Lisa Gerardy's Blog, page 2

The Perm, the Towels, and Me: My Glamorous Start in the Workforce

In 1986, at the tender age of 15, while most teens were at the mall or learning how to smoke behind 7-Eleven, I had a job at a hair salon. And by “job,” I mean my mom paid a man named Wayne Michael to let me work there. This was a shocking twist I discovered only after I dared to complain about the labor conditions. Mainly that I was paid in sweaty, scented air and damp towels. “He doesn’t pay you,” my mom snapped. “I pay him to hire you.”

Excuse me? I thought I was part of the workforce. Tur...

From Sherwood to Shhh: Tech Fails at Our Final Book Club with Amy S. Kaufman

Last night, I hosted what will probably be the last hurrah of our local book club. Attendance has been shrinking faster than my patience for Facebook arguments, and even with a special guest Amy S. Kaufman, author of The Traitor of Sherwood Forest, only my two besties, Laura and Nidhi, showed up. Chris was there too, along with the house ponies, who were actively trying to sit on humans as if that’s part of the reading experience. Heinz, my introvert dog soulmate, was behind the couch pretending...

The Reluctant Parent’s Guide to Raising Good Humans

Years ago, I met up with a couple of friends from high school. We had our kids with us, so we visited a local science and activity center. While our kids played, we talked about parenting. At one point, I said, “Wow! It’s weird that we are definitely not kid people, but we had kids.” One of my friends nodded and said, “Actually, that’s what makes us good parents. We raise our kids not to be obnoxious to others.”

She was on to something. I had never thought of it that way, but I did raise my s...

Y2K, Aliens, and a Tinsel Slash Wig: How I Danced My Way Through the End of the World

You know how some people party like it’s 1999? Well, on New Year’s Eve 1999, I did something even better, or stranger. While most folks worried about the Y2K apocalypse, stocking up on canned beans and bottled water, I was busy painting myself green and silver and preparing to dance with senior citizens dressed as an alien. Yep, you read that right. I got paid to be an alien party companion for the elderly. Glamorous, huh?

As if the idea alone wasn’t hilarious enough, my “costume” featured wh...

Crossfit and the Ghost of My Thighs: A Cautionary Tale from 2015

This post originally appeared in 2015, and I still have nightmares about it. Not dramatic movie-style nightmares. More like the kind where you drop something and realize you’ll have to squat to pick it up.

My husband is a big Groupon fan. The man loves to save money, so he is always buying some sort of package deal. A couple of weeks ago, he bought a Groupon for 10 “Functional Fitness” classes at our local Crossfit gym. In case you are not familiar with Crossfit, it is a meathead weightli...

The great Great Dane Rearranging of it’s Still Dark O’clock

Chris and I never wanted to be a dog parent cautionary tale, but here we are.

Long ago, back when we had just one tiny dog, one semi-huge dog, and three cats, we used to close our bedroom door at night. None of the animals slept with us. It was peaceful. It was clean. It was glorious.

Then, at some point, possibly during a shared delusional episode, we decided to let Dulce sleep with us instead of adjusting to her crate.

Dumb da dumb dumb dumb.

Now, here is what bedtime looks like in...

Flying First Class: The Ups, the Downs, and the Oversharing

Yesterday, we had a glorious 7 AM flight (because who doesn’t love waking up before the sun to play luggage Tetris?). The airline blessed us with an upgrade to first class—but there was a catch.

Chris and I were separated by a whole five rows. He was living the dream in Row 1, while I was holding down the fort in Row 5—which, in airplane terms, is basically another time zone.

Now, let’s talk breakfast. Row 1 got first dibs on the elite bread selection—biscuits and croissants. By the time t...

I usually kill plants, but I’m really trying with this orchid.

Picture a Friday evening here in the desert. A stupid show is background noising in the background. The dogs are in their preferred spots on the leather sofas they think are theirs. We are all waiting for the thing we have been waiting for all week–Daddy’s arrival home from a work trip.

As soon as they sense Daddy’s Uber is in the driveway, they are up and running to the garage door. Well, Kira and Dulce are running towards the door. Heinz sits on my feet and whines as he is terrified of anyo...

Tomorrow, I Become a Guinea Pig (But Not the Furry Kind)

Big news, folks! Tomorrow, I officially become a guinea pig. No, I am not transforming into a small, squeaky, hay-munching rodent (though I wouldn’t mind the unlimited snacks). Instead, I am voluntarily offering up my brain . Well, not offering it up exactly, but letting science poke at it—for Alzheimer’s research.

How did I get roped into this, you ask? Simple. I spit in a tube and mailed my DNA to some very smart people, who then decided I was a good candidate for their study. Apparently, I...

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