Humor of the Day: Operation Moby Dick

As I was getting ready for work this morning, I heard the DJ on the radio ask listeners to call in and tell their "funniest" story about their Mom. This, of course, was in preparation for Mother's Day on Sunday. Obviously, from my previous post, I could have easily called in with a story about my Mom, but since I was running late, I decided not to. Besides, how could I possibly pick just one funny story about my Mom?

But, as I listened to people call in and tell humorous stories about their Moms, this inspired me to think about what story my kids would tell about me. And then, without a doubt, I knew it would be our "Banana Boating Adventure" in the Dominican Republic. And since, in the past, my kids have actually requested that I blog about this adventure, I wouldn't want to disappoint them as Mother's Day approaches.

I'm not quite sure whose idea it was to go banana boating in the Dominican, but being the ever-adventurous Mom, I quickly agreed. What could be bad about sitting on an inflatable, yellow float as it is being dragged about the crystal clear ocean?

I soon found out.

For reasons that I still cannot comprehend, when we "boarded" the banana boat, Lauren took the seat immediately behind the driver, followed by Philip and then Ed. And I, bringing up the rear, took the last seat on the boat. In retrospect, it's beyond my comprehension why anyone would think that this was a good idea. It wasn't.

As our banana boat started on its voyage, all was well. Although we were bounced, twisted and tossed about, I managed to hold on by tightly clenching my hands on the grips. And then, our "driver" decided to add even more excitement to our ride and took an abrupt, extra-sharp turn. I, along with the rest of my family, lost my grip and landed in the water.

But I, unlike the rest of my family, did not quickly re-mount the banana boat.

By the time I had surfaced from underwater, wiped my eyes and gotten my bearings, I saw the rest of my family back on the banana boat and settling in to complete the ride.

So, I approached the boat, placed my arms up on the boat and pulled with all my strength. And, I went no where. Slipping back into the water, I heard Ed say "put your leg up on the boat as you pull up." Easy enough, I thought. I hiked my right leg up onto the boat, positioned my arms and pulled.

Attempt #2: Failure.

At this point, I realized that getting back on the boat was not going to be an easy feat. So, I started to do what I normally do when confronted with these type of situations: I laughed. And, I saw that my kids were laughing with me; Ed was not.

Hearing Lauren tell the driver that it would just be "one more minute" until I was back on the boat, I made a few unsuccessful attempts to re-mount the boat. But, I soon discovered that any upper body strength I may have had, disappeared when I was laughing. And I was laughing. A lot.

Fearing that his wife would be lost at sea forever, Ed decided that an intervention was necessary. So, he stood up on the boat and grabbed one of my arms and tried pulling me up.

Intervention unsuccessful.

"Sorry, it will just be another minute or two," Lauren patiently told the boat driver.

And then, Ed decided that a double-intervention was needed. "Phil, you grab Mom's right arm; I will take the left arm and on the count of three, PULL." 1...2....3....

Double-intervention unsuccessful.

"Really, it should only be another minute or two and she'll be back on the boat," Lauren assured the driver, who was growing impatient, though probably enjoying the best laugh of his career.

At this point, Lauren, Philip and I were convulsing with laughter; Ed was not. Instead, Ed was pacing back and forth on the banana boat, telling me that this was "not funny" and if I were going to get back on the boat, I had to stop laughing and exert some effort. Yet, Ed's growing concern and serious demeanor only added to my laughing. How could he not find this situation hysterical? Not even just a little bit funny?

And then, it happened.

The next thing I knew, Ed seemingly transformed from Ed Crawford, IBM Engineer to Captain Ahab. You know - the sea captain from Moby Dick. And if Ed is now Captain Ahab, who does that leave me to be?

Yup. The Whale.

"Phil, on the count of 3, we are going to try again to get her outta the water."

As Philip leaned down to grab my right arm, I have a vivid memory of him laughing uncontrollably and telling me that this was "the most hysterical thing that ever happened in his entire life." And while it's touching to know that you have made such a huge impact on your child's life, there was no time for sweet sentiments or Hallmark moments. Captain Ahab had other plans.

Meanwhile, doing her best to keep the boat driver abreast of the situation, Lauren calmly reassured him that this attempt would surely work and we would be back on the high seas momentarily.

"1...2....3..."

And then, through my laughing, I heard Captain Ahab bark his final instruction to his crew mate "HOIST HER."

With all their seafaring might, Ed and Philip each grabbed one of my arms and pulled. "Keeping pulling" Captain Ahab shouted. And, then, ever so slowly, I felt my body emerge from the water.

Operation Moby Dick successful.

Despite being compared to Moby Dick, I, along with Philip and Lauren still convulse with laughter each time this vacation story is told. Nevertheless, I am content knowing that Operation Moby Dick helped me fulfill my role as a mother. My kids will never lack for a "funniest" mother story.

And though I originally swore that this would be my first and last time banana boating, I can somehow see myself trying this adventure again.

Ed does not....lol

Humor of the Day: The Top 5

Although one of my mother's favorite mantras is "life is not fair," I decided that in all fairness to my mom, I would dedicate this blog piece to her. Seeing that I dedicated a piece about her sister Frances, it only seems fitting that I would write about my mom as she turns 80 on April 28th.

Yes Mom, I did just publish your age for all the world to see.

Throughout the years, there have been numerous "Humor of the Day" episodes with my mom. And, as she reaches this milestone, I compiled a list of the past events that have made me smile or laugh. The list was very long and could fill many blog posts, so I thought about it and decided to pick my top 5 favorites. It wasn't an easy decision; there were many finalists. But, in the end, these are your top 5 "Humor of the Day" episodes Mom.

"Redheads Cannot be Redbirds"

When I was in first grade, I had the opportunity to be cast as a "Red Bird" in our school play. Thrilled to be cast as a "Red Bird" (and not the rooster), I rushed home to tell my mother the exciting news.

But, much to my dismay, my mother did not share my enthusiasm. Instead of running out to buy material for my costume, she quickly made an appointment to meet with my first grade teacher, Miss Searfoss.

At this meeting, my mother explained to Miss Searfoss that the one cardinal rule (no pun intended) of raising redheads is "Redheads do not wear red. Ever." Because the costume would clash with my hair, my mother requested (insisted?) that I be a "Blue Bird" instead.

I'm certain Miss Searfoss did not find this as entertaining as I now do, but it's safe to say that my Hollywood career may have been cut short because I wasn't allowed to make my debut performances as a Red Bird.

"Yes, We Have Towels"

This "Humor of the Day" episode occurred one year as we were making our annual summer visit to my Uncle Philip's farm in Canada.

