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The High School Smoking Area

August 10, 2011 By

Today I’m linking up with the oh so funny Poppy of Funny or Snot fame.


 

Adam, the Vintage Idiot,  was rifling around in some of my old albums.  Stored in the same place was a school newspaper.  From 1989.  My senior year.

I’m not sure I even read it in 1989.  So, I paged through it and ended up finding it hysterical.  Lots of inappropriate New Years Resolutions.  Some pretty bad grammar.  But, one article really jumped out at me.

Smokers Are People Too

Apparently there was much buzz about the relocation of the smoking area.  Mind you, this smoking area wasn’t a place for the teachers to have a Marlboro after a particularly rowdy economics class.  Nah, I think they were probably still smoking in the teacher’s lounge at that time.

Nope, this was for the students.  The high school students.  Because, you know,  it would be cruel and unusual to make kids spend a whole day at school without burning one.

In the article, the principal said that it needed to be relocated because of visibility and neatness. “Trash cans and cigarette butts on front campus present a negative view for visitors.”

Okay, I’m thinking that a gang of teenagers standing around in a haze of smoke would have more  been off putting than the trash cans and cigarette butts to the visitors.

But what do I know?  It was a different time.  I can hardly remember 1989.

I’m very old now.

And if smoking was allowed, that meant a bunch of 14 year olds were running around the school with lighters too?  Craziness!

Though the place never burned down, so, again, what do I know?

I wish I weren’t facing technical difficulties, because I’d love to scan the photo that accompanied the article.  It was a bunch of kids standing around in Members Only jackets and tight jeans smoking.  “Seniors Chill in the Smoking Area,” was the caption beneath.  I know their parents were proud that they’d made the paper.

I can’t help but wonder if you had to have a permission slip signed from your parents or not.

Very odd, this eighties living.  Makes me think, WTF?

I’m just thankful that they didn’t have a drinking area.

I’d have never graduated!

Kidding. Maybe. ;)

Click on that link above and see others pose the burning question, WTF?

Y’all have a good Wednesday!

Lula Lola bird signature

 

 

23 Comments Filed Under: Funny Stuff, Lula Lola Tagged With: , ,

Lofty Goals

May 29, 2011 By

Okay.  So, this is just like high school.  I’m running a little late, unprepared and generally pretty half assed.   Some things never change!

Liz from a belle, a bean & a chicago dog asked me to show off my senior pictures. Hit the button below and check out lots of senior pictures.  Good times!

 

 

 

Of course, we played hooky for the last week of school and scooted off to the beach.  Some things never change.  As hard as this is to believe, I didn’t bring my high school year book with me.  And I don’t happen to have any senior pictures with me.  I’m the only one not traveling with photos of myself at 18 with big hair draped in black velvet, I know.  But, thankfully for me, I have friends.

So, I snagged some pictures from a friend or two and have put together a blog post that’s probably par with my bug collection project in Mr. Horton’s science(Biology?) class.  The one where I glued other people’s leftover bug parts together to form hybrid bugs.  A leg here, a wing there and you have……a mess.

So, in keeping with my high school legacy, I present you with an uplifting post about working hard and achieving your goals.  Or a hot mess.

On Setting Goals

Not sure why that green striped shirt seemed like a good wardrobe choice for my senior pictures.  Even less sure about the bright purple rectangle behind my head that was cocked so  jauntily askew.  I can’t even get into my feelings about the green eye liner.  And I realize my hair was really flat.  But, it was 1989.  And it was the beginning of the year.  It gave me a goal for my senior year.  Everyone needs goals, right?

On Achieving the Big Hair

I would not be discouraged by the tiny hair in my senior pictures.   No sir.  I sat in my room with the giant yellow flowered wall paper, in front of my floor length mirror, beside my unmade bed and my book shelf with no books that had been converted into a curling iron holder, and I teased my hair.  I teased and teased and teased in my contrasting colored  Hanes pocket tees(?).    And I my hair got bigger.

And it covered one eye.  And I hung around with other people with giant hair.  And I still didn’t feel….big enough.  I was short.  I needed for my hair to be bigger.  I wasn’t gaining much height from the double layer of slouch socks that matched my Hanes Pocket tees either.

I’d have to go back to the room with the flowered wallpaper with the full length mirror, beside the unmade bed and the book shelf with no books that acted as a curling iron holder to rememdy this situation.  I’d have big hair.

It was my senior year, dammit.  And I wouldn’t be short and flat haired.

