Miss Taken Identity

           Well, I’m mad again. Not super mad, just eye-rolling mad. I got a message from a Facebook friend who said she loves the pictures from “Bob’s garden.”

          Alright, let’s get this straight. I’m the one who weeds, plants, waters, prunes, deadheads, fertilizes—and when something blooms, Bob takes a picture of it. Which I post.  And which, apparently, implies that this makes it “Bob’s garden.”  

          This is not Bob’s garden. This is sweaty, exhausted Joni’s garden.

          It’s like the Saturday morning when I fired up the heavy electric trimmer, which looks like a chainsaw:

          And I trimmed the entire creeping fig vine which covers our garage and a couple of walls:

          Piles of clippings were on the ground, and I handed the trimmer to Bob so I could go and get a rake.  No sooner had I done this, than our friends, Jason and Debbie, came around the corner, jogging.

          “Hey, great job!” Jason shouted to Bob.

          Bob waved and smiled. I stood there, aghast at the timing. I had been trimming for hours, and in one quick second, Bob got all the credit!

          After our friends were gone, Bob looked at me and asked, “Oh—did you want to hold this?”  And then I think he realized it would be best not to hand it to me.

But you can see me in a sunnier disposition on all of my Youtube Mom videos. Hundreds of quick life hacks-- be sure to subscribe!

Diet Coke Man

           I was just living a regular, suburban life, unaware that my husband had, yet again, become famous.

          But this time it’s not for hosting game shows. This time I was in Home Goods drooling over their darling Christmas décor. I asked a clerk to watch a gingerbread house while I went to get my husband’s attention. “He’s up there, buying cases of Diet Coke,” I explained. Apparently this home accessory store sells them cheaper than the supermarkets.

          “Oh!” the girl brightened. “I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never met him.”

          Seriously. St. Bob is now a folk hero, like Davy Crockett, or Johnny Appleseed. Stories of his extravagant bulk purchases have filtered through the entire staff, who no doubt text each other, “He’s here!” when he starts emptying their fridge into his shopping cart.

          And now I feel obligated to introduce her to him, and hope a line doesn’t form. What if people think it’s the check-out line, and then discover that it isn’t? What if they ask Bob to autograph items they haven’t purchased yet?

          I can see the manager beaming from 20 yards away, the same way women do wherever we go. The Diet Coke Man.  Well, at least he isn’t the Hamburglar.

    Hey, here’s something you can do while you’re waiting in line—watch my short Youtube Mom videos!  All kinds of life hacks, just waiting in line for you!

         

The Perfect Vacation?

     I’ve told you I love mishaps. Not every disaster in life is a good thing, but if you write comedy, the little ones are like gold.

          Take our recent trip to Greece, with our grown kids. Day one: There’s a cab strike, so we have to walk multiple miles from our hotel to the Acropolis, arrive sweaty and exhausted, and remember--  we still have to climb the darn thing. And walk back.

          Day two: A downpour. Rushing through the rain for miles again, and getting absolutely soaked. The archeology museum has a line 50 yards long.

          Day three: We take a ferry to Mykonos. Brandon gets a 24-hour flu.

          Day four: Poor Melissa goes to the hotel breakfast where a woman is repeatedly throwing up into a large cup, as if this is an everyday thing. Melissa turns away, and there’s a man mixing fruit into his scrambled eggs, then eating it.

          Day five: Brandon and Melissa leave all their toiletries in Mykonos as we fly to Santorini. Then their blow dryer blows up.

Day six: Brandon has planned a surprise--to propose to Melissa-- but doesn’t want a big crowd. Everywhere we go there are tourists. Finally he hears that the sunset is beautiful at the other end of the island by the deserted lighthouse, so we go to sit and watch this private and romantic scene. Except everyone else has also heard about this nice view, so there are at least a hundred people on the slope above the place where he plans to propose. It looks like Seal Beach:

 

          It couldn’t have been more public if he had chosen a stadium. (The good news is that they all cheered and clapped, which was cool.) Needless to say, this was the TOTALLY perfect and redeeming part of the vacation.

          Day seven: Bob gets sick—stomach flu, fever, lots of fun.

Day eight: We head back to Athens where the hotel bathroom is made entirely of marble. This sounds beautiful until you realize the floor is also marble and the shower has no door. The entire bathroom floor gets wet, and wet marble is a 10 on the Slippery Scale.  Oh, well. Safety Third, right?

Day nine: As St. Bob and I head back, I contract Covid. The others go on excursions to Turkey and Rhodes. (More to come, folks.)

          But you can find travel tips and all sorts of life hacks in short videos on my Youtube Mom channel! And be sure to subscribe.

 

Not to Squash Your Enthusiasm, but…

           Well, it’s that time of year again—Pumpkin Season. This is the time when literally EVERYONE is out buying pumpkins. Regardless of your politics, religion, race, or whatever, you feel compelled to join the crowd and put pumpkins in your shopping cart.