Each year, as we approached the Canadian border, my father would recite the "Border Rules." And each year, he would say the following:

-"When we get to the border and the Customs official comes to the car, I will do all of the talking."

-"Everyone in the car shall remain quiet during the questioning."

-"Does everyone understand the rules?"

And each year, there would be a resounding "Yes" to his final question.

Yet, evidently, in this particular year, 3 of the 4 members of my family understood the rules. But, clearly, one family member did not.

Similar to the Passover question "Why is this night different from all other nights?" -- I asked myself "Why is this year different from all other years?" when I heard my mother blurt "Yes, we have towels" when the Customs official asked if we had anything to "declare."

Had it not been for the fact that my father simultaneously said "No" to the Customs official at precisely the exact moment of my mother's confession, this episode might not have been so amusing to me.

Nevertheless, none of us were amused when the Customs official had us pull our car over to the designated "criminal parking area" so we could be investigated further.

Suffice it to say that this was the last conversation my mother ever had with a Customs official.

" 101 Uses for Duco Cement"

As a kid, I never knew what to expect when I came home from school. It was always an adventure.

There was the time I came home from school and found my mother eyebrow-less and eyelash-less because she singed them lighting the pilot light on our oven. Or, the time I came home to a house smelling of smoke because my mother decided to burn her old checks in the fireplace, but neglected to open the "damper." Who knew you had to open the damper? (What's the damper?) And then, there was the time I came home and the glass piece from our coffee table was standing upright in the living room because my mom tried to lift it (despite my father' warnings of "never try to lift that glass") and discovered it really was too heavy to put back in place.

But, this "Humor of the Day" incident occurred one day when I came home from school and my mother excitedly showed me her artistic achievement of the day. In retrospect, it rivaled anything I've ever seen on Martha Stewart.

Growing impatient because my father had not yet hung a picture on the wall, my mother decided to take matters into her own hands. How difficult could it be to hang a picture on the wall she wondered. Not very difficult at all if you own Duco cement.

For those not familiar with Duco cement, think "Super Glue."

Being the perfectionist that he was, I was never quite sure if my father's anger stemmed from the fact that my mother cemented the picture to the wall --or --that she cemented it to the wall crooked!

"Please Write it Down"

When I was 13 years old, my family moved from the Bronx to North Carolina. While this was no laughing matter, I have a very vivid "Humor of the Day" episode that occurred shortly after we moved.

It was a brutally hot, summer day so my mother, sister and I went to an ice cream shop to get three cones. After handing us the cones, the waitress looked at my mom and said in a slow, Southern drawl "Ma'am that will be ...."

My mother, sister and I all looked at each other and wondered what foreign language she could possibly be speaking.

My mother replied "Excuse me, can you please repeat that?" Again, the waitress spoke a language that seemed foreign to us.

My mother looked at my sister and I and said "Do you understand what she is saying?" As my sister and I nodded our heads "no," we slowly inched toward the exit door. There was nothing good that could come from this potentially embarrassing situation. A quick exit might be in order.

After several more interludes of "she said", "she didn't understand," my mother said "I am sorry. I just moved here from NY and I don't understand your accent. Can you please write the amount down on a piece of paper?"

Emergency exit.

And, if my memory serves me right, the three cones came to a total of 35 cents. Now that's something to laugh about!

"Congested"

The final "Humor of the Day" incident that I chose to write about occurred one summer when my mom came to watch my kids. And my cat, Merlin.

I was at work when my mother called me and said "Merlin sounds congested."

"What does a congested cat sound like," I asked? She replied that he sounded stuffy. She went on to add that Merlin sounded like Philip did when his asthma flared up.

I asked my mom a few more questions and she said "Well, Merlin is sitting next to me, I am petting him and he keeps making a noise."

"That would be called purring, Mom."


Thanks for the laughs Mom and Happy 80th Birthday!!!

Humor of the Day: 1-800-Meat

This Humor of the Day post is dedicated to my Aunt Frances, who turned 95 years old on Saturday.

While trying to decide what to write about Frances, I thought about writing a touching piece about her remarkable life story --overcoming polio at age 2, dropping out of school at age 15 to take care of my mom (after their mother died), returning to night school, continuing on to get her Masters at Columbia, breaking her hip at age 93 and now back on her feet again -- or, I could write about Frances and an incident that occurred 3 years that still makes me laugh whenever I think about it.

I opted for the incident that occurred 3 years ago.

My mother and I went to visit Frances in NYC one Saturday afternoon. Because we arrived around lunch time, we had agreed that we would go to a nearby deli for something to eat. Frances told me that the deli was about 10 blocks away, but because it was Saturday and the deli was kosher, we should call ahead to see if they were open. Reasonable enough.

Frances got the Yellow Pages, looked up the number, told me that she would recite the number and I should dial the phone. As she started to recite the number, she said "1-800..." I immediately stopped her and said "Frances, I don't think you are looking at the right phone number. If the deli is only 10 blocks away, I doubt they have an 800 number."

Frances looked at the Yellow Pages again and said "That is the correct number" and she repeated the 1-800-number. Although it still didn't seem right to me, I dialed the number and in my usual fashion, I quickly handed the phone to my mother who relishes in talking on the phone.

My mother had no sooner said "hello" when her eyes turned HUGE, her mouth literally dropped open, she gasped and then said "uuhhhhhhh." She then ran over to me and put the phone up to my ear.

That's when I heard a woman's voice saying things that no woman should ever hear -- much less say. Although my mother seemingly wanted to keep listening, she hung up the phone and exclaimed "Frances, for god's sake...what number did you give us?"

Unbeknown to Frances, when she looked up the phone number for the deli, she actually gave me the number for a 1-800 "Meat Market." In non-kosher terms, this translates to a sex hot line. Not the kosher deli 10 blocks from Frances' apartment.

And while this was literally an eye-opening experience for us all, we not only learned that the kosher deli was open on Saturday, but evidently, the Meat Market does not observe the Sabbath either....lol

Happy 95th Birthday Frances!!!!

Humor of the Day: Penguin Pacer

I seem to have hit a real dry spell in my Humor of the Day posts. Since the "Night of the Living Dead," there seems to have been little to nothing that has made me noticeably smile or laugh. But, because I have "allowed" myself to rely on past events, I am able to make this post.

A week or two ago, my neighbor Laura offered me a part time job. I, the slowest of the slow of Penguins, have been offered a job as "a pacer." That job offer made me laugh. A lot.

For those unfamiliar to the world of running and/or racing, a pacer is someone who sets the pace of a race for the other runners. Serious runners use pacers in races; not-so-serious runners use pacers to train and "penguins" call upon other penguins as pacers when all else fails.

