Lynn Kellan's Blog, page 18

Don’t trust a guy with a water bottle in his pocket.

A few months ago, there was an “incident” when our team visited another school.

Things got a bit, um, rowdy in the stands. I was pretty sure they’d forgive and forget.

I was wrong.

This time around, we had to sit in the “naughty” section of the stadium.

I was embarrassed. Ashamed. And confused by all the rules…

No shells? Do they mean seashells?

What kind of weird place is this if we can’t bring seashells? Or dogs?

What about a smoking dog who chews gum and collects seashells? Not welcome?

I just don’t get this place.

Then I met the Principal, and everything became crystal clear…

This guy was really grumpy, because he was REALLY thirsty.

No wonder. Without a head, he had no good way to drink water.

So, I’ve decided to forgive him for the weird signs on campus.

Riddle me this: where is this guy’s head?

You say artsy, I say fartsy.

Mother Nature loathes me.

Frankly, I think she’s jealous of my beauty.

I look pretty darn hot if you take off your glasses.

To punish me, she’s throwing rain and cold temps our way.

Ha. Do your worst, Mother Nature. I can take it.

My daughter, however, can’t.

Guess which one is mine:

So, if any of you have any connections with Mother Nature, tell her I’m ugly.

And tell her playing lacrosse on rainy spring days ain’t no picnic.

Oh, and tell her the daffodils are screaming for some sun.

In fact, send her this artsy-fartsy photo of a daffodil in distress.

But don’t say “fartsy.” Mother Nature wouldn’t approve.

She’s very proper and refined. Unlike moi.

Are you sick of Mother Nature’s machinations?

I say let’s rebel! Don’t allow her to control us any longer.

In fact, let’s all use the word “fartsy” just to annoy her and see what happens.

You go first…

I didn’t trip and show my underwear.

Prom approaches…which means unexpected pimples.

Sweaty armpits. Awkward silences. Dance floor discomfort.

However, I’m happy to report that my kid found a dress. Yippee!

How ’bout we venture down Memory Lane to my prom?

It was only ten years ago. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Hah.

Here we go…and yes, my date wore a blue tux.

Because we wanted to match.

Matching is important.

Folks told me I looked like Kristy McNichol.

If you’re a thousand years old, you’ll remember Kristy.

Personally, I think I look uncomfortable…’cause I was used to wearing this:

I’m wearing #44.

Yes, my opponent is driving past me.

Yes, she scored the game winning basket.

Yes, my shameful moment made the front page.

However, I managed not to trip and show my underwear at prom.

That’s worth printing on the front page, right? Next to the crime report.

My high school date had a Ford Galaxy 500. It was an antique, and really cool.

Looking at these pictures makes me feel like an antique. And NOT cool.

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This post brought to you by Unexpected Pimples.

We are big, red, and psychologically painful.

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If you are so moved, I’d love to hear one of your embarrassing moments.

It’ll make me feel like I’m in good company.

Hugs,

Lynn

Darth Vader flirted with me at a concert.

I saw Darth Vader this weekend.

No, I wasn’t drinking. Why do you ask?

He was in Philadelphia. At the Kimmel Center.

I thought it was about time to expose my family to some culture.

Apparently, Darth was thinking the same thing.

Should I be worried I think like Darth Vader?

Should I take it as a complement? Or seek professional help?

Should I put down my light saber and cut the kids’ sandwiches with a knife instead?

Darth and I went to see the Philly Pops play compositions by John Williams.

During the STAR WARS tunes, Darth and his buddies appeared on stage.

Photos weren’t allowed during the concert, but look at the next picture.

How many STAR WARS folks do you see in the atrium?

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May the force be with you…

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Which was your favorite STAR WARS movie?

How to raise a kid who testifies in a murder case.

When I gave birth, I had no idea my kid would be part of a murder trial.

Little did I know this cuddly little bundle would take the stand in a courtroom.

I never anticipated watching her testify for the defense.

The darned lawyer even accused her of murder.

I’m so proud.

She participated in our state’s high school “Mock Trial” competition.

Her job was to cast some doubt on whether the “accused” really committed murder.

Real lawyers judged the proceedings and real judges presided over the case.

At the end of the day, she received a gavel for “best witness.”

Fellow parents gave me hearty congratulations.

I glowed with pride…but then a trembling fear shook my insides.

If my kid could confound a courtroom, what would she do at home?

No wonder my fellow parents were smirking. I need a lawyer, people.

Someone who can convince my kid we don’t need another puppy.

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The post brought to you by The Law of Unintended Consequences.

No good parenting deed goes unpunished.

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Have you served on jury duty?

