Field Trippin’

February 25, 2019February 25, 2019 / momsequitur / Leave a comment

When I was five, I learned the meaning of the phrase, “heathen savages”.

The kindergarten class of Lad-N-Lassie School in Mobile, Alabama went on a field trip to a local fire station. When we arrived, one of the fire fighters met us and showed us all around the inside of the station house.

Frankly, it was dull. We saw the kitchen, dormitory, offices, and a living/rec room where the firemen hung out between calls. We wanted to see the Dalmatian and a house fire. We wanted to go flying down the road hanging onto the truck wearing giant raincoats.Finally, we were led into the engine bay. Our guide spread his arms wide and told us, “Go ahead, kids. Look around. Have some fun!”

Have you ever seen one of those videos where they drop Mentos into a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke? How it explodes, shoots out of the top, and then just keeps exploding ‘til the bottle’s about empty?That was pretty much the entire kindergarten class of Lad-N-Lassie that day.

Except, shockingly, me.

Here’s the thing. My dad was in the Coast Guard. He flew; in either helicopters or very large airplanes. He welded them when something needed welding, navigated when they were flying, and jumped into the ocean to rescue folks when they got there.I grew up visiting the base, running around giant hangers, and climbing in and around huge flying machines.

So, to me, a couple of fire trucks were not the fascinating novelty they may have been to other children. But I had spied something that did seize and hold my attention. It was all I could see, and all I could think about. It was that great, shining fireman’s pole. Next to it was a compact metal circular staircase. In caper movies, or films with a big escape scene they all have one thing on common. The need for a distraction. Something to draw the eye and engage the concentration.

If I had ordered a distraction out of the Sears Roebuck catalog, I don’t think it could have been any better.Two classmates were stuck in one giant rubber boot having a slap fight. A couple of kids were doing what looked like swing dancing on the roof of a truck. One girl had found the horn and I think was attempting to play “The Girl from Ipanema” on it. One boy, named Prairie, had taken off his shirt and was sitting on the floor whacking two helmets like bongo drums. The teachers and chaperones were dividing their time between running after some children and begging others to get down.

The fireman/tour guide looked like he wanted to cry.Keeping one eye on the chaos, I sidled over to the steps and started up, thinking as hard as I could, “I’m invisible, you can’t see me, I’m invisible…”

At the top, I wrapped my arms around the pole. I took a deep breath, leaned in, and gave a little hop into space. I slid down, my brand new field trip dress blown up around my shoulders, my underwear fluttering in the wind. It was the most exciting 1 & ½ seconds of my young life.My feet hit the ground about the time the adults registered my trip. I was the first and last kid to make the journey that day. With the assistance of the rest of the fireman, us kindergarten cats were herded out and onto the bus for the drive back to school.

At dinner that night Mom and Dad asked how the trip went. My answer was a question.

“What are heathen savages?”Thanks for your time.

Trigger Warning

February 19, 2019 / momsequitur / Leave a comment

You know, when it came to spouses, I think I got pretty lucky.

If I had to put up with me, I would either run for the hills, or drop a piano on my head (although where I’d get a piano, or get it airborne, is a puzzler).

Billie Holiday, and her puppy, Mister(!).

My capacity for self-knowledge is on a similar level of my ability to sing like Billie Holiday or sit through more than five minutes of the Bachelor. But I do know this much. My last nerve can get strummed at the drop of a fedora. But, my ire disappears just as quickly. And, I have enough self-control that when I do pop off it’s directed only at the offending situation, not innocent bystanders.I am not one to ‘take it out’ on people or animals who are at hand, but in no way responsible for my pique. I only hurl my stinging invectives toward the situational catalyst.

So, furiosity comes easy, goes quick, and I rarely lash out at the people around me. The main reason is I know what a giant pain in the keister I am at my default setting. I’m not going to go out of my way to be extra-double-secret-vexatious and alienate friends and family.But Petey and I are around each other most of the time, so he gets the most exposure to my displeasure, despite the fact that the true object of my ire is in the TV box, or the telephone, or doesn’t even actually exist, and I’m just bellowing into the void. My vociferous proclamations still roll over him and then recede, like some cranky ocean tide.

But, the things that provoke me are truly infuriating; they are things that should anger any right-thinking human.The government announced the other day that the progress they’d made to keep kids nicotine-free has completely been erased—by vaping.

Vaping!

