.

Call me Coco Q.

FRIDAY NIGHT: First up for music was the talent-rich, crazy-fun and funny Jamie Anderson, followed by a smooth and pretty duo with cool guitars, Driftwood Fire. The wild-haired Australian with the mighty voice, Martine Locke and two her sexy drummers wrapped up the evening with some big, fun energy.

Fortunately, Martine let everyone know that Act #1, Jamie Anderson, was giving away free drinks all weekend back at her site.

This seemed to come as a surprise to Jamie.

Later there was a dance with proud new mom, DJ Michelle. She was playing lots of techno dance music- or at least I think that’s what it was- and my GF and I sidled over to the DJ’s booth and asked for some oldies. She looked at us like we were, well, old, at which point Carla of the CampOut staff tells me, “Hey, suck it up! You’re practically staff- you’ve got to play with the team- we’ve got young people here now!!”

She put me in my place, that Carla did.

SATURDAY began with CampOut staffer, Kari’s new project, the first-ever CampOut 5K, a treacherous, yet lovely, trail run/walk through forests, by flower beds, along Lake Towanda and a muddy bank or two, up a steep hill with a sign saying, “Make this hill your bitch,” and finally wrapping up by the camp kitchen, a beaming Kari draping each runner and walker with her handmade CampOut medals and offering free beer, which few took her up on, though the water was popular.

The coveted CampOut 5K medal

GF ran the course and even beat her last 5K time, which surprised us both, given the rugged terrain and the hills, which she is most assuredly not accustomed to here at sea level.

She also beat quite a few other runners, not that that mattered to her as much as it did to me.

Now, sound checks are part of the loveliness that is being in the “Woody” site so close to the stage- such a tease. And with Kris, the sound genius at command central, I have yet to hear better music quality at any event- outdoors or in.

I’m telling you, the woman’s got a gift.

Music began that morning with the lovely and crystal-voiced guitar player, Christie Lenee, followed by Nancy Beaudette totally belting out her right-on, full-out creations and throwing in a real oldie for a sing-along- “Georgie Girl” (remember that?!) Then our favorite couple of Jersey girls, Virago, let loose on some fiery love and justice songs.

We then took an afternoon break for a hay ride down to Lake Towanda.

Headed to Lake Towanda

Luckily we located our favorite air-mattress from years past and a few of us floated on it for hours. I was in the middle so I was freed up from steering or paddling and could concentrate on sunbathing.

What a princess.

SATURDAY NIGHT‘s music started with a creative couple of gals called nervous but excited playing what they refer to as “pleasantly aggressive folk music.” Then the peace-loving, crowd-pleasing, get-your-passion-on Sonia & disappear fear got us feeling all great about everything.

The pace took a turn toward party when Sister Funk came flying onto stage before dark and played at full tilt into the night, and finally, the Saturday night dance party of all dance parties commenced, led by the incredibly versatile rock-n-roll party band, Wicked Jezabel who played for two high-energy hours without coming up for air.

Wicked Jezabel

Sister Funk

Meanwhile there’s a bonfire every night for the fire sitters to gather ’round.

And new this year, there were light-up hula hoops and my GF had her first-ever hula hoop success. I’m telling you, milestone after milestone this year!

GF and the light-up hula hoop

SUNDAY started with sound checks and then Martine Locke took the stage as MC and started egging on Jamie Anderson and fellow MC and musician Christy Snow, to the point where the two of them rushed the stage and started chasing her around while Martine thought she could hide behind a column.

Of course we could all see her.

The beautiful Crys Matthews then started Sunday’s music off with her sexy voice and tight, gutsy ballads and was followed up by one of the most amazing singers I’ve ever heard live, Veronika Jackson, whose voice I was supposed to have gotten- I have a feeling that this woman’s voice could blow out whole sound systems.

In the evening the ever-powerful good-time trio with the three big voices, Mama’s Black Sheep filled the stage. Indigie Femme, a creative force with a Navajo singer and a drummer whose smile lights up the whole campground, wrapped up their set and the festival with an all-out celebration of musicians that they brought to the stage.

Enjoying the music

After the day’s music, we headed down to the lake for a Memorial Day celebration and floated candlelit wooden disks festooned with American and rainbow flags in honor of our military family and friends. So beautiful.

Memorial Day at Lake Towanda

After Friday night’s techno dance party experience, which was not our cup of tequila, we decided to skip Sunday night’s dance and have a fire at our site, since we had a fire ring down at Woody and all.

We passed on the s’mores and went far more gourmet, as one of the truly industrious in our group decided to fill banana halves with chocolate and mini-marshmallows- she cut the bananas crosswise, left them in the skin with a slice down the center and then wrapped the stuffed treasures in foil. She set them over hot coals.

