On the way there, my mind reeled with inappropriate possibilities.  I was sure that he had revealed an embarrassing family secret.  (Not that we actually have any of those.)  Had he told what Grandpa says while he’s watching basketball?  Did he give a description of the time he helped his dad make wine?  Or of the PG-13 movie we shouldn’t have let him watch?  The kid pretty much has a photographic memory, so there was no telling what it might have been.  The only topic I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be was “Where Babies Come From”.  We have purposely withheld that information from him because we know it would pop up at the most inappropriate of times.

When we got to school, we made our way to his classroom, where his teacher greeted us with a smile.  I searched for his book, fully expecting his teacher to say something like, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.  I think he should start seeing the school counselor immediately.”  So imagine my surprise when I found his book and it was titled The Time I Almost Got Electrocuted.  It was about the time when I caught him a split second before he stuck a key into a wall outlet.  It happened over three years ago, and I had pretty much forgotten about it.  I would have thought he had forgotten too, but like I said, he doesn’t forget anything.

I was amazed at what a good job he did writing his book.  The story flowed well and he included just enough relevant details to keep it interesting.  I wasn’t sure whether it was just the mother in me thinking it was good until he came home from school the next day.  They’d had a schoolwide assembly where a local author (no, not me) came to speak.  The teachers selected one student book from each grade level for the author to read aloud, and Lucas’s book was the one chosen for second grade.  He was moritfied, and I had to explain what an awesome accomplishment that was.

I’m glad my son doesn’t fully understand the meaning of inappropriate.  I’m also glad that he’s showing a knack for writing.  He’s written a couple more books since then, and it is obvious that he has not only a good storytelling ability, but also my sense of humor.  One of them has the lines, “There was a mad scientist named Mad Scientist.  He made an invention called the shrinkinator, which obviously makes things bigger.”  His other book is called If You Give a Kid a Corndog.  It’s based on the If You Give a Mouse a Cookie series.  It lists all these crazy things that happen after I give him a corndog.  Like the Mouse books, it goes full circle and ends with him wanting another corndog.

As you can probably tell, my boy has really done me proud.  I’d better get busy on my novel, or he’s going to be a published author before I am!

I’m not much of a hard boiled egg fan myself, but for some reason I always look forward to my post-Easter egg salad.  Maybe it’s because it’s such an easy dinner.  Any meal that doesn’t involve any actual cooking is a good meal to me.  Or maybe I like it because it keeps the holiday going a little bit longer.  Besides, the egg salad always looks so festive with all the pretty colors from the dye that has leaked through the shells.   Whatever the case, I eat it and get my egg salad fix, and then I’m good for another year.

I know my kids won’t be partaking in the egg salad tonight.  Lucas wouldn’t eat an egg if it was the last food left on earth.  (Unless it was a chocolate egg.)  He said that his school served hard boiled eggs for lunch on Friday.  (I kind of find this hard to believe.  Are there really that many kids who will eat hard boiled eggs?)  He said he told all the other kids at his table exactly what is in an egg (i.e. that the yolk is the food supply for the baby chick and that there’s that stringy white thing that’s the umbilical cord), and that they were all grossed out and refused to eat them.  I’m sure those kids’ parents are loving him about now.

Now that I think about it, I didn’t eat eggs until I was about 25.  I grew up thinking that the yolk actually was the baby chick (which I guess in a way it is since it is the only food source for the chick, and everyone knows that you are what you eat).  Even after I took high school biology and found out that the eggs we eat are unfertilized, it took me another decade to get onboard.  Isn’t it funny how at some point we get past the grossness of certain foods and just eat them? 

