Global Belly Laugh Day and Mom’s Birthday. What a match!
January 24, 2008
Today is my Mom’s birthday. This day usually hits me harder than the anniversary of when she died. I suppose because birthdays celebrate life. And my mom? She was so very full of life! She and laughter went hand in hand. Two years ago I was at a stage where I was searching for signs–any signs– that things would get better. That I could remember her life and not crumble into dust and blow away. It was around that time I got a wonderful email addressing that issue.
January 24, 2006 was the first celebration of the great gift of laughter. In June, 2005 I thought we celebrate love, give thanks. Why don’t we celebrate the great gift of laughter? Thus Belly Laugh Day was born. A day to celebrate past laughter and connect with positive laughter.
Yes, my friends, today is Global Belly Laugh Day!
On January 24, at 1:24 p.m. (local time)
smile, throw your arms in the air and laugh out loud!
It makes me smile that on my Mom’s birthday there is a real holiday (It is legit and actually listed in the 2008 Chase’s Calendar of Events published by McGraw Hill.) A day for laughter on the day one of the funniest people I know was born? Perfect.
Many thanks to Elaine for emailing me every year before this event to check up on me, tell me she is thinking of my mom on her birthday and to remind me to laugh. (I will be!)
Will you laugh with me? I could use the company. Join me! At 1:24pm (your local time) I want you to join in with me and throw your arms in the air and laugh out loud. Who cares who is looking. Laugh. They will join in. Maybe they will be laughing at you, but they will be laughing!
Now in case you just need a good laugh, rather than tell you a knock-knock joke, I will share this. Now come on…this should make you at the very least giggle.
While on vacation and the night was clear and beautiful, I decided to take the opportunity to enjoy the incredible stars that seemed to go on forever. The best way to see such an amazing sight was from our upper deck with (of course) a telescope. Gleefully hopping up into the bar/deck chair, I lean forward to look at the beauty of nature.
And fall ass over tea kettle.
Ironically, I didn’t even know I fell until I hit the ground with my knee. (Bless the sturdy workmen who did an excellent job on putting up the railing around the upper deck as it kept me from plummeting to my death below.)
Suddenly I am gasping in pain unable to stand up and seeing stars of a different sort. (Before you even ask, I was stone cold sober, my friends.) My older brother was immediately by my side.
“Can you get up? Are you okay?”
“No! I am so NOT okay. My knee must be broken and bleeding and I am sure that I have a concussion!” (Drama much?)
My brother helped me up and then went on with, “…Want me to throw that frickin’ telescope in the ocean. I will get that bitch to the Bahamas!” (I do so love having a big brother to take care of me. )
My knee in fact was bruised and scraped, but not broken or gushing gallons of blood. It was then that the embarrassment hit. To witness my wonderful act of grace was my nephew, my sister, my brother-in-law, my teen and of course my brother.
My nephew is three and kept chanting: “What happened to my Jennifer? What happened to my Jennifer? What happened to my Jennifer?” I wanted to reply, “That son-of-a-bitch chair and I just had a throw down and it won!” but rather replied, “I just fell down. I am okay.”
My sister just laughed. (In her defense, I would have done the same thing had it been her.)
My brother-in-law pretended not to see it as to not have to commit to laughter or sympathy until he saw whether I was going to cry or laugh.
And my teen?
He sits back in his deck chair having never gotten up in the first place and mockingly says, “Nice move there, Mom. Takes talent to fall out of a chair for no reason what. so. ever.”
There was SO a reason. Apparently, I leaned over to look out of the telescope that was BROKEN and fell right out of the chair. But he did have a point. Not my finest or most graceful moment.
So I laughed. What else is there? Then limped my graceful self downstairs for ice. After putting that in my margarita, I got some for my knee.
And that, my friends, is why they call me Grace.
I thought about showing you a picture, but they are not nearly as dramatic to look at as it is to hear about. And you know, the whole “drama” effect works for me.
Presenting the multi-talented, oh so feminine tricks of my daughter
April 21, 2006
My daughter is a girl of many talents. She loves to show off her amazing singing skills. And occasionally her funky-town dance moves. A captive audience is all she needs to get going. In my mind as I saw this type of “on stage” behavior emerge, I begin thinking “Julie Roberts” or “Meg Ryan–minus the manhands” or even “Kate Hudson”. The possibilities of her amazing enjoyment of being dramatic and performing could make me her famous.
But then you add in the Brother Factor.
