IN which i discuss the blogging process

Today, after my spinning class, I was asked how this blogging process has affected me. It’s an interesting question as it has had far more impact on my life than I originally thought it would. I began the process as a means to get my “funny” stories written down. At that point, I had assumed that me and my “editor” would put them into some sort of organized form that would result in a book. In fact, I already had a name picked out: “Good Enough: The Chronicles of an Underachiever.” Obviously, the train has gone off the rails so I want to discuss the many ways that this blog and blogging in general has affected me.




1) Time – now obviously the blog has taken up copious amounts of time. Before this began I used to brag about how “time” was all I had as I did “nothing” all day. This has changed dramatically. Certainly writing the posts has taken up lots of time but that’s actually the least of the issue. Tweeting, responding to comments, talking to other bloggers and thinking about issues that I really never gave much thought to have eaten a massive hole in my days.







2) Weight – believe it or not, I’ve lost weight as a blogger. Had I only known 20 years ago that the sheer act of writing about issues, both yours and the world at large, would turn out to be so cathartic and that food, your main source of comfort forever, would take second place I would have started writing a lot sooner! Of course, I’m not sure that I was at a place in my life to do so. The kids took up a lot of my time and sitting down at the computer for long periods of time was a luxury for me back then. When I was at my computer, I was really big into computer games so perhaps I needed to wait until I reached this point in my life.





3) Awareness- I certainly wasn’t unaware of the many problems facing people in the world. As a matter of fact, I’m inordinately proud of the fact that I can understand and relate to the many issues that people have, even if I don’t have those issues myself. One of the many ways I have survived mentally (other than my weekly shrink appointment) is by my “I’m not even worried about it” approach to life. To have this approach, you really need to keep yourself in some sort of protective bubble. As a “fixer,” the minute I’m involved I tend to pour myself into something. This can result in an incredibly time-consuming situation not to mention the emotional maelstrom that can result from being over-involved in someone else’s life. But, just the constant interaction with people and reading their many hurts and pains in the world have definitely affected me.





4) Friends – I have, interestingly enough, made some friends from blogging. Usually the friendships begin with me leaving a comment on someone else’s blog or vice versa. In my case, I always try to email back when I get a blog comment or Tweet them as a thank you for caring. In other cases, people comment back to me. If you have enough in common, you seem to develop an “email” relationship. I have met younger versions of myself, people that remind me of my kids and even a doppelganger on the web. It’s been great meeting people but, as I’ve been incredibly blessed with my marriage, my family and my economic situation, it’s difficult not to start feeling empathetic about some of these other people’s situation. It’s definitely making me want to get over-involved, which is often a huge problem for me. But, in spite of that, it’s been interesting to meet people from all over the United States as well as some international folks.





5) Education – it’s true. I’m actually a fairly educated person but I’ve really enjoyed reading about expatriates in other countries and how living abroad is so different than living in the US. Other countries attitudes towards Americans, while not surprising, can often be humbling to say the least. Beyond that, the attitude towards happiness and money is completely different in many parts of the world. There are also many situations in the US that I haven’t been familiar with so I’ve really learned a lot. Both about my country, myself and humanity.





6) Socioeconomic – this is going to sound terrible but I’m going to put it out there anyways. I didn’t go into blogging for the money. In fact, I don’t actually need money as the truth is that I’m quite comfortable financially. This is obviously not the case for many of the people out there and while I of course knew that, I rarely came into contact with so many people who were in financial straits. My kids attended private school, I live in a nice house, I have help keeping my nice house looking nice … obviously my life is fairly cushy. The people I hang out with are friends I met while my kids were younger, in preschool, school and various and sundry activities. Naturally, we are all in a similar socioeconomic group. So I’m jaded. I admit it. But the internet and blogging community is varied. People from all walks of life are there and many of the things I read are situations that I obviously never had to deal with. Do I buy food or gas? Do I enroll my kid in this or that? I need to homeschool because the school system is terrible and I have no other choices! There’s a medical condition my child has and I can’t afford the intervention. I’ve always given to charity and make it a point to help others but I suppose in many ways, I’ve let my money do the talking. I’ve spent lots of time thinking about this aspect of blogging and the effect it’s having on me.







7) Pain – I’ve talked a lot about depression, death, medical issues and the like. I’m pretty much of an open book and certainly, there’s very few things that I haven’t personally experienced. The fact is that there’s a lot of pain out there. People are hurting and scared. They feel isolated and alone. They have situations that overwhelm them. In some small way, I hope my admissions of things like depression, fear or even bulimia will make people realize that we’re all human and we all deal with these issues. I’ve never met ONE SINGLE PERSON in my entire life that doesn’t have something they need to deal with, even if they haven’t yet. So, I suppose that the knowledge of how extensive that pain is has surprised me.







So there you are. I started this journey towards a book with the end goal of being a “professional talk show guest.” Instead, I’m in the process of becoming a maudlin, wordy, self-involved human being who rambles on and on about the human condition. It’s been an intriguing journey thus far and I hope you continue with me as we go further. I like to think that I have an ability to observe the world and enlighten people in a humorous, yet somewhat unique manner but of course, you’d have to be the judge of that. I love talking, writing and thinking about this stuff and feel free to comment on this or any other blog post I might have. Thanks for accompanying me.

In which i discuss committment

I was just finishing a Pilates class this morning when a woman I know in the class said “Lynn, I thought about you the other day.” “In what capacity?” I asked. “I was playing in a tennis match and I really, really didn’t want to be there and I thought, what would Lynn MacDonald do?” Of course, this was really funny to me so I asked, “what did you come up with?” She said, “I decided that you wouldn’t have even shown up there if you didn’t feel like playing so you wouldn’t be in the mood to quit. Is that true?”




Hmmm … I never really thought about it like that. It is true that I try to NEVER do anything that I don’t want to do, but it’s always a different situation when you have other people depending on you. I play in a weekly Mahjong game with my kind-of stepmom (long explanation required here) and her friends on Wednesday afternoons. I enjoy these women but our relationship is kind of funny. First of all they treat me like a kid (and I’m 51) because they’re all at least 70 and second of all, I’m a little impatient and make remarks like “I’m off to get an hourglass to get this thing moving along more rapidly” (that’s right, shockingly enough I’m impatient which ALWAYS leads to rudeness for me). So, occasionally I really don’t feel like playing. I do show up however, because I’ve made a commitment to them and if there’s one good thing about me (and trust me, there’s not that many good things about me) it’s that I’m loyal, I don’t lie, and I honor my commitments.



So back to the tennis game, if I bothered to show up I would finish the game out. I might not be happy about it and by the time we finished I’m sure that my brain would be imploding but I would definitely stay there. So that got me thinking about commitments.



When the kids were younger, I used to take on huge projects all the time. I think it was because chatting with pre-schoolers all day isn’t a lot of exercise on the brain but mainly, I just wanted to occasionally talk to adults about things that weren’t:



Other mom: “My kid just figured out the global health crisis today and he’s only two, how’s your kid?”



Me: “Oh, my kid just beat the shit out of somebody at pre-school today and got kicked out, thanks for asking.”



So, I began my volunteer career by being the volunteer chairperson of the pre-school. This didn’t involve much as I had a co-chair and she basically did all the work while I just cut up and misbehaved at the meetings. I really don’t understand why these people always put up with me. My glory days, however, began when I moved on to fundraisers. I loved working on fundraisers. At the beginning, I would run the entire fundraiser but I truly found my calling with the decorations. I loved doing decorations for these things. Once we did this Mardi Gras theme and I spent months building huge centerpieces in my house. I loved the process and never begrudged anything creative I had to do.



Since then, I have done the decorations for more parties than I can even imagine. I’ve even done decorations for friends’ parties and Bar Mitzvah’s. I love the creative process involved in these things. But, I’ve never gone professional because if you just take it job by job, you always have the ability to quit whenever you want. It seems to be the story of my life. Get pretty good at something and then quit. Not for nothing do I call myself an underachiever.



