DON'T PLAY WITH YOUR KIDS!

Unless you are prepared to be seriously injured.

Okay it's not that serious. It just hurts like a mother f*ck@r.

And those last two words are the reason I'm writing this post. 

You see, I have a foul mouth. Evidenced by several of my posts, and by the many uncomfortable moments in mixed company, (that likely included someone's grandmother), where I could have chosen another word, but didn't.

However, the three people in this world I do NOT swear in front of are my kids. And they are not allowed to swear in front of me. (Just ask my 27 year old daughter...but she's not allowed to swear because she has a voice like Mini Mouse, which makes swearing sound ridiculous.)

BUT when your 11 year old son, who is freakishly strong, hurls a baseball in your direction, that just misses your glove, then nails your foot, and in an instant it feels like you are giving birth through your big toe, you apparently forget your swearing rule.

Instead you freeze, stop breathing and after you assure your darling child, who didn't mean to hurt you, that you are okay and it wasn't his fault, you succumb to the pain and become Joe Pesci from Goodfellows.

"Jesus Mother F-ing Christ!", you say in the early stages of toe labor. (You see, the nail of the toe acts like tourniquet. More blood is rushing to the area than can be released. Much like the baby-versus-vagina scenario.)

"Holy F-ing Sh*t Balls!", you scream with the next toe contraction. Then you quite ungracefully hop to the nearest picnic table because the park where you have just been injured is 40 minutes from home, your other son's baseball game just started and you aren't going anywhere for at least 2 hours. You need a place to prop your deleterious digit above your heart so you can get through this without an epidural.  

Finally, as you reach the active stage of toe birth and the DARK BLUE nail is crowning, you rip off a string of expletives that goes something like, "F-ing Mother of God Damn Christ. Why the F does this F-ing Sh*t hurt so much? Get me a C-Sucking gun!"

Suddenly, the triage team of your body's defense system retreats, things start to calm down, and as you open your eyes while still lying face-up on the bench portion of the picnic table, you can faintly see all the heavenly bodies you just verbally assaulted with their arms crossed, one foot tapping, leering down at you like you have just ruined your chances of ever getting in.

Then you look at your child who has gone from 11-41 in five minutes because of your bad behavior. His face is bright red. Not because he is scared or sad, but because he is so delighted that you have broken, nay, shattered your swearing rule so egregiously, that he thinks he can say whatever he wants in front of you for the rest of his life.

Then you both start laughing your asses off.

It's one of those moments the two of us will remember fondly forever.

Yeah, not exactly a Hallmark movie, but it's ours, so F-off.

Love,

Lynda

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

 

No more moon!

(That's not me, BTW.)

Unlike my Astronomy classmates, I'm not on summer vacation. I'm busy working and mooning people in Minnesota, instead of on the coast.

But I did it! I did it! I got through Astronomy and I didn't die!!!!

I thought I might. I really sucked at it at first. So much that I almost dropped the class after one fateful day in February.

(INSERT DREAM-LIKE HARP MUSIC HERE TO TAKE US BACK IN TIME)

I was sitting in my lab group with two kids whose combined ages still made them younger than me. They were whizzing through the mathy stuff (which is not my forte) and after a fun-filled week of taking on one too many boring writing gigs, (and having to say no to a super fun joke-writing gig) losing my cell phone, eradicating lice from my household, and trying to help my 5th grader with his math (in Spanish) and failing, I decided I didn't know shit about shit, I was huge screw up and I should just chuck it all and go work at Super America. 

I didn't.

What I did do was start crying, right there, in front of my teenage lab partners on the fourth floor of the Physics building at the U of M. And because the Physics building is as old as dirt, there isn't a public restroom for a middle-aged freak show having a meltdown to go cry in. Which I learned after racing around both the fourth AND third floors in a desperate search for some privacy. I wound up bawling in a stall on the second floor, next to some other teenagers who were probably really good at math too. Assholes.

So, there I was. Devastated. Humiliated. And noticing how the graffiti in the bathroom stalls of higher learning institutions says stuff like "You are beautiful."instead of "Rachel is a whore." Interesting. Anyway. I had a decision to make. Either march back up there and show those brats who's boss, or write something more appropriately inappropriate on that bathroom stall wall.

I chose the former. I took the rickety elevator up those two flights of stairs back to Astrolab (because my f-ing back was killing me after playing goalie in a knee hockey game with my boys the night before). I bet those little math twats never have to do stuff like THAT. I put my reading glasses on to cover my red eyes, smiled and said, "Sorry. Cramps." Which grossed them out more than made them feel sorry for me, but I wouldn't actually know because this generation is a bunch of friggin' mutes. They don't speak. They don't even make eye contact. It's weird. (But that's another post.) Regardless. We got through the rest of the lab.

And I got a tutor.

