Five Things I Hate Hearing

Five Things I Hate Hearing

There are a considerable number of phrases that cause me to cringe a little, but some are worse than others. Here are the top five things I hate hearing.

  1. When the word “seen” is spoken without being preceded by “have.” (e.g. I know she done killt that rooster because I seen it with my good eye.)
  2. “It’s a God thing.” This particular phrase is used to describe anything good that has happened to any person at any time. I find it most reprehensible when said with a southern drawl. (e.g. After not holding nothing down for a week, Sissy drank a whole Mountain Dew. It’s a God thang.)
  3. “Can you do me a favor?” I probably can and I probably won’t. That’s what you get for using a poor, vague proposition.
  4. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” FALSE. I’ve been wrong for years. If you’re just now noticing, then that’s your bad. And just in case you’re wondering, nope- I still don’t care.
  5. Unsolicited parenting advice. This is particularly hard to swallow when spoken from the mouth of stranger, or anyone without kids of their own. (e.g. It’s been forty years since mine were that age, but I spend a lot of time volunteering in children’s church and I tell you. You’re going about it all wrong.)

It’s pretty apparent that the older I get, the less I’m able to tolerate. However, I’m not the only one experiencing intolerance with aging. So spill it. I want to hear what grinds your gears? What phrases, cliches, or otherwise annoying activities make you cringe? There are no wrong answers. Go!

Holiday Card 2014! The Big Reveal

After last year’s epic holiday card, I was under a lot of pressure to come up with something of equal, or better value. It was put up, or shut up time.

However, due to several first-world problems I was unable to get the Wescott family holiday card created and mailed in a timely manner. Instead, I’m sending it to everyone on the interwebs, not to mention saving eleventy-hundred dollars on postage.

From everyone here at Loripalooza (aka me and my dog, Baxter who is currently just lying on the sofa and licking the spot where his balls used to be) want to wish you and your loved ones a happy EVERYTHING this holiday season.

LET THE FIGGY PUDDING COMMENCE!

Holiday Card 2014

 

Holiday Card 2014

 

The Hiking Industry & the Dummies Who Fell For It

Hiking History

There are several things that really chap my ass, but being such a soft-spoken, girl-next-door type, I usually hold my tongue (see Stupid Suburban Problems and Moms Against Sexy Faces). However, most likely due to my menstrual cycle I have absolutely had it with hiking.

For centuries Homo sapiens have participated in this activity without need for fancy weatherproof boots, or collapsible, aluminum trekking poles. You know what they called it? They called it fucking walking! And they didn’t even brag about it.

So how did this multi-million dollar industry get started?

I’m glad you asked.

It began as a typical Tuesday in the early 1900’s when a third floor building that housed the headquarters for Millican’s Mustache Wax, Inc. encountered an elevator problem. Maintenance was called and it was estimated that the elevator could be out of operation for up to an hour.

Twelve men wearing suits and wingtip shoes took the stairs and ascended to the third floor on foot for the first time. As they rubbed their weary feet and scratched their heads being careful not to muss their heavily waxed coifs, one of them had a brilliant idea.

You know that thing we just did that poor people do all the time? Let’s make it into a sport. We could sell special shoes and make a fortune!

Mr. Merrell, the obese, mouth-breathing CFO having just walked in the door because he actually waited on the elevator to be fixed, chimed in. “Well, I could never do that. Not without a cane, or a backpack full of snacks.”

And that is how hiking came to be. As fortune would have it, Theodore Roosevelt would soon be gallivanting all over the country declaring National Parks everywhere he turned. This only served to reinforce the concept of walking with canes, special shoes and of course, snacks.

Call it a sport if you want to, but find me a pain-clinic patient with an appointment on the other side of town and a car that won’t start and I’ll show you the most extreme hiking you’ve ever seen. No shoes required.

All this typing has made me hungry. I think I’ll hike downstairs and make myself a snack.

Happy Birthday, Baxter!

Baxter turned ten-years-old yesterday and he insisted on making it a big to do.

Now, I’m not one to judge, but I think he let things get out of hand. I made the decision to shut it down after one of the neighbors called the cops. He was clearly angry at me and yelled something about me not being his real Mom before passing out on the couch.

I came right out and this morning and asked him about the three-legged labradoodle I saw him hitting on before the cops showed up. She wasn’t even wearing a collar. Skank.

I’m not sure how much he will remember from last night, but I hope his memories are fond ones. You do only turn ten once.

Baxter's Birthday

Where Have I Been? Kindergarten.

Kindergarten

I’ve been a naughty, absent blogger for the last couple of months and for that I’m sorry. It’s just that we’ve had some big changes in our household that have forced us into a new routine.

I had planned on working more outside the home when Luke started school. In my mind these two things would happen almost effortlessly, but I was in for a rude awakening. Kindergarten is hard, yo!  And I’m not even the one taking classes.

I did NOT expect there to be homework so early on. Now, everyday I dread unzipping Luke’s little backpack and finding our to-do list. What’s it going to be tonight, Teach?

“Instructions: Put two rhyming items into this ziplock baggie and return it in your child’s backpack tomorrow.”

Are you freaking kidding me?! Is this kindergarten or Harvard? 

Luke’s headfirst dive into the shallow end of kindergarten has been less than traumatic. However, I think once his teacher gets to know him she will have a better appreciation for what his previous teacher referred to as “his lovable quirks.”

