Tag Archives: humor

The Day My Cell Phone Aged Me

15 Feb

This past weekend I lost my cell phone.  Since it was my birthday, I chalked it up to age and hoped my next mishap wasn’t losing my teeth.

Don’t worry about the cell phone.  My son found it for me.  I think children are hard-wired to locate items of modern technology.  It’s a skill similar to radar devices that detect heat-seeking missiles.

But, on Saturday, my phone was lost.

I wasn’t worried.  You see, I haven’t spent money on a phone in years.  Oh, I pay for the service, just not the telephone.  It’s my dirty little secret.  I collect, some say hoard, old cell phones and chargers.  I take all the reject phones from friends and family and put them to good use.  I like to think of myself as a recycler rather than a techno-moocher.

Saturday was my big birthday shopping excursion and I found myself in a mall that makes a football stadium seem small.  I took FringeKid and told my husband and son I’d give them a call later and we could meet up for a bite to eat in the food court.  I discovered my missing phone when hunger pangs struck.

Since I was near H&M, I figured I’d browse and then ask a clerk to use the phone.  The young men behind the counter broke out into laughter when I inquired about a phone.  Apparently a person without a cell phone is a like a person without ears, only more hysterical.

So I set out in search of an older, wiser, hopefully more helpful sales clerk.  Lord & Taylor was nearby.  Generally when I go into a store like Lord & Taylor, I am ignored.  Maybe they recognize the Target clothes on me.   I guess I look like I cannot afford their merchandise, and it’s mostly true.  My daughter usually gives us away when she picks up a price-tag and yells $298 dollars!  It’s all awe and wonder for her.  She’s only familiar with $19.99.

So I found a lovely clerk at the makeup counter, mustered my courage and asked.

“Excuse me.  I have a crazy request for you.  I seem to have misplaced my cell phone, and I am wondering if I can borrow the store phone for a quick call?”

“That’s not too crazy.”  She said.  “Believe me, I’ve had people ask for worse things.”

“Really?  Worse than asking for a store phone, because the guy with the eight inch gauged earlobes in H&M thought that was a request from some time in space, like way back in the 90′s or something.”

Stuck in an aging gloom that wrinkle cream couldn’t help, I considered all the outdated things I cling to.  I mean, I still have a VCR in my house.  I felt technologically stunted, deficient in the new ways of an ever-changing world.  I felt like my cell-phone came with an antenna.

I was aging right in front of my ten year-old baby girl, and feeling older than my usual twenty-nine until a women in Macy’s stopped me and asked for my help.

“Excuse me dear.  Do you know how to work a cell phone?”  She asked.

“Well the nineteen year-old in H&M doesn’t think so, but let me give it a try.”

She explained how she was trying to take a picture of some leopard-print stilettos for her daughter, but couldn’t get her cell-phone to cooperate.  I grabbed the phone, scrolled through the options, flipped it over in my hand and said, “I’m so sorry, but your phone doesn’t have a camera.”

In that moment, all the pieces of my old-fashioned world fell into place.  I knew there was hope for me and my outdated technology, because my lost cell-phone has a camera.  I wanted to hug that woman with the antique cell phone.  She gave me the greatest gift of all – my youth.

My Birthday Saga, Part I

13 Feb

My birthday weekend began with chocolate covered strawberries and ended with chicken parmesan.  Thanks to FringeMan, it was pretty much perfect.

In the quest to accept another number and a few more gray hairs while keeping my sanity dignity intact, I hosted a Pampered Chef party on Friday night.  There’s nothing like kitchen-ware to make a woman feel young.

So not true, but it was fun to host a little party and watch as another woman cooked white chicken chili in my house.  For a moment, I knew how it would feel to have my own personal chef – Pure Unadulterated Bliss.  I could handle not having to scrounge through the cabinets at five-thirty wondering what in the world I’m going to create for dinner.

After everyone went home and  FringeMan and I finished consuming the leftover strawberries, I sat down to remove my sock and slipper.  Yes, I did wear slippers to my party, but in my bad-fashion defense, my foot tried to put me in one of those motorized scooters before my thirty-seventh birthday.  It swelled up like a plump tomato ready to burst through its skin on a sunny day in August.  It was hot and it hurt.  Did I mention the pain I ignored until ten o’clock at night?

A lump seemed to be forming on the bone about a half-inch under my toe, but it was hard to tell.  The swelling camouflaged any specific cause.  After elevating my foot with a bag of frozen vegetables on top, FringeMan thought I should go get it get it checked out.  You see, we had plans to go away on a little overnight the next day.  For my BIRTHDAY!

