Unfunny People

I haven't blogged for a little bit because, well quite frankly, I haven't felt funny. Couldn't decide whether I should just unplug for a bit or actually write about why. I mean, this is supposed to be a humor blog (if that's only just hit you, then man have I failed!) So I had to ask myself, "Do I come clean and bum folks out for a day, or just keep mum and post a photo of somebody's shaved cat?" Well, I'm bummin' ya. It's my blog, and I get to blow steam once every 60 entries.

I found out this weekend that a friend from college passed away. Suddenly. And not of natural causes. That's all that needs to be said. Please don't ask more, I won't know how to answer. But I've spent the past few days sporadically in tears, and mostly in secret. I've been able to open up to good friends whom I've never physically met, but not to tangible friends. It all came to a head tonight, and I just released.

So my reason for bumming you out tonight is to pass along a lesson learned through saline. Release. Don't worry if you're going to look like an ass. Don't worry that someone might judge you (or someone else) for what you're about to unload. Just release. And having a good song to cry to always helps. I still feel like utter crap. But after tonight, about 2 pounds lighter.

*I had wanted to embed the song that made me cry, but I can't get the coding. Please follow the link and click on the song "This World Keeps Spinning." I don't think you wrote it to bring tears, but it did and I needed them. Thanks, Gavin my friend. http://www.latchkeykid.org/music.php

What Some People Won't Do for a Dollar

A few years ago, I lingered just a little too long near the elevators at the mall. I saw her coming right at me, the dreaded little old lady with the clipboard. I tried to run, but it was mid-December and I was weighed down with holiday bags and packages. And cellulite. So she got me. The mall "opinion poll lady." Every mall has at least one, although they sometimes travel in small packs. They come in two varieties: women over age 65 and high school girls age 17-18. Apparently surveys show that women answer more surveys when they're surveyed by seniors, and men answer more when they're surveyed by "seniors."

That momentary polite pause to answer the silverhair's questions about democracy or detergent, I can't remember which, got me onto a marketing research company's phone list. Through the years, they've called or emailed asking me to try out products and render my opinion, in exchange for an envelope of cash. Sometimes my demographic disqualifies me from a study. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, I wish it had. Cases in point:

The Great Diaper Debacle:
Twenty women with infants/toddlers in an overly air-conditioned room. Change crying babies into varying brands of disposable diapers every 15 minutes over the course of two hours. All for $100 (with a bonus if you got pee in a diaper!). Needless to say, every time the 62-degree air hit a tiny penis during a diaper change, tinkle would stream through the air and mothers would try to catch it mid-stream in hopes of another $20. It was like an unairable Monty Python sketch. Ben stayed dry the entire 2 hours. Peed like a thoroughbred on the car ride home, beaming the whole time. Somehow he knew.

The Hubba Bubba Hullabaloo:
A three-day, three-hour study on chewing gum. Bad chewing gum. Sitting in front of a computer, chewing the same piece of gum for an hour and answering questions about its flavor/texture/aftertaste after every 10 minutes of mastication. Three days in a row. All for $150. Now, ordinarily for $150 I'd be willing to chew tree bark for three days. But after the first piece of gum, I was willing to pay them to take me out of the study. Even the world's greatest piece of gum tastes like a flavorless chunk of tar after an hour of chewing. And these were not the world's greatest pieces of gum. But I muddled through, and ended up using the $150 at the dentist getting gum-related TMJ treatment.

Pancake Pandemonium:
This one may seem like a no-brainer. $100 for a half-hour! All you have to do is try three different varieties of microwavable stuffed-pancakes. Easy peasy. Who can't use $100? Who can't spare 30 minutes? Who can't stand pancakes? Yes on all 3 from me.
The first "pancake" was stuffed with what appeared to be chocolate pudding. Anyone under 12 would have loved it. I was 42. The second "pancake" was actually tolerable, with a gooey maple-esque filling. It stayed down. They saved the most interesting for last. A leavened pillow filled with thickened purplish motor oil. Oh, they called it "blueberry filling." But believe me, it was Quaker State 10w40.
This was the only marketing study I've been in where they actually asked you to write down you opinions rather than just click "on a scale from 1-10" answers. Judging from the use of expletives women were using to describe the "blueberry filling," I don't think they'll be allowing that again.

