Reason #234 Why I am Not a Girl Scout Troop Leader

…overnights. Then what, you may ask, would have persuaded me to volunteer to chaperone such an event? Quite simply, my daughter asked me.

You would think that having two girls would have turned me numb to giggle fits, high pitch screeching, and a blatant disregard for the voice of authority figures. You would be tragically wrong.
I have a surprising low threshold for all things pre-pre-teen, so I appreciate those moms that can handle twelve 7-8-year-olds without going absolutely bat shit crazy. (It’s also quite possible they have already lost it.)

The Lake Erie Nature and Science Center (located in my very own hometown) hosts a fall and spring overnight for Girl Scouts. This fall’s theme is Teddy Bears. Cute.

We lug our two sleeping bags (incidentally my sleeping bag is the same sleeping bag I would have used when I was a Brownie if I hadn’t quit after the introductory meeting where we were informed that at some point we would need to stand up and say the Girl Scout Pledge – I like to call it “retro” Raggedy Ann and Andy), two pillows, two flashlights, a duffel with pjs, Pooh Bear and Beluga (duh!), and a stuffed koala that Morgan picked out for me. Notice no snacks/alcohol are packed. I must have been on drugs.

I’m thinking of making one of those youtube videos of Shit Brownies Say.

SCENE 1: I honestly don’t care who you pick for your buddy, but please make a decision and try not to hurt the other girl’s feelings who so obviously wanted to be your buddy despite the fact that you are clinging to another girl and completely ignoring her.

Whoever thought “buddies” was a good idea anyway. Way to go, Girl Scouts. If I were troop leader, I would not have let them pick. I would have assigned them a buddy. You get what you get and you don’t have a fit. Or perhaps you would rather be Mrs. Norcross’s buddy? Is that it? Nobody wants that, kids. (I honestly want to be the “fun” mom, but it is so much easier to be the mean one.)

SCENE 2: High Pitch Screaming

SCENE 3: And how about all the non sequitur comments and questions?

During the laying down of the rules, Morgan raises her hand. “Mrs. Florez, one time when I was here I saw the boa constructor (not constrictor) eat a rat.”

Okay.

SCENE 4: High Pitch Screaming

SCENE 5: Somewhat related to the non sequitur is their ability to latch on to off the cuff comments and beat them like a dead horse.

LENSC Leader: When the lights go out, we will be on lock down – no one in or out. Because a couple years ago we woke up and couldn’t find a little girl.
Brownie 1: Did you find her?
LENSC: Yes (I don’t think we would be having another overnight here if they hadn’t)
Brownie 2: Where was she?
LENSC: In the nature garden.
Brownie 3: Were there animals out there?
LENSC: Yes.
Brownie 4: Was she in their cages?
LENSC: No, she couldn’t get in their cages and they couldn’t get out.
And so on, and so forth for fifteen minutes.

Now here is where it would have been appropriate to scare the bejeezus out of them so none of them got the same idea. “We found her with the turkey vultures and they were attempting to peck her eyes out!”

SCENE 6: High Pitch Screaming

SCENE 7: Anytime a person of authority opens their mouth, at least one Brownie will also be speaking. I have to applaud the women at the nature center (most notably the planetarium presenter) and their ability to completely ignore the questions and comments that would no doubt turn a twenty minute presentation into a 2-day retreat.

SCENE 8: High Pitch Screaming

SCENE 9: Potty talk.

Since it was just us girls, we were told that we could use both the boys and girls restrooms for toilets and sinks. This was followed by an explanation of urinals for the less worldly girls. Five minutes later when we break up for activities, we notice the girl’s room is empty but there is a line for the boy’s. Oi.

SCENE 10: Anything that remotely resembles what my grandmother would call “sass mouth”. Morgan might have an obsessive compulsive disorder bordering on the need for medicinal marijuana. And she may have periods of whine that can only be dealt with by an accompanying charcuterie and cheese. But other than the occasional sarcasm (which I can secretly admire), she does not sass mouth. Unfortunately, about a third of our troop are professionals in this field.

