“Sure, I like cheeseburgers,” the random hostess replied to my mother, smiling, as my mom exited the breakfast bar. .
This might have seemed the perfect, polite response to an inquiry if my mother had actually asked about her menu-choice preferences, but that wasn’t the case
When we discuss the beauty of relationships, we rarely describe them in terms of taste beyond good or bad. But as a woman who’s dated many men and married none, I think the variety of our romantic interactions deserves a better range of adjectives.
So when the folks at WordPress prompted a discussion this week about taste and which we’d give up voluntarily, it only seemed fitting for me to equate it to my palate for the ups and downs of this portion of my life. Continue reading
What motivates anyone on a day-to-day basis is relative. From an entertaining perspective, I might say mine stems from an old-school Saturday Night Live skit – Stuart Smalley:
His comic bits poked fun at the trite advice many motivational speakers spew, but as annoying as they can be, I think there’s something to be said in finding inspiration in unexpected places. Continue reading
As a child, I possessed a food-o-graphic memory.
food-o-graphic memory
/fo͞od ōˌgrafik ˈmem(ə)rē/
noun
The ability to remember the contents of your kitchen cabinets and refrigerator in explicit detail. Continue reading
If my affinity for the male “species” didn’t start at birth, it began soon thereafter. My mother loves to tell childhood stories about it.
While my sisters cried like banshees whenever my mom left the house, I pitched a fit until my father took me along with him to construction sites, my building blocks in tow.
Photo credit: Fabienne from morguefile.com
While my sisters joined my mother and other visiting wives in the kitchen during football season, I plunked myself down in the middle of the living room with the men, watched the games, and “sneaked” sips of my dad’s Budweiser. Continue reading
In my college years I met a wonderful man. We’ll call him James.
He struggled with drinking, as most college boys do, but he exemplified the smartest and sexiest man I’d ever known. My 20-something self wanted to marry him in spite of his drawbacks.
My mother and grandmother supported the coupling but for different reasons. For my mother, I feel it was a bit of a check mark – yes, I’ll finally get my youngest daughter married. For my grandmother it reflected a more romantic and basic idea. Continue reading
We’re all called to action at some point, right? Whether it be assisting someone with car trouble, helping an old lady cross the street, or performing the Heimlich maneuver on a stranger (e.g. Bill Murray Groundhog’s Day style), most of us hope to be ready to help when crises arise.
I call that “action-hero syndrome,” and boy, do I suffer from it.
Perhaps it’s because, as a child of the 80s, I watched too many movies (Cloak & Dagger and The Goonies) and TV shows (The Bionic Woman and Charlie’s Angels), or may be it’s just generational hubris? Continue reading
Several years back, I decided to date a younger man – and by younger I mean 10+ years my junior. Adding to the awkwardness of my could-be-boyfriend choice was the fact that I worked with him.
My friends and I dubbed him “New Kid on the Block” when he first caught my attention. For months, the two of us flirted, he poked and prodded around the dating edges, and I agonized over whether I should give him the signal to proceed. Continue reading
“Always do what you say you’re going to do!”
That’s what a good friend said to me in our undergrad college days, after I tried to back out of some activity that I can no longer remember. I’m sure it was something relatively silly, like go watch a movie or concert with him, but his words stuck with me.
“Always do what you say you’re going to do.”
“What are you looking at you, green-eyed heifer, you?”
That’s what my father asked me. He’d said similar things to my sisters but swapped green-eyed for blue-eyed, brown-eyed or the all-encompassing big-eyed heifer.
He conveyed those words with such loving affection that my sisters and I didn’t realize, until way too late in life, that he was actually calling us cows. Continue reading
Awkward Laughter 