GMC, Chrysler, Chevy Listen Up, Down, and Over

By Jody Worsham, co author "Kin We're Not Related To"

All rights reserved for automatic covered wagon

Recently I have been watching car commercials, the ones where the car automatically stops before your foot hits the brake or stops when you are about to back into something.  There was even one where the car automatically signaled that a car was in your blind spot. Considering that yesterday I took out the picket fence… for the second time, but not in the same day, I am considering getting one of those.

I already have a car that has a backup camera that beeps at me when I get too close to a curb, bush, basket, or anything within range but it only shows what is directly behind me. It can tell me how to get from A to B, if I have an address, where the nearest gas station is or McDonald’s which is equally important.  If I am running low on gas, my car will beep at me.  It ding-dings if I forget my seat belt.  It dongs and flashes if I leave the turn signal on too long.  I can even speak to it and have it call someone.  The control panel resembles that of a 747 airplane.  Want to know air pressure in any of the tires?  Push a button. What that means, I don’t know. Want to adjust the temperature for passengers to the left or in the back seat, push a button.  Pretty smart car.

However, I figure if I wait just a bit, I can purchase the ultimate car of the future.  First, and most importantly, this car is going to have a trash compactor for McDonalds cups, wrappers, and straws, old homework papers, newspapers, flyers, notes from school, plastic bags  and other assorted debris that will then be converted into fuel.

Next it is going to have a computer program that allows me to log in all the times for the kids’ karate lessons, ballet lessons, games, practices, orthodontist appointments, and school holidays, then I won’t leave one sitting at the ballet studio for 30 minutes like I did on Wednesday.  When I turn on the key, the car will ask “Do you have both children?  Today is pizza day, no need for lunch kits. School starts at 8:05 you are ten minutes behind schedule take FM213 and proceed at 67 miles per hour."

It will have an automatic locking accelerator and doors that will activate when it senses I am turning into Wal-Mart for the third time that day.  That alone will save me enough money to pay for the device.

One of the best features it will have is the automatic full length Plexiglas backseat divider that will rise from the seat the minute any anatomical part of either passenger’s anatomy crosses the DMZ.  It will also have a noise activated front seat sound-proof barrier that will drop whenever sound from the back seat reaches 3.9 decibels.

It will also have cameras on both sides of the vehicle as well as behind and in front of each wheel that can detect bicycles, trash cans, backpacks, skates, dogs, frogs, balls, and chickens.  Upon detection a mechanical voice will sound “Warning! Warning! Danger! Will Robinson,” like in "Lost in Space" or in my case “Warning, picket fence and all objects within 100 yards, Warning.”

The best safety feature will be the chauffer device.  At the end of the day, when my rear-end is touching the axil and the sun is sinking below the horizon, I will put the car on “Chauffer” simply say “Home, Jeems.”

American car makers, take note!  My husband has cash.

Tip: Hook a Wal-Mart sack around any knob in your car for disposable litter bag. 

BLOG TOUR

Touring with my Blog...virtually, that is!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Unlimited Writing Engagements

I was invited by Libby Hall  www.subourbonmom.wordpress.com to join “My Writing Process Blog Tour and I am so glad.  I think because it affirms that at least one person reads my blog besides my mother.

THE BIG QUESTIONS!

As part of the invitation, I have to answer these four questions.

# 1  What am I working on?  Right now, I’m trying to figure out this blog tour rolling thing.  I have been working on laundry for the past three days and at some point I have to grocery shop and remember to pick up my children.  Writing wise, Wanda Argersinger and I have a book coming out as soon as we settle on the cover.  We have the title “Kin We Are Not Related To” but the cover is the hold up.

# 2  How does my work differ from others of its genre?  Well, I am the Medicare Mom.  My husband and I adopted six children, then, in our early sixties, we adopted our one day old grandson and our three year old granddaughter.  It’s senior parenting with us being the seniors and the parents.  There are two million plus grandparents raising their grandchildren.  Raising children has many universal topics and challenges.  Rearing children as seniors has its own humorous twists and turns.