FINAL SCENE: High Pitch Screaming. And me, being carried out in a straight jacket because I have exactly a 30 second tolerance.

You may have guessed that I have extremely high standards for how kids behave in public. I did attempt to lower these standards for the evening, knowing how exciting and overwhelming it could be for them – especially if they had never slept over with friends before. And I think I bit my tongue surprisingly well, directing the bulk of my commentary to facebook.

But I hit the wall at eleven o’clock when the center called lights out. The logical part of my brain knew that there was no way these girls would calm down in anything less than forty-five minutes. The other part of my brain was screaming, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, BITCHES!

I compromised by not allowing Susan to get up and brush her teeth twenty seconds after getting the last of the troop in their sleeping bag. In my head I pictured John Bender. “Why does Andrew get to get up? If he get’s up, we’ll all get up! It will be anarchy!”

In the morning, our troop leader and one of the other mom’s commented on how well-behaved all the girls were. Oh boy. Yes, VERY different standards.  (Note to all my PTA friends:  Please don't stop letting your kids come over to play at my house.  I promise to behave myself.)

Two additional cups of tea…

Cup 1

Now, when I think overnight, I think slumber party. And when I think slumber party, I think food. This gives rise to a wild assumption that something beginning at 7pm and ending at 9am would include a tasty treat - perhaps before the planetarium visit. So I didn’t worry too much that I didn’t have time to eat dinner before going.

At about 9pm we got a snack of “bear food” (a very tasty trail mix of all things I love and nothing that is good for me) presented in a Dixie cup, a small tortilla (somewhat stale) to spread with cream cheese and honey, two pieces of strawberry, and two pieces of grapes. So that would be one strawberry and one grape. I may have stolen an extra Dixie cup of bear food. (Hey, I quit Girl Scouts, remember?)

To be fair, the morning breakfast was somewhat more robust, but I did receive a dirty look from Sassmouth #1 when she asked me why I was drinking a juice box instead of coffee like the other moms. Morgan had my back though.

Cup 2

Since our group chose to sleep by the turtle habitat we were also situated right next to the door to the nature garden (remember the escapee mentioned earlier).

Despite the lock down, our troop leader decided to sleep at the threshold of these double doors. Sassmouth #2 mentioned that maybe she would just step over her while she was sleeping, to which the leader replied that she would wake up because she was a very light sleeper.

I’m sorry, Ashley, but two minutes after lights out you were snoring (this is literal, not figurative) on the concrete floor and continued to do so until two thirds of the troop had woken up in the morning and each had visited the bathroom.


The spring overnight theme is Butterflies. It’s all you, Jacquie!

Sandy, You Ignorant Slut

Day 1 of Captivity
Holding fast on Rank and Serial Number

It’s an adventure. Due to a somewhat state of denial, flashlights had to be found in various corners of the house (two under Zoe’s covers) after the lights went out. And even though I was home for at least an hour with power, I didn’t think to charge my drained cell phone.

No big deal.

Keep trying to do things like turn on lights and use apps on the WiFi only iPad, which is funny.

It’s not even that cold in the house, despite the fact that there seems to be a freight train running though it the windows are shaking so hard from the wind. School is called off for the next day, since there is no sign of it stopping in the next12 hours.

Facebook is alive with people who are NEVER on facebook. We put the kids to bed with an extra blanket, and I settle in with my laptop to let my cell phone suck the battery dry. I even get some writing done before heading to bed early.

In the morning, I assess the childcare situation. Sitter, parents and in laws are all out of power for the moment. I’ll just hang out and find a place to check my e-mail. Girls are excited to have McDonald's for breakfast and to spend time in their play land. A little play date with the one person in town that already got her power back. Off to a nearby library to do some homework and learn the finer points of checkers. (Zoe wants to learn chess – she is no Bobby Fisher.)

