dave's return

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As a teen, I regularly read Dave Barry's humor column in the Sunday paper. Regularly, that is, until the idiotic Roanoke Times and World-News stopped publishing it. I guess it wasn't news-y enough or something. At any rate, I was an avid reader. Or a loyal reader. Or a fan. Whatever.

While other teen girls were infatuated with Brad Pitt or Sailor Moon (never quite got that one), I plastered the covers of my school binders with Dave Barry columns. After taping the article to the front, spine, rear, or inside of the binder, I would then "laminate" my work with more, um, tape. Classy, you know?

One fall, while at the Troutville fall festival (can't remember the name of it...), I happened upon a library's used book sale.  Books for a quarter!  Books for fifty cents!  Books, books, books, and more books.  You know what else they were selling?  hot dogs.  yeah.  because they go so well with books.  Want some ketchup with that?

I spent many minutes looking through all the boxes of no-longer-loved books and came away with quite an armful.  One of my gems was a Dave Barry book.  Seriously.  I know!  I didn't even know that my most favorite columnist who had been writing for the Miami Herald since the time I was three was an author, too!  I think the book might have been Dave Barry Talks Back, but really I'm not sure.  At any rate, it was awesome!

Now, let me tell you, the only thing that I remember from reading that most awesome library book sale find is this: Suck, Don't Blow.  That's right.  As a teen, I was taking my sex tips from a great comedian.  It scarred me for life.  Did you know that if you blow on a dick, the guy can get air in his blood and die?  That's what Dave Barry said.  I still can't breathe right while doing the oral nasty, out of fear of killing my husband.  Maybe I need one of those strips. 

This afternoon, I took Katie to the library and, lo and behold, what did I find?  Dave Barry's latest collection of comical essays.  I immediately checked out I'll Mature When I'm Dead, though I had an armful of other, more grown-up things to read.  (Like The Rebel Housewife Rules: To Heck with Domestic Bliss) (I'm pretty sure my early obsession with all things Barry influenced my overuse of the parenthesis) (parenthesisess? not sure what the plural of that one should be).

Dear Dave:  Though I go to comedy clubs and see other guys talking about funny stuff, though I inwardly laughed my ass off when my husband fell off a bounce house and bumped his head yesterday (he was fine), though I find humor in blogs and stuff, you're still my one and only comedian.  The one that I think of when I'm down.  The one I think of when I'm on my knees (Suck, lady, suck), the one who introduced me to the funny business.  Though you're an old man, and you're probably wrinkled up and should be gray, and you turned 50 like a million and a half years ago, you're awesome.  My binders salute you.

snuggie up

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In just two days, I will don a snuggie in public. Yes, I will. This is not a joke.

My husband and I are attending Roanoke's first Snuggie Bar Crawl this Saturday. Though I have never been bar crawling before, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe it is just because I can't wait to document a bunch of strangers making fools of themselves while wrapped in hideous blankets. Maybe it's because we're actually getting a whole night sans kids. Maybe it's because we're going to end the evening at a comedy show.  Or, maybe it is because I get to try to fashion my pepto-bismol pink snuggie into something I might actually want to wear.

image source

I'm thinking about cutting off the sleeves, shortening the garb to cocktail-length, and sewing up the back.  Maybe cutting a v-neck, or going for a more modest faux-v with the help of some ruffles.  Then again, I'm afraid I'll get cold, so maybe some 3/4 sleeves would be better?  We are going to be "crawling" from one location to the next, and I don't really want to take a coat.  I don't want to wear anything too short or too flashy, lest I be mistaken for a rather large, unsuccessful street-walker.  Or, Lady Gaga.  I think there's a fine line here.  I need to find it, stat.

too much is too much

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This weekend, my wonderful husband chose to be super helpful around the house. For that, I am very thankful. During his time off from work, he mulched the leaves, cleaned the gutters, watched the children so I could sleep after shopping all night, stayed home while I went out to the Star City Comedy Club with good friend, Jannine, got the Christmas decorations out of the attic and did the dishes. And, you know what? I didn't even ask him to do any many of these things. What a dear!