When my kids moved on to primary school, I was asked to work on a haunted house. Of course I had a co-chair and while she did ALL the work, I spent months - and I mean months - building a 7-foot model of the creature from “Aliens” in my garage. This thing was huge and was run by a computer so that it rose up and then crouched back down. I also made “steaming” pods using dry ice for the “fake” steam. The entire contraption was amazing. Kevin couldn’t pull into the garage for about 3 months because I built the thing in his parking space. I had a blast building it and one of my favorite things to do was to run up to Lowe’s and say to the guys there “so I’m building this Alien and I need some material that can help make it look like so and so.” Their reaction was priceless.



But I digress. The point I was making was that if I do take on a commitment, I usually follow through but I learned long ago not to take on the type of activity that I don’t enjoy. About 4 years ago, The United Way asked me to be on a huge committee for them to discuss an umbrella organization for the many groups that help underprivileged and underserved people in the Greater Greensboro Area. I served on this committee for about 3 years and it was incredibly frustrating to me. I didn’t feel like I was serving a huge purpose as I wasn’t a “professional” in any of the necessary areas. I couldn’t believe how slow the process was because of all the “fiefdoms” that the individual groups had and the vast amount of in-fighting that abounded as a result. I was incredibly bored with all the yapping. So after 3 years, I quit the committee. I feel mildly bad about it because I don’t usually quit such things but the lack of forward progress was driving me nuts. I’m not a very patient person as exhibited by how much I bitch about this blog and it’s lack of readership.



So. Commitment. When I commit, which I rarely do, I stick it out. So if you’re asking yourself, “what would Lynn MacDonald do?” Pretty much, whatever the hell she wants. Thanks for asking.

In which i wonder did you ever?

Did you ever have self doubts that maybe you weren’t the funniest person in the world? Did you wonder if your humor was getting across? That perhaps other people were more effectively funny than you?




Did you ever think, “hey, maybe what I have to say isn’t so important? Maybe people aren’t seeing it? Maybe they’re not reading it? Maybe they’re not getting it?”



Did you ever wonder if maybe, just maybe, that once your narcissistic haze has cleared you will discover this ENTIRE thing is just a giant vanity project? That maybe all the time you spent writing all this shit down, publishing it and then promoting the hell out of it on Twitter wasn’t worth it?



Did you ever wonder if your family had needs? That maybe a little shopping, a little cleaning, a little something was required in your own house that needed doing rather than you talking about what the world needed doing?



Did you ever wonder if your kids, even the grown kids, had feelings they wanted to discuss? That maybe their snide remarks of “you’ve dumped us now mom” weren’t so snide and were important somehow?



Did you ever wonder if supporting your husband and listening to his business stresses were maybe just a little more important then your blog stats? Your counts? Your Twitter followers?



Did you ever wonder any of that?



Nahhhh…me neither.

In which i discuss mom blogging

Ok, so I’m online, writing the blog, being funnier than hell and yet, still not famous. Apparently, the next step is NETWORKING. What the hell is networking? Well, there are a billion “mom blogs” out there. Am I a mom blogger? I have no clue. I’m a mom. I’m blogging. So by using my mathematical prowess, I guess the only logical conclusion is that I’m a mom blogger.




As I said, there are billions of them out there and probably more joining them every day. So how do you stand out? How do you get noticed? Well, normally I wouldn’t give a shit about this stuff except for right now, for possibly the very first time in my life, I have a goal. Oops. Scratch that. I had a goal when I went to college: to become a doctor. GIGANTIC FAIL. I had a goal when I moved to New York: become a successful financial person. GIGANTIC FAIL. I had a goal when I got married: become a good wife. GIGANTIC LIE. Haha. I’m just fucking with you. I never have, and I’m not going to become, a good wife. Why should I? What’s in it for me? Anyways, good wife, good mom ... whatever, been there done that. My new goal is to become a professional talk show guest (see earlier post. No, I don’t know which one, figure it out yourself).



So, how do I make myself stand out? I’ll tell you because I have been getting advice left and right. Here’s the normal game plan. Find blogs you like. (I can do that, there’s some funny women out there). Read the blogs (shit, I learned to read when I was 13, I can do that). Comment on the blogs (hmmm, do I say I like it? Do I try to be funny? How do I stand out? Maybe just be funny like, “by the way lady, this is funny but I’m pretty much funnier than you?” Maybe not.) Follow the blogs (I did. Now I got fucking homework every night). Make the blogger like you (shit, if making people like me was a cakewalk, I wouldn’t need to vent on the damn blog). Have them start recommending your blog (can’t comment. Haven’t gotten this far yet).



As you can see, it’s all about CONNECTIONS. Well, people who don’t know me always like me. It’s just the people who know me who can’t tolerate me. So, now I’m in the stage where I’m starting to Tweet to the bloggers I follow and with the women I like. Turns out there are quite a few of them. Yesterday, I wrote a serious post and I asked all these people to RT (that’s Re-tweet to you amateurs out there) it to the Twitter Universe. First of all, I was informed that asking about 20 people who don’t really know you specifically to RT your blog tweet is wrong (I had figured nothing ventured, nothing gained). Not only that, but apparently it’s irritating to your followers. Sorry, my bad! Shit, I forgot my second point but no matter. I tweeted it all out and I DID get more hits but alas, I still didn’t go viral.



It’s been three months and this stuff is more work than it would have seemed. If I had worked this hard in college I’d be a god damn surgeon now. At any rate, it’s pretty time consuming and it involves a lot of personal interaction (is it actually personal interaction if it’s over Twitter and email? Note to self: discuss this in a future posting). So, my days of doing nothing are over and now I spend my days tweeting, re-tweeting and just generally looking for other like-minded people on the internet.



I’m avoiding the nice, earnest people who want to discuss things like “being a better person” (don’t care; I like being a shitty person), providing for your family (hells no. The sooner my kids learn to fend for themselves, the better. As I told my mother in law, “Look Allison, your son is an adult. He should be able to take care of himself. If he wanted someone to cook and clean, he married the wrong damn woman.”), changing the world for the better (this is a very time consuming, lose-lose situation. Stresses me out just thinking about it), and especially the people who get on a soapbox to tell ME how to live MY life.



So what’s my point? I have no idea. I can’t even remember where this post began. I’m scrolling up to look. Oh yeah, I’m still not famous and I can see that a lot of work is going to be involved. Fortunately, I have a diabolical plan up my sleeve but I need to set things up first. At any rate, I’m out there tweeting, networking, commenting and looking for followers. Join me and we can change the world! (No we can’t, I’m just looking for a catchy little slogan).



I’m just saying…

In which i begin the descent

It’s coming. I can feel it seeping into the recesses of my mind. Depression. It’s like the fingers of a fog. At first you don’t notice and then there’s that haze everywhere and you can no longer see clearly. When I began this blog three months ago, I was in what you might refer to as a “hypomanic” stage. What does that mean? The definition of hypomania according to Wikipedia is “a mood state characterized by persistent and pervasive elevated (euphoric) or irritable mood, as well as thoughts and behaviors that are consistent with such a mood state. Individuals in a hypomanic state have a decreased need for sleep, are extremely outgoing and competitive, and have a great deal of energy. Hypomania is a feature of bipolar II disorder and is sometimes credited with increasing creativity and productive energy. A significant number of people with creative talents have reportedly experienced hypomania or other symptoms of bipolar disorder and attribute their success to it. Classic symptoms of hypomania include mild euphoria, a flood of ideas, endless energy, and a desire and drive for success.”




Ok, so I’ve been in this incredibly good mood for about six months now. I feel great and I’ve actually lost weight as I’m a person who tends to eat when “down” or under stress. My ideas are zipping around in my brain like electrons. Sleep? Who needs it? So yeah, I’d say I was in a hypomanic state.