Yesterday's Yogurt Yackfest:
My most recent, most dreaded, and least profitable encounter with market research. Three different coffee-flavored yogurts in 20 minutes for $35. I'm not kidding, 3 in 20. Now let me preface this by saying: "I don't enjoy yogurt." But it was wristband night at the local church carnival, and 3 yogurts gets the boys a free night of carnie folk. Ordinarily, when I have to eat yogurt (and you women know of which I speak), it takes me about 20 minutes to get through one cup. By the time they brought out cup #3 about 15 minutes after I arrived, I had broken out into dairy sweats and was starting to understand why they had covered everyone's computer keyboards with a layer of plastic. I think I signed something last night that says I'm not allowed to talk about the quality of the yogurt for the next few months. Let me just say that two of the three cups did not make it past the lobby restroom. I think it was samples #1 and #3.

Epilogue: Marketing research studies are an excellent way to make a quick buck and develop life-long aversions to gum, pancakes and yogurt. The boys enjoyed the carnival. I went to bed.

How to Get Pregnant for Under $5

Trying to conceive but having trouble? Before shelling out thousands of dollars on testing at the fertility clinic, try visiting the nearest Dollar Store first! Everything you need for making a baby...all for under $5.

Step 1: Planning



Step 2: Setting the Mood



Step 3: Helping Things Along



Step 4: The Results

Of course,with family planning purchases you probably do get what you pay for. In which case, they also sell.

The Best Laid Plans

We've all felt like crappy parents sometimes. Right now, my kids are eating yogurt for breakfast and watching SpongeBob. I could have made them eggs, but the yogurt was right there. They could be eating it while listening to classical music, but the clicker was right there. Sometimes I let them stay up too late, eat too many sweets, watch too much TV... But no matter how "iffy" you're feeling about a parenting decision you've made, there will always be someone out there who makes you look like the world's greatest parent. Case in point:

Meet Joseph Manzanares of Colorado, proud father of a 4-year-old boy. Joseph is a planner. Always thinking ahead to his son's future. Some plans require you start thinking ahead very early. And like most parents, sometimes a father's plans and those of the child's mother don't always align. We've all been in his shoes. Maybe you'd like your child to grow up to be a doctor and your spouse would prefer a career in law. Common parenting dilemma. In our man Joseph's case, he would like his son to grow up and join the "West Side Ballers," while the mother prefers the "Crips."

Ordinarily this type of "dreams for the future" parenting squabble is kept private. But Joseph is so enamored with his alma mater, the Ballers, that he decided to press his case further at his baby-mama's job. The impassioned father ended up being arrested for disorderly conduct, harassment and domestic violence at a local video store. I'm sure the lady in question will end up dropping charges. Call it a hunch.

Incidentally, no word on the status of the toddler's affiliation. I'd hope that both parents have seen the error of their ways by pushing their gangs on their young son. There's so much more out there for a lad than the Ballers and the Crips. There's the Bloods, the Disciples, the Latin Kings...

As Time Goes By

Norman Rockwell had a knack for creating images of America at its best: the family Thanksgiving table; young love; baseball. And a Town Hall meeting: where folks with differing opinions sat patiently, and respectfully listened to one another.

My, how times have changed. Today, healthcare reform Town Hall meetings are being cancelled amid death threats, and those that do take place are becoming caustic circuses, well-orchestrated by the right-wing fringe. 

Sometimes you celebrate the passage of time.  

Sometimes you lament. 

Sometimes, you do a little of both.

The Midas Touch?

Saudi Arabia. A country where it's illegal for women to drive a car or be unaccompanied in the presence of unrelated men. Where a woman's testimony is considered less than that of a man. Where women can be arrested for being raped, can be divorced without cause and can lose their children to their husband without merit. One of the more progressive countries in the Middle East.

But fear not, bleeding hearts. There is hope for that nation's most oppressed:
Billionaire business men with very small penises.

Yes, thanks to Canadian know-how, help is on the way for the most poorly endowed men of means. Montreal's X4 Labs is creating a one-of-a-kind, 18-karat, diamond and ruby encrusted "male enhancement device" for one of Saudi Arabia's wealthiest businessmen. At a cost of $35,000. The company is ecstatic about the possible new market for their dingaling bling.

