Back To School!

Watch out U of M. She's baaaaaack.

That's right. This fall I will be joining the other "returning students" (a.k.a.  kids who totally blew it back in the day and are now trying to claw their way back to finish their degree.) at my alma mater, The University Of Minnesota.

"But, Lynda. I can't believe you don't have your Bachelors degree. You have a flourishing career in advertising."

Yeah, that has nothing to do with being bright.

All you have to do to be a copywriter is watch a crapload of TV as a kid, be super insecure - making you very competitive, grow up in a "unique" family that inspires you to use humor as a coping skill, then have a baby at 18, which propels you into adulthood prematurely but eqips you with an indefatigable drive to provide. Easy peasy.

So why finish? And why now?

It's always nagged at me that I didn't finish. (Remember the insecurity piece?) Plus, I'm a senior (college, not citizen) for Christ's sake and every time I fill out some credit card form or loan application or something at the DMV and it asks about "degrees earned" giving you the choice of either "high school diploma" or "bachelors degree" and nothing in between, instead of drawing the middle finger over that section like I usually do, I can circle "bachelors degree". (No, I can't just circle it. I didn't actually earn it yet and I'm not going to lie. I may manipulate people into buying stuff they don't need for a living but I'm not a liar. Jeez.)

Okay, so there's a bigger reason I want to go back to school. I not only want to finish my degree but I want to earn a Masters. 

What? 

I KNOW! I'll be 60 by the time I finish. But I don't care.

Ultimately, I want to write books about nutrition. (In case you haven't noticed, I kind of geek out on that stuff. ) But unlike advertising, some careers require accreditation.

So one day, instead of shaming people into eating better as a layperson, I'll be shaming them as a Functional Diagnostic Nutritionist. Booya!

And since I'm so friggin' healthy, I'm gonna live to be 117, so I'd better damn well have something to do with my life...in addition to advertising, because I will always love advertising and do it forever.(That last part was for my clients.)

Anyway, my actual point in blogging about this is to tell you how hilarious it has been to get back into the mix, because colleges are designed for late teens and early twenty-somethings, not well-worn adult types.

When I was registering for an e-mail account at the U, the password secret-question-suggestions were as follows:

First car

Best friend

High school mascot

Sure, I can remember all these things, (my former drinking habit only ruined my short-term memory), but they aren't exactly relevant to my current life.

I recommended to my adviser that the secret-question-suggestions for returning students be tailored more appropriately to their lives, like so:

First spouse

Best friend with breast cancer

High school reunion hookup

She reminded me I was on academic probation.

The next day I got a packet in the mail addressed to "The parents of Lynda Crotty" encouraging them to purchase season tickets for Gopher sports on my behalf because, according to the brochure, "students who support their team, take their degree more seriously."

So THAT was my problem the last time?

I thought it was because I had a toddler to feed and I couldn't keep up with school and five jobs as an aerobics instructor. (Yep. Aerobics. Shut up.)

So I called my damn parents and I said, "Listen, you buy me those tickets or the next time you get hip surgery, I will not be changing your wound dressing. You've been warned."

I haven't seen the tickets yet.

If I blow it this time, I'll just have one more reason to hate myself...and them.

But a little more self-loathing will only strengthen my career in advertising.

Go Gophers!

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Sucks to be him

I read this story about a month ago but I couldn't let it go un-blogged-about. 

So there's this bear in Tennessee, right? And a couple of months ago he was dumpster diving for food when he got his head stuck in a plastic jar. 

At first, I'm sure the bear was like "Doi. I just shoved my head inside a jar." Then he was probably all, "Holy crap, I can't get this thing off." Then he was likely thinking, "Rachel is gonna kill me!" (Rachel would be the bear in the photo waiting for her food that is NEVER coming.) Then he probably felt some fear, followed by panic, followed by despair, and ultimately, acceptance.

Because this poor bear went for THREE WEEKS with a stupid plastic jar on his head, in the sweltering heat, not eating but drinking by dipping the jar into water, filling it to the point of drowning, then consuming the water fast enough to breathe again. 

The poor dear self-water-boarded for almost a month just to survive! (Rachel must be one, sweet roll in the cave.)

So three weeks, a hundred and seventeen civilian sightings and seventy five pounds later, a wildlife officer spotted and darted him.

They pried the jar off, pumped him full of fluids, got him up on his feet and sent him back into the wild. (Hopefully with some photos to prove to Rachel that his unlikely story was indeed the truth.)