# 3  Why do I write what I do?  Instead of keeping a baby book on the children, I started writing essays about them and what it is like to be a parented by a senior.  Writing humor for me was cheaper than therapy, didn’t leave a hangover, and didn’t require a prescription.   It will be their inheritance  .  They can submit them to  “Ripley’s Believe It or Not”, “As the World Flops”, or give them to their therapists.

# 4  How does my writing process work?  I wake up.  Stuff happens.  I write it down.  If I am stuck for a topic, I just try to cook something.  That is always good for a couple of blogs including but not limited to: a trip to the ER, smoke alarm tests, and/or supper at McDonald’s. The book “Kin We Are Not Related To” evolved through a series of e-mails between Wanda Argersinger and myself.  With us feeding off each other’s humor style, and topics, MayBelle, Mable, Aunt Clovis and a whole family of relatives evolved and took on a life of their own.  The book will be out soon.  If you recognize any of your relatives in the book, then you are probably kin to MayBelle and Mable.

 

JOINING THE BLOG TOUR

Molly Dugger Brennan is joining the tour.  Molly is a Southern humorist who lives in the Shenandoah Valley with her patient husband and four monster dogs.  She is devoted to the Holy Trinity of Southern life:  a porch, a pie, and a pack of dogs.  Read her essays at www.mollyduggerbrennan.com

I am supposed to have two more but most of my humor blogger friends are headed for the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference.  It's that or else I am alone out there in cyber space somewhere.

Anyway, next week  "The Dueling Phone Carriers" or "Hold Please...and I Still Am"

The I-No-Own-Phone, The Final Part

 

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Back to the Future

Over the past seven days, I have enjoyed my I-phone.  I was becoming well versed in calling, answering, texting, AND I added maps and weather.  This might be a good thing after all.  Out of my mouth to the techno-gremlins ears.

Yes, my I-phone became an I- no-own-phone.  Well, not exactly a no-phone; more like a no Wi-Fi  phone which, since it was also the hot spot for my I-pad, meant no e-mail and  connection to the lost world of adults.  I headed back to the AT&T store post haste.

Alex met me at the door.  With I-phone in hand, he poked, clicked, tapped, and angled to no avail.

 “You got any Wi-Fi on your phone?” he finally asked the salesperson next to him.

 “No, tower is down.”

 “The tower is down”, he relayed to me as if my hearing was also technically challenged.

“When will it be up?” I asked, as if he knew.

“Maybe Friday.”

I left and headed to McDonald’s for a much needed mocha frappe and Wi-Fi.  I spent Saturday at Whataburger for food and more Wi-Fi.  Sunday I parked next to the library for free Wi-Fi as I assumed the tower was still down since my I-phone wasn’t working.

Monday I was back at the AT&T store and caught Alex just as he was ducking behind the counter. The tower was up, had been for three days.  For the next three hours I stood, drank water, stood, drank water, stood and watched as everybody in the store tapped, clicked, poked, wired-up, switched out I-phones, tried an I-phone4s with no resulting Wi-Fi for me.   Finally Alex announced:

“I don’t know why it won’t work.”

I could have said that the minute I walked in.  The only thing they could do was RE.   RE-fund what I had paid, RE-connect my hot spot, RE-connect that to my I-pad, RE-set my pass word, and show me a selection of phones that would ring, vibrate, send and receive texts.  I chose one just like the one I got for the eleven-year-old.

It seems the 21^st century has ganged up on me.  The brain is willing, but the Techno-gremlins have declared otherwise. 

So here I sit with my lap-top waiting for the dial-up to catch up with my writing.  I will finish this piece for my blog.  Wait and eat lunch.  Google my blog.  Wait and do a load of laundry.  Copy and attach this piece.  Wait and go pick up the kids from school.  Insert this piece in the blog.  Wait. Prepare supper.  Hit send.  

After supper, dishes, homework, baths, I will crank up my hotspot, connect my I-pad, and e-mail friends that I have a new post.  After a full day of dial-up and waiting, I hope Alex’s Grandmother gives him a good talking to.