Three months ago I decided to begin this blog. Naturally, the first thing that happened was my children figured that I would never stick it out. In a way I understand their attitudes and I have a tendency to quit things when I’m bored (and I’m bored a lot). I’ve actually begun the process of writing my book twice before and did indeed post 3 entries to this blog back in 2008 before I quit. So, I get their doubt and attitude. But this time, it pissed me off. I tried to explain that it’s not that I’m incapable of completing tasks; it’s always been a choice to quit. I could see by their skepticism that they really didn’t buy into that. So, I decided that come hell or high water, I was going to blog for at least 6 months. Now this is no small statement for me. The only thing I’ve done longer than 6 months is actually keep my kids around and believe me when I tell you; I wasn’t given a choice in the matter.



I talked to my shrink and he pointed out that my mood normally crashes around Thanksgiving. There are many reasons for this but the biggest reason is SAD (seasonal affective disorder). It’s been a pattern for so long that at this point, I just accept that around Thanksgiving I’m going to crash into a melancholy mood and stay there until around March. It didn’t help that 12 years ago my Dad died two days before Thanksgiving and I have correlation as well. I’m not dysfunctional when I’m down, at least no more than normal. I’m just more contemplative, agitated and morose, you get the drift. Can I still have fun? Can I still be fun? Yes, the depression is not all encompassing or all consuming and I actually take Prozac to control it but still, after all these years I no longer fight my moods. I simply hold on and take the roller coaster ride that is Lynn MacDonald.



Why am I telling you this? First, it’s my blog and I can say what I damn well please. Second, so many people hide their mood swings. I don’t. They’re who I am. Without them, maybe I wouldn’t be funny, or creative, or I don’t know ... I just wouldn’t be me. So I embrace them. I don’t always like them but I don’t fight them either. I’m 51. I am who I am, for better or worse. I have absolutely nothing to hide. If you’ve been a reader of this blog, you will get to know me, warts and all!



Back to the beginning. I talked to my shrink and told him my goal and he said what happens when you crash; are sad and want to quit? I said, maybe it’s time to grow up (I know, right?) and tough my way through this. Maybe I will be sad so I’ll write sad stuff. Maybe I won’t be as funny. Maybe I’ll be more introspective. Maybe I’ll just plain suck but I’M GOING TO DO THIS. For the first time in my life, I’m going to push the envelope and make myself go through the darkness and unfortunately for you, you’re going to accompany me.



So, here I am. The last few weeks I noticed that I’ve been pissed off and ranting a lot. I even picked a huge fucking fight with someone close to me which is still not resolved at this point. This morning, I realized that I had gained some weight. Yesterday, my shrink asked me some questions about my mood and pointed out that I was showing all the signs of a crash. Holy Shit! It’s so weird. After all this time, even noting where we are in the calendar, it didn’t strike me that I was crashing. But this morning, I could tell. It’s seeping in. I feel tense, agitated. I have doubts. And worries, which is something I completely avoid.



The journey is about to begin. The fact is that All Fooked Up is as fucked up as the rest of you. Don’t deny it, you’re fucked up too! I hope you stick with me. It’ll still be fun because I’m not a “stay in the bed” type of person. I’ll have adventures, funny stories. In fact, right after the light bulb went off this morning, Kevin and I had an incredibly funny conversation which I shall soon share. I’m very self-aware and I think you’ll enjoy the ride. So batten down the hatches and get ready for the storm. Lynn MacDonald is descending into madness!

In which i discuss fleeting careers

I had rotator cuff surgery on my right shoulder about 9 years ago. I don’t know if it was all the years of competitive swimming or just the fact that we had moved and I had been packing and lifting heavy boxes, but for whatever reason, my shoulder was a mess. It had gotten so bad that I couldn’t lift my arm up to change the radio station in my car. That was a huge problem. My radio was already tuned to crap since Keely was in her “girl band” era and Britney and Christina were all the rage. At any rate, I had the surgery and once it was fixed, I had the most awesome scar on my right shoulder. I used to have the best conversations about it.


Random kid up at school:      “Mrs. MacDonald, what’s that scar?”



Me:                                       “It’s a bullet wound”



Random kid up at school:       “What?”



Me:                                       “A bullet wound”



Random kid up at school:       “How did you get that?”



Me:                                       “I was down in the hood working on my career as a rapper”



Random kid up at school:       “MOM!!!!”



Hahaha. Nothing better than fucking with little kids’ heads. But I wasn’t completely kidding. About that time, I had decided to become a professional rapper which is just one in a long line of “fleeting careers” for Lynn MacDonald.



What’s a fleeting career you might ask? Well, once upon a time I DID have a REAL job. First I worked at International Paper Company, then Paine Webber (I quit after 6 weeks), then J.M. Huber (fired after 12 days) and eventually I worked for myself (tried to quit, didn’t work. Couldn’t figure out how to get fired but I’m still working on it). After we moved down here I decided that I was over working for other people and I’d just raise these little people who kept popping out at random intervals (the hospital didn’t give me a choice and said I had to take them with me when I left).



So I just took care of the kids when I occasionally came out of my self-induced narcissistic haze. The first random career I was going to have was as a sculptor. If you recall, I was offered a LARGE sum of money for my first sculpture and I figured that I could just sculpt while raising the kids. But alas, it was more time consuming than I had time for since the kid’s naps didn’t last as long as I would have liked. So for the time being sculpting was out.



Then I discovered painting. That was more like it! I taught myself how to paint, first with acrylics and then with oils, by trying to copy other styles that I liked. I really enjoyed it and it turns out, for such an untrained person, I was pretty good at it. People really liked what I was painting and kept telling me I should do it more. Well, I hate when people expect something out of me so between all that pressure and the fact that my parents kept inconveniently perishing, I stopped painting.



Next, we saw the movie Blue Crush. It’s about surfing. This was it! I was going to become a professional surfer when I grew up! My kids were shaking their heads and telling me, “no mom. You couldn’t possibly become a professional surfer.” “Sure I can,” I replied. “I was a swimmer. What’s the big deal? And look how pretty it is out there!” They looked at me sadly and went on with their normal “lets ignore mom now” attitude not to mention that they’re always telling me that “I’m already supposed to be grown up”.



That brings me up to the rap stuff.



I love a good beat. Seriously, I’m all about the bass. I wasn’t a huge fan of some of the Old School Rap because of the lyrics but all the new Hip Hop stuff was right up my alley so, of course, I decided to become a rapper. My kids told me I was terrible and basically ignored me because, of course, every few months I tell them what I’m going to be when “I grow up.” So, I started working on my moves. I was terrible. Since I have no short-term memory, trying to remember the lyrics was a problem. I was definitely having issues achieving my goal but still, I thought I was pretty good. My kids didn’t agree. That’s right about the time when I had to have rotator cuff surgery. I thought the scar gave me some street cred. At any rate, the rapping thing didn’t pan out for some reason.



The next fleeting career I came up with was “Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader.” Now bear in mind here, I was already well into my 40’s. There was this show on TV called “Making the Squad: The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.” I came across it one day and it was hilarious. I made the whole family watch it and it was like a boot camp for how to become a Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleader. I loved it! They were so, so serious! So I worked on my high kick, but my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE PART was the SEXY WALK. That’s right folks. It’s actually called “THE SEXY WALK.” You can imagine that I jumped all over that shit. What is the sexy walk? It’s the way they walk out onto the field. Each person has their own style of walk and they had to do it in an audition. That was it! I could do that. So I did. I developed my own Sexy Walk and did it for my family who then practically pee’d themselves laughing because, let’s face it, I’m not that sexy. I still do the sexy walk. Occasionally somebody will ask for an encore and I’ll do it in public. Actually, at my brothers wedding this summer, after far too many drinks, I performed the sexy walk for the entire wedding reception. Yeah, I’m awesome like that!