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The thing is, he hit a snag the last time he did the dishes.  The soap packet that had been put into the dishwasher for the previous run had not dissolved.  So, my handy husband decided he would add Dawn dishwashing detergent to the cup to get the job done.  I think he may have mentioned that we were also out of the Cascade packs.  I don't remember.  At any rate, he squirted a cupful of Dawn (the type you use to hand wash dishes) into the machine.  He turned it on.  A little while later, he went to get something from the kitchen and found a mess.  "Oh....." he groaned.  I asked what was the matter and he told me, "There are some bubbles on the floor."  Some bubbles?  A good quarter of the kitchen was covered in suds.  Oh my!  Deja vu, anyone?

For the second time in three months, I started to clean up a wet mess.  We bypassed the bath towel route this time because I didn't want to add to my backed-up laundry pile.  Instead, he grabbed the mop and I used the dust mop.  He would swing his tool across the sudsy floor, and I would push back, trying to keep the water and bubbles from spreading even further.  It felt like we were playing a gentle game of hockey, or participating in that weird-ass Olympic sport, curling.

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Eventually, we were able to get the floor mostly dry and we turned our attention to the dishwasher.  You see, when John walked into the kitchen, soap was pouring out of the front of the machine.  He promptly turned it off, to minimize the flooding, but we realized we would soon have to deal with the mess inside.  Opening the door, we found a wall of bubbles.  Slowly, but surely, we began to scoop them out until the were nearly gone.  When we had removed as much soap as possible, we turned on the dishwasher to let it finish the cycle.  Water continued to dribble out for much of that run, but now our machine is as good as new and cleaner than it has been in a very long time.

This whole ordeal got me to thinking (bad idea, I know!).  A lot of times, we think that if a little is good, then a lot is a whole lot better.  Like the little squirt of dawn turning into a good half cup being poured into the dishwasher.  We have a tendency to go for the overkill, especially with our children.

Christmas is coming.  I have a difficult time moderating how many gifts my kids receive.  I just love to give them things and there are so many toys and items on the market that they would love to have.  Once I get started buying presents, I find it so hard to stop.  But, is more really better when it comes to giving things to our kids?  Or, should they learn the life lessons that go along with disappointment and/or hard work?

While waiting in line to shop at Toys R Us on Thanksgiving night, I spoke with Jessica, a young mother of a two year old boy.  Her son will be receiving many things this Christmas, among them a 32" flat screen television.  Her reasoning?  He needs something to entertain him.  Feel free to roll your eyes.  Inwardly, I did, too.  My response, "My kids are getting an aquarium."  Jessica's mother, who was along for the ride, just about died laughing.

You see, over the years I have come to realize that the bigger and better presents aren't always the best.  If you get your two year old a giant tv, then what is there to look forward to as he grows up?  Hell, we don't even have a tv that big in my home.  When Alex was young, he was overly spoiled.  I couldn't wait to get him the next best thing for his "age."  However, I failed to realize that just because he was in the appropriate "age range," and I was able to buy the items, they weren't necessarily suitable playthings for his stage.

When you jump ahead and buy anything and everything for your children, they lose more than they gain.  The kids no longer become enthralled with the gifts they receive, they become spoiled, and they lose interest in their toys more quickly.  They don't learn the value of hard work with suitable rewards, nor do they experience the thrill of receiving something they have longed for. Things become disposable.  In general, items lose their value when they are given by the bucket load.  While a squirt of generosity is good, a cupful just creates a mess. 

How will you balance your desire to give it all with your children's need of moderation and value this season?  What are the top gifts on your list?  Will you go all out, or will you (attempt) to keep it simple and sane?

What I Did At Summer Camp

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1. Walked a goat.  A real one.  Not my husband.

2. Cracked a geode.  Again, a real one. 
As opposed to a geo code*

3. Got wet.  Really wet.

4. Touched a snake.  Believe me, this was big.

(source)

5. Slept on a metal cot with no pillow in a tent with flaps that didn't tie
all by myself while a real, live, pink-speckled bear wandered
through the campsite. I'll tell you more about the bear later.

(not my picture, I found it somewhere on the internets,
but can't remember where, and doctored it up a bit.)

*what's a geo code?