The manufacturers claim that they have no desire for children to use these products. But they sell flavors like fruity pebbles, coco pops, bubblegum, and unicorn poop (yup—unicorn poop).And now they’re airing commercials in which adult smokers talk about how they switched from cigarettes to vaping, and ain’t life grand? I guess it’s better because…they can do it at church or sitting on the nice sofa?

Here’s the deal. There are hundreds of chemicals in each pod. But nobody’s sure exactly which because individual shops can mix up their own cartridges. Nine of the known chemicals in these things are either on lists of carcinogens or documented as dangerous to reproductive systems.

Like something you might use on a summer evening…and the bag it came in.

Plus, vaping makes you look like the kind of person who’d wear sunglasses at night or stiff a waiter and laugh about it.

Memo to Duke Energy: it is in no way “convenient” to charge me an extra $1.50 to pay my light bill online or over the phone.Martha Stewart is a new celebrity judge on Food Network’s Chopped. There are three segments in which dishes created by participants are eaten and evaluated. No matter what the food is, no matter what course, Martha eat with chopsticks. And now, another judge, Iron Chef Jeffrey Zakarian has joined her in this straight-up affectation.I’m sure they feel they have a perfectly rational reason. Maybe they’re trying to limit calories. Maybe it’s their way to pick through the dish and taste separate components. Don’t care.

It’s not a good look, guys. To Bridget, Carmen, and any other robo-calling wenches who want to help lower my credit card interest rates; I will find you. When you least expect me, and are feeling quite proud of your scamming, computer-generated selves, I will find you.Thanks for your time.

What The Hey, Is It Hot In Here?

February 11, 2019February 12, 2019 / momsequitur / Leave a comment

John Mayer, serial dater and troubadour for romantically challenged thirty-somethings sang, “Your body is a wonderland”.

But for many women, our bodies can be more of a creepy abandoned seaside amusement park; the kind Scooby and the gang would pull up to in the Mystery Machine.It starts at puberty.

Most girls in middle school are desperate for the commencement of their monthly visitor. They think about it, talk about it, and read about it. When I was in junior high, they’d separate the class by sex, then show the girls films and pass out pamphlets about “Becoming A Woman”. According to them, once mature there are lots of flowers, swelling violin music, and for some reason, horseback riding.Even Walt Disney Studios got in on it with the Citizen Kane of female reproduction, “The Story of Menstruation”. Sadly, it didn’t include a scene of Minnie sending Mickey out to the Walgreens for supplies, chocolate, and Midol.But, once Aunt Flo actually showed up, we realized what a messy, bloated, crampy pig in a poke we’d yearned for. And as a bonus, we’d get to experience it twelve times a year for the next forty years.

There’s a break when pregnant, but a whole new garden of earthly delights awaits; from head to toe.Pregnancy brain is really a thing. I once left my car running and in gear when I got out at the dry cleaners. How I didn’t run myself over and make the business a drive-through is anybody’s guess.Then, there was the clicking. For weeks, I heard an odd sound coming from my belly, like the monster from the movie, “Predator”, but slower and muffled. I just assumed auditory hallucinations were another part of the gestational swag bag.

But one night, Petey heard it, and I actually cried from relief. He rushed me out to Duke for answers. None of the OB staff had ever seen anything like it, so they did an ultrasound.

Not The Kid, but it looked just like this, and we saw the removal of the thumb, too.

Turns out, The Kid was sucking a tiny little thumb, and as the digit was removed from mouth, there was a pop, which translated to the outside world, as a “click”.

Funnily enough, after birth, The Kid was not a thumb sucker…

Morning sickness? I spent nine months constantly feeling like a drunken sorority girl ready to revisit meals from preschool. Early on, I experienced a sleepiness of an industrial-strength. I’d be reading or watching TV, when suddenly it would be 90 minutes later because I had fallen asleep as suddenly as a toddler passes out into their lunch.

Later on, I tried to sleep, but sometimes a solo soccer match would break out, and I’d be poked repeatedly from the inside by little knees and elbows. I very often felt compelled to walk, which would tire me out and rock my passenger to sleep. Unfortunately, when I then attempted slumber, the cessation of movement would wake The Kid, and induce a dance party.There are random physical curveballs served up by growing a human, as well. I had a hair inside my nose grow backward. It eventually showed up on the outside. Then I couldn’t breathe through my schnoz, but I could smell anything anywhere that might turn my stomach—at one point I’m pretty sure I smelled a fish fry on Noah’s ark.