He was an opinionated dude who hated God and had a penchant for tangents, (which is how I knew he hated God...and everyone else, but I was paying him so he pretend-liked me). He knew his Astronomy, though and helped me a crapload. It was just the thing to pry me out of my self-loathing slump and get my confidence back to it's fighting weight. 

That's when I started kicking ass.

You wanna know what a comet is made of? BAM!

How about why the the moon is out during the day? BAM!

Is it time to have your mind blown by the enigma that is black holes and dark matter? BAM! BAM! BAM! 

(I'm saying "BAM" because I don't actually know, but I faked it pretty damn well, bitches!)

Kidding. Some of it sunk in and most importantly, I really, really enjoyed the material. Like REALLY enjoyed it. I'm sad it's over. 

What? Who? 

I know.

Learning is fun!

And that's the moral, people.

Don't give up.

Get help.

Get your groove back.

This shit ain't that hard.

It's just logic and junk, and if a knuckle head like me (I) can do it, so can you.

To infinity and beyond!!!!!


Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

I'm a little rusty

It's been forever since I blogged. I need to blog more. I want to blog more. But between work and school and hockey and hockey and hockey, it's tough to find the time. 

So I thought I'd just start with something easy to get back into the swing of things. Like Lndsey Lohan's appearance on SNL last night. (There are things I'm way more excited to blog about like the Paleo Summit created by Sean Croxton of Underground Wellness, but, oh, man, see, half of you just logged off - not everybody likes the healthy junk, so I'm creating a totally new blog to neglect about that stuff. Yay! I'll keep you posted.)

Anyway, Lindsey Lohan on SNL. So I only watched the monologue and one skit because I don't stay up past 9:30 p.m. which means I actually watched those two clips online this morning. But I got the idea. She looked great, besides the stripper hair (or her mom's hair) and the monologue was funny. 

The monologue premise was that SNL was giving Lindsey a chance to comeback and prove that she's changed and is capable and can be trusted, then various cast members came out to "chat" but actually patted her down, checked her pupils, and an alarm went off when she moved off her mark...stuff like that. She did a great job with the self effacing humor and feigned innocence. It was cute. 

BUT...

Apparently that was all the brain space Lindsey had available for memorizing lines or tapping into her craft, because the skit about the Scared Straight program was a hot mess. Correction. Keenan was a riot. It should be an ongoing skit based on his performance (and maybe it is, as I say, I keep granny hours). 

Linsdey, however...complete spaz attack. She flubbed the few lines they gave her during the Scared Straight skit, even when she was blatantly reading them while having a face-to-not-face dialogue with Andy Sandberg. He said his lines perfectly, then, while TOTALLY READING A CUE CARD BEHIND HIS HEAD Lindsey, playing a Scared Straight drill sergeant, said her lines which went something like, "Listen kid, I'm gonna something-something and if you don't listen there's gonna be some-bullshit-I'm-supposed- to-say-next, which I can't friggin' remember, because I can't remember how to tie my own damn shoes or read for that matter. I'm gonna kill my parents and then my agent for making me do this so damn soon. Where's the coke?!!!"

It was brutal. I turned it off before it was over. 

You can watch it here, though.

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/showtracker/2012/03/lindsay-lohan-on-saturday-night-live-fans-rip-hosting-job-.html

That's it. Hopefully my comeback wasn't as bad as Lindsey's.

Next post: Either "I'm perimenopausal!" or "The day I cried in Astronomy lab."

Until then...

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Where the hell have I been!

Oh, nowhere.

Just at school.

GETTING AN "A"!

Yes, it's an "A-" but it's still in the "A" family, so suck it, haters.

And suck it, high school guidance counselor who said I shouldn't even bother with college. (Maybe because I had a crappy academic record there too, and maybe because I was pregnant, and maybe because you caught me skinny dipping after hours at Hillcrest Country Club. But, hey, you were moonlighting as a security guard there, so now who should be ashamed? Yeah, still me.)

Anyway.

Suck it, voice-in-my-head that said I wasn't bright enough to do well in school at 18 or 45. Clearly you were wrong. I give you an "F" for FAILING to see my potential. How do YOU like it voice-in-my-head?

And finally, suck it most of all to my GPA that is still a scathingly low 1.8 something even though I just got an "A". ("A-"). Shut up, voice-in-my-head!

I'm gonna keep going to college to get more knowledge while the rest of you go to Jupiter to get more stupider.

Sorry, that wasn't very nice. The "A" has changed me. My academic elitism shan't last long. (I say "shan't" now because I'm very intelligent.)

Alright, I'm going back into my school cave for Astronomy next so I bid you 'good morrow' (that's Shakespeare). He was a writer. From the 1500's. Romeo and Juliet? Oh, never mind. It's really difficult to have conversations outside the quad now.

LATE! (That's how college kids say goodbye.)

It's exhausting having to explain everything. 

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

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