Tag Archives: NPR

STOMACH BUG DELAYS POST BY ACCLAIMED WRITER

17 Apr

blog image trebuchet

It’s not me.

It’s Spouse and Boy (and maybe the cat- they’re all so hairy).

As for me, I can sit at the kitchen table and discuss vomit and “The Exorcist” and all things projectile while eating a 12 cut slice of pizza.  (Side note: “All Things Projectile-” a new NPR show about rockets and drones and trebuchets and such?)

Also what is “12 cut” pizza anyway?  Do pizza makers not realize that if they take an average-sized pizza and roll over it twelve times they’ll end up with ribbons of pizza?  Conversely, if a shop makes a pizza large enough to cut even ten times they’ll end up making about one pizza per store and be out of business within a week.  Why must I fix all things linguistic?  (Take note, NPR.)

I’m talking to you upstate NY.

But not really.

I’m mostly wiping.  Counters and floors and handles and such.  It’s so exhausting; I can hardly find time to shop online for shoes.  (And dresses and scarves and hats and such.)

I was able to get out and buy a lottery ticket yesterday so there’s that.

Because nothing cures a stomach bug faster than 2.6 million dollars.

Except maybe a Twix bar.

Because life’s too short to not enjoy food when it’s moving in both directions.

You’re welcome.

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Back to School

12 Sep

back to school

Here’s why I hate the first day of school:

First: I am not known for being quick.  To move.  To judge, well, who’s to say?  (Actually, I am.)

I revel in all things slow (side note: future NPR show- “All Things Slow”?)  Friends have been known to doze as I search for the exact word whilst in conversation (for example, “whilst”) while others have consumed an entire meal before I have properly plated my green beans opposite my cranberry sauce (Spouse, Thanksgiving 2008).

It takes about a week once school ends for me to fully develop my summertime groove- from switching bed linen to a higher, more luxurious  thread count, to picking berries to add to my morning beet smoothie (side note: future morning music show about ska-influenced music titled “Beat Smoothie”?) and then imagine, if you can, how disruptive deconstructing that groove can be.  You see now how the first day of school is overwhelming, at best, and, at worst, a total Weepfest (September, 2011).

Secondly: the paperwork.  Every year it’s the same.  Science lab rules, gym class rules, homeroom rules.  Where are the Stevie Ray Vaughn Rules rules?  Doctor’s information, emergency contact (where you ferret out true friends and then saddle them with caring for your sick child because the school cannot reach you at any of the contact numbers you provided- oops, did I leave off a digit?) plus an improved code of conduct- NEW for 2013-2014!  The “I will not wear sleepwear to school rule!”  (PS: I didn’t even know that wearing pajamas had been an option.  Oh, the Lifetouch pictures we could have had- complete with airbrushed option and crooked hair.)

Third: lunch.  The Boy has watched enough Food Network to now believe that only fresh basil and hand-hewned croutons are acceptable in a salad.  Who hews?  Of course, a PB&J is fine if you’re rushed (hello, it’s me) as long as the bread is stone ground whole wheat, preferably cold-climate grown.

Fourth: the clutter.  The constant jumble of socks and shoes and backpacks and lunchboxes.  And books and binders and paper and such.  All in front of the kitchen door.  You know, the door that we must fly out of right now if we are to make it “on time.”

Finally, about the quest to arrive “on time.”  I put quotation marks around “on time” because while “time” is more of a “concept” to me, previous employers have adopted a more literal definition of “time” and the “wasting” thereof plus the need to “show up on” it.  But, hey, we’re all different and both schools and workplaces benefit when tolerance is practiced.  Besides, who am I to judge?  Oh, right.  I’m the unemployed one.

Let’s not even discuss the switch to Standard Time where, from November to March, I am 59 minutes late for everything.  Oh sure, I eventually make up a few minutes here and there- mostly at doctor’s appointments because physicians have even broader definitions of “time,” “schedule,” and “appointment” than I do, but it’s not the same.