The End

(Not so fast)

Did you seriously think I was going to let you get away without a passionate monologue on the evils of processed food?

What does this have to do with processed food?

Simple.

The only "food" that comes in those ginormous plastic jars are Red Vines, Cheese Puffs or Giant Pickles (that, frankly, Rachel was probably using for anything but eating while her poor, jar-headed beau was out of town.) 

Because when it comes to junk food, even wild animals only eat it when they're desperate, but we humans go to the gas station and stock our cupboards with it.

Why??????

It has become our nature. We don't even think about it. And if someone points it out, we snarl. (Like you're doing right now.) It's okay. I get it. It's not easy to make the shift to real food, but it's possible and I hope you will consider it.

I also hope that until you do, if you should buy any products that come in a big plastic jar, bottle, bucket or are tethered together with those plastic rings, you will cut the plastic to bits before recycling it. That alone could have saved this poor bear from three weeks of torture. Just like eliminating processed foods from your diet can save you from a lifetime of health problems. 

Okay, fine. I'm done. 

But the next time you go camping, if a deer kicks the crap out of you because it has a Mountain Dew bottle stuck up it's butt, don't come crying to me.

That's my way of saying, "I care."

Here's the article on the bear:
http://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2011/jul/21/tennessee-black-bear-saved-jar-stuck-its-head/

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Hey you, don't be snootie, stick a camera up your bootie!

No, no, no. That's not what I mean.

Let your doctor do it.

YOU should never stick anything up your butt. No matter how far you are from home, how drunk you are, or how cute he is.

Are we clear? Okay.

So I just read an article on CNN.com about how the incidence of Colon Cancer is on the decline BECAUSE Colonoscopies are on the rise.

Yay!

However, Colon Cancer is still the second most common cancer in both men and women in the U.S. and results in about 50,000 deaths per year.

Boo!

Why? Because not everyone at risk is getting tested. 

Why? Because, as you may or may not have heard, Colonoscopies are actual, literal pains in the ass.

Not only is the procedure uncomfortable but the prep is too. But, as a wise doctor quoted in the CNN article notes, "So is dying young from a preventable disease."

What is young? Oh, forties (if you have a family history) or fifties-and-up if you don't.

So, what can you do?

Get screened, dude!

It's not that bad. (I had it done in my twenties for IBS junk.) Yeah, it sucked, but it wasn't as painful as giving birth. And back in the day, I had hangovers that made me want to kill myself. This was nothing compared to those.

So, have I sold you?

Good.

Bootie bravery rules!

Here is the CNN.com article. (Please read then get-er-dun!)

http://thechart.blogs.cnn.com/2011/07/05/colon-cancer-screening-saves-lives-but-more-need-to-do-it/

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Is it football season yet?

Hello, gorgeous.

This is our new quarterback, Minnesota.

Hiiiiiiii...

Even the Vikings know that when you're going through a rough patch, it helps to go buy something pretty.

His name is Christian Ponder.

He's 23.

He's from Texas. Or maybe Arizona. Who cares.

When he was in Kindergarten, his teacher told his parents he was so shy that she was worried he would get beat up.

Awwww.

Can he get any cuter?

He just did!

Well, I don't know jack about the gridiron, but I will be buying my first set of season tickets and I will be front and center come September...or is it August...can't it be June?

Maybe I'll just go drive really close to Winter Park, and "get a flat tire"... "in daisy dukes and a bikini top".

Gross. I'm 44.

Fine.

I'm totally getting a poster...and I'm making out with it...and I don't care what you say Tom Brady poster. It's over.

Skoll Vikings...(Sung like Marilyn Monroe sang Happy Birthday to JFK).

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

I'm so glad the world didn't end.

Because next months is chock-full of awesomeness.

1.) Jury duty.

2.) Annual exam.

3.) My tabs expire on my car.

4.) My AFTRA and SAG dues need to be renewed.(And I haven't booked a SAG job in like 8 years.)

5.) Numbers 3 and 4 mean less Banana Republic shopping, AND it's two of my friends' birthdays, AND father's day AND daddy's birthday. (I don't care for some of the people on that list but I need to cough up anyway.)

6.) I still haven't found the perfect nude shoe for summer.

7.) I hate summer.

8.) Hockey season is only 133 days away.

9.) I'm short. (I'm always irked about that, but the above list just adds to the pain.)

