End of the year Opportunity

The end of the year means a new start to most of us. It's an opportunity to start anew and make resolutions for the new year. A new year brings a new you. But, it's also an opportunity to reflect and be thankful for what you have and what you are.

Are you in good health? Do you have a job? Are you loved? Do you have family and friends you care about? It's time to close the book but remember what happened in this chapter. Here's to an even better 2010.

Mother Barry

PS Starting tomorrow I am going to give up sweets, drink less, eat more green things, plant a garden and run 10 miles a day- I'll stop lying to myself on Saturday when this buzz wears off.

Dollars and $ense

How come I got a bill for $0.18? It's from a long distance provider I no longer use and apparently I had a service charge that was pro-rated for the year coming out to less than a quarter. Now I know big companies cannot take right offs for every little bill but think about the math for a minute. The postage to send me the bill was more than the bill. The check I will write is going to be more than the bill and the stamp is more than double the bill. So, I might count out 18 pennies and put them in the envelope. Of course, some poor fool would have to process and count my change and I can't do that to anyone in good faith. I wonder if I don't pay if it would go to collections? It could accumulate decades of interest charges and I could lose my good credit rating.

the Gym Chronicles

Dear Old Cougar Lady at the Gym:

I am most happy for you that you have a flat stomach and some abs. However, I don't want to see your c-section scar. You should cover up. It is not appropriate to wear your sports bra as a top. I have on spanks but they're covered up under this XXL Detroit Tee. Seriously, I know it's in style to be a cougar or a milf but you look like an old hooker.

Day two of working out: Tried to row. Fell off backwards. Yelled something that sounded like this as I crashed against the wall Gyawd Daym. Found a chair that you sit in- thought this might be more my speed of a workout. However, when you sit in this chair you are spred from Monday - Thursday like you went in the gynochronologist ( you go to the gynochronologist just to see how old your vagina really is). Then you push your legs together. This is supposed to work your inner thighs. I felt like a huzzy tramp and no body bought me a steak dinner. I am already sore so my vagina may write me a dear jonn letter tomorrow.

This whole gym thing is a real sub-set of American culture. It's a mating grounds for people who can't go to bars.

Secrets

We all have secrets. There are things we've all done that we aren't proud of. There are things I do that I don't think is anyone else's business. There are things you do that you wouldn't want me to know. But, have you ever done something you can't imagine confiding in any one?

I have loose lips and I wear my heart on my sleeve. Some folks live a double life and you never know it. Sometimes it comes out and more often than not I tell everything I know. I find it freeing I guess. But there are some things you take to the grave.

I want to write down a secret and mail it in... http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Day after Christmas (a story about personal space)

I don't want you children to picture Mama in the wrong light. First, I am generally a calm and collected lady, but after spending too much time with the family I can get a bit testy. Also, I am by no means in good shape but I do go to the gym on a regular basis. I am not one of those Jane Fonda tape lovers or juicy pants wear-ers. The bottom area of my jeans is juicy and I don't need no sign.

So, today I went to get a quick workout in to burn off some of the wine I consumed on the day of the Baby Jesus's birth. This same wine made things more tolerable for our big ass Christmas dinner. So, I went in and I get on this machine which is the same machine I've been using for about five years now> I call it wine-hater. So I am sweating off the last of my buzz and residuals and I am positioned between two other co-sweaters. To my left is a large bottomed middle aged woman we will refer to as Agnes because she looks to me like every Agnes I've ever known. Well agnes is on an elyptical machine and she has some arm weights and is going to town. She is waving her arms about like she's getting saved at the Sunday service, but children it's a Saturday morning. To my right is a mid-30 something gentleman who may or may not be a singer of questionable sexual orientation. Now, first let me ask you to please hold your comments and letters as Mama don't care which team you play for. I don't care where you stick it - as long as you finish has always been my mantra. If I'm not in bed with you I don't need to know. But this gentleman, let's call him Methy because he was acting as though he might be coming off some holiday high on his treadmill. He was running and singing and he had his eyes closed and making little hand gestures. I couldn't help but watch him with a strange expression on my own face.