Because Laura is currently training for a 10k and because I run ever-so-slightly faster than her, she has offered for me to be her pacer. She even went so far as to offer to "pay" me to run a 5k race with her. This, according to Laura, will be the key to her setting a personal record.

Although visions of dollar signs flashed before my eyes, she then proceeded to explain that she would pay my race entry fee; however, I would not be paid on an hourly basis to prod her along as we run.

Despite the salary restrictions, I seem to have accepted the offer and am now proud to be among the elite few who can call themselves "pacers."

As I waddle ever so slowly ahead of Laura on the rail trial, I am continually assessing our pace and pondering if I am running too fast (doubtful), too slow (probably) or just right (hopefully).

My success as a pacer currently remains unknown. However, if Laura does ultimately set a personal record in the next 5k that we run, I foresee myself engaging in some serious salary negotiations with her ....lol

Humor of the Day: Night of the Living Dead

After a too long dry spell of "no humor," I can thank this old, out of shape man at All Sport last night for this Humor of the Day post.

While sitting quietly and rather motionless at the blood pressure machine (as instructed), I saw this large, old man, with a huge "spare tire" heading towards me.

He approached me and said "You don't need to speak to me, but you look like you have died."

Something told me this wasn't a compliment.

There were many thoughts that went through my head about how he looked, but I bit my tongue and simply replied "I am tired."

He then slumped over, contorted his face, closed his eyes and told me again that I looked "dead."

After his dramatic re-enactment of my deadly appearance, he explained that he was looking for a piece of paper and there are usually small slips of paper at the blood pressure machine. After rising from the dead, I handed him a piece of paper, he rambled on about my red hair and how I must be Irish. And then, he waddled off.

It wasn't until after my grueling spin class that I actually laughed about this bizarre encounter. I thought to myself "If he thought I looked dead before, he should only see me now....." lol

Humor of the Day: Conjoined at the Wrist

Though this Humor of the Day incident occurred a week ago, I wanted to be sure to post about it because it not only made me smile, but it made me laugh out loud - a lot.

Lauren and I were planning "Prom Dress Shopping Take 2" and had decided that we would make a quick trip to a local dress shop. As I was getting ready for the shopping excursion, I put on my usual "bronze" color watch. At some point, while I continued to get dressed, I put on a sweater with a silver zipper. In my mind, that meant that my earrings should also be silver. And hence, I should also wear my silver watch. Clearly, I had seen one too many episodes of "What Not to Wear."

So, I placed my silver watch on my wrist.

Because the local dress shop closed at 5 and because I also knew that prom dress shopping is always an ordeal that lasts several hours, I was conscious of how much time we had for actual shopping. As we were driving to the dress shop, I glanced at my wrist to see the time. And that's when the Humor of the Day incident occurred.

Unbeknowst to me, when I put on my silver watch, I never took off the bronze watch. And so there, on my wrist, were my two watches co-habitating.

After laughing and convincing myself that I really wasn't going crazy, I took my "conjoined watches" as a sign that "Prom Dress Shopping Take 2" would take twice as long, be twice as much fun and end up costing me twice as much money...lol

Humor of the Day: The Wicked Witch of the West Goes South

This past Saturday, I didn't have to look too far to find humor. First, Dr. Redneck provided me with a huge laugh as he prepared himself for our upcoming 20 mile bike.

And then, while on our ride, it was the Wicked Witch of the West herself who added to the amusement.

This past Saturday marked the Maiden Voyage of my new bicycle. Armed with "real" padded bicycle pants (as opposed to Dr. Redneck's idea of stuffing a pillow in my regular pants), I took to the Harlem Rail Trial for my first 20 mile ride.

Accompanied by my training partner, Laura; my self-appointed cycling coach, Ed and Laura's good-natured husband Alan, we set out on our adventure. Laura, who is quickly following in her husband's footsteps and developing a fascination for electronic devices, had her Garmin GPS watch, which would track our mileage.

As we unloaded our bikes at the rail trail and were getting ready for our big adventure, I made an interesting observation: I, the shortest person of the group by about a foot, had one of the largest bicycles. As we would say in the Crawford household, "I had the bike that ate Canterberry Court (our street)." In layman's terms, that's another way of saying "my bike was HUGE."

Another interesting tidbit to note was that when the bike was "fitted" to me, it was configured so that my feet do not touch the ground at all if I am sitting on the seat. As it was explained to me, I am supposed to apply the brakes and then gracefully slide off the seat when I come to a stop. My feet will meet the ground at some point. It all sounded good in theory when the "bike guy" explained this to me.

Once at the rail trail, we all geared up --"Should I wear a hat?" "Should I wear gloves? "Are long pants better than the capri length riding pants?" And, when Ed had securely attached his rubber bands to the bottom of his jeans, it was time to start our expedition.

When our bike posse made it one way to the end of the rail trial, we discovered that we ran out of trail. Instead of stopping to eat lunch (which, in retrospect, would have been a much better idea), Ed, Laura and I turned around and started heading back.

At this point in our journey, Laura and I were riding side-by-side and my coach was behind me (analyzing my riding form, no doubt). As Laura and I chatted about god-knows-what, we came upon a patch of ice/snow. Laura went to the left of the patch and I went to the right. Or, as Ed says, "You headed straight for the ice patch - purposely."

At that moment in time, it was a moot point as to which direction I planned to head: left, right or center. It made no difference at all because seemingly, my bike was on autopilot and on a course of its own. A crash course.

As my front tire started to swerve left, right and every which way in between, I fought to maintain control. But, the only real control I had at that point was to cover my eyes and try to protect them from the bushes that would soon be my landing pad. And then, I auto-ejected from my bike. Or, a more accurate description may be that my bike auto-ejected from me.

When I made landfall in the snow bank, I did what I usually do after a fall: I started to laugh. And cry. And then, some combination of the two. But, when I felt the intense pain in my left leg, panic set in and four vivid thoughts went through my head:

1. Your running days are over; you'll never get that medal for the 70+ age group.
2. Your biking days are over before they even began.
3. You will be returning to work on Monday morning in a full body cast - or better yet- you won't have to go to work on Monday.
4. "OH MY GOD - MY NEW BIKE IS RUINED".

Five days post auto-ejection, I have yet to be able to run without pain, have not tried biking and did return to work, though not in a full body cast.

And as for my bike, it survived its Maiden Voyage with a few nics and scratches, but is no worse for wear. My legs, however, are another story.