We smelled them while they cooked- and we waited.

When they were done, she unwrapped these decadent little desserts, showered them with a few extra mini-marshmallows “just for garnishing purposes,” and of course we ate not only the elegant grilled chocolate bananas, but also the garnish.

So, sitting around the fire laughing and BS-ing, you can imagine our surprise when what do we hear coming from up at the pavilion where the dance is taking place? Yes, you are correct- oldies. Brick House, Play That Funky Music White Boy, You Sexy Thing, YMCA, We Are Family, and a Donna Summer must-hear, Last Dance.

We just shook our heads. Was Sunday “senior night” and we didn’t know it?

MONDAY came all too quickly. We lolligagged out of our luxurious beds and started breaking up housekeeping, but of course not without a proper breakfast of omelets, biscuits, and fresh fruit.

Our breakfast chef licking her fingers

One last luxurious meal.

After a frustrating go of it on Thursday, I managed to back our trailer smoothly down the windy path into our site. We packed everything up in record time, filled out our surveys, gathered our snacks, stopped by the port-a-janes for good measure, said our good-byes, loaded all our new CDs from the weekend, and sadly pointed our rig homeward.

We were on the road for less than 30 minutes before we started talking about next year’s trip, planning what to pack, what else might add practical luxury to our experience, who else to invite, and wondering if we should stay through Tuesday next time to help clean up after the big party?

Oh, to prolong the magic…

Other (shorter) posts for you to enjoy:

To Courtney: Why I Ignored Your Friend Request On Facebook

Thank You, Amendment One, For The Ass-Kicking

Bucking The System, The Early Years

Posted by Coco 11 Responses »

Yippie, Mitt Romney’s Running For President

Jun 062012

No doubt the Republican Party feels pretty bitter right about now.

Mitt Romney. Not exactly what anyone had in mind, I’m sure.

They had so little to choose from and it all went from worse to worse-r.

Now they’re stuck with him. Arrogant, spineless, clueless, elitist, and evidently in possession of very creative recall of his past.

And he’s all theirs.

I’d say they’ve been dealt a pretty poor hand, wouldn’t you? So, with a necessary poker face, they’re doing the best they can with what they’ve got, because folding’s not an option. So they’re lying, cheating, biting, scratching, and pulling hair.

For the sake of me making my point, let’s just say that everything the Obama-bashers say about President Obama is correct and that replacing him is of the utmost urgency…

This guy would actually be worse.

I think that deep down, they know it and they fear it. The Republicans are between a rock and a hard place here. While their single goal has been to drop-kick Obama jobless into the middle of Connecticut Avenue with his wife and kids and dog, they most assuredly did not picture it like this.

Mitt Romney is a robber-baron, steeling from the little people to make the big people bigger and leave the little people scrambling with their ticky-tacky lives.

He’s so beyond the rest of us that he’s probably never run out of toilet paper or put $5 of gas in his car.

Sure, his wife has raised a bunch of kids and we all know that that’s not a job for slackers, but she doesn’t have a clue about doing her job, her housekeeper’s job, and her husband’s job all at the same exact time and having to choose between buying the new season’s soccer uniform for her kid or paying out of her uninsured pocket for her $100 prescription that the pharmacy keeps calling to say is ready for pick up.

The Romneys not only don’t count as ordinary Americans, they don’t make the wealthy ones look so good, either.

And Mitt Romney is not only a rotten egg of politician (a la his record as Governor of Massachusetts), he’s a heartless mercenary whose goals, should he become The President, include things like eradicating thousands of public sector jobs and social programs because they’re all such a big drain on the system. This is all part of his “plan” to get the nation’s debt under control- eliminate lots of jobs and see to it that the people having trouble pulling themselves up by their threadbare bootstraps get put out onto the street and stop costing the government so damned much money.

But I digress.

I’m just saying that Republicans and/or Obama haters ought to seriously be looking for a Plan B, ’cause Plan Romney sucks.

More posts- similar as well as completely irrelevant:

Thank You, Ammendment One For The Ass Kicking- Let The Wild Rumpus Begin

What Good Is Stupid If You’re Not Gonna Use It?

Good Wine, A Great Sale, Cheap Gas, And A Chilly Wind

My Dashboard Hula Girl And Her Horrific Accident

Posted by Coco 4 Responses »

Bucking The System- The Early Years

Jun 022012

I was 16 and working my first job at AAA giving out maps and making “triptiks” for travelers. My mom got me the job, so I should have been more gracious, but no-o-o-o-o, I couldn’t stand the way the boss-lady would nitpick me and find things wrong no matter what I did.

What was her problem?

I found myself constantly in a position to speak out when something wasn’t right. It’s the way I’m made- justice-minded with little impulse control.