"Whether it be dictators, politicians, oil rich middle easterners, or successful businessmen, they are willing to pay good money to spoil themselves," said product coordinator Matt West.

"Dictators." Yes, you may all giggle.

What exactly will the poor, rich little man do with this $35,000 golden bejeweled contraption? Remember "The Rack" from the Spanish Inquisition? Think that, but much smaller. And glitzy. He will literally and willingly have his dick in a vise. Nice. There are a few men I'd like to send one of these gizmos to, mostly from Fox News. But I don't think X4 can make them that small. Ann Coulter however uses hers regularly, and with great success.

So here's to the ill-equipped Middle Eastern elite. I don't begrudge you your new Willie Wonkanator. It's nice to know that as Americans suffer through these tough times, men like you have found a way to s-t-r-e-t-c-h your wealth. Just remember...when the discretely wrapped package arrives from Canada, your wife will be arrested should you send her to pick it up for you. But you can always get another wife.

"Now available with more bling!"

Got Guns?

Enough already, Vladimir McConaughey, we get it.

Sometimes, a Picture Speaks for Itself

I Need a Fix!

Brown paper packages, tied up with strings...

Woke up this morning at 3 a.m. as usual. Normally would have reached over for the glowing iFriend I keep by the bed, to do a little tweeting with the West Coast or listen to music until the insomnia settled. But we let Evan take it to Camp Grandma this week, so I just had to toss for a while.

Woke up again at 7 and went to the office to do my usual "first things" routine. Check email. Check. Check weather. Check. Check Twitter. Hold up. Refresh. Check Twitter. Refresh. CHECK TWITTER! What the hell? Twitter is down. Has been for hours. No one knows why or for how much longer. Only way to get through the lack of morning Twitter updates is with a very large coffee. We're out of coffee! As I microwave what's left in the pot (from two days ago!), it occurs to me that I may have some issues.

Hello, my name is Suzanne and I may be an addict.
(This is where you all say, "Hello, Suzanne!")

I'm not addicted to cigarettes, drugs or alcohol. OK, stop laughing. I confess to liking things with the word "proof" on the label, but I'm not addicted to them. Stop laughing, I mean it! But there are several things that I have grown so attached or accustomed to that I actually feel the effects when they're removed from me.

Coffee...that's no surprise. No coffee = headaches.

Diet Coke...also no shocker. It's the after 11 a.m. equivalent of coffee.

Beer...I can get along fine without it, but I prefer not to, that's all!

Internet...This one I share with 90% of the population, so I don't feel as bad. I'll be in Puerto Rico in a couple of weeks, in a place sans access. Pathetic that I'm actually pre-mourning its absence.

iThing...since Christmas. They're indispensable. Just ask anyone who has one. Right Vince? Right Steve? Right Kara? These things become part of your fiber quicker than crack.

And now, apparently, Twitter...

Surely I'm not alone with my addictions. There have to be television, chocolate, cigarette, lottery, Krimpet addicts among you. So even if you think Tweeting is moronic (I know who you are), take pity on me should you see me twitching in the aisles of Acme later today, speaking only in sentences of 140 characters or less. Could be you someday, when the cable goes out.

Give It to Me NOW!

This isn't my usual type of blog entry, but once in a while you get so worked up about something you have to vent. An online acquaintance calls them rants, and eloquently blogs them daily. Well here's my rant, thanks to Grant (who sent the story).

A 27-year-old woman--let's call her Veruca -- is suing her alma mater for $72,000 (cost of tuition and "stress") because she cannot find a job. After three whole months of trying! She graduated waaayyy back in April from New York's Monroe College with a bachelors degree in business administration in information technology. With a 2.7 GPA! She claims the college's career placement office isn't promoting her as hard as their graduates who managed to pull something higher than a mid-level C throughout their four years at school. (As if just meeting her would get potential employers to overlook her shoddy GPA and more qualified applicants) And she's encouraging other graduates who have yet to find work to start suing as well.

"It doesn't make any sense: They went to school for four years, and then they come out working at McDonald's and Payless. That's not what they planned," says the genius.

