Is that a duck driving my boat?

by Lynn on June 4, 2014

They say the second happiest day of your life is when you get a boat.
The MOST happiest day of your life is when you sell your boat.

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I decided to buy a boat for my guy.
Because I like to make him happy.

Problem is, which boat?
Shall I go with the boat from Gilligan’s Island…

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…or should I go Miami Vice?

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 I decided to go with something a little more Duck Dynasty.

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…because the only dynasty we’re likely to build
will cost a few ducks.

Get it?
Ducks…not bucks.
Bwah ha ha ha hah .

The post brought to you by Bad Jokes.
Courtesy of allergies and late nights watching Game of Thrones.

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Hello June, goodbye waistline.

by Lynn on May 28, 2014

In my house, June heralds CATASTROPHE.
We have four birthdays in two weeks.

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Oh, the cake. The calories.
The hedonistic gorging on all things bad for you.
Not good for the waistline. Or the cholesterol. Or the shorts.

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This year, I will walk to the bakery.
I will fight off cougars and mountain lions with my bare hands.
I will not give them my four cakes, no matter how menacing their growls.

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To preserve our celebrations, I will carry the cakes up a mighty oak.
I will eat the cakes while I watch the cougars prowl below.

Unburdened by my bakery bonanza, I’ll swan dive into the river and swim home.
Surely, given my plans, I won’t gain any weight this year.

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Then again, driving to the bakery is more convenient.
And watching my kids swim is much more entertaining.
And eating cake shouldn’t present a life or death situation…
unless, of course, your spouse threatens to eat the last piece of cake.

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This post brought to you by Chocolate Cake.
What is your favorite birthday cake?

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Yesterday, I ate two waffles for breakfast.
It heralded a “normal” day.

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“Normal” departed after I put away the dirty dishes.
Turns out, a new pet snuck into the house.

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Believe me, this “pet” was HUGE.
He could barely fit under a juice glass.

Like any good mother, I ran away.
When I returned, something awful had happened.

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My kid named the new pet.
She insisted we find it a new home.

I promised to bring Ocho to the SPCA for adoption.
I hopped in the car, with Ocho, and drove into the big city.

I encountered a problem along the way.
A very slow, erratic, annoying problem.

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After trailing behind him for a mile, I hit the gas.
The fast lane isn’t usually my style, but I was on a mission.

I made it to the SPCA in record time.
I reached into the back seat for Ocho.

His juice glass was empty.
He was in my car. Somewhere.
I walked all the way home.

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This post brought to you by Cars For Sale.
Do any of you want to buy mine?

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Spring is dangerous.

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All of the beautiful flowers fill you with inspiration.
Now that winter is over, you start to believe you can do anything.
You agree to ridiculous things, like writing four books in six months.

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You start drinking coffee.
The caffeine zooms your typing speed into the stratosphere.

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You write two books.
You start to believe you can meet your deadlines.

And then…

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Allergies.

I weep.

I sneeze.

I gnash my teeth.

I curse Mother Nature.

I curse pollen. I curse in front of my kids.
I curse in front of the Principal and the Pastor and my Mom.

I watch Game of Thrones and dress like Khal Drogo and speak Drothraki.
My husband thinks I’m weird. My marriage suffers. Tension reigns. I sneeze.

The end.

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Twenty times a day, I run over my dog
…because she sits RIGHT behind my desk chair.

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The near-misses and actual collisions have produced much anxiety for me and the dog.
So, I decided to get her a nice, fluffy bed to enjoy at a safe distance from my chair.
She *HATES* the doggy bed with a passion that belies understanding.
She refuses to get into said doggy bed and I have NO idea WHY!
It’s soft, comfy, and clean…unlike my floor. What gives?

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I spent $30 for that doggy bed. Thirty bucks!
I am determined to use the blasted thing, gosh darn it.
So, I took matters into my own hands and deposited her into the bed.

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Have you ever seen such fear and distaste on a face before?
It’s like I’m making her eat worms. Or locking her in a dank cell.
After numerous attempts, pleading, and a few tantrums, we made the bed work.

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My dog no longer sits an inch away from my desk chair.
She sits an inch away from the doggy bed, which is an inch from my chair.

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This post brought to you by The Law of Unintended Consequences.
May your consequences by predictable…unlike mine.

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I heard that June 20th is Bring Your Dog to Work Day.
RedEnvelope is celebrating with their Workin’ Like a Dog project.

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A few months ago, there was an “incident” when our team visited another school.
Things got a bit, um, rowdy in the stands. I was pretty sure they’d forgive and forget.

