Prefers Her Fantasy Life

Why I Prefer My Fantasy Life #78

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 03:16:00 +0000

In my fantasy life my sons wouldn't argue with one another.

And in my fantasy life, if they did, they'd adopt my brilliant methods of persuasion.

Younger Brother: Mom, Older Brother just told me there were 7 spider legs in each taco from Taco Bell.

Me: (giving Older Brother the Sustained Evil Eye)

Older Brother: Well, I had to think of a comeback. We were fighting over which was better Taco Bell or McDonald's, and Younger Brother said the chicken at Mickey D's was made from the gross parts of the bird and held together by edible meat glue.

Me: (wishing my kids ate health food like they do in my fantasy life and heading to the fridge for a beer)

posted at Humor-Blogs

Transvestites, Transgenders and Transitive Verbs

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 00:51:00 +0000

As I mentioned I'm teaching at a two-year college that offers an associates degree in Medical Administrative Assistance. We have a strict dress code where students are required to wear scrubs and white sports shoes. Their hair must be a "natural" color--no bright reds or blues--and they must cover all facial piercings and tattoos.

Our security guard gets a bit overzealous in issuing dress code violations to the students.

Funny thing is, he's a "by-the-books" security guard by day. But by night, he's a flaming red-haired cross dresser. Yes, he...ur...she's brought me my coffee at Big Boy on more than one occasion.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I've got nothing against our transvestite security guard

Or any of the six trans-genders we have at our small college.

The only issue we have with them is which restroom they should use.

Hey, it makes my job of teaching the parts of speech a wee bit more interesting.

posted at Humor-Blogs

An Open Letter To My One Finger-Typing Student

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 23:42:00 +0000

I am so sorry I leaned over you and began typing words to your email sign-up questions.

I felt it my obligation to get the class over with by Thanksgiving.

I also apologize for grabbing the mouse from you. I assumed everyone knew that you had to position it on a field and click in order for it to work.

And when you couldn't create your email address because of the common name "Floyd Jones," I thought you knew I was kidding when I told you to try "Pink Floyd Jones."

In spite of our getting off on the wrong appendage, I greatly admire you. You have 8 kids and two day jobs, and you're spending your nights back in school to better your life.

You're doing great.

And with a bit of Xanax, I will be too.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Nothing Comes Between Me and My Jeff Tweedy

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 02:10:00 +0000

Not even the fact that soon-to-be-ex took his girlfriend to the concert,

or that my date, 6 foot and gorgeous, was my 14-year old daughter.

Not the fact we had to sequester ourselves from our mutual friends at dinner so no one felt awkward. And if I sound bitter here, that's because I am, you mutual friends.

Or the Noodles and Company restaurant which Daughter picked out of all the great places to eat in Ann Arbor.

Or the fact that Noodles and Company doesn't sell alcohol.

Or that Hill Auditorium in The Peoples' Republic of Ann Arbor, home of the Hash Bash, does not sell alcohol.

Nor the fact that even though I ordered tickets the day they went on sale, we were seated in the nose-bleed section.

Yes, the nose-bleed section where people were constantly getting up from their seats and disrupting my view. Yes, those people must have had alcohol which needed removal from their systems.

Damn them.

Nor the fact that I've been separated one year now from soon-to-be-ex and though it was my decision, it's still hard to see "our" favorite band separately. Plus, he got the microbrews. And the girlfriend. And the friends.

Damn you.

But....when My Jeff Tweedy strums on his acoustic and sings, "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart," life has meaning.

Nothing or no one comes close.

Well, I guess those guys that Daughter and I visited after the show aren't too bad. That Ben & Jerry. They're okay.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Why I Prefer My Fantasy Life #119

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 01:19:00 +0000

Did I mention I hate English teachers?

Did I mention I am an English teacher?

Last week I was hired as a full-time instructor at a small two-year college. I don't mind the teaching so much. But in my fantasy life I'd have students that didn't come late, leave early, and talk on their cell phones the short amount of time they were in class.

In my fantasy life, most of my students would have a high school diploma. And know how to write a simple sentence. And use a computer. And not have kids. Or criminal records.

In my fantasy life, I'd be on a campus where they didn't have two security guards, one roaming the hallways and one stationed in the women's restroom so it won't be trashed.

Because it has been trashed.

Often.

But really, I admire and am humbled by the fact that most of my students are ready for a new start in life, eager to give it their all.

