You're Hooked on WHAT?

           The other day I was at lunch with a couple of friends, and one of them happened to mention her first date with her husband. Turns out they decided to go boating in canoe, truly a romantic first date. The river was sparkling blue and a gentle breeze helped guide them along. 

Then, as they went under a bridge, a fishing line was hanging there, and the fish hook snagged her nose!

          What are the odds of this? First, you have someone sitting on the bridge, who knows when, who loses their line. But wait—the line miraculously gets stuck and doesn’t fall all the way into the water.  But wait—it manages to dangle its hook exactly at the height a person’s nose could be, if they were floating by in a canoe underneath. And then the boat is lined up perfectly. Folks, you couldn’t do this if you tried 1,000 times.

          My poor friend had to go back to her home with her date, as he carefully removed the hook from her nostril, and dabbed her nose with alcohol. Some of you (and you know who you are) would be crying and screaming at the same time, right?

          As we left our lunch area, they mentioned the overly chatty woman sitting next to us, dining by herself, yet jumping into our conversation as well. My friend mumbled something, and I thought she said, “Better than having a bishop in your nose.” (Well, we’re all LDS so we actually do have a bishop.)

          “What did you say—having a bishop in your nose?” I asked.

          “No, a fish hook,” she reminded me.

          “Oh, yes,” I agreed. “That’s much better than having a bishop in your nose.”

          And that’s when I realized I might be just a teensy bit like autocorrect. Sheesh!

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Time For Some Good Rizz

           If you’re reading this, you speak English. But did you know that another language has sprung up right within English, that most of us can’t understand?

          That’s right. GenZ kids, born in the late nineties, use English words in different ways, so that nobody over 25 can understand them. They’re doing this right under our noses! It’s like the Pig Latin we used to speak as kids. But much harder to decipher.

          So I’m giving all of you a break, and helping you become bilingual by this afternoon:

          First, my own flub—teaching a group of teens who understood that Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce's “ship” name is not the name of their boat. It’s their relationship name. Sheesh! (And sheesh no longer means good grief, but is a compliment to someone.)

          No Cap—This means no lie.

          Dank—we think of dank and dark, like a sewer system. Nope—it means excellent and of high quality.

          Clocked—means someone caught you, or saw through your act.

          Snack—Oh, no. It’s not chips or cookies. It’s a person you find attractive.

          Drip—Remember when a drip was a dullard, a doofus. But today it means a cool or sexy style.

          Bet—Remember feeling cool when you learned “word” confirmed something? Well that was a Millennial thing. Now the word for that is bet.

          Cooked—You’re done for

          Hey, Sis—this is a greeting for any friend of any gender.

          Boujee—expensive, extravagant

          Frfr—For real, for real.

          And if you still can’t speak GenZ, you’re definitely cheugy, you Boomer.

          But anyone, of any age will Bet that my Youtube Mom channel is the best place to find fast life hacks. No cap, Bro. Frfr. Subscribe with 10K others!

Going the Distance

           Not all of you remember getting a “long distance” phone call. It ended in the late 1990s, but as a child I recall the way my mother would announce it to the family.

          “Hurry—it’s long distance!” she would shout.  This rallied the troops and told us that someone was paying a dollar a minute to reach us from some faraway land (like the next state-- never somewhere exciting, like Ethiopia or Thailand). And a dollar then was worth almost nine dollars today. We dropped everything we were doing and rushed to the kitchen phone with the long cord.

          It could be tragic news, thrilling news, or something REALLY IMPORTANT.  But it meant you watched the clock and spoke quickly, so as not to bankrupt the caller. It also meant that you, personally, were important enough to call long distance.

          We held our breath as our hearts pounded. Quietly, we watched our mother receive the news and then relay it to us. She was the watchman on the tower, dispensing announcements. There was no speaker phone then. Nervously, we’d glance at one another to share the alarm and apprehension in our eyes.

          There was something unifying about phones then, unlike the cell phones today, which isolate and divide us. In those days, the phone worked for us. Today, the phone is in control, owns our attention, and keeps us from close relationships.

          In those days, we could pursue life, nature, hobbies, and relationships without interruption. We’d come home to an answering machine, none the worse for having missed a call.  Our life was ours, and the phone knew its place.

          Boy, I miss those days.

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A Baaaad Surprise

           We all have wallpaper on the home screens of our phones, right?

          But we can’t always see our carefully selected picture, because of all the icons we add. Some people display family moments, artwork, or their latest crush.

          I picked a painting of Jesus, coming to rescue a lost lamb: 

           I like this because we’re all that lost lamb, and also because it’s the only painting I’ve seen of Jesus actually running. Needless to say, I love it. And, even though some icons block part of it, I can tell what it is, and it lifts my spirits.