Only the Good Diet Young

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for Sugar Free Scales
My friend Lisa, www.themeatandpotatoesoflife , described herself as always being "chunky" but there is still time for her to diet. I, on the other hand, have always been skinny, but there is something about hitting middle age (assuming I am going to live to 140) when the metabolism slows down and your caloric intake speeds up, usually accelerated by the need for a daily glass of wine and a couple of Snickers, that changes things. I now crave carbs and sugar that are no longer burned in a flurry of hyper activity but settling nicely onto my frame. Dieting is too late for me.b>
Aside from the health issues (and do I really want to make it to 140) I must measure the price of slimming down compared to the happiness of a smooth chocolaty mocha frappe and extra butter on my sour dough bread. My husband still thinks I'm cute; admittedly he wears bifocals and has night blindness but I'm not currently considering submitting photos to thePast Prime Time Dating Service or Life and Bran Begin at 70 web sites. I'll give the marriage another 48 years before shopping around for husband number two and the prerequisite diet plan.b>
I have noticed that most of the Jenny Craig, Bowflex, and diet/exercise ads on television feature pictures of young female whale types as" before" and a slim and sleek porpoise type "after" photos. But then young whales and young females have a lot of elasticity in their skin. If I suddenly went on a diet and managed to lose 30 or 40 pounds, I too, could fit back into size 10 clothing, but imagine a balloon that has been blown up to capacity for several months and you slowly let all the air out. Now observe that balloon. It does not snap back into its former tiny jaw-aching-if-you-tried-to-blow-it-up shape; rather it has irregular floppy and droopy sides. Were I to lose said 30 or 40 pounds, the skin around my chins, arms, stomachs, and thighs would be hanging somewhere around my knees along with my boobs. With all that loose skin, I could be Bat Mama and become airborne if a strong breeze came up.b>
I rationalize it this way. My extra poundage takes the place of lifting weights to maintain muscle tone. I just haul my weights with me wherever I go. In these dire economic times, a layer of fat and a sweatshirt may be all I need to get me through a cold winter. If the teamsters union decides to strike or a flood destroys the wheat crop, I've got enough fat stored up to last a month or two before I resort to healthy foods. And besides, fluffy, plump laps make the best place for rocking grandchildren to sleep.b>
"Now, make that McDonald's small mocha frappe an extra-large and yes I would care for an apple pie. Only the good diet young."

In a Land Phar, Phar....from McDonald's

by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for non-traceable credit card

In a farm house, far, far from McDonald's no happy meals have been eaten since the Evil Dark Visa sent the print out showing four pages of charges to McDonald's. Now Hans Lo Cal has decreed an embargo on all things Mc including Mocha Frappes.

Princess Phat blames the CEO of Mikey D's for their siren call of $1 drinks and the double temptation of two for one hot apple pies.

All was tolerable until McDonald's unveiled their newest Death Star to Dieters...the McChicken Bites. The bites are so tiny and cute that they easily deceive Princess Phat into thinking they couldn't possibly hold many calories. The cute little Chinese take-out boxes they come in, however, are guaranteed to make you hungry again in one hour.

And yes, I, er Princess Phat fell off the diet wagon and went slipping and sliding up and down the golden arches taking tiny bites out of her diet as she went.

Curse you Dark Visa for printing out her transgressions. Next time, she'll use cash.

F.F.A.A.T.

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Splenda, Spanx, and stretch jeans!

"Hello, my name is Jody and I am F.F.A.A.T. (Fast Food Addicts Anonymous Tribunal). It has been one day, three hours, six minutes, and thirty-two…thirty-three….thirty-four seconds since I have been to McDonalds."

"Welcome, Jody. Have some seats. You can have the two chairs over here."

Yes, I admit I need help for my addiction. I recognized this when my husband opened our credit card statement and it was four pages long. Christmas took up a quarter of a page, Wal-Mart accounted for three-fourths of a page but the remaining three pages were to McDonald's. If McDonald's had not added their breakfast menu, free Wi-Fi, chocolate mocha frappes, and a store inside Wal-Mart, it would have only been two pages. If my addiction can be cured, our credit card balance will drop considerably along with my cholesterol levels and pants size.

