HIDE UNDER YOUR DESK!

Gentle Readers,

When I was in school we had fire drills and tornado drills. But the days of bomb drills were over. I have never ceased to be amused by the idea that having children crawl under their school desks would somehow protect them from the dreaded atomic bomb. Fire bombs? Maybe. Napalm? Perhaps.  But not atomic bombs.

Here's how Sharon Doubiago describes her elementary school bomb drills in My Father's Love: Portrait Of The Poet As A Young Girl :

We had to learn to distinguish between the sirens to know the correct thing to do. The Bomb siren would go off and instead of lining up and filing out of the building to the sand dunes we had to jump out of our desks, throw our right arm up across the back of our neck to shield our selves -- the neck is where the Bomb's radiation will penetrate -- while maneuvering with the left to get under the desk. Being exactly between Los Angeles and Long Beach, being a neighbor of Douglas Aircraft and right on the Los Angeles River, at the very heart of the Basin, Hollydale School was a prime target.

When I worked at the nursing home, we had a book with instructions to follow in case of an emergency. The instructions for nuclear warfare were hilarious:

Stay inside. Do not open any windows or doors.

Yeah, a lot of fucking good that would have done.

 
  Close the door! Here it comes!

Infinities of love,

Lola

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.

 

HIGH SCHOOL HIJINKS

Gentle Readers, hahahahaha, I'm laughing hahahaha because I remembered something a few friends and I did in high school.

A close friend of mine (we were sophomores) was giving a party.

My friend, we'll call her Chlamydia, prepared lots of good food and spent hours primping and cleaning the house. A lot of people, mostly juniors and seniors, arrived and stayed for about an hour. Then suddenly they decided they had something better to do, and they departed, saying they would be back later. Two less popular (but nice and fun) boys who were juniors were left behind with us.

I still don't know where all the "cool" people went, but they very foolishly left together in one car.

Are you following me here? All their other cars were parked in front of Chlamydia's house. We four were pretty pissed that they all took off and didn't invite us or say what they were doing, so we moved their cars. This was back when most people didn't lock their cars, and sure enough, we were able to simply open the car doors.

I knew how to drive, so I steered while the other three pushed the cars to different locations. They were still in the neighborhood, but they weren't where the cool people had left them. Then voila! We discovered one cool guy kept the key to his truck in the truck. I believe we moved the truck a few streets away and Chlamydia, whose party had been pretty much screwed over, kept the key.

After 90 minutes or so, the cool people returned: Where are our cars?

We don't know what you're talking about, we replied ever so innocently.

Eventually, we revealed where the cars were, but we let the cool guy whose key was "missing" suffer for three, maybe even four days.

Mwahahahahahahahahahaha            

Don't screw with Lola or Lola's friends.

Infinities of love,

Lola

LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE AGAIN

Gentle Readers,

Why lie?

I can tell you why I have. There's Why, no, I can't tell you've gained weight. And there's Wow, I love your outfit. That color is great on you.

I also lied to protect myself as in I didn't touch that dish. I don't know who broke it.

However, I was never the kind of mom who lied to my kids in order to get them to do things. Long, long ago, I had a terrible pain in my stomach and side and my mom told me to eat the square of Hershey's chocolate she had brought me. I was six or seven years old and something told me this was not Hershey's chocolate, but I was under orders and I ate the thing, which turned out to be Ex-Lax. I had an emergency appendectomy later that night.

You may ask, Are the two related? I don't know, but I suspect Ex-Lax is to blame for many of the world's problems.

As the lies continued over the years, and I became more and more jaded, I decided I would not do the same thing to my kids. So it really pissed me off when they went to school and guess who told them lies?

TEACHERS

This child, not mine but somebody else's yet for some reason she called me mom, came to me during the fifth-grade anti-drug education program and said Mrs. Blugblug tells us over and over that sooner or later we'll be at a party and someone will come up to us and give us something and tell us to take it and it will be drugs. I responded, Never in my entire life has anyone given me drugs at a party and ordered me to take them. Furthermore, when I was in high school and some of the boys I knew smoked pot, they went out of their way to be kind to me and share with me and say it wasn't necessary for me to smoke any, so I joined right in I never smoked any.

That kinda reminds me of one of my favorite Sex and the City episodes when the police catch Carrie smoking a doobie and she gets out of it by showing the officer the post-it note that Berger used to break up with her. My boyfriend broke up with me with a post-it note. Waaah.

But, ah, I digress.

That same kid I knew had a teacher who yelled at the class all the time about how they'd better be ready for the state's standardized testing and it was extremely important to do well, blah blah blah. She was sick of being shouted at day after day and the stress had her teary eyed and upset constantly. So I told her the truth: You don't get a score on the test. It's meant to judge the school and the teacher so do whatever you want.

She smiled and we never talked about the test again. I have no idea if she made an effort on the stupid test or if she blew it off.

Now, a story about a kid who definitely belongs to me, but this was not a case of the teacher lying. Favorite Young Man was in first or second grade when he brought home a letter from the PTA warning students and parents that a certain item enjoyed by children was, in fact, a means of giving them LSD. I'm not going to say what it was because I don't want to get this hoax fired up again. It was around for years, and there wasn't even an internet then.

