Tuesday, December 29, 2015

LOVE Your Sweater!

          Last week St. Bob and I were walking through a parking lot when we saw two women—strangers—approaching one another.  Here’s how the conversation went:
          “Oh—I LOVE your sweater!  That is so gorgeous!"

          “Thank you!  You know, every time I wear this, I get so many compliments!”
          “It’s darling!  Where did you get it?”
          “Oh, I bought it so long ago, I don’t even remember…”
          “Well if you ever get tired of it, pass it my way!”
          (Laughter) “Okay—will do—and thanks again!”
          Then each of the women hurried off.  I turned to Bob.  “You will never see men having a conversation like that.  Not in a million years.”
          In fact, go ahead and re-read that dialogue, and picture two men as the speakers.
          Bob frowned, appalled that I would expect two men to gush about one another’s tops.  In fact, a pet peeve of Bob’s is that I refer to men’s tops as tops at all.  Men have shirts, sweaters, and jackets.  Not tops.  Naturally, I text him photos of signs disputing this assertion, whenever I find them.  
But he is immovable on this point.
          Nevertheless, I think men would be happier people if they would get a little bit excited about such things from time to time, and show a bit more enthusiasm.  Both of those women went off smiling, a lilt in their step. 
          Girlfriends definitely rock, even ones you only have for a few seconds.

And, as long as we’re on the subject of girls, I highly recommend you read my chick-lit comedy novel, Sisters in the Mix.  You can find it here in both paperback and digital versions.

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

All That Glitters...

          I’ll admit it: I’m a girly girl.  I like Queen Frostine, Princess Anybody, pink cupcakes, and sparkly stuff.  When Christmas comes around, I can’t wait to see twinkly lights and wear shimmering jewelry.  But this brings us to THE GLITTER PROBLEM.
          I bought a glittery, mint green top this year, to wear to holiday parties.  And, what the heck, I figured, I’d wear it to church as well.  Except I forgot that things which are covered with glitter are actually secret weapons designed by passive-aggressive crafters who want to control the world, or at least to cover it with silver flecks.
          I sat down at church and immediately noticed my black skirt looked like the night sky in the Southern Hemisphere—loaded with stars.  Then I noticed St. Bob’s black pants and coat, also speckled with constellations. Oops.  And when I stood up, two piles of glitter remained on the bench, like parentheses framing the spot where I’d been sitting.  Glitter was on the floor, on my purse, on my face—everywhere.
          And glitter on your face does not brush off.  You can scrub your skin until it’s raw, and glitter will stick like you used Gorilla Glue to keep it there. In fact, it’s surprising people ever use glue with glitter when it sticks all by itself anyway. 
As I walked, little puffs of glitter followed me.  You could see everywhere I’d gone in the building, just by following the glitter path.  It was like Hansel and Gretel, except no birds were eating these silvery crumbs. I should have brought a hand held mini-vac with me, or at least one of those sticky roller things.
It’s amazing someone didn’t call the police and report me for littering.  I mean glittering.  But they probably wouldn’t haul me in anyway, because they know exactly what would happen to the back seat of their car. 
Luckily, you can watch my short YouTube Mom videos-- there are hundreds of them-- without getting a speck of glitter on you.  Check 'em out here.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Brain, Brain, Go Away

 I love hosting parties-- the music, the delicious goodies, the hugs and laughter of friends.  The only thing that makes it better is having a Christmas party. Here's the setting:
So when the women at church wanted me to have a Christmas party for the Relief Society last week, I gladly whipped up some rich hot chocolate, some spiced apple cider, and some cranberry juice for those who wanted a cold drink.  