          But do you think I could keep it just as it is?  Of course not. St. Bob chose to buy an electric Tesla, which requires you to have an icon for it on your phone. Your phone is your key, by the way.

           We added the icon to the bottom of my home screen list, and
whaddayaknow… it is perfectly positioned to make my poor little lamb look like it has buck teeth. A whole row of them:

           I know, I know: Pretty baaaaad.

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DASHED DREAMS

             This is the season when we see the most butterflies, at least in the Northern Hemisphere.  I’ve always loved them and even bought a butterfly hatching kit so I could contribute to Monarch numbers. Okay, that didn't work out as no Monarchs came to lay eggs there, but I’ve also planted native milkweed, a purple Butterfly Bush, and tons of flowers butterflies love.

            So, it was no surprise when St. Bob—wait, just Bob this time—pointed to one of them as it dipped and fluttered through the yard. Up and down, as if riding on bubble of air, it would swerve one way and then another.

            “Butterflies always fly like they’re drunk,” he said.

            And I watched as it staggered through the air, exactly as if it had been drinking.

            Is this what nectar does to them?  Has anyone even checked? Maybe this is why they’re so crazy about my zinnias. Maybe there’s even a secret group called Caterpillars Against Drunk Flying.  We don’t know, do we?

            I thought about my childhood, chasing butterflies and laughing into the wind. They were probably drunk, too. I mean, they flew like it.

            I just never realized it until Bob decided to spoil my butterfly watching for the rest of my life. Now I’ll see them bobbing about and worry that they’re going to hit a tree.

Instead of watching this sorry sight, watch my Youtube Mom videos here. Join 10K other subscribers who enjoy short, amazing life hacks.

What If There Was No Zero?

          Did you know that there is no Roman numeral for zero?  Zero wasn’t even considered until it was put forward by Western mathematics.

          Well, I, for one, was aghast. How could they not have zero? What did they call it when they ran out of cookies? Or money?  Did they just stop speaking and writing?

          So, I looked it up, and I must tell you, the answer was not very satisfying. Experts say their additive system was for the business of pricing and trading goods. What—are you telling me no one ever got cheated and was down to zero? Or had zero goods left to sell?

How could you even have a decimal system, algebra, or calculus? How could scientists measure anything? How could computer science even have been invented?

          Guess when else you get zero answers? When you search “common uses of zero.”  You get a list of grammar sites that describe the Zero Article in English. These are times when we don’t use A, An, or The.  And they are super obvious, not worth having a huge explanation. (We don’t use them when we say college, winter, today, midnight, and probably hundreds of other times we omit articles.)

          So, not only was the poor little zero ignored by the Romans, but by today’s entire computer system as well.     

          And, for this, I give both of them a big, fat ZERO.

However, I will give you 100% if you join 10K of my subscribers, on my Youtube Mom Channel, filled with fabulous, short life hacks.

Live to be 150?

           I’ve seen several articles on social media, about various scientists who think they can help mankind live to be 120, 130—even 150.  These people are all beaming, thrilled with their ingenious ways to do this.

          Some of them manipulate genes, even using worms with whom we apparently share genetic circuitry (yikes). Some speak of rewiring with a gene oscillator, mitochondria, and other paths which make these experts “very optimistic.”

          BUT… has anyone interviewed old people to see if they even want this?  There’s more to this adventure than merely extending good health. I took a casual survey and not one of my elderly friends wants to participate.

          They cite technology as one of the worst inventions ever—they can’t even turn on their TV or use their phones without a tutorial. Modern music is awful, young people have terrible manners, parents are too busy to raise polite children, everything costs too much, and all the shows and movies use gutter language. “The world is going to pot,” one said, and then added, “quite literally!”

          One thing the scientists never address is how these seniors will get by—  will people be eager to hire them?  And, if not, how will their money last that long? Or will our taxes pay for 50 years of extended living centers, meals, health care, and transportation?

          Most people in their golden years have already reached their goals, or given up on them. Should they plan what can literally be a second life? Soon we’ll have great-great-great grandparents, and who wants to invite that many relatives to Thanksgiving dinner?

          I’m not against medical progress. I just think we need to consider all the ramifications. Like Jeff Goldblum said in Jurassic Park, “… your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, that they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

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Let the Good Tans Roll

           This is the season when pale people everywhere try to get a tan. The palest of us try to spend time outdoors, but our dermatologists have warned us to slather our bodies with sunscreen, so we return as pasty as we started. Science can be a real party-pooper.

          We’re the ones who have to guard against skin cancer. I had a mole removed (turned out to be benign) from the back of my neck last week, and I told St. Bob he was now on Wound Watch. “It’s the same as Baywatch,” I said. “Except it stars old ladies.”

