Tag Archives: This Book Will Change Your Life

Day 45: Romance Day, come up with a compliment that has never been made before.

The other day MQD posted a website that made me chuckle.  Learn Your Damn Homophones. It was funny to me on a few planes, but the section referencing compliment vs complement is pertinent here.  Today’s challenge… a compliment that has never been made before…

This isn’t all that difficult.  MQD and I went up to see some of the family this weekend and had our first multi-dimensional multi-family gathering.  Time again it was made clear to me that MQD really is the “complement” that has never been made before.  At the risk of sliding in to a long-winded “reasons I am sickeningly in love with this boy” kind of post I’ll wrap it up quickly.

We were on the way home from DC, Em was passed out in the back  seat and we were giggling our way down I-95.  As our laughter began to wane MQD said “We are really juvenile when we are together… ”  I made a smart-ass remark about how this was true and weren’t we oh so very  melancholy when we were  apart.

I am really juvenile all of the time.  But only when I am with him do I not feel in the least bit apologetic about who I am.  Not for being a pervert with the mind of a 14-year-old boy, not for the past that brought me to my present, not for my tendency to interrupt.  None of it.  It’s who I am.  And he really  does “get me.” And I think he likes me most of the time. There’s no accounting for taste.

So, I spent the morning trying to think of a compliment.  One that had never been made before.  Eventually one fell right from my lips, or from my fingers through my keyboard, as it happened to be…  “Demented bleats made me think of you, my love. “

MQD shook a cheese stick at me the other day.  From groin level. And he made this very disturbing sound, like a billy goat choking… It shouldn’t have made me want to kiss him.  But it did.  So when I saw  a reference to a “maniacal army of lobotomized pigmy goats” on Sleep Talkin’ Man this morning I instantly smiled…

I shot him the link and said “Demented bleats made me think of you, my love. “

It doesn’t get much better than this, kids.

And just to be clear, I’m not the only juvenile one in the bunch.   A picture from one of the funniest road trips I may have ever taken…. xo

Since I accidentally skipped Day 42 the other day I thought I’d crank out Day 42 and Day 44 all at once.  Day 42’s challenge was to walk outside in the grass barefoot.  Not an uncommon practice for me and one I enjoy so I was looking forward to this one.  Day 44, on the other hand, I wasn’t so wild about it.  So in combining the two I made the less palatable challenge have a payoff.

Day 44 encourages you to defy superstition.  The book suggests you cross paths with a black cat or walk under a ladder.  Oddly enough, in spite of all my quirks, being superstitious isn’t really one of them.  The only superstition I really even have is one I inherited from my mother, who naturally inherited it from hers.  You didn’t put shoes on the table in my house growing up.  Not dirty ones.  Not clean ones, not brand-new shoes in a shoe box.  My mom tells a story about how she came home with a pair of shoes for her mother to wear to a Navy function, and threw them in the house, on the dining room table and left again.  Evidently my grandmother hunted her down and she had to return to take them off the table so that she could put them on.  If you put shoes on a table, it’s bad luck.  But even worse… touching shoes that someone else put on the table.  You just can’t do that.  I’ve never run across another person that thought shoes on a table was bad luck.  But a quick internet search informs me that I am not the only person that feels this way.  Granted, a false sense of community is perhaps the internet’s greatest gift.

In order to properly execute Day 42’s challenge, a stroll through the grass in bare feet, I first had to remove my shoes.

I went outside and made sure that no one else had come back to the office for lunch and that my focus on the grass would not be interrupted.  After confirming that I definitely had a little time to kill I came back in the office and bit the bullet.

Even looking at the picture now gives me the willies.  But I did it.  I put my shoes on the conference table and I got the hell out of there.

The grass felt good.  I spend a lot of time barefoot but I am not frequently in a grassy area.  Plenty of dancing at shows in the dirt and the dust.  Quick runs to the mail box or to grab the trash can down our driveway.  I frequently run from my office to the office next door across the parking lot in bare feet.  But it had been a while since I just strolled around in some grass.   It’s crunchy right now, with fall finally settling in. The grass itself was warm and crispy and the earth beneath it cool and soft. I’ve had my office door open all day, listening to the “Boird Pahty.”  But it was nice to actually be out and in it.  I walked around the back of my office to see if I can see the woodpecker that has been driving me batshit crazy all week.  I can hear him.  But I still haven’t seen him.  I keep thinking if I can see him then perhaps my hate will dissipate.

All in all I convinced myself that whatever bad juju I had been cooking up with my shoes inside on the conference table was canceled out by how great I felt just standing in the grass.

A piano didn’t fall on my head when I walked back in to my office.  But I did decide that I hadn’t really “defied superstition” if I was hoping that my karmic good juju was eliminating the potential bad.  So instead of removing my shoes from the conference table I sat back down at my desk.  And for one hour and thirty four minutes I left them there.  Staring at me.  Daring me to remove them.  Oh, and they stared.  Below is the picture of what I see if I look out from my desk, over my phone, through the conference room door.