I know you know this.

Boss-lady’s husband also worked at the AAA, but we rarely heard a peep out of him, so looking back, I think she had him squashed like an acorn on the sidewalk. Clearly, I did not know my place.

So boss-lady and I butted heads.

After getting myself into yet another workplace pickle, a nice redheaded co-worker named Patty took me into the lunch room one day, shut the door behind us, leaned in close, and let me in on a little secret, that if I wanted to have a better experience at work:

“DON’T BUCK THE SYSTEM.”

That was news to me and what I considered bullshit advice, except that I didn’t know to call it that at the time. I liked Patty- it was just too bad she had that little backbone problem.

Now, I actually liked the job at AAA and learned a lot about back roads and highways and people who couldn’t read maps, but I gotta say, my next job, working at the Roy Rogers, was a lot more fun, what with the cute little bandana skirts and cowboy hats we wore, and telling the drive-thru customers to:

“Drive around and round ‘er up!”

And besides, El Jefe at the Roy Rogers was a nice guy with no ax to grind, no chip on his shoulder, no issues with me personally- and he smiled a lot. And the food was free and good- a big plus for me.

If I’d had any foresight at 16 years old, I would have seen that unreasonable bosses would never be a good fit for me and that I would never be meek and know my place, making me perhaps not the best employee out there.

I would have seen that bucking the system is not the easy road.

But bucking the system is what gets these opinionated blog posts out of my system in spite of having something important to do, it’s what keeps me from turning on the TV for my kids, it’s what makes me insist on a preferably-hot, sit-down breakfast every day, it’s what gets me a good table at a restaurant when the hostess tries to seat me by the bathroom, it’s what makes me wear make-up when I’m camping, and it’s what keeps me from being anyone’s ho.

So yeah, that was bullshit advice from Patty back when I was 16.

Bless her heart.

More ~~good~~ great posts:

Thank You, Amendment One, For The Ass-Kicking- Let The Wild Rumpus Begin

I Hated Dodge Ball Then. I Still Hate Dodge Ball

Christmas Letters- Why Bother, And Is There Hope?

Posted by Coco 8 Responses »

21 Little-Known Secrets That Only I Will Tell You About Taking Your First Cruise

May 212012

I was reluctant to go on my first cruise- afraid of being confined and trapped, afraid of all that socializing I was going to have to do, not interested in buying a brand-new cruise wardrobe, concerned about having no tan, concerned about not having a flattering swimsuit (as if), and simply concerned about the whole tacky aspect of it all.

But I went anyway and, as usually happens, I’m now eating my words. Turns out I’m not too good for a cruise after all- it was quite a bit more fun than I cynically expected.

So now I am going to give you very valuable information that I feel certain you will thank me for later, should you also take your first cruise at some point.

Your room is called a stateroom, which is code for very small.
Deck 3 is code for steerage.
See if you can get a stateroom with a window larger than a porthole- though you may not want this when you look out and see nothing but white caps in the dark of the night because of unexpectedly bad weather.
Tiny porthole = our room
You cannot expect the sun to be shining just because you are going to the Bahamas.
Beach Day- nice and cloudy
Be aware that you may not have space in your stateroom for your suitcase, let alone two of them, nor will you have space in the shower to shave your legs- just skip this, I guess.
You will muster before departing, at which time you’ll hear what to do “in the unlikely event of an emergency.” At this time, you will have visions of both the Titanic and the Concordia and you will mutter nervously to yourself about not having a will and about all that unopened mail under your desk that they’ll find after your body is discovered at sea.
Before you’re allowed onto the ship, you’ll be asked to sign a health disclosure form saying you didn’t just get over a cold and don’t currently have the swine flu, and you’ll feel certain that others are lying on their forms as you hold back that nagging cough of yours when you turn in your form. You will worry about the black plague breaking out while you are far, far from land.
You will be expected to tip a variety of people at the end of the trip using pre-labeled envelopes that your stateroom attendant will leave in your room on your last night- get a grip on this concept and either pay the fixed fee ahead of time or have some cash for this. And for God’s sake, don’t be a cheap bastard.
You will have the same stateroom attendant for the whole trip who will straighten your room several times a day. You will consider selling everything you own and moving into your stateroom permanently.
Your stateroom attendant will make animal sculptures out of your fresh towels every evening- pretty damned cute.
Like I said, pretty damned cute.
Make reservations online ahead of time to eat in the dining room at a table with a waiter, rather than with the general public at the buffet, no matter how tempting the ice sculptures and carved watermelons may be. This is probably the most important piece of advice I can give you if you value your dignity.
Do not ruin everyone else’s cruise on formal night by wearing Daisy Dukes, a wife-beater, and flip flops to dinner.
Formal night- you see how we chose not to wear our least attractive clothes? This, I believe, is the point of formal night.
You cannot bring your own drinks onto the ship- that’s right, you’re not carrying on any liquor. But you can still get a drink- they have a better idea for you…
There is a no-cash system on board the ship, so you will use your sea pass to run up a large tab of drinks, because before you know it’s happened, you will have gotten very used to someone bringing you colorful drinks, drinks in curvy glasses, drinks with umbrellas and fruit slices on the side, and drinks in whole pineapples and coconuts for you to sip on as you lounge about wearing sunglasses, a bikini top, and a sarong. You will vaguely recall your former life as a Greek goddess when someone fanned you with palms and fed you peeled grapes one by one.
Drinks a’ plenty
At some point, and maybe more than once or twice, you will order room service just for the hell of it, because it is FREE.
Because it is unnerving to take the elevator when the ship, a veritable “city at sea,” is swaying due to rough seas, you will decide it can’t be that far to take the stairs to the 12th deck from your room in steerage. And you will realize that you are quite wrong.
Imagine this boat swaying in rough seas. Then imagine getting on the elevator.
The ship’s staff is overwhelmingly international- if you are xenophobic, just take a river cruise down the Mississippi or something.
That loud, shrieking, chilling noise that you are convinced means you have hit an iceberg or a rocky shore is actually the very, very large anchor being dropped when you come into port.
You see- big anchor
A cruise is essentially nothing more than a continuous party- you paid for it, so don’t sleep through it. Do everything they offer. Get up early and stay up late- I don’t care how old you are.
Let the paid photographers get some pictures of you- you could, hypothetically, lose your camera and all your vacation photos in the Miami airport on your way home and have to borrow pictures from strangers on the internet later.
The food is endless. Arrive hungry- and take your Spanx.