Some people get a spray tan. BUT… I tried this once and the brown mist gathered in my wrinkles and emphasized my crow’s feet.

Many of us rub tanning gel over our exposed parts, and this works until you exfoliate in the shower, and you have to start all over again.

            My only hope is that society will circle around, as it sometimes does, and worship pale skin again, like in those Victorian Era paintings. In those days, paleness meant you had a life of leisure, never needing to work outside in the blistering heat.

Today, a tan indicates the same thing—you have all kinds of free time to lie around and bake your body to a dark tan, while the rest of us are working away indoors.

You just never know when the whole world is going to flip a coin.

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JUST RIP IT OUT!

           Bold words, my friend. But I’m telling you, you can do this. Just rip out that useless lawn once and for all (No more mowing! No more guzzling all that water!) and replace it with flowers.

          Nobody picnics on their front lawn. Nobody just sits there, enjoying the greenery.  Nobody plays games on it. All this stuff happens in the back yard, or in a park. 

          It’s as if we’ve agreed to be sheep, and just follow the crowed without thinking. Everyone else has grass out front—we must have a lawn, too.

So, I did it. I hired some strong guys to take out the lawn.

          Then I covered the dirt with cardboard, then new soil, and then planted a design of new stuff.  A little purple here, a little yellow there, all perennials so I won’t have to replace them.

          I love berms, so I made a few mounds for variety. Granted, until they were covered with flowers, it looked like we’d lost one dog and two cats, and chose to bury them in front of the house.

          I put in a rock footpath so I can access each area if I want to trim or make a bouquet. We strung a drip system so everything gets watered. I added low-growing groundcovers which, when they’ve filled in enough, will hide all the empty spots.

          And… ta-da!  This lifts my heart. Every time I go outside, I smile. I see all the bees and butterflies having a ball, and I finally have the English (or French, whatever) cottage look I’ve wanted.

          Anybody want a mower?

Hundreds of short life-hacks await you at my youtubechannel. Join my 10K subscribers and get new ideas all the time!

         

Give Mia Break!

           Oh, no. It’s another Lucy episode. I wish they’d stop filming these; I don’t even get paid.

          This time I was at the nail salon. I’ve been going there for years, where Ethan does my nails in 30 minutes flat. We usually chat, usually about his darling 4-year-old, Mia.

          Only this time, I saw a cooking show on his cell phone and we started talking about food and recipes. Before you can say, “The oven timer’s done,” he was finished, at which point I paid and made a new appointment.

          I was standing up to leave when I remembered his daughter and said, “Give Mia a hug.”

          He came around the table, squeezed my shoulders, and I left, puzzled.

          ONLY THEN DID I REALIZE THAT HE THOUGHT I SAID, “GIVE ME A HUG!”

          This is a DISASTER! Too mortified to even go back in and explain, I got in the car and peeled out, totally embarrassed. Yes, I know I should have handled it right then, but I didn’t.

          I went home and wailed to St. Bob.

          Ethan probably thinks I’ve turned into one of these flirty old women who snuggle up to men and wink at them. EWWW!

          Now I have to summon the courage to bring it up again when I go there next, and explain the misunderstanding. WHY DID HE HAVE TO NAME HIS KID MIA? THIS IS A CATASTROPHE JUST WAITING TO HAPPEN!

          Mama Mia.

          And, speaking of Moms, you can join 10K subscribers, and watch hundreds of short life hacks on my Youtube Mom channel, right here!

Bubble Heads?

           The other day, my buddy Cori and I were speculating about what it will be like in heaven.  I was telling her about all my joints that need replacing. Both knees and both hips. So far. Hypermobility does this to you.

            And I said, “What I also need is a neck replacement, but I can’t quite picture how they’d do that.” Maybe that's why you never hear about it.

We agreed that the next life would be pain free, and imagined me without a neck (and hence without a body) just bopping around as a free-floating head. I mean, I use it so much more than I use the rest of my body.

          In fact, there could be a whole area for this, where we just park our bodies and enter a special Head Zone where our heads are encased in clear bubbles. We could transport them anywhere we want to go.

          But no soccer players allowed.

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A Perfect Toast

           St. Bob is a toast expert. Long before air fryers and other cookers, he had mastered placing buttered bread on a rack in the oven and broiling it, watching it every second until it was perfectly done. None of this toaster business.

          But now that he has a Ninja Air Fryer Toaster Oven, he is even more fastidious. First of all, it must be Dave’s Killer Bread.

          And then it must be pure butter, spread “from coast to coast.”  Yes, right up to the very edge. He requests this in restaurants as well, and gets mixed results.

But at home, he can be the King of Toast, and broil it exactly right, for 3 minutes and 30 seconds. This means the top has a glistening golden crust, yet the bottom remains soft and delicious (unlike using a toaster, which dries the bread out completely, on both sides).

