humor

The Joy of Camping.

~ thedailydish ~ 15 Comments

This past weekend we went camping with friends in Lenhartsville, PA, close to Hawk Mountain. We’d been planning the trip all last week, and everyone was EXCITED!! Though I haven’t done a whole lot of it, I actually enjoy camping. The fresh air, the dirt, the marshmallows. And even though it POURED Friday night, by Saturday everything was just fine. Or so we thought. Unfortunately we had not been briefed that *FAMILY CAMPGROUND* is really code language for WE HOUSE DERELICTS WHO LOVE TO PAR-TAY. Don’t get me wrong. We like drinking too. Of course we like drinking. It’s the only thing that makes camping tolerable.  When the pluses of doing something include: 1) having an excuse not to brush your teeth, 2) getting to pee in the bushes, and 3) wondering who’s going to fall into the firepit, well – drinking is simply par for the course.

But let’s be reasonable. Quiet Hours were posted as 11 PM – 8 AM. I didn’t have a watch to check and being in the middle of the forest, didn’t have a clock to reference either. BUT I think we pretty much stuck to that. All of us – our good friends P & E, and S. We all have kids. We put our kids to sleep – well, except for GEORGIA, but that’s another story altogether. Yes, we were drinking. But we were not making this camping trip into the bacchanalian orgy that our neighbors so clearly took it to be.

I will be honest. The folks renting the campsite on the far side of us were simply ANIMALS. And they should have been rounded up at 3 am and sent to the stockyard. But as I am not yet in charge of the universe, they continued on ALL NIGHT LONG.  AT one point I woke up and it sounded as though they were actually attacking a woman.  I could not deduce from the screaming whether or not she was enjoying it. And I couldn’t have helped her even if I wanted to.

You see, I was pinioned between my younger daughter and a tent wall for most of these NOT-SO-QUIET-HOURS.  B/c Georgia would not go to sleep.  Oh no.  At some point in the evening she spotted an insect in the kids tent, and refused to go inside.  I don’t think the bug was even in the tent – just sandwiched between the top of the tent and the fly – but how do you reason THAT to a 4 year old?  Needless to say, Georgia was bunking w/ us for the evening.

Unfortunately I am claustrophobic.  ACUTELY CLAUSTROPHOBIC.  As my husband and I were sharing a tent which comfortably sleeps 1, you can imagine how cozy it was w/ 3 of us.  In order to get Georgia to sleep, I finally had to ZIP HER INTO MY SLEEPING BAG beside me.  Rendering it more of a cocoon. I spent most of the night unable to move, smashed up against the side of the tent w/ the roof just inches from my face.  It was like being trapped inside an MRI machine, except the noise of the hammers was replaced with drunken revelry from the campsite 2 down.

Nearing daybreak I Couldn’t take ANYMORE.  I woke my husband long enough to unzip me from my iron maiden and I hightailed it to the spacious kids tent next door.  There I spent the next 2 hours, sleeping intermittently, trying my best to squash my tall frame into a toddler’s size sleeping bag. Even w/ four feet in my face, compared to my previous accommodation, it was HEAVEN.

Lest you think the trip was sheer torture, the art reception we’d attended the night before – w/ its scrumptious catered food and WINE BAR – was simply wonderful.  As was seeing the Blue Rocks Boulder Field, a glacial river of rock, parked literally beside our campsite.  Being w/ our beloved friends, whose company makes any situation bearable, was marvelous.  AND for the sheer fact that it didn’t RAIN, I will be eternally grateful. But being trapped next to prison escapees, NOT SO HOT. I may never do it again. At least until the memory fades. Which given the way I drink, could be as soon as next week.

CLICK HERE for all the fun in photos.

New York, New York

~ thedailydish ~ 18 Comments

Saturday – in honor of John’s 37th birthday – we went to NEW YORK. Almost a year since our last visit. October 2007, boarding the Norwegian Spirit on our way to New England & Canada. As exciting as that trip had been (taking in the sights of the NYC passenger terminal and Penn Station), this time we wanted MORE.

Behold the American Museum of Natural History.  Isn’t she PRETTTY??  YES_SHE_IS!