Plus the reason I am at the doctor’s office is due to some nasty germ that The Boy brought home from school anyway.

Then, from my scratchy-sheeted sick-bed, I will begin counting down the days until summer vacation again.

259 from today.

We’re Back! (PS: there is no “we.”)

3 Sep

blog image jim gaffigan

Following our busiest summer EVER (what with the book tour to Paris and all- more about that later), FA&S is pleased to announce that we’re BACK!  With even more of the sarcasm you’ve come to expect (and love).  Mostly love.

Here’s a quick run-down of what to look forward to this fall.  (Note: due to time constraints such as feeding The Boy, conversing with Spouse, disagreeing with Spouse and ultimately no longer talking to Spouse, FA&S is simply TOO BUSY FOR FULL WORDS AND SENTENCES just now.)  And yet, somehow, we have plenty of time to type in ALL CAPS.  Go figure.  Until then…F.U.

“You leave me little notes on my pillow. I told you a hundred-and-sixty-eight times I can’t .. stand .. little notes on my pillow! ‘We are all out of Corn Flakes.” -F.U.  It took me three hours to figure out that ‘F.U.’ was Felix Unger!” ~ Neil Simon’s “The Odd Couple.”

See, we don’t always abbreviate, only sumtmz.  (PS: there is no “we.”)

FYI, here’s how our summer went (also, there is no “our”):

ALB to CDG.

UTI– best place to get a UTI?  Paris, France.  30 minutes and $3 later, antibiotic drugs delivered to my apartment;  I felt like Jim Morrison without the bloat.  Ego, yes.  Bloat?  Non.

POS– as rust eats away at the tailgate of my little red car, we head south on the

GSP to

NYC

and

LBI while listening to

NPR and, of course, the sounds of The Boy whining and Spouse yelling while stepping on an imaginary brake pedal that doesn’t exist.  Why anyone would need to brake while driving on a highway is beyond me.  With so many lanes to choose from, just glide over to one that you like better.

IRS– just when I thought summer vacation was paid for, a FY2012 adjustment shows up.  (Ended up at DQ for Blizzard Therapy.)

KGB– killer ground bees.  I didn’t die but my arm swelled up like Kathleen Turner’s head on steroids.  Not a good look for her, a horrible feeling for ME.

M.E.– because that’s who was attacked by the bees and that’s who is entitled to high drama (and eggplant parm) until the swelling goes down.

W-E-D- as in “til death do us part.”  As in, the average life span of a pioneer was 40 years.  “Death” was lurking around every corner in the 1700’s.  From bad squirrel meat to well, good squirrel meat, “death” was a just part of your first marriage.  Well anyone can honor a commitment like that.  (Side note: “W-E-D” begins with a “W” and contains three letters.  As does “WHY?”  Just an observation.  You’re welcome.)

WTF– which, until recently, I thought meant “with the fries.”  I now understand why friends would often text “?” to my answers.  Like when Harry texted: “ordered burger medium-rare and it’s burnt, wtf?”  And I replied: “enjoy the f- especially steaming hot with a little vinegar and cracked pepper.”  Or when Lucy wrote:  “wtf!  At Costco and they sold out of toilet paper!”  To which I replied: “I hope they’re warm.”

Oh, and about that book tour of Paris.  Well, in June, I did visit the City of Lights where I was, again, treated to the sounds of The Boy whining and Spouse yelling (plus bread, wine and cheese.  And wine.)  Also, I read a book on the flight over.  Hence the book/tour.

The book was Jim Gaffigan’s “Dad is Fat” but I think it still counts.  Also, I figure that the only way I will ever have a book/tour of my own is by linking words like “book” and “tour” and “me” into sentences and then releasing that energy into the universe.

And I’m pretty sure that I have the “ME” part down.

Plus, I’m certain that Mr. Gaffigan appreciates the plug.

Until L8R.

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