Tag Archive | sarcasm

That Awards Show



Everyone is talking about that awards show thingy; who wore what and how they wore it, so I thought I would go ahead and join the discussion . . .

There were just so many glorious gowns and snazzy suits, it’s hard to pick the best. I mean, the hair and makeup alone on some of those bright and shiny people was just simply beautiful, and that was just the guys . . . so much pretty jewelry and people wearing shoes and carrying handbags.

I loved that one girl with the dress, you know the one I’m talking about. Oh, and that other one, she looked fantastic. I don’t know about what’s-her-name though, she was looking a little rough, but that guy in that one movie that came out not too long ago was looking good.

I was really blown away by that actress with the long hair, or was it short? Doesn’t matter, she looked good didn’t she? And that one gal who was in that movie with the guy who was wearing the black suit just looks gorgeous no matter what, don’t you agree?

Letsee . . . who else? Omigosh, I can’t believe I almost forgot that woman who walked in on the red carpet, there were cameras shooting pictures and she had on those shoes. Wow. Stunning, you can’t tell me she wasn’t stunning.

That older guy who’s been in quite a few movies was looking pretty dapper hu? That one dress by that designer was really pretty. I think that other lady, the one with the face, looked lovely, but her dress was just all wrong for her wasn’t it? Would you have worn that?

Wait a second . . . I forgot. I didn’t watch the damn show. Did I miss much?

~ Tongue-in-cheek of course, I know many love the awards shows, I don’t pay much attention to it all and am always out of the proverbial loop when it comes to the next day recaps ~

Crystal R. Cook

Posted last year around this time, for the same reason . . . I got nuthin new.

The truth about the pretty princess.


There is an unmistakable distinction between little boys and little girls that goes well beyond biology. Daughters and sons can be very different creatures. I’ve had the honor of raising both, the girl child is my topic of discussion today. Before you think you know where I’m going with this, I would like to say I’ll not be writing all about sugar and spice and everything nice. Whoever came up with that little ditty could not have raised a girl. I won’t bore you with cutsie tales of fancy dolls and tea parties or any other precious and precocious anecdotes pertaining to the pandering of princesses.

Darling daughters can indeed be sweet and lovable, but there is often a motive behind it. I don’t care how perfect a parent thinks their little angel is, they would have her institutionalized if they could get into her head for five minutes. Girls are smart and cunning. They can generally think circles around boys, and sadly, sometimes parents as well. Most of them perfect the dirty look before they’ve reached their first birthday. Girls have mood swings from birth that increase in intensity as they grow and mature. One minute you’re invading their privacy if you dare ask something too personal, such as, what did you do in school today? and you run the risk of being accused of not caring if you don’t ask.

They can tell a fib like they where the inventors of deception while looking innocent and sounding so convincing a mother can actually believe her sweetie-pie didn’t get into the lipstick she sees smeared all over her daughters arms and legs. A little lady can be as quiet as a church mouse or as loud as an entire herd of oxen. She can command attention or she can become invisible in a crowded room. This sometimes troll-like princess is a confident and curious little creature, she will boldly take what is not to be taken and has the ability to make you feel guilty about it when she is caught.

When my own troll princess was still quite young I decided to read a couple of books on the care and keeping of girls, but quickly came to the conclusion they where either, A. Written by men. B. Written by childless women or C. Written by a teenage girl to confuse and bewilder the reader. In one book in particular, I think the author had split personalities. The first chapter talked about the unbreakable bond a mother and daughter can share, and the second chapter discussed why they might never have a close relationship with each other. The fourth chapter explained how to talk to your young princess in ways that will get her to open up, and the fifth chapter concluded you cannot actually converse with her on an emotional level. By the time I got to the seventh chapter entitled, A Young Woman’s Privacy, I decided to sneak a peek at chapter eight. It was entitled, How to Spy on Your Daughter. I quickly added it to my garage sale corner of the closet.

Another title caught my eye in the bookstore one afternoon, Your Daughter, Your Friend, I skimmed through the pages and was not surprised to find it included advice such as, If your daughter says she just wants to be alone, leave her to her thoughts. Personally, in my experience, both as a woman and someone who has lived with a female child, this can be bad advice. To a female, the words leave me alone can mean a multitude of things. The statement can mean, Don’t leave me alone, or, I need to talk, or, I need to be held, or, Walk away now or I will make your life miserable for as long as humanly possible. You are playing the equivalent to russian roulette if you dare try to figure out what she means.