Now, as often happens in life, he married a woman—me—who does not like toast. Here are my reasons why:

1.      It’s slightly burnt tasting (I mean, it’s been cooked once. Why the repetition?)

2.     It scratches the roof of my mouth.

3.     The crusts, which I’ve always torn off anyway, are now rock hard.

4.    It creates five times the crumbs of regular bread.

So, I watch with admiration as St. Bob gets his toast precisely perfect, and recently, he convinced me to try it.

          ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This does not resemble the toast of my childhood! It is simply phenomenal. Try his method and you will be in heaven. Be sitting down so you won’t faint onto the floor.

          This is the only thing he uses the Ninja for. So, if we amortize one slice of bread per day, the cost of this machine—hmm…

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It's Fun to be Crabby

           I have often said, that at my funeral nobody is going to say, “You know, she never complained.”

          But this isn’t about that kind of crabbing. It’s about my going off on a trip with some girlfriends 

and St. Bob immediately driving to San Francisco, to Hayes Street Grill.  And what was the urgency for this solo excursion?

          Soft Shell Crab, my friends. This man is crazy for it, and will drive hours and hours to get this delicacy. It’s hard to find (they’re from Maryland), so when he does, he pounces. The day he arrived, the restaurant was closed. So, he did what any sensible man would do—he came home, right?

Wrong. He booked a hotel room and reserved crabs for the following day (and they sold out while he was eating two of them).

          These crabs are lightly fried, and you eat the whole thing, shell and all. I plan never to do this. But Bob is a Foodie of extraordinary determination.

I had a great time with my pals, including the final day when we stopped at a casual restaurant with tables alongside a harbor. Suddenly I saw this sign:

Next time he decides to take off on a wild crab chase, I can save him some valuable time: Just ask moi.

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True or False?

           I honestly think that when we die and get to the other side, we’ll find that half the things we believed were completely untrue. History-- and social culture-- are loaded with these.  As humans, we gobble up “information” without questioning it. So today I shall dispel a few myths:

You cannot see the Great Wall of China from space. Sorry. If you were going to sign up as an astronaut in order to do this, maybe consider being a travel agent.

And speaking of space, black holes are not holes. They are solid objects with strong gravitational pull.

Sugar doesn’t make kids hyperactive. That’s just how kids are.

Did you grow up hearing that painters who work on the Golden Gate Bridge start at one end, and when they reach the other end, they have to begin again at the other side? This is totally false.      

Ben Franklin never proposed the turkey to represent America (He actually suggested Moses).

Cleopatra was not, in fact, Egyptian, but Greek.

Your tongue does not have various sections for tasting sweet, sour, salty, and so on. All of it tastes all of it.

The left and right brain are not completely separate. You can train each half to do things the other half does.

Bats are not blind. Yes, they use echolocation, but they can also see.

          Isn’t it amazing how much “information” we swallow? If only we had a fact-checker in our brains, who could buzz when we’re hearing something untrue.  But then society would sound like a hive of bees.  (Oh—and only 5% of bees make honey.)

But here's a true fact: You'll love my Youtube Mom channel, filled with great life hacks. 10K subscribers agree!

Don't Be Fooled...

           I like connecting with others online. I assume you do, too, because you’re reading this. But what we all despise is falling victim to clickbait. What is that, anyway? Clickbait is an enticing, dramatic headline that hooks you, but leads to somebody stealing your data or making money off your curiosity.

          You click to see what a celebrity did, how someone cured their disease overnight, what can sabotage a great relationship, the five things that will sell your house instantly, the cheapest yet fabulous vacation, the secret your grocery store won’t tell you, how to lose 20 pounds in five days, what’s in and what’s out, and so on.

          We don’t want to be left out, unaware of the next big thing. The problem is that companies use this to keep you on their site, maybe get you to click for more information, and finally to purchase what they’re selling. If they can be like the Pied Piper and keep you long enough, they can sell ads you’ll see as you scroll along.

          There’s an ancient form of this, you know. It’s called Gossip. Today it sounds like, “Guess what I heard…”  And most people perk up and listen, waiting for a juicy tidbit to shock us.

          So here are four ways to avoid being scammed:

          Before you click, hover over the link to see its real source.

          Watch for unprofessional details—poor spelling, weird grammar, etc.

          Adjust your permission settings.

          Notice bottom line teasers, such as “then she opened the box and couldn’t believe what was inside,” or which make outrageous claims, such as “this vegetable could be killing you,” or ones which urge panic and hurry.

          Instead, check out my Youtube Mom videos. No manufactured drama, not selling you something, and you’ll even learn some helpful life hacks. Join my 10K subscribers and let your curiosity pay YOU!