I only wish that their hopeful faces weren't covered with the school- required bandages to hide their piercings. 'Cause if this guy comes in adhering to the bandage dress code, I think I'd be really spooked.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Thinking Outside The Six Pack

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 21:59:00 +0000

My previous post included my persuasive arguments for Teen Son on driving and drinking. Seems now I need to talk to Teen Daughter.

I had a few drinks at a party the other night and asked a friend to take me home. Daughter wanted to know why I didn't drive myself home.

"Because I don't drink and drive," I told her.

"Mom," she said, put off. "You don't have to do that. You just put down the drink and then keep both hands on the steering wheel."

Why didn't I think of that?

posted at Humor-Blogs

English Teachers Are Evil

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 16:20:00 +0000

Have I mentioned those English teachers are trying to kill me?

Wasn't it bad enough that Teen had to write a 1500 word essay on why the song "Blowin' In The Wind" relates to his world view when he doesn't even have a world view? Now Teen has to write an essay on how a speaker he knows uses Logos, Ethos and Pathos in their persuasive arguments. And that speaker would be me.

Seems I'm well-known in our household for my persuasive skills. According to English Teacher when I say, "Someone should feed the dog or else she'll slowly die," I'm using a tactic called guilt. As for the Logos, Ethos and Pathos, I'm still trying to figure them out.

As I understand it, Logos is a logical appeal using facts and figures to support the argument. I think I'm using it when I say something like this:

There's a reason drinking beer is illegal for 17-year olds. Your brains are still developing. And when you combine those developing brains that have a tendency to speed and tailgate and think they're invincible with alcohol, death happens. In fact, each year over 5,000 teens ages 16 to 20 die and 40,000 teens are injured due to car accidents. And of the male drivers between 15 and 20 years old who were killed, 24% of them had been drinking and driving.

Pathos seems to be an appeal to the listener's ethical judgement and is most effective when the speaker connects with an underlying value of the listener. I think I'm using Pathos when I say:

I know it's tempting to drink beer. But the fact is, it's illegal at your age. If you're driving and drinking, one of your girlfriends could get hurt and even worse, you could lose your license. And just think, if you lost your license, you'd have to walk the three blocks to school and dude, how embarrassing that would be?

Ethos I believe is an appeal to the authority of the speaker. In other words, the speaker convinces the listener that she is qualified to speak on the topic. I guess I'm using Ethos when I say the following:

I'm your mom. I know all about being a teenager. I know all about drinking beer. All I have to say is, wait until you're old enough to hire your own lawyer. And if you do drink beer, drink the good stuff for Chrissakes.

How'd I do?

posted at Humor-Blogs

Should Your Kid Be Reading These Books?

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 15:58:00 +0000

I watched this video of the puppets throwing out all the bad books and I have to say I disagree that most of them, including The Joy of Cooking, should be banned.

However, I have to admit there is one book I believe is completely inappropriate for kids and I'm working to get it removed from our school's 11th grade English curriculum. Yesterday, my son brought home this book:

Come on, people. Is a book that gives pointers on how to improve one's arguing skills what a TEENAGER should be reading?

I think not.

Thanks to A Free Man for reminding me this is Banned Books Week. I mean, if they can take away our books, they can take away our blogs.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Meg's Second Bar Fight

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 11:00:00 +0000

My brother is getting a divorce.

Without saying too much it involves stolen prescription drugs, a private investigator, threats from a married man, and a lawsuit over two horses that were paid for but never acquired (my sister-in-law bought them for a get-rich-quick scheme and my brother, having no place to board them, told the seller to keep the money and the horses).

Anyway, it all kind of takes the heat off me and my divorce.

Still, my Buddhist-leaning beliefs realize that everyone is in pain. Which is the reason I approached my sister-in-law's nephew in the bar. "What's between them is between them," I said. "We shouldn't let it affect our ability to say hey to each other."

Well, apparently not everyone buys into my Buddhist-leaning beliefs. Especially if they've been at the bar longer than I have, because he turned to me and said, "He's not even your brother."

Not even my brother?

This was the last thing I expected to hear. In fact, never once in my 39 years did I ever hear or even think that my brother wasn't my brother. Technically he's my half-brother. But my dad adopted him before I was born and we were raised together. Which makes him my brother.

I was so baffled with this guy's retort that my Buddhist-leaning beliefs flew out the bodhi tree, and I put my face in his and well...the rest is not very pretty so let's just say we needed to be separated.