But I only had to turn my head a little to see this… and then I could feel the grass again.  The Day 42/44 combo was a very “Facts of Life” challenge.  Yup, “you take the good, you take the bad, you take it all and there you have…”

This book still hasn’t changed my life.  But it continues to make me stop, turn around and be mindful of the life I am so grateful to be living.

Speaking of that life… the kiddo went to school today in a new shirt.  It is bedazzled with a jeweled purse and a fake glittery chain.  She is also wearing her red sparkly Dorothy shoes.  With it she elected to pair a Misfits button.  After MQD and I told her that under no circumstances could she wear the Butthole Surfers pin.   Today has been all about balance.

Today’s challenge is to write  a letter to the British Prime Minister c/o the Prime Minister’s Office, 10 Downing Street, London SW1A 2AA, United Kingdom.

I was having a difficult time trying to decide what I should write in my application so I looked up a list of previously knighted folks.  I was dismayed to find that in 2010 both Simon Cowell and Patrick Stewart will receive this award.  This certainly took the pressure off.  Simon Cowell?  Really? Seriously?

I can get behind Patrick Stewart’s nomination.  Not only  is he a swell actor in his own right  but I obviously have a fair amount of reverence for parenting.  And Patrick Stewart spawned the delicious and charming Daniel Stewart.  I had the pleasure of sitting through a stage combat class ages ago and found Mr Daniel Stewart’s accent and his not inconsiderable height quite charming.

Once I decided that I didn’t need to try and remember the last time I had saved  a family from a burning building or discovered a cure for a rare form of a cancer it was easy to decide what I ‘d write in my application.

Dear Sir or Madam:

I am writing to request consideration for an appointment in The Most Noble Order of the Garter. I chose this particular order because I think it would look charming on a résumé and really might be the only reason I would have an excuse to wear an unreasonably short skirt in a public setting thereby exposing my legs, the only part of my body I have ever been pretty comfortable with.  Insecurity aside, there is one thing about which I have always been extremely proud.   I’d like to nominate myself because of an extraordinary characteristic I posses.

We live in a competitive time.  And rather than try to set myself apart I’d like to explain how it is that I can identify with people from all walks of life.  An EveryLady, as it were.  I am sure you are familiar with the Morton’s Toe, the term used to explain the condition where your second toe is longer than your “big toe.”  My right foot is a wonderful example of this.  This is referred to as the Greek foot, or the “wise toe.”  My right foot is an example of my strength of character, wisdom and leadership ability.

This brings me to my left foot… yep, you guessed it.  My second metatarsal on my left foot lives in the shadow of my first.  This pitiful little toe means I am also a proud member of the 75% of the population that has an “Egyptian Foot.”  My feet are like the Switzerland of the Second Metatarsal World!   I don’t take sides!  Everyone can relate to me!!

I hope you will consider me for an appointment.  Wishing you the best in the coming year.

Sincerely,

Dame-to-be Kelly

Today’s challenge was to play a practical joke on someone.  I had considered trying to pull it off at work.  I was going to replace the sugar at work with salt and get a giggle when someone had a foul cup of coffee… but I’d have missed out on the most important part of a practical joke, the reveal.

I considered a good old “Kick Me” sign… because really… what’s not to like about a “Kick Me” sign?  Somehow it takes on an even funnier element when slapped on the back of someone in the workplace.   But today turned in to the kind of day where I never saw a soul at work, but for a brief moment here and there.  (Which was not a terrible thing since I am wearing a marginally too short dress for work in order to add a teeny bit of Wow factor while picking up the main squeeze at the airport.)  I bring Business Casual to new lows regularly but I do my best to pass the “finger tip test” popular in high school dress codes.  (Students may not wear short skirts or dresses which do not extend past the fingertips when the student’s arms are extended down the sides of her legs.)

Back to my practical joke… I picked up MQD at the airport.  He has a mild flying phobia that seems to be well handled by a couple of pints and a Lorazepam so he was in good spirits when I picked him up.  I swung by the house and dropped him off and stopped at the gas station at the end of our street.  Upon exiting the convenience store I noticed two things.  1.  A couple of gentleman parked several parking spots from me had noticed I failed the “finger tip test.  2.  MQD’s car had just pulled in to the parking lot.

The combination of these two things afforded me an opportunity AND an audience.  I had just gotten back in my car and smiled at the two guys parked near me.  I jumped back out of my car and dropped down to the ground, carefully sneaking up to the edge of my car so I could keep an eye on MQD.  As soon as he got to the door I ran up behind him and screamed.  It was great.  I got a great, big “Ohh, man, whaaaat?” from MQD and a terrific giggle out of the guys in the car parked at the Buy & Go. MQD gave me a big old smooch and yelled at the guys “What?  I don’t even know her!!!”

Good times.  We all got a good laugh.  And I figure even a handful of hours after his plane took off there was still enough Lorazepam pumping through the man’s veins to keep him from actually crapping in his pants.

The scene of the crime and my victim wondering what?  what else you got for me?

