Showing posts with label minivan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label minivan. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 2, 2023

Ready To Hit The Road? Listen To The Skiptown All-Stars Podcast!


 Who hasn't dreamed of hitting the road after retirement (or if you work remotely) to explore the country? My husband and I have discussed doing just that once we can afford to buy an RV. But I'm a planner, so I'll need to research not only the vehicles but the destinations that we have in mind. This is where the Skiptown All-Stars Podcast comes in handy---the Gordons have already put in the miles and are sharing all the important info with their listeners. Here is one of my favorite episodes (#34) of theirs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Re_EIca_cmA&t=5s  Want more? This is what you'll find when you tune in:


Skiptown All-Stars Podcast

Ever wonder what it’d be like to liquidate your life and hit the road at the tender age of 50? JAMES and DENISE GORDON did just that. After their youngest daughter flew the coop for college, the married couple of 25 years sold everything they owned in Los Angeles, loaded up the minivan, and headed on a cross-country journey in search of their forever home. Their weekly podcast is an adventure like no other. It’s an immersive deep dive into American cities and coastal towns. They take their listeners into every tourist trap, hidden gem, and off-the-beaten-path escapade. All the while, asking the most important question, “Can we live here?” 



It’s not just about skipping town. They’re also breaking down retirement, remote working, real estate, and all the other impending issues Gen Xers and Boomers are facing. Whether you’re looking to check off those bucket-list boxes or want to know the scoop about where to hang up your hat, Skiptown All-Stars Podcast is for you! With thousands of miles under their tires and countless cities visited, they’re quickly becoming known as the wildly amusing Trusted Trip Advisors, appealing to the wanderlust in us all. Episodes are available everywhere you get your podcasts. #empty nest #full tank


 

***You can find the Gordons here: https://skiptownallstars.com/ (plus anywhere you listen to podcasts) or their YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/@skiptownallstars 

 

***If you need the audio-only links for the podcast:

 

For Apple users

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/skiptown-all-stars/id1636817938

 

Spotify

https://open.spotify.com/show/0LY5k3G0n03N0pDtO8Zx72?si=c3f9daa1902b4741

 





 





Friday, March 30, 2018

Living The Writer's Dream, One Dirty Sock At A Time

      It's hard to be taken seriously as a writer these days. When people see me driving a sixteen-year-old minivan with missing hubcaps, they assume the only writing I do is the grocery list. Contrary to what my neighbors might think, I'm not unemployed, nor do I hibernate on the couch to watch Game Of Thrones for hours on while binge-eating fun-size candy bars. I actually do work, which means I spend an inordinate amount of my time staring at a blank computer screen while trying to think of something clever to write. My desk faces a window, so I'm easily distracted by the mating ritual of squirrels and the numerous dogs that mark their territory on my front lawn. I'm also privy to the people who don't bother to pick up their precious animal's poo. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Mrs. Rosenbaum, and your scrawny Shih Tzu, too.

     Luckily, I have a family that supports my writing, even though my career often sabotages my intentions of running an efficient home. I can't remember the last time I ironed a shirt or used the vacuum, which explains why there are dust balls the size of Arizona tumbleweeds rolling across my floor. The dirty clothes in the laundry room are multiplying faster than a pack of feral cats, and I'm certain there's a colony of orphaned socks hiding behind the dryer.

     Some days I'm plagued by writer's block, and all I have to show after sitting at my desk for six hours is a daisy chain made of paper clips. But on a good day with enough coffee to fuel the creative spirit, my muse goes into overdrive and there's no stopping me. This also means there is no time to make dinner, and my family is forced to forage in the freezer for whatever unidentifiable food they find entombed in plastic containers. It's amazing what they can create with stale hotdog buns and a bag of frozen carrots that were purchased when President Bush was in office.

     There are other times when I'm so engrossed in my writing that I forget to shower and shave, which accounts for the increased Yeti sightings in our area. My disheveled appearance is a testament to the hours I spend at the keyboard, although it's tough explaining this to my husband, the mailman, and my embarrassed teens when their friends catch me in my cereal-stained bathrobe at 4:00 p.m. It's all part of living the writer's dream, although no one warned me that I'd also become proficient at tuning out Fetty Wap blasting from my kid's room, or ignoring the temperamental toilet that's flooding my bathroom floor. The minivan needs an oil change and the dogs are overdue for their yearly deworming, but as a writer, I can see beauty in all the chaos. Tumbleweeds and toilet rings be damned----I'm embracing the writer's life wholeheartedly, one dirty sock at a time.





***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? I have a NEW post up on Robot Butt this week: "12 Things To Keep You Busy While You're Unemployed"---you can read it here: http://www.robotbutt.com/2018/03/24/12-things-keep-busy-youre-unemployed/ Also, on Pickle Fork this week: "The Little White Lies Men Tell Themselves": https://medium.com/pickle-fork/the-little-white-lies-men-tell-themselves-a2aff92047e2 AND.... another poem on P.S. I Love You: "Winter In Fayette" https://psiloveyou.xyz/winter-in-fayette-ea35e8520c1c




















Friday, June 10, 2016

Sizzling Summer Writers Series: Guest Post By Kristi Stephens Walker

Friday, August 14, 2015

A Mother's Advice To Her Son On The Eve Of His Departure For College

  It's hard to believe that you'll soon be heading off to college. This is the moment your father and I have been preparing you for, but that doesn't make it any easier to let you go. It has been an honor guiding you through the first eighteen years of your life.