The Brother Factor is where you take a feminine, dainty girl who loves to be dressed in pink with bows and girly things and mix in two brothers 5-7 years older than she is. Be sure to leave them alone as much as possible in order for her to gain as much knowledge and advice as her Big Brothers have to offer. Let them guide her. Let them help her to be all that she can be. Mix well and turn the combination loose on the world.
Suddenly images of Julia, Meg and Kate disappear. Why? Because the last time my precious and dainty daughter called me into the room to show me her newest trick, I was expecting a cool dance move or a new song complete with hand motions. Instead I got the following.
“Mommy! You must see the coolest trick EVER in the history of me! Ready? Ready?”
I brace myself as she sits down. Uh-oh, I don’t see this as anything good. And she showed me her new trick. Wanna see? Ta-da:
In case is is unclear as to what her AMAZING and TALENTED new trick is…she has figured out that she can pick her nose with her toes. Taaa-daaaaa!
Yes, Internet, that is my talented daughter who loves to show off. Somehow I don’t see Julia, Meg or Kate getting their careers started this way. I blame it completely on the men in my house. Bad. Bad influence you testosterone laden male people!
Because Kidd Kraddick showed me the love reading my blog on his show, I really wanted to reciprocate by sharing his recent accomplishment with you, dear Internet. Why? Because Kidd rocks my face off! That, and I just cannot resist the opportunity to share this with you.
Last week, Kevin Federline/K-Fed/Britney Spear’s sperm donor dropped by the studio to promote….well, I have no idea. I think he was there to promote his new CD. (Quit laughing. Really. He has one.) A little bit of background so that you can understand that there was a deep-seated need to have bragging rights here. It has been an ongoing battle for Kidd to try to beat K-Fed in the number of MySpace friends that he has. Why? Well, because he contends that a popular DJ certainly should have more “friends” than someone who hasn’t done much other than marry Britney Spears. I agree. It is a complete injustice. Totally wrong. Having not met his goal of surpassing K-Fed in the world of myspace.com, he decided to challenge him to a different sort of contest.
Kidd decided to challenge him to a Dance Off on a Dance Dance Revolution game. DJ vs. Professional Dancer. You would think it would be a no-brainer.
I would be completely remiss in my responsibility to you, Internet, if I did not share this video with you. Enjoy. But put your drinks down first or you might end up snorting a bit of soda through your nose.
If you just don’t feel like watching it –And, really, why wouldn’t you watch it? It is great!– I will tell you the results. Kidd won. Yes, Kidd the DJ beat K-Fed the professional dancer. AND Kidd didn’t even realize that there was a space behind him that he was supposed to be using and not just the ones to his left, right and front.
You gotta love it.
[UPDATE: Here is Kidd’s take on the whole thing. Pretty amusing if you ask me. But liking the K-Fed? I am a bit dismayed.]
[UPDATE 2: The older link was not working, so I have relinked it to a site that has it. NOW you can enjoy Kidd and K-Fed and their “dance” off.]
You know you were waiting for it. You know you wanted to hear it. So here you go.
BITE
I have told you before that we have a Doberman, Harley. A Doberman who weighs nearly 100 pounds but thinks he is a tiny Chihuahua. No concept that he is large. And strong. And has enormous teeth that can rip a face off of a human being with nary an effort. And this sweet little dog (okay, he really is sweet, but not so little) is very protective of his “pack” (meaning us…the family). Especially the little angel he thinks is his. Gabrie is his little one to care for, to protect and to lavish huge, wet tongue kisses on. Rule Number One: Never mess with Gabrie.
Well, silly me forgot Rule Number One. She and I were playing and tickling and giggling. Well, Harley thought that I most certainly must be hurting her. Why else would she screech so loudly? (Well, dumb dog, because she is a girl and that is what they do. LOUDLY!) The next thing I know, he comes running to her rescue.
“Screwing around with my girl, eh?” was the look in his eyes.
I should have been warned. I should have seen it coming. But nooooo. I was taunting him by PLAYING with my daughter.
Enough was enough. As I lay on the floor engaged in a very fun tickle-fest with the little angel, Harley went into protective mode.
And Bit me. ON THE ASS.
Not hard enough to do damage. Not hard enough to even hurt. Just hard enough to tell me that I better leave HIS girl the hell alone and to stop right then.
I turned and looked at him and he looked back like “Well? Game Over, lady?”
Oh HELL NO the game is not over. I leaned towards him. Got closer. Looked into his eyes and said, “Is that really how you want to play this, DoberButt?”
And then…
Then I bit him back.
