A QUINDLEN COMMENCEMENT

Gentle Readers,

I just found out that Anna Quindlen gave the commencement address last spring at Someone I Love's alma mater.

Anna, darling, WHY IN THE HELL DIDN'T YOU GIVE THE ADDRESS THE YEAR SOMEONE I LOVE GRADUATED? DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU? I HAD TO SIT THROUGH A SPEAKER SO BORING I THOUGHT I WOULD FUCKING DIE, AND NOW I'M GOING TO RUN THROUGH MY NEIGHBORHOOD NAKED AND SMASH WINDOWS, KNOCK OVER GARBAGE CANS, AND GENERALLY MAKE PEOPLE MISERABLE BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T THERE WHEN SOMEONE I LOVE GRADUATED.


Oh, I forgot. The neighbors won't even notice. I do that shit all the time.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MS. LOLA PAYS A CALL ON MISS CINDERITA

Gentle Readers,

What are you doing here? Get your asses over to Cinderita's and do it NOW.

I hate to be so bossy -- well, no, it actually doesn't bother me in the least -- but I told you I'd be guest posting at Cinderita's today. The post is about gratitude. I'll be very grateful if you leave comments there and give me your bloggy love.

Infinities of love,

Lola

GO TO THE ADVENTURES OF CINDERITA, PLEASE. I'M NOT GOING TO ASK SO NICELY IF I HAVE TO BRING IT UP AGAIN.

MILE HIGH LOLA

Gentle Readers,

We are up to 25 followers. Can you believe how quickly this has happened? I thank every one of you who referred someone to me and those of you who followed me after I followed you and those of you who showed up of your own volition, maybe because you had nothing better to do. It's all good Mama.

I'm so happy that I came right out of the closet and said I wanted more followers. It reminds me of a song I used to teach my Sunday School students, and yes, I know it's scary that I taught Sunday School and Vacation Bible School, but as far as I know I didn't cause permanent damage to any children. Anyhoo, the chorus of the song went like this:

• 
  

If you will ask, it will be given to you.
If you will seek, the Lord will help you find.
If you will knock, the door will open to you
Because God gives good gifts to those who ask him to. 

I also went out on a limb and risked the bough breaking and the cradle falling and down will come Lola (isn't that a creepy song for little kids when you think about it?) when I asked Cinderita if I could write a guest post for her. She could have said no. I would have been disappointed, but I would have lived. We have to risk failure sometimes to get what we want, and happily, Cinderita said yes. So,

NEXT FRIDAY IS A VERY IMPORTANT DAY! I GUEST POST AT The Adventures of Cinderita.  YES, I KNOW THAT PREVIOUSLY THIS MESSAGE SAID I WOULD GUEST POST TOMORROW. BUT BECAUSE OF TECHNICAL GLITCHES, MY DEBUT IS DELAYED. 

I know it might seem kind of strange to you that a woman of my age  considerable experience could be a virgin at anything, but I am a virgin guest poster. Please be gentle with me next week. Hold me as you would the finest china. Go to Cinderita's blog and read my post and leave me some love there so Cinderita knows that there are people in the world who like me! Who really like me! And remember, it will be NEXT Friday, not tomorrow.

Now let's get down to posting. Life 101 wrote a post on Tuesday about some folks who on 9/11, on a commercial airliner, in the bathroom, caused a considerable amount of trouble because they got caught  attempting to? or actually did? join The Mile High Club.

I have been confused by The Mile High Club for many years. I am most definitely not a member, and I strongly suspect that the club is a joke that doesn't really exist. If you want to tell me I'm wrong and you know the club exists because you belong, then feel free to write a comment complete with details that make everybody scream TMI, and I promise nobody will snicker at you (yeah, right).

Let's be logical about going in the bathroom of an airplane. I don't use airplane bathrooms unless I absolutely must. The water in the toilet is way too blue, for one thing, and for another, you open the nasty folding door and you slither into the bathroom and then you pretty much have to press yourself against the toilet to close the door. It's rather difficult to walk in and turn around to close the door. There is not enough room to turn around comfortably.

If it's difficult for one person to get in an airplane bathroom, then how could two people get in there? Did the guy drop to his knees and the woman rode in on his shoulders? Did one of them stand on the toilet seat while the other squeezed in (oh gross, what if your foot slipped and ended up in the blue water?)? Were they really skinny contortionists? You tell me how it's done. I always found it difficult to get into an airplane bathroom with a tiny toddler.

Now let's assume that somehow the two of them got into the bathroom, which apparently, actually happened. Once the two are in that teeny-tiny space, uh, how do they manage to do it? There's barely enough room for one woman to get her pants down. How do two people have enough room to get their pants down? And then do they bump uglies standing up? That would be so uncomfortable, and I can see how those people got caught if that's what they did. Somebody would be banging (intentional use of pun) up against the door as the act occurred. I think that would alert the plane's staff pretty quickly.