OK, here's where I start to blow. This is so much of what's wrong with this generation (not that I'm old enough to be a generation beyond them ---shut up). Too many people have been raised to feel that they are entitled to everything. Sure she went to college. But that doesn't entitle her to a job. So did millions of other folks out there, who maybe spent a little less time with the funnel and a little more with the books. So did millions of other folks who have been working for years, decades even, who now have to compete again for a job thanks to layoffs and Bush's legacy. But this gal is entitled to a job. And if the college isn't going to hand her one (after all...it's been three whole months!), she's entitled to be reimbursed for her time and her stress.

This is just an extreme case, but you see this crap all the time and nothing boils my blood more. Parents who suffer from "Best Friend Syndrome" are raising kids who suffer from "I'm Owed Disease." I see the young versions in my kids' school all time. Kids who behave abominably, and when they're called on it by teachers/principals/chaperones/volunteers, their parents either say "Oh, no! It couldn't have been my child!" Or worse yet, "Who the hell do you think you are to even dare speak to my child!"

Well folks if you said "No" to your kids once in a while, if you taught them the value of a dollar and hard work, if you showed them that they need to respect others/rules/diversity then they wouldn't grow into grubby leeches and hangers-on who think that things should just come to them, like the inspiration for this blog item. "Best Friend" parents will eventually, and sadly too late, see the error of their ways when the time comes for them to need help from said leeches. Good luck getting Miss Litigious to take you in, Mom and Dad! But Veruca will be happy to sue you for the stress your old age has put upon her. Phew! I'm done!

Agree? Disagree? Leave a comment. I'd love to hear your stories!

Life's Real Precious Moments?

Take a Load Off!

This is a print ad campaign for Huggies that's running in Brazil. Photos were sent in by parents who had managed to capture their tots "in action" as it were. Taking a dump has never looked so cute.

In Other News...

Headline: US Air Force Says Decision-Making Attack Drones Will Be Here By 2047

Funny, I thought we already had them...in office...for 8 years!


Headline: 50 percent of Doctors Use Wikipedia
Live Science - More than half of U.S. adults turn to the Internet when they have health or medical questions...more alarmingly, a survey in April found that 50 percent of doctors turn to Wikipedia for medical info.

Apparently another 20 percent get their info through Netflix rentals of Patch Adams and MASH.


Headline: Texting While Driving Increases Crash Risk
COMPUTER WORLD-Virginia Tech study of heavy truck drivers recommends ban on texting while driving.

No shit, Sherlock.


Headline: SC Man Charged with Having Sex with Horse...Again
COLUMBIA, S.C. -A South Carolina man was charged with having sex with a horse after the animal's owner caught the act on videotape, then staked out the stable and caught him at shotgun point, authorities said Wednesday. But it wasn't the first time Rodell Vereen has been charged with buggery. He pleaded guilty last year to having sex with the same horse...

Not clear from story if the horse was male or female, but either way the defense will claim the horse "was asking for it."


Headline:Obama's 'Beer Summit' with Policeman, Professor
WASHINGTON - ...Obama, Cambridge, Mass., police Sgt. James Crowley and Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr., will meet at the White House on Thursday, each one drinking his favorite beer, in a public attempt to move past the emotional event.

Race relations may be smoothed out temporarily...until the "Tastes Great" / "Less Filling" riot breaks out.


Headline: Pages with Swine Flu Symptoms Quarantined
WASHINGTON - Five Senate pages who were exhibiting swine-flu symptoms have been quarantined, Sergeant-at-Arms Terrance W. Gainer told lawmakers and their staffers late Tuesday.

The pages were released from "quarantine" once authorities were able to convince Larry Craig to let them go.


Headline: Big Fat Star Sheds Pounds Like Crazy
SPACE.COM - As a large star nears the end of its life it begins to shed mass at a tremendous rate.

Nice to see finally see Roseanne back in the news.


Headline: Boy Allegedly Tries Scooter Holdup with Toy Gun
CINCINNATI- An 11-year-old boy has been accused of trying to hijack two boys' scooters with a toy gun in an Ohio park...it was a frightening experience because it wasn't clear that the gun was a toy...Cincinnati police said the 11-year-old pointed the toy gun, saying he wanted to take one of the silver scooters, and then chased the brothers as they raced away...A public defender doubts the boy could understand the consequences of his behavior.