Clearly, any fantasies I may have had of ever being a "leg model" are gone. They, too, went South with the Wicked Witch of the West....lol

Humor of the Day: You Might Be Dr. Redneck If...

you attach a plastic, purple cup from your alma mater (Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute) to your bike with duct tape. And then, to complete the image, you insert a bottle of water into the plastic, purple cup.

As if that isn't bad enough, you then use rubber bands to secure the bottom of your jeans so they don't flap in the wind and get caught in the bicycle chain. Although the actual photo is pending, you get the general idea:

Thanks to Dr. Crawford for supplying this HUGE laugh of the day on Saturday. Perhaps a trip to Dick's Sporting Goods is in order so Ed can buy a real water bottle and real biking pants??? ...lol

Humor of the Day: Witch One Is It?

Tonight, I suffered my worst fear: I realized that I am the victim of mistaken identity.

I am not Mary Poppins. I am actually the Wicked Witch of the West (on more levels than one).

All this time, I thought that Mary Poppins was the woman who sat with perfect posture when she rode her bike. But, while looking for a photo to go with this blog piece, I realized that I was mistaken.

For many years, I have been ranting and raving about my bicycle and how much I detest it. So, I finally took the plunge and bought a new Trek bike in preparation for my 40 mile Bike NY tour.

When I came home from buying the bike, I excitedly showed Lauren an online picture of the bike. She replied "Oh My God, Mom ...you are going to look like Mary Poppins."

After looking at the photo, I feared that Lauren may be correct. Evidently, the new design in womens bikes is to remove "the bar" that most women hate anyway. And, the low-style, racing handle bars that were popular years ago, have been replaced with "sit-up-straight" handle bars.
With this new design, you can't help but ride with perfect posture.

Tonight, I went for my final bike "fitting" where each and every feature of the bike was fine-tuned to satisfy my "finickiness". I put my prized possession in the car and as we got closer to home, I texted Lauren that "Mary Poppins" estimated time of arrival was 10 minutes." Lauren met me outside, examined my new bike and proclaimed that I was not Mary Poppins afterall. But, my feeling of relief was short-lived.

Instead, I bore a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.

And now, thanks to Lauren, I find myself grappling with an identity crisis.

"Witch one is it, Lauren?" ... lol

Humor of the Day: Fence Post

Who would think that a very short conversation about a fence could make me laugh and become my Humor of the Day post?

The other day, Ed and I were driving past our local rail trail and he said that he noticed they are putting up a fence on the "newer" portion of the trail.

He said it was the kind of fence that his parents had at their house. Yet, he could not think of the name for that type of fence.

I asked if it was a picket fence? "No." Was it a "privacy" fence? "No." A chain-link fence? "No." A wrought iron fence? "No."

As far as I knew, I had exhausted my knowledge of fences.

But Ed remained baffled; he could not think of the name for the that type of fence. So, I badgered with him a few more questions and then he added a critical detail "it was the same type of fence that surrounded his backyard when he was growing up."

"Ohhhh.....an electric fence!" I exclaimed.

As funny as I found that image, evidently, the million dollar answer was "split rail fence." Definitely more practical than an electric fence, but clearly less amusing....lol

Humor of the Day: Snow Fall

Though I started this post last week, I've decided to "publish" it as opposed to having it sit in my blog archives.

It's been a rather humorless few days lately and though I've tried to look around and find something that made me laugh or smile, I've come up short. Maybe I need to call my mom again :-)

But, earlier today, I finally did "stumble" across something that brought a smile to my face: I was reading the Cornell Sun online (the daily newspaper at Cornell) and I read about the large amount of snow that Cornell received the other night. That in and of itself is hardly humorous, but what made me laugh where the two students who were interviewed about the snowfall. They both lamented on the fact that they saw very few students "wipe-out" or fall in the snow.

And, that disappointed them. It would have disappointed me, too.

It made me laugh to know that I am not the only person who, in a warped way, enjoys seeing people fall. No, no...it's not that I am hoping to see anyone get hurt; it's just that because falling is one of the most spontaneous things that can happen, it is funny (often hysterical) on a "physical" level. But, what I find even funnier than the actual fall, is the reaction of the faller and/or those who witnessed the fall. It's often priceless.

As a veteran of many falls (broken bones and all), I still laugh when I think back to some of my finer moments. There's the time I stumbled down the steps in our house, landed in a big heap at the bottom, called for Ed and ended up sitting there alone laughing. Evidently, the rest of the family, who was so engrossed in playing "Zelda" in the bonus room never even heard my plea for help. Lauren later said "she thought she heard a loud "thump" but wasn't really sure. Yes Lauren, that thump was me.

Or, there was my infamous fall in Washington, DC as we darted past the Lincoln Memorial to catch our site-seeing trolley. Fortunately, it was a night tour and no one other than my kids (and Mr. Lincoln) witnessed the tumble. All I remember is hearing Philip say to Lauren "I think Mom fell, but just keep running." After getting up and brushing myself off, I walked on to the trolley as though my land-dive had never occurred. And, I proceeded to laugh about my fall the rest of the tour. I'm sure the other tour patrons wondered what could possibly be so hysterical about the Viet Nam memorial.

But, my Grand Champion of falls occurred when I, too, was in college. And, I think that's why I found the quotes in the Cornell Sun so amusing.

As a grad student at RPI, I was rushing to class one day in the middle of winter. No sooner was I smack, dead center in front of the main entrance to the Student Union - the busiest place on campus - when I slipped on some ice and wiped-out. I landed on my back, laid there dazed for a moment until I heard a male voice say "RPI was founded in 1824 by Stephen Van Rensselaer..."

As I looked to my right, I saw the student tour guide, walking slowly backwards (as all college tour guides do), and the mass of people on his tour were starting to move closer to my spot of impact. At that moment, not even a broken vertebrate in my back could have prevented me from leaping up off the ground. Yet, before continuing on my way, I first did the obligatory "pavement scan," which most fallers do after rising from a wipe-out. This, of course, is to give the perception that there must be something wrong with the ground and that's what caused the fall.

And while I don't remember ever seeing an article in the RPI newspaper about students wiping-out in the snow, I can only hope that my plunge does not remain as vivid of a memory for anyone who witnessed it that day as it does for me.

Yet, if it does, it pleases me to know that I did not disappoint: there's nothing better than witnessing a good Snow Fall....lol

Humor of the Day: No Dummies Allowed

Today I came home from work and told Ed that I was going to buy a reference book for Word 2010. My new work laptop has this latest version of Word on it and while I know Word fairly well, I am having a bit of trouble finding options easily, etc. I did a brief amount of research and discovered that the "Word 2010 for Dummies" book was rated quite well. It seemed like a no-brainer to me that I would buy this book and keep it for quick reference.

