Today’s question is: Why so easy to be with old friends?

Background: This weekend one of my oldest friends came to stay with me. I haven’t seen her in about 13 years and we’ve barely had any contact in that time. I called her up a few weeks ago because I knew her 20 year high school reunion was this weekend. I offered her a place to stay and offered to bring her to the informal high school gathering on Friday night. See, this gal and I met in grade school, maybe 1st or 2nd grade, and we were two peas in a pod. We were in the same school until 8th grade and then we split in high school. She went to public high school and I went to the all girls catholic high school. We stayed friends, and I ended up knowing many of the kids at her school. When I heard there was an informal gathering I thought it would be fun to go and see some of the people we haven’t seen in years. So I talked her into coming. And she came.

I picked her up from the airport on Friday. She looks the same as she did all those years ago, except her hair is a little longer. She hopped in the car and it was like old times. Well except we weren’t smoking stogies and giving people lawn jobs with my car. We hung out at home, she met my turkeys and then got ready to go meet up with some of our old pals at the bar.

Unlike me, my girlfriend was a little nervous about seeing all those people she hadn’t seen in years. I’m not sure why, because she is every bit who she was back then and more. She’s cute and fun and she had no need to be nervous. We entered the room, and she lost all her fears. We saw a ton of people we used to hang out with. They were fun, cool and all a lot like us. It was really fun. We closed the bar.

It’s always amazing to me that when old friends get together it’s like a day hasn’t gone by. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my old friend. We hope to get together another day soon.

Today’s question is: Why do things that are rich in heritage go by the wayside sometimes?

Background: We have a woman’s club in town that started way back in 1892. Back in the day it was the place to see plays, learn about the events of the war, gather and hold philanthropic events. Over the 100+ years it’s been around it’s had a good core group of women that have maintained it and kept doing good for the community. It’s really a great place with great intentions.

I joined the club two years ago because I was looking for something to do that had a little more meaning than school benefits and such. The Junior Auxiliary, what I joined, is made up of many women like myself. Our goal is philanthropic only with social splashed in for fun. OK, maybe that’s not entirely true, we had more social events last year than strictly philanthropic. We ended up seeing a huge drop off in participation at many of our events from our members. Maybe it had something to do with the social nature of so much of it (although I have no idea why that would be?). We decided that we needed to get back to the basics this year and have less social events and more philanthropic events. The thing is that our member base is down and we need to get new blood. When you are in transition it’s so hard to recruit new people. It’s a shame too. The place has so much potential and there are so many great women that would love to see it thrive.

I realize we are all living very busy lives. All the things we have to simplify our lives make them more complicated (like my stinking dishwasher that just insists on being temperamental lately). But, I wish we all had more time to make a difference in our own community and to let the heritage of a place live on indefinitely.

Today’s question is : Why don’t people in this country know how to merge?

Background: OK, I’m not so sure this is as much a question of they don’t know how to as it is a question of them being WAY more important that the rest of us mergers or non mergers in my case.

Here’s the story. I’m driving down the road minding my own business approaching a merge. My lane is the non merging one. The lane to my right is merging into my lane. I notice in rear view this big old truck barrelling down the merge lane. He ends up right next to me, but ever so slightly behind me. Apparently he decided he was going to be first. He was playing chicken with me and aside from being side swiped or being forced into oncoming traffic I had to slam on the brakes to let the jack ass in. What is wrong with people? Did the 7 feet of road that my car takes up make that fellow so much later that he couldn’t wait and merge like a normal human being?

The thing is, there are sooooo many drivers like this guy on the roads around Chicago. Ever wonder why there is always huge long back ups? It’s because of drivers like this guy that can’t merge back where he started, back when he saw the sign that said ‘merge’. No oh no, these people are in much too much a hurry for that. They actually think that plowing ahead gets them there faster.

They all need a dose of the autobahn. I hear drivers are much more civilized on there.

Today’s question is : Why do the little turkeys wake up on the wrong side of the bed some days?

Background: Today is one of those days. It is 7:30 in the morning and I already know. I think all three of them rolled out the wrong side of the bed. They have been up for 1 hour already and have been fighting non stop. What is up with that? Is it the full moon? or is it some ultimate form of parent torture?

After they hung on me at the computer for an ample amount of time and whined for donuts, they started playing barbies. The middle turkey decided that she wasn’t going to let the smallest turkey on the second floor of the barbie house. But she also decided she was going to let the big turkey up there. UGH! This was followed by name calling and general misbehavior which led to the two biggest turkeys leaving for their rooms. The little turkey started to cry, because he still wanted to play. Once that whole scene was worked out the insatiable whine for donuts (or because as a general rule the two oldest turkeys don’t eat wheat, ice cream or milk shakes) at the local Dunkin‘ Donuts started again. I think the middle turkey wasn’t going to give up until I gave in, NOT HAPPENING.

Next, a little more fighting, followed by mom trying to get them to compromise and work it out, followed by getting along, followed by fighting again, followed by mom ignoring them…………does it ever end????