Now, I admit that I do enjoy a good song on my ipod. And, admittedly I will move my mouth and occasionally belt out a lyric or two from the GLEE soundtrack but old Methy was working out the entire choreography from what I can only imagine was Dream Girls or any given Beyonce tour. I mean, he was giving it a show - including the finger guns. You know that move where you pretend your fingers are a gun? Well, now that I think of it maybe he was singing Bang, Bang by Miss Cher? Or that Ricky Martin She Bangs song? I don't know why I care but I was really into the show - when... what the hell? Agnes's hang grazed the end of my nose.

Now, here I am minding my own business in between these two monkeys and Agnes has moved on to some move where she appears to be swimming - but only on the top half of her body. No body told the bottom half which was still on the damn elyptical machine. I jerked and looked over and poor Agnes still had her eyes closed. I imagined she thought she was that Darryl Hannah girl in the movie Splash. I glanced around and wondered if people were watching us. We must have looked like we were rehearsing for the half-time show at the Special Olympics.

So, I get my 25 minutes of sweat in and gather my things to go. I only do 25 because that's all Dr. Oz says I have to for good heart health. Then I get in the Cadillac and head over to get my lunch. You might ask what to eat after a cardio work out? Well Moe's, moderately priced Mexican take out has always been my favorite. I am standing in line when this woman with a bowl hair cut walks in behind me. Clearly, Bowl-head (as we will call her) is impatient because she is standing so close to me she could advise me on a better nightly mud mask. Honestly, children that Russian lady that gives me a facial doesn't get that close to pop a zit. I am in line and about three feet from the family in front of me and Bowl Lady is right up in my business. The man behind the counter asks if I am the proud owner of the kids burrito and I explained it was for the people in front of me. Then Bowl-Head chimes in, "If you move up they'll ring you up. " I turned to her and said sternly, " not before the family in front of me." She replied back, "I thought you were together." I couldn't resist saying, "Nope. I am trying to give them some space." I turn back around and wait my turn and about a minute goes by when I hear Bowl-Head huff and say, "this is taking forever." Now, chuldren, this whole incident took less than five minutes. I turn to Bowl-Lady and say, "Excuse me?" She huffs, "This is taking forever." That's when I thought I would lose my mind but I remembered I was in a work-out outfit and probably not looking so sane or smelling so good and it would be best to avoid a confrontation that could end up in a deposition. So, I smiled my best shit eating smile and said, " I think we'll all be okay if we wait our turn. It's a burrito we're both waiting on not world peace." But, Bowl-Head wouldn't let it go. She had to get the last word in, "Well I have things to do today." Is this bitch kidding me? She needs to go get a hair cut from the last two decades or get her tv fixed because she is getting fashion advice from that damn show FACTS OF LIFE. Instead, I stood still, very still and when we got to the register I said, "Would you like to go ahead? You've made it clear you're in a bigger hurry than the rest of us hear? I wouldn't want to hold you up. I'm just thrilled that they let me check out of the institution today to get my burrito on the outside." Then I paid for my lunch and Bowl-Lady's burrito and said, "I hope you have a better day you rude woman." I figured it was worth the $6.50 to say my peace.

Mary Christmas

I hope all the chuldrens have a wonderful holiday. May your family be at arm's length and nobody goes to jail. Mama is taking some time off to enjoy the eggnogg. But I'll be back to tell you what sorts of ridiculous gifts I got that I intend to regift soon.

Peace on Earth and Love

Mother Barry

Laundry and Petty theft

Here I sit on a Sunday, the Lord's day of rest doing laundry when I realize something. My fine linens don't match. You might call it petty theft but I call it memories. Yes, children Momma's towels are souvenirs from vacations gone past. I say if you paid $175 for the room you are entitled to at least one towel as a keepsake of your time spent at Atlantic City? Do you really think Caesar's Palace is missing that Celine Dion hand towel? I don't think those poor over worked and under paid house keepers noticed, and the memory puts a warm spot in my cold-as-ice heart. Listen, I'm not one of those crazies with a china hutch full of Precious Moments dolls or a Conway Twitty Memorial Plate set. I just sold my international spoons of the world collection at a swap meet three years ago. I just enjoy the occasional fine turkish towel. I don't take the robes because it's clearly marked they will charge you for them, but the towels are never mentioned in any fine print. Maybe one day I will launder them and return them to their rightful owners. But for now, I thought I'd share that nugget with you. Wipe that scowl off your face, it's not like I took the sheets. One time in Daytona City Beach cousin Earline took the sheets- yes the damn sheets- right off the bed and packed them up in her Samsonite luggage. Of course this is the same woman who says you can worm your kids. Naturally it's best to de-worm your family in a hotel where the sheets don't belong to you. But then she went and took them with her. Maybe she didn't worm that night? Maybe Earline is crazy as hell? Maybe I am but we aren't blood related. She married in as we say....well it's time for me to don my best puff paint and bejeweled Christmas jump suit and hit the mall. I even have my baby Jesus in the manger ear rings to go along with the nativity scene on the back of my jacket. It is a fetching number and people always ask me where I got it (usually in a scared or offended tune) but who are they to judge fashion? Only a few more days until Santa comes and all these little bastards ask if I got a gift receipt.