So I went.

Holding my foot in his hand, the doctor ran through a list of diseases that ranged from allergic reactions to a cyst that may need to be drained.  I stopped him briefly at flesh-eating disease.  You don’t utter words that may cause my skin to drip off my bones twenty-four hours before my birthday.  I think there’s an oath about that.

In the end, the doctor said, “I don’t know what it is, but your foot seems pretty pissed off.”

A pissed off foot – my official diagnosis.  So I went home armed with ice-packs, Advil, and a prescription for antibiotics in case my flesh began melting, or eating, or any other devilish pre-birthday verb.

I know you’re wondering what my foot looks like now…the swelling is gone, but I’m left with a hard knot on the top of my foot and it still hurts.  I’ll have to call and make a doctor’s appointment, but for a few more minutes, I’m going to hope that it disappears as quickly as it came to dash my hope of buying cute shoes for my birthday.

Remember these?

Seychellis Asterisk Tan/Red

I didn’t buy them.  Yet.  I’m waiting on my foot before I send $67.99 sailing through the internet.

On Saturday, I did manage to find something fabulous though, but alas, I’ve used too many words.  You’ll have to wait for My Birthday Saga, Part II.

Thank you for all the warm birthday wishes.  I am blessed.

My Idea of a Super Bowl

5 Feb

Superbowl

The question on everyone’s mind -

GIANTS

or

patriots

I think you know where the FringeFamily stands in this bowl.

Throwing Red & Pink M&M’s Your Way

1 Feb

Hey Peeps!

Ok, I never say peeps, but I have marshmallow chicks on the mind.  I am dieting you know.

Let’s kick this month of love off the right way, with Romance on a Budget.  That’s what I’m talking about today at An Army of Ermas.

Come visit me and I promise you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll love…ok, so maybe you’ll just snicker, but it’s still worth a click over.

Now here’s where the favor comes in…

Do you ever get sick of me asking for favors?

Of course you do, but this is just one more.  I promise!

*fingers and toes crossed*

When you visit me at the Ermas site, please leave a comment over there and not on my blog.  Well, you can leave two comments if you wish.  I do enjoy some comment love, but it’s not necessary.  The only way to know if a certain article is well received or not is to to judge it based on comments.  That gets confusing if half the comments are here and half there.

I hope you understand.

Now go visit An Army of Ermas. :-)

Throwing red & pink m&m’s your way,

Just so you know I didn’t jump off a bridge…

25 Jan

Ok, last post was pretty depressing.  Sorry about that.  I’m taking full liberty with my calendar and blaming it on January, but I have birthday party for my son this weekend and there’s no time to be sad and moody.

This may be the most random post in the history of the fringe, but work with me people.  The last post had me giving up on life.  This has to be an improvement.

*  I’ve discovered the cure for stomach problems that have plagued me for years.  I have what they term IBS.  I won’t get into it, because it would be like discussions around a holiday table with my family.

Just know that heartburn and other issues plague me, no matter what I eat; however, I started a diet on January 2.  Don’t get excited, because I’ve only lost 4 pounds.  You can tell I cheat a lot.

image via Pinterest

My point is that on the days I’m on my diet, I eat about 6 times throughout the course of the day, but I only consume about 1400-1500 calories.  That means I eat really low-calorie, but filling things in small portions.  It totally cures my stomach ills.  The moment I over-eat or just eat 3 normal size portions, I’m sick.  It’s incredible.

Who knew I would have to become a bird after I turned thirty.  No one told me!

image via Pinterest

* I really am trying to stick to my diet, but it’s hard.  You know?  I’m more like a turkey than I am a parakeet.  FringeMan wishes I was more of a love bird, but that’s another story.

* I’m thinking all “love” posts for February.  Now don’t get panicky and jump ship (no offense Mr. Italian Captain), because I’m not going mushy for a whole month.  There’s lots to love in this world, and I’m trying to tap my elusive creative side.

* I’ve decided that I want a really cute new pair of shoes and a new bag for my birthday.  My birthday is in February, but I’ll probably shop in April or so.  That’s what happens when your birthday is after Christmas and both your children’s birthdays.  It’s all good with me though.  I think it prolongs the aging process.  I gain a few months, because a birthday isn’t a birthday until you’ve bought yourself a present.

Someone needs to write that down and claim it.

*  I don’t know where to shop for cute shoes and a bag.  I’m looking for stylin’, groovin’, chic, classy, comfortable, cute, trendy shoes.  I’m thinking Anthropologie on a Payless budget.

Help a girl out.  Suggest a few places please.

