Friday, August 8, 2014

Welcome To The Zoo

The editing process of my book is coming along nicely. We've been making some major changes to the manuscript, so it's taking a tad bit longer to than expected. I want this book to be perfect for my readers, so I'm going over every word with a fine tooth comb. It will be worth the wait, I promise. We're finishing up on the feedback from our beta readers, and then the manuscript will go through one more round of edits before going to print. We should be done (hopefully) within 3-4 weeks. I'll probably be completely gray by then or even bald, and I'm pretty sure none of my clothes will fit since I've been living on a diet of Nutella and popcorn (too busy to eat right). I'm going to need to double up on Zumba classes before I start my book tour---otherwise, I'll be wearing muumuus to the signing events.

While you're waiting for all this fun stuff to happen, I'm sharing one of my favorite posts that was featured at In The Powder Room last year. Those of you who have been reading my blog from the beginning know what an animal hoarder I am, so I think you'll enjoy this post!

WELCOME TO THE ZOO

I was raised in a zoo-like atmosphere that could rival Dr. Doolittle's home. Once my sister started working at a wild bird care center, we ended up housing a menagerie of exotic animals. It wasn't unusual to find a pelican in the shower, a vulture on the desk, hawks in the kitchen or baby bats on the sofa. We dined with a toucan and cradled Burrowing Owls in our hands.

After I married years later, my husband and I adopted our share of cats and dogs to round out our family of six.

By the time our kids hit elementary school age, they wanted pets of their own. We started with goldfish and ended up with more floating at the top of the bowl than swimming at the bottom. The turtles came next, their mossy tank stinking up my son's room like a sewage dump. We gave them away after my husband threatened to make turtle soup. Soon after, my daughters adopted a long-haired guinea pig that resembled a stoner from Woodstock. We learned quickly not to be fooled by his calm demeanor. Apparently tickling guinea pigs under the chin is a big no-no.

We tried our hand at raising hamsters and it was all fun and games until mama hamster gave birth to nine babies and decided to eat three for lunch. Not the best way for my girls to learn how stressed-out mothers feel while raising their young.

Our home earned a reputation for being an orphanage for exotic animals, and pretty soon we were inundated with nocturnal pets. My husband suggested I tattoo the word “SUCKER” across my forehead due to my inability to say “no” to every animal that crossed our threshold.

At one point, we owned a sampler platter of animals that included a sugar glider, two albino rats, a pigmy hedgehog, a stray rabbit and seven chinchillas. My food budget for the critters equaled the national debt of a small, third world country.

It didn't stop there. I began feeding the outdoor birds and squirrels, which earned our home certification as a wildlife sanctuary. In short, permission to own a smaller version of Noah's Ark and my reputation as an animal hoarder.

Nowadays my husband gets nervous every time I visit a zoo and has banned me from watching Animal Planet for fear I will bring home a family of penguins or lemurs. He's convinced that whenever a child leaves our nest, I replace him or her with a new pet. This would explain the three rescue dogs I now own. One pug in particular cannot be potty trained and wears a doggy diaper made out of feminine hygiene pads. His digestive system is like a Tampax factory---he eats the Kotex pads lining his diaper and poops out tampons on the lawn.

My husband is waiting for the day I stop hoarding animals and start collecting yard gnomes or AARP discounts for travel, but.....oh look! Teacup pigs are on sale!

Want more Meno Mama? This week I was featured on the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop. Find out how I keep my man happy right here: http://humorwriters.org/2014/08/01/keep-husband-happy/

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Outmanned Mommy

I have another award winning blogger on my site today! Please welcome Mary Widdicks of Outmannedmommy.com! I discovered her humorous blog last winter and have been hooked ever since. I can relate to much of what she writes, since she deals with high levels of testosterone in her home (husband, two sons and even male dogs!). Having two sons of my own and a husband with an unusual sense of humor, I totally get where Mary is coming from when it comes to dirty underwear, fart jokes and loud belching. When you have that many males in your house, you MUST have a sense of humor!