We got to the museum early. We’d debated the merits of driving v. taking the train and finally decided just to drive. Mostly b/c it allowed an extra hour of sleep. There’s a parking garage located conveniently beneath the museum, so we were able to park all day for just $46 bucks. WOW. My lovely friend Pannonica had set aside Super Passes for us and let me tell you. NOTHING BEATS FREE. The “insider touching privileges” and executive washroom access were just icing on the (proverbial) bday cake. Make no mistake, Biologists are ROCK STARS.

The museum is massive, so we had to prioritize. Several sections are similar to the Academy of Natural Sciences here in Philly, as well as the Penn Museum and the Smithsonian. So we skipped those. NO NOT ALL OF THEM.  A few we walked through, doing the YES I AM PAYING ATTENTION dance. The place is just way too big to see in one day. So we did the best we could. We took in the scenic tour of the Food Court. I recommend getting there as soon as it opens, before the bagels are fondled too much. At lunchtime the place is an absolute zoo. I wanted to try the empanadas, but as the line was 5 deep, I gave up. The half of a bacon cheeseburger I pried away from my husband was o-kay. But not an empanata. We checked out one of the gift shoppes. The girls wanted cool moving-picture book marks, which were indeed neat, but at $6 a piece left me aching for an empanada.

2 meals in the food court and one gift shoppe visit later, we took in the actual museum. Which is very quiet and clean 1st thing in the morning. Disintegrating into a combination swap-meet/ Macy’s parade atmosphere as the day wears on.  We saw as much as humanly possible w/ 2 children in tow and swarming hordes of on-lookers. The highlights included the breathtaking Hall of Ocean Life. Also, the Dinosaurs Alive! IMAX film, which positively enchanted my older daughter, though not my husband. Always a critic. We all very much enjoyed the Lizards & Snakes: Alive! special exhibit, which, I confess, has left me longing for a Burmese Python. The whole museum – from the dioramas to the miles-long array of minerals, to the beauty of the building itself – is awesome. Fascinating. Overwhelming.  By the time we left, I felt like someone who’d tried digesting 5 billion years of history w/ one too few Tums.

BUT THERE’S ALWAYS ROOM FOR DESSERT.  And what trip to New York is complete w/out a visit to the sweetest place on earth (at least for a child) – FAO SCHWARTZ.  We made our way through Central Park, ambling towards 5th Avenue. It was simply lovely. The undulating trunks of the American Elms, the couples in love, the roller dancers making fools of themselves. AHHHHH. What a day to be alive.  Even the teeming crowds outside the Plaza weren’t enough to throw off our bliss.

Until we arrived at FAO SCHWARTZ.  I must confess that my daughters were MORE THAN A LITTLE skeptical regarding this particular store.  They kept asking, over and over – What IS THIS??  WHERE ARE WE GOING??  IS THIS FUN>> IS IT FOR KIDSSSS>????  As though we’d lost our senses.  TRUE the name does sound more like a financial institution than a toy store.  But once we stood outside the glass walls, and the girls had spotted the doorman dressed as a toy soldier, they knew GAME ON.  Once inside, we managed to make our way through the two stories and come away unscathed.  The ladies agreed to one small Playmobil set each. I was awed by the life-size Lego recreations of Chewbacca, Hagrid and the Harry Potter gang. But enough is enough.

Next stop: American Girl Place. Anyone who knows me can JUST IMAGINE WHAT I WAS THINKING. And you would be right. But I kept it BUTTONED. Through 4 floors of crass commercialism, personal shopping, doll hair salon, and cafe. I simply smiled weakly and let Daddy treat his daughters. Afterward I needed a drink. BAAAAAAAAD. We walked up 5th Avenue, past stores I will never be able to afford, surging with the crowd. We ate dinner at a cozy Irish place, which YOU KNOW HAD ALCOHOL. We stood in Times Square, gazing open-mouthed at all the neon and craziness. And then we walked, slowly, back to the car, taking in the sights. Watching the blocks morph from tacky souvenirs into respectable stone. And silently wondering what life must be like for those fortunate enough to live in such splendor.


My kids are in school and instead of rejoicing I am feeling abandoned.