Egg salad for me is one of those things where many wrongs added together make a right.  I don’t particularly like eggs,  celery or mayonaise, but mix them all together, slap it on some toast and it’s pretty darn good.  Just don’t use Miracle Whip.  I can tolerate mayo, but Miracle Whip is out of the question.  One of my many pet peeves is when people use mayonaise and Miracle Whip interchangeably.  They are not the same thing, people!  In my childhood, there were too many times when someone asked me if I wanted mayo on my sandwich and it ended up being Miracle Whip.  I learned long ago to ask for mine with no mayo.  Even to this day I have to be careful at potlucks.  If there’s any kind of salad, I just take a tiny little serving so I can see whether it’s made with Miracle Whip.  I don’t want to end up with a big scoop of inedible macaroni salad on my plate and be sitting next to a little old lady who says, “What’s wrong honey, don’t you like my macaroni salad?”

Bon appetite!

The city of Fort Wayne, IN has recently decided to rename one of their government buildings.  They conducted an on-line poll, and the overwhelming majority of voters wanted to name it after former mayor Harry Baals.  (In case you’re unsure, his last name is pronounced “balls”.)  Even though Mr. Baals was the clear favorite, the building will not be named after him.  The official reason the city gave is that they wanted to choose a person that would be known outside of Fort Wayne.  Yeah right.  They just didn’t want to become the butt of late-night talk show jokes, but by denying the voters their choice, they have done exactly that.

It’s really kind of unfortunate.  Mr. Baals served several terms as mayor and even died while in office.  From what I gather, he was a very popular mayor.  Everyone liked Harry Baals.  And yet the man can’t have a government building named after him.  As if going through life with a name like that weren’t punishment enough.

It sounds like a gag straight out of The Simpsons.  Bart calls Moe’s Bar and says, “I’m looking for a Mr. Baals, first name Harry.”  Moe puts down the phone and shouts, “I’m looking for Harry Baals.  Somebody go in the men’s room and see if you can find Harry Baals!”

A few years ago, the city named a street after Mr. Baals.  It was called Harry Baals Drive, but they soon had to change the name to H.W. Baals Drive.  People (presumably teenage boys) were constantly stealing the street signs.  They must be the same guys who are always stealing the I-69 signs around here.

One thing I can say is that I’m never going to feel bad about my name again.  I have a boring first name and unusual/hard to spell last name.  I imagine many people have similar complaints.  Just remember, it could be worse.  You could have been Harry Baals.

So I found myself stuck with the task of figuring out how to write something X rated without it actually being X rated.  X rated just isn’t my style.  Besides, I think double entendre is almost always funnier than coming right out and saying something dirty. 

Well, last night I was standing in the grocery store, picking out wieners when it hit me that I have got to write a post that includes the words, “I was standing in the grocery store picking out wieners”.  So here it is.

I’m sure most of you realize that I’m talking about hot dogs.  I used the word “wiener” because that’s the word that is on the packing for just about every brand of them.  Every once in a while you’ll see them called “franks”, usually when they’re of the Kosher or Ball Park variety, but they’re never labeled as “hot dogs”. 

This doesn’t make sense considering that no one calls them wieners any more.  I mean really, who says, “Hey kids, we’re having wieners for lunch today!”?  Everyone calls them hot dogs, and for good reason.  I’m willing to bet that for most of you, when you hear the word wiener, hot dogs are not the first things that come to mind.  The phrase “I was standing in the grocery store picking out wieners” paints a whole different mental picture when you think about it that way.

Maybe it’s one of those things where they haven’t changed the name for nostalgic reasons.  Because really, it just wouldn’t seem right to sing, “Oh I wish I were an Oscar Meyer hot dog.”  But I have a feeling the company execs just get a kick out of selling a product with a “dirty” name.

I just hope the name doesn’t have anything to do with the content.  I can understand the logic, “We can’t call them hot dogs since they don’t contain actual dogs.”  Does that mean they can call them wieners because they contain you-know-whats?

It also begs the question:  which meaning came first, the edible one or the anatomical one?  I would guess that the food was called “wiener” first and that the other meaning developed as slang from there.  But who really knows (or cares)?  All that matters is that the second meaning has taken over.  It’s kind of like how you can’t call a cat a “pussy” any more, even though that was once a perfectly acceptable word.