10.) Every garden center is out of basil.

11.) No, purple basil isn't the same. 

12.) I'm not bikini-age-appropriate but thinner than ever. #@$!

13.) Annual exam. (Yes, I listed it twice. I have a HUGE crush on my OBGYN, making it extra awkward.) 

Of course, there are many things to be excited about, happy about, and grateful for...but they aren't funny.

Okay, June. Bring it. 

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

This makes me happy to be alive.

I heard about this book on MPR last night and had to check my settings to make sure I was actually listening to MPR.

Yep.

Because the on-air guy said there was a new bedtime book called Go the F**k to Sleep.

Awwww.

(Not for kids, of course.)

It BLEEPED him on the F**k part but I knew what he said because I've thought it a million times.

This author is a genius. (And I haven't even read the book.) But the idea alone kills me. And the guy on the air read a passage from the book that was even more explative-riddled than the title. All woven into very traditional, bedtimey prose. Brilliant.

And whether or not you want to admit it, you have thought this as you tuck your darlings in at night. The day is done. You're done. Your eyebrows need tweezing. Top Chef is on and it's time to chill for a full 30 minutes before you pass out from exhaustion.

This book tells you, you're not alone. Because no matter how much you love your kids, (And no one loves their kids more than I do. Do not. Do not.)  it's work to be a parent (A good one, anyway.) and "me time" is an essential component of good parenting.

So get the book, kiss your babies goodnight, and if they want another glass of water, well, sucks to be them.

Mommy out.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Pirates In Super Huge Trouble

CNN.com reported Tuesday that a couple of real, live pirates were recently sentenced to 439 years of prison each. (Yep, you read that right.)

Ooh, that judge must have been mad. (Read sing-songy like a street-wise girl making that wobbly-headed gesture.)

Maybe they are animated Disney pirates? How else could they live long enough to serve that sentence?

Or

Maybe the judge was so miffed he just completely tweaked out and threatened them with something that would never actually happen.

Kinda like when you were in high school and your parents did the old, "YOU'RE GROUNDED FOR A MONTH!" Then two days later they were so sick of your stupid face they called your 21 year old boyfriend to come pick up their 15 year old daughter. (Or some random scenario that never happened to me.)

Anyway, back to the pirates. I can just hear the sentencing:

JUDGE:  So let's see, you guys hijacked a Spanish fishing boat and held 36 sailors hostage for 47 days? What the (BLEEP) is wrong with you? I suppose there was drinking...and girls too...and who was driving the boat, may I ask? Forget it. I don't even want to know. You make me sick. Why, I have half a mind to put you in prison forever. Oh, don't you look at me like that. You wanna be a big shot? Fine. You can just think about what you did in the joint for...for...for...439 years! Yes, I'm serious! And no phone!

However...

Turns out the maximum they'll serve is 30 years. (Maximum, so like 2 years.)

Told ya'.

And I bet they will totally get to go to prom.

Check out the story here.

http://www.cnn.com/2011/WORLD/europe/05/03/spain.pirates.convicted/index.html

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Is your doctor a ding dong?

Like my brother says, "They can't all graduate at the top of their class."

Word.

Am I just jealous of doctors because I want to be a doctor? Yes, but that's beside the point.

And I should clarify:

I am not jealous of ALL doctors. I like the smart, cool forward-thinking kind. The big-picture doctors who ask questions and light up when you give them an answer because they're fascinated by science, not by themselves. I love doctors who dig for new information because they sense there is more to learn as opposed to the doctors who blindly regurgitate the stuff they were fed in medical school.

Speaking of regurgitating, let me introduce you to a couple of the doctors I don't care for...the ding dongs to which I referred in the title of this post.

Dr.'s Jamie Kaufman and Jordan Stern, authors of Dropping Acid: The Reflux Diet Cookbook and Cure.

I just saw a feature on their work at Health.com entitled 13 Foods That Reduce Acid Reflux.

http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20440834,00.html

It gave me heartburn.

Now unless I missed the full title of the feature and it's actually called "13 Foods That Reduce Acid Reflux OR Make You Pee Out Of Your A$$", they're ding dongs.

I better go double-check real quick.

I'm back. They're ding dongs.

See, after suffering with acid reflux for years, I know which foods to avoid, but I'm not sure Dr.'s Kaufman and Stern do. If I ate some of the 13 things they recommend to avoid reflux, it would be a very unlucky 13 indeed.

