SUPP(s)PORT.

As spring is springing, I would like to give a shout out to all of the little-league, junior jazz, and little-kid golf (whatever that's called) parents.

It is this time of year, amidst the pollen poisoning and dandelion invasions that I truly have to thank the primo parents who drive their little tots to the more-mud-than-grass parks or the local basketball court that has pretty much been reduced to cement pebbles.

I am, of course, thrilled about the fact that they are volunteering their time to transport their little bundles of boy to an activity that "builds character" or "promotes teamwork" or whatnot, but above all, I am grateful for the entertainment.

It's refreshing to see the fathers who so kindly help Mrs. Blaskenhower cross the street, purple faced and cussing at the ref.

May I just insert here, that I can honestly say I have no idea WHY people yell at refs? I mean, have you ever seen a ref change his mind because of a disgruntled parent? or any ref anywhere change his mind because of anything anyone said?

Ref: "Safe!"
Generic upset sports fan: "What the heck ref?? He was tagged WAY before he hit the base! Are you blind!?!?!?"
Ref: "Oh, pardon me. It seems as though I have made an error. He was clearly out. Uh, change the scoreboard Jimmy."

No, the fuming fans are always left raising the noise pollution until the EPA adds it to the list of Superfund sites.

O.K, O.K. I have to be fair. There are some really GOOD little league parents out there. the kind that buy their sniffling kids chocolate ice cream when they lose, and sit patiently in sheets of rain, waiting for one of the four year olds to finally kick the soccer ball. My heart goes out to you and commend you in your excellent kid- raising techniques.

I had such a father, and he even volunteered to be my soccer team's assistant manager. (which was more than generous, because I was the girl afraid of the ball.) I would love passing the Granite Bakery on our way home from a game. Often when our team lost, he would make that quick stop on the way home to get me a consolation doughnut, and when we won he would make the same stop and get me a doughnut in congratulations.

we would have many car rides where I talked animatedly about how I assisted a team player in making a goal (I figured that every time I kicked the ball, I was helping the next person on my team who scored.) Or we just chatted about school and my day, and everything else an eight year old thinks about.

I miss putting on my generic reversible soccer shirt, and having some quality daddy daughter time with my pops, who had already spent the day working hard at the office.

And while I might not agree that making or not making a shot, or basket, or goal, or home run constitutes the end of the world, I think that playing sports as a little kid gave me time with my daddy that I wouldn't trade for anything.

so here's to all the gold medal winners of parent-of-a-kid-who-plays-sports Olympics! you're always there, you lug the lawn chairs, and you have just enough orange slices at halftime.

What an Eggventure!

Dear mysterious benefactor,

I have come up with a few possibilities of why you felt it necessary to leave egg on my car.

1. you have heard through the grapevine that i sometimes have an un-suppressible urge for omelets, and you wanted to give me enough eggs to make a few, without giving away your secret crush for me.

2. you were graciously trying to give my car one of those all-natural egg-white perms.

3. you own a small chicken farm, and stole all the eggs at fresh market to create scarcity. when you saw a cop driving down my street, you panicked and threw the eggs out of the nearest window (where they happened to land on my car.)

4. you have just come from a small town overseas, where throwing eggs at one's vehicle is a sign of friendship.

5. you were teaching your child to spell. and in desperation to make it fun, started having your child spell words with egg yoke on people's cars.

6. you are protesting salmonella, and wanted to raise awareness.

7. you have kindly noticed that i don't get enough exercise, and thought that having me scrape egg for half an hour would be a good solution.

8. you were trying to re-create Jackson Pollock's painting "Number 5" with a new, creative medium. (eggs)

9. you were trying to help my car catch bugs by coating it in a sticky substance (just in case i'm one of those people who collects bugs of different sizes, and frames them in glass)

10. in case of zombie apocolipse, you wanted me to be safe (because everyone knows that zombies are horrified of eggs)

I'm sure that your reason for leaving egg on my car falls into the aforementioned senarios, and i thank you very much for your deep concern. And next time, leave the bacon.

love,
Hope

valentiME!

I know, i know. i have already posted about Valentine's day. BUT. It is one of my most absolute favorite holidays on the face of this country! why, you ask? well, as you might have been able to tell from my previous status, I do not have "that someone special" who buys me 2,000 calories worth of Hershey's assorted-flavors-most-of-them-taste-like-unidentifiable-imitation-fruit chocolates. I DO however have a pair of rockin' pink sunglasses that my mother (who takes pity on me) got me, and two very special valentines. Ben and Jerry.

Actually, i just love Valentine's day because it reminds couples to show their affection, and how much they really DO love each other.