When I told Ed my plan, his reaction baffled me, but it also made me laugh. He thought it was a horrendous idea for me to buy a "Dummy" book. It would tarnish my image at work as the documentation "expert."

Huh?

He proceeded to tell me that if co-workers saw me referencing a Dummy book, they would think I didn't know anything at all. I laughed and said that was ridiculous and on the contrary, having a "Dummy" book would just emphasize the confidence I have in my skills. I didn't have to worry about "appearances" or "perceptions". We debated the issue for a few minutes and Ed assured me that he would help find me a "professional" Word book. I told him I had absolutely no interest in buying the Albert Einstein Word reference guide, with insider tips/tricks for developers to code macros, plug-ins, blah blah.

But, because I was still baffled by Ed's reaction, I decided to get an objective opinion from Philip. I knew that Philip would agree with me and say "if the Dummy book works for you, go for it." I sent him a text and told Ed that Philip's response would be the deciding factor in my decision.

The verdict read as follows:

Dummy Book: 1 vote
Professional Book: 2 votes

And so now, I am the proud owner of "Word 2010 In Depth." Not only is the name impressive, but the book looks professional and sleek. A geek's treasure.

After buying the book and thinking about it, I've decided that "maybe" there is some merit in what Ed/Philip said. I came to this conclusion when I envisioned myself walking into the office of the Chief Medical Officer and seeing the book "Medicine for Dummies" on her desk. Hmmmm......

Evidently, work is not a place for Dummies.....lol

Humor of the Day: None...Black Tuesday...RIP Rob

Earlier today, I was struggling with an idea to blog about. Unfortunately, the past few days have been rather humorless. Yet, around mid-day I did find something that brought a smile to my face and at lunch, I started a new post. I figured I would complete it tonight. Wrong.

I just received a call from a former Verizon co-worker and she informed me that one of our fellow co-workers was murdered Monday morning. He was shot in the head and his house was then burned-down. I'm in shock.

Rob was one of the most laid-back, left-over hippie types, who opposed all things violent. For him to face such a violent death is ironic. And, so very sad.

Rob was also an avid runner and would go for daily runs with our boss Zvi and fellow buddy Mehrdad. One of my most vivid memories of Rob was a discussion we were having about running. Mehrdad was telling me that running "2 miles on the treadmill" was barely worth it - hardly a workout. Rob piped in and said "That's ridiculous...any run you do on the treadmill is worth it. Go for it."

I'll always remember Rob's encouraging words.

Humor of the Day: Spell It for Me

I already know there is no way that this post can possibly due justice to the conversation I just had with my mother. This conversation did not make me smile nor did it make me laugh.
It made me HOWL in hysterics. In fact, my laughing caused such a commotion that Lauren came downstairs to see what was going on (was there a mouse downstairs?) and Ed, in typical Ed fashion, put his earplugs in so he could tune me out and watch whatever it was he was watching on the computer.

As part of the weekly conversation with my mom, I mentioned that the Senior Prom drama with Lauren had begun: we had started shopping, the kids were picking limos and party buses. And already, there was lots of drama.

"What kind of drama can there be with a prom?" she wanted to know. I explained that Lauren's friends had gotten a party bus ("Are you sure that is safe?"), there were kids on the waiting list ("How much does each kid pay for this bus?") and that Lauren thought her party bus was filled with a lot of "boring" kids ("What kind of kids?")

Again, I repeated "BORING kids" to which she replied "I'm still not understanding you."

BORING kids-- you know - kids that aren't as fun as other kids.

"I can't catch what you are saying. I told you I have been having trouble hearing lately."

BORING...BORING...when someone isn't fun...BORING.

"Can you spell it for me?"

Of course, at this point, I am starting to laugh louder and each time I tried to spell the word boring, I got no further than the "b-o" and would then convulse into laughter.

"I am still not getting what you are spelling...keep spelling it"

"B-O-R"......and again, I would begin to gasp for air as I tried to continue spelling.

After about the 3rd attempt, my mom said "Oh, BLIND kids...her party bus is full of BLIND kids?"

"WHHHHHAATTTTT? Where did you get that? I did not say blind. Why would Lauren's bus be filled with blind kids?" Her friends are not Helen Keller and she does not attend a school for the visually impaired."

Next week, I think I'll try a Skype session with my mom and revert to sign language....it can only improve our communication .... lol

Humor of the Day: OCD...Only Certain Digits

I remember the day I diagnosed myself with OCD. I laughed about it that day and yesterday, my OCD brought yet another smile to my face.

My self diagnosis of OCD occurred one evening when I went to the Danbury mall with my friend Lisa and our kids (Lauren and Madison). Because Lisa thinks I am an irresponsible driver, she usually drives on our outings. On this particular night, Lisa stopped for gas, filled up the gas tank, got back in the car and drove away.

No sooner had she pulled out of the gas station and I said to her "why did you do that?" She replied "What?" I said "you bought $32.23 worth of gas." And her reply to that was "Yea..and?"

I was beyond horrified; I could not imagine why she didn't slowly pump the gas until the dollar amount read "32.25 --or optimally $32.50." As I told Lisa that night, I found it so "disturbing" that she would just leave the dollar amount on an odd number. Lisa, in turn, found my OCD tendencies equally odd - but laughable.

Yesterday, I was at All Sport (a place the seems to be a haven for humorous moments) and I was running on a treadmill next to another woman. At the end of her workout, I glanced at her treadmill and her vital stats were:

Time elapsed: 26:42
Miles: 1.91
Calories: 343

As she got off the treadmill, I wanted to say to her "NO, NO..COME BACK...YOU CAN'T LEAVE THE TREADMILL WITH THOSE NUMBERS ON IT." Was she crazy? At the very least, she needed to come back and round the mileage up to an even 2.0. I found myself staring at her numbers and thinking "how could she do that?" and then I laughed. Because I realized that she was not crazy at all; I was the crazy one. I was the one afflicted with OCD of the "Only Certain Digits" variety.

Evidently, I have a very complex set of internal rules about what numbers may/may not be left on the treadmill display (or gas tank). I tried explaining my rules to Lauren last night and it went something like this:

• Any number without trailing digits is good ($32.00, 2.0 miles)
• Any even or odd number followed by a digit that ends in "5" or "0" is good ($32.25, 3.30 miles)
• Any 2 or 3 digit number whose last digit is "5" or "0" is perfect (345 calories, 360 calories)

These are all number combinations that make sense to me or do not disturb me. Sometimes, if I am having a really lucky day, all the right numbers show up, in all the right places, at all the right times.