Did I mention that the guy has been to my home at Christmas and played guitar with my son and drank my expensive micro-brews?

Which is the reason I found myself standing outside of the bar, crying on the street. If my good intentions can't be received by someone who's consumed mirco-brews in my home at Christmas, what hope is there for the Israelis and the Palestinians?

In the midst of my tears, a young woman with the tattoo, "If you can walk you can dance. If you can talk you can sing" walked by.

She gave me a hug.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Transformation? Sign Me Up!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 13:46:00 +0000

Dear Challenge Day Organizers,

Your upcoming workshop for Freshman sounds great. What could be better than promoting healthy peer relations? And your trust-building activities that give students a unique opportunity to see themselves and the people around them through a new set of eyes, WOW! Of special interest to me is your vision that every child lives in a world where they feel safe, loved and celebrated.

And I love the fact that you provide them with tools and alternatives for the healthy self expression while also being challenged to let go of self limiting thoughts, beliefs, and/or emotions.

To think that your expensive award-winning program has helped to transforms the lives of hundreds of thousands of teenagers...I just have one question for you. Why don't you offer this to the people who really need it?

Married Couples?

posted at Humor-Blogs

If Only Church Were This Much Fun

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 11:43:00 +0000

As you know I rarely post videos on this blog unless they have to do with songs for parents who like to do drugs.

But this one is good:

posted at Humor-Blogs

What's Wrong With This Picture?

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:40:00 +0000

There's a new site called People of Walmart that publishes amusing photos of actual shoppers.

But I'm not laughing.

No, I don't mind folks making fun of the cripples and derelicts of our great country. God knows with the agenda of our new Socialist president we all need a laugh. But this photo has gone too far:

Do you see it?

It's so obvious.

And so wrong.

Those colors.

Scarlet and gray. Those are the colors of the Ohio State University Buckeyes, meaning the creators of this site are obviously Michigan fans, meaning I won't be visiting their site nor promoting it on my blog. No way.

Some people just take things too damn far.

posted at Humor-Blogs

He's Too Sexy, Ur...Socialist For Our Schools

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 20:07:00 +0000

To the local educators who didn’t allow students to view President Obama’s speech out of fear of political indoctrination or that it didn’t meet the academic content standards:

I share your concerns.

What is this country coming to when a US president urges students to set goals and work hard in school? And he uses taxpayer dollars, to boot.

Yet despite the possibilities of what the speech may have contained, I wonder if a learning experience could have been tied to it. To you social studies teachers, what a great opportunity to discuss the nature of indoctrination with your classes. And you language arts instructors, why not use the speech to meet the content standards that say students should be exposed to a variety of texts that encourage “deep thinking?”

Yes, I do understand the concerns of parents and the angst of students. But I urge you educators to allow your classes to explore controversial messages and also to review the meaning of democracy and freedom of speech.

Furthermore, I believe there is a place for teaching students respect for the President of the United States. I understand that Obama isn't the usual ex-con-rapper-type that school districts often hire as motivational speakers, but he is our president. Socialist or not, he deserves our respect.

In the future, I hope you will think and act outside of the box.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Not The Way I Thought "The Sex Talk" Would Happen

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 11:16:00 +0000

Teen (on his way out the door to drive the 3 blocks to school): I'm coming home for lunch today. I'm bringing Jen.

Me: No, you can't today. No one will be here.

Teen: That's okay. We can get our own food.

Me: That won't work. No adult will be here.

Teen: So?

Me: So. You guys could have sex.

Teen: Mom. Are you kidding me?

Me: Hey, sex happens.

Teen: Mom. Are you kidding me?

Me: Here's 5 dollars. Take her to Taco Bell.

Teen (backing out of the driveway, window down): What if we have sex at Taco Bell?

Me (shouting at the moving vehicle): Then use a condom. You can get them at Walgreens across the street.

I wonder if I should have given him more than a 5 spot?

posted at Humor-Blogs

That Other English Teacher Is Trying To Kill Me, Too

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 20:15:00 +0000

You know how some bloggers exaggerate the truth for purposes of humor?

Well, I water it down as to not appear as crazy as I really am.

Although I think it's the people around me who are the crazy ones.

I wrote a post the other day about helping Teen Son write a 1500 word essay on "Blowin' In The Wind."

I told you that Monday morning he was pounding the mouse madly on the desk, shouting, What else can I write? I need 1200 more words! What should I say?