Another possibility, and this is so disgusting, is that one person sits on the toilet and the other person is on his knees, and I just don't want to think about the rest. 

Or maybe somebody put her bare butt on the sink . . .  This is something people want to do because it's sexy? Oh puh-lease.

I could go on and on and on because I am Lola and I have so much to say, but I'll try to stop for now. 

I'll just make an even greater effort to stay out of airplane bathrooms because who knows what has gone on in there besides peeing?

Infinities of love,

Lola

Seriously: I want to know if The Mile High Club is for real and how doin' the nasty in that tiny stinky disgusting space is accomplished and why would anyone want to? Are there people in first class shit-faced enough from the free liquor to actually think woo-hooing in the toilet is sexy? You get off the plane after a while. You go home and get in your nice comfy bed. Or, if necessary, go to a hotel. Or if you're that desperate, drive the Chevy onto a back road and climb in the back seat. A back seat would be more comfortable than an airplane bathroom. I think I'm really finished now, so good night.

 

AMUSING TELEPHONE CONVERSATION

Gentle Readers,

I was in a grocery store recently and in the bread aisle, an older woman was talking on her cell phone very loudly, shouting I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO'S GLUED TO MY PHONE LIKE THE REST OF AMERICA.

Mmmmmm o.k.Then would you please hang up and stop shouting? I could hear you from two aisles over, Madam.

Personally, I do not talk on my cell phone in public unless it's super important.

I think many of us could help stop noise pollution by waiting until we're at home to use the telephone.

Just a thought.

Infinities of love and silence,

Lola

SLOVENIA

Gentle Readers,

In between chasing, shushing, and bathing dogs, I want to take a moment to mention that I just saw a woman from Slovenia on TV.

You might not get as excited about Slovenians as I do, but I adore Slovenians because they are my most faithful readers except for Americans.

God Bless You Slovenians! You rule!

Infinities of love,

Lola

CANCELLATION TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS

Gentle Readers,

Last week I told you about all my new techno stuff in  TECH NO GEEK.       

But getting new stuff meant I had to cancel some old stuff. The new cell phone was no problem because of Rad and because I simply went from one AT&T phone to another.

But installing a U-Verse package meant I had to cancel my old satellite TV provider and internet service.

So I called the satellite people. We'll call them DirectFuckMe. The guy I got on the phone simply would not shut up and let me cancel the service. I didn't shout; I didn't curse. But I did end up becoming rather angry and speaking to him quite strongly, as in, My DVR hasn't worked properly for months and you people kept telling me it was my fault and you wouldn't do anything about it and then the AT&T guy told me today that your stuff had never been hooked up properly.

Mr. DirectFuckMe actually had the nerve to tell me that he isn't "you people," that he has a name and it's Shit Head, and that I never talked to him so it wasn't his fault.

Then he tried to rip me off by telling me if I didn't cancel for another month that it would save me money on what I have to pay per month ($20) to finish off my contract, which ends in September. I said, How can paying for another month at $79 cost less?

He said, Blah blah blah blah something something something.

I said, Just cancel it right now.

He finally obeyed.

Them I had to call Shamcast to cancel the internet. I've been unhappy with them because they called me a couple of months ago and said they were sending out someone to upgrade my modem free of charge and the cost of my service would actually go down.

HA! I say HA!

Almost every day the internet went out after the upgrade and I had to unplug everything and plug it back in, not easy when one is hampered by a broken back. Furthermore, although the cost of the internet service went down by about a dollar, they added some other cost, so the total cost went up.

But I was prepared when I called Shamcast because of my experience with DirectFuckMe. When Shamcast inquired why I was canceling, I answered, I am giving away all my belongings and entering a convent.

He said he didn't even know there were convents in the United States anymore. I assured him there were.

He said I was due for a refund.

No argument.

Problem solved.

I'm going to use the entering a convent excuse from now on.

In fact, afterwards I felt so freaking brilliant I'm surprised my head could fit through the door.

Infinities of love and nunneries,

Lola

P.S. AT&T also gave me a $200 rebate for getting the U-Verse package, which more than covers the cost of the $60 I still owe DirectFuckMe for canceling my contract with them.

MORE ME 'N MY GEE PEE ESS

Gentle Readers,

After posting  ME 'N MY GEE PEE ESS last week, I received an email from my beloved LegalMist, telling me she had tried to comment on that post and had been unable to do so. Apparently, blogger is still having commentary problems.

So, I'm going to post her comment here, because you really should click on the link she provides and read about the murderous Mrs. Tom Tom.