Lately, I’ve decided to become a professional talk show guest which, if you’re following this blog, you’ve heard before. I don’t want to be a host. That seems like lots of work and work is something I try to avoid. Being the guest would be perfect. That’s what all this writing and blogging is all about. Or at least, that’s how it started. As it turns out, the more I say, the more I have to say. I knew I had a big mouth and was opinionated but I’ve actually surprised myself with how much there is to say!



So here we are. Fleeting career number one billion: professional talk show guest. What do you want to be when you grow up?

In which i'm smarter than i thought i was

This morning I discovered that I was smarter than I thought I was. It’s true! Here’s what happened: every morning I get up (it’s an unusual first step, I know), get dressed, brush my teeth, take out the dog and then feed him. After I’ve done the basics, it’s “me” time. I begin my day making coffee. I need many, many cups of coffee throughout the day. Today I opened the drawer where we keep the #4 coffee filters and THERE WERE NO FILTERS! NONE! AT ALL! As you can imagine this was a disaster of cataclysmic proportions because, as I’ve explained before, I am a carefully controlled concoction of chemicals and caffeine is a necessary ingredient. It so happens that the filter drawer is also the “take out menu” drawer so there are lots and lots and lots of menus in there. I believe that I’ve reported that I don’t really cook. I mean, I CAN cook, I just don’t enjoy it and therefore choose not to cook. However, I am still REQUIRED to provide food to the family members that still live in my house therefore take out is a staple in Casa MacDonald. At any rate, there are millions of take out menus and I figured surely, stuck somewhere in this massive pile of menus, there would be a coffee filter. Alas, that wasn’t the case.



I had known for about two weeks that I was running low but since I HATE THE GROCERY STORE I’m usually in and out of there ASAP. In other words, I forgot to buy new filters. As I pondered the horrific beginning to my day, I thought “perhaps there’s a spare box in the pantry?” (Unlikely, but I can dream, right?) I walk the 10 feet to the pantry and begin my frantic search. There’s a lot of shit in there. As I’m slowly getting discouraged I discover a box of #4 coffee filters. OH MY GOD! I look in the box and there are about 10 coffee filters in the box. Apparently I knew that at some point I would be a complete dumbshit and would run out of filters. So I had left a small stash in the pantry just in case of such an emergency. I took about 8 of them and left two in the box, just in case I re-forget to buy some.



As I made my coffee, I explained to Daniel that “I was much smarter than I thought I was.” Daniel didn’t even bother to ask me why and just shook his head sadly and walked away. All my kids think I’m disorganized and dumber than hell, if that’s even possible. He gave me absolutely no credit for my brilliant mind. Kevin walked in and by now I was positively glowing with my own perfection and immediately announced to him “that I was smarter than I thought I was.” “How so?” he asked. After explaining the entire situation he laughed and said, “That’s such a ‘you’ thing to do”. He didn’t sound all that impressed about it though. He doesn’t understand why I just don’t make a list and go to the store like everybody else! But hey, if I didn’t do that I would never have all these epiphanies, now would I?



So there you are; my awesome story of coffee filter and revelation. Have you ever had the absolute joy of realizing that you’re smarter than you thought you were? It happens to me quite often but, as usual, those are stories for another day! Today, however I will rest on my laurels and revel in the genius that is me. Fortunately, the girls are coming home today for Thanksgiving so I won’t have to be the “genius” around the house, I’m sure they’ll take care of that for me!

In which i bought Hooker Boots

Last year, since I have two kids down at Duke University, I decided to buy season tickets to the “Broadway series” at Durham Performing Arts Center (DPAC). This way, we were assured of seeing the girls at least every few months with the added benefit of seeing such musicals as Wicked, Spring Awakening and last night, Billy Elliot. The line up is incredible, and other than the one hour drive in each direction, it is totally worth it. So, last night Kevin, Daniel and I hopped in the car and headed down to Durham. Of course, getting there in time for dinner is difficult because Kevin, who normally works until around 7:00, has to leave around 4:30 so we can take off at 5:00 to have dinner before the show. We had actually planned to skip the dinner but then we wouldn’t actually get to “talk” to the girls at all so Kevin made the sacrifice and we left for Durham.



It was raining really hard and I drove because Kevin didn’t want to mess up his brand new car. Also, I get motion sickness easily, so I usually drive any way. So we killed ourselves getting down there. We were running late and I dropped Kevin and Daniel at Mellow Mushroom and go to the parking deck to park the car. By the time I got in there, I could see a bunch of glowering MacDonalds’. Is the first thing my girls say to me hello? No, it’s Keely saying “Mom, are you going to wear that outfit every time you come down here?” And I’m thinking, “Great, it’s going to be one of these evenings.” So I thought I could share a little history on that statement:



When Keely and I were in London, there was really only one item I wanted to purchase. I wanted a really nice travel pocketbook. I don’t usually carry pocketbooks but I wanted a large one so I didn’t have to travel with two smaller bags like I did on the trip to London. This was because my iPad didn’t fit into my pocketbook along with all the other travel paraphernalia. So, I found a Miu Miu pocketbook but it was brown and I wanted black so I didn’t buy it. It was my first day in London and I figured I had time to find the one I wanted. Fast forward a few days and I still hadn’t found another pocketbook so when my cousin and I were shopping on Oxford Street, we went into the Miu Miu boutique to browse. The pocketbook wasn’t cheap but I never shop so I figured I could make it my Christmas present (even though it was October). We walked into Miu Miu and they were handing out free champagne. Apparently, it was their Grand Opening. My cousin sat down and had some champagne and I was looking around but I still didn’t see the pocketbook I wanted. She tried on a pair of shoes and told me to relax because she wasn’t going anywhere and was going to sit and drink her champagne. So I was sitting there when the following conversation took place:



Sales Lady:       “Why don’t you try on some shoes?”



Me:                   “I don’t really need any shoes?”



Sales Lady:       “How about some boots?”



Me:                   (I see these over the knee-high boots with some serious heels)

                        “Holy shit! Those boots are crazy, who would wear them?”



Sales Lady:       “You could wear them.”



Me:                  “Are you kidding me, they have 8 inch heels?”



Sales Lady:      “Try them on!”



Cousin:            “Yeah Lynn, try them on. I’m not ready to leave!” (yes, I hold her completely responsible for what went down after this)



Me:                  “OK, what the hell!”

                        (Yeah, I’m easy. So I tell her my size and she runs off to get these crazy boots for me to try on)



Me:                  “Holy Shit! These things are amazing”

(… and they are! They come up above the knee and have about an 8 inch heel but there’s a platform on them so they’re pretty comfortable and I’m about 6’ tall and they are fucking awesome)



Sales Lady:      “You should buy them”



Cousin:            “Wow Lynn, those are amazing on you!”



Me:                  “There is no way I would EVER buy these boots. I live in Greensboro, North Carolina. Where the hell would I EVER wear these? They ARE astonishing looking though.”



(I spot another pair that’s also over the knee but they’re flats and they lace up the back)



Me:                 “How about that pair? They look more practical”



(PRACTICAL? I’m already in justification mode here. So they bring me that pair and I try them on…they’re unbelievably BAD ASS!)



Me:                “Oh my god…these are awesome. How much are they?”



(they tell me and I faint … after I’m revived everybody is trying me to convince me to buy them.)



Me:                “Kevin will kill me…maybe I should text him”



So I sent Kevin a picture of the boots with the words “Christmas present?” on them. Of course, I didn’t get an answer back so I promptly bought them. When I told Keely that I bought the over the knee boots she says “Mom, I told you I wanted over the knee boots! I can’t believe you would buy some”. I mean, she wears socks and underwear and so do I, what’s the big deal, RIGHT? I can’t have some just because she wants some?



At any rate, I call and tell Kevin that I bought the boots and he said “Yeah, the moment you sent me the text I told Andie, she’s already decided to buy them and this is her way of breaking the news to me”. HAHAHA these people surely do know me.