Mary is a BlogHer Voice Of The Year 2014 winner as well as a recent recipient of the Badass Blogger Of The Year Award. I think you're going to LOVE this funny lady as much as I do, so please welcome her to my site today with lots of comment love!

DINNER THEATRE

The table is set: dinner plates, salad plates, knives, forks, spoon, and two wine glasses. It’s been a long week so we decide to make dinner a special occasion. I am standing in the kitchen waiting to take the lasagna I made from scratch out of the oven. My husband is sitting at the table talking to the three-year-old about his day. The baby is at the head of the table in his highchair picking at some cheerios. The dogs are sleeping under the table, dreaming that someone might drop a scrap of food. The boys laugh. The timer on the oven starts to beep. I place the bubbling lasagna in the center of the table and take my seat.

“That looks yummy, Mommy.”

“Thank you for cooking dinner, Darling.”

“Ma ma ma ma.”

I serve everyone a heaping slice of lasagna and some garlic bread and we dig in. The three-year-old talks animatedly in between bites about a game he wants to play after dinner: something about a train. His daddy smiles at him and then at me. The baby plays with a lasagna noodle and then crams the whole thing in his mouth. He’s messy, but happy.

We all eat our meals at a comfortable speed. No one is yelling. Everyone is happy. It is the perfect family dinner that we’ve always imagined. We toast to our beautiful family. Aren’t we great parents?

Cue reality.

Actually, I haven’t had time to cook dinner this evening because the baby has been teething and refused to be put down all day. He is currently yelling at the top of his lungs in his walker, snot pouring out of his nose and down his face. When I try to wipe it with a tissue he bites me. The three-year-old is still wearing yesterday’s pajamas and is standing on the train table refusing to come to the table to eat.

My husband and I are having left over Chinese food, burritos, and macaroni. It was grocery day and we needed to make some space. The three-year-old is insisting that he will only eat oranges for dinner, and only if I feed them to him one slice at a time as he runs past the table without stopping. I do this without arguing, because at least he’s eating.

The baby slams into my foot with his walker and raises his sticky, snot-covered arms, indicating that he would like to be held. Again. I place him in my lap and he immediately grabs my fork off my plate and hurls it to the ground. I push the plate to the center of the table where he can’t reach it, but now I have to eat from a distance. The dogs move in, knowing I don’t stand a chance of coming out of this without wearing half my fried rice. They’re not wrong.

I finish my food at lightning speed and hand the baby off to my husband so I can chase the three-year-old with some orange slices. Daddy puts the baby in his highchair to feed him some sweet potatoes. The moment his diaper-clad bottom touches the seat he cries.

Out he comes.

Daddy tries again. Same response. It’s back into the walker then. So now, Daddy is chasing the baby around with a spoonful of sweet potato and I am chasing the three-year-old with an orange slice. We cross paths and roll our eyes at one another.

One of the dogs is licking the baby’s face while the other has stealthily climbed onto the three-year-old’s booster chair and is now standing on the table eating the rest of my dinner. At least someone is enjoying it.

Three oranges later, the three-year-old says he’s full. I give him a multivitamin and call it quits. The baby eats five bites of sweet potato before spraying the last bite in Daddy’s face. Guess we’re having family bath time again tonight.

We drag our exhausted, defeated bodies up the stairs to start the bedtime routines. The children are perky again. The baby is smearing his sweet potato and snot-covered hands along the wall on the way up the stairs. The three-year-old is no longer wearing pants. I’m not sure when that happened. My husband’s hair is sticking up in several places, held there by sweet potato. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

I suppose we both have: the ghost of the family dinner ideal that we once thought possible. Maybe when the children are older? For now we have lowered our expectations considerably. Dinner is about keeping the troops alive. Don’t talk, just shovel. If we have accomplished that, it’s been a good night.

We save the wine for after they go to bed.