They are all downstairs eating breakfast and for 5 whole minutes they sounded like they were going to get along……….but it’s starting again. I have one hour left until we start our walk to school, thank goodness for that. Hopefully they won’t kill each other before then.

I wish they were getting along today like they did this day on the beach:

At least I know they are capable of getting along…..sometimes.

Today’s question is: Why would anyone vacuum themselves out of a room?

Background: This one is for my sister. LMAO. Years and years ago when I was a young girl babysitting for anyone who would have me, I had a job with a lady that liked to vacuum. I remember that I liked a clean bathroom, even back then, but I didn’t care much for vacuuming. So this lady must have vacuumed herself out of the dining/living room every single time I came over(think cut pile carpeting where you can see the vacuum lines). I always felt a *tad* bit uncomfortable about it. I never wanted to come with in 10 feet of those rooms when I was there. I figured she’d know for sure if I stepped foot in there. My foot prints would be dead give aways.

Years later, when my annoying little sister would go into my room and steal my clothes, I got a brilliant idea, thanks to the crazy vacuum lady. I would vacuum myself out of the room whenever I went anywhere so I could catch her if she happened to try to go in my room.

I clearly remember the first time I caught her. She played soooo cool and acted like she had no idea what I was talking about. She was absolutely confident in her delivery of ultimate denial of the act. Then I dropped the vacuum bomb and she caved, she had no choice really, I had proof. Footprints.

Yesterday she blamed me of being a control freak. Today, you know that I was merely seizing an opportunity. It worked, I tell you.

Then last night happened. I was telling PW about the story of how I vacuumed myself out of my bedroom to catch my little sister in the act and how I caught her. He mentioned that she could have walked in a thousand times and vacuumed herself out and I never would have known. I never thought of that.

Today’s question is: Why do I feel the need to clean the house on the days the cleaning people come?

Background: This is a strange phenomenon. Cleaning so that people can clean your home. I remember as a child my mom would always say we had to clean up our rooms because the cleaning people were coming. I thought it was crazy. If the cleaning people are coming then why do I need to clean? What’s the point of having them come? I never understood.

Now that I’ve turned into my mom, I understand. How on earth can the cleaning people really clean if the little turkeys have their toys, clothes, junk all over their rooms? It is essential that the turkeys clean up all that stuff so the floors can be vacuumed and what not. Because this is such a difficult task, I’ve told the turkeys we have a new rule. If they can’t clean up the stuff in their rooms on cleaning day, then it just might not be there anymore(meaning I might just throw it away, or make them think that anyway). Good thing no one is threatening to do this to me, I have a pretty hard time keeping my desk clean.

Does anyone else clean for the cleaning people? Or am I (and my family) the only ones?

Today’s question is : Why do some people turn everything into a competition?

Background: OK, I probably could pull up a hundred examples of this, every single one baffling me beyond belief. Let’s start when the little turkeys were babies. I’ll call this the ‘kid percentile competition’. When my turkeys were babies I would encounter women out and about with children the same-ish age. The discussion would inevitably turn into something about what percentile each child falls into for height and weight. Listening to woman brag about how their child is in the 90th percentile would make me crazy. The way they would insinuate that being less than 90 was almost something to apologize for was kinda sickening. I never even knew what percent my turkeys were in. I never even bothered to ask because I didn’t care. I mean what difference does it make? Do we all grow up to be the same height? Are we going to be bragging about our teenage girls being in the 90th percentile for weight? I think not. Why, oh why, do people like to turn their turkey’s stats into a competition?

Recently, while visiting one of my favorite blogs, I noticed another sort of competition. It’s called the ‘be the first to comment competition’. Honestly, it’s another one I just don’t get. I mean who cares? Does it matter? I do wonder, though, if these people set their alarms so they can be up early enough to be first. I figure, commenting at all is nice for the blogger, does it matter who’s first. I doubt the blogger would even notice from day to day who is first. Or maybe I’m wrong on that? Maybe it is somehow important?

The ‘material possession competition’ makes me insane too. You know the one, the one where someone has the need to brag about their clothes, things and cars. The clothes their kids wear kill me the most. Mostly because, my turkeys clothes come from target, kohl’s and walmart. I love when you’re having a conversation with someone and they start talking something about whatever their child is wearing. It goes something like this “Oh little Sally just loves her[insert designer name] dress, isn’t it cute?” To which I’d normally reply, “I’ve never heard of that, is it sold at target? It’s cute.” That would be when the person would walk away in a huff because I offended her shopping sense. Oh well, that’s me. I just don’t get why the brand of clothing or the price of clothing makes a bit of difference in the world. It just doesn’t, does it?

I could go on an on and on but I won’t. I know you know what I’m talking about. If you have a good one leave it in my comments. My friend told me about the ‘corner protector competition’ in his condo building the other day and I almost died laughing. Please, make me laugh. We could all use a good laugh, no?

Today’s question is: Why is it that as we get older we have less fun?