So, I bought the boots and Keely and Andie said, “You’re probably never going to wear them.” About two weeks ago Kevin and I went down to Duke for Parents Weekend to go out to dinner with Keely, Andie, Andie’s friend and her parents. I wore the boots! Here was the conversation that ensued:



Andie:                 “So, those boots aren’t as bad as I thought they were going to be.”



Me:                     “What does that mean?”





Andie:                “I thought they were going to be thigh high and they’re not”



Me:                     “Thigh high?"




Andie:                  "And I thought they were going to be shiny?”





Me:                      “Shiny?”



Andie:                  “Yeah, you know … shiny ... and thigh high”



Me:                       “You thought I bought HOOKER BOOTS?”



Andie:                    “I guess.”



Me:                      “I’m 51 and you thought I bought HOOKER BOOTS? Why do you think I would do that?”





Andie:                  “I don’t know… I just figured they talked you into it”


So, that’s what my kids think of me. They think I’m the type of person who would just get talked into buying HOOKER BOOTS. So, yesterday I decided to wear the same boots down to Durham. Now back to the original conversation:



Keely:                    “Mom, are you going to wear that outfit every time we see you?”



Me:                       “This isn’t the same outfit”



Keely:                    “Practically” (with the appropriate sneer)



Me:                      “These are different pants, and this is a different sweater”



Keely:                   “Whatever. You’re wearing the same boots.”



Oh my god. First they tell me that it was a stupid buy because I would never wear them. Then I’m informed they’re Hooker Boots (although a friend of mine pointed out that since they’re incredibly expensive, they’re actually more like HIGH PRICE ESCORT BOOTS), and now I’m told that I’m wearing them too much. I can’t fucking win with these girls.



At any rate, I like the boots and I feel like a BAD ASS in them. To be honest, the only worry I had when I bought them was that they were “too young” for me. But now that I think about it, it’s only right that I have hooker boots. After all, I am an “American Whore” and I’m much better looking than a “Swedish Whore” (see Best Compliment Ever for that story). So, if you see an old lady in “hooker boots”, that’s me!

In which i tried to be sophisticated

When I was 16, my aunt got me a subscription to Vogue as a birthday present. I think I’ve already mentioned that my mom was a “clothes horse” and was very into nice clothing. Every month, the new Vogue would arrive and I would look at all the beautiful women wearing beautiful clothing thinking, “that’s going to be me one day.”



Alas, I quit growing and never made it above 5’5” so my “modeling” career was over before it actually began. But I still loved Vogue, and eventually, I had a subscription to Bazaar as well. I determined that somehow, some day, I was going to be one of those sophisticated people walking around, just like in the magazines.



It’s ironic actually, as I was, and still am, a slob. I wear shorts and t-shirts. EVERY. DAMN. DAY. I have no compunction about wearing torn and tattered clothing. I rarely look nice unless I have to. If I go out to lunch, I will begrudgingly put on nicer shorts or a skirt, but I spend a lot of time avoiding that. On Saturday evenings when Kevin and I go out, I’m always complaining about how he looks better than me.



Now don’t get me wrong. I can look nice. I just choose not to. I feel that as long as I have the knowledge that I can clean up, why bother? I don’t really feel defined by people’s ideas of what “beauty” is. But occasionally, even I must dress up. It’s these occasions that kill me the most. My rule of thumb is that if I’m really dressing up, what the hell, why don’t I go ahead and put on makeup and jewelry. So when that actually happens, people are startled - shocked actually - and pretty rude.



Something usually comes out of their mouths like, “Oh my god Lynn, look how good you’re capable of looking” or my personal favorite, “You sure do clean up well!” At any rate, sometimes it’s worth it just to shock the hell out of people. Lately, people have been asking if I got my hair cut. “Yeah, about a year ago” is my response. It’s just that I put my hair back in a ponytail in the morning to go to the gym, run my errands like that and then go home and shower. I really don’t mind running around looking like shit.



After the shower, my hair is down, but at that point I really don’t see people anymore, so I suppose that nobody really knows what I look like.



Wait. I was actually making a point at the beginning of this story, and of course I got off on a tangent. The point was that when I moved to New York, I was prepared to get a sweet job, dress up in suits and become a “sophisticated” New Yorker. I had it all figured out. I would live on the Upper East Side, work at some major financial institution, have tons of awesome friends and go to bars and order Scotch. I knew Scotch was the “sophisticated” drink, and that’s what I was going to drink.



It all came crashing down when I didn’t get a job at a major financial institution and got a job at International Paper Company instead. I did have suits but they were irritating and uncomfortable so I changed out of them as soon as possible. But in perhaps the biggest blow to the entire “sophistication” plan was I COULDN’T STAND SCOTCH!! I hated it! Could it have been the horrible experience I once had with a bottle of Southern Comfort? I’m not sure, but the Scotch thing was out. Then I tried martinis. This was in the day before all that flavored crap so we’re talking THE REAL DEAL. Shaken, not stirred ... you get the picture. Nope. Couldn’t stomach that either. My boss gave me a Manhattan to try and ... DISGUSTING!



So there I am, living in New York, and still the same damn beer drinking girl that I was when I got there. I’m still a beer drinker. Love the stuff. But I have never gotten over the sheer disappointment of my inability to be a “sophisticated” person. Maybe in my next life!

In which Google fucks with my mind

Goddamnit! Google’s fucking with my mind. Seriously, I have spent the last month or two building up some relationships on the internet (ok, maybe just a few weeks, but still). I am following about 10 blogs at this point and I try to get on at least every two days and see what new posts these people have put up. Why these blogs? I don’t know. I like funny, interesting people. There’s a dearth of them out there so when I find a kindred spirit, I’m enjoying reading what they have to say. I’ve even found a few people that seem to be sharing a brain with me and are writing my personal feelings out in their blogs. One such person might even, and SSSHHHH… it’s a secret, be FUNNIER than me. (By the way, that kind of pisses me off!)



At any rate, I got on my blog yesterday and went to my “dashboard” and Google informed me that I wasn’t following any blogs. “WTF?” I replied to Google. (actually, this was a thought bubble conversation as, unlike my navigational system bitch lady, Google has no voice). All yesterday I tried to find my blogs and I couldn’t. This morning I get on and voila! All my blogs are there so I was thrilled and decided to work out. Later, I come home, all ready to catch up and read and possibly comment (I always have something to say, even if I don’t know shit about the subject I’m never devoid of an opinion) but guess what? I HAVE NO BLOGS AGAIN! Where the hell are they? They were here this morning. Why is this happening to me? I think it’s because my login was under my real email and I was advised to get a Gmail address. I did, I got allfookedup@gmail.com



Now, it seems to be my email default and I can’t figure out how to get my old email back as it only gives me the option of deleting my old email. So I went and checked my Gmail account and NO, I’m not getting any email there, I’m getting it at my real account. So, where the fuck are my blogs? Is this a conspiracy? Make Lynn feel dumb as shit? (Actually dumber than shit, I’m dumb as shit on a normal day). The irony of this entire situation is that way back in the day, I was a computer person. Seriously, I knew (and still know), how to take a computer apart and put it back again. I was a programmer and yet, all this shit keeps happening to me and I can’t figure out WHY?



This is just one of the many frustrating encounters that Google and I keep having. If I didn’t know better, I would say that Google is a 19 year old teenage girl trying to screw with my head. These are the type of interactions I keep having with my kids. So, if I’m a follower of your blog who’s slacking off on the following part, it’s just part of the general conspiracy to ruin my life.



I’m just saying…

In which i write to Oprah

The other day as I was pondering how to get my readership up from about 60 to one million, I realized that I needed to start submitting my work to newspapers and magazines. I realized that this might involve a little “work” with is usually anathema to me but I was in a relatively good mood so I thought, “what the hell, why not?” I started thinking about the forums that would be good for me and I realized that the Mighty Opes aka Oprah was the perfect starting place. Although I’ve never been on her web site before, I started checking it out. I eventually found a page that said they were looking for people to appear on their show in some different categories, one of which I jumped all over. Here’s what it said:



Have You Had an Aha! Moment?