Non-functioning traffic light = 4-way stop. I guess people are a little fuzzy on that rule.

Off to the gym for dinner. It’s pasta night! We aren’t the only ones taking advantage of the dining room, showers, and electrical outlets. Get the official call that school is off for the next day.

Day 2 of Captivity
May mention where you can find a secret stash of automatic weapons. Granted permission to walk the yard.

My parents have power. Grab some clothes and entertainment and head out to the country. Papa makes the kids suffer through a documentary on the Men that Built America, so they get out their library books and read to Nana instead. Still making the best of things.

Get a good night sleep without the need for additional blankets.

Log in to work, despite the fact that it is technically my day off, just to get through missed emails and make sure the bank didn’t go under without me.

Facebook is a little disgruntled today. People are emptying refrigerators into the trash and bailing out basements. Getting a little miffed that all our utility workers were sent to the east coast and we have to wait for Toledo and the whole state of Michigan’s workforce to help the two people we still have. But at least people are keeping their political opinions to themselves. Silver lining.

I have to head out for one run to the BMV, which turns into a hike to Strongsville because the North Olmsted branch has no power.
Non-functioning traffic light = 4-way stop. Come on, people. This is basic driver’s ed. Kindly remove your head from your ass and pay attention.

School is officially called off for the next day again, so I’m leaving the kids and heading back home to keep Scott company. Doesn’t even feel like Halloween. I’m missing my favorite holiday and the Great Pumpkin is surely going to sail right over us without even blinking an eye.

Day 3 of Captivity
Sure, you can have the codes to all our nuclear weapons. (This is why they don’t trust me with top secret information.)

Why, in god’s name, do I keep trying to turn the kitchen light on?

Snuggle in front of the one gas fire place to read a book, which also happens to be in the smallest and coldest room of our house. Sit on a bean bag chair as close to the fire as I possibly can without burning my hair.

Head to bed wearing knee socks, two t-shirts, flannel pajamas, a hoodie and a stocking cap – using three extra blankets. Wind has died down so we can hear our neighbor’s generator running. Bastards.

Get up for work the next day and, after the hottest possible shower, throw on clothes that only slightly resemble business casual, but closer to “I just don’t give a damn” and head to work.

Non-functioning traffic light = 4-way stop. If you sons of bitches have not figured this out by now, all I can ask is that you do not procreate. Here is a refresher: wait your fucking turn!

I have seen one Toledo Edison van in all of Bay. I think he must be in charge of picking up sticks. Apparently, our local fireman went over 48 hours without sleep. Thanks for cutting them back this year, Mayor. (I know the people that are here, are working hard. I just wish they had some help.)

Will be taking clean clothes for the kids out to my parents tonight. Who knows what Day 4 has in store other than me developing Stockholm Syndrome and refusing to run any electricity after we actually get it back on.

Ode to Mrs. Gatz

Did you know that four out of the first six presidents were members of the Democratic-Republican political party? (The two exceptions being Washington, who obviously had no party and Adams (#2), who was a Federalist.) Did you know the Whig party was formed – and held office several times – as opposition to the newly formed Democratic party? Their chief mission being the “opposition to tyranny.” Did you know Abraham Lincoln was a Republican (after abandoning the Whigs prior to them going defunct)?

Why am I asking this?

Because I hate…no, detest, loathe, abhor…the fact that “we, the people” allow ourselves to be led around on leashes by two political parties.

According to the polls, the majority of Americans are either Republicans or Democrats. You, that are currently reading this, are one of two types of people. Do you believe that bullshit? That there are only two types of people in the world? Of course you don’t.

So here is my plea…

Do not listen to advertisements that tell you how bad the other candidate is. Make them tell you how great THEY are. What THEY are going to do for you, for the country.

Stop putting labels on things and look at what they stand for.

