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.