another cautionary tale: I love Bars

I love a bar. So much that I had a wall removed in my kitchen to install a bar top. Lord knows I don't use the kitchen that much. Mama prefers to yell in a clown's mouth for dinner than to pull out the pots and pans. Besides, I don't want to disturb the mice that live in the cupboards- we have an agreement I don't hassle them and they don't bug me.

So, I put in a bar- I figured, I feel so at home in a bar I would feel -finally- more comfortable in my own shack if I had a bar. But it hasn't stopped me.

I realized this morning as I stumbled for ALIEVE at 6.a.m that isn't just the bar I love. Don't get me wrong, I love the drinks too. I have a new found admiration for Japanese Whiskey but he hates me back. It's like the worst relationship you ever had - Taylor Swift could write a song about me and Whiskey's codependent relationship.

But, my point is this: I love a bar. Not a dirty, smoky bar but a nice bar. I am weak for a marble counter top or even granite, either beats my formica counter tops. (Cut to vision: one day I will be glamorous and drinking on my bathroom floor from a box of wine while recovering from facelift and yelling at the help... a girl can dream.)

But mostly I love a bartender. Have you noticed the best drinking establishments hire the most attractive staff? And there I sit, hanging off either end of the barstool flirting my ass off and the only thing getting action is my credit card's bar tab... so children I tell you this is a cautionary tale: The bartender is working- not working you. Give up the fight.

It's like strippers... have you ever noticed that every stripper is working their way through school? They don't want to strip forever. No! And, honestly, they like you. You're nice and they are so glad to talk to you... There's going to be a wave of attractive, well educated, Doctors and Lawyer- former-strippers. Look out for it and remember I told you first.

So save yourself a lifetime of heartache and turn on the Days of Our Lives with that box of wine next to your recliner. Don't waste time on bartenders with big smiles and strong drinks. You'll just end up throwing up out the window of a taxi cab in the drive through of McDonalds while begging for extra BBQ sauce for your McNugget. (It's best to eat your feelings with BBQ sauce or Hot Mustard depending on your personal preferences.)

Seasons greetings, be safe

BaHumBug Crocs

I do love the Christmas season. I love the little childrens singing, I love the Christmas time lighting in my neighbors' yards, I even put up a wreath (although upon close inspection it is bent from where I got it on sale a few years ago at a discount wholesaler that rhymes with Schmaller Schmrenal). I don't like to give free plugs to retailers this time of year but I do enjoy discount decorations. Anyways, I enjoy the holidays and mostly the eggnogs and chocolate covered varieties of things. Do you know any given carbohydrate will do as long as it's dipped in chocolate. Anything is better covered in chocolate- except fried chicken, that was a greecey mistake. And one time with an ex, that was not our best decision, the clean up is not as romantical as you thought when first setting out in your Valentine fondue experience.... but back to the holidays.

I love it, the store signs, the garland, the mistletoe...However, I don't enjoy shopping. I find myself impatient with people- lots of people. Most people. I was at this one big store we will call Schmacy's and there was a woman in one of those hover-around vehicles. I am not a prejudice person and Lawd knows I don't park in the handi-capable spots unless I am just running in to get something real fast. But, this heifer was moving slow until I walked up there and she had to run up behind me like I was in her way. I had been waiting behind her, trying not to disturb, so I went around her - a whole isle around because I respect boundaries. Again, I try to put Christ in Christmas and get out of her way. Until... it happened again. I find myself shuffling over to look at something I don't even want just to give her space. Why am I looking at Martha Stewart Mellon Ballers? Oh wait, Schmartha, oh to hell with it- you know what I was looking at. And, I don't even like melons. No, damn it, I want to look at bathrobes and Miss Big Wheels in my way again now. So, I move on over there and you know what happened? She rolled up on me. I turned around and jokingly said, "Can I see your insurance card ma'am?" She didn't think that was at all funny. She just grunted.... a grunt? If she had been in a Honda instead of a hover-around I could have sued. I've seen the commercials I am entitled to a settlement.