~ thedailydish ~ 13 Comments

That’s right, folks. I was wrong. So, so wrong. When I said earlier in the summer that I was going to be driven insane by my children before the summer was out. I was RIGHT. But I was totally wrong when I said I was reeeeeaaaalllly looking forward to them going back to school. B/c I really am not. The school year has begun and my joie de vivre has up and left. I should be thrilled that my youngest has finally been peeled from my side. But I am not.  B/c she could be here w/ me. telling me how great I am four times an hour and insisting that we make concoctions out of stuff we find in the kitchen. My older daughter is now at school. Learning how to write in cursive. Hanging out w/ her best buds and telling them funny stories.  As I sit here, being pecked half to death by my bird WHO HAS NEVER BEEN HAPPIER IN HER LIFE, I feel strangely alone.

Playing favorites.

~ thedailydish ~ 13 Comments

I try very hard in my daily existence NOT to play favorites, but sometimes even I cannot help it. Each morning as I rise from bed I vow NOT TODAY. but by the time I am dressed I have succumbed. I am not talking about my children, people. I am talking about my underpants.

Each morning I pull open the drawer and eyeball the selection. I look for my favorites first. The cute patterned ones w/ the low rise. The ones which fit but aren’t tight. The ones which make me feel HAPPY and yet do not ride up my nether regions or shuffle down my hips to my feet. I push the Jockey cotton ones away unless it is that time of the month. In an emergency I reach for the Hanes briefs. They always fit, though they are boring. But sometimes you don’t have time to ponder your panties. The Warner’s Bright Stripes I inherited from my mommy take up the rest of the drawer. Yes I do have hand-me-down underwear and they are ginormous. I call them my “SPANKIE PANTS” b/c they remind me of the underwear I used to wear as a kid. Big hefty things which come up to (nearly) my chest. Which wear like iron and will last until I am well into my 80s I am sure. I wear them only when I will be donning a skirt or dress which comes up to my natural waist. Otherwise the underwear hangs out over the top of my clothing and it looks really weird.

Underwear — that secret layer of protection against the world, sometimes all that stands between you and that great chasm of darkness. Underwear — the great unifier. Worldwide, we all go through a similar routine. And each one of us (not going commando) must come to that crucial decision. WHICH PAIR SHALL I WEAR?

Choosing the right pair of underwear is IMPORTANT. Even though no one else sees them, they are the closest thing to your private parts, and your performance throughout the day will be impacted by them. If you are wearing tight, shifty, bunchy, scrunchy and/or droopy drawers, you will – without fail – be thinking more of them than anything else. To the point that you may even excuse yourself to the restroom to remove said garment – thus rendering us ALL AT RISK. Face it. UNDERWEAR MATTERS. Your level of personal comfort and peace of mind is directly correlated as much w/ your choice of clothing & footwear as it is to the undergarments hiding beneath.

And yet no one ever talks about their underwear. At least not in polite company. Even when you get to work and that great big wedgie of dissatisfaction is building up so badly you want to scream EGADS! THESE PANTIES IS MAKING ME CRAZY!!!! You are left alone w/ your private torture. Like when I wear the high-riding blue underwear I got married in – even though they do not fit comfortably and I should have known better. Or one of the 12 thongs I own which act as slingshots, since each of them is a size too big. That striped pair of boy shorts which covers the barest wisp of booty, leaving me w/ perpetual plumbers crack. Or those green ones which say sz 6 but we both know are LYING.

I have 2 dozen pairs of ill-fitting underpants which will simply never work. And yet, I cannot bear to part with them. Routinely I cull through the herd I call my wardrobe and send the castoffs to the thrift shoppe. Why is it so easy for me to part with unnamed pairs of pants, tops which no longer look good, and yet I feel guilty getting rid of the umpteen pairs of underpants which routinely sit, unworn, at the back of my underwear drawer?? I shuffle them from side to side every single day, brushing past them in my reach for the CHOSEN ONES, and yet, I do not part w/ them. WHY?? B/c I feel GUILTY. Terribly, terribly guilty. People somewhere would trade their eyetooth for that pair of red lacy Victoria’s Secrets which itch and plague me so. When other people can’t even afford new clothes, how could I be so callous as to toss perfectly good underwear? Throwing away something like that – well, That’s just plain WRONG.

BUT What can you do w/ underwear you do not want to wear? It’s not like I can offer it to a friend. Or neighbor. I am moderator of West Philly Freecycle, and yet, the idea of posting an OFFER of my used undies makes me shudder. I am reluctant to send them to the thrift shoppe, b/c even though I have bought used towels there, there are simply some things I do not think they should sell. I could set up some sort of business selling them on eBay but frankly even I have my limits. And so they remain. Tucked away in the drawer for goodness knows how long. Feeling cruelly rejected each time they get the morning diss. Waiting. for that last cold shove into the garbage bag.