Thank You, Amendment One, For The Ass-Kicking- Let The Wild Rumpus Begin

May 152012

In spite of some less-than-hospitable beach weather the other weekend, you can clearly deduce by the above picture that no amount of clouds could make our day a bad one, what with the beautiful KH and her “Boobzie” koozie and a whole day of beach solidarity with fellow forward-thinking citizens, capped off by an evening of education and opposition to the ass-backward Amendment One that we here in North Carolina were fixin’ to vote on a couple of weeks out.

(Wish I could share a picture of me with the Boobzie koozie, but sadly, the koozie would show me up.)

After not sunbathing all cloudy day Saturday, we had grass-fed beef burgers back at the ranch with our sweet-as-pecan-pie hostesses and then around 9 pm we arrived at “Blackbeard’s” to a full house and ordered two drinks right away. It was a bar, after all. As a clear sign that all was well in the world, the waitress did not neglect to include cocktail napkins with our drinks.

We left a big tip.

As part of the “Amendment One-is-a-piss-poor-idea” evening agenda, we listened to stories from people such as a sweet country girl whose sister was kicked out of the house at 17 for being gay. Yep, their folks changed the locks and everything.

Turns out, years later, that the very religious parents had what you might call an epiphany and reversed their stance. Now that’s what I call the resurrection in action.

We heard from the strong-like-bull Tracy, an all-out activist who went so far as to quit her day job in order to outright fight against Amendment One. She seduced us with her vast knowledge of said ass-backward amendment and then went around luring in volunteer phone callers- like me.

We heard from ordinary citizens who just wanted to do the right thing. We made some new friends who recently moved back home to NC- just in the nick of time to get in on the craziness.

I slammed some “Amendment One-is-a-piss-poor-idea” poetry written by my friend Kate, and but for me almost saying “horse” instead of “house” once, it was powerful and moving. Kate’s got it going on.

The celebrated Someone’s Sister romanced us with songs of peace, love, strength, and unity, perfectly rounding out the agenda.

Maybe it’s corny, but there we were, part of a real live movement.

Then there was karaoke.

You may or may not know that you should be relieved to hear that I, in fact, did not sing karaoke. However, when Someone’s Sister’s Georgia very successfully sang “What’s Going On?” my sweetheart and I danced like a couple of teenagers ignoring the chaperone.

Many hours later, we headed back to our guest quarters, tip-toeing in at 2:30 am, giddy and tired, armed with bumper stickers, yard signs, and volunteer jobs.

So it turns out- as you by now know- that the disgusting Amendment One did pass here in NC.

Although NC was the 29th state to add such discriminatory language to the state constitution and just one of the 40-something states that have a law against gay marriage, the rest of the country pounced on us as though we had invented the very notion of denying the gays basic civil rights.