If you leave her alone she could accuse you of not caring about her feelings. If you ask her what’s wrong she could accuse you of butting in, and if you try to comfort her with a hug she could accuse you of being condescending. Trust me, I know. My moody teen queen and I played many times. I didn’t always guess right. I found slipping five dollars under the door was the right answer.

When a mother and daughter even look like they are going to spar, the men and small animals of the house should take cover. Everyone knows a woman wants to have the last word, so a tiff between a woman who is used to having the last word (the mother) and the young woman practicing the art of getting in the last word (the daughter) can last hours longer than need be.

Few subjects can cause more trouble than clothing, hairstyles, room upkeep, boys, make-up, siblings, homework, chores . . . actually, I guess anything could become the topic of a heated debate. Debate is good. Debate is healthy. Perhaps the roller coaster ride a mother and daughter embark upon together has a greater purpose than meets the eye. I suppose in many ways it allows the young girl to learn to express herself, to stand up for her rights and learn to never let her voice go unheard. A mother can see her little girl growing strong, knowing she will be the kind of woman who can command the respect of those in her life.

A mother daughter relationship is a fragile thing; they put each other on pedestals and then occasionally try to knock each other off. They rarely succeed of course, but if one of them should happen to actually take a tumble, the other one will be there to catch them. Some of the greatest friendships are forged during the turbulent years a woman and her young shadow share a home. If they are lucky though, when wings have sprouted and the nest is only a place to visit, husbands will be alone and unarmed in the battle arena and victory will be attained on a daily basis . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Boys, boys, boy-oh-boy, boys!


If you have men of any age in your house, or plan on having them in the future, I encourage you to read this, perhaps study it, maybe even commit small morsels of it to memory. If after you have pondered it, you still decide to have creatures of the opposite sex in your home, you will at least know, in some small detail, what to expect. Those of you already residing with members of the Geneous Manus Species, you will understand and can add in your own chapter or two. As a matter of fact, start your own book, help others in need.

** DISCLAIMER – I totally made that up. Geneous Manus is in no way intended to be considered an actual scientific term, any similarity to the word genius should be ignored. **

Let me preface this little essay of mine by saying I have nothing against men. I love the men in my life. Sometimes though, they perplex me. They seem to live right on the borders of common sense, logic and deductive reasoning. They almost get it, but just can’t seem to grasp it. It’s like watching a dog trying to lap up the last drink out of a tall glass. It’s sort of sad, yet funny at the same time.

I live with four male humans. They vary in age. The youngest of my boys at present time is eighteen, and the oldest is approaching forty-seven with reluctance. Sometimes, there is not much difference between them.

** DISCLAIMER – I do not claim to actually have a forty-five year old child. The eldest of this all male quartet I sarcastically refer to as one of the boys, would be the aforementioned children’s father. **

I always wanted a son. I prayed and prayed for a baby boy when I found out I would be blessed with new life. My prayers where answered when they placed my precious little man in my arms. It wasn’t long after that beautiful moment that he peed all over me for the first time. I soon found out baby boys pee on their mothers often. As soon as you wise up and figure out how to shield yourself, they begin to master projectile vomiting.

I’ll never forget the first time I witnessed this phenomena. I placed my sleepy eyed prince in his crib and stood there, gazing upon my precious babe with all the awe of a new mother, when suddenly this massive geyser opened up and before I could so much as shield my eyes I was dripping with the sweet mother’s milk I’d lovingly fed to him only moments before. I was horrified and more than a little worried because the amount of ooze that shot out of his tiny little mouth was in no way proportionate to the amount of milk I knew he’d ingested. I’d never seen anything like it. Well, maybe once in a movie, but I thought that was just Hollywood magic. If projectile vomiting had been an Olympic sport he would have medaled. I was totally unprepared to see my infant child play out a scene from the Exorcist.