I know Payless has some cute shoes.  I’ve seen them on bloggers, but my Payless pretty much specializes in sneakers and lame-oh shoes.  Sorry Payless.  I know you purchase especially for the clientele you sell to, but there are a few of us who don’t where our pajamas grocery shopping.

Maybe that was mean, but I’ve taken to counting how many people I see in pj’s in Wal-Mart.  Is that snobby of me?

I simply have a difficult time understanding why people want to be seen in public looking like that.  I hide from mirrors in my own home when I look like that.

* I bought a box of ‘Cuties’ at the grocery store today.  Everyone’s been raving about them.  So far they live up to their name, but I haven’t eaten one yet.  I’ll let you know.

Now it’s your turn – What’s the random in your life?

And, don’t tell me if you wear pajamas to the grocery store.

Ok, you can tell me, but I’m adding another check mark to my list and you’ll end up in my total number of pj wearers.  Just a warning. ;-)

Thank you all for your kind comments yesterday.  I appreciate each of you.

Temptations of a Gingerbread Maker

14 Dec

Last night I made a gingerbread house with FringeKid.  We brought it to school today, because her class is bringing a whole bunch of pre-assembled houses to the nursing home.  The fourth grade kids will decorate them with the residents.

It was such a great idea, I volunteered to make a house.  Actually, my daughter volunteered me long before I heard the words “ginger bread”.

Although I’ve seen lavishly decorated houses of confection since I was a kid, I’ve never actually built my own cookie house.  My mother constructed a duplex with my kids a few years ago, but I think I was doing last-minute shopping while they were frosting and gumdropping.  I’m a novice at sugar-laden brick and mortar, but I bought pre-made walls and a roof.  How hard could it be to ice house parts together?

Hard, I tell ya.

As soon as I set the first wall, I knew we were in trouble.  I took my hand off the wall to grab another piece and plunk, it fell down.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but icing doesn’t cement on contact.  FringeKid rescued me with her extra hands.  Not that she was born with extra, but her two add to my two…you know what I mean anyway.  Don’t you?

While she held and I iced, I vowed never to tile my kitchen floor.  If I can’t work with icing, there’s no way I’d be able to swirl an even layer of grout on the floor.   After I’m up to my elbows in some of the stickiest frosting I’ve ever used, FringeKid looks at me and says, “You know, using a knife would be easier.  That’s why we have plastic knives in school.”

“Now you think of this.”  I said while licking my frosted elbow.

I didn’t really lick my elbow, but I did try after writing that line.  I’m telling you; it’s impossible.  Go ahead and try!

I know you just tried.

I only turned my back for a second.  I was getting a knife when the roof began sliding down the house, leaving a gaping hole in the top.  Easy access for Santa?  The fourth graders might buy it, but not the old people.

Shoot!

That’s when I saw the mighty-man’s glue gun sitting on the counter.  Just a small bead along the top and all my confection problems would be solved.  I reached for it, but FringeKid stopped me.

“You can’t use glue!”  She yelled.  “We’re leaving these at the nursing home for the old people to eat.”

Ok, here’s the thing.  Old people have diabetes.  They may pluck a piece of candy off the siding when no-ones looking, but they’re not going to chow down on the whole entire roof.  They’d go into a coma and then I’d have to go shave their legs out of guilt.  Thanks to Laura, everyone knows how I worry about uncontrollable hair growth if I should suddenly fall into a coma.

So I didn’t use hot glue.  I was tempted nearly beyond what I could bear, but the thought of shaving ninety year-old legs helped me resist.

I felt so guilty for contemplating glue, I pulled a bag of red and green M&M’s out of hiding and donated them for gingerbread decorations.

May all the little gingerbread men and women live happily ever after in their somewhat crooked house.  And may no nursing home residents go into a sugar-induced coma because of me.

 

Somewhere Between Bah-Humbug and Fluorescent Merry & Bright

13 Dec

I think I’m pretty low-key when it comes to holidays.  I don’t give thousands of dollars to my power company to keep my Christmas lights running.  I don’t bake forty-two pounds of cookies that get thrown into the garbage two weeks after Christmas, and I don’t have twenty-two credit cards that will take me until July to pay off.  I’m not Bah-Humbug, but I’m not exactly fluorescent Merry & Bright.

I do throw up some lights.

I do bake some cookies.

I do buy Christmas gifts.

I just don’t let these things run my life and ruin my December.

BUT, I kinda like the people who do.