     Although I’m excited to see you begin this new chapter, I can’t help but think of the void you’ll leave behind. I’ll miss the army of teenagers that followed you home to camp out on our sofas and rummage through our pantry. With the amount of food eaten and the space taken up, I could have charged more than Motel 6 on a Saturday night.

      I'm also going to miss playing mattress tag with Mr. Insomnia during those long nights when you skipped your curfew. I really enjoyed checking my phone every five minutes for a text and watching the news for accident updates in our area. God knows,  you've entertained me for years with exciting games such as "No officer, I didn't mean to drive seventy miles per hour through a school zone" and "Let's hop on a bus bound for Orlando without telling Mom." If I hadn't experienced those heart stopping moments, I never would have discovered how easily gray hair can be covered up with blonde dye. 


      You’ve always kept me on my toes and challenged my patience when it came to household chores. A bathroom with algae growing in the shower. Milk cartons and soggy gym shorts emitting foul odors from under your bed. Without a sink full of crusty dishes and a mile-high pile of dirty clothes, I'll have far too much time on my hands. This might be the perfect time to turn our empty nest into an alpaca farm.

       Before the chaos of moving day begins, I'd like to leave you with some parting words:

     Eat healthy. Visit the salad bar more than once a week to counteract the mass quantities of burgers, pizza and chicken wings you are sure to inhale. But stock up on peanut butter and bread----you never know when the daily special at the cafeteria will be calves' liver and Brussels sprouts.

     Good hygiene is important. Do not forgo the shower and coat yourself in Axe body spray to mask the smell of your morning jog. Antibacterial soap was invented for a reason.

     It will also be helpful to keep a box of Q-tips handy at all times. Girls will notice if you're farming sweet potatoes in your ears. The same goes for your teeth. Always floss and brush. It's not normal for your teeth to look and feel like they're wearing sweaters. And, for the love of God, don't forget to trim your toenails. Unless you plan on joining a commune of nocturnal creatures, your nails shouldn't resemble the Hobbit’s feet.

     Be courteous to others. Obey the campus noise ordinance rule and keep the volume of your music down. Even though you own speakers the size of box cars, this does not give you license to play rap music loud enough to make the Resident Assistant's ears bleed. If the bass vibrations are causing the paint to peel from your walls, it's time to lower the noise a few decibels.

     Another thing about being courteous---it doesn't matter if you have the appetite of a Viking--- you don't need to prove this by entering every binge eating contest on campus (especially the ones involving beans). This is not the way to start a friendship with the guy you'll be sharing a twelve-by-fifteen-foot dorm room with. Methane gas explosions are grounds for solitary confinement in an underground bunker.
     
  Sexual relationships. The safest sex is NO sex, but until they invent a male chastity belt, this advice cannot be repeated enough: USE CONDOMS PROPERLY. Don't inflate them into giraffes or ribbed monkeys for the party crowd. This will not impress the ladies.

      Don't give in to peer pressure. No matter what anyone tells you, chugging shots of Tobasco sauce on a dare by your frat buddies will NOT score you popularity points. You'll forever be known as the gullible freshman who spent quality time on the crapper screaming, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"


     Be grateful for what you have.  It doesn't matter if your friends are driving new Mustangs or tricked-out trucks that belong in a Monster Jam show. There's no shame in driving a 1999 Honda Odyssey with missing hubcaps, as long as the engine still runs. Look on the bright side—at least your Flintstone mobile has a floorboard and a gas pedal.



       Budget your money wisely. If your beer expenses exceed your yearly tuition, you're doing it wrong.

       Maintain a clean living space. Empty the trash regularly. Discard old pizza crusts hidden under your bed before they become an all-you-can-eat bug buffet. German cockroaches and bull ants are NOT considered exotic pets.

        Another word of advice: If your bathroom looks like a petri dish experiment gone awry and smells like a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant, it's time for a hazmat suit and a bottle of bleach to attack the fungus growing around your toilet. 

        Study, study, study. This MUST come before you party, party, party. or else you'll flunk, flunk, flunk.

        Don't rush into a romantic relationship with the first coed you meet. Enjoy your freedom and date a variety of girls until you find the right one. It doesn't matter how pretty she is or whether or not she can ride the mechanical bull longer than seven seconds. Sharing several rounds of tequila with a woman you hardly know will land your ass at a drive-thru wedding chapel in Las Vegas.
     
   Always be prepared. Stock up on Gatorade, aspirin, and potato chips—the trifecta of hangover remedies. Keep a pillow in your backpack at all times, too. You never know when you might end up sleeping on a fraternity house roof in your best friend's bath tub.