Have you ever had an aha! Moment (a moment of clarity that gives you the wisdom to make a change in your life)? Whether it was a sudden flash of understanding or an event that helped you find insight and meaning in your life--we want to hear from you! Please be specific. Describe the actual moment: What were you doing or observing when you had your moment? How did it come to pass? And, of course, what impact did it have on your life? How did your thinking and actions change after your aha! moment?






Oh my god! There it was, the answer to all my problems. Had I ever had an “Aha” moment? Hell yes (actually, more than one) I had an “Aha” moment and I had already written about it in a post entitled I'm not even worried about it. This was perfect. I was just going to copy and paste my “Aha” moment into the little box, send it off to the Oprah peeps and voila, they would love me of course, put me on their little show and Oprah and I would become really good buds (sorry Gayle, you can hang with us too).






Excellent, I had a plan. I looked at the little box and it only had room for 2000 characters. I went over to my article and it has 4259 characters and 3394 characters not counting spaces. “No problem” I thought to myself, “I’ll just do a little editing.” So I began editing the story, taking out points that don’t seem salient to the plot, removing some of my funny interjections, you get the picture. I checked my word count. Still too high. “Wow this is a pain in the ass” I’m thinking. “All these parts seem to be pretty important to the story but I guess I’ll just try to stick to the basic epiphany part of the story,” so I cut some more. I was still over 2000 characters.






I was starting to get annoyed. I had written a perfectly lovely little blog post about how I wasn’t really worried about it and it was TOO DAMN LONG. So I cut some words … and some more words … and some more words and FINALLY, I got the damn thing below 2000 characters without spaces. I copied and pasted it in and guess what? THE DAMN COMPUTER SAYS THAT IT’S TOO MANY CHARACTERS! What the fuck? I was getting really pissed now. So I started cutting again until I was below 2000 characters including spaces. It’s my humble opinion that my brilliant writing had now been chopped to death and I could feel my piece screaming like it was butchered by Freddy in Nightmare on Elm Street.






Undeterred, I copied and pasted it in and that’s right, it was still TOO MANY GODDAMN CHARACTERS!! Was I pissed? That would be a massive understatement. I’d already spent about a half an hour trying to reduce the best “Aha” moment in the history of all “Aha” moments to a 2000 character synopsis but was that good enough for the big O (no folks, not an Orgasm, the magazine … get your heads on straight)? NO. Here I was, on the brink of superstardom and the stupid computer had math issues. I was a math major (or I was before I went stupid but that’s a story for another day) and I KNEW that 1997 characters is less than 2000 but apparently, the form and I were at odds.






It was time to take matters into my own hands to I decided to compose a little letter to the Oprah people.






Dear People in charge of this website and form: I have been submitting and resubmitting my “Aha” moment for OVER a half an hour and I am constantly getting rejected. Suffice it to say that I have the best “Aha” moment ever and if your damn form would quit screwing with my head, you would have been reading it by now. If you are curious about what I have to say, then I suggest you go over to my BLOG and read it YOURSELF, Here’s the link: I'm not even worried about






Would I be a great guest for Oprah? I would and you’re about to miss out on this unique opportunity due to the fact that your website can’t count! I would recommend that you do something about that or else millions of people will end up in an insane asylum due to submission anxiety. I’m not even sure that this stupid comment will work but I’m giving it the old college try. Feel free to contact me so I can tell you my story in person. Thanks A LOT! Lynn MacDonald






So yeah, I submitted it. I haven’t heard anything back from Oprah and I don’t actually expect to. They’ll probably just put some crappy little feel good story on instead but hey, I tried. So, I’m apparently going to have to get some followers the old fashioned way, I’ll have to EARN them. But if any of you guys know Oprah, let her know that she missed out because “I’m not even worried about it!”

in which i discuss my pet peeves

Can I talk to you about a pet peeve of mine? Of course I can, this is my blog after all. I would like to discuss common courtesy. I was on my way home from spending the morning at the Lexus dealer. This wasn’t as bad as you would think. They have free coffee, WiFi, TV and comfortable chairs. At any rate, after being at the dealership for 3 hours I was looking forward to getting home.



I live near Guilford Battleground which is a National Park in Greensboro, North Carolina. Many people go there to walk, run and bike the many trails in the park. There is a road that runs through the park, shockingly enough named Battleground. There are crosswalks across this road and in North Carolina State law says we have to yield to pedestrians. Although I’m not really a nice person, I always obey a few basic tenants and one of those is “don’t run over pedestrians.” Long story short, I believe in stopping when I see people who want to cross the street. So today, there was a person waiting to cross and I stopped to allow them to do so safely. But did the other direction stop? In a word NO. Three cars continued through until FINALLY, a driver in the other direction stopped to allow said pedestrian to cross the road safely.



This is such bullshit. What is it with people that they can’t take a few goddamn seconds out of their day to be a decent person? I drive through this park at least once a day and this is not an unusual occurrence. People are so wrapped up in themselves that they can’t think beyond their own bubble. This led me to start thinking of other things that bug me (and there are a lot), one of which is littering.



Kevin and I have a joke that we are “excellent people.” This came about because when the kids were little, we had a sitter EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY NIGHT and we would often start the night with a movie and then go out for dinner. Movie theatres are usually disgusting, sticky places and there are times when you need to pry your feet off the floor. Kevin and I would get popcorn to share, he would get a Coke and I always drank water. After the movie was over, Kevin and I ALWAYS cleaned up our mess. What’s so great about that? Just the fact that so many people just leave their shit behind for the movie theatre people to clean up. I realize that this is a job for the movie theatre people but at what point did people get so damn lazy? We started the joke and say “let’s be excellent people today and pick up our mess.” Of course, we are always excellent people because I just don’t get humans who think that there’s someone always walking behind them cleaning up after them. That’s the basic problem. Nobody wants to be responsible for their own shit. Everybody wants somebody else to do it. It’s indicative of a huge problem in the world at large.



It’s the same with littering. What type of person just throws their shit out the window? Where do they think its going to go? What do they think is going to happen to it? Is it just going to disappear? Would you do this is your own house? HELL NO YOU WOULDN’T! But isn’t the Earth essentially your house as well? I mean, we ALL live here on it. Without Earths bountiful resources, we wouldn’t have SHIT and we’d also probably be dead. What is it in your car that couldn’t wait until you found a trash can? I don’t know about you but there are plenty of trashcans in my house. There is also a giant green can and also a brown can for recycling outside my house. I have never been to somebody’s house who doesn’t own a trashcan. Every restaurant, gas station, movie theatre, drug store, and rest area I have EVER been to has had a trash can. So what the hell are you doing dropping your shit on MY EARTH. Who do you think is going to clean it up?



A few years ago, I was driving one of my kids to swimming practice when I saw a few teenage boys I know throw their fast food garbage out the window. I was incensed. They were going to the same place I was so when I got there, I turned off my car and got out, ready for battle. Needless to say, my daughter wasn’t too thrilled to see me go after those kids in my state. “What the hell is wrong with you boys?” I yelled at them. To say they were startled would be an understatement, but I was pissed. I wanted them to understand that their laziness and lack of caring affected us all. When they litter, they just don’t spoil their own little area … they spoil all our areas. It’s a domino effect. So, after my brief little tirade where they sat there openmouthed and in shock, they both responded “Yes Mrs. MacDonald” when I asked if they understood.



I’m not sure what impact I had on them although I know one of them is scared of me to this day, but I will say that I refuse to be quiet and stand down on this issue. Screw up your own life, trash your own house or car, that’s your choice. But littering? Screwing up MY EARTH? That’s not fair and I won’t take it lying down. So beware all you litterbugs out there. If I see you, I WILL SAY SOMETHING …

In which i play chicken with my gas tank

I hate filling up my gas tank. No seriously, I hate it. I don’t know why but I spend large amounts of time trying to decide if I’m going to run out of gas or not and whether it’s worth stopping to fill up the tank. Kevin constantly gets in my car and bitches at me about how I’m always on empty. I really don’t know why I hate it so much, but I have spent my life playing chicken with my gas tank.