Stuff you wanted to know about me.

~ thedailydish ~ 11 Comments

Welcome Friends & Strangers!

I have noticed that many of you keep coming back to visit. and that makes me very happy. I know how hard it is finding good reading material at work – particularly in the bathroom. After all, there are only so many times one can read “Hiney Hiders” on the metal lock before getting bored.

SO. THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING ME! I don’t think enough bloggers are really truly grateful for their audience. Not like me. I am HONORED to be your queen. Knowing you care so much – well, it’s almost like having my own little fan club. Sure, celebrities complain all the time about the intrusion into their personal lives, but for the rest of us it’s just FUN. And I haven’t had to do anything really terrific to earn you. Not like star in a motion picture, or invent something stupendous, or even expose myself. Kudos!

I have noticed recently that several of my online posse (The SASSY LADIES OF BLOGDOM, or the SLOBs) have posted lists detailing heretofore-unbeknownst-details of their personal lives. And I thought WOW. WHAT A FIND. Salacious details. FOR FREE. Not only am I extraordinarily nosy, but I also enjoy knowing other people’s deepest most darkest secrets. Today I would like to share w/ you some stories ALL ABOUT ME. Because, frankly, what else are you here for?

1. Just to break the ice. I do not smoke pot but I am addicted to incense. I light sticks of it all day long. The very best incense I’ve found is made by a small company in Ohio called WILD BERRY. My neighbor has suggested I am a closet pot addict b/c of this tendency. HAHAHAHAHAHHA. No. Everyone who knows me knows I am a wino who abhors smoking. No joke.

2. When I was 4, I saw an Indian pow-wow in my backyard. I was watching through our window. The Indians were wearing feathered headdresses and sitting in a circle. When the Chief looked up and saw me watching, he got up & started coming at me. He looked really angry (presumably b/c I was watching). I remember pulling the curtain back quickly and being worried.. But nothing ever happened. I am still not sure if the Indians were real. or ghosts.

3. My younger daughter just started peeling the sunburned skin off my back. She gets very intent on what she is doing, and insists that I cooperate. Strangely, I like the sensation. It sort of reminds me of my crazy little bird Kiwi. I recently saw a David Attenborough program, Life of Birds, which talks about ox-peckers doing the same thing. They aide their hosts by removing parasites and dead skin – but they also often draw blood by pecking little surface cuts. The ox-pecker will pick pick pick at parasites and then dash back to lick a little off the wound. Kiwi – my crazy ass bird, does this. but Georgia most definitely does not. Thank God.

4. I get very annoyed when I am stopped on the street by people canvassing for politicians, political parties or the environment. Even when I totally agree w/ their agenda. I want to yell at them NO I DON”T HAVE A MINUTE FOR THE ENVIRONMENT. WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR MONEY. YOU KNOW THE $10 BUCKS I COULD GIVE YOU IS JUST PAYING FOR YOU TO STAND THERE. IT’S NOT HELPING ANYTHING. YOU’D BE BETTER OFF PANHANDLING. THEN AT LEAST I’D FEEL SORRY FOR YOU INSTEAD OF JUST FEELING HARASSED.

5. The house I grew up in had a large detached stone garage, with space downstairs for cars and a large loft above with electricity, where we’d store Christmas decorations. Beneath the garage there was a cellar. This cellar was used solely for storing excess firewood, and you could access it from a dark stairwell on the side of the building. This cellar had a name. The Snake Pit. I do not know whether there were any real snakes down there, but the name and reality of the place was more than enough to strike the fear of God into a child. I was never brave enough to go down to the Snake Pit myself, but when i got to high school, my dad used to make my boyfriend go down there to get logs. He’d yell LINC! GO GET SOME WOOD OUT OF THE SNAKE PIT!! And then when Linc left to get the wood, my dad would look at me. and SMILE.

6. My parents had a bus when I was a kid. A converted full-size school bus. It was painted black & white, and had wooden bunk beds in the back. But the damn thing never worked. We tried taking all the kids to the roller rink in it for one of my birthday parties, but we couldn’t get it started, Of course. Talk about a party pooper.

7. Today – August 22nd – marks 11 years since John & I had our very first date. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY BABY!