BIO:

Mary Widdicks is a 31-year-old mom to two boys and two male dogs. Once a cognitive psychologist, she now spends the majority of her time trying to outsmart her kids (and failing!). Being the only girl in the family means that sometimes her voice gets drowned out by fart jokes and belching contests. She started Outmanned so she’d have a place to escape the testosterone and share her hilarious life with the rest of the world. Mary’s writing has been featured on parenting sites such as Mamapedia, Mamalode, In the Powder Room and Scary Mommy. She is a regular contributor on BLUNTmoms and has been honored as a 2014 Voice of the Year by BlogHer, and Badass Blogger of the Year by The Indie Chicks.

Follow her on:

Blog: http://www.outmannedmommy.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/outmannedmommy.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/marywiddicks

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/outmannedmommy

Friday, August 1, 2014

When The Trolls Come Out To Play

Most writers dream of having an article become viral on the internet. It has been on my bucket list for a long time. I've submitted humorous posts to dozens of websites, and although they were shared on social media, none ever made it to viral status.

On a hunch, I submitted an older, poignant piece I'd written about my son to The Huffington Post (you can read it here). Within 24 hours, the post went viral. Was I elated? Yes. But I was also naive about the backlash it would create.

At first, the support I received on the article was encouraging and compassionate. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for the internet trolls to come out to play. They circled like hungry sharks, and when the meat of my post was dropped into their tank, they went into a feeding frenzy. My stomach was soon in knots--- I had to close my laptop and walk away. There were hundreds of comments on the site, but I stopped reading them after the first handful of cruel remarks were posted.

This experience, on many levels, has been successful…. but it has also baffled me. Who are these trolls and why do they feel the need to bash writers? I was accused of being a horrid mother raising a demon seed, and told that I deserve what I get with my teenage son. I had to assume these remarks came from Stepford parents who had perfect children. I was also labeled as a "whiner" (surely they meant "winer" since I have a fondness for pinot grigio) and a person lacking any skills in writing (check back with me on that one after my book is published in a few months). The overwhelming, snarky responses had me wondering if there was a full moon out or the possibility that somewhere in the world, a group of people on a compound drank too much grape-flavored Kool-Aid.

I fully support freedom of speech, but I was also raised with the old adage, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." Have I read material that I thought was garbage? Of course. But I never felt the need to attack the writer by challenging his or her position. What these trolls fail to understand is that there are ways to debate issues and share personal opinions without sinking to belittling and name calling. Spewing venomous remarks on a writer's post tells me that this person has yet to outgrow the bullying tactics they learned from their days on the elementary school playground.

I've come to the conclusion that this brand of nastiness is derived from insecurities and unhappiness, driving these people to spread their misery to others. They're well aware of their insufficiencies and are transferring their frustrations onto everyone else in order to build themselves up. The same can be said about trolls in the workplace and in extended families. Rather than feed into their anger by becoming defensive, I've learned to shrug them off. I pity them more than anything; they have yet to grasp the concept of confidence and true happiness.

Ironically, the people who attack writers are actually helping them to succeed. The drama and controversy they create drives more traffic to the writer's site, enabling it to become viral. For that, I am grateful….but don't expect a thank you note from me anytime soon.

Here's my suggestion to all the internet trolls who thrive on tearing others down: If you have time to write long, sarcastic diatribes on an author's article, then you have far too much time on your hands. I suggest that you put that extra time and energy into something more productive, such as volunteer work in your community. Perhaps THEN you'll discover manners, humility and grace.

Have you been attacked by internet trolls? Let's hear it!

***Want more Menopausal Mother? I've been hopping around a lot this week! You can read my featured posts on Huffington Post, Midlife Boulevard and In The Powder Room. Read them here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/10-reasons-why-i-love-men_b_5639141.html
http://www.inthepowderroom.com/8-signs-you-might-be-middle-age
http://midlifeboulevard.com/midlife-crisis-for-women/

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writer's Guest Post By: Aussa Lorens of Hacker. Ninja. Hooker. Spy.