After the many splendored thing that is youth and fertility, at middle age a woman experiences the joy of menopause.This is a voyage planned by a psychopathic travel agent from hell. Without my glasses, I can’t see myself in the mirror—which makes mascara a vision-risking adventure. A magnifying mirror works, but the suddenly enlarged, dilapidated visage staring back shocks and horrifies. My joints sound like I’m smuggling a box of broken glass. The mood swings and the hot flashes are a charming two-fer. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been buttered and set ablaze. If at that point, a human male informs me that it’s all in my head and I should ignore it, I suddenly experience strong desire. A desire to snap said human like a dry twig and use the resulting pieces to toast marshmallows and weenies on the raging camp fire that’s my left thigh. campfire It’s not all tragedy and cold French fries, though. I’m anticipating the happy day I discard the last tattered fragment of restraint controlling my tongue.

That’s right, Gentle Reader. I shall be the brutally honest little old lady that reveals to mothers their babies look like Newt Gingrich. I’ll tell stupid people they’re stupid. And I’ll inform that guy with the particularly ridiculous comb-over that he ain’t fooling anybody.Thanks for your time.

And Now You Know the Rest of the Story

July 10, 2018 / momsequitur / Leave a comment

When I was a child we moved to Puerto Rico. We lived on a military base that was transitioning from a large Air Force base to a much smaller facility that was a joint Coast Guard/Naval station. The first year or so that we lived there, everything was kind of in flux.

There was no dedicated English language TV or radio stations. There was something called dual language, where you turned on specific a radio station and a TV channel with the sound turned down, and they were supposed to be in sync. Sometimes it was seamless, and sometimes not so much.After a while the base was provided with AFRTS (Armed Forces Radio and Television Services). We all called it something else, and if you look at the acronym, you can probably figure out what that was…

AFRTS radio played lots of syndicated programming. Every Saturday Casey Kasem read corny letters from listeners and played for us the top 40 pop songs in the nation.

And there was this other guy, named Paul Harvey and although he didn’t play music, his show was pretty corny, too.His schtick was to tell a story within a story. For example, he’d talk about this total failure named Al. Then the ending would be something like, “And we remember Al to this day, only we know him by his full name…Albert Einstein! And now you know the rest of the story.”

Not many folks know that a lot of the maxims and proverbs we’ve grown up on have been edited. These sayings were shortened for various reasons, often to make memorizations easier. But sometimes this muddied the meaning, or even changed the meaning altogether. So, with no further ado, I bring you…

The rest of the adage!

Nobody wants to.

A friend in need is a friend indeed, unless he needs bail money or a ride to the airport; then he’s a complete stranger.

Beauty is only skin deep, but nobody ever got the cover of Vogue because they had a particularly fetching spleen.

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, unless, of course your meal is poached or some other type of tasty hand preparation.Don’t judge a book by its cover, except when that cover screams, “I am a tacky, shallow, poseur.”

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. He also has no idea who the Kardashians are.Good things come to those who wait, unless it’s Black Friday and you’re waiting for the mall to open. Then those things are more likely sprained ankles, blunt force trauma, and maybe a face full of pepper spray.

If you lie down with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas; unless you lie down with my dog. Then you’ll get up covered in dog hair and saliva.

These folks are wearing the sweaters they knitted using dog hair. It doesn’t say what they smell like when caught in the rain.

Laughter is the best medicine, except when you have an infection. Then an antibiotic is a much better choice.

Life is short; Art is long. I think we really must have a talk about this body shaming of poor Art. He has no control over his height.

No man is an island, but he can make a pretty convincing peninsula.Quitters never win and winners never quit. But I firmly believe that…oh never mind.

The early bird catches the worm, but the late worm can just swing by Starbucks on the way in.

You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, unless you use bacon. Then you could teach that old pooch how to read music and play the didgeridoo.I’ll be here all week folks, tip your waitresses.

Thanks for your time.

Hair-Brained

August 21, 2017August 21, 2017 / momsequitur / 1 Comment

It takes pain to be beautiful –Judy Simons.

In addition to being my mom’s best friend, Miss Judy was a hairdresser in Elizabeth City. She was responsible for maintaining my mom’s status as a blonde beehived bombshell. I also went to her for haircuts.

Is it Mom or Marilyn Monroe? I can’t tell.

She was the instrument of the pain of which she spoke. It was delivered in the form of less than gentle attempts to comb out the snarls from my tresses. She was rough, and I was a big, tender-headed crybaby. We were a match made in irony heaven.

My whole life I dreamed of the glorious day when I was old enough to have a say in my own hairstyle. I was at the mercy of my mother’s aesthetic, and her view of an appropriate cut for a little girl.