Jokes about things like being able to marry your cousin in NC, but just not your gay cousin were all over late-night television and Facebook, people started talking about boycotting the state and said that NC had set the country back 50 years, the governor even said, “What is this- Mississippi??” (to which the people of Mississippi took offense- and I can’t say I blame them, but still…), and thus, we here in North Carolina became the laughing stock of the nation and the scapegoat of the gay rights movement.

So I got a little pissed about this.

Then, as you know, the next day, the President sat right there in the White House and said out loud to a reporter that he was good with same-sex marriage. Honestly, nothing changed for gays because absolutely no legislation accompanied the statement, but it did give a lot of people the feeling that at last, we could exhale- and it good and riled up the rest of the people.

Next thing you know, the President is spotted on the cover of Newsweek with a rainbow “gaylo” over his head and is called “The First Gay President,” and then The New Yorker cover sports rainbow columns on the White House.

Nice.

I’m thinking that in spite of that dumb ass Rick Santorum responding that, “The President is out of touch with the American people,” and then advising the Mitt-man on an anti-gay-marriage campaign strategy, this subject is not a flash in the pan.

It’s clear that the vote in North Carolina hit a nationwide nerve with our crappy decision. Turns out the whole country was watching and we let a lot of people down.

Maybe this vote was an ass-kicking wake-up call for us all.

Anyhoo, before I got off on my soap-boxy tangent, I was trying to tell you that we went to the beach the other weekend and though it was cloudy, it was pretty damned fun, complete with racy koozies, grass-fed beef, protesting, cocktail napkins, live music, karaoke, and fresh, local strawberries with our Sunday brunch al fresco while looking out over the Atlantic Ocean.

Can’t wait to try this again in search of some sunshine, but with or without the sunshine, my bag is packed by the door. After all, a bad day at the beach is still a day at the beach.

(By the way, in case you were wondering- and I know you were, the Boobzie koozie boobs are soft- very ergonomically appealing.)

First North Carolina Gets All Paranoid About The Scary Gays, Then The POTUS Just Up And Evolves

He Is Too Your President

What Good Is Stupid If You’re Not Going to Us It?

For Real

Posted by Coco 4 Responses »

First North Carolina Gets All Paranoid About The Scary Gays, Then The POTUS Just Up And Evolves

May 092012

Wowza, what a big day.

I think I’ve got a touch of the whiplash after today.

First thing on the agenda today in North Carolina was to get pissed off that Amendment One passed after yesterday’s primaries. Here a bunch of us thought we could be the last Southern state standing without discrimination written into our state constitution, but NOPE.

We decided to go on over the cliff with the lemmings on this one.

Now we too have made it very clear that same-sex marriage is a big no-no ’round these parts- well, and in 29 other states, too…

But here in North Carolina, we made good and sure that our amendment was written so badly that the only union that will now be recognized in our state will be a marriage between a man and a woman. So now no unmarried couple- gay or otherwise- will be a legal couple in this state. There goes the rights of lots of ambushed straight people.

Get out your checkbook, NC. This is gonna cost us.

We worked hard and harder to get the word out that #1- It should be obvious, but discrimination is just wrong, #2- Gay marriage was already illegal in NC- no amendment needed to say it louder, ’cause we heard you the first bazillion times, and #3- What was intended to be a nice little anti-gay-marriage amendment was worded so that a whole lot of non-gays just got run into a ditch, too.

Way to go, North Carolina.

But just when the gays and the thinking people were feeling all worn out and defeated and not sure they could make it through the day, well here comes the POTUS, white horse and all, saying that he’s just fine and dandy with gay marriage.

And the race to the presidency just got a lot less boring.

I did not see this one coming right this minute. Sure, Vice President Joe just did say that it’s okay by him if gays get married, but I sure didn’t expect the Prez to turn on a dime like that. I mean, poof, just like that he evolved!

So, things are hot now. The President just confirmed everything that the conservatives were afraid of. Not only is he black- which has been pretty hard on some folks who just couldn’t hold in their racism a minute longer once they had to swallow the black president pill- but now here he comes making the most liberal move of his entire presidency.

At last! Liberals were starting to die off from waiting for something truly liberal to come from the President.

Personally, I was toying with being okay with waiting a little longer for this move. After all, the Republicans simply want to get Obama out of office, even if it means supporting their embarrassing he’s-all-we’ve-got candidate who is, I guess, doing his part to make the Republicans look like they’ve completely lost their minds.

So I was wondering if it might not be okay to hold onto the gay-marriage statement while we’re fighting back against people who have a presidential candidate who is making them act desperate.

Well, I guess they are desperate, actually.

I was just saying to my GF that the President couldn’t easily be both black and actually liberal- that would just be too much for the alarmists to handle, but here comes the President trotting out some downright liberal stuff, and now, with an all-new and unexpected spin on things, we’re about to find out just how it’s going to be in the US of A with a black and (sort of) liberal president.