I've been grinning for days in anticipation of introducing you to my special WWW guest. Please welcome Aussa Lorens of Hacker. Ninja. Hooker. Spy! I've seen her name floating around the inter webs and is it any wonder? She is a BlogHer Voice of The Year 2014 recipient as well as a 2014 Badass Blog Award winner. I love Aussa's off-the-wall brand of humor ----it speaks to me. She could be my way, WAY younger sista from another mista. Hey, the lady works at a psychiatric hospital, so you KNOW she has some great experiences to share!

Please welcome Aussa to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love. If you get a chance to visit her blog (which I highly recommend that you do!), you'll see that she gets more comment love on her posts than almost any blogger I know. This lady ROCKS!

THIS IS WHY WE DON'T JUDGE PEOPLE

Last summer, just before my niece's 7th birthday, I stopped at Target to grab a gift bag and some tissue paper. I was feeling particularly impressive because I am-- of course-- the Favorite Aunt. My four older brothers have given me a growing swarm of ten nieces and nephews, all of whom adore me and publicly declare "I don't have a favorite!" before sneaking over to whisper in my ear "actually… you're my favorite… but I'm not supposed to say that."

I defend my title of Favorite Aunt by purchasing their love with extravagant and unreasonable gifts. This unwavering favoritism is initially instilled in them with old school conditioning while they are small and defenseless. I simply hold that which they desire (a binky, a piece of candy, a treasured blanket) just out of their reach and ask "Who's your favorite Aunt?" until they say "Aussa!" Then I give them what they want. Works like a charm.

So there I was, spending ten million dollars at Target on sparkly wrapping apparatuses and feeling bouncy and blissful in the checkout line. It was a beautiful afternoon so I was wearing a dress and rocking a brand new pair of wedges-- I'm generally not a shoe person but for some reason these had reached out and spoken to me. I thought they were saying "I am adorable and represent your self-worth, purchase me" when in reality they were saying "I will cause you unparalleled levels of embarrassment."

Just as I was swiping my debit card, a woman entered the store with three young children. Two of the kids were having a meltdown over who got the honor of riding in the front of the shopping cart. I watched in amazement as the Mother pulled three huge red shopping carts from the stall, and placed one crying child in each. I couldn't believe it-- I can barely make it through a store without harming anyone when I have one shopping cart, but this woman was going to push THREE at the same time.

I couldn't reach for my phone fast enough-- I simply had to snap a photo of this defeated mother and her three little devils.

Phone in hand, I took two fateful steps out of the express lane-- just enough to enter the middle of a wide open space-- and then... I went flying.

My fall was so dramatic that the earth shifted on it's axis and the Eastern seaboard lost 3 seconds from their day. I watched as a cup of iced coffee flew from my hand in slow motion, it's frothy liquid spilling through the air like a scene in zero gravity. My sunglasses skidded across the floor and my hands reached out with fingers spread just as I made contact with the tile.

All of time and space paused for a moment as the sound of my fall echoed through the store. I lay flat on my face, in a dress, with shopping bags crunched beneath.

In what can only be described as an out of body experience, my soul lifted from within me and hovered about the room, sweeping in a panoramic to take in the shocked and joyously amused faces of my audience. The Deli Counter gave a standing ovation, the Coldstone Creamery girl stopped mid scoop, and every person waiting to be checked out stood frozen in slack jawed wonder.

And then the first responders were on the scene.

"OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?"

"MA'AM, CAN I HELP YOU?"

"YOU FELL SO HARD, SO HARD!!!"

I flew to my feet, no doubt flashing my arse to the world, pausing briefly to scoop ice back into my dented Starbucks cup.

I looked back towards the entrance but three-carted woman had vanished-- probably because she had the decency not to stand there laughing or taking my photo. People continued to rush towards me with concern for what surely must have been a lethal level of humiliation.

"I'm fine... just look for that on youtube tonight," I reassured them with a little wave.