Background: The little turkeys have a lot of fun. I promote fun whenever I can. I do wonder sometimes why it is, exactly, that so many adults lose their sense of fun as they get older.

Here’s a picture of the turkeys and a couple of friends playing on the slip n’ slide this summer:

And here’s my oldest turkey jumping on the trampoline in our basement (that thing is a lifesaver).

And again on that slip ‘n slide:

talk about fun!

Honestly now, as a fairly fun adult, I do wonder why the fun has to stop. Is it that our responsibilities increase therefore something has to give?? I think that’s it, maybe. I’ll tell you though, I love to still have fun. I scooter around the neighborhood with the kids whenever I can and you wouldn’t believe the comments I get from people. It’s like they think I’m nuts for scootering. What’s wrong with scootering? Is it too much fun? hee hee.

Today’s question is: why would anyone think it’s OK to smoke in a home of a non smoker?

Background: In this day and age I’d think this wouldn’t happen, ever. I simply can’t imagine someone thinking it would be OK to smoke in my home. I’d immediately squelch any of that activity. Thank goodness this story isn’t about me, I can’t even imagine it happening. This story is about my friend.

Now, my friend lives in a condo with his wife and 9month old baby. Yesterday I was visiting him, not at his home, and we started talking about how his mother-in-law(MIL) is in town and driving him a little crazy. During the course of the conversation I discover one of the things he’s irritated with is the fact that she smokes. Now this woman doesn’t go out onto the balcony and smoke, no, no, no, she just lights up and starts smoking whenever and where ever her little heart desires. Maybe that’s not entirely true, I think she’s been sparing the baby’s room, but really, it’s not like the smoke isn’t getting in there. I was overly shocked that his MIL would just light up when she felt the need. How incredibly selfish is that?

So, 20 some odd years ago, when I was growing up my parents smoked. They both smoked and they smoked in the house. They smoked in the car. Jeez, my mom even smoked every single day she was pregnant with the 4 of us. Times were different, everyone smoked. But now we know better. We know that smoking isn’t so good for us. We know that second hand smoke isn’t good for us. Back then, no one knew any of that for sure (OK, I realize the tobacco companies probably did, but they weren’t about to tell anyone back then, the bastards).

Nine years ago, when I was getting ready to have my first baby, my dad still smoked. He would never dream of smoking 1. in my home or 2. in my baby’s face. He was aware of the hazards of smoking around others. He was aware that smoking inside someones house would leave a ‘residue’. You just don’t do that. And for the record my dad finally kicked the habit some years back.

Let’s get back to the friend’s MIL. I don’t get it. I just don’t understand how she could think it’s OK. I guess some of the blame has to go back to my friend and his wife for not explicitly telling her it is never OK to smoke in their home. But really, honestly, has she no sense?

Today’s question is: Why would someone wear a pidge?

Background: First off, if you don’t have a pidge or know what one looks like you can check it out here. It’s a small scarf really. My girlfriend forwarded a Daily Candy Everywhere email to me with the description and link this morning. I thought it was cute and interesting, while very expensive. I knit and I’m fairly certain I could knit one for less. However, I, most likely, wouldn’t be using Italian cashmere.

After I read the email, and about the pidge, I couldn’t get the name pidge out of my mind. It sounds sort of funny, don’t you think? P I D G E, pidge. Hmmmmm. Well I decided to find out what a pidge is exactly. Not an easy task. I finally found a definition in the urban dictionary. This is the slang dictionary. In my opinion, the only one that counts when naming a new item of clothing. Here’s why:

From Urban Dictionary
1.Pidge
A somewhat misogynistic term to describe a woman who is generally dumb, acts immature and is on the whole lacks intelligence.
Don’t worry about what she said, she’s just a pidge.
by Ross Sep 8, 2004
2.pidge
Short for ‘pidgeon hole’
Used (probably not exclusively) throughout the university of Oxford, UK
eg “I’m going to check my pidge”
Also (less commonly) used as a verb ‘to pidge’, translates as “to check ones pidgeon hole”eg. “what are you doing?”"I’m pidging”
by Danthemanwiththebighandspan Oxford Oct 3, 2005
3.pidge
Reasonably tall, but slightly retarded football player (that’s European football, you know, real football). Plays right back for Edinburgh Shitty Colts at Shitehill, Edinburgh. He is shit. Will definitely be the next David Beckham, because he takes wonderful free kicks which he curls into the top corner. His talents include kicking the ball out for an opposition throw in, usually near his own goals. He plans to play for Scotland when he grows up. He will grow a moustache.
When in doubt, Pidge it out!!
by Pure Solid Jim Nov 24, 2003

Now, I bet the people over at 3fe didn’t even think of this, huh? Yikes!

EDITED TO ADD: after reading sc’s comment I absolutely feel it is necessary to add that if you take the example sentence in definition 1. ……“she’s just a pidge” and add “wearing a pidge”. You have “she’s just a pidge, wearing a pidge”, does it translate to she’s just a dumbass, wearing a scam?