I told you I was spitting out ideas left and right, pacing like a krazed Kramer. What I didn't tell you was that Teen Daughter was in the family room writing a five paragraph essay on how to succeed in school. So the pacing back and forth was from essay to essay.

What does cannon balls fly mean? Teen Son barks.

I think it has to do with war, I tell him.

I need three more sentences in the expectations paragraph, Teen Daughter shrieks. I have to have a total of five.

Have you used the buzzed words: engagement, meaningful learning, deep thinking? I say.

How do spell Zimmerman?

Wait, no first, I need two more sentences in the learning environment paragraph. Just two more.

No, you've got to help me, I only have 626 words.

What do I say in the conclusion?

Who's Pete Seeger? Hurry, I'm going to be late for school.

Daughter finished first, snapped her notebook shut and demanded her brother drive her (the 3 blocks) to school.

Only brother needed 412 more words.

So Daughter proceeded to...how can I put this gently...have a full-fledged meltdown in the family room. The Other Parental Unit stepped in and drove her (the 3 blocks) to school, in one of the (5) cars in our driveway.

Teen made it to 1480 words, rushed out of the house and wildly began backing up his car on the grass around car #4--the 1975 Cadillac.

I bolted out in my pjs and bare feet, dodged the piles of dog doo doo in the yard--we've got a lot of poop going on in our lives right now--to guide him. When he backed into the fence I screamed like a Miley Cyrus fan. When he pulled forward and then backed into the Cadillac, I screamed like a Miley Cyrus fan on crack.

Later that day, just when I thought my nervous system had recovered, Gradeschooler comes home and tells me he has to write for 15 minutes.

He sits down and diligently begins.

After 88 seconds he says, Has it been 15 minutes yet?

Two minutes later he says, Has it been 15 minutes yet?

Three minutes later he says, Is my time up yet?

A minute a half later he says, Why are you drinking that beer so early?

If English teachers are going to send work home with a prescribed number of words, sentences and minutes, they should send home some Xanax as well, don't you think?

******

posted at Humor-Blogs

That English Teacher Is Trying To Kill Me

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 14:11:00 +0000

I'm all for Teen learning to write--but a 1500-word essay on how a song of Teen's choice relates to Teen's world view...

The Song of Choice: Blowin' in The Wind

The World View: under-developed

The Word Count So Far: 327

Teen types frantically on the computer in the living room pleading, Mom, Mom what else can I write? What can I say? What does white dove sail mean to you? Help! This is due.

Welcome to Monday Morning.

Even though the assignment was started Sunday evening, it takes Writer/Teacher Mom to give him the expert last minute advice: just BS your way through it.

But how?

Did you include the lyrics?

No.

Wouldn't that give you 300 extra words?

Good idea. He copies and pastes the song. OK. Now I need 900 more.

Did you talk about Dylan's background? I mean, adding the name Robert Zimmerman a lone gives you 2 more words, doesn't it?

Great. OK. What else? What else? What else? he bangs the mouse on the desk.

Did you google the background of the song, I say pacing the room like Kramer. Did you write what Dylan said the first time he performed the song: this ain't no protest song?

Ain't...no...protest...song. That's 4 more words. I'm at 725.

Did you mention Pete Seeger?

Pete...Seeger. That's 727.

No, I mean that Pete Seeger identified the tune as a Negro spiritual.

Negro....spiritual... That's 803 words.

How about Peter, Paul and Mary? That's at least three more words, I add.

Actually that's four. He attacks the keyboard.

Did you mention Vietnam? Or Greenwich Village?

Did you mention Enabler? The Other Parental Unit calls from the kitchen?

Ignore that man behind the refrigerator, I command. Did you write about having seen Dylan in concert?

Great...that should give me another 34 words....

How about....

Well, I bet you can imagine the rest.

Or can you?

If you imagined that Teen came up 20 words short of the 1500 and being late for school, raced out of the house, madly backed up his car on the grass around the car parked behind it, and hit on first try, the fence and on second try, his dad's 1975 Cadillac...

then you've imagined correctly.

But hey. Teen's world view included world peace, anti-discrimination and gay rights.

And he did choose a Dylan song.

So This Enabler must have done something right.

**************************

posted at Humor-Blogs

How I Spent My Midlife Crisis...I Mean, Summer Vacation

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 11:58:00 +0000

Did you ever spend an entire summer taking classes such as Teaching Phonemic Awareness, Teaching Phonics and Spelling for Emergent Readers, and Introduction to the Underlying Principles and Research for Effective Literacy Instruction and discover that you really don't want to renew your teaching license?