You just can’t make up stuff like this!

I was seeing this presidential race as kinda’ predictable, but this thing’s a game changer. I predict we’re going to see some of the unamused walking around with a blank look on their faces until they wake up and realize they didn’t dream it- it really happened, and the rest of them with fire coming from their nostrils, as if they are suddenly personally in charge of the end times.

Whoa, Nelly, this one’s a doozy now. Seat belts definitely required.

He Is Too Your President

What Good Is Stupid If You’re Not Going To Use It?

Posted by Coco Comments Off

A Closer Look At My Descent Into Dashboard Hula Girl Induced Madness

Apr 132012

Wearing nothing more than a coconut shell bikini top and thong underwear, this dashboard hula girl is clearly no stranger to high temperatures inside the car, to the extent that she has completely abandoned her skirt. She’s shameless, this one.

But she’s practical.

She was spotted on a very warm and sunny day at the Hardees in Surf City. I wanted to get a good close-up, but I didn’t want to put myself in the position of having to explain my recent obsession with dashboard hula girls, so I chose not to go inside and look for the owner/enabler of this Victoria’s Secret wannabe of a dashboard hula girl.

Instead, I stealthily snuck around the car like paparazzi to get pictures while half-blinded by the bright glare on the windows, so my pictures have a definite stalker feel to them.

As I snapped away at this brazen girl, I thought about Fernanda, my own dashboard hula girl- who is still suffering from cheap-glue-itis- and I wondered, Could Fernanda ever just ditch her skirt like that?

I easily came to the conclusion that no, Fernanda would not go around looking like that hussy.

First, Fernanda does not have this girl’s figure (just look at Fernanda; she’s wearing granny pants, not a thong), and second, Fernanda has that embarrassing and unsightly mess of glue- leftover from her accident- all around her spring area, and third, I suspect that Fernanda is a tad conservative and doesn’t care how they do things in Surf City.

Meanwhile, direct from Hawaii, my brother-in-law sends me a very tempting photo of a whole shelf full of brand-new dashboard hula girls. You may be surprised to learn that until that photo arrived, I had not considered replacing Fernanda.

It kinda’ breaks my heart a little now that it’s occurred to me.

The Southerner in me wants to stick by Fernanda, no matter how little hope there is, but the 21st century consumer in me wants to just send for a new mail-order hula girl, slap her on the dashboard, and drive already.

But it’s not that easy, because like I said, I’m a little obsessed right now. I don’t know if I just need some advice here, or maybe a few minutes of professional help, or if I need to be taken to a big farm where a nice plump lady wearing an apron and making biscuits can take care of me.

Or maybe I just need to get a grip, for God’s sake, and shake off the delusional notion that dashboard hula girls give a flying fudge brownie what I think.

I mean, it’s possible that Fernanda would just as soon have me stay the hell out of her business at this point.

And that just makes me feel used.

Posted by Coco 2 Responses »

A Minimalist Guide To Facebook Maintenance

Apr 042012

Dear Ryan Halstead,

In your defense, I can understand that you may have been unaware of my stance on Facebook friends.

But the picture you posted on Facebook today, the one that was photo-shopped to portray the President as anti-American… no explanation to actually prove anything, just a “See, there you go, Just-Say-No” kind of thing?

That is why I unfriended you.

When we were at the high school reunion this past summer, next thing I knew, I had accepted friend requests from people I hardly remembered, even after I looked them up in the yearbook. It seemed like a good idea at the time, such was the spell that showing up at my high-school reunion for the first time in 30 years had cast on me. That and the leopard dress and lucite shoes I wore.

Ryan, you were one of these vaguely familiar people from the high school reunion.

And since friends on Facebook tend to accumulate quickly, I admit that I now do routine maintenance on my friend list.

I’m hovering at around 200 friends right now, Ryan, which tells me that it’s time to do some housecleaning. I figure that by unfriending someone whose posts make me want to smack the computer screen…

I’m doing all of Facebook a favor, sort of like paying if forward.

Because once I did get into an ugly and getting-uglier exchange by responding to a hateful post on a friend’s wall from some woman who used Sarah Jessica Parker’s picture in place of her own. After a few posts back and forth I realized that she was eat up with meanness and I was in a lose-lose situation, so finally I told her that she had washed out to sea for me.

I wanted to throttle her.

I realized that the same thing could happen on my wall, instigated by someone whose friendship I’d accepted, only to discover that no, we are not friends after all. So given the choice between offending you by unfriending you- or offending those I choose to keep on my friend list, I’ll unfriend in the blink of an eye.

You know, for the greater good.