I’ve only actually run out of gas once. I was 17 at the time and getting ready to make a left turn into my high school when … nothing. My car died. I couldn’t figure out what the problem was until I realized that I had run out of gas. Normally, it wouldn’t be such a big deal but I was first in line in the left turn lane and the signal had just turned green. People started honking but alas, my car was dead. It was actually quite embarrassing holding up a line full of students when your school is pretty large. Finally, I managed to beg a friend of mine to take me up to the gas station so I could get some gas. Of course, we were late for school, and everybody knew that I had run out of gas but finally I got my car going again.



Did I learn my lesson? In a word, NO. Flash forward thirty some odd years and I haven’t changed. I have managed to drive around two days with my car saying that I had 0 miles to go until empty. Kevin has always topped off his gas tank when he gets below two bars and he asked me why I let it get so low. I explained that if you fill it up at two bars all the time, you end up stopping at the gas station twice as often as I do and I hate going to the gas station. He told me that was crazy thinking but I feel that if I let it get down to empty, I have to fill it up less often.



“Doesn’t that add extra stress to your life?” I get asked quite a lot. Not really. I believe (I’m really not sure as I’ve never bothered to check) that I have a 24 gallon gas tank and I’ve only actually put in 23 gallons once ever. Usually it’s just in the really high 22’s thus indicating that I must have at least one gallon of gas left in the tank which equals 14-17 miles before I actually run out of gas. I have driven around on empty often enough to know that my car is just fucking with my mind. Between the gas tank light trying to make me stop and my navigation system lady trying to tell me where to go, I feel like it’s a challenge to keep the car under my control. A challenge that I am bound and determined to win!



This is off topic of course, but I love fucking with my navigation system lady. She says turn left so I go straight just to see what she’s going to do next. “Slow down and make a legal U-Turn as soon as possible” is her typical response. She’s incredibly inflexible and I always tell her “no” and continue on. Having no recourse, she eventually adjusts her route to my thinking. Why am I telling you this? I have no idea. As per usual, this is another rambling post which started with my gas tank and ended with my nav system.



So, back to the gas tank. Why do I play chicken with the gas tank? Just like nobody puts Baby in the corner, there is no way my car is going to dictate my every move. So I’ll get gas when I’m good and goddamned ready.



I’m just saying…

In which i discuss wrecking my car

A few weeks ago, my youngest child Daniel, wrecked his car. Astoundingly enough, this was the first car accident any of my three children has had in the five years since I have had young drivers. (Knock on wood). Of course, Kevin was out of town so I had to rush up to the scene of the accident and take charge. Daniel was concerned and feeling awful about the wreck as he had gotten the car as a Christmas present and now it was looking pretty bad. He looked at me with trepidation and waited for me to get angry.



I just looked at him and said, “Daniel, I have absolutely no room to talk when it comes to wrecks and your father did a bonehead thing a few years ago as well so we won’t be lecturing you. Let’s just talk about being a more defensive driver” (as he had pulled his car out into oncoming traffic trusting the guy was going to stop which he didn’t).



By the time I was 17, I had had three wrecks. And trust me, my dad wasn’t the “no lecture type”. The first wreck I had was within a month of getting my driver’s license. My mom was out of town so I was going to have to confess to my dad. I drove over to my grandmother’s house feeling pretty hysterical. I figured that this would be the last conversation I would ever have with my dad as he would surely kill me. Boy, did I get yelled at for doing such a stupid thing. Later, during that same year I backed into a fancy sports car in the high school parking lot and then went up to Baltimore to visit my older brother and wrecked his car. Let me tell you, that one didn’t go over well.



I managed to make it through four years of college with out wrecking anything and then the year after college, I absolutely smashed into somebody else’s car, so you see, I really don’t have room to lecture. You would think from all this that I’m a terrible driver but that’s not actually the case. I always seem to make assumptions that people are going to do what they say they’re going to do. For example, if you signal me to pull out in front of you I would assume you were going to stop and let me in… apparently that’s not always the case. My first wreck the person was making a right turn and once they began to turn, I sped up. This was all good and well until the person STOPPED. At that point, we had a slight problem as two vehicles struggled to occupy the same space. I’m not making excuses; I’m just pointing out what happened. In Baltimore, the driver waved for me to merge and I did, it’s just that he was in the spot I merged in to.



At any rate, after college and my year at home I sold my car and moved to New York City. Obviously I didn’t have a car there and therefore I also had no wrecks. Now don’t think I didn’t drive. I did. I had business trips all over the United States, mostly to paper mills in out of the way places, and I rented cars to go on said trips. I didn’t wreck these cars so I consider those the Golden Years of Lynn’s Mad Driving Skills!



As I said, I had a bit of a hiatus from the car wrecks. Once Kevin and I got engaged I moved to New Jersey and bought a car. I had no problems there either however, when I moved back to Greensboro things changed a bit. I like to think that once I had kids I became a more careful driver, and I’m pretty sure it’s true because at this point, people began smashing into me. Of course, smashing into a Land Cruiser is never a good idea and the cars doing the smashing suffered far more than my car did. Instead, I started running into inanimate objects.



In about 2001, I decided to trade in my Land Cruiser, which had about 95,000 miles on it, for a Toyota Sequoia. As my friend Katherine told me the other day, “I remember asking you why you were trading your car in for a new one and you replied: I need more cup holders”. Don’t be judgmental: that is typical rationale for me. At any rate, the Sequoia was a mistake: a HUGE MISTAKE. That car was self-wrecking. It was literally a magnet to run into every inanimate thing that could be found.



After school, I would often take the carpool (my three kids and three from across the street) to Cook Out to grab a milkshake. They make the most incredible milkshakes there! Now Cook Out has a drive through and so you don’t hit the building, they have a huge metal post protecting it. So I’m going to get a milkshakes in my brand new car and WHAM, I smack right into the pylon and destroy the front right corner of my car. The damn thing was brand new but apparently, the turning radius wasn’t quite the same as the Land Cruiser. That one didn’t go over well on the homefront!



The next thing that happens is I’m backing out of a driveway and BOOM, I smash right into the mailbox. I could have sworn that there was nothing behind me. Yep, there were some serious blind spots in that car. After that, I hit a support structure for a telephone pole and there’s a dent in the back bumper for that as well. But here comes the clincher.



We finally move into our new house and I’ve got the kids in the car. Now I wear prescription glasses, can’t bother with contacts, so I always get in the car first thing and put on my prescription sunglasses. After all, I’m driving east into the sun! So I walk into the garage and once again, Kevin’s left his garage door up when he left for work. I press his button and my button as well to close his door and open mine. I hear the garage door going up so I’m really not paying too much attention at this point. I get in the car, put on my sunglasses, tell the kids to buckle up, put the car in reverse and BAM.



Me:           “What the hell was that?”



Kids:          (silence)



Me:           “What?”



Keely:       “Mom, you just backed into the garage door”



Me:           “Goddamnit, are you serious?”



Andie:       “Yeah Mom, you did!”



Me:          “Shit, let’s go see how bad it is”



Me:           (mumbling … your father’s going to kill me)



So, I get out of the car and the door is buckled out and broken pretty bad. I have to manually raise it but I manage it and then I take the kids to school. Now comes the bad part. I gotta confess to Kevin. This house is BRAND NEW. MY car is BRAND NEW. I’m in deep shit. My entire life is spent confessing to Kevin because you can’t even imagine the carnage I leave in my wake. So I confess, he gets pissed, I get the garage door fixed and life goes on … for a while … until two months later I do it AGAIN. Yeah, I did it again. Three times in fact. Three goddamn times I back into the garage door without opening it. It’s weird, that never happened at my old house but it did here. What do I do? I sell the damn car and get a new one. There was obviously something wrong with that car.