It's not that I don't like teaching. It's the students. They're big, loud and have terrible tastes in music.

In my fantasy life, I'd be a Digital Video Disc Recommender (aka Digital Versatile Disc Recommender). So instead of teaching Reading, I'd stand in front of the Skittles at Block Buster and recommend movies like The Reader--but not to watch with a 13-year old daughter like I did, cause there's lots of sex in it.

And lots of sex prompts serious discussions with teen girls, such as "Do you think those are real?" Not to make fun of anyone's tragedy, but the notion that a body can be identified by breast implants gives me one more reason to consider them.

But of course, I'm getting a divorce.

And I'm realizing I don't want to be a teacher.

There are no implants for me in my future.

And truly, I don't need them. Here I am with some artists friends:

So you see, I don't need implants. What I really need is a lift.

Can anyone give me a lift?

***************************************

BTW, I've been Spoofed by VE. Check it out HERE.

posted at humor-blogs and Penthouse

In-A-Gaada-Da-Vida - Meg's Best Vacation, Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 15:04:00 +0000

I've told you all about my crashing Blogher in Chicago. I also had another short vacation this summer with some buddies--and I couldn't have asked for a better destination, even in my fantasy life:

posted at Humor-Blogs and Conde Nast

In Bed With Muskrat, In The Bath With Bossy

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 15:18:00 +0000

As I was saying, I crashed Blogher and slept with a complete stranger named Vodka Mom.

But really, she wasn't a complete stranger. We know each other in the bloggy world. The thing folks outside the blogosphere don't get is that we bloggers have the benefits of a real community, and we never have to help anyone move.

Once I figured out who all the bloggers were...and as I said previously it's not that easy...Black Hockey Jesus, for example, is not black. Anyway, once I figured out who's who, I could talk to them like old pals.

To Nanny Goats: Are you still commuting between the two cities?

To Junk Drawer Kathy: How was your visit to the Blog Family Robinson?

To JD: Is your bunion any better?

Yep. We know all kinds of things about one another. Which is the real reason for crashing the conference.

And if one is brave enough to crash a conference, what's to prevent one from crashing a dinner party?

Here I am with some of the Mick Jaggers and Susan Boyles of the bloggy world: Maggie, Sprite, Anymommy, Amy, Sandi, Jessica, Ann, and Anna (Vodka Mom was behind the camera). On the phone with us was the biggest rock star of all--think Beatles meet the Maharaja kind of status--Braja.

And if one can crash a dinner, why not a session? I didn't want to take advantage of conference, so I brought my own pretzels and micro-brews. I did, however, go to the humor session to support my sistahs.

Plus I thought I could learn a thing or do. Which I did.

Jessica of Bern This and Anna of Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder gave some great writing advice:

--Use specific detail. For example, instead of writing, the man is tall. You'd write, the man is very tall.

--Don't use too many unnecessary or useless or redundant words to say what you can say in a paired-down, short, concise, straight to the point manner.

--Don't use cliches. I personally thought this tip was worth its weight in gold.

Besides the food and the advice, there were parties. I had the pleasure of crashing a few of them with Carolyn Online and Ms. Picket (who both look 29) btw. And truly, we did end up in the bathroom with Bossy. Singing I Will Survive.

And yes, I did end up in bed with Father Muskrat. I believe he was wearing a paper McDonald's hat on his head and holding a doll in his lap. We aren't that familiar with one another, but Muskrat knows I collect dolls. My suspicion is that Father Muskrat had the doll because he was trying to impress me and get into my...ah...my... header. Sorry dude, I don't allow Brats to mingle with Bonos.

But seriously, Blogher was blast (even though there were no Cusack sightings). It's true that you really can connect to people in the virtual world. Here's a book by two bloggers who did. Ms. Pickett and Carolyn formed the type of friendship where you can ask your pal to help you move. Check it out HERE.

posted at humor-blogs

The Time I Crashed Blogher and Slept With VodkaMom

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 15:24:00 +0000

Warning: The following post includes namedropping.

So I crashed the Blogher conference Friday. Wait. Before the Lesbian Mafia Wing of Blogher come to arrest me and force me listen to Tracy Chapman, I didn’t eat your food or attend your sessions. OK. OK. One session. But it was to support my sistas in humor (more on that later).