OK, so this post isn’t exactly X rated.  I’d say it’s PG-13 at best.  It’s really more like something a fourth grader would write.  I apologize if I’ve disappointed anyone, but sometimes I have to let my inner fourth grader out to play.  Speaking of which, I should finish my sentence by saying, “I was standing in the grocery store picking out wieners when I realized that my life is so boring that getting to use the phrase ‘picking out wieners’ was the highlight of my day.”  Oh well, at least I’ve got a post for X!

Maybe my problem is that I’ve already had my fill of basketball.  March Madness began a little early for my family.  (Well, technically there are no bounds to the madness around here.  It’s our permanent state of existence.  I’m talking about basketball today, though.)  For the past two months, Lucas has been taking part in a basketball league for first and second graders.  I know that watching a bunch of little kids play basketball probably sounds like about as much fun as a tax audit, but we’ve really had a good time with it.  The games are hilarious.  In the first game, I overheard one of the boys talking about the “line of scrimmage”.  That’s when I knew it was going to be good.  I know it sounds mean to laugh at them, but you can’t help it when the boys start wrestling with their own team members for possession of the ball.  And how can you keep a straight face when one of them runs to the wrong end of the court, makes a basket and looks as if he’s just won the world championship? 

The best thing about this league is that they don’t keep score.  When I first heard that I was like, “Geez, what’s the point in playing if we don’t know who won?”  I figured I would mentally keep track of how many baskets each team has scored, but I never did.  I found out that it really doesn’t matter.  The cool thing is that after every game, boys from both teams would walk off the court saying, “Did you see that?  We won!”  When everyone can walk away feeling like a winner, that’s a good thing in my book.  I wish everything in life could be that way.  I’m sick of the world being so competitive and everyone always trying to tear each other down.  But I’ll stay off that soapbox, at least for now.

The absolute best moment of the season came this past Saturday.  It was the final game of the season and Lucas got the ball with 20 seconds left on the clock.  He dribbled down to the basket, but he didn’t shoot.  He just kept dribbling around, waiting for the perfect shot.  He had been right under the basket, but he ended up backing away.  While this was going on, his coach and all the parents on the sideline were standing there yelling, “Shoot the ball, Lucas!”  Finally, with three seconds left on the clock, he took the shot.  As far away as he was, I didn’t think there was any way it would go in, but it did, right at the buzzer.  The entire crowd (even the ones rooting for the other team) went wild.

Luckily one of the other dads captured the moment on film.  Lucas is on the far left, number 31.  He’s the one with the look of pure, unadulterated shock on his face.

The shot of a lifetime

To hear Lucas tell the story, it was a three-pointer and the game-winning shot.  Thanks to him, the team was able to end their season undefeated.  I don’t know whether it was a three-pointer or not, and I don’t know whether it won the game for them.  Does it really matter?  He had fun, and he got to have a really amazing Sports Hero moment that he’ll remember for the rest of his life.  The Big Dance kinda pales in comparison.

• On this day in 1802, The United States Military Academy was founded.  Thrilling, I know.
• In 1850 The Scarlet Letter was published.  High school English students have been cursing the day ever since.
• In 1926 Robert H. Goddard launched the world’s first liquid-fueled rocket.  This might come in handy if you’re ever on Jeopardy.
• In 1986 Gui’s mom and stepdad got married.  Happy Anniversary Gloria and Denny!
• In 1995 Mississippi formally abolished slavery by ratifying the 13th Amendment to the US Constitution.  No, that is not a typo.  It really was 1995, therefore cementing Mississippi’s status as the most backward state in the union.
• In 2005 a jury acquitted Robert Blake, star of the 1970s television detective show Baretta, of killing his wife, thereby confirming what OJ Simpson had proven a decade earlier:  if you have enough money and/or fame, you can get away with murder.
• Several notable people were born on this date.  We’ve got two White House residents: James Madison, our fourth President and the “Father of the Constitution”, and former First Lady Pat Nixon.  There are musicians Nancy Wilson of Heart and Flavor Flav, the rapper known for wearing a full-sized clock on a chain around his neck.   There are several stars of the small screen:  Victor Garber of Alias; Erik Estrada, the Latino heartthrob from CHiPs; Lauren Graham, the mom from Gilmore Girls and game show host Chuck Woolery, best known for Love Connection.  And then there’s Jerry Lewis, who is in a category of his own (although I’m not quite sure what it is). 
• And last but not least, on this day in 2009 I began this blog, marking the beginning of my public writing career.  (I had been writing privately since I was old enough to write.)  It may not seem like a big deal now, but just wait until I’m a published author.  Someday in the distant future, undoubtedly long after I’m dead and gone, high school English students will have a second reason to curse this day.