It was 1989, and Every Rose Had it’s Thorn, and every girl had big hair.

I realized that the pocket tees weren’t doing me any favors either.

Eventually, I’d be awarded the trophy for Most likely to be an Understudy for Tawny Kitaen of White Snake Video Fame If She Ever Came to a Small Town and Climbed on a  Camaro in a Hardee’s Parking Lot.

I was humbled and honored.  It was a lot of work.  Sadly, the photographer here, I’m thinking my best friend, Holly, wasn’t able to fit all of my hair, the hair I’d worked so hard on, into the frame.  I’m sorry it wasn’t captured in all of it’s glory for you all to enjoy.  It was amazing.

So, in a nutshell, my senior year was very successful.  I’d accomplished the goal I’d set forth for myself.  And then some.  The ozone would never be the same.

So, to the senior class of 2011, know, you can achieve your goals.  Just don’t set them too high because it takes a lot of hair spray and teasing to get there.  Trust me, I know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

****Special thanks to my friend Scott for hanging on to this glorious collection of pictures.  They are an important part of Tawny Kitaen wannabe memorabilia.  The whole world thanks you Scott!

***** When I return home, I will try and round up some pictures of me achieving another goal.  The goal of passing for a Rent-a-Woman.  I knocked that one out of the park too.  I think you’d be impressed.

20 Comments Filed Under: Funny Stuff, Lula Lola

My Three Grandchildren

May 28, 2011 By

 

We’d finished up supper a few nights ago.  The big guys had gone in the house and Sam and I were on the porch talking.  Here’s a snippet of our conversation.

 

Sam: Mom, do you have to grow up and get married?  Or can you stay with your parents forever.

Me: Well, I suppose you could stay with your parents forever.  (I am reminded of a relative of a close friend at this point.)

Yeah…..only, that would be weird.  And I want a house full of grandchildren one day.  So, my vote is that you leave home and get married and have lots of kids.

Sam: (Ponders this for a second)  I will.  I will get married.  And I will have three boys.  Because, I know you like boys.  And I will name them Adam, Mack and Sam.(Original, huh?)

And Adam will be………………..normal.

And Mack will be wild. (not an ounce of hesitation before he pulled the “wild” out)

And Sam will be……..nice and charming.

Nice and Charming,  pictured above.

 

Me: (Laughing too much to say anything.  He was so dead on in the descriptions.)

 

Not sure how many six year olds refer to themselves as “charming.”  But, it fits Sam pretty well.

Adam is the closest to normal this family has churned out.

And Mack, God love him, is born to be wild.

Looking forward to the grands in my future!   Distant future.

But, enjoying  my three sons for now.

 

 

 

Me: Yep.  Sam, I’d be happy with another Adam, Mack and Sam, any day of the week!

 

Have a Happy Saturday!

11 Comments Filed Under: Funny Stuff, Life with the kids

Losing the Filter

April 12, 2011 By

I’ve got a theory.  I’d love it if you’d hear me out and then weigh in on it.

The older you get, the more your filter wears away.

The one that censors what you’re thinking before it rolls out of your mouth.  The one that surveys the crowd that you’re with before saying the first thing that pops into your head.  I think as you age, it wears away.

The Filter At It’s Prime

I’m guessing that the teenage years are when the filter is strongest.  Your social life is dependent upon it.  For instance, if you slip and say you were going to your boyfriend’s house and not your friend’s  house by accident, you may be stuck at home on a Friday night or ten.

If you admit that the Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine(using the word wine very loosely) was yours and not a bottle that you took from your troubled friend who’s parents are having marital problems, just before they made the poor choice to drown their troubles in the bottle, you might be grounded until you leave for college.

During these years, it’s in prime working condition.  Used often and with purpose.

It Relaxes a Little, But is Still Fully Functional

College rolls on and it loosens some.  But, with certain parents, it has to remain functional. Telling the truth about  bad grades or how you spent your weekend could bring you right home.

After that, there’s still a filter in place that keeps you from saying a bad word in front of people that seem like real adults.

You become a real adult.  You may get married and have a family.  You’re in your thirties.  And you find yourself still filtering most of the time.  You watch what you say around the kids.  You may edit what you’re thinking when you’re with your in-laws.  You filter what you say around coaches and teachers and what not.

And throughout your whole life, you have friends that you don’t filter anything with.  They are imperative to your sanity.