I was wrong.

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This time around, we had to sit in the “naughty” section of the stadium.
I was embarrassed. Ashamed. And confused by all the rules…

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No shells? Do they mean seashells?
What kind of weird place is this if we can’t bring seashells? Or dogs?
What about a smoking dog who chews gum and collects seashells? Not welcome?

I just don’t get this place.
Then I met the Principal, and everything became crystal clear…

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This guy was really grumpy, because he was REALLY thirsty.
No wonder. Without a head, he had no good way to drink water.
So, I’ve decided to forgive him for the weird signs on campus.

Riddle me this: where is this guy’s head?

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You say artsy, I say fartsy.

by Lynn on April 23, 2014

Mother Nature loathes me.
Frankly, I think she’s jealous of my beauty.
I look pretty darn hot if you take off your glasses.

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To punish me, she’s throwing rain and cold temps our way.
Ha. Do your worst, Mother Nature. I can take it.
My daughter, however, can’t.
Guess which one is mine:

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So, if any of you have any connections with Mother Nature, tell her I’m ugly.
And tell her playing lacrosse on rainy spring days ain’t no picnic.
Oh, and tell her the daffodils are screaming for some sun.

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In fact, send her this artsy-fartsy photo of a daffodil in distress.
But don’t say “fartsy.” Mother Nature wouldn’t approve.
She’s very proper and refined. Unlike moi.

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Are you sick of Mother Nature’s machinations?
I say let’s rebel! Don’t allow her to control us any longer.
In fact, let’s all use the word “fartsy” just to annoy her and see what happens.

You go first…

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I didn’t trip and show my underwear.

by Lynn on April 16, 2014

Prom approaches…which means unexpected pimples.
Sweaty armpits. Awkward silences. Dance floor discomfort.
However, I’m happy to report that my kid found a dress. Yippee!

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How ’bout we venture down Memory Lane to my prom?
It was only ten years ago. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Hah.
Here we go…and yes, my date wore a blue tux.
Because we wanted to match.
Matching is important.

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Folks told me I looked like Kristy McNichol.
If you’re a thousand years old, you’ll remember Kristy.
Personally, I think I look uncomfortable…’cause I was used to wearing this:

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I’m wearing #44.
Yes, my opponent is driving past me.
Yes, she scored the game winning basket.
Yes, my shameful moment made the front page.
However, I managed not to trip and show my underwear at prom.
That’s worth printing on the front page, right? Next to the crime report.

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My high school date had a Ford Galaxy 500. It was an antique, and really cool.
Looking at these pictures makes me feel like an antique. And NOT cool.

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This post brought to you by Unexpected Pimples.
We are big, red, and psychologically painful.

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If you are so moved, I’d love to hear one of your embarrassing moments.
It’ll make me feel like I’m in good company.

Hugs,
Lynn :)

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I saw Darth Vader this weekend.
No, I wasn’t drinking. Why do you ask?
He was in Philadelphia. At the Kimmel Center.

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I thought it was about time to expose my family to some culture.
Apparently, Darth was thinking the same thing.

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Should I be worried I think like Darth Vader?
Should I take it as a complement? Or seek professional help?
Should I put down my light saber and cut the kids’ sandwiches with a knife instead?

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Darth and I went to see the Philly Pops play compositions by John Williams.
During the STAR WARS tunes, Darth and his buddies appeared on stage.
Photos weren’t allowed during the concert, but look at the next picture.

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How many STAR WARS folks do you see in the atrium?

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May the force be with you…

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Which was your favorite STAR WARS movie?

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When I gave birth, I had no idea my kid would be part of a murder trial.

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Little did I know this cuddly little bundle would take the stand in a courtroom.
I never anticipated watching her testify for the defense.
The darned lawyer even accused her of murder.

I’m so proud.

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She participated in our state’s high school “Mock Trial” competition.
Her job was to cast some doubt on whether the “accused” really committed murder.
Real lawyers judged the proceedings and real judges presided over the case.
At the end of the day, she received a gavel for “best witness.”

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Fellow parents gave me hearty congratulations.
I glowed with pride…but then a trembling fear shook my insides.
If my kid could confound a courtroom, what would she do at home?

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No wonder my fellow parents were smirking. I need a lawyer, people.
Someone who can convince my kid we don’t need another puppy.

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The post brought to you by The Law of Unintended Consequences.
No good parenting deed goes unpunished.

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Have you served on jury duty?

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