I need to get back to writing.  I don’t just want to; I need to.  Unfortunately I don’t know where to start.  Any time I start writing a new post, it ends up sounding more like a therapy session than something that people might actually want to read.  The problem is that I’ve gotten out of the habit of finding the humor in the world.  I need to somehow regain that ability.

The other problem is that there’s really nothing interesting, entertaining or funny going on in my life right now.  With it being winter, I’m pretty much stuck in the house all day with my little Tasmanian devil.  In the past two weeks, the only times I’ve gone out have been for tae kwon do, Lucas’s basketball games and my gynecologist appointment.  I’m sure you’d love to hear the details about all that.

So anyway, I hope you’ll bear with me.  The next few posts might be nothing more than warm-ups (and a way to finish out that &$%@# alphabet thing that I started and promised myself I’d finish), but hopefully I’ll be like Stella and get my groove back before too long.

I started out wanting to be mysterious.  I thought that if I gave away too much about the book, no one would feel the need to actually read it.  I have since realized that people aren’t going to be very interested in my book if I can’t even come up with one halfway intelligent sentence about it.  After my typical answer, I can just see them thinking, “Yeah, that sounds great” or “Oh, I’m gonna rush right out and buy that one.”  Even worse, I’m beginning to worry that people think the whole thing is a joke, that I couldn’t possibly be writing a real book that will actually be published someday.

Since I’m better at writing than speaking, I figured I might as well set the record straight here, in my blog.  Yes, I am writing a real book; I’m not just messing around.  I hope to have it published someday.  For the past five years I’ve been taking classses and reading books to educate myself about the art of writing fiction.  Going into it, I thought I already knew a lot about writing, but I am amazed at everything I’ve learned.  I don’t have a degree to show for it, so the proof will have to be in my work.  Unfortunately with two kids to raise, the going is slow.  That is why you’ve seen not one shred of evidence of this book’s existence.

As far as what type of book it is, it really is hard to categorize it.  Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to pigeonhole it.  “Mainstream Fiction” sounds so boring and non-descriptive, but that’s what it is.  It has some elements of romance, but it doesn’t follow the formula of the typical romance novel.  (You know the one I mean.  Boy meets girl.  Boy and girl can’t stand each other.  Boy and girl have one passionate night together and then end up hating each other even more.  Boy and girl refuse to speak to each other.  Boy and girl finally realize that they’re madly in love and live happily ever after.)  Some people might call it “chick lit”.  I’d like to hope it would also appeal to men, but that may just be wishful thinking.

It’s a first person novel.  The story is told by a woman who, by no coincidence, is a lot like me.  It’s deals mainly with the enduring relationships in her life: friendship, sisterhood, the parent-child relationship and yes, a romantic relationship.  It’s about how these relationships begin, how they evolve over the years and what they mean to our heroine.  It shows what happens when people test the boundaries of these relationships.  It’s also about the struggle between living the life you want versus the life other people expect you to have.  Just like with my blog, I try to infuse a touch of humor to keep it entertaining.