Goodbye Filter, Hello New Bumper

I’ve not been able to figure the precise age when the filter falls off.  But, there is a day and it is coming.

Wayne and I had just gotten a new car and were driving into a furniture store.  As I turned into the parking lot, a really well dressed senior citizen in a convertible nailed me.  I stopped the car, put it in park and was getting out to talk to her about the damage, when she put her car in reverse and went around me and parked.  I assumed because her car was partially still in the road that she was moving it for safety purposes.

I put my car in drive and eased on up behind her.

Wayne got out.

She was getting her bag and heading into the store.

Wayne gets out and calls, “Ma’am, Ma’am. Excuse me.  Ma’am.”  I could hear a question mark in his voice as she continued towards the store.

He said, “I’m going to go ahead and call the police, okay? Ma’am.”

“Police, POLICE?  Why are you calling the DAMN POLICE?”

“About the accident a second ago.”

“WHAT ACCIDENT?  WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THERE WAS NO DAMNED ACCIDENT!!!!!”

Wayne was looking a little sheepish, not the reaction he was expecting.

“When you ran into my wife’s car…”

“I DIDN’T RUN INTO YOUR DAMN WIFE’S STUPID CAR.”

I figured I better go ahead and dial the police while trying to listen at the same time.

Again with the cussing. Lots of it.

I was starting to get really tickled.

So, I slipped out and I said(with no laughter in my voice), “Yes ma’am, you bumped into us right over there.”  {I’m saying this in my most meek and non-confrontational voice.} Gesturing to the scene of the crime.

She looked at me and called me something that has probably been said about me countless times, but never to my face.

“YOU’RE A DAMNED FOOL!”

And then Wayne decided to pipe up and come to my defense against the profanity slinging octogenarian.

“Now, don’t call my wife names….. Ma’am.”

He’s my hero.

She’d already headed into the furniture store to price ottomans or something.

So, we waited for the police.  And waited.

She came out before the police got there and I asked her to wait as well.

And again with the “DAMN FOOL” she got into her car and drove away.

We noticed several scrapes and scratches on her car.  I’m thinking it had been a nice car before she’d gotten behind the wheel.

Something to Look Forward To

I was in tears at this point. I could not stop laughing.

My husband’s very serious reaction to the whole thing made it even funnier.

Wayne didn’t find the humor in any of it until I was retelling it to a friend on the way home.

Nothing ever became of our little hit and run.

Except, it made me recognize that filters come off as you get older.  And not only do they come off, but you get in less trouble when you’re inappropriate or break rules!

Something to look forward to as we age!

Hope your filter is slipping, but not too fast!

 

 

11 Comments Filed Under: Funny Stuff Tagged With: ,

A Cre-A-mation Story

March 2, 2011 By

Recently, I told you the story of my dad’s passing.  Not really going to my happy place with that one.  And though, this isn’t the most cheerful tale ever told, it is kind of funny.  And it completely sums up who I am.   The good, the bad and the ugly.

I don’t do hospitals well.  I don’t do funerals well.   I don’t “view” bodies.  I have to resist the urge to run fast and hard away from hospitals, funerals, visitations and everything in between.  And I have a tendency to laugh inappropriately.  It’s some sort of coping mechanism, I feel sure.  For my husband, it’s a more than a little disconcerting.

His family loves hospitals and funerals.  They seriously love gathering at a hospital in a way that I’ve never seen.  Gall stones or gas pains can fill up an entire waiting room.   They love to exaggerate a condition and get everyone gathered at the hospital to anticipate scary possibilities, complex procedures and funerals. There are serious whispers and hushed reverent tones used to discuss all the possibilities that an appendicitis  or hang nail or heart disease could bring.

I prefer a drama free approach.  One that doesn’t involve me.  When hospitalized, I appreciate thoughts and company.  With a death, I appreciate people too.  I just get overwhelmed by it.  I don’t want a lot of long intense hugs ending in tears.  I don’t like long stares and hair stroking.  Not from people that I only see once every seven years or so, anyway.  I don’t want to be smothered.  I need room to process.  And I’m a talker, and I crave people.  And I’m not a private person at all.  I’m an over-sharer, for heavens sake.  But, when I’m grieving or afraid or watching someone suffer, I don’t like doing it in front of probing eyes.

When my mom died, I remember her funeral very well.   Just like most other funerals I’ve attended, our family was paraded through the church and seated down front.  I was very uncomfortable with my grief being on display.  And even at age 12, I remember feeling like people were discussing how I was “taking it.”  And how do you know if you’re “taking it” right?   I didn’t want the way I was dealing with her death judged.