As the mother of a 6-year-old and a 12-year-old, allow me to comment on the public defender's stance: Horse Shit.
Me to 6-yr-old: "Ben, what do you think would happen to you if you told some boys you had a gun and that you were going to steal their scooters?" Ben: "I'd go to jail."
Apparently doctors aren't the only ones getting their professional advice from the internet.

Once Was Enough

Not one of us hasn't wished that we could relive something from our youth. Still believing in Santa; getting excited by the "ice cream man" coming down the street; the adrenaline rush of that first crush; staying up all night being silly at a sleep-over...There's a ton of childhood memories we'd all love to redo or enjoy again. But as I sit here slathered in ointment, cursing the wicked three-leafed plant that somehow came into contact with my eyes/ear/neck/legs, I can think of a few rights of passage that I would take a "pass" on repeating!

Chicken Pox: Everyone over 30 has probably suffered through this one. We've got the tiny little pits here and there that our mothers warned us we'd get if we didn't stop scratching. I personally have a lovely one dead center in my forehead. In the right light, I look like a very boring Hindu. Sometimes, our parents would intentionally expose us to siblings or neighborhood kids who had it so that they could just "get it over with." When my brother got it at age 6, my folks made my 5 year old sister sleep next to him so she'd catch it. Bastards! (Speaking on your behalf, Beth!). We all got through it as adolescents: missing 8-10 days of school, soaking in oatmeal and pawing away at ourselves as soon as we were left alone. It was like an itchy precursor to masturbation. (Not that I ever did that). But getting the pox, or worse yet, Shingles, as an adult is a whole other ballgame. I know several peers who've suffered through Shingles, and they've described it as "worse than childbirth" and "absolute hell." So thanks, but I'll pass on reliving this one.

Poison Ivy: the step-sister of chicken pox. It doesn't stay around as long, but bares a family resemblance. Had it a dozen times as a kid. It's evil. It's proof that if there IS a God, he's got a warped sense of humor: Inventing an attractive plant, spreading it everywhere, and then torturing you if you come in contact with it. My siblings and I got it so bad as kids that sometimes our eyes swelled completely shut. I'm going through a "mild" case of it right now, which serves as inspiration for this blog entry. When you're a kid with poison ivy, you get some slack and some pitiful glances if you walk out in public slathered in the pinkish and mostly ineffective Calamine lotion. Try going to Target as a 40-something with that crap all over your face. Snickers. Nothing but stares and snickers.

Public Periods: OK men, you can skip this paragraph. You bastards! Sure, you occasionally took a basketball to the balls on the playground and had to pretend you weren't in agony to save face with your friends. That's a cakewalk, boys! Imagine being a girl age 11-13 in 1978...the year of the disco White Pants craze. Now imagine getting a surprise in the middle of class. In white pants! Being an early, pre-white-pants, bloomer, I was the designated "go to gal" for these poor 7th grade saps. "Go see Suzanne, she'll know what to do!" They all thought I was a genius who invented the "tie your sweater around your waist" look. If I were really a genius, I would have always carried a box of pads and charged $5 a pop. Again, public menstrual outings are something we (girls) all went through at least once. As some women approach the age when schedules once again become unpredictable, public outings are getting fairly common place once more. Just like Calamine lotion, you get a lot more sympathy suffering through it in Target when you're in your teens than you do in your 40s! (Not that I ever had this happen!)

Well I'm sure I lost most of you with that last anecdote, especially the men! But do your own reflecting and remember things you rather easily muddled through as a kid that would be torturous to you now, as an adult. Being berated at work. Getting dumped. Losing a job. Having a relative pass away...All rights of passage that are much easier to bear as a child than as an adult. So let them enjoy chasing the ice cream truck, being surprised on Christmas morning and the rush of their first kiss. They've got a lot to look forward to. Let's not tell them about the rest...just yet!

Twits for Friends?

Pen Pals. Anyone else have one way back in school? I had a few in my time. A couple were assigned as class projects and quickly fell by the wayside. Others I found through answering common interests ads in old teenybopper magazines.

Wanted: Pen Pal to share stories, pictures, dreams & thoughts on Barry Manilow...