So I have embraced the 366 steps (these are baby steps) toward being F.F.A.A.T. free. This is day one, or step one which is "Do not EAT in McDonald's." This morning I resisted and only ordered a diet coke. I could have not even gone into McDonald's but a dollar diet coke compared to $1.49 diet coke at the check-out stand made economic sense to me. Ok, I'm rationalizing. Back to step one. Baby steps, remember?

Now to make it through the next 365 steps and days. Why did this year have to be a leap year? I'll keep you posted. One day, three hours, seven minutes and fifteen…sixteen….seventeen seconds…

Raising Cain, and Able to Do It!

in By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Centrum Silver so I can keep on doing it.

I never really raised Cain when I was a teenager, but now that I have a very active six-year-old, I have come to appreciate the saying. The kind of Cain he raises, at least at the present, is more in the realm of bug and frog catching, forgetting to let them go, or not remembering where he stashed them. I'm thinking of investing in Febreze or at least a hound dog to sniff out the location of the fermenting bugs and reptiles.

He has also occupied himself lately with his "inventions." One particular varmint trap consisted of jump ropes strung between door knobs and coat racks and a large milk crate. Fortunately I was able to grab the door frame before facing the crate head on. Traps of all kinds have since been banned to the back yard.

The right side of his brain has not been ignored as he continues to raise Cain with his backyard drums. Now these are not your regular music store variety drums weather proofed for the outside. These are 50 gallon plastic barrels with hardwood tree limbs for drum sticks. The metal barrels are used for his Caribbean repertory. I must say that there has been no need for those high frequency pest abaters since he took up the outdoor drums. When my head could no longer differentiate between his drum solos and the roaring of an approaching tornado, I put an end to the outdoor concerts.

That's when he switched to a more western form of raising Cain…barrel racing or should I say barrel herding. This is not your normal run your horse around barrels in a four-leaf-clover pattern. This is get on your junior battery operated 'gator and herd the barrels around the pasture, bumping and bouncing them from fence to fence. To up it a Cain or two, he involved his sister and thus barrel penning was born. This quickly evolved into Olympic Barrel Bumping and Tossing. When plastic barrels began to sail across the full moon like E.T., I'd had enough. No more barrel anything.

I wonder if Eve had as much trouble raising Cain. I think, with some help from Centrum Silver, Advil, HRT, and a sufficient supply of McDonald's Mocha Frappes, I'll still be "Able" to handle raising Cain.

Thar She Blows!!!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Tie-Downs

I have been told that the wind blows in East Texas. I have even seen the tops of the pine trees moving from time to time, most notably when Hurricane Katrina came through. Yesterday I fully and totally experienced a wind storm in East Texas as we celebrated the five-year-old's birthday/hurricane party in the park. I calculated the wind to be around thirty-nine knots. This is the number of tangles I combed out the nine-year-old's long hair last night.

Normally we do not have wind blowing in my part of the state, but yesterday either the hole in the ozone layer opened up and created a draft or the trees had yet to spread enough of their wind blocking leaves, because it felt like a gale. We had rented one of those giant inflatable jumping houses and slides for the party. I knew we were in trouble when the guy started unloading extra sandbags to weight the thing down. "Don't worry, I'll position it so that it heads into the wind," he said. I had visions of small children being stuck at the top of the slide unable to slide down because of the wind pressure. I flashed back to a Nat Geo program explaining how heavy airplanes were able to fly into the wind and could imagine the children lifting off, bound for Oz.

Red four foot long strips of crepe paper streamers stretched out to eight feet after being tied to the picnic pavilion posts. Red plastic tablecloths billowed up like sails making the area resemble some kind of new age Buddhist-Temple-Carnival. Ice chests and plastic bins placed on top only partially held down the table cloths.