Don’t give up on the underdogs. You don’t have to vote for Romney OR Obama. There are other candidates. You are NOT throwing away your vote when you tell the government that they are no longer representing your best interests. You are throwing away your vote when you cast a ballot for the person you think is going to win. I so firmly believe this it makes me want to smack people!

Yes, you might actually be 100% behind one of the two main candidates, but that doesn’t mean your friend that disagrees with you is an idiot, so stop telling them that. (Refer back to my earlier paragraph about there being more than two types of people in the world.)

Here is what I know. The office of the President of the United States is a sacred position, deserving the respect of any of us that still “hold these truths to be self-evident” no matter who wins. It also deserves the respect of the person seeking to obtain it. I don’t want a Jersey Shore celebrity. I want a statesman. (And yes, that can be a woman.)

When nothing is owed, deserved, or expected
And your life doesn’t change by the man that’s elected.
If you’re loved by someone you’ll never reject it.
Decide what to be and go be it.

Quotes of the Day

Today I keep coming back to the immortal words of John Keating from Dead Poet's Society:

“So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.”

Too true, O Captain, my Captain.

And since I'm on a roll...top 5 quotes from Dead Poet's Society:

5.  Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins. You have the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale.
4.  Now, don't just walk off the edge like lemmings! Look around you!

3.  Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone.
2.  Mr. Anderson! Don't think that I don't know that this assignment scares the hell out of you, you mole!
1.  Damn it Neil, the name is Nuwanda.

Bleeding Ears

We’ve been grabbing different Kidz Bop CDs from the library the past few weeks, and I’m continually amazed by a few things.

1. It’s a lot easier to figure out the lyrics of the real song, when you hear the Kidz Bop version.

And that is coming from someone who thought there was such a thing as being “blinded by the light and wrapped up like a douche”. If you don’t know what song I’m referring to, you are too young to be reading this blog.

2. What words and phrases Kidz Bop finds unacceptable.

Lady Gaga’s Telephone:
I cannot text you with a drink in my hand, see.

Kidz Bop:
I cannot text you when I am going to dancing.

Is that even proper grammar? Is dancing a place now? (I wish it was a dangling participle, because I could tear that shit apart.) Nowhere does it mention alcohol. Just a drink. Could be Kool-Aid. Could be a White Russian. Who knows. My kids sure don’t.

And they are usually such a stickler for grammar, replacing every “ain’t” with “isn’t”, but in Gaga’s case they let all the double negatives in the bridge slide.

The redeeming part of this song is that I finally know what she’s saying just before the bridge. “Cause I’m out in the club and I’m sippin’ that bubb.” Which they of course changed to “eatin’ that grub.” I’m not quite as insulted by this since I never knew what she was saying anyway, but it’s a pointless variation. Ginger ale is bubbly, is it not? Maybe my seven-year-old is drinking ginger ale at the club. Ever think of that, Kidz Bop?

Train’s Hey, Soul Sister:
My heart’s about to beat
Right out my untrimmed chest

Kidz Bop:
My heart’s about to beat
Right out my pounding chest

Take away the fact that the original lyric is kind of unappealing and makes me picture gorillas, it’s not like these kids would be lying. I’m fairly certain none of them are trimming anything on their chests.

3. Should they even be covering songs where it is necessary to change the lyrics?

Most of their song choices are actually fine, but really, Nicki Minaj’s Starships should be left off anything having to do with children. I don’t care how many words you change.

I find her entire existence offensive. And it should be illegal for a person of her caliber to make more money than carnies. In fact, maybe we should instate a MAXIMUM wage for people whose job seems to be centered on the fact that they are imbeciles.

I’ll stop there, because I think I could write a whole other post on why I believe Nicki Minaj is the anti-Christ.

Songs I Wish Kidz Bop Would Cover

Bitchin’ Camero (Dead Milkmen)
White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)
Welcome to the Jungle (Guns N Roses)
Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)
Cherry Pie (Warrant)
Birdhouse In Your Soul (They Might Be Giants) – that one is for real

Demented Voice In My Head

WARNING: Mom (and various minors that might be reading this), there are a LOT of f-bombs.