Well children, let's just say I was pleasant. I moved over to the vacuum cleaners section. But there she was again. Now how can you come up in between me and my lustfulness for a Dyson? At this point this woman had followed me around the store for more than half an hour. She had done ran up on my leg -and she was rude. I even offered at one point to help her pick up tray she couldn't reach. Do you know what I got? Nothing. No "thank you"... no "excuse me." She should have been picking up a scale is what she should have been putting in that basket. I love big people- but I can't handle rude big people. (Yes the windows in my glass house roll down so that I can throw the stones upon them.) I felt she had it out for me. I don't know why. I had tried to be nice and I had even tried to help her. But come between me and this dyson- you know they have been engineered for cleaning efficiency. No, this time she could move around me.

So, this was a spiteful little thing. But, I left the vacuum out that I had been pretending was mine. In my fantasy it was in my foyer, that I do not yet have. And, I took petty comfort as I heard the beeping sound of her reversing out the vacuum area.

I tell you one thing: this is a cautionary tale children. My spiteful karma got me in the end. I got home and found out my second order of Crocs has been cancelled. Now, I hate crocs, but some knot head in my family put it on his Christmas list. In my day crocs were loafers made of expensive endangered materials that I could not afford. Now they are plastic shoes with big holes in them? And the Crocs folks don't even email you to tell you the order is cancelled. They don't call you, or email or write you a letter like in the olden days. They don't twitter but you can follow- them there. Ironically, it's a one-way communication with the Crocs folks. Give us your order and wait....Nope you check the order after a week and if it still says "processing" that means you're gonna be crock-less under the tree on Christmas morning. What am I to do? Put a picture of those damn ugly shoes in a box? "Here you go, Santa's a little behind this year" No, I am a giver. I will go back out to Schmacy's and find some ugly Crocs in a size 11- so we can look at those big ugly clown shoes with holes in them. I just hope I don't run into that Big Wheel lady. She might drag me down the escalator behind her assault hover vehicle.

I hate crocs, but I do love eggnog

Rules of travel

Since it's Holiday Travel Time I want to let in on some fun rules of travel:
If I were writing for the NewYorker and if I believed in subtitles it would say:

----- the airlines dont care about you & neither do I -----

I spent 13 hours getting no where. 4 airlines; 3 delays and 2 cancelations

passengers bill of rights, is non-refundable. I hate the airlines. If I ran my business that way I would be defunct... however we have to learn to be better passengers to each other.

THERE ARE 4 SiMPLE AiRline RULES:

1* Please do not pass gas. It is a small confined space and the smells are toxic. If no one guesses it was you, you still don't win. The same goes for number two in the lavaratory - wait damn it. The same goes for obnoxious food odors. Just because you want to eat it, doesn't mean I want to smell it for hours with no windows and recirculated air. Pizza hut "the works" tastes good to you but it doesn't sit too well with me in 19C

2* It is beyond rude to recline your seatback in COACH. The seats should not recline at all. I sustained a shattered hip and a broken fibulah I am sure. As soon as I find it and remove it from my pelvis, I will know if it is broken or dislocated. I didn't sign up for yoga 10,000 feet up. Worse yet. I only had pretzels and peanuts to comfort my pain.

3* No making out. While it may sound porno-hot, it is not a good idea. you are a spectacle for the poor fool in 19C who is forced to share the isle with the amorous couple- lucky me

4* DO NOT lean across the isle to stare out the window on the opposite side from you. Now I can imagine how disturbing this must feel for little newborn babies. Get out of my damn face with your big head and stupid face.