Anyway, I called up a random blogger and asked if I could camp out in her room. OK. OK. She wasn’t totally a random blogger. Here’s what I knew about her:

1) her name was Vodkamom

2) she has a daughter called Bitchy

OK. OK. That and she’s a rock star in the bloggy world. Now, I don't know whether she'd hit the sauce early or is simply a totally kind-hearted women* but she said yes.

Wait. I’m sorry. I forget. Some of you play tennis or knit or work for a living.

Let me explain Blogher.

Blogher is yearly conference on blogging with 900 women attendees and 7 men.** It’s the virtual Who’s Who’s of blogging. Just imagine going to a conference and having Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Bono, and Susan Boyle in the same hotel. Yah, it’s like that. Only with a lactation lounge and skinny biatches passing out chocolates in the lobby.

But we know what Mick Jagger and Susan Boyle look like (I’ll leave that up to you all to decide if that’s a good thing). It’s not so easy to match up these bloggers with their 1" by 1" image. When you meet these rock stars and your Borderline Social Anxiety Tourette's Syndrome rears it’s ugly tongue you say things like:

To:

Father Muskrat: I thought you’d be taller.

Maggie Dammit: Oh, your hair is so dark.

Amy of Bitchin’ Wives Club: You’re prettier in real life.

Ms. Picket: You have freckles. I can’t believe you have so many freckles.

Busy Dad:

Me Heiniken in Hand--Oh!! You’re Busy Dad

Him--Who? Is he a blogger?

Me--Dude, he’s THE mommy blogger.

Him--Busy Dad is a mommy blogger?

Me--No Dude, he’s THE mommy blogger.

Him--Is he any good.? What do you like about his blog?

Me--Dude, he's THE, I mean, you're THE mommy blogger. So good to meet you.

Two Heinekens later I return:

Me--Dude, you're just shitting me, right? You're Busy Dad.

Him--No, really. I’m not Busy Dad.

Me--You’re testing me, right? I know, you’re tired of your groupies and ...

Him--Truly. I'm not Busy Dad.

Me--Dude, think about it. This is conference with 900 women and 7 men. You expect me to believe two of them are Asian-American bloggers with shaved heads. But it's cool, dude. Nice to meet you.

Later that evening I ran into the real Busy Dad. We reminisced about the time he kick-boxed with My John Cusack in Venice Beach.

Yep. It all comes back to John Cusack.

Such is this Conference Crasher’s Midlife Crisis.

Kinda sad, really.

*a totally kind-hearted woman who doesn't snore at all

**Father Muskrat, Black Hockey Jesus, SecondHandKarl, Literal Dan, Backpacking Dad, Busy Dad, and another Asian guy who looks like Busy Dad

**************************************************

Stayed tuned for my conference after party crashing: In The Bath With Bossy, In Bed With Muskrat

posted at Humor-Blogs

Blogher 09 in Real Life and My Fantasy Life

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 17:54:00 +0000

So I'm going to Blogher. In real life.

Even though I got closed out of the conference, there'll be plenty of things for me to do. Too many actually. How do I choose?

There's the Blogher 5K or the Bowlher 09. Both sound like work, frankly.

There's the Ann Taylor Style Event or the gathering at the Queerosphere Crimson Lounge. Combine those two events and you'll have a REAL party.

--The MamaPopsRocks! A Sparklecorn Extravaganza???? Sounds sparkly. Very Sparkly.

--The Third Annual CheeseburgHer Party??? Wear a bag on my head? Hmm...maybe not.

--The Shutt Sister Suite GapBody Pajama Party??? A newly single girl partying with sisters in pajamas? What's wrong with that picture?

The choices were overwhelming.

I was going to go with the Queerosphere Crimson Lounge Party until I scrolled down the list and saw this:

When I read it was the Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party with chocolate, microbrews and a wine bar I knew my fantasy life had collided with my real life.

It's about time.

Look for me fellow Blogherers and keep me posted on any John Cusack sightings.

posted at Humor-Blogs where I used to be somebody

I'm Back But Not All Here

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 21:57:00 +0000

So....I moved.

And then stuff happened: the search for a roommate, a visit to a divorce lawyer, incidents with the kids--incidents involving the hospital and the police (SEPARATE INCIDENTS INVOLVING THE HOSPITAL AND THE POLICE that is), forgetting what floor I parked on in a Chicago garage (love that panic button), an echo cardiogram, a lung x-ray, an internet outage, another lung x-ray, a Yo La Tengo concert, a trip to Ikea, an Irish dance performance, a urine test, a 12 semester course load on-line, another urine test script that I haven't gotten done yet, an Avett Brothers show, Transformers II, two many Two-Hearted Ales, and a Google search stumble of dog+raccoon+scrotum.