I smoothed my hair, adjusted my wayward dress, and limped out the building with my head held high. I collapsed into my car and proceeded to laugh myself to tears as I pictured-- over and over-- what it must have looked like to see a 5'11 woman in 3 inch wedges splayed across a white floor in a bright blue dress.

I should have kept my judgments to myself and offered up a Hail Mary or an ounce of empathy for a brave mother who dared to grocery shop with three kids under the age of 5. If I hadn't been so keen on documenting her struggle, I could have avoided the skinned knees and utter devastation to my pride. Instead, I caused an entire grocery store of strangers to PEE THEMSELVES, and that is why we don't judge people.

Have you ever fallen-- or otherwise humiliated yourself-- in public? Do you possess a likeminded cruelty that causes you to laugh when other people fall? Has karma ever swiftly punished you for judging someone?

BIO:

Aussa Lorens, otherwise known as Hacker.Ninja.Hooker.Spy. does not make good choices, but she does have good stories. From dropping out of college to travel the world, to dating men twice her age and working at a psychiatric hospital, Aussa is a firm believer that some mistakes are too good not to share.

Aussa is the winner of the BlogHer 2014 Voice of the Year People's Choice Award for Humor and also the Biggest Girl Crush Blog in the 2014 Indie Chick's Badass Blog Awards.

Aussa Lorens

HACKER. NINJA. HOOKER. SPY.

www.aussalorens.com

Twitter: @AussaLorens

Facebook: facebook.com/aussalorens

Google+: google.com/+AussaLorens

Friday, July 25, 2014

Fly On The Wall In Loco Land

Welcome to another edition of Fly On The Wall, a group posting hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. My issue this month is not with flies, but with mosquitoes. Those blood suckers are EVERYWHERE this summer! They're like the annoying, uninvited guest who crashes your BBQ, drinks all you beer and steals the last of the potato salad. I'm fed up with these bionic insects from hell and would rather deal with the flies.

If you were a fly (or a mosquito) on the wall at my house, this is what you would have heard at the BBQ:

"The dog snores so loud, she sounds like she just inhaled a pig."

"I don't understand why we still have so many mosquitoes in our yard when we've done every method possible to combat the little vampires from sucking our blood."
"Obviously, we have the Russian Chernobyl strain."

"I love our Tempur-Pedic mattress!"
"I don't! If I'm near the edge, it sags downward and makes me feel like I'm free-falling off a cliff. The memory foam remembers that I'm not a rock climber."

"There was a free tree giveaway at the park today."
"I know, but by the time I got there, all the good trees were gone. The only thing left were the tiny trees. I thought I'd stepped into a chapter of Gulliver's Travels."

"When I'm lying in bed at night and I have the urge to pee, I slap my bladder to stop the urge."
"So…..what does that make you? A bladder slapper?"

"Let me get this straight…..you sent a taxidermy raccoon to The Bloggess for publicity purposes?"
"Yep. And it worked. Got a nice thank you message and blurb from her for my book cover."
"Maybe from now on I need to send in taxidermy rodents along with my job applications."
"If I catch you hovering around my chinchilla cages too long, I'm kicking you out."

"Why do you stand so long in front of the open refrigerator? I'm beginning to think you're looking for the Museum of International Foods."

"Thankfully we have hurricane impact windows, otherwise they would have shattered by now over our granddaughter's wild banshee screams."

"My stomach hurt so bad that I thought it was either gallstones, a hernia, or I was having labor pains."
"Since You're a man, you know you can rule out one of those things right away."

"Yeah, we can rule out the hernia because the last heavy thing I lifted was a six pack of beer."

"What did I do to deserve a dirty toilet brush on my tongue?"
"That was an accident! I didn't mean to tap your tongue with the brush!"
"It was like licking a lollipop with bristles….or a Charms Blow Pop the smelled like feces."

I hope you enjoyed your voyeuristic view of my crazy family life. Don't forget to visit the other 13 bloggers participating in today's Fly On The Wall. AND REMEMBER: Beware of the brown toilet brush!

