When recently interviewed by CNN and asked about the situation and motives behind North Korea’s leader, Kim Jong Un, and his recent threats against the US, retired pro basketball player and Kim’s friend Dennis Rodman (who knew?) pronounced all judgments against Kim “politicianal.” The four minutes of golden video went like this:

“You’ve recently visited North Korea and spent time with Kim Jong Un, Dennis. What’s your take on his actions toward the US?”

“Ah you know, it’s like, e’erthing is like, *slams hands for effect* politicianal.”

Mmmmhmmm. Dennis, yes, our feelings are “politicianal.” I get it.

And it worked for him. Dennis didn’t have to fire off too many brain cells and was able to conserve the few stragglers he has left in his cerebrum, so, yes, I will be saving my neurons and making up my own words too.

I will use whatever floats to my mind, cerebellar viscery, if you will. What trips the tongue rolls out of the mouth.

I pledge from here on in and forever, you will hear more words from me than those flying around at a national dementia conference. And I will do everything in my power to make this possible for overworked, overtired, overtaxed minds the world over.

This movement is going to make things so much easified and plentitudinal for me. You see, I have greatominous ideas, but no fire braining power to have them spill out of my mouth. But that changes today, because language — or lack thereof — will no longer be the barricadawall it once was, putonifying stoppage to my dreamvisions.

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Many of life’s big lessons, I learned from Uncle Mick.

“You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find…

You get what you need.”

I say it to my kids all the time.

Kids today just don’t know how good they’ve got it. Isn’t that what our parents said?  The stories my mom regaled me with about her Depression era upbringing included having nothing to play with but two 2×4′s nailed together, attached to four roller skates.

Perspective.

But when your kids complain from the back seat on the way to the grocery store that they’ve lost cell reception during a TV show citing an inability to make the trip without entertainment, I can’t help but think of my own childhood when TV in the car was Sci-Fi.

My kids pine for the next, much more amazingly life enhancing XBox inception and I think “Don’t  you kids realize we had Pong, for chrissakes?

“I can’t get no satisfaction. I try and I try and I try and I try. But I can’t get no. No, no, no. Hey, hey…HEY!”

That’s what I say.

And when they expound upon the culinary achievment that is the Double Down, I reason “Ain’t that America?”

“This dinner looks like dog crap!” I demurely reply “Don’t do me like that.”

They come home upset about their day, wanting to throw in the chips? “Don’t stop thinkin’ about tomorrow. Don’t stop. It’ll soon be here. It’ll be better than before. Yesterday’s gone. Yesterday’s gone.”

My oldest son’s best friend asks the girl they’re both crushing on to a dance? “Everybody hurts…sometime…”

Wanna hole yourself up in your bedroom for a gaming marathon, not even resurfacing for meals? “Don’t have to live like a refugee”.

Rock lyrics are full of life lesson gems. As a songwriter, I use it to my advantage. After all, rock stars’ personal hell shouldn’t be in vain, right? We should be able to use that shit.

My kids should consider themselves lucky their mom listens to cool stuff. I grew up on Andy Williams. The “coolest” thing he did was gift his friends coke spoons for the Holidays. While everybody on Andy’s gift list had a white Christmas, my mom crossed Andy off her playlist. Probably the only thing I gleaned from her generation’s music was “there I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’”.  And there you have it; don’t be the one to say it first kids.

The kids lie to me? “Don’t play with me ’cause you’re playin’ with fire.”

My kid’s friend just demolished my favorite lamp? “Don’t Come Around Here No More”.

Whispered words of wisdom often shouted in abject exasperation.

Hell, even Ozzy Osbourne has a positive message to convey. “Maybe it’s not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate.”

And when that falls upon deaf ears…

Just get off the “Crazy Train ” and “Bark At the Moon”.

So, every now and then I call and talk about the dog or the cat. Our conversations are brief and amiable. We joke around for a minute and then get to business.

So I called her yesterday and after the business about the dog’s teeth she asked, “So, what’s going on?” She has never, in all our talks, expressed interest in my personal life. It’s always been business, a quick joke, and then off the phone. I just said, “Nothing much,” and hung up the phone as quick as possible. I’m not interested in telling her about my dating life.

Then this morning I get an email where she had messaged the vet who’s going to take care of Meepers during the dental. She told him the procedure she wanted him to do. He replied and agreed, but at the end also said, “Congrats on the nuptials!”

Did she accidentally forget to delete that line before sending to me or did she do it on purpose in a fucked-up, passive aggressive way? Or maybe she just didn’t give a shit. Who knows? Well, after Googling “nuptials” I learned it meant she got married.

Here’s the part that pissed me off. She still uses my last name. To this day. Now, I don’t quite understand this plan. She was a Johnson for thirty-two years. Decent last name. Marries me for two years, and then leaves. Keeps the name. Weird, but whatever. We don’t have children or anything. Then marries a new dude. Still keeps my name. Double weird.