...........................

also, it gives me an excuse to pamper myself outrageously.

picture this.

old, stained, yet clean and dryer-smelling sweats paired with a random t-shirt from a poorly publicized event that no one really remembers. toss in a little music, a little dancing by yourself, and a little slacking off homework (just kidding, mom) and you've got yourself one heck of a just-you valentine's day.

but wait! there's more! we haven't even come to the main event! It's now time for the cheesy, overdone, fall-back-on-this-if-all-else-fails part! the watching of the chick flick!



O.K. now this is a SERIOUS THING.

you can't pick a film that was obviously made in a couple months, relying on an all-star cast to make up for the lack of plot and poor dialogue. (sadly there goes "Valentine's Day," "Dear John," "The Last song" and many others)

you also can't pick one that doesn't actually have a happy ending (think "My best friend's Wedding")

Another tragic mistake is choosing a film that you have seen recently, or just too many times. sadly, this rules out some of the BEST CHICK FLICKS! for me, i can't watch "The Princess Bride," "Enchanted," "She's The Man," "Sydney White,"..............and an assortment of others. now, you might be tempted to just pop one of these in the VCR (do those still exist?), but trust me. you can't enjoy even a TOP NOTCH chick flick if you can quote it be heart. in your sleep. upside down. underwater. (although if you are underwater, you have bigger problems than what line comes next)

the next tip is optional, because sometimes you can pull it off. but as a general rule, don't go to the theater to see a movie. all the other pity-party-of-one's will be there sniff sniff sniffling into their pocket size kleen-x. also, it will be packed, parking will be a nightmare, and you'll have to stand outside in the cold to buy your tickets.......no bueno.

instead, why not spend it chillin like a villain, in your own swankified basement? mani-pedi's are a must. and facials. (even you, boys. no one can tell that you had one, but your face is baby-smooth)

there you go. why i love Valentine's day so much. who needs boys when you have YOU?!?!




and a few high fructose corn syrup snacks to ease the pain.

I Dove valentine's day.

So I was eating some Dove chocolate (like one does when valentine's day draws near) and on the inside of the wrapper, instead of saying "You're Beautiful" or "Live Your Dreams" as per usual, it said "Be Your Own Valentine."

ouch.

apparently even nationwide companies know that I'm all by my wonesome this valentine's day.

well Dove, you have inspired the following poem by Hope, your favorite random customer.

I'll tell me "I love you"
and hold my own hand
I'll buy us one ticket
to see a good band

I'll get me some flowers
to brighten my day
and send me a postcard
when I'm far away.

I'll get me some chocolates
a dozen or two
I don't think I'll mind
if I sneak just a few

I'll buy me a dress
as a lovely surprise
I certainly hope
I can guess my right size

and if I am wrong,
everything will be fine
cause I can't get upset,
I'm my own valentine.

Oh I just turned Eight...............(teen)

When you turn six, you are so excited because you've waited your whole long life to be able to go to big-kid school, and kindergarten is finally here!

when you turn twelve you are excited because you get to exit baby school, and join the big leagues of junior high! the smells of B.O, the flirting, the cafeteria stains that look they've been there for 85 years...you're practically a grown up.

when you turn sixteen, you FINALLY get your driver's license. driving to McDonalds at 10:30, cruising with your friends around the neighborhood, and did i mention DATING?!? *(oh whatevs, it's nbd. i'm like totes independent.)

when you turn eighteen, you wish that you could put on your flowered jumper again, and crawl into a corner. why? you're independent. you're an adult. you're a real big-kid.

let me tell you.

there is a huuuuuuuuge difference between feeling independent and being independent. there is a massive separation between feeling grown up, and being a grown-up. there are oceans between "having an adult conversation" and being an adult, having a conversation.

when you're in the midst of a "big-kid" illusion, you feel like you're on top of the world, but somewhere deep inside you, you know that if you have a major mess up, you have the legal right to hide behind your mommy. When you're actually an 18 year old, you suddenly don't need anyone to sign your permission slip, you have to start paying for stuff, and a juvenile detention center? you can forget about it pal, cause you're tried as an adult!

sure, sure. my friends gave me the typical "hurry and do something illegal" jokes on the day before THE DAY, but it didn't lessen the blow that now, i have to tie my own shoes. (figurativly speaking of course. i learned how to tie my shoes early in life.)

i'm sure there will be days when this little 18 will come in handy (curfew? what curfew?) but at the moment, i feel more like getting my blankie than going to the bank-ie.

who knows.

maybe eighteen will be fun.

maybe i'll go hang gliding, or snorkeling in bio-luminescent waters, or hike to mount Everest, or win a Nobel prize, or find the cure to foot fungus, or write a novel, or paint a masterpiece, or go to every continent, or invent a a teleporter, or eat a peanut butter sandwich (yeah, right) or sew a dress!.

anyways,

in times of trouble, I like to turn to a wise doctor who once said

"oh the places you'll go!"

................

now that i'm eighteen.




(*teenage translator for adults:
"whatevs"- Whatever
"nbd"- no big deal
"totes"- totally)