Bonus: dont bitch about your flight. odds are your co-passenger's wasn't any better and they don't give a fuxx about your layover or how you have something important to do that day. shove it. we are all strapped into the same gigantic aluminum suppository with wings hurling us above the earth at firey speeds. get a damn book and shut up

***my theory of the universe is that for every bad thing, you are due one good thing to come around. afterall it is the bad things that make the good things feel so good***

I'm so sick of Tiger Woods

So today I started to blog and tweet at work- but only about work stuff. This blog, however, is just for fun. It makes me think though, do you always want to be connected to work? I mean it's one thing that we are all hard wired in with our blackberry and iPhone and what not... I do miss the days of a thermal fax machine and a telegram. But now I am going to write about work as though I am not just at work ... do you think a bank teller rolls coins at home in his or her spare time? Does a Doctor play Doctor at home? (well I did date a foolish Doctor once and I can tell you that "stick out your tongue and say ahh" isn't the same at home) Does a pro golfer like to unwind and hit a few holes? Yes this is a Tiger Woods set up...

I am fairly fond of that transition... I am not fond of Tiger Woods. We need to get up off Tiger because too many people have been on top of him. The real victim as we all know is his family. I tell you one thing- when my Grand Mame found out Grandpa had been "going out on her" she tossed a pot of boiling beans on his head at the dinner table. Now, I don't condone violence- at all- not one bit. But, I think the greatest punishment for Mr. Woods is to leave him alone- forget all about him. I hope his wife can move on, too. It's not about net worth- it's about self worth.

And more importantly... stop giving publicity to the Ho's. Every good ho knows you keep it on hush-hush. Again, the best thing we can do is forget about these trashy slurts. I'm going to let you in on a little secret here- some juicy tid bids for my reader(s), I too had once been a ho. There's a time or two MotherBarry fell into the wrong bed with the wrong person. We all make mistakes. We all fall down (or lie down as the case may be) but we didn't go after money or a movie or a spread in People. That's tacky. That's the difference in having some class or being a sloppy piece of ... you get my drift. Now, don't go and paint a mental picture of MotherBarry in a leather jacket with ripped fishnets. That was a long time ago in a far away land- we all make mistakes. I think we have all waken up in a hotel with more mascara than Adam Lambert, a beating headache and no idea where our underoos might be ... and thought, "this wasn't my best decision." If you haven't you're a better person than me and we probably wouldn't be friends unless you like to pick up the tab. But, when you've made that bad decision with 14 hookers it's time to take the trash out with the garbage.

Remember- make love not war. And, if he's married he's cheating you just like he's cheating her.

the blogger has two faces

So today my day job asked me to be a "Social Media Expert." Being that I only launched this blog yesterday (which is in no way related and just for fun) I thought to myself, " Damn, I am good." I am blog master of the Universe. But Social Media Expert just sounds a little over-powering. I mean the social part gets me. I still second guess my water glass at dinner or which fork to use. Don't you just hate when you drink after your kin folk? I mean, hopefully they are clean people but no body wants to think about drinking after Uncle Larry. I mean, he's been eating turkey and dressing and popping tums like Aunt Lorna pops valium. And, since they're married I might be getting some residual valium with the turkey which likely explains why I am so tired. All this time I thought it was Epstein Barr (no relation to Roseanne Barr who I find fascinating although tiring as well.) So you see there's a lot of pressure being a social expert of any sort.

I prefer the title FACEBOOK CZAR. Of course I get no pay raise for any of this but it makes me more insufferable at cocktail parties. Guess what I am now... that's right a CZAR. Well I hope you are feeling empowered by my rise to this thrown. Maybe you can work the checkout counter at Woolworth's one day too if you put your mind to it and stop giving people those crazy eye looks. Back to the day job-

Mother Barry

I guess I don't need to sign every blog moving forward, you might guess who this is after a while

welcome

Welcome to my blog. Today, I am a blogger. It is official, I am a writer, in fact. Or is it... I am, in fact, a writer? You are about to learn that I don't know the rules of punctuation but I am generally very punctual. I also don't know much about conjugation, or is that when you have a relations with your husband in prison? See, I tell you I don't know these things. This is about to be an adventure, and experience. (note my love of the "," comma). I am a commaholic.

I also tend to go on rants but I'll save you the boring stuff like how I am mad that my queso dip was left out of the bag today and a squirrel danced on the hood of my bmw and scratched it all to hell. I won't bother you with my political views because you should see your own views for yourself. My goal is to tell you a story everyday. If you don't like me- get to know me better. Because I am Mother Barry.