If you have a tendency to fat-finger your facebook posts on your phone, you should probably make sure you don’t have any links on your imaginary clip board that you can mistakenly “paste” and subsequently “post” at the MOST inappropriate moment possible.

Speaking from a person that constantly passive-aggressively cries for attention (like when I originally sent the linked photo in question to friends via facebook messaging just to get a laugh), this will be the moment that you hope everyone, without exception, is completely ignoring you. And it will go something like this.

Aloud: Oh. Frack.
Demented Voice In My Head (DVIMH): No. NO. NO! NOOO!! Delete, DELETE! Where is the fucking delete button!?

Because seriously, there was a time when I couldn’t touch my screen without this little “remove” button popping up. But probably someone like me kept bitching at facebook about it until they took it away and now I have no fucking delete button on my phone app.

Okay, obviously hitting the screen eight hundred and forty-seven times is not helping my situation.

(And here is where, if you are Joe Koval, you walk me through how, in fact, there IS a delete button on the iPhone if you just sweep your finger gently over your post to the right. FUCK ME!)

Of course our company has firewalls that prevent using facebook on their network, because we all know how much little work we would get done if they didn’t.

Fine, internet police, I’ll just grab my laptop and head over to the hotel lobby next door. All I have to do is wait ten years for the elevator to arrive and another ten years to stop on EVERY FUCKING FLOOR on the way to the lobby.

**Sigh** Finally.

Hmmm…no wireless signal. That’s funny, my phone is clearly picking one up.

DVIMH: I’m only trying to rectify a grievous violation of decorum, Karma! I’m only sitting here, trying to do the right thing, Universe!

Fine. My laptop is obviously confused by the many wireless signals floating around too close to my office. I will go to the library.

SHIT! Why is my fucking laptop not picking up a fucking wireless signal! Time to call the people that have no business answering questions about technology, otherwise known as the Help Desk.

Aloud: Hello, my laptop is not picking up a wireless signal.
Help Desk: Are you in your office?
Aloud: No, I’m in a public library.
Help Desk: Is your wireless enabled?
Aloud: Yes.
DVIMH: I would only make that mistake once, dude, and it happened like five years ago!
Help Desk continues to read questions off his script of “how big of an idiot is the person I’m talking to?”
DVIMH: GET ME MY FUCKING WIRELESS, NOW! Please.

Twenty-six minutes later, wireless enabled, proxy disabled, post deleted. That’s one hell of a lunch hour.

Because yes, Virginia, there are people in this world that obsess over being inconsiderate on facebook - so much so that they scream obscenities in their head to innocent bystanders.

In a totally unrelated incident…

This Sunday, a lady that was stopped at the intersection that Scott’s race course went through rolled down her window and yelled (not in her head, mind you, out loud) “Come on! I’m going to CHURCH! And I’m going to be LATE!” And I mean she yelled at the volunteer and the police officer about being late to church.  Am I the only one that sees the irony in that?

An act that caused my seven year old to turn to me and ask, “Why is she being so mean?”

DVIMH: Oh, I don’t know, Morgan. Maybe her god is okay with running over cyclists with her minivan, but not so fond of tardiness.

I’m wondering when this woman bowed her head for silent prayer if it went something along the lines of, “Lord, forgive me for missing the opening hymn and church announcements. It was that damn volunteer. Please smite her down if you find the time.”

Maybe if you are so worried about being late you shouldn’t cut it so close that you can’t wait less than five minutes at an intersection.

In the end, I knew it wasn’t the hapless Help Desk employee’s fault, or even the app creators at facebook. (It’s a little bit Mark Zuckerberg’s fault, but that goes without saying.) I made the mistake, and that is why I was very careful to keep all my swearing internal.