So, Ryan, while I understand that you may not have been aware that I am just this side of ruthless with my Facebook friend list, I still want you to know that I am disappointed in you.

I am disappointed that you don’t seem to think for yourself. That you’ve bought into forming allegiances based on fear and peer pressure, that your politics and religion both seem to be rooted in dogmatic rules about who is Good and who is Bad.

And I am disappointed that you trust Fox News.

I thought when we left high school that we were all going forth to grow into magnificent individuals, that we would change the world with our open-minded and bright outlooks. I did not foresee that some would trade in the soaring spirit of youth to become fearful and stagnate.

So I’ve become protective of my little Facebook home.

I see no reason to extend my hospitality to fear, ugly accusations, prejudice, stupidity, or meanness. Not that you meant all that back when I was still seeing your posts, but if you’re actually a more loving person than what you were posting on Facebook, just let me know in 10 years at the next reunion.

I’ll be happy to re-friend you should I find that you’ve put your thinking cap back on.

More good stuff:

To Courtney: Why I Ignored Your Friend Request On Facebook

My Dashboard Hula Girl And Her Horrific Accident

Ten Things That My Dashboard Hula Girl’s Accident Taught Me

Posted by Coco 8 Responses »

Excuse Me, 40, What Did You Just Say To Me??

Mar 312012

How are you supposed to know when you’re a kid that you are going to replace the old people around you one day? And that you will someday be the same you but in a used package?

The part where you figure out your life’s work and then get a used, worn-out package to carry it out is the original bait and switch.

I was young and living in Boston with a college friend when she turned 25 a year before I did. She was kind of freaked out by it and looked in the mirror a lot. I really did not get that.

Years went by before I realized I was getting older, but sometime after 40, I was surprised to catch myself in the mirror and notice that my face had changed, damn it. I had looked younger than my years for so long, that each passing year did little to remind me that another year had passed.

I realize now that I was receiving preferential treatment from the universe.

But it all snuck up on me anyway and and now I’m pissed.

I will spare you and me both my sad tale of getting wrinkles, because at the least, I’m glad I’m smarter than I used to be- that’s been worth paying for.

I mean, I’m a lot smarter. And that’s a big relief because I was starting to think that there was an inside joke going on around me. I just couldn’t get the hang of a few of life’s basics.

Maybe that’s what was keeping me young, now that I think about it.

While the aging continues to have its way with me, I never-the-less manage to forget how old I am (which sometimes explains my behavior, I’m sure) and I’ve noticed others who are over 40 do the same thing; they forget their own age.

I’m not the first to say, “How old am I again?”

Because after 40, just getting the decade right is gracious plenty. It no longer matters where in your 40s you are- you’re just headed to 50 and then, well, for 10 more years it won’t matter much then either because you’re simply in your 50s and can ignore the filler years.

Taking it a decade at a time simplifies the goal.

Catch a few birthdays along the decade, celebrate and have a good time the whole ten years, and voila’, there you are celebrating what you get to call “The Big One” every time a new decade rolls in.

Seriously, if someone really needs the exact number, just hand ‘em your driver’s license and let them do the math. It’s more important to concentrate on remembering something relevant.

Because knowing exactly how old you are will not help you find your car in a parking lot, but remembering to remember where you parked will.

Simple as that, you look in the mirror one day and realize that you’re using old equipment, that the ones with the new equipment don’t appreciate it and are running it into the ground, and that there’s not enough RAM left in your early model brain to remember both how many candles go on your cake… and what you walked into the kitchen for.

More good stuff:

Good Wine, A Great Sale, Cheap Gas, And A Chilly Wind

Breakfast: The Most Important Meal Of The Day

Posted by Coco 22 Responses »

Goal Setting. The Hard Way.

Mar 272012

I was at a little brunch-y thing recently and I let my guard down by letting on that I am- get this- human. (Ha!)

No really, I swear this woman who was also at the brunchy thing must have been looking for an in, because when I mentioned (remember, I let my guard down) that I once didn’t do my taxes for three years in a row, she jumped on me and fast and said, “So you’re one of those people who doesn’t pay their taxes!” She was not cute about it.

I assured her that it was no skin off the IRS’s back for those three years, as they actually owed me thousands of dollars. And I tried to succinctly explain to her my painful lost-at-sea spell and what all that meant for me and why you can’t tell everything there is to know about a person by what they look like on the outside.

But she mostly just stared at me funny.

After my little self-protective speech, I did feel a lot better and realized that I have come a long way from those cloudy years of letting big things like taxes sit idle while I tried to figure out where I was. In fact, I felt kind of proud of myself for being able to pull my thoughts together so eloquently right then and seize the moment- and then not regret what I’d said after I said it.

It’s like I’m growing up or something.