For example, things like Oatmeal and Couscous (first and last on their list) would make me quite an unwelcome dinner companion. Because, like many who are prone to acid reflux, I am gluten-intolerant, making things like Oats and Wheat (contained in Oatmeal and Couscous) big no-nos.

But Lynda, not everyone is gluten intolerant.

Really? The protein in our wheat supply is 50% bigger than it was in the 1950's, (we messed with nature)making it difficult for everyone to digest, not just those with Celiac disease, not just those with wheat allergies and not just those with gluten-intolerance. Everyone. So if you're experiencing reflux, gluten is a likely culprit.

But if it's not bad enough that the Dr.'s Doi tout some of the very things that cause reflux, they also pull on their leg warmers, krimp their hair and get all 80's by dragging around the low fat craze and recommending things like stripping the skin off chicken and avoiding "high fat" salad dressings. But there is no warning to watch out for those dressings containing wheat or MSG or processed oils. (Some of the stuff that causes negative GI reactions.) And although they recommend broccoli, which is great, they neglect to recommend cooking the broccoli, which helps those with sensitive systems digest it.

Admittedly, I didn't read the book, just the Health.com feature, and maybe they touch on food intolerance in Dropping Acid, but if I were a doctor, which I'm not (MLEH...that's me sticking my tongue out.) I would make sure my footnotes were everywhere my work was published, because one of the good things doctors learn in medical school is "first do no harm."

I wish the reflux docs had regurgitated that.

Unfortunately, for those who of you who have reflux, I think the only way to avoid harm with this book, is to use it as a step stool to reach a better book.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Seriously?

Kids keep getting boozed at America's chain restaurants:

-A 15 month old got a Margarita at an Applebees.

-A 2 year old got Sangria at an Olive Garden.

-A 4 year old got a "Mudslide" at a Chili's.

What up?

I'll tell you what. No one knows how to drink properly anymore.

What ever happened to a nice shot of whiskey? A stiff martini? A Scotch on the rocks? There's no way to accidentally serve a toddler one of those.

Not only is the way we drink messing with our kids, it's disrespectful.

Do you think that after our forefathers went to all the trouble of forging a new nation, they got together at an Outback for Daiquiris? I don't think so.

It was Cognac by the fire and you know it.

They knew how to drink like men. And so should we. (Yes, even if we're women. Wha.)

But the way most Americans drink is way more Ghetto than Gettysburg. (And I don't mean ghetto in the Elvis song kind of way, I mean it in the low-classy-pain-in-the-assy way - which has nothing to do with geography, race or economics.)

It's more like Britney Spears, barreling out of a Starbucks, weave exposed, last night's makeup smeared down to her filthy blouse and a sundae (disguised as coffee) in her busted-manicured hand.

That's not coffee! And where are your kids?

Probably at a Red Lobster sucking down Pina Coladas.

Oi.

Come on, America, class it up. Steer clear of the chains, make dinner at home, crack open a lovely bottle of wine and model for your kids how to drink (and eat) like civilized people.

It's safer, healthier and would make our founding fathers proud...and as Franklin might say, "If you don't have to make a trip to the ER after dinner, it will save you some Benjamins."

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

I love the Sports section?

Okay so lately I've been noticing that the first section I select from the morning paper is...

The Sports section! 

I know. It's crazy. I'm all girl.(I checked.) There is nothing down there that is undescended or scratch-worthy, and certainly nothing that could get me into trouble if I were alone in a movie theater. Honest to Pete. (Or Peter).

So what gives? 

I'll tell you what. It's the mom in me. The protector. The one whose radar goes off when someone gets hurt, then wants to rush in, fix the boo-boo and hand over a cookie. (Gluten free, of course.) 

When I pick up the sports section, I'm not looking for scores or standings or information that will help me choose a fantasy roster. I'm wondering things like:

How is that new Twins second baseman doing?(Yeah, I know the Twins have a new second baseman.) But I didn't until he broke his femur. Now I know exactly who he is, what he looks like, and that he is the most upstanding gentleman in pro sports. (He apologized to his coach for breaking his leg!) If I had his mom's address, I'd send her a note. I even call him 'Elvis' because of his hair. I have a nickname for the Twins second baseman!

Say what now?