I mean, really, who doesn’t like to stand in front of the house that has two point three million colored bulbs on it?  I love it!  I’m a kid that way.  I’ll clap for the poor soul who let his wife talk him into carrying Santa, a sleigh, and eight (are there eight?) reindeer three stories up to the roof.  Hats off to the woman who inflates her snow family up every single morning after the cold caused Frosty and his plastic children to collapse.  And I absolutely love the tacky Christmas sweater clad old woman who makes her body weight in cookies every year.

(of course these people are all fictional – no offense anyone)

It’s Christmas.  Let’s celebrate!

I’m just too lazy to spend two weeks baking.

I am making The Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls, some sugar cookies, and snickerdoodles.  I might make some other kind of cookie.  We’ll have to see what I let the kids talk me into baking.  I really loved THESE cookies, but if I make them, I may as well go out and buy a pair of jeans with an elastic waist.

And thumbprint cookies make the sugar-plums dance in my head.

Ok, so maybe I will spend two weeks baking.  Just don’t let me buy elastic waist pants.  Deal?

What about you?  What are you cooking up this Christmas?

Are you the house that lights up the neighborhood, or do the neighborhood kids whisper “Grinch” behind your back.

Christmas: Smells of Yore

9 Dec

What does Christmas smell like to you?

Hopefully it’s better than my week old casserole.

Today I’m writing at An Army of Ermas.  I forgot something terribly important.  Please come visit and find out what I forgot.

Happy Weekend!

Fa, La, La – Ruff, Ruff, Ruff

8 Dec

I’m shocked it’s already Thursday afternoon.  I spent most of the week wandering in a migraine confused stupor.  It was the perfect time to volunteer for the Santa Sale in school.  Despite popping  Advil between the third graders and preschoolers, working the Santa Sale was fun.  You’d have to be second cousins to the Grinch not to enjoy helping six year-olds buy gifts for their mom, dad, grandma’s, and baby sister.

Spoiler Alert:  Everyone is getting slime.

It was a best seller.

I prepped my daughter the night before her class was scheduled to shop.  I had my eye on this sparkly pink key-chain that said mom, but she doesn’t take hints well.  She did however, insist that I wrap her presents, even though I saw what she got me.  She keeps secrets worse than I do, so now I’m wearing a lovely chain of Christmas bulbs around my neck.  It’s so cute, one of the other mom’s had to buy one for herself after I modeled mine.  We may be starting a trend.

Somehow, it must have been fog caused by my head exploding, I got roped into running the Santa Sale next year.

Fa, la, la, la, LA!

This morning I went shopping for my kids.  I have to say I love shopping.  We don’t really buy them toys during the year, so Christmas is always a fun time for me.  Instead of saying No, no, NO, I get to say Yes, yes, YES!  They don’t know I’m saying yes though.  It’s a surprise.  Shh-hh.

I’ve had an electronic dog in my closet for a week.  Every time I go to grab some clothes, I have a minor hearty-tack, because this dog starts barking at me like it’s going to tear my foot off.  I even wrapped the critter and still it barks.  And whines.  There’s nothing worse than a battery operated whiner.  I already know I’m never replacing the batteries in that toy.

You wanna hear a true story?

It will make you feel like a better parent after I tell it.

When my kids were babies, my husband and I got so fed up with the random noises one night, that we went around with a pair of pliers and clipped every last wire.  There wasn’t a battery left in the house after we were done, and buying new batteries would never again ‘fix’ the broken toys.

Isn’t that terrible.

Don’t you feel sorry for my kids?

If anyone saw us that night they would have called the men in little white jackets.

For sure!

Anyway, just because I’m writing drivel on the Fringe doesn’t mean there’s not a lot going on in blogland.

Edie has some amazing Christmas food linkies going on.

Flower Patch Farmgirl wrote a great post on the real meaning of Christmas.

Lisa Leonard wears the cutest clothes ever.  Seriously, I would love to shop in her closet.  I would wear every single outfit she’s ever featured on WIWW.

What else?  Do you have any links to share?

 

No Waxing, Dying, Cutting,Plucking, or Tweezing

29 Nov

The other day Laura wrote an unusual and somewhat disturbing post about what she wants if she ever falls into a coma.  At first I read comma and thought “Now how is she gonna fall into a comma?”

Then I graduated from the first grade and started thinking about being in a deep sleep for ninety days.  Would my friends fugettabout me?  Would my family miss me?  Would I lose weight???

Sleeping for ninety days almost started sounding appealing.

Then harsh reality struck.

What would I look like if I stopped shaving, waxing, plucking, dying, and tweezing my hair for ninety days?

Let’s just hope a coma doesn’t strike, or worse, a comma!

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