So yeah, I’m okay with being the person that feels so guilty about posting a picture of ginger adorableness (it wasn’t even the NAKED one) with a post that was supposed to be a sincere remembrance of 9/11 that I take an entire lunch hour to remedy the situation (regardless of the fact that it should have taken me two seconds).

God Bless America and God Bless Prince Harry

You Peaked in High School: Reunion Edition

Listen, I’m not purposely avoiding my twenty year reunion. I had intentions of going. Then I made other plans. (Although technically still a reunion of sorts.) End of story.

The appeal of reunions is that they are one-stop shopping. You can get all your “catching up” done in one swoop. It’s almost like speed dating. This should be right up my lazy-ass alley – 50 conversations for the price of one night. On the other hand, that’s a lot of talking in one sitting for an anti-social cynic.

And here’s the other kicker…I have already friended most of you on facebook. I don’t have to catch up. I’m an open book. But just in case you are reading this and REALLY wishing you knew what I’d been up to all these years, here’s what I’m going to do for you…

My 1992 Senior Year Book “Where I Want To Be In 10 Years” submission was something along the lines of living in Washington, D.C. on Embassy Row. Maybe something about a Golden Retriever and 2.5 kids. Unfortunately, my senior year book is where all things go to die – my attic. I don’t go in my attic unless it is a life or death situation. So unless the person holding you at gun point really needs to know…I’m going to leave it at that.

Well, I did graduate Miami University with a Diplomacy and Foreign Affairs degree. But most of my diplomatic skills go towards keeping my co-workers from taking practical jokes a little too far and making sure I only slightly embarrass my family members in my blog. Oh, I have also managed to refrain from calling my nemesis a Dirty Trash Can Full of Poop to her face.

Relationship Status: Married almost 15 years to Scott, an attorney (anyone need a lawyer?) who, due to his constant triathlon training, makes me look even MORE lazy than what you may have assumed from the above. And yes, we are a Miami Merger but I have yet to get a god damn Valentine’s Day card from that place. What does a person have to do? Donate a building?

Dependents: 7-year-old Morgan loves beluga whales and making me look stupid. 4-year-old Zoe can walk in high heels better than me and tries my patience. 10-year-old St. Bernard with erratic bowel movements and no eyesight. A cat that adopted us a little over a year ago and sticks around despite the fact that I try to feed him dog food whenever I run out of cat food.

Location: Western Cleveland suburb known for its great schools and snobbish lakeside residents who send their kids to different schools. Family Circle’s #1 best town for families. Possibly paid for by snobbish lakeside residents who don’t let their kids go to school with my kids. All I know is I have a nice view and a pretty amazing circle of friends who feed me copious amounts of beer and wine and wonder why I spend so much time on facebook.

Current Occupation (official): Vice President, Financial Risk Governance Manager
Current Occupation (in actuality): Force people to do all the things they don’t want to do because it takes time away from doing the things they were hired to do in the first place but if they don’t do these things we will be in a big pile of shit waiting to hit the proverbial fan. It’s also very much like being a kindergarten teacher with really big kids.

Hobbies: If this isn’t your first time reading my blog you can probably guess the answer just based on past topics. Too much television; divulging families eccentricities; books written about post-apocalyptic worlds featuring impossible love triangles; making fun of my little brother; super hero movies; ranting about my “fence” neighbors; the usual.

So there you have it, whether you wanted it or not.

Though I didn’t have a particularly rough high school career compared to some, there really isn’t much I actually miss. If someone told me I could go back and relive it, I would probably rather stab myself in the eye repeatedly. However, there’s still a bit of nostalgia in that general feeling of youth that only comes when you are freezing your ass off at a Friday night football game or begging Coach Dodd to let you watch a movie in History class.

So this is what I’m writing in our 20th reunion yearbook to the Class of ’92. It was great getting to know you. I wish I had known some of you better (others not so much). You were sweet/smart/funny/cute/insert your own superlative here. Don’t forget all those kick ass times we spent (fill in the blank). Stay cool and “kiss my class”.