Day 39: Learn Swedish.

I’m working on it.  And if I am lucky I won’t be alone in my efforts.  So far today I have learned that when you ask someone to “Listen Up!”  it looks a LOT like “Whore Up.”  Not to be confused with “Man Up” and not to infer that men don’t listen.

I am not alone in my efforts to follow Benrik’s book.  But a few of the Laydeez along for this ride have been slacking lately… Below is a fine example of some facebook shit talking and some Swedish being laid down!

Oh.  And P.S.  Six, as in the number… yeah, it’s totally “sex” in swedish.  Upon learning this…. I am hysterical.  A six-pack…. I just wanna know how to order a “Sex Pack” of Bud Light in Swedish….

Sigh… one day, I’m gonna be so grown up.  Until then…

Day 38: Spend some time in a church today.

Ahhh… sweet synchronicity.  Just a few days ago I had what seemed like my 653rd conversation with Emily about how I really don’t think it was God that made it rain for the third day in a row.  And wasn’t she paying attention when we read that awesome weather book? And then the following day MQD mentioned again that he thought we should try to catch a service at the local Unitarian church (an idea we have tossed around for well over a year.)  And then… yeah, still another mention, Amy asks me last night if I would be interested in joining them at the Unitarian church, as they went last Sunday and really enjoyed it.  And now THIS?  It’s a SIGN, God Dammit!!  I need to carry my ass to church!

I have been thinking about getting involved in the local Unitarian church for… since forever.  I first was interested in Unitarianism when I was in Williamsburg.  I had several professors that were active members and I really liked the idea that there was a community of people joined together, not by their common beliefs, but by their desire to appreciate each other’s beliefs and spend some time reflecting on their own.  (And to be perfectly honest I was down with the Drum Circle possibilities.)  This interest was filed away in the Things To Do When I Stop Sleeping Until Noon on Sundays bin.

It surfaced again when Emily was a baby and I realized that while it may not necessarily require the proverbial village to raise a child it would be much appreciated.  I had an interest in establishing a community for the first time in my adult life.  Motherhood… it’s crazy shit.  Made me learn to sew, and make soup and buy matching silverware.  This desire to attend a church didn’t really surprise me.  But I reasoned it away.  I was too busy. And I worked on Sundays.

And now here I am.  I’ve shed my “single parent” status (a subject that is long overdue in my writing about) and I am out of excuses.  I want a community.  And I don’t want Emily growing up thinking that MQD and I are the only people on earth that don’t pray to God before we eat or think that God is responsible for Green Town (the Emily-named phenomenon of driving all the way to school without a single red traffic light, of course.) I don’t so much care what she grows up to believe.  But I know I want her to decide for herself.  And I want her exposed to  a big, fat assortment of theologies.

So yeah… we’re going.  I mean, not this weekend because MQD is out of town and I am phobic about doing shit all by myself, and well, the next weekend we’re all out of town.  I guess we’d better go the 17th?  Because you know the Demolition Derby is on the 24th.  And I know Jesus would want me to go the Demolition Derby.   Jeez.  What do I wear?  Jeans?  Patchouli? I guess I should bring my hula hoop?

Man… I am disappointed to report that today’s challenge is another in a string of challenges I am failing before I ever really begin… I peeked at the challenges coming up in the next few days and I am pleased to report I shall be attacking them!

But today… Day 37:  Eat and Run, dine and dash, chew and screw, fuck your waitress (and not in the way you hoped when at your favorite bar in your twenties…)  I won’t be participating today.

I don’t have a lot of moral platitudes I hold dear.  But “what goes around comes around…” I can’t help but believe.  The karmic boomerang is not something I’m willing to tempt.  My luck has turned around so significantly in the last few years that I am not about to start stiffing waitresses.  Heh.  In most restaurants if your table walks out you are responsible for picking up the check yourself.  Depending on the size of the tab this can eat up most of what you’ve made that night.  I can remember in college, working at Berret’s as a Pav Girl (What! What! Shout out for my Pav Girls (and Mike P, Jason, Andre and Joey, who were (in my heart) Pav Girls) I had a few tables walk out.  It was so easy to do there, the Pavilion had entrances at all of the corners and a restroom only inside so it was easy to lose track of your customers.  Fortunately for me I was typically well lubricated by bourbon and gingers and never really felt the pain of picking up some bozos $40 tab… but still…. I know whereof I speak.  I didn’t bring you buckets of Bud Light, let you talk shit to me all night for the pleasure of picking up your check at the end of the night.  So I just can’t bring myself to do it….

Now… lest you think I don’t have a single shred of “stick it to the man” in me…  oh, but I do.  I stopped at Food Lion the other day.  Mums were two for $10.  I told the kid at the checkout counter that I wanted four.  He looked at me blankly, as I had nothing in my hands to ring up, they were all still outside.  I said “They’re two for $10, you need to ring up the SKU for mums at that price twice.”  Again… a blank stare.  He charged me $10.

I totally put four mums in my trunk.  Take that, Food Lion.  Shhh…