****Want more Meno Mama? This week you can find me TWICE on the Huffington Post! Holy Moly! First is my serious post about raising an ungrateful generation of children over at The Huffington Post here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/rude-children-_b_5589057.html and then they featured my funny one on colonoscopies here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/i-need-a-what_b_5615732.html. I also have a humorous post for you about my husband's unemployment featured over at the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop. You can read that one here: http://humorwriters.org/2014/07/19/5314

Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:

http://www.BakingInATornado.com Baking In A Tornado

http://www.justalittlenutty.com/ Just A Little Nutty

http://themomisodes.com The Momisodes

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade

http://thesadderbutwisergirl.com The Sadder But Wiser Girl

http://followmehome.shellybean.com Follow me home . . .

http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/ Stacy Sews and Schools

http://www.menopausalmom.com/ Menopausal Mother

http://www.gomamao.com Go Mama O

http://www.kimulmanis.com Kim Ulmanis

http://dates2diapers2.blogspot.com Dates 2 Diapers 2

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com Someone Else’s Genius

http://batteredhope.blogspot.com Battered Hope

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Smack Of Ham

One of the best things that has come from doing my weekly Wednesday guest features is the talented bloggers I get to meet and work with here on the site. It has been an honor getting to know today's WWW guest---a VERY funny family man who has just published his first collection of hilarious stories. Please welcome John Bryson of the blog, Smack Of Ham ( LOVE that blog name!!!) and author of the ebook, The Blackout! And Other Stories From Around The House. I love John's style of writing and as always, I appreciate reading a man's point of view on family life. Do yourself a favor and visit his blog site----it's very entertaining and the posts are relatable on every level, especially if you're a parent.

Please welcome John Bryson to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love and enjoy his tale of the lost keys. Thanks!

Key Findings

It's quite an honor being asked to guest-post for Meno Mom on this Wacky Wednesday. Actually, it's quite intimidating. Marcia writes for Huffington Post, appears In The Powder Room, has been featured on a podcast, and has her writing immortalized in a book. And her blog has actual readers, the human kind with two eyes and a pulse, that aren't just her hitting refresh a lot of times on her home page or creating elaborate fake internet identities, such as J. Bryson, Bryson, J., J.B., or John B., to boost her total readership.

While Marcia's list of accomplishments is most impressive, about the biggest credit I can feature on my resume is my stint as a featured writer for Lethargy Monthly. I was two weeks late submitting my article, "Lunch - The Final Meal Before Bed," but they didn't seem to mind.

Now that I'm being featured in the big leagues I know I have to come up with something huge - an exciting story that will keep Marcia's readers on the edge of their seats, drawing from the most compelling moments of my rich and textured life.

So, this is a tale about how I recently lost my keys.

As much as I'm all about not losing my stuff, I will admit that on occasion, I have misplaced a minor object or two, including $1,800 worth of Disney tickets and irreplaceable court documents confirming the legality of our most recent adoption. So, it came as no big shock to realize that, over the recent Memorial Day weekend, I misplaced my keys.

My wife and kids were away that weekend feeding the mosquitoes while camping with the in-laws, leaving me unsupervised and to my own devices, most of which were of the electronic variety, but also included renting movies, eating fast food, and losing my keys.

Upon realizing what I had done, my first plan of attack was to search every room of the house that I had gone into while my family was away. I checked the bedroom, bathroom, and family room, including under the big recliner where I rested my widening hind-end the bulk of the time.

The one room I didn't have to check was the kitchen. Due to my disdain for meal preparation and tendency to enjoy eating out, I didn't touch an appliance in the kitchen all weekend - the only thing turned on in that part of the house was me after seeing some Betty White cleavage on the cover of an AARP Magazine which I found sitting on the counter for some reason.