And that's what I consider a lucky day because there's nothing better than winning the "OCD Jackpot of the day" ....lol

Humor of the Day: Flowers down..towards me..happy on 3

Last night, I received a a very odd phone call, which, after I hung up, made me laugh. When I answered the phone, a woman with a Southern accent asked for Diane. When I told her she was speaking with Diane, she proceeded to tell me that her name was Doneta (?) and she was the photographer from my wedding.

I could not imagine why, after 25 years, the photographer from my wedding was calling me. Had she secretly, years later, entered me in the Bridezilla competition and was calling to say I was a winner?

She continued to say that she believed she had photographed my wedding to Ed Crawford, which took place in High Point, NC. Because I have inherited both my mother's superstitious gene and her suspicious gene, I immediately said "No, I don't think so" because in reality, I had gotten married in Greensboro, NC.

But, because I also inherited my mother's inquisitive gene, I couldn't just let the conversation die. So, I said "Well, if I were the Diane, who married Ed Crawford, in NC....why are you calling?"
She said that she had records indicating I had married Ed Crawford, in 1986, at Temple Beth El.

Knowing that she had the correct information, I 'fessed up and and said "Ok, I think you may have photographed my wedding." Was she now going to tell me that she had proof that the rabbi who performed our service was a fraud and I wasn't really married after all these years?

Interesting theory, but no.....she said that she had closed her photography studio and for $50.00 plus $3.85 tax, I could have the negatives to all my wedding photographs stored in a bank deposit box. If I didn't choose that option, my negatives would be shredded to ensure that "no one else would have access to them." I opted to have the negatives shredded.

This all sounded so strange to me and in retrospect, I really wish I had asked her to repeat the "mantra" that she used over and over and over each time she took my photo that day. If she replied "Flowers down, towards me, happy on 3", then I would have know she was indeed the woman who photographed my wedding!

Also in retrospect, I really wish I had said something along the lines of .... "Well, I am the Diane you are looking for, I did marry Ed Crawford in 1986, but I am now on husband #3...so shred those photos"....lol

Humor of the Day: Oy Vey and Evil Eyes

Yesterday was a fairly humourless day; there wasn't anything notable that made me laugh or smile. Hence, I am relying on a conversation I had with my mother a few days ago that definitely made me laugh (the truth is, most of my conversations with my mother make me laugh for one reason or another).

I had called my mom and was telling her about my friend Irene's father and that he died. I then proceeded to tell her about my friend Lisa's mom who has Alzheimer's and was going to be placed in a nursing home. No sooner had I relayed that information, when I somehow managed to mention that Lisa's son Ty (10 yrs old) has a best friend with cancer.

At that point, my mother stopped me and said "Oy Vey...you are full of good news today." Then, she said "wait, let me find my evil eye." I said "your WHAT?" She said "My evil eye...the one I bought in Greece. The Greeks believe that if you wear it, it will ward off any evil spirits...hold on."

So there I sat, on a long distance call, my allocated monthly minutes ticking away, while my mom hunted for her evil eye. Fortunately, she didn't have to hunt hard and long for her evil eye, because it was on top of her TV (where all good Greeks probably keep their evil eyes).

She then said "one second...I am pinning it on me. Ok, now I'm safe....what were you saying about Ty's friend?"

And my kids wonder why I am so superstitious????.....lol

Humor of the Day: You Might Be a Redneck If....

you are contemplating putting a piece of carpet over your muddy lawn so you can park your car. Am I kidding? I wish I were.

This was the very topic of conversation at our dinner table tonight. Because Ed is nice enough to park his car outside all winter (while Lauren and I hog the garage spots), Ed's outdoor parking area is slowly becoming a muddy mess.

Ever the engineer, Ed is thinking of ways to combat the mud bath that he faces each night when he parks his car. One idea I heard suggested tonight was placing a large piece of wood on top of the affected lawn area. The house majority was swift to veto this idea.

The next idea presented was to buy a carpet "remnant" and place that over the muddy lawn area. Ed was quickly informed that this idea would only be allowed if the carpet remnant came with a broken-down patio set and a planter to match:


Spring just can't come soon enough....lol

Humor of the Day: M&Ms...Movies and Matrons

Last night, Ed and I did something that we don't normally do: we went to the movies. While this doesn't sound all that unusual, it is actually highly unusual considering I am not a movie buff and do not enjoy sitting through movies. Yet, ever since our movie theater installed stadium seating, I have found that I am more readily able to "tune out" others talking, eating, crinkling paper, etc. So, in the past two months, we have gone to the movies twice. That's two times more than we have gone in the past 2 years!

As I was watching the movie, an incident occurred that brought a BIG smile to my face and caused me to lose focus on the movie (though not terribly difficult for me to do). I was sitting with my feet up on the seat in front of me (all part of my ploy to keep other patrons at bay) when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flashlight. I looked to my left and it was the movie theater employee who walks down one aisle, in front of the screen and then back up the other aisle. The minute I saw his flashlight, I sat up, instinctively took my feet down and held my breath as I waited for him to continue walking past me. And when the coast was clear, I put my feet back up and laughed to myself.

But, growing up in the Bronx, going to the movies and dealing with the "movie matrons" was no laughing matter. For anyone who did not grow up in the Bronx, the notion of a "movie matron" might be a foreign concept; it was to Ed.

Movie matrons were women who were employed by movie theaters and they had one common goal: to make all kids' movie experiences as terrifying and uncomfortable as possible. Apparently, there were 3 qualifications to be a movie matron:

- Must be a minimum of 85 years old

- Must be a minimum of 40 pounds overweight

- Must have an instinctual hatred for all people under the age of 12

If you were "lucky" enough to meet this criterion, then you were given a stark white uniform (think old fashioned nurse's uniform), a blinding flashlight and instructions to patrol each and every aisle of the theater. Your mission was to find those persons under the age of 12 who were violating one of the many theater rules.

Of the many theater rules, the movie matrons were notorious for finding the "feet on the seat" offenders. If the movie matron happened to sneak up on you and saw you with your feet on the seat in front of you, she would immediately shine the blinding flashlight in your eye, then direct it towards your feet and then instill the fear of God in you until you took your feet down.

Usually, during a movie outgoing, there was one friend who was on "matron patrol". It was not uncommon to hear your friend murmur "matron coming" at which point everyone sat upright, feet flat on the floor and attention completely focused on the movie. When the light from the matron's flashlight disappeared, our feet returned to the top of the seat in front of us and we carried on with our antics.