One day last week he got off the bus and met me with a frown. My mind went immediately to the worst case scenario- three things that rhyme in a ziplock baggie. “Well,” he sighed. “I’ve got terrible news. I’m not allowed to tell jokes in school anymore.”

“Okay. Well, there’s probably a better time and place for telling jokes,” I said as I shook his backpack and listened for the sound of a ziplock baggie. No baggie. Sweet!

“Well, I’m not happy about it, Mom. I’m also not happy because I gotta go to the vet.”

“Why do you need to go to the vet?”

He flexed his bicep and lisped through his gappy grin.

“Because my pythons are sssss-thick.”

The Hell Is My Passat?

Where the hell is my Passat?

What you’re about to read is not for the faint of heart. This is the tale of one woman’s brave journey to find her VW Passat in a parking garage. Like most frightening stories begin, it was a beautiful sunny day with almost no humidity.

Our heroine left her appointment somewhat exhausted and headed straight for the parking garage. She didn’t recognize any landmarks on the two-mile trek to the garage, but then again she never did. After following every sign she finally reached the parking garage, but something was wrong.

She saw a gentleman pass by. Excuse me, sir. Is this the Patient Parking garage?

The news was bad. She had walked to the Administrative Plaza garage. The patient parking was located on the other side of the building. Ignoring the blisters forming on the heel of each foot she pulled up her emotional bootstraps and began the eleventy-million mile trek to the correct garage.

Where the hell is my Passat?

Approximately forty-five minutes and one bathroom break later she arrived at the patient parking garage and found her car. Eureka! She located her keys, but was dismayed to find that her keyless remote wouldn’t unlock her doors. She tried to keep her cool as she pushed the button on the remote two more times. Exhausted and eager to go home, her patience wore thin. That’s when she noticed that someone parked next to her had dinged her car door. All composure was lost.

Are you kidding me? Who does that? What is wrong with this stupid remote? Its only job is to lock and unlock. Is that so hard? MY SPOILER is gone, too! This is unreal! Did someone wash my car? Wait a minute.

She headed back to the elevator while trying to keep a low profile. A passerby may have thought she was trying to break into a car that was very similar in make, model and color to her own.

After a couple strolls around garage levels A and B, our brave heroine located her automobile and was finally on her way home. Little did she know an interstate interchange was on the horizon. She was about to be forced to choose between Memphis and Knoxville when she desired a visit to neither. Learning to navigate I-24 had been on her to-do list for ages. In fact, it was her last New Year’s resolution.

No time like the present, she cried. Literally cried.

When she finally arrived home she was met by her husband. He had been born with logistical instincts and she knew he would never understand her near-debacle. What took so long? He asked.

My doctor was running three hours behind. So typical.

Raising A Tolerant Child For A Better Tomorrow

Tolerant Child

Luke and I have been very busy this summer in my attempt to squeeze in as much fun as I possibly could before the start of Kindergarten. As we ready ourselves to embark on this new phase of his life I can honestly say I’ve spent some time wondering and yes, worrying if I have given him everything he needs in his first six years of life. A parent can only hope that they’ve been a good example and done everything possible to mold their child’s young mind into a form that will create a kind, creative, and loving human.

Had I done my job of raising a tolerant child for a better tomorrow?

After the last few weeks of spending quality time with Luke the answer was apparent. I mean duhh, of course I had.

How can I be so sure? I’ll give you some examples.

Last week, while sitting in the backseat Luke saw someone in the car next to us throw garbage out of their car window. “Mom, unlock my window, PLEASE!”

“Not happening, Luke.”

He banged his fist on the window as he shouted, “Hey LOSER, the earth is not your garbage can!”

We weren’t on the best side of town so I floored it as soon as the light turned green feeling semi-proud. I had a little environmentalist on my hands, yes with possible rage issues, but still. Maybe green bullying is the new black.

I received further confirmation of my ability to raise a well-rounded child when before going to bed one night he informed me, “Mom, I’m not JUST into rap anymore. I like rock music, too.”

Score!

However, the pièce de résistance came during our recent trip to the Nashville Zoo. We were inside the alligator exhibit- a small confined space with room for only a few people at a time overlooking the alligators. We were admiring the hideous reptilians alongside a Middle Eastern family. The women had on their traditional scarves and they were speaking in their native tongue.

I was afraid something was about to go down because Luke took on his super cool stance- leaned against the glass with one foot crossed in front of the other. He addressed the family loudly. “So I noticed y’all speaking Spanish. Doesn’t bother me, though.”

He was giving his typical wink-face and gun hand as I pulled him out of the room and away from the nice family. We were walking briskly to the nearest exit when he mentioned, “There was a whole pride of them. Cool.”

It gives me great pleasure to share with you my accomplishments in successfully raising an environmentally conscious, well-rounded, and racially tolerant human being. I hate to brag, but it takes most parents eighteen years to do that.

What Everyone Else Sees In Your Selfies

Stop Selfies

In an effort to decrease the number of selfies clogging up my social media feeds, as well as photos of your naked son’s rash, photos of a body part before, or after the stitches were placed, and anything else suitable for a medical text book I beg of you- STOP.

“My selfies don’t look…”

STOP!

Yes, they do. They DO look like that.

If you’re interested in further reading material on this matter see also Moms Against Sexy Faces.

That concludes this public service announcement.