Thus, from LegalMist:

I love my GPS, "Mrs. Tom Tom," too... 

... even though she tried to kill me once: 
http://legalmist.blogspot.com/2008/10/marriage-saving-murderess.html 

Then again, it was probably all my fault for not following her directions properly in the first place.

Or maybe she's just a vengeful bitch.

I know of another case of attempted murder by a GPS. I used to work with someone who retired and took off on a celebratory car trip with her husband. They were in a rather remote area and not sure what to do. So, they obeyed the GPS and ended up off the road with their vehicle in tatters. No cell phone service. Heat during the day. Freezing at night. No one in sight. Food and drink stores depleted.

They decided they had to try to walk out to save their lives. Eventually some motorcyclists came upon them and rescued them. They were covered in insect bites and their lips were so swollen they couldn't eat the little bit of food they had left. 

Hospital. Recovery ensued.

They decided never to obey the GPS unquestioningly again and to always keep friends and family apprised of their whereabouts and when their arrival should be expected. 

I guess all I have to say now is watch out for your GPS because the sweet little lady in it might be a killer in disguise. 

My new cell phone has a navigation feature, which I have used once so far. Ms. ATT was quite pleasant.  

But I haven't yet angered her.

I'll be very careful with Ms. ATT.

Infinities of love and care,

Lola

TECH NO GEEK

Gentle Readers,

I admit it: I am not exactly a technological genius.

I can do the basics. I blog, text, email, google, jabber on my cell phone, poke people on Facebook, and have a Web site I created.

But currently I am on technological overload.

I had the same cell phone for several years. I loved it, but it was starting to fall apart. So I went to the AT&T store where nice, polite young Rad always helps me. I was due for a free upgrade on my telephone, so I got the same kind of phone Rad has.

The telephone is very nice. I have been told it will even do the laundry -- if only I can find the correct spot to tap tap.

And because of my dissatisfaction with my TV and internet providers, I decided to sign up for a U-Verse package, which was installed two days ago.

I could operate the old remote for my television in the dark, and now I'm learning how to use a new remote and I have to become accustomed to a different channel guide and different ways of setting up my close personal friend DVR.

I now have wireless internet, which I particularly wanted so I could make more use of my laptop. The computer is running well. But my laptop is so old that it can't do much on the internet. Rad says I need a new laptop. He told me to go to Wal-Mart and get an HP. I told Rad that Wal-Mart is Satan and I can't go there. Besides, I can't afford a new laptop.

I have also regressed in the sense that I now have a land line in addition to my cell. So my fax machine is hooked up and Someone I Love can send me the math problems she doesn't know how to do. I shall solve them and fax them back to her.

(The part about doing the math problems is a joke. She's getting her Ph.D. in math. I have no comprehension of what she does, but I'll never admit it to her. I have told her for years that it wouldn't be fair to the other kiddies if I helped her with her math.)

I'm very happy I got the U-Verse package. Everything -- TV, wireless internet, land line, new cell phone -- costs the same as my old cell phone, internet, and TV combined. Plus, the new stuff does so many things the old stuff couldn't do -- if only I can figure out how to use it all.

So, here I sit, head pounding, wishing I had a nice Valium or two. I realize this may sound paranoid, but I think the tech world is out to get me. Its glance at me quickly turns into a look of sheer disdain, kind of like the edge in the voice of the GPS lady as described in  ME 'N MY GEE PEE ESS. I know I'll learn how to do everything eventually. It's just that I want to do everything right now. At first, I couldn't even figure out how to answer a telephone call, and the directions do not include instructions for doing something as simple as answering a call. It turns out all I have to do is pick up the phone and say hello, is it me you're looking for? I don't have to press any buttons to answer.

And some day, some way, I will have a new laptop. But probably not this year because to put the icing on the fuckme cake, the school district has a teacher hiring freeze because of budgetary concerns. The district should hire me to fix their budgetary concerns. I bet they're already paying big bucks to consultants who are supposed to solve the problems. Hire me! Hire me! I can fix it all with three hands and a foot tied behind my back.

I'd start by making the schools more energy efficient. Makes sense, right? When I taught back in March, the AC was so cold that the students wore hooded sweatshirts and jackets to class and covered the registers with the literature text books. Why keep a building that cold? Waste, waste, waste.

Turn off the lights when you're not in a room. Turn off the computers when you don't need them.

Second, I'd cut all sports and offer private concerns the opportunity to rent the school gyms and stadiums and sponsor sports clubs. To participate, the kids would have to be enrolled in school, actually attend school, and have a GPA of at least 2.5.

I know cutting sports would make people insane, but they've already cut band and chorus classes, so cut the damn sports too, or at least insist that parents pay a fee if their kids participate in sports. I had to pay a fee every year for Favorite Young Man to play basketball, so it's not as if paying for playing is unprecedented.