Let me tell you something. When you bite a dog and that dog recognizes you as one of the pack leaders, it really is quite hilarious. The shocked look on his face could only be described as “What the fuck did you just do?” He didn’t run. Or yelp. (Hey, I didn’t really bite him hard. Just enough to get his attention. A love nibble. But not.)
He walked over to Gabrie. Sniffed her to make sure she was okay. And huffed away. I swear this dog HUFFED away. Apparently Dobermans are not the kind of dog who think it is appropriate to have their humans bite them.
Gabrie looked at me wide eyed and said, “Mommy, that was just so gross! Did you get hair in your mouth? Really, Mommy, you shouldn’t bite the dog.”
And so I was told. By a 4 year old. That Mommies should not bite the dog. Now I know.
But damn, it was HILARIOUS to see the look on his face. And I can also tell you for sure that he won’t be biting me again anytime soon. He also gets very nervous if I bare my teeth at him now.
By now you may have figured out that Tuesdays and Thursdays are my days. As in no one is home but me. I have been trying to be productive on these days. I have written (the book is coming along great!), I have touched up essays and queries for publications, and I have cleaned my house top to bottom. (Okay, that whole cleaning the house part is a lie, but I was on such a roll there I wanted to believe it myself.)
Anyway, due to my ever-present friend Mr. Insomnia, I haven’t been feeling like my usually energetic self. So today I decided to allow myself the luxury of a nap. Ahhhh, the joys of having freedom to sleep during the day and not fear waking up to a destroyed house or my face colored with a rainbow of permanent markers. Although, I didn’t want to totally check out for the day, so I decided to just crash on the couch. I would be able to sleep, yet not get into such a deep sleep that it was hard to get moving again. I was just after a refreshing catnap.
Excited at the prospect of uninterrupted sleep, I muted the ringer on the phone. I turned off all of the lights and television. Happily, I grabbed my favorite cozy blanket, my heavenly down-filled pillow and stretched out on the inviting couch. It wasn’t long before Mr. Sandman had me deep into my nap. I am talking about thoroughly enjoying the deepest kind of slobber-sleep one can enjoy during the day. Out cold. Dead to the world. (Getting the picture of how wonderfully and blissfully asleep I was?)
Only to be awakened by the most terrifying, blood curdling, heart stopping, fear induced scream I had ever heard! (This is not how I enjoy being awakened AT ALL!)
I want to tell you that I immediately jumped up off of the couch, flew into a fierce martial arts stance and was ready to face my attacker head on. I’d love to tell you how brave I was in the face of some unknown and terrifying danger. I’d like to. I can’t.
The truth of the matter is that I dove under my blanket like the chickenshit I am. I was shaking so much it probably looked as if I were having a seizure. Frantic thoughts began to race through my mind.
“Who is in my house and why are they screaming?” Oh holy hell in a hand-basket, they wanted me to be fully aware of what was happening to me before they inflict inhumane torturing on me! Oh for the love of all that is not going to kill me, why? Wait. “That makes no sense”, I thought to myself.
Perhaps a friend of mine thought it would be funny to scare the ever-living daylights out of me. I pondered. “Nah. No one I know is that mean.”
A million other possibilities raced through my head as I began to wonder if I ever told Clint where my will was and how exactly I wanted the children to be raised if I was ever brutally attacked by a screamer in my home. It began to dawn on me that before I fell asleep, I had set the security alarm. How did someone get in? Ohhhh, they are good. (Rational thought? Nah.)
Gradually I became a bit braver. First I peeked one eye out from under the blanket. I saw nothing. Then the other eye peeked. Finally, I went all out and uncovered my entire head. I saw nothing. I knew they must have been taunting me. Ever so slowly, I crawled off of the couch and crept around the corner to make sure no one was hiding in the kitchen with my set of cheap steak knives. (Cheap steak knives that better never go in the dishwasher or else–or so I am told.) No one there.
As I began to rub the sleep from my eyes, more rational thought began to slowly emerge.
What was the last thing I was doing before I fell asleep. Well, reading blogs of course! Hmmm, okay. What was my last thought before going to sleep? I have no idea. What was I dreaming about while I was dead to the world slobber-sleeping? Oohhhhhhh!
That terrifying, blood curdling, heart stopping, fear induced scream that awakened me and just about made me soil my pants while having a heart attack all at the same time…remember that scream? Yes, it was my very own scream. I screamed so loud and in such a terrifying way that I managed to awaken myself in such a horrific manner that I was ready to take on the armed intruder that I was sure was about to take my very life right there in the middle of the day, on my couch while I slobber-slept.
Apparently, not only am I not safe from Killer Curtains From Hell, I am also not safe from…well, myself. Hold me.
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