         Don't do stupid shit. If you participate in an office chair relay race down a major highway, don't expect me to post your bail. Knowing your fondness for lighter fluid and matches, just remember that it's all fun and games until someone tosses a homemade flame thrower on the Dean's front lawn.

        Cherish your good friends. These are the buddies who will pick you up at 5:00 a.m. from a dive bar on the outskirts of town. And they'll never tell a soul that you were wearing Hello Kitty duct tape underwear when they found you passed out on the bathroom floor.


       Always keep your sense of humor. If you wake one morning to Post-it Notes covering your bedroom walls and your vehicle cocooned in bubble wrap, learn to laugh it off. Knowing you as I do, your roommates will find out soon enough what the true meaning of karmic retribution is.


 Your father and I are thrilled to see you test your independence with the tools you've been given. We love you so much and we're proud of you. We also have every confidence in your abilities and judgment. But if you do happen to get caught with a flame thrower on the Dean's lawn, please call your siblings to post your bail. Your father and I will be too busy running with the bulls at the AARP convention in Kalamazoo.



***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? This has been a crazy week for me----I've been hopping all around the internet! I'm honored to have several posts featured on three different sites this time--- YAY!  First up was my toddler post on Mom Babble which you can read here: http://mombabble.com/2015/08/no-longer-raising-a-toddler/ Next up was my Neighbors From Hell post that BLUNTmoms picked up, which you can also read here:  http://www.bluntmoms.com/the-neighbors-from-hell/?utm_content=bufferbd17a&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer And lastly, my post, "The Box", was featured on The Good Mother Project, which you can read here:  http://goodmotherproject.com/2015/08/the-box

Friday, December 5, 2014

Good Intentions Gone Wrong

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know how much I like to highlight the absent-minded situations that my husband gets into. His intentions are good, but somehow his plans always go awry. Case in point: One afternoon when we were hosting a backyard barbecue, my husband offered to do all the cooking. He'd forgotten to replace the old gas line to the grill, and was happily flipping burgers when he noticed a small spark by the gas tank. Grease from the meat was splattering everywhere and hitting the leaks in the gas line.

We narrowly missed a gas explosion that day when the grill burst into flames. The black plumes of smoke sent the partygoers scrambling out into the street. Fortunately, most of our friends discovered a sudden fondness for Cajun-style burgers.

Another example of good intentions gone wrong occurred years ago when a hurricane approached our coastline. My husband thought it would be "fun" to pack our family of six into the minivan for a quick trip to the nearby beach to watch the storm whipping up the waves. Little did he know that the hurricane was a fast moving storm, and that it was closer to our area than he suspected. When the wind began rocking the sides of the van, he broke the land speed record to get us home before the hurricane hit.

Rather than leave the minivan in the driveway, my husband decided to park it on the side of the house for better protection from the oncoming storm. It was a new vehicle, and he was determined to keep it from being crushed by a fallen tree. In his rush to maneuver the car to safety, he put it in reverse and backed into the tight space of our side yard. His foot slipped  off the brake onto the accelerator and the van lunged backwards, slamming into a tree. The glass in the rear window shattered into a million shards just as the rain started lashing the streets. The kids had a hard time containing their giggles while they watched their wind-blown father struggle with a roll of duct tape and a plastic tarp in the middle of a hurricane.

My husband easily falls into these situations because he is a kind man who is always happy to help others. He'll carry heavy bags out to the car for elderly shoppers at the grocery store, assist a stranger changing a tire on a busy highway, or rescue a stranded friend in the middle of the night.  But sometimes these little acts of kindness backfire.

One morning he was in a crowded elevator on his way up to a job interview when the woman next to him spilled a stack of business cards onto the floor. Being the chivalrous man that he is, he bent down to retrieve the cards for her when he heard something rip. Everyone in the elevator stood silent, and at that moment, my husband realized his brand new slacks had split wide open from stem to stern.

Needless to say, he spent the entire interview with his backside to the wall.

It was the most recent incident, however, that will go down in history as the EPIC PHONE FAIL.

Last week when my "Spandex" book was published, my excited husband sent out a large group text on his cell phone to share the good news with everyone on his contact list. A few days later, one of his buddies responded to the text and asked what he could do to help out. My husband JOKINGLY texted back, "Buy the book, F@#*ER!"

After he hit "send" on his cell, it dawned on him that he'd accidentally sent the message to EVERYONE on his contact list. This included not just our close friends, but the plumber, the minister, our vet, the jeweler, the dentist, all of our doctors, the electrician, the A/C guy, our contractor, my mother, the friggin' MAYOR, our hairdresser, and all of our neighbors. It even went to the physician who performed our colonoscopies.

Now I'm worried that the next time I'm due for a colonoscopy, the doctor might "conveniently" forget to give me anesthesia.

I think it's time for my husband to go back to using a rotary phone.





If you love my blog, you'll love my book, WHO STOLE MY SPANDEX? MIDLIFE MUSINGS FROM A MIDDLE-AGED MILF on sale now in paperback and Kindle at Amazon.com http://amzn.to/11uY6fD or on Nook at Barnes and Noble!


 

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