Finally, I would cut transportation to magnet schools. If you want to send your kid to a magnet school, then you need to be responsible for getting your student there safely.

There. I think I just took at least 60 million off the budget.

Ah, well. I don't expect the school district will take me up on my offer to solve their budgetary concerns. I would make it all look very simple, which it is. School administrators prefer to make things seem complicated to justify their salaries, which are so much higher than what teachers earn.

Woe woe woe woe.

Infinities of love and woe,

Lola

FUNNY HA HA NOT FUNNY PECULIAR

Gentle Readers,

I love this recent post written by My Dear Mrs. Tuna about her very funny girls' weekend
with her friends and how they think she is the funniest person they've ever met.

Well, I have an eentsy-weentsy problem with this post, My Dear Mrs. Tuna. MY friends
 have been telling me for years that I am the funniest person they've ever met. But I don't 
want to get snippy with you about which one of us is funnier. I mean really, did you read 
my recent post about my gas entitled EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S WINDY? 

You simply cannot beat farting when it comes to funniness.

So, My Dear Mrs. Tuna, I think the solution to which of us is funnier 
is to let our friends get together and duke it out. We will drink and 
chuckle and chortle and make jokes about their prowess, or lack 
thereof. One of your friends will have to take a dive  bow out of the 
fighting to stand on the deck rail and snap your picture whilst 
you drink sangria, and I shall sit in a comfy chair chugging a 
mimosa, not having my photo taken because I am forced to 
avoid the paparazzi -- the result of having given birth to Elvis' 
alien love child and Michael Jackson's chimpanzee's alien love 
child and my current preparation to be a surrogate mom
for Zsa Zsa Gabor's loving husband. 


Yes, her husband will be born again and I am to be his
mommy this time.


When the battle ends, if we are not too toasted, one of us 
will be proclaimed funnier than the other. Or, perhaps we'll 
be drunk enough to agree to share the title. Sharing is not 
easy for those of us who come from large families. 
We have grown accustomed to fighting for a mere crumb of 
attention and, sometimes, a crumb of food. I used to fight the 
family dog for his steak bone.


However, I find it interesting, My Dear Mrs. Tuna, that you 
think you are funny because you were a 
middle child in a large family with only 
eight years between oldest and youngest. 
And your parents bred poodles. 


I, on the other hand, am the youngest of six with 
seventeen years between the oldest and me. 
My parents bred nothing but children, and I don't know how 
because they certainly never did "it." 


So why am I funny? 


I think it runs in our family, kind of like people 
whose kids are all unattractive
or stupid. My sisters and I seem 
to have a finely honed sense of the ridiculous, 
and we are sometimes just a wee bit sarcastic. 


Or perhaps I am funny because they all beat me 
silly (pun intended) while I was growing up. 
After all, I was Mother's favorite. 
The baby is always Mother's favorite. 
I was also dropped on my head a number of 
times, accidentally on purpose, I suspect.


Another point we have in common, 
My Dear Mrs. Tuna: No one ever seems 
to be appalled by the things I say 
(except my own children who, even 
though they are adults, have never recovered from
feeling embarrassed by me). Even the women 
who kicked me out of Bible study acted as if I were a 
riot, laughing uproariously at everything I said, 
until the day I dropped the F bomb when my back was 
broken and my world had come to an end. 
They didn't think I was funny then. 


But I think that's the only time folks haven't found me amusing. 


I also laugh at myself -- A LOT. 
One of my favorite activities is telling 
myself jokes I've never heard before.


So you keep it up Mrs. Tuna, and 
I shall do my best to bring more laughter 
to the world. God knows we need it.


Infinities of love and laughter,


Lola 

LIT

Dipsomnia Dreams

I read lit by mary karr and I decided to drink some whiskey because it would make me smart and beautiful and successful and get me a teaching job at a university and I would make some serious money when I wrote my memoirs about how I got abused when I was a little kid and people picked on me but I had great mentors in college and had some minor success but the whiskey would bring real success because I could write about beating the never-ending desire for whiskey and I definitely need the whiskey success route because my husband dumped me so I put ice in my green Tupperware cup and added a splash of whiskey and poured in some diet coke and then added another splash of whiskey and I kind of sucked it up through clenched teeth because it didn’t taste so great in fact it was kind of like drinking really nasty medicine that’s intended to cure you of something horrible and it cured me of the desire to drink whiskey because there was the aftertaste and by the time I got to the bottom of the Tupperware cup I was pretty drunk so I had to go in my bedroom and lie down for two hours and cope with being drunk and I certainly didn’t accomplish anything that way so now I know that whiskey is not the bottle to be spun to success.