For as long as I’ve been trying to get it together, one of my little reassurances has been a refrigerator magnet that my girlfriend gave me that says, “No one ever has it all together. That’s like eating once and for all.” I don’t know, maybe you can relate.

I’ve read a lot of self-help books and taken their advice. I’ve done a lot of self-help things designed to cure me of that lost-at-sea crap. And for years I had a cool job that maybe wasn’t the perfect fit for me, but it was as good at building my confidence and teaching me valuable skills as it was at earning me a living. Shoot, maybe even better.

I dreamed big and I worked on my goals.

Or at least I thought I was working on my goals, but really, I spent a lot of time changing my goals around. It’s hard to set goals when you don’t know where you want to go- or you can’t bear to face yourself, for all the change and work it would involve.

After years wandering- and gathering strength as it turns out, I up and decided one day that I’d had enough of trying to make a living doing something “important” while writing on the side. It was nearly an overnight decision that writing is important. And it changed everything, as though one sunny day I tore open the curtains and the light poured in and pushed away the darkness.

It was then that I finally washed up to shore and called myself a writer.

Only thing is, now that I’ve got myself all goal-ed up and writing, I’ve gone and picked up a touch of the tennis elbow from all this typing. I know I’m not going out on a limb here in saying that this is nothing compared to the tax-avoiding me, but never-the-less, it gave me a new bite-sized goal of getting a desk chair with arms.

Without having figured out where I want to go, I’d never have needed the desk chair with arms.

Turns out that goal setting is a lot easier when you, well, have a goal.

(Thanks to Dawn at www.alphabetsalad.com for inspiration for this post.)

Posted by Coco 14 Responses »

Ten Things That My Dashboard Hula Girl’s Accident Taught Me

Mar 242012

As you may recall, Fernanda, my dashboard hula girl had a heat-related accident the other day and went in for glue-replacement surgery. It appeared that surgery went well at the time, but Fernanda has since had a setback and, well, she fell over in the sun again this week.

As Fernanda’s health has been so touch and go lately, you might say it’s been sort of an eye-opener for me. I’ve had some time to reflect and want to share with you a few things that have resonated with me:

You can never be too sure that something bizarre isn’t about to happen to you.
Using cheap glue to hold yourself together may not be so cheap in the long run.
Always make sure your clothes close all the way, especially in the back. You never know when you’re going to come unglued- so to speak- and fall completely over.
And make sure you have on clean underwear- or that you are at least wearing permanently painted-on underwear.
Try to stay healthy. Coming unglued can change your life forever.
Even when things are looking pretty bad, there are people who care, even strangers on the internet.
Try to look at the bright side- it can be enlightening to look at things askew if you have little choice otherwise.
It’s entirely possible that loose glue can go undetected for a very long time.
Keep smiling and playing that ukulele no matter what you’re going through.
Insurance may not cover this.

Posted by Coco 20 Responses »

My Dashboard Hula Girl And Her Horrific Accident

Mar 152012

Fernanda is apparently weak.

It was a beautiful 74 degree afternoon and I was reveling in the perfect sunshine when I got in the car to go do the carpool thing. I looked over at the center of the dashboard and did a double-take.

Fernanda had melted over at the waist, right where her bouncy spring is.

And her skirt had come unglued, revealing half of her backside, which was then made all the more visible because her top half was laying over and her head was down at her feet. I tried to help her recompose herself, but that just made her give up and fall off the dashboard altogether.

I cringed as her melting body lay in my hand.

Sure, the car was warm when I got in- it felt kind of good, actually. This time of year it could be windy and rainy or gosh knows what, so for the moment I was just soaking up the warmth like a snake in the sun.

It certainly wasn’t like what we’ve got coming later on this summer when the temperature soars to the 90s and the heat in the car literally takes your breath away.

No, this was the kind of weather that puts the whole town in a good mood.

But the spell was broken when Fernanda had her accident.

As she lay crippled in my hand, globby glue oozed all the way down her bouncy spring and out from the waistband of her skirt. She was helpless.

I was shocked that she couldn’t withstand a merely warm spring day- just how was she planning to handle the summer??

Back when we had another dashboard hula girl named Boo Boo, she never melted over. She did eventually turn a little green from the incessantly hot coastal sunshine beating down on her plastic skin, but she toughed it out for years with no other damage whatsoever.

That Boo Boo was a strong hula girl.

But today’s hula girls must be getting their glue at the dollar store.

After I repair Fernanda with some top quality glue, I hope that I never again see such horrors- it was like “Toy Story” gone tragically wrong.

I now know that that there’s skimping going on in dashboard-dwelling hula girl construction.

Buyer beware.

You don’t want this to happen in your car.

Posted by Coco 10 Responses »

Older Entries