I called the PTA person who had distributed the letter and told her nicely that this was a hoax and I had read about it in Newsweek. She actually argued with me and told me it never hurt to warn kids about drugs. I said that when we warned kids, we should be telling them the truth because if they find out we're lying then they have no reason to believe us in the future. She said, Well it came from the state police.

So I called the state police and mentioned it to the bored guy who answered the phone, and he finally said, Oh yeah, we did get something that said blahblahblah isn't true.

But nobody ever made a retraction or explained it was an error.

Years late, a member of a county-wide Citizens Advisory Committee (to the schools) informed me that they were going to announce they would advocate that students had to wear uniforms to school. Then when people complained, they were going to say Let's have a dress code instead, and get what they wanted by lowering their demand.

She told the wrong person. I said, It's never wise to begin an endeavor with a lie.

I think it's one of the few times someone listened to me because no announcement came from the committee, and if one had, I would have been all over it with the truth.

Yes, I've lied. I've lied to protect other people and myself. But when my bank accidentally deposited $1000 in my account twice and I had only made one deposit, I alerted the bank.

I feel as if I've rambled quite a bit today. I guess the morals of my story are Don't let lies get out of control and Just because information comes from teachers or the police, it isn't necessarily true. And if you get caught smoking a doobie, tell the police your boyfriend used a post-it note to break up with you.

Why doesn't spell check recognize doobie? Isn't that a common usage?

Anyhoo, teachers who frighten and harass and harangue students with lies are out of control.

Maybe I failed as a teacher because I was too honest.

Infinities of love,

Lola

PUT ON YOUR OWN OXYGEN MASK FIRST

Gentle Readers,

You drag yourself, your carry-on bag, your child, and your child's FAA approved car seat onto the plane, while your husband casually walks on and takes his seat. You get the car seat in place, child safely buckled into the car seat after tolerating yet another argument from a flying waitress who tells you that you can't have that seat because you didn't buy a ticket for it and you show her the ticket and the boarding pass for your child and son of a bitch you mutter under your breath as the sky waitress wanders off vanquished but determined to have revenge, you stuff your bag into the overhead bin while the businessman behind you who is so important suddenly decides he must have something from the bag he already stowed and while pulling it from the bin he whacks you in the head with it

and
then
you
finally
sit
down
and
try
to
catch
your
breath
while
you
struggle
with
the
stubborn
twisted
seat
belt
and
you're
trying
not
to
cry.

Then it's time to get the flight underway and the sky bitch gets on the intercom and gives the little demonstration about what you should do if the oxygen mask falls from above and she says, In the event of an emergency, place your own oxygen mask over your face first and adjust it before putting an oxygen mask on a child or someone else in need of assistance.

So now the plane has taken off. Oh no! You encounter turbulence. The plane is rockin' and rollin' like you've never felt it before. You've flown straight into a huge storm. And for the first time ever, the oxygen mask is in front of you. The oxygen mask is in front of your child in the car seat. And the oxygen mask is in front of your husband who has bumped his head and is unconscious.

Whose mask do you put on first?

Nine out of ten women (so I have been told) will say that you put on the child's mask first, your husband's second, and then your own.

Now that's not the safe, correct thing to do, is it?

You need to be able to breathe if you're going to help anyone else.

You need to be able to breathe if you're going to help anyone else.

You need to be able to breathe if you're going to help anyone else.

How many times do you need to hear it before you understand it? Will you ever get it?

I am the one person out of ten who answered that question correctly.

And yet I didn't do it in my own life.

I didn't make a life for myself.

I allowed myself to be dominated and manipulated because I was so afraid I would be alone. And now I am alone and I will always be alone because God forbid I should ever have a man in my life who would love me, or even just like me for who I am, because I would lose my maintenance. I've been conned, dumped, and divorced. I live alone.

But he still calls the shots.

Please don't do this to yourself. Put on your own oxygen mask first. You can't take care of anyone else if you don't take care of yourself.

He told me to get a life. But every time I tried he snatched it away from me. I have to keep going to school because I'm going to invent something that will change the world, so forget about your education. We have to move and it's your fault because you complain all the time that we don't have enough money, so forget about your home and your friends. I cheat because you aren't enough for me, and never mind that I don't shower or brush my teeth. We don't have enough money for you to go to your family reunion because you go out for lunch, and never mind that I've lost thousands gambling. I don't want you because you've gotten fat and you snore, and never mind that I've been fat and snoring for 30 years. Never mind that I'm sick and I won't take my medicine. I'm not the one who's in the hospital. You are fat; you are ugly; you make me sick. It's not my fault you're depressed. Not my fault not my fault not my fault yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultgetout

My fist has to punch you because it's your fault. My knife has to cut you because it's your fault. My hands have to shove you because it's your fault. My mouth has to threaten you and belittle you because it's your fault.

For God's sake, please put on your oxygen mask.

And breathe.

Infinities of love,

Lola