And all this was to complement the wonderful chocolate cake, cheesecake, and pumpkin pie my first counselor brought over. My second counselor led us in sharing our Christmas Traditions.
          It had been raining earlier (that’s as close to snow as we get here in Rocklin, California), and I noticed someone had left a green umbrella by the front door.  A few women slipped out before I noticed it, but as the last few were leaving, I asked them if it was theirs. No takers.
Well, not wanting anyone to get caught in the rain without their umbrella, I announced it at church, hoping the owner would raise her hand.  Nothing.  I asked the secretary to send out an email, so we could find the elusive umbrella owner. Still nothing. 
Days went by.  Finally I pointed it out to St. Bob and said I couldn’t believe what a tough time we were having, finding the owner. Maybe I should try to call those who came, one by one.
He stared at me.  “That’s your umbrella,” he said.  “It’s been in the hall closet all year.”
WHAAAT?!?  I didn’t even know I owned a green umbrella and I guarantee I did not put it by the front door.  So now I’m debating whether to call the police and report a break-in and rearrangement of belongings.  It’s something a leprechaun would do (it’s green, after all), but that’s a different holiday.  So maybe a confused leprechaun.  
Or maybe I’ll just put it in the closet and pretend this didn’t happen.  Like when I couldn’t reach my neighbor, because I was calling my own phone number. Times like that.

Meanwhile, stay out of inclement weather entirely, and read my books—buy them as Christmas gifts and all your shopping will be done!  

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

What's Worse Than Coal in Your Stocking?

There’s only one thing worse than coal in your stocking and that’s stones in your kidney.
          Okay, there’s actually something even worse than that. It’s having kidney stones when your husband has just had wrist surgery and says, “Hey, it’s my hurt time.” Again.
          You know how everybody has Christmas traditions?  Well, apparently the Hiltons have a tradition that whenever St. Bob gets an injury, I somehow manage to upstage him.  And it works any time of year.
Two years ago when he had cancer surgery I promptly dashed across town with sepsis following my first bout with kidney stones.  A year ago when he tripped over a high curb and hit his shoulder on a post (the bruise seriously looked like an eggplant)
 I then tripped over a vine in the veggie garden and did a face plant in the gravel around our raised beds.
          I came staggering into the house, glassy-eyed, looking for ice packs to put over my entire face, using all the frozen veggies I could, which I personally grew and froze, and now needed to put on an injury I got from growing the stuff in the first place, which is a vicious cycle that would make most thinking people quit gardening permanently.
          Bob thinks I’m trying to get all the attention, but I think he’s setting up some kind of contagious dark magic force field that causes me to have calamities right on the heels of his.
          Now, if only he can keep from getting sick or injured for the rest of the year…

Avoid mishaps entirely, by staying inside and reading my books!  In fact, you can get all your Christmas shopping done in one spot.  Check ‘em out here.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

The Earring Conundrum

                The problem with earrings is that you can’t see them when you’re wearing them.  Your clothes, your shoes, other jewelry – these are all visible.  But ear bobs are just out of sight.
                And this is where men come into the picture.  Men, if they really wanted to be useful (but I have done a survey and they do not)  (Okay, the survey was two people—St. Bob and Richie)  would keep an eye on things and let us know if an earring is missing.
                You can count on one ear how many times a man has said, “I believe you’re missing an earring.”  You could go to lunch, the movies, and to check out the new Bass Pro Shop with said men, and they will not notice the missing earring. (They will, of course, notice all kinds of sporting gizmos.)  When you finally flip down the car visor to put on some lipstick, and suddenly notice the BIG, GLARING ABSENCE OF ONE EARRING, they will claim no knowledge of this whatsoever.
                “How can you miss seeing that one earring is gone?” you will say.  And you are thinking, I would tell you if one earring is missing. If you wore earrings.
                “Your hair covers your earrings and I didn’t even know you were wearing any,” Bob will reply.
                “Why do women wear earrings in the first place?” Richie will ask.
                “To look nice.  Probably for men,” you suggest.
                “But we don’t care about earrings,” Richie says.  “So you’re wasting your time.”
                Clearly.  And you are certainly wasting not one, but TWO earrings, when zero would get exactly as much attention. We are talking total obliviousness.  In one earring and out the other.

Fortunately, you can buy my books for less money than a new pair of earrings!  Check ‘em out here.