When the little guests arrived, they held onto the posts with one arm as they handed the gift bags over with the other. Presents had to be placed under the table to keep them from becoming unguided missile bags. The bouncy house stabilized somewhat with the added weight of the children.

My plan was to have the children decorate their own cupcakes as part of the party fun. With bowls of colored sugars, sprinkles, and crushed cookies taped to the table, the party goers gathered around to decorate their very own cupcake. The ones that were seated downwind did not have to do anything. They just held up their cupcake and collected all the blowing sugar dust from those sitting upwind. To console those children sitting upwind with naked cupcakes, I passed out bubble wands.

Blowing bubbles should have kept them busy for at least fifteen minutes. Because of the wind, the children had but to dip their wand in the bubble mixture and hold it up. For about thirty seconds the park resembled Sponge Bob's underwater park. That was it, no more bubbles, but the ever creative children turned the empty bubble wands into light sabers which I quickly confiscated before Darth Vader (a.k.a. the birthday boy) had anyone in tears.

I had Styrofoam cups and a three gallon drink dispenser filled with lemonade and ice for the thirsty bouncers. The children, after gulping their lemonade, left a small portion in their cups for the lemonade god and placed them on the table. Unfortunately for the four adults holding down the corners of the table cloth, no one was holding down the tributes to the lemonade god. All adults received wet lemonade blessings.

It was time at last to sing the birthday song, blow out the candle, and open the presents. The song was barely heard over the wind. It was pointless to even attempt to light the #6 birthday candle so I held my finger up behind the #6 and symbolically tucked it into my fist when he "blew out" the candle. Lame I know, but short of a blow torch nothing was going to stay lit today. The presents were opened sending a tornado of colored tissue paper whirling threw the air. Party favors were retrieved from their secure holding places beneath the table and passed out. The wind burned party guests and their lemonade drenched parents went home.

After we got home and I was unloading the party aftermath, I overhead the children talking.

"This was the best party ever. Did you see the way the table cloths were flying all over the place?" said the birthday boy.

"And the cups sailing through the air …." chimed in the giggling nine-year-old.

"And the Mom's squealing when they got lemonade on them..."

"Yeah," replied the nine-year-old, "I hope the wind blows like this at my birthday party."

I'll be sure to check the Doppler radar map before scheduling her party. Maybe something along the lines of "Sleet and heaving icing" will add to the party fun!

Wired for Wi-Fi

By Jody Worsham,

All rights reserved for Mocha Frappes

It is no secret. If you live in the country as I do amongst the tall pines along a very narrow corridor, you can't have Wi-Fi. Everybody else can, but you can't. If you want internet service, you have to have dial-up or you have to camp out at the various places in town that offer free Wi-Fi.

Hasting's Book and Video Store offers free Wi-Fi. They have tables, comfortable chairs, outlets, and restrooms but I don't often buy anything there. Of course, if you have enough battery life, you can just hang out in their parking lot. Now that the children's ballet studio is across the street, I will be spending more time in their parking lot than before. I must remember to park in different locations, though, because I'm not sure what the loitering laws are.

One of my favorite Wi-Fi destinations is McDonald's, the one closest to the university. They have tables, plug-ins, restrooms, and you never have to leave for food. I spend much time there as evidenced by my elevated cholesterol level, high blood sugar, and increased weight gain. I could munch on salads while camping here, but it is much easier to use a straw and suck on a large mocha frappe while using both hands to type. Of course, after two hours you are automatically disconnected from their Wi-Fi. But not to worry, you just have to log in again.

That's a good thing, though for me, as I tend to forget about time when I'm writing or checking e-mails. Since I don't know how to set the alarm on my cell phone, and a ticking computer bag containing one of those cooking timers tends to make people nervous, I time my log in so that I'm kicked off when it's time to pick up the children from school or I've had four Mocha Frappes, whichever comes first. I use the car to pick up the children although after four Mocha Frappes I could race to the school, put them on my back and run home.

I have spent the better part of the day eating fast food, drinking Mocha Frappes, reading, and writing. I'm caffeine wired and Wi-Fi running! It's time to go!

Waaaahoooo!