I also want to get to the bottom of Joe Mauer's infection. Are we sure that's what we're dealing with? (Notice how "we" includes me?) Did we leave no stone unturned? Has he been exposed to any freaky allergens on those grody airplanes he's always flying on? What is his medical history? Does he know a naturopathic doctor? I do. And I want him to see her. I'm not kidding. This stuff nags at me!

And don't even get me started on Percy Harvin. I know why he has migraines, and if he would just come and stay with mama (me) for a couple of months - it's maternal, so back off - I could fix him right up. I don't want him taking all those unhealthy meds that are just going to cause more problems, hide the clues to the real problems and make the poor dear sicker. As far as I know, he is still suffering with those awful headaches and it makes me crazy. I mean it really bothers me. I can't tell you much about his game, or his background or even his position...Receiver? But I know he gets owies on his wittle head and I want to help.

So, I guess what I really love isn't so much the Sports section, as the people in the Sports section who need their mommy. Their self-anointed, non-birth, health-obsessed mommy.

Maybe you think that's weird?

Maybe you should take some vitamin D, eat leafy greens and get more sleep?

Mommy's gonna go read the paper.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Who's the prettiest president?

Oh yeah. I know what's important. And I also know what wins. The "it factor". Even when it comes to the president.

It's no secret we've become a nation of celebrity worshipers, even when we create the celebrities ourselves.  (Hi, Snookie, Hi, all boy bands, Hi, Jerry Seinfeld's wife's cookbook.)

What up?

Maybe our over-sharing, hyper-stimulated, instant-gratification-addicted society has caused us to burn through all the people with actual talent and left us wanting more. And like a bunch of sad Giapettos, we are trying to turn Pinnochios into real boys left and right.

Regardless of his credentials, that goes for our Commander-In-Chief too.

These days, it's not enough for the leader of the free world to be strong, skilled, brave and level headed. He needs a little something extra. Like Certs...with Retsin.

Gimmicks rule. Especially during elections.

Some evidence:

In 1992 Bill Clinton, a guy no one really knew, put down his one-hitter, picked up his "ax" and showed the country what was really important in a president by playing an Elvis song on his sex-a-phone on Arsenio Hall. Even in my twenties, I was thinking,  "There's a talent portion to this program? What the hell is he doing?" Duh. Winning. The country swooned...even the guys. (Yes you did.) Then he acted like a frat boy and was impeached.

Next.

George Dub-ya.

Awwww, who's a wittle pwesident? Do you wanna be a politician when you grow up or a cowboy, Georgie? Both? Oh, you're so ambitious! Okay. Here's a ten gallon hat and a grudge. Giddyup!

Is it any wonder that the golden child was always one press-conference-question away from covering his ears and yelling, "Stop talking to me you poopy heads. I can't hear you!" No problem.

Next.

Oprah's pick for president. Barack Obamaaaaaaaaaaaaah. (Please read like Mya Rudolph playing Oprah on SNL or like Oprah.)

An Oprah endorsement? Instant "it factor". And it doesn't hurt that the endorsee is the face of America's melting pot, and that most women throw their panties at the TV every time he's on. (What? He's dreamy.)

Next.

Next? Why, what could be next? 

Doesn't the incumbent have a lock on 2012?

Well, I don't know. Has he learned to yodel the Star Spangled Banner or grow little Uncle Sam shaped potatoes in his organic garden? 

(SEXY MUSIC REVS UP)

Hey, do you hear that? Isn't that the stripper music from Gilligan's Island that plays every time Ginger shows up? It is! But that isn't Tina Louise, it's, it's....

Sarah Palin AND Michelle Bachman!!!!

Ohhhhhhhh, they're so pretty.

AVERT YOUR EYES!

But they're pretty. How can that be bad? They probably smell good too.

RUN AWAY!

But they're MILF's, GILFS, even, in power suits, and one of them wears glasses so she must be smart.

IT'S A MIRAGE. THEY'LL EAT YOUR FACE OFF!

Don't be silly. The short one has Angela Basset arms. She's strong AND pretty. I can't decide which one I like best. I pick both.

YOU CANT DO THAT!

We make exceptions for pretty people. Co-presidents seems nice and inclusive and all fairsey squarsey. 

BUT THEY DON'T EVEN LIKE THAT IDEA. LOOK THEY'RE WRESTLING!

Mud wrestling. Wow. That's hot. Heeey, maybe that should be their campaign slogan... delivered by Paris Hilton...and we could combine their names like Brangelina! 

Squee! Let's try it. 