Convinced I had searched the house thoroughly, I remembered that besides watching the latest installment of the Die Hard franchise, A Good Day To Cash In On The Die Hard Name With A Vengeance (And A Side Of Tartar Sauce), I had cut our lawn. Fearing that the keys had slipped out of my pocket while riding my orange Husqvarna up and down the weedy acre of patchy grass, I commenced walking around my yard, head down, trying to pick out the shiny gleam of a lost keychain.

Having less luck than a drunken younger version of myself at a Vegas blackjack table, I decided to retrace my steps around town. My first stop was the video store, where I had no luck with finding my keys. On the bright side, the clerk did offer me anything from their lost and found box, which included an array of sunglasses, six umbrellas, a pair of dentures, and a stack of Florida presidential ballots from the 2000 election.

My next stop was the local Jimmy John's, which I had visited twice, ordering a #9 with easy mayo both times. I walked in and asked about the keys and was told they didn't have them. Both times.

I headed back home ready to give up. I plopped down into my recliner and heard an unusual jingle amidst the usual creaking of my body and the chair's protesting springs. Further investigation revealed the missing keys had fallen down the side of the chair and had gotten wrapped around one if the aforementioned springs. After a not-so-good good half hour of operating on the underside of the overturned chair, I was able to liberate the keys with a pair of pliers, a dozen obscenities, and three bandages for my scraped knuckles.

I suspect this is the last time I'll be left at home alone for the weekend.

BIO:

John Bryson is a big fan of Meno Mom and can be found at his occasionally updated web site Smack Of Ham Presents and on Twitter @SmackOfHamBlog. Most recently, John has published his first book, The Blackout! And Other Tales From Around The House, a collection of nine humorous adventures that you can read on your Kindle, computer, or iPad.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Why I Hate Horror Movies

I've never understood why people love horror movies. I don't enjoy getting the hell scared out of me or pooping my pants in fright. My kids thrive on “jump scare” movies. If my heart needs a jump start, it's going to come from a medical professional slapping some paddles on my chest and yelling, “CLEAR!”

The Exorcist hit the box office when I was in middle school. All the cool kids crammed into the theaters on opening weekend, but my mother refused to let me see the movie. Which probably had more to do with Linda Blair stuffing a crucifix up her nether regions than her actual demonic possession.

Fast forward ten years when the Poltergeist came out. I didn't WANT to see this movie, but it was the talk of the town and I'd be damned if I was going to miss out on all the fun. BIG MISTAKE. My bladder muscles have never been the same since I saw that movie and no amount of Kegel exercises are going to get it back into shape.

Poltergeist convinced me that my home was built over an ancient Indian burial ground and that I'd be sucked into my television set by their demonic spirits. Because of that movie, I haven't slept without a night light since 1982.

For years I lived blissfully ignorant of popular horror movies until my teenagers convinced me to watch The Ring. Yeah, let's scare the shit out of Mom and shave a few years off her life. If they wanted early access to their inheritance, they could have done it in a more humane way rather than tell me this movie was “not at all scary.” Being the naïve parent that I was, I fell for their sadistic plot to give me early gray hairs and watched The Ring.

Suffice it to say, I spent the following two hours curled up in the fetal position, chewing my cuticles until my fingers looked like they had been through a cheese grater. I spent WEEKS sitting up late at night, just waiting for a creepy girl with stringy, black hair to come crawling out of my television set. That movie was my early introduction to Mr. Insomnia, and we've been carrying on a cozy affair ever since.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total wuss. I can watch The Walking Dead and American Horror Story---as long as every light in the house is on and all the doors are locked. And it doesn't hurt to barter sex with The Hubs for extra assurance that there are no zombies roaming the backyard in search of brains or creepy dudes in black, latex suits hiding in my closet.

Paranormal Activity, Saw and Carrie? No, no, and HELL no. Unless the theater provides free jello shots and has a Depends Undergarments dispenser, don't expect to see me in line for the next Halloween horror hit.

***You can catch more Meno Mama this week over at Humor Outcasts where I'm revealing the changes in my life after I discovered the world of blogging. Read it here: http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/its-the-blogging-life-for-me/

Menopausal Mother

Pages