Do you see the look on my face? I HATED my hair.

In kindergarten, she made me get a pixie. I hated it. It’s been close to fifty years, and I still harbor a little hostility about it. But Twiggy and Mia Farrow were huge in the late sixties, so I sat in an adjustable chair and forlornly watched as almost all the hair was rudely amputated from my head.

Have I mention I hated it?

So finally, one day I was allowed to choose my own hairstyle.

I wanted the groovy cut that Carol Brady had. Miss Judy gave me a perfect rendition. After I was given control, my hair was nothing special, long, with bangs and a ponytail, little girl hair.

Until the eighties happened.

I was a big fan of tough rocker chick, Joan Jett. She was cool and brave and didn’t care what anybody thought. And one of the coolest things about her was her hair. She had a shaggy, shoulder-length do with bangs. I got a picture of her and headed down to my local hair cuttery (Miss Judy was no longer an option).I loved it and decided that this would be my look when I married Petey in a few months’ time. Unfortunately, not long before the wedding, the woman who cut it moved. I found someone new and made an appointment for a prenuptial trim of my beloved Joan Jett. She took one look and asked me two questions.

“So, did you do this to yourself? And how do you want me to fix it?”Sadly though, that mop top I sported was the gateway cut to all sorts of disastrous coiffures.

It was so huge it looked like I styled it with a bicycle pump and shellac. For a short time in the mid-eighties, my hair was assigned its own zip code. My daily spraying habit was probably responsible for the disappearance of a dinner plate-sized piece of the ozone layer.

And this is as sexy as it got for me, folks.

It was spiked. With a half-cup or so of a gel/epoxy hybrid, I could conjure spikes on my head that were awe-inspiring. They stood proudly at attention, stiff and sharp enough to make a porcupine weep with envy.

It was asymmetrical. One side looked like the first day of school haircut of a thirteen-year-old boy. The other side was a rigid bob, the likes of which you’ve probably seen on the head of the woman staffing your bank’s drive through window.

And, it was dyed. For a while, it was the color of black cherry jello. Petey wasn’t a fan. He complained, “When I married you, you had brown hair.”

After the great pixie battle of 1969, I wasn’t having it. He, nor anyone else was the boss of my hair. “Oh yeah? Well when I married you, you had more hair!”

Thanks for your time.

Yeah? You Gotta Go Through Me First

July 18, 2017July 18, 2017 / momsequitur / Leave a comment

This column originally had a different title. More on that later.

The Kid was raised to have a deep appreciation for Star Trek, cartoons, and cheesy horror movies.

Then due to either nature, nurture, or a combination of both, my child took this inheritance and ran with it. I in turn, was exposed to Doctor Who, British comedies, and graphic novels (the graphic novels didn’t take—I could never work up any love for them).

Supercon Man.

This past weekend was the Raleigh Supercon; a convention celebrating all of these areas of interest. The Kid bought a three-day pass and gifted me with one, as well. Ghostbusters In addition to genre specific shopping and perhaps meeting actors from TV and movies, I expected to be surrounded by pasty and pathetic geeks, nerds, and dorks. I would spend my weekend pointing and laughing.

The reality was a bit different.

We met some celebrities. Boy, did we meet some celebrities.We met Tony Todd, the actor who had a recurring role playing Worf’s brother Kurn on Star Trek, The Next Generation. He was so kind and interesting. We went back to see him today to say thanks and goodbye. We were rewarded with hugs and a peculiar but brilliant piece of wisdom. We told him how nice we thought he was and he said, “I don’t understand being ugly to people. It takes too much time.”

We met LeVar Burton; who was Geordie on STNG, and Brent Spiner; Data.

Mr Burton was very nice and Brent Spiner was friendly, goofy, and charming. I got a hug, and so did The Kid. We met Michael Rooker, the blue guy from the Guardians of the Galaxy movies and also Grant from the Citizen Kane of horror comedies; Slither. He’s the fun uncle that lets you drive his truck at age 12, and gives you your first beer at 14. You’ll come away with epic stories, and maybe a tattoo or two.

On Saturday, we met Alex Kingston. She is River Song on Doctor Who. River is fierce, brilliant, loving and dangerous. River Song is a role mode and the definition of strong, wise, resourceful womanhood.

River Song.

We saw her again Sunday afternoon, fifteen minutes after the announcement of the identity of the actor named as the new doctor. For the first time ever, it’s a woman: Jodie Whittaker.