Hoping to find an old photo of a Bronx movie matron, I did many Google searches, but was unsuccessful. However, I did find these quotes that also made me laugh:

"The matron at the Luxor must've been about 110 years old and hated kids"

"I remember those matrons (those scary ladies in white dresses) monitoring the kids on Saturday afternoons"

"..and the "matron" (that kind of movie theater always had a sort of headmistress ) - a very stern woman in a white dress - who stood guard so to speak, keeping kids in line and maintaining order..."

While it makes me laugh now to think about the movie matrons, they obviously left a long-lasting impression on me (and others). And for the lack of anything better, I can always blame my dislike for movie theaters on the mean-spirited matrons....lol

Humor of the Day: Spin Out

In an attempt to get myself into "some kind" of shape for my upcoming 40 mile bike ride in May, I have decided to take a weekly "spin" class at All Sport. Though I have often walked by and seen the class in progress, I never really had much interest in sitting on a stationary bike for an hour and peddling as fast as my legs could possibly go. Nevertheless, I have now taken the class twice. And, I'm still alive to blog about it.

I took my 2nd spin class last night and there were 3 things made me laugh (thank god for something to laugh about during the class):

• The first laugh-worthy item is the fact that the instructor, a stocky (overweight?) guy never, ever, ever, not once, sits on the bicycle. Yet, he is the spin "instructor". How can this be? Instead, he walks up and down the aisles yelling "PEDDLE..PEDDLE...FASTER...FASTER." And, while I find it bizarre that he doesn't "spin", I also find it humorous that he was sweating more than I was. Maybe I should give up the bike and walk up/down the aisles? I might just get as good (or better) of a work-out.

• I have always had a theory that there is "always one" in every class. Whether it be an academic class, an exercise class or any group setting, there is always someone who either asks 10,000 questions, is annoying or somehow, just manages to get themselves noticed. Last night was no exception. But, the part that really made me laugh is that in exercise classes, why is that person always front row and center? That spot must be reserved for the "exerciser who does everything and anything possible to be noticed by the instructor." Last night, that honor goes to some cycler who insisted on singing LOUDLY to the music, waving his arms in the air and ...well, you get the picture. I did not find him amusing, but rather, the fact that he occupied the front, center spot. It never fails.

• And last but not least, the most amusing event of the spin class was when I "spun" out. Somehow, I managed to survive the entire class but when it was time to get off the bike and stretch, my leg got stuck on the bike seat and I slid to the floor. Because I was in the back row (not center), I assumed my acrobatic maneuver would go largely unnoticed. Wrong! Just my luck, the instructor was looking right at me as I performed my graceful slide move. "You OK?" he shouted. I nodded my head. "You sure you are ok...everything's good?" Another nod of my head, not daring to speak and call even more attention to myself. "You know, we captured that on our video cameras" he added with a hearty laugh.

I think I now know why he doesn't dare get on the spin bike...lol

My Big Fat Greek Parking Adventure

Without a doubt, one of my all-time favorite movies is "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"; I think that movie is hysterical. Part of the movie's appeal is that it probably works for most ethnic groups. I'm confident that you could easily change the movie to "My Big Fat Jewish Wedding" or "My Big Fat Italian Wedding" and it would still work. The movie is funny in so many ways, but it also emits a feeling of "warmth." All of the characters in that movie are warm, caring and supportive in their own, eccentric way. After seeing that movie, I always thought it would be so "cool" to be Greek.

When I started working at Bayer, I met Irene, who is Greek. After working with her for 3 years, we became close friends and she provided me with an even closer glimpse of the Greek culture. And, she assured me that my favorite movie was "pretty much" an accurate portrayal of a large, Greek family.

When Irene's dad died last week after a long and lengthy illness, I knew that I wanted to go to the wake and pay my respects to her and her family. Because I just started a new job, the only wake I could attend was the evening one (7-9:00pm) in Astoria, Queens. My other former Bayer colleague and friend, Marian, agreed to go the evening wake with me. Because Marian had worked very late the night before and because Marian does not "do" left-turns across on-coming traffic, we decided that I would drive to Astoria. My only short-coming as a driver (despite my road rage personality) is my inability to parallel park. Nevertheless, I had previously assessed the parking situation with Irene and she assured me that there was a small parking lot associated with the funeral home. If I were lucky enough to secure one of these parking spots, parallel parking was a non-issue. Phew! It was "all systems go".....

True to Irene's word, when Marian and I arrived at the funeral home, we secured one of the parking spots in the funeral home parking lot. We paid our respects, met up with one of our other Bayer co-workers, Pirco (a "funky" German, graphic artist) and then decided to sample some of the local Greek fare, which Irene had always raved about.

For "one" inkling, for just "one" fleeting second, for "one" moment in time, I wondered if I should move my car closer to the restaurant. But immediately, I knew that would mean having to give up my prized parking spot and possibly parallel park my car on the street. I dismissed the idea as quickly as it entered my mind and off we went to eat Greek food.

However, what my friend Irene had neglected to tell me about Greek dining experiences is that they last forever. And ever. And ever. When we entered the restaurant, we were immediately tagged as "tourists." Me with my red hair, Marian with her even redder hair and Pirco with her German accent, clearly stood out as non-Greeks. And, because of this, our middle-aged waitress immediately took us under her wing, explained the entrees on the menu, demonstrated the fine art of adding olive oil and lemon to Marian's dandelion roots, invited us to sample "very good" Greek yogurt, honey, candy and ultimately, Greek coffee.

At some point, during this 3 hour dining extravaganza, I glanced at my watch and jokingly said to Marian and Pirco "You don't think the funeral home puts down "those gates" at a certain time, do you?" Laughing at the ridiculousness of this idea, Marian and Pirco shook their heads no, stuffed their mouths with more Greek delicacies and continued to enjoy the warm, Greek hospitality that was overflowing in this restaurant.

When we finally emerged from the restaurant at 11:30pm, we began our 3 block walk back to the funeral home to retrieve my car. As we approached the block where the funeral home was located, we crossed the street and that's when Marian let out a loud, agonizing "AAAAwwwwwwww."
I glanced up and there, staring me in the face, were "those gates." Except this time, "those gates" presented themselves as a barrier. I was on one side; my car on the other and from the looks of it -- the two would never meet again. Or, at least not anytime soon.

After my initial gasp of "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IS THIS FOR REAL? OH MY GOD...WE ARE STRANDED IN ASTORIA", I did what Marian and Pirco were already doing -- I laughed! This was so not funny, that it was incredibly funny.