Whew.

Things are finally getting back to normal. And for me normal is hosting a stranger on my couch. Here's Michael, a member of Couchsurfing.org who is biking the 48 states.

I mean, wouldn't you host him, too?

I've missed you all and will drop by soon. BTW, anyone Bloghering it?

Preferring My Fantasy Life Once Again

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 13:46:00 +0000

So I've been moving.

And not the fun kind you do on the dance floor when the bands plays Ring of Fire. It's the leaving-the-family-home-in-the-suburbs-and-moving-to-an-apartment-in-the-Bohemian/Artsy/Gay/Victorian-neighborhood-in-the-city kind.

Which shouldn't surprise anyone if you've been reading my blog lately.

As some of you know, I'm not your average Lacrosse Mom (the new Soccer Mom). I'm a couch surfer, an Irish stepdancer, a Wilcohead, and a world traveler, including two years in Tokyo.

So it came as a bit of a shock to me the other day when I went to my 5th grader's Author's Academy and read this about myself in his biography:

M's brother is very competitive in sports. His sister is a great artist. His dad loves sports. And his mom loves the color orange.

The color orange? His mom loves the color orange?

You see, in my fantasy life my son would have said something more interesting about me such as, My mom loves the color crimson.

So much better, don't you think?

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Stay tuned for more on San Francisco and those life-changing events.

posted at Humor-Blogs

Shacking Up With The Boyfriend: A San Francisco Treat

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Tue, 19 May 2009 11:57:00 +0000

Yes, we ate Rice-a-Roni. Practically every night. We budgeted ten dollars a week for food and Rice-A-Roni was under 50 cents a box. I worked at a bakery on Geary; he worked at a record store.

We were 19, Amjad and I. Just one year out of high school and instead of going to college, we were going to San Francisco.

Living hand to mouth was never more fun. Amjad would get promotional items from his record store and then turn around and sell them to the other record stores. With the few extra bucks, we'd put on our vintage clothes and go out dancing:

One time we found a Seiko watch on a sidewalk in Berkely and hocked it for ten dollars. Just the right amount to splurge on pizza.

That had been my third visit to the city. The first time I was there I was 16 and in trouble. I flew to San Francisco to meet my aunt and uncle there for one last exploit. When I returned, I made a life-altering decision: get rid of the drug-addicted-loser-of-a-boyfriend and everything associated with him.

I went back to San Francisco two years later--this time with a guy who was into hommus instead of herion. There were a lot of things I knew back then: I didn't want to college. I didn't want to stay in Toledo. I didn't want a paint-by-numbers, collect $200, buy St. James Place lifestyle.

This was no surprise to anyone.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was a bit different from the other kids. Art, poetry, music--these things set my soul on fire. When my high school counselor advised I take a higher math class, I'd have nothing to do with it. I didn't need math, I didn't need foreign language, I wasn't going to college. I was not, I repeat, I was not going to college.

I was going to live my life (not to be confused with "finding myself". That, dear Internets, is what I am currently doing).

Yes, I was going to live my life, dammit, and live it now.

Amjad and I loaded up the Dodge Dart and headed west. We made a brief stop in Venice Beach where we got jobs and rented a room on Electric Avenue from a character actor named Malik. After a month or so, we headed up the coast. It had been over a decade since the summer of love for most people. But not for me. I was in love with the city, with the rat-infested bakery I worked in, with the Japanese garden in the park, with my boyfriend, with the Haight, the boot leg albums we got from the record store, the Jim Dine exhibit at the museum, the clear, warm autum of a city that pulsates day and night.

And then a strange thing happened. A thing that often happens when you're in a strange and exciting place. You discover that there's a whole lot of strange and exciting stuff you don't have a clue about.

So what do you do? You probably guessed it.

You return home, work in your dad's restaurant and enroll in the local college, because dammit, there are things you need to know about to live your life fully in this strange and exciting world of ours.

Of course, me being the odd kid, the one who talked to her pen, the one who bought the semi-nude magazine cover into English class, the one who skipped school (3x actaully) to stand in line for concert tickets, the one who protested saying the Pledge of Allegiance, the one who...where was I?