** DISCLAIMER – I have never actually seen the movie referred to in the previous sentence, I have taken the liberty of using it as an example because I could not think of anything more original. **

The mystery of a young boy’s bodily functions may never be solved. I don’t think anyone is even trying to figure them out. Thank goodness they outgrow it. No, that’s a lie. I just lied to you. They do not outgrow it, they perfect it. It’s not long before they are no longer content to pee on you, the parent, they often choose to pee anywhere and everywhere. When they graduate from diapers to big boy pants their target of choice is the toilet seat, the wall behind the toilet or the floor around it and sometimes the dog.

** DISCLAIMER – It was my neighbor’s kid that sullied the dog. The only living things my boys have ever peed on where my husband and I. Oh, and one time one of them tinkled on the neighbor kid **

**** DISCLAIMER TO DISCLAIMER – I made that up as well. My boys never tinkled on the neighbor kid. It was his word against theirs . . . I just made that up too. None of it happened. My kids never did anything like that. I am becoming such a liar. ****

Anyway, by the time I’d potty trained my third son I’d logged more hours scrubbing down toilets and bathroom floors than a prisoner serving a life sentence. I just can’t understand it. God made it easy for them; all they have to do is point and shoot right? How hard can it be to aim?

I actually learned a valuable lesson from my youngest son one afternoon. He was four, he’d been in the bathroom for quite some time and since that always fills me with a sense of dread, I opened the door to find out what he was doing when he didn’t answer. He was peeing. I should have closed the door, I didn’t. I opened my big mouth and asked him why he’d been in there so long.

Here is the lesson I learned; do not question a young boy while he is peeing. Why? Because some of them cannot simply turn their head to look at you, they must turn their whole body. Needless to say, I had to sterilize my feet and throw out my socks.

They also begin to find humor in the various substances and sounds they emit. I will not even take the time to cover this topic. There are very few ways to delicately explain the male rituals that take place concerning these things. Let’s just say the females in the household are made to listen, smell and hear about them on a regular basis.

** DISCLAIMER – Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, girls do it too. Whatever, I’m harping on the boy children, girls are in the next chapter.**

The male gender does not always seem to understand the necessity of clean clothing. If allowed, they will wear the same socks for a week. Pants and shirts absent of obvious stains and emit low odor vapors are still acceptable to them. They do not feel holes, tears or loose hems are of any consequence. They will wear torn jeans that show off their skivvies and consider the undergarment as simply a patch covering the hole from the inside.

The male (Geneous Manus) eating ritual is another thing that’s boggled the minds of mothers and wives everywhere. Many of them will fill their mouths so they have food stored in either cheek while they attempt chew what is stuck in the middle. Once that is gone, they will enjoy the food from one cheek and then the other. They will fill their forks and spoons with so much food they have to open their mouths wider than looks humanly possible to stuff it in. They will eat food left out overnight, they believe wholeheartedly in the “five second rule” and they will continue to eat well after they are full if there is still food on the table. They will eat cereal out of mixing bowls with a soup ladle if the appropriate dishes are not clean.

When they begin to mature and care more about their appearance they will use deodorant beneath a less than fresh shirt. They will trim their fingernails and toenails, leaving the clippings wherever they may fall, and they will wipe the crumbs from their shirt before leaving the table. Again, leaving them where they fall.

** DISCLAIMER – While there is no actual scientific evidence that men mature, I have personally chosen to believe it can happen. It gives me some hope to cling to.**

Both the young and the old alike will leave their shoes anywhere it is certain a woman will trip over them. When they finally decide a garment is no longer wearable they will deposit it on the floor just a few feet away from the hamper. They have been known to watch the weather channel for hours if the remote is more than arms length away, and no matter how long they have lived in their home, they never know where anything is.

Whether it be a husband, son, father, grandfather or stray neighbor kid, you will find they all exhibit these same habits and traits to one degree or another. Without them I suppose life would be boring. What would women talk about if the world were perfect? We need the male species to keep us entertained, to keep our cars running and our sinks unclogged. For these and many others reasons we keep them around. We marry them, we give birth to them, we love them, we tolerate them and we thank God for them.

** DISCLAIMER – I know women are capable of doing these things but it makes men feel important to think we can’t. If they feel important they are better behaved. **

Someone just went into the bathroom so I must gather my cleaning supplies. I wonder if it would overload their circuitry if I made them clean it themselves. This should be fun . . .

Crystal R. Cook