And yes, I can understand that “Paris” is kind of a neat last name. But to keep it after a failed marriage and then a new one is really bizarre. I can only hope that her new husband’s name is “Feltersnatch.” Then it would make sense.

In a ironic twist, my family is Spanish. 0% French.

photo credit: Anirudh Koul via photopin cc

This recipe is perfect for little hands to get involved.

Any pan will do. I used a simple dollar store disposable cake pan and it worked fine.

Super Easy Cinnamon Pull Apart Bread
Ingredients:
1/3 cup butter
1/3 cup cinnamon sugar
1 (16 ounce) pkg pre-made pizza or bread dough

Directions:
1 Preheat oven to 375 degrees F
2 Separate dough into small bite sized pieces
3 Melt butter in small bowl
4 Toss dough pieces in melted butter to lightly coat, then dip in cinnamon sugar to coat
5 Layer dough pieces in 8 in round cake pan or 8×8 square baking dish
5. Bake in oven until the bread is browned and cooked through in the center, 30-40 min
6. Remove from oven, cool slightly and serve warm

I like to think I’m a hands-on parent. Somewhere between absent and hovering. In an attempt to “participate” in my children’s “upbringing,” I sometimes look over their shoulder to see what they’re watching on their various devices. Shockingly, the 16-year-old and the 14-year-old find this annoying. The 9-year-old, however, STILL LOVES ME, and willingly participates in conversations with me.

So, Leo’s at the table, headphones in, eyes glued to iPod. I come up behind him to see what’s on the screen. A wave of relief washes over me as I see that it is an episode of “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine,” and not “Drake and Josh.” (I hate “Drake and Josh” with the fire and heat of a thousand suns.)

I watched a minute or so of DSN over his shoulder, without the benefit of sound. The main characters all looked tired, worn, and annoyed.

I said, loudly enough to be heard over his headphones, “Boy, they sure look tired!” (I can’t BELIEVE the teenagers don’t find my conversation skills thrilling.)

He said, “No, mom, they’re not tired.”

“Oh,” I said. “They sure look annoyed, though!”

Sweet boy that he is, he paused the show, took out his headphones, and excitedly explained the plot line to me.

“They all have aphasia, mom! It’s this problem when you know words and language, but when you try to say them, DIFFERENT words come out. They’re all gonna die unless they can figure out how to communicate!”

“That’s a really cool plot,” I said. What I was thinking, though, was “Did my f*cking NINE-year-old just competently explain aphasia to me?” Then I dug back, with fond memories, to when my parents taught me what aphasia was… waaaaaaay back. Two WHOLE WEEKS back, when they explained the condition to me because one of their close friends had a stroke and suffers from it now. I was all of 43 years old. Isn’t that sweet?

He went back to watching, but then paused the show again and asked, “What causes aphasia?” Yay! Now’s my chance to sound knowledgeable!

“Well, Sweetie, Grandma and Grandpa have a friend with aphasia, and his was caused by a stroke.” There.

“What else causes it?”

“Uh… um… some other illnesses, I’m sure – or maybe a virus or bacteria… or maybe the brain isn’t… WHY DON’T WE JUST LOOK IT UP???” I forced a smile and went to the laptop.

“How do you spell it?” he asked.

“E-P-H…” I started… but then I had to correct myself, as according to the computer (know-it-all) it was spelled with an “A.”

“A-P-H-A-S-I-A.” We were directed to this site, Medical News Today, which had an in-depth explanation and examples. I scrolled down to look for the causes, and he stopped me – “Wait! I’m still reading!”

“Sorry,” I said. Sorry I scrolled too fast while you were READING AND UNDERSTANDING the differences between “Global Aphasia,” “Fluent Aphasia” and “Non-fluent Aphasia.”

Then he gave the all clear to scroll down to the causes of aphasia:

• Stroke

• Traumatic brain injury

• Epilepsy

• Migraine

• Brain tumor

• Alzheimer’s

• Parkinson’s

• Parenting

Okay, that last one wasn’t really listed on the website as a cause. But I could make a damn good argument that it should have been.

About the Author: When Aliza Worthington was little, she wanted to be a ballerina.  And the first female catcher for the New York Mets.  Neither happened, but she still loves ballet and baseball.  And glassblowing.  And “Curb Your Enthusiasm.”  And her kids.  And  husband.  And friends.  And, now, writing. Come along for the ride on the A-Train, which could stand for either “Aliza” or “ADHD” or “Anything She  Happens To Feel Like Writing.” You can find Aliza on her blog TheWorthingtonPost. Follow her on twitter at @AlizaWrites.

photo credit: San Diego Shooter via photopin cc

The teen years are spent trying to get hammered and away from your parents but with birthdays comes getting older. Taking on responsibility that was once taken care of by your parents. It’s all on you now. It all seems to come on your birthday, too.