Life happened and I developed ways of coping that didn’t involve me breaking down and crying in front of strangers.   The way I cope with my own tragedies is through laughter and saving the painful stuff for when I’m all alone.  Now, don’t get me wrong, if a situation isn’t mine directly, I’ve been known to shed many tears.  It’s the ones that effect me personally that throw me into survival mode.

Okay, so that’s who I am.  So, maybe this won’t sound too strange.

Or maybe it will.

Cause, it kind of is.

My dad requested a cremation.  And I appreciated it.  After viewing my mom’s body as a child, it’s always been the first picture that pops into my head when I think of her.  Pink and white dress.  And earrings.  Though she never wore earrings.  The ill fitted wig that she hated so much.  And her hands folded clasping a pink rose.  ‘Cause, who doesn’t lie around gripping a flower.  It’s a mental picture I’d love to lose.

So, when my dad died, I didn’t even identify the body.  Though, it was required before he could be cremated.  Wayne talked them into allowing him to be next of kin so I didn’t have to do it.  He’s good to me like that.

Making Arrangements

We had to meet with the funeral home and make arrangements.  And the scene is so vivid to me, even now.  I’m an only child, so it’s just Wayne and me.

We arrive at the funeral home.  And it’s one of those large old houses,  a creepy, funeral home-ish setting. As far as I can remember, it’s always been a funeral home.   I recognize the people who work there, we live in such a small town.  They’re at all the funerals.  Though I know them, I don’t know them.

When Funeral Home Man(not his real name) shakes my hand, I am honestly surprised that it isn’t corpse cold.  That thought makes me want to laugh.

We are seated around a dining room table in this old house.  I’m trying to decide if this was the dining room.  Heck, was this ever a real house? What is this place?

Very respectfully, Funeral Home Man starts asking questions about our plans and intentions.  I tell him that my dad’s wishes are to be cremated.  Funeral Home Man then repeatedly says “Cre-A-Mation.”

If it were a drinking game and I had to take a drink every time he said, “Cre-A-Mation”  I would have been snockered.

His pronunciation and warm hands are going to be my undoing, I’m afraid.  I’m biting my lip, trying to think of something else.

Wayne, coming from the reverent family that he came from, is not catching a bit of the humor of this situation.  Watching his serious expression and courteous nods of agreement is making it harder for me not to laugh out loud.

After the 189th “Cre-A-Mation” I’m nearly in hysterics. I’m poking myself with my thumbnail, hoping it’ll be uncomfortable enough to head the approaching hysterics off.

And then he’s discussing ashes.

My dad requested his ashes be scattered with my mom and on the beach.  I kind of wanted to leave a little piece at Clemson, he was a Clemson tiger down to his soul.  But, the thought of dividing his ashes, well, to be frank, grossed me out.

So, before Funeral Home Man could utter his 190th “Cre-A-Mation,” I asked the world’s most inappropriate question.  I could not stop myself.

“Is there any way you can triple bag him?”

At this point, I have startled Appropriately Grieving Husband as well as Funeral Home Man.

I can tell by Wayne’s expression that he thinks I’ve taken leave of my senses.  He’s embarrassed.  And Funeral Home Man is trying hard to recover from my poor turn of a phrase.

And I am coming undone.

I am fighting the laughter.

Tears are in my eyes.

I am a crazy person.

This realization makes me laugh that much harder.

It was awful!

My daddy would have loved it!

Procrastination

Nine years later and he’s still not scattered.

We had his old Lincoln Continental parked in our driveway for a few months after his death.  And because his ashes kind of creeped me out, we put them out there. (I’m not claiming not to be a nut.)  Lots of jokes were made about Daddy coming with the car if we sold it.  And my best friend said she always spoke to my dad when she was out walking.  She joked around that if she wrote a book the title would have to be something like, My Best Friend’s Dead Father is Parked out Front in a Lincoln Continental or something like that.

It would have been a great book!

He spent a few years in the coat closet.  And now, he’s here somewhere.  Not sure where Wayne put him when we moved.  Wayne’s been the pallbearer for the last nine years.  Being married to me is a sweet gig!

I don’t know what I’m waiting on.

Maybe this year.

Father’s Day.

Maybe.

 

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25 Comments Filed Under: Funny Stuff, Life with the kids, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,
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