          We haul them home, put them on our front porches, festoon our homes with these bright orange balls, carve them into faces, and then throw them away. Do we eat pumpkins? Certainly not—it’s too much work! We just buy the puree in cans and completely waste the whole pumpkins.

          But it goes beyond the squashes. We also want everything that’s pumpkin seasoned or scented:  Cookies, cakes, pies, candies, popcorn, milkshakes, pancakes, syrup, granola, car wash soap, lotion, candles, body wash, room spray—the list is endless.

          We have consented to participate in this Pumpkinpalooza, simply by growing up. It’s what you do. Calling an end to this madness would be inhuman—like deliberately becoming a zombie. And then we dress up as zombies—or other ridiculous costumes—and run around begging for candy.

          It’s simply what we do.

          And here are some more Halloween ideas, on my Youtube Mom channel. Be sure to subscribe!

What's the Last Thing You Looked Up?

           I wonder if the FBI or the CIA will look at my search history someday and conclude that I’m some kind of criminal. Most other writers share my problem.

          For example, I recently wrote about Tiddly Winks. That seems pretty harmless. But what about searching for ways someone can choke on one?

          Here are some other things I've asked the all-knowing internet:

          What are some things that can explode if they’re in your car and you hit a bump?

          How about ways you can train a cat to steal jewelry (a true cat burglar), and also how to drop him on a roof from a drone.

          If someone is trapped in freezer, how long before they die?

          What’s the most sarcastic animal?

          Where is the most common place kidnappers hide their victims?

          Can you make a cake using household cleanser for the flour?

          Can a policeman get sued if he shoves a prisoner into the squad car and the prisoner bumps his head on the roof of the car?

          Can a lawyer quit in the middle of a trial because she realizes her robbery client is actually a serial killer?

          What makes someone a compulsive liar?

          What is the worst natural smell a human can generate?

          Can a judge get away with murder if he hires the hit man, and then sets him free in court?

          Hey, enquiring minds, you know.

          Meanwhile, I’m making harmless Youtube Mom videos, filled with innocent—but clever and easy—life hacks. Check ‘em out!

         

Things You Never Knew About Golf

           I will begin by admitting that I don’t like golf. Not only am I too klutzy to play it, but I also object to it as a concept. Now, you golfers, don’t go throwing a good club at me and getting as bent out of shape as that club.

          Before I tell you why I oppose it, here are some statistics you may not know:

          Fewer than 30% of the players are female. There was an upsurge during the pandemic, but it’s still a man’s sport.

          In its favor, A golfsupport.com survey of 500 golfers’ wives and 500 wives of non-golfers, says golfers have the happiest marriages, with  80% of the golfers’ wives rating their marriage 5 out of 5, compared to 59% of the non-golfer wives.

          However, Golf Monthly says 17% of male golfers use golf to hide infidelity.

          Okay, enough stats. Here are my reasons for opposing this activity:

1.      It takes too much time. You really need to devote an entire day to this, and think what else you could have accomplished, to say nothing of spending time with your family. (Exception: If your whole family golfs with you, then I’m for it.)

2.     I can’t get excited about the idea of getting a ball into a little hole. Again, this could be due to my own lack of coordination, but it seems there should be more to this. I mean, if someone discovered that cave men played golf, I would not find it a bit surprising (and they had clubs, remember).

3.     It becomes an obsession. People move next to golf courses, take golfing vacations, wear golf clothes all the time, even get divorced over it.    

4.    Does this happen with other sports? Check out my blog about making several sports more exciting here (totally worth the read).

5.     And, finally, it’s basically Tiddly Winks, except you walk around the block between plays. In fact, maybe we should rename it Tiddly Links.

 (St. Bob asked why I’m on such a tear about golf and I admitted that I really just wanted to make the Tiddly Winks analogy.)

But I still say your time would be much better spent checking out the hundreds of easy life hacks you can find on my Youtube Mom channel.

That's a Horse of a Different Tint!

          This is not surprising news: I color my hair.  After chemo, I’ve gone to a salon to get the match right. And I always jot the appointment down in my calendar.

          Then we re-did our stairway wall, filled with family photos. The old ones were so washed out from sunlight that we replaced them all with updated pictures. And this time, we hired a guy to put a dimming film on the nearest window.

          We set it up for 10:30, but as the day got closer, I told St. Bob he had to be there, because I had a hair appointment at exactly the same time. No problem.

          I drove to the salon and sat down to wait for my hairdresser. Finally 15 minutes went by, so I texted and asked if she was running late. Nope. She told me my appointment was still a week away. I looked it up and sure enough, I had written it on another date.

          And then it hit me: I had written “10:30 Tint” for the window guy, and then assumed that meant my hair coloring, not tinted windows. I slinked out of the salon, got in my car and got out of there.

          The guy was still working when I got home, and I pretended to be completely on top of my life.  It was quite the performance.

However, you can be on top of your life with easy life skills on my Youtube Mom channel, right here!