I’m a little more careful now and I haven’t backed into the door in years although I did once smash into the brick on the right side when I was coming in too fast. My car still has little dings on it because apparently my life is like a bumper car.



People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks. That’s why I didn’t yell at Daniel. So if you see me on the road, you’re probably safe but you better batten down your mailbox.

In which i rank below the Patriots

I live in a SportsCenter house. Every night I go to sleep to SportsCenter and every morning, it’s what we listen to. When people ask me if I’ve heard about certain news events, I reply with some statistics, usually about the Boston Red Sox, New England Patriots, Boston Celtics or Duke Basketball.



I have more sports knowledge stuck in my brain that most women would ever want to know. So in September, the official First Sunday of the NFL season had been MUCH ANTICIPATED. New England was playing Cincinnati and with such a young team, victory was not assured although it was paramount. That’s why I was sitting in my office typing up this little entry instead of staying in the family room dealing with angst of yet another NEW ENGLAND season. Having barely lived through the incredibly stressful Red Sox Season, I’m not sure I can survive the winter. Thank god for Duke Basketball and Lacrosse last year or this house would have a black flag draped all over it.



At any rate, I’ve been writing this blog for nine weeks now and I’m entering my tenth week. The interesting thing about it is how much it’s taken over my life. The more you write, the more you have to say. It would be interesting if it wasn’t taking up so much damn time. Now, I’m actually enjoying myself but I feel as if I’m existing in a bubble, never really knowing what’s going on in the world around me. That’s why I appreciate the feedback I get (when I get it) so much. Recently, one s reader sent me the following email:



Thanks for the blog. We like your style. One sure thing is that you're never going to be boring. If you really want 'What's Next' advice here goes.



60 Minutes remains a Top Ten TV show because they've managed to keep it tight and fresh. Andy Rooney has held the final slot all these years because you never know what he's going to say. He's opinionated, uncontrolled, whiney, funny, curious -- which is why viewers hang around for an hour and wait for him. You have plenty of the same talent. We can see you closing out a local newscast once or twice a week. All the local news stuff is boring so you can spice it up. You've gotta be different so do not make a demo tape in a local studio. Sit on your John Deere wearing bib overall cutoffs. Maybe you need a photo on each blog. Send the blog or tape to YouTube and a local PR guy and see what happens.



You don't need the standup comedy thing.





Now, I have been harassing everyone I know to read the blog, but I haven’t actually taken the next step to write to newspapers or do anything to officially promote the blog. That’s a little too much like doing my homework and I never actually did that even in college so I’m sure as hell not starting now. Well, I suppose that all this Twitter crap is somewhat official but I’m talking about actually contacting people who can help me. As you can imagine, I was intrigued by this response so I went into the family room at 12:45 to read the email to Kevin. I start reading the email and Kevin interrupts me and says “Lynn, you’re WAY into NFL time now”. Yeah, that’s what he said. I was DISMISSED. This is my future here we’re talking about and he DISMISSES me. So, with my tail between my legs, I retreated. I know the priorities in the house and both my girls are off at school and I’m left here with Kevin and Daniel.





So I came in here to write this little entry about how I rank just below the numerous Boston sports teams. I just went back in there while he juggled the Patriots game with the Panthers game (we have season tickets) which he checked in on during commercials. I just asked him if I should discuss it with him in January and he told me perhaps he would have some time to discuss it later. Well, I just thought I should share this little story with you because apparently, my impending fame will have to wait … the Patriots are on!

In which i discuss podcasts and the like

Sometimes I sit down here at my computer and nothing comes but sometimes, too much comes. When I’m in my car driving around town or in my bed in the middle of the night, it all seems so clear but once I’m staring at the keyboard my mind goes blank. I suppose I should have called this blog Ramblings of a Mad Woman but everything always comes back to what should I say?



Kevin went up to Vermont this weekend to see his family. He usually runs up there a few times a year without me to pay homage to all things Vermont and occasionally he drags along a child or two but this time he went by himself. When Kevin shows up there, his brothers descend upon the house as well and I don’t really get to talk to him much. I knew he had a one hour drive to the airport this morning so I called him as I was on my way to the gym. One of the discussions of course was about how the blog was going. There are always two choices in my conversations with Kevin; we can talk about me, or on some rare occasions, everything else in the world. This particular conversation was, shockingly enough, about me. This week I received a compliment from somebody important to me and it went as follows:



Important to me person:      “I’m really impressed that you’re still doing the blog.”



Me (not that important):       “Really? Why’s that?”



Important to me person:      “It must be really hard to sit down and write everyday. I’m amazed you have the self discipline to do it.” (ahh, she knows me well!)



Me (not that important):      “I don’t actually write everyday. When the mood strikes I just sit down and write multiple entries.”



Important to me person:     “You know, your writing is really improving a lot.”



Me (not that important):       “Really? Thanks, that’s a huge compliment. I didn’t realize that you were actually reading my blog.”



Important to me person:      “Well, I don’t read it everyday but I sit down and read it occasionally.”



Me (not that important):       “That seems to be how people do it. They sit down once a week or so and catch up.”



So, what’s the point of this conversation? I have no idea. I’m not all about making points but I was really excited that she was reading the blog as it didn’t seem like her type of thing. It made me realize that maybe I am getting across to people. At the gym the other day, somebody else said that she was an OFFICIAL FOLLOWER now of the blog. “What do you think of it?” I asked her. “Well, it’s you,” was her reply. I suppose that’s what I’m trying to get across so that’s good unless you hate me and then it’s even better.



So, back to Kevin. We were discussing the blog and I was saying that when I had my meeting this week to discuss my new website, the person I was meeting with suggested YouTube broadcasts and podcasts. I have been at this 10 weeks and I’m starting to get a little impatient with how slowly everything is moving. Kevin told me that’s because I have such “lofty goals.” Normally he says “ridiculous goals” so I suppose I should be thankful for that comment. At any rate, I asked him what he thought about the broadcasts and podcasts. Kevin feels that podcasts and broadcasts would be a much better medium for me. “Stand up is all about the material and you’re not really like that” he said. I think your writing is starting to show more of your personality, but really, I agree that you would be great on podcasts and YouTube.” It’s true though. When Kevin and I start having funny conversations, I have been taping them on my iPhone and they’re hilarious. They start on a topic and meander all over the place and if you disregard the hysterical laughter, they’re gems of comedy. Kevin is the perfect partner for me in these conversations as he goads me into the ridiculous and has a dry sense of humor to put up with me. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no clue how to link these files to my blog but I’m sure that the new website will be able to.



It’s too bad that the next conversation wasn’t taped because it was a typical gem between us:



Me:         “I guess I have to go to the grocery store after I work out.”



Kevin:     “What?”



Me:         “We have no food in the house. Someone needs to go to the grocery store.”



Kevin:      “Lynn, I’ve been in Vermont since Wednesday (it’s Sunday, by the way). Didn’t you pick up any food?”



Me:         “No, not really. We need some. We’re even out of milk”



Kevin:      “Are you asking me to pick up the food on the way home from the airport?”



Me:           (thinking) “What time will that be?”



Kevin:       “Are you serious? You are unbelievable!”



Me:           “Ok. OK. I’ll just stop on the way home from the workout so that Daniel can have lunch I guess”



Kevin:        “What the hell have you been doing all week?”



Me:            “That’s a good question (I’m pondering). I can’t really think of anything.”



Kevin:         “Good god!”



Me:             (laughing) “Don’t worry. I’ll pick up the groceries today but don’t get used to it!”



That’s just a sample of the typical dialogue in this house. We have many such conversations about the most random things and I’ve been taping some of them. So, I’m just thinking about the future of the blog. What do you think? Should I go live? Should I have a buddy go live with me as Kevin is busy and has a real job? Let me know. Thanks for following and by the way, I think my writing is improving too!