Those were the ones that stayed around for a while. When you find someone you "click" with, you enjoy communicating with them --even if it's only monthly and by air mail. As an adult, you may think that most of us don't do such silly things as writing back and forth to perfect strangers! Well, the hell we don't! Twitter is the modern-day, rapid fire version of pen pals. Absolute strangers "tweeting" each other about common interests, 140 characters at a time. Sometimes it's done with absolute anonymity. No photo or real name used. But other times actual friendships start to develop online, which leads one to ask:

Can "internet friends" become "real friends"?

If you want the definitive answer to that question, just ask Kelly Hildebrandt. Or, you could ask Kelly Hildebrandt. Wha? Well, the two Kelly Hildebrandts met each other thanks to female Kelly's sending male Kelly a Facebook message about their common name. One thing lead to another...and wedding invitations should be going out soon for their October nuptuals! Not all internet friendships go that far, but some can evolve into something bordering on "real." Facebook is mostly for friends and friends-of-friends to keep in touch and share photos. Twitter is more anonymous, at first. On Twitter, you can end up with sometimes hundreds of "followers." It seems like an ego boost, until you realize that most are following you because they hope to sell you hemorrhoidal ointment or credit repair kits. But once in a while, you and some "followers" hit it off. Take Kathy and Amber, fellow mommy bloggers from Alaska and Indiana. And my insomnia buddies: FC, CW and KV.

I can fall asleep at a semi-regular hour, but without exception I shoot up in bed a couple of hours later wide awake, mind racing. Until recently I would have just laid there, fretting over whatever it was that rattled my subconscious. Now, I just reach over for my little, brightly-glowing iThing and log on to tweet for a bit with one of the nighttime crew. Two live in LA and one is a 3rd shift worker in Ohio. So when I'm up at 2 a.m. tossing and turning, someone's either on a work break, sitting down for one last email check before bed, or in some cases getting ready for a party (this is LA). We talk about jobs, ambitions, baseball, comedy...you name it. Then we part ways. Sure, we're not at the "I'd give you a kidney" point, by any means but we are swapping email addresses, trying to expand each other's horizons, and keeping each other entertained, even in the daytime hours. So even though I haven't a clue what some of them look like (CW, we all know what you look like!) I do think of them as friends-in-the-making. Well I have to go now and get ready for bed soon. In a couple of hours, I'll wake up and hear how FC made out on her first day of vacation; what book CW has picked out for me; and how KV's flight was once she lands. All in 140 characters or less.

Make it Memorable

I don't know who you are, Jill and Kevin. I don't know any of your friends or family. I don't know where you live, where you work or even how old you are. But I do know that if you two keep this spirit alive, you will have a long and wonderful marriage. Congratulations! Your video made me laugh...until I ended up crying! Why did I spend so much time worrying about seating charts and cake designs! THIS is what I should have been doing! Enjoy folks!

Man Trapped in Woman's Body?

Short and Sweet: I think I may be an 18-34 year old man trapped in a 40ish woman's body. I love Judd Apatow movies; I often quote Fuzzy Door TV shows verbatim;I can swear up a blue streak when needed, and drink like a sailor at times; I pee standing up; and I am nuts for the Phillies. Alright...one of those isn't true. (I don't swear that much). But I have a rabid devotion to the Phillies that is a little freaky in a woman. I'm not the only woman I know with this affliction, but it's freaky just the same.

I've gone through periods of Phillies remission. In fact, I actually thought I was doing rather well since 1994. Back in 1993, when I had a "Press" discount card and could get into games for a mere $3, I was going to Phillies games several times a week, dragging along anyone who'd come with me. I didn't care if my nose might bleed up there in the cheap seats! Ricky, Micky, Dicky, Lennie and Kruk needed me there! Schilling didn't need anybody, he was that good. But I was there for him anyway. I was even there for the "Wild Thing." I remember feeling bad for Mitch Williams when Schilling covered his head with a towel as Mitch took the mound late in Game 6 of the World Series. Now, I wish Schilling had strangled the future salsa-making SOB with that towel. But I digress...