I’ve got sequins in my pants

Something terrifying is happening.

Prom season.

I’ve lost count of the dresses we’ve tried on.

I’ve lost count of the miles we’ve walked around the mall.

I’ve lost count of the number of sequins I’ve found in embarrassing places.

(Don’t ask.)

The dresses are gorgeous.

Frankly, I want to get one for myself.

I can wear it while I cook sloppy joes for dinner.

I could wear it while I shop for groceries.

Why not don a gown for my next tennis match?

Let’s not conform to society’s rigid dress codes, people.

Alas, I just want to find a prom gown for my daughter.

Rumor has it that a handsome young man might ask her to be his date.

She’s going to be furious with me for posting his picture, but here it is anyway:

Granted, I’m not too thrilled about the ripped jeans.

But look – he’s always prepared if his date is thirsty after a dance.

Okay, now here is your very special assignment…

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Tell me a prom (or dance) memory.

I have gravel in my pants.

I have a confession.

I have gravel in my pants.

Do you?

Want some?

I’ve got plenty in my front yard.

Brace yourselves for the next few pictures.

They’ll show you the post-snow horrors we now endure.

See?

Wait. There’s more.

How will we find our way home in the dark?

Who will wash all this blasted gravel outta my shoes?

When my husband install the shelves in my powder room?

Oops. Forget that.

Even the dog wonders why the shelf isn’t installed.

Er, I mean…even the dog wonders why the gravel won’t wash away.

There. Marriage saved.

But wait – there’s more!

Happy spring, my friends.

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What household task is at the top of your to-do list?

How to tell if you have “snow fatigue”

Did someone say “spring?”

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

I have bad news.

Spring has been canceled.

Forget about daffodils, my friend.

Snow cones and frozen toes are on the menu.

Not that I’m suggesting we eat frozen toes.

That would be gross and probably not too tasty.

Then again, butter and garlic make everything taste good.

And we could chase our dish down with a home-made slushy.

Now I know what to serve for dinner. Phew!

I’m so glad we had this talk.

Pardon? No, I’m not suffering from “snow fatigue.”

Why do you ask?

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This post brought to you by Frozen Toes.

Now available in your local supermarket.

If you see a spider on my butt, slap it.

I have a deeply embarrassing problem.

I’ve never revealed my shame, but it’s time.

I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do. Please help.

My house is full of…

Gosh, I don’t think I can say it.

All right. Here goes. *deep breath*

We have an infestation of…hair spiders.

Ewwwwww. They are so gross.

Tell me you have them in your house. Please.

Lie. Admit your floor is covered with these creatures.

These disgusting critters are born in the clothes dryer.

Long hair from teens and furry dogs form their complex DNA.

They hide in freshly folded clothing and migrate throughout the house.

The only way to stop them is to stop doing laundry.

Got dirty clothes? Throw them out and buy new ones.

If you don’t, the hair spiders will appear in weird places.

I screamed bloody murder when I found hair spiders in my pencil container.

My piercing wails woke the dog up from her fifteenth nap of the day.

I decided to flee from the house, so I changed into tennis clothes.

A little time on the tennis court would dull my anxiety…

I arrived on the court and my girlfriends dropped their racquets and ran.

I assumed they were afraid of my backhand. Little did I know there was a hair spider on my butt.

Moral of the story:

If there is a hair spider on my butt, slap it off and pretend you never saw it.

You say mitosis, I say meiosis

Hello. It’s mid-term exam week at my house.

That means we’ll be having lots of late night parties with strippers and booze.

Oh, wait. Probably not a good idea. No parties or booze…but I wouldn’t mind a male stripper.

Frankly, I think he’d ease the tension around here.

Especially if he knows the difference between mitosis and meiosis.

It’s the first foray into mid-term exams for my youngest daughter (pictured above).

Did I happen to mention I’m glad I don’t have to take mid-terms?

However, I do have to fill out our taxes, which is a total drag.

Mid-terms or taxes? You pick.

I choose…the stripper.

This will be the LAST high school mid-term exams for my older daughter (pictured above).

Did I happen to mention I’m glad I don’t have to take SATs and apply to college?

Being “middle-aged” does have its perks. I can afford a male stripper now.

Alas, my husband isn’t too excited about inviting a male stripper over.

What a party pooper.

During mid-term exams, I will take pictures of sunsets.

I will bake cakes and cookies and sweets for my kids.

I will try to stop talking about burly male strippers…

unless any of you know one who lives nearby.

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This post brought to you by Romance Novelists Writing a Bachelorette Party Scene.

You wouldn’t believe the type of stuff we have to research.