I have drawn from my own life experiences for inspiration, but all the characters and situations in the book are fictional.  The only real thing is the setting.  The story actually came from a novel I began writing when I was sixteen about the place my family went every year for vacation.  About five years ago I found this story and decided to finish what I’d started.  (At sixteen I didn’t have the determination or attention span to make it past Chapter 3.)  Since then it has evolved to the point where virtually nothing from the original is left.  That’s OK, though; stories have to start somewhere.

I am having a blast writing this book.  It’s my refuge from the stress of everyday life.  At the end of a long day, I love to sit with my laptop and let myself escape into this world I’ve created.  I recently read a quote by an author (I can’t remember which one) that was something to the effect of:  no one gets more pleasure out of a novel than the author who wrote it.  This is so true, and I hope it will show in the finished product. 

And that, in a really large nutshell, is what it’s all about.

The reigning king of sexy

Looking at the history of the Sexiest Man Alive, the picks have been all over the place.  There have been some good ones in the past.  Hugh Jackman and Matt Damon have gotten the title, and George Clooney has had it twice.  I’m completely on board with those.  But then there’s Johnny Depp, Richard Gere and Mel Gibson.  Those must have been off years in the world of sexy. 

This is sexy?

Honestly I don’t know if I’m the best judge.  Looking at my own history, I haven’t always agreed with the mainstream idea of attractiveness.  It started back in junior high when all the girls were in love with George Michael.  Let’s just say that his “flamboyance” was a little too much for me.  (Watch the video for “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” and you’ll see what I mean.)  There was also Don Johnson with his three day beard and pastel suits.  He never did a thing for me either.  And Brad Pitt.  I’ve never understood what the fuss is about.  And it’s not just because of the whole Jennifer Anniston/Angelina Jolie thing.  I didn’t like him even in the early days, when he was little more than an extra.

Speaking of extras, I’ve always liked the supporting men better than the big stars.  (Well, except for when I was twelve and in love with Michael J. Fox.)  When Top Gun came out, all the girls drooled over Maverick; I liked Goose.  While most women couldn’t get enough of Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, I was wishing they would give more screen time to the ship’s designer, played by Victor Garber.  I like men who haven’t gotten to be too big for their britches.  (Wow, I just thought of half a dozen comments I could make about that expression, but I won’t go there.)  In my book, acknowledgment of one’s own sexiness is a turn-off.  In other words, if a guy knows he’s sexy, he’s not. 

To me, sexiness has as much to do with personality as it does looks.  A guy can have the best body and biggest smile in the world, but if he’s a jerk, he’s not sexy.  Take Mel Gibson.  (Please take him, because I sure as heck don’t want him.)  I used to dig him, until he proved himself to be a first-rate A-hole.  Now I’m not quite sure what the attraction ever was. 

The older I get, the more I realize that sexiness has very little to do with a steroid-enhanced body or an artificially whitened smile.  For someone to be sexy to me, I have to get the feeling that he’s a nice guy, that he has manners and treats people right.  He has to put other people ahead of himself. 

Of course this is just me.  Sexiness is an individual preference, which is why it’s so ridiculous to have a Sexiest Man Alive.  There isn’t going to be one man that every woman considers the sexiest man in the world.  That’s like saying that there’s one best flavor of ice cream.  Everyone knows it’s impossible to get any two women to agree on anything. 

Even if there were a single sexiest man alive, what are the chances of him being an A-list actor?  Pretty good according to People considering that that’s what 24 out of their 25 choices have been.  But really, is it not possible that there’s an even sexier non-celebrity out there?  Do they even try to look for those guys?

There’s one other reason the concept of Sexiest Man Alive doesn’t make sense.  What about last year’s winner?  (In this case, Johnny Depp.)  He’s still alive.  Is he not sexy any more?  What happened to make him become less sexy?  And what about the two-time winners?  (Mr. Depp is also one of those.)  Were they sexy, then they became unsexy for a few years, and they got their sexiness back? 

This whole thing is ridiculous.  But I can’t complain.  There are worse ways to spend half an hour than looking at eye candy.