Who can we blame for the origins of my occasional gender confusion? Well there are myriad sources, but I rest blame squarely on the beautifully sculpted shoulders of Dwight Clark and Joe Montana. Going to high school in the heart of San Francisco, Montana had just come to town and was a sight to behold. Great player, cute as a button, and media savvy. I was in love. Pair him up with Miss Universe-dating wide receiver and equally handsome Dwight Clark, and girls my age were hooked not only on Clark and Montana, but on football and the 49ers that season. I watched every game; went to three. I went on walkathons to meet them. I volunteered at the Y when I knew some would be there to help out. I was pathetic. Then came Super Bowl XVI and "The Catch." If you don't know what I'm talking about, Google it. If you do, then you'll understand. It was a thing of beauty. They let us out of school early so we could run down California Street to catch the victory parade. I was right at the cable car turnaround at the Embarcadaro, watching Clark and Montana (in fur coats!) board their cars. My family moved back east the next year, but I stayed loyal to my Niners as they went to the Super Bowl over and over again.

Other interests eventually took over for my love of sports (or players?) as I got older. College, music, travel, etc. But the fever seems to be creeping back in. I was embarrassed to admit it for a while. But as I meet more and more women who are suffering from these same hot Phillies flashes, I'm starting to come out of the closet. Make that "come out of the locker." There are more of us dames out there than you guys realize. And some of us know what the hell we're talking about. So the next time you're sitting next to a woman at a sports bar and think she's only there for the cheap drinks on Ladies Night, think again. Buy her the drink, but think again! She may know more about the game than you. Hell, she probably knows more about most things than you!

Ground Control to Major...Armstrong

Tomorrow marks the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11's landing, and Neil Armstrong's first walk, on the moon. I don't have a lot of memories from July 1969. I was only 3. But I have a few very vivid memories of that event: Driving with my parents on a highway from Philadelphia to my father's folks in New York; staring up at the day moon to see if I could find a shadow of the spaceship, perhaps. I remember telling my mother to turn down the radio, because it made it hard for me to concentrate on the moon. I remember standing outside that same night, looking up and straining my eyes to try and catch a glimpse of the craft, or of the flag or even of Armstrong himself. Now, at 43, I strain my eyes that hard just to read a menu at Applebees.

Ve Vant to Be Alone!

What do women secretly crave?

Correction: What do wives and mothers secretly crave? It's not chocolate or great sex. (OK-yes, we crave chocolate and great sex, but that's no secret). It's Alone Time. Single women can find a moment's solitude whenever they like, but wives and mothers pine for just a morsel of it now and then.

What would we do with it if we got it? Maybe enjoy a long, hot soak in the tub without hearing "Hurry up, Mommy! I have to pee!" ... Maybe finish the chapter in the book that we've started and stopped five times because the kids keep squabbling...Maybe catch up with a friend on the telephone without having to fix a snack, wipe up a spill or kiss a boo-boo at the same time (Why does a ringing telephone always seem to provoke a sudden, Pavlovian need for attention in kids, BTW? As soon as they see you're on the phone, they "REALLY NEED YOU!" Haven't wanted you for an hour, but pick up the receiver and BAM!)

I have a friend with 2-year-old twins. She doesn't crave a trip to the salon or even a disturbance-free movie. She would just like to take a shower without having the curtian flung open by a moppet yelling "Hi, Mommy!" Locking the door doesn't even help in her case, the duo has actually learned to pick the lock to get to her! Another friend has been eagerly awaiting her husband and children's camping trip so she could get a mani/pedi/facial and spend some quality time with her friends. (I'll be over at 6). And a mother of four I know just longs for an hour without having to wipe a nose.

Why do we wives and moms long for moments of temporary solitude in such secrecy? Because we feel guilty. We're supposed to love our husbands and kids 24/7. Which we do! (OK, we love you 21/5.8 ...but that's pretty damned good!) But we, and sometimes they, make ourselves feel as though we're leaving our families derelict if we desire even an hour of time to ourselves.

I'm lucky. I've got a wonderful husband and two great kids. In addition to enjoying time spent together as a family, they love their time doing "man stuff" without me. This is a "man stuff" afternoon. I'll be alone for at least five hours. I'm doing laundry. But I'm also doing all the little things I love that I rarely get to do undisturbed. I "Twittered" for an hour without Ben begging to play Webkinz. I made a girls' date for an Indian supper downtown. And I wrote an entire blog entry without once being asked to check the status of Evan's Ebay bid.

Come to think of it, I wonder when they'll all be coming home? I'm starting to miss them.

Slow and Steady Boys...Slow and Steady

When will men ever learn that taking their time is always better than just ramming it in?