The 13th Doctor; Jodie Whittaker.

I was in the restroom, washing my hands, and guess who was at the next sink?

Acting completely out of character, I said hello and walked away. It’s a strict policy; I do not accost actresses in the bathroom.

But, I was waiting for her outside. I asked for her reaction to the casting decision. Her words exactly: “I think it’s great, I’ve worked with her. She’s lovely!”

Creepy, no? This is a Vashta Nerada From the Doctor Who episode, “The Silent Library”.

Just call me ‘Scoop’ Matthews.

It was an eye-opening weekend. Every single person, without exception was friendly and thoughtful.

The original title of this essay was, ‘Nerd-con 2017’.

But it and my pre-convention, condescending attitude were wrong. Yes; when you picture the whole sci-fi scene, certain stereotypes come to mind. And yes, there is some truth to them.

You might want to look over my left shoulder…Where’s Data!?! Just over my left shoulder!!!

But then you get to know them and realize they’re so very much more.

They are smart, funny, kind, and deeply protective of one another.

So, all those one-dimensional nerds that were mere comedy fodder didn’t actually exist. Instead was a building full of friends. And while we may gently tease each other out of love, we’d better not catch any outsiders being mean. poison ivy ‘Cause it ain’t right, and we ain’t having it.

The littlest Doctor.

Thanks for your time.

Coming Attractions

June 6, 2017June 6, 2017 / momsequitur / Leave a comment

There are so many choices it practically induces entertainment induced paralysis.The old school options of cable and satellite have stations numbering in the hundreds of thousands. With internet options, those numbers increase to the millions.

And that’s not even counting sites like Youboob, with countless hours of classic television uploaded by producers and fans alike.

To take some of the angst from the process, it helps to have a guide with helpful descriptions of the quality programming available. Here’s a small sampling of such a guide.

Classic Shows:Gilligan’s Island: The castaways are finally rescued and return to civilization. Having been declared dead, the Howells are no longer millionaires. Ginger finds Hollywood has moved on and roles have dried up. No one wants to hire the captain of the Minnow and the skipper becomes a derelict who haunts the waterfront, looking for odd jobs. The professor and Mary Ann move to Colorado and open a marijuana dispensary. Gilligan parlays his fifteen minutes into a successful long-running reality show and eventually marries a Kardashian.Happy Days: Milwaukee is shocked when Mrs. C and The Fonz reveal their secret love and run off to Hawaii to open a shark-jumping school. Richie moves to a small town in North Carolina and becomes sheriff. Ralph and Potsie become Uber drivers, and Mr. C eventually finds love again with Pinky Tuscadero.

Gun Smoke: Marshal Dillion has a professional crisis when he realizes that Miss Kitty may run a saloon downstairs, but upstairs is Dodge City’s most successful house of ill repute and he’s never realized it. Matt leaves town and becomes an itinerant preacher leaving Festus to take over as marshal.

New Offerings:

What’s for dinner?: A new competition show where a working mom has 20 minutes to make dinner for a ravenous family of five with only eight items in the pantry and three in the fridge. The moms will battle the clock, the varied tastes of the family, and Pizza Hut on speed dial. The prize for the winner is to do it all over again the next day

Howe Two: Watch the glamorous life of Benjamin Howe II, the best-selling author of dozens of instruction manuals and owner’s guides. Along with spunky assistant Cissy, he solves cases of missing warranties, sock devouring dryers and dull lawn mower blades. Our plucky team is overseen by Ben’s no-nonsense editor, “Ink” Rogers, who’s also dating Ben’s eccentric mother, Ann Howe.

The Royal Court: Join the gorgeous, seductive crew staffing the food court at King’s Mall in Sacramento. Hollywood’s hottest young actors and actresses will discover love, life and heartbreak among the hot dogs, pretzels, and soft serve in this drama set in the fanciest mall in California’s capital city.Ruff Planet: An exciting new science fiction show about life on a planet run by intelligent canines. Emperor Sparky attempts to rule while dealing with battling litters and their power hungry mothers. Will palace intrigue bring down the monarchy from within? Or will a rebel band of mixed breeds and their feline allies bring about the fall of the government?

This is only a very small sampling of the myriad of video diversion available today. If you started watching right now and never took your eyes off the screen, it would take thousands of years to see everything, and dozens of new productions are released every day.

Thinking of everything I’m missing at this very moment is enough to make my head spin. But, I think I’ve got it figured out. I’m going outside, and gonna sit under a tree with a book.Thanks for your time.