In between our laughing, we contemplated the options: Take a subway back to Pirco's apt. in Brooklyn and have a girl's slumber party, take a train back to Tarrytown, followed by a cab back to Bayer, retrieve Marian's car and she would then drive me home. Or, I could call Ed and beg, plead and pray that he would be sympathetic and offer to come get us. And, with any luck at all, he would not lecture me on how utterly insane it was for me to think that I could randomly abandon my car for an entire evening at the local funeral home.

After weighing the options, we did what anybody, who is stranded at a funeral home at 11:30pm on a Friday night would do: we called the Funeral Home Director.

After explaining the situation and providing the "secret code" (the name of the wake we attended earlier in the evening), we were told that someone would be by within 30 minutes to unlock the gates. As we huddled in the cold and waited in the front alcove of the funeral home, we viewed each passer-by as our potential locksmith. And, we groaned in unison when they simply walked past us. But then, Marian spotted two younger men, in dress shirts and ties and she proclaimed "I bet those are our locksmiths." No sooner had Marian said that when the more vocal of the two guys immediately started sputtering and shouting "What makes you think you can park your car in our funeral home all night? We close at 9:00pm and you cannot leave your car here and assume it is fine. The only reason we are here and you are getting your car back now is because "HE" still happened to be in the area."

"HE" was the other young guy who held the key to our freedom in his hand. "HE" told me to follow him to the gate; I apologized profusely and explained that it was the first time I had ever been to a funeral at his place and yes...yes, I was so incredibly foolish to think I could leave my car there all night. At that point, I would have confessed to being certifiably insane just so that "HE" would open "those gates."

When I offered him $20.00 and tried to make amends for my insanity, "HE" shook his head "no" and said "that's OK." Yet, I convinced him to take the money and give it to his friend, who was still sputtering. When we were safely in my car, I rolled down my window and managed to squeeze in one more "thank you" while Mr. Vocal continued to ramble about "Funeral Home Parking Only, 9:00pm closing time, gates locked, what were you thinking, etc. etc." And then, I did something that Marian never would have done: I took a left turn across on-coming traffic, headed home and vowed to sign up for my long over-due parallel parking lessons....lol

Humor of the Day : Not-So-Thin-Mints

So, I was driving home from work yesterday and I suddenly had a slight panic attack. I realized that the day was humorless. There was absolutely nothing throughout my day at work that made me laugh. Nothing. What would I write about in my blog?

But then, I had a revelation. I realized I could always change the rules of my blog. So a new rule has been added to my blog --"If thou does not encounter any humor or any incident that caused thou to smile or laugh, thou shall rely on a humorous event from a previous day."

Realizing that I could now find something to write about, I relaxed and turned my attention to the radio. And then, it happened; I heard a news story that brought a smile to my face.

Evidently, a 400 lb woman was arrested for attacking her roomate over a box of Girl Scout cookies -- Thin Mints, no less. Realizing that her Thin Mints were gone, the woman attacked her sleeping roomate.

Besides laughing at the fact that this woman went nuts when she realized her Thin Mints were gone, this news story made me think of Ed and how he "hides" his chocolate (mostly M&Ms) on the top shelf of our pantry. When he first started hiding his chocloate there, it really was a safe spot for his stash. But once the secret got out, and once the rest of us in the house realized we really could reach the top shelf of the pantry, Ed's chocolate is no longer safe.

One can only hope that someday.... calm, patient Ed does not go ballistic when he realizes that "someone" has tampered with his not-so-hidden-chocolate stash...lol

Humor of the Day: All Choked Up on the Treadmill

Who would have thought that so soon after my idea of "A Humor A Day" post, I would encounter a situation that made me laugh.

I went to All Sport today to try to get my legs moving again after the killer spin-class that I took last Thursday. Sometimes, for reasons unknown, I like to have a very tiny piece of gum in my mouth when I run. As was the case today, I had the tiny piece of gum in my mouth and as I was running, the tiny little piece of gum slid half-way down my throat and just sat there. My first reaction was to swallow, but I thought if I did that and the piece of gum got stuck, I may not be able to breathe. And, besides, all I could think about was Philip's college essay in which he said something to the effect that "everyone knows swallowed gum stays in your stomach for 7 (?) years". Yuck.

My next reaction was to cough and hopefully, the tiny little piece of gum would reappear in my mouth (I know -- too much information). I coughed; the gum did not budge. Starting to get a little panicked, but realizing that I was still able to breathe, I decided I could live with swallowed gum in my stomach afterall. So, I tried to swallow the gum again. It did not budge. Finally, I COUGHED (a real, hardy cough) and the tiny little piece of gum reappeared in my mouth.

As I continued to run, I started to laugh to myself and thought how ironic would it be for me to collapse on the treadmill because a piece of gum got stuck in my throat? All these years, whenever I felt like I was going to collapse on the treadmill, I assumed it was because I was running too hard, pushing myself too hard and I was headed for a stroke, heart attack or something of the sort. Never did I think my running career would come to an end because of a tiny, little piece of gum.

In retrospect, I am actually impressed that I didn't miss a beat during this entire encounter. Maybe I really can chew gum and run at the same time :-)

Humor of the Day: Do People Really Wash Their Light Bulbs?

Yesterday afternoon, one of my neighbors called to ask for the name of my cleaning lady. My neighbor said that after all these years of living here, having 4 kids (3 at home), one dog and working full time, she could no longer keep up with all the housework. She asked me a few questions about my cleaning lady and said "Well, she sounds fine. I just need someone who will do the things that I can't get to ...you know...dusting the baseboards and cleaning the light bulbs. I just washed all the light bulbs today and it took forever."

Washing the light bulbs? Are you kidding me???? Somehow, I think my neighbor may just have higher standards of cleanliness than I do.....lol

Humor of the Day

So, after talking to my neighbor Laura about blogs and writing, she has inspired me to re-think the format of my blog. Originally, I had started this blog as a place to "just write"...write about anything I felt like rambling on about. Yet, as one can see, my ramblings have been few and far between. I think this is partly because I feel that each time I post a piece, it needs to be a fully "polished" piece. Maybe this stems from the fact that I am a professional (technical) writer and everything I write for work HAS to be perfect ...there really is no margin of error in good, technical writing.

In an attempt to break "free" and "just write" as I had intended to do in this blog, I am planning to incorporate a daily "Humor of the Day" anecdote. I've decided that each day, I am going to try to find something that happened that day that amused me and post it. Others may find it funny; they may not. And, that's fine. But, in doing so, I hope to achieve two goals:

1) Focus on the things that made me feel good during the day (as opposed to whining and complaining about the daily doldrums)

2)Write more freely. Some days, I may just have an anecdote to post; other days, I may feel more like Erma Bombeck and post a fully, developed story.

Who knows where this blog will go, but hopefully, it will get updated more frequently.