What the hell is up with that? Happy Birthday from the government—now send me all your money. This year for my birthday it was the double whammy. I forget about every year. But every year it comes and I cuss at the mailbox. This is your friendly reminder to renew your tag registration before your birthday. You file it under the ‘suck it I’ll do it later’ pile but you always remember it on your birthday when it expires.

It’s never cheap, either. This year I paid over $250 to renew my registration. But my double whammy came when I pulled out my drivers license and found that it would be expiring on my birthday as well. So, I get to grace the Department of Driver Services and the County Tag office with my presence with my two cranky children. Take that government workers! You see, I don’t care if my kid screams at the top of her lungs because she’s bored and wants to use her new found freedom of being a walker in your lobby. I know that there’s nothing I can do to make this situation better but guess who can? YOU.

Stop moving like a turtle to walk to the scanner. Smile to the people that have to sit for hours waiting on your slow ass. I learned my lesson with the first office. I wasn’t going to wait at the DDS for a simple renewal with two kids. Thank goodness I looked online first before I went too, because they wanted 2 proof of residencies, my social security card, birth certificate, marriage license as well as my first born. JUST to renew!

So I spent most of my birthday in government offices taking care of my adult responsibilities. Shelling out money left and right. But then I went out to get hammered. I did renew my license after all. So I guess being an adult isn’t all that bad. Happy Birthday to me.

Since I’m a blogger and a media junkie, I’m online more than a lot. I’ve lovingly compiled this list of things you should reconsider sharing on social media, because they are annoying. You’re welcome.

1. Combining your significant other’s name with yours as a facebook name. You aren’t conjoined twins, KatieandMichael Jones. If you are worried that someone may contact your SO online without your knowledge, you have bigger problems than potentially sordid facebook interactions. Runner up: making up fake names to describe your hobby, i.e., Shannon Lovesbuyingpradaknockoffs.

2. Post incessantly about how busy and important you are. If you actually had a To Do list a mile long because everyone wants a piece of you, you would be working. Tweeting how vital to every project you are means you aren’t.

3. LOL after everything. If you aren’t legitimately Laughing Out Loud after what you just wrote, don’t type it. For example, “My dog is asleep on his bed. LOL.” Or, “Sitting in traffic. LOL.” These are not LOLable comments. Stop it. LOL is dumb.

4. Whine constantly.Everyone has bad days. Sometimes it feels good to vent and wish your day had a reset button. But if your posts are consistently those of bitching, no one cares.  For example: “Our new pool is being installed but the workers and tractors are so loud I can’t finish my nap.” “Now it is raining so the workers can’t finish the pool today. Sigh.” “The pool is finished but it is sooooo much work and I don’t know who my true friends are because I think they are using me for the pool. LOL.”

5. Share something that is obviously a chain mail hoax. Pleas to save the last living pink baby unicorn which scientists only recently discovered in the Amazon are foolish. Telling everyone in your news feed sharing it will prevent bad luck for 47.3 years and the grocery store will always be out of your favorite cereal if you don’t is inane.  If you aren’t sure, Snopes.com exists for a reason.

6. Post only of pictures of food. {Exception made for Pinterest} Unless you are a chef or food photographer, no one wants to see your breakfast. (Admittedly, I’m guilty of this. Today I had a grumpy pill and a snarky smoothie. Hit me up on Instagram if you want to see it in all of its filtered glory.)

Photo Credit: Ivanpw via Flickr cc

Not yet, anyway. But it will be. And until then, my Mama friends, that means keep on trucking with that maternal will and determination we all know and love. I’m not saying our husbands don’t help. But this job is 24/7 and in many cases we’re on constant call. So until that breakfast in bed arrives – and we hope to god it will – the daily toils, trials and tribulations are ours to savor.

I wrote a little song about it to the tune of Paul McCartney’s “Another Day”.

Happy Almost Mother’s Day!

It’s Not Mother’s Day
words by: Linda Roy
Music by: Paul McCartney

Every day she stumbles out of bed, she wakes the kids
Wraps a robe around her and she heads downstairs to the Keurig
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day

Steppin’ into dog shit
Slurpin’ down the caffeine
Dippin’ in her purse for a Cymbalta
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day

As the laundry and the dishes pile, she gets no break
Drinks another coffee and she finds it hard to stay awake
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day
Do do do do do do
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day
Do do do do do do
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day
Hey Hey Hey

So mad, so mad
Sometimes the kids act bad
Alone in the house can be hell
‘Til the man of her dreams comes to finally help
“Oy vey! Don’t stand around!
Get these kids off my hands!”
But he leaves the next day – so glad
Sometimes he seems so glad

As she serves another dinner at the hour of five
Drinks a glass of Pinot and she feels so very sleep deprived
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day
Do do do do do do
‘Cause it’s not Mother’s Day
Do do do do do do
‘Cause it’s Not Mother’s Day