Oh yeah, me being me, I did things my way. College was still not the means of getting a job and buying Park Place. Continuing my education was a way of enriching my life. I enrolled and spent two years studying nothing but music, art and dance. I know, a nightmare tract for you parents of college-bound seniors. But hey, would you rather have them shacking up with their lovers and dressing like this:

Stay tuned for more San Fran Stories

posted at Humor-Blogs

Why Pens, Prom Dresses and San Francisco

noreply@blogger.com (Prefers Her Fantasy Life) — Fri, 15 May 2009 12:08:00 +0000

NOTE: This is part of the San Francisco Chronicles, essays on how four trips to San Francisco marked life-changing events. If you missed My First Time--A Teen in Trouble, CLICK HERE. If you've come for prom photos, keep reading.

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I was never like the other kids. In the second grade my teacher told my mom she was worried about me because I talked to my pen. True. I even spanked it when it made mistakes.

But what my teacher labeled as odd, I thought of as imaginative. And perhaps later, as rebellious.

And this Imaginative/Rebellious Nature got me into trouble more than a few times.

In junior high school I got reprimanded for bringing in a cover from Life magazine with two semi-nude people on it. My Alcoholic of An English teacher loved it and pinned it on the board. The principal, did not.

Nor did the principal love the bare midriff I wore to school one day. He called my mom and the three of us had a meeting in his office. "You are supposed to dress for school as you would dress for a job," he lectured us. My mom replied, "And what if she were working as a belly dancer?"

Yep. Now you know where I get it from.

In high school I got in trouble for not saying the Pledge of Alliance during the National Honor Society Induction and for wanting to write an article for the school newspaper on the Marijuana Coalition. I was the news feature editor, after all. And decriminalizing marijuana was news. And a damn good idea.

I also got in trouble for skipping school one day so I could go up to Detroit--50 miles north--and stand in line for tickets to Paul McCartney and Wings.

Somehow the principal found out and tried to suspend me. Mom, my co-conspirator and chauffuer, came to the rescue again. She wrote a letter: "If boys can skip school on the opening day of hunting season to kill those poor baby deer, my daughter can surely miss school to get tickets for one of the greatest bands in the world."

Music was my life back then. And also art and poetry.

So is it any wonder an odd girl like me would wear this dress to her senior prom?

No I wasn't that odd. I did go with a guy--a Jeep worker, much older of course and broke. We couldn't afford to get our photo taken, but that is the dress I wore. Notice the cool bangle bracelets on my upper arm? It's all about the accessories, isn't it?

Anyway, because one prom is never enough, two years after high school I went to another in solidarity with Poetry Pal and his date. This time my boyfriend (who also worked at Jeep) and I could afford a photo:

Notice I'm wearing a pearl bracelet? I dropped the beads and bangles for a 40s Vintage Look.

But skipping school or refusing to wear a traditional prom dress aside, an even more significant sign of my rebelliousness was my refusal to take college-bound classes in high school.

You see, I didn't need them. I wasn't going to college.

I was a smart girl and my counselor advised me to take advanced math and science and foreign language. I wasn't having any of it.

I took four years of art, four years of English and three years of journalism. I wanted to feed my passions, not prepare myself for what? To be another cog in the wheel? Hell no.

I think now that the reason I had no interest in attending a university was simply because I didn't want anyone else dictating what I should learn and when I should learn it.

Which is why after high school, when other friends went for further education, I went for further adventure. My BBF and I hitchhiked out west for a month.

See that suede fringed coat? God, I miss it.

Yes, that was the decade of long hair parted in the middle, hippie clothing and hitchhiking.

Big sunglasses. They're back.

My Friend and I made it up to San Francisco to meet up my now-deceased buddy (pictured with me above in the prom dress). It was my second visit to the city.

I remember this Odd Hippie Rebel dancing in front of the Greyhound bus station off of Market and having a bit of fun with the street performers near the Wharf, but I'll leave the details to another post.

Notice the poppy? I'm not too cool to support the veterans, you know.

So what happened next? You might think after her big adventure some sense would come to a smart girl--that she'd see the need to continue her education.

Not this smart girl.

After I returned I worked in my dad's restaurant, and the next summer I returned to San Francisco again. This time to shack up with my boyfriend:

No, not Lindsey Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac. His name is Amjad.

FOR OTHER PROM PHOTO PARTICIPANTS, VISIT THE HOSTS STILETTO MOM,

BLISSFULLY CAFFEINATED

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Stay Tuned: Shacking Up With (or Shagging Up) The Boyfriend--A San Francisco Treat

posted at Humor-Blogs