Paris, take one:

PARIS: "Pal-man, that's hot."
SOME OFFICIAL SOUNDING DUDE: Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachman. The hot ticket.
  
(GRUNGE VERSION OF HAIL TO THE CHIEF)

And scene.

Think it can't happen? Maybe we should ask Jesse Ventura. If we can turn The Jersey Shore off long enough to send him a tweet.

The preceding in no way represents my political leanings because I don't have any. As my friend Steph says, I'm a walking contradiction. Don't let my composting OR my God loving inform your opinion of where I stand politically. I don't stand anywhere. I mostly just run around playing tag.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Oh my F-ing G!

It's snowing again. It's freezing again. It's winter again.


The first day of spring was two days ago.


God clearly hates us.


What did we do?


We're Minnesotans. We're harmless. We go to bed early and take our vitamins. "Minnesota Nice" wouldn't exist without us!


WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN US, LORD????????????


I don't want much. I just want to un-clench my butt cheeks and wear the cute bomber jacket I got last fall that I could only wear for five minutes because winter wouldn't wait it's turn! And now winter is overstaying it's welcome like the narcissistic ass that it is, and I'm gonna blow a nut!


We have to do something. We're smart people. Winter is taking advantage of us and we don't have to put up with it anymore. It's very co-dependent, you guys and we live in the rehab capitol of the world. Folks come from all over to heal in Minnesota.


Let's show them why!


The twelve steps work here too.


Off we go:


1.) Admitted we were powerless over winter and that our lives had become unmanageable.
2.) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. (For me, it's my bomber jacket. You guys can put your own thing here).
3.) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him. (It's not really God's fault that winter won't leave. That was my cold butt cheeks talking...and the cunning and baffling evil that is winter.)
4.) Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. (For instance, I let my roots grow too long. I think I was punishing myself because I thought I deserved it after being in an unhealthy relationship with winter.)
5.) Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. (See step 4...I kind of multi-tasked there.)
6.) Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. (Decided I could do something about my roots if I wanted to.)
7.) Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings. (I made an appointment for an all-over color with foils. Just take my lead here, people.)
8.) Made a list of all the people we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all. (Maybe you offended a bunch of strangers by going to Target in sweat pants...your winter-weight pair :@, maybe you stopped shoveling that elderly lady's walk, maybe you stopped sitting next to the other hockey moms at the last few games because you got tired of pretending you had anything in common with them and it started to feel like high school fakeness, and once again, you were the bitch - or something.)
9.) Made direct amends to such people whenever possible except when to do so would injure them or others. (Yeah, do what you can here. Hockey moms are exempt. YES, I'M MAKING THE RULES!)
10.) Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. (I haven't even stepped out of the house yet and I already have to make an amend for what I wrote in 8.)
11.) Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him, praying only for the knowledge of his will for us and the power to carry that out. (Just checked in and God's will for me today is to shop online for the perfect spring boots. Yay!)
12.) Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others (done) and practice these principals in all our affairs.


Watch out, winter, we're detaching with love!


Okay, good luck everybody. And if you get the urge to shove that ice-scraper where it doesn't belong, call your sponsor. (That would be me...so comment to your sponsor.)


Peace.


Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

What the hell just happened?

I freaked my son out yesterday... kinda like this kid.

There were no donkeys involved. I did the freaking out all by myself, and completely by accident.

Kind of.

We were at the local park taking his and his brother's go-kart out for a spin. While one would whiz around, the other would walk with me and we'd chat about life...hockey, gum, how stupid Justin Bieber is, hockey...

So while my youngest was taking a turn on the go-kart, my oldest got a sudden case of the hiccups. Which is when his clever mom decided to take the opportunity, mid-sentence, to do the old BOO! trick.

But instead of making his hiccups go away, it made his right foot slam down onto my left foot so hard that I saw stars.

It went like this:

HICCUP

BOO!

AH!

OW! WHAT'D YOU DO THAT FOR?

I DON'T KNOW. GUESS IT WAS MY INSTINCT WHEN YOU SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME.

He's a logical guy for 10 years old. 

And the boo trick bites.

Next time I'll go with bitters and a lime. 

(My son's reaction to my hiccup "remedy" reminded me of this classic video of the guy who pretends to electrocute himself, then gets a banana in the face, which I found by Googling "guy pretends to electrocute self, gets banana in face". You can Google anything. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=do7InNH9wx4)

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc