tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461362234302725802024-03-13T17:27:30.990-04:00SnarkfestThoughts from a totally snarkastic mom.SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.comBlogger393125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-53004799285079358812021-09-29T17:09:00.000-04:002021-09-29T17:09:32.809-04:00How I Spent My Summer Vacation, Snarkfest-style<p>Hey Snarklings! The leaves are turning lovely shades of orange, yellow and red. The college marching band season is in full swing (college football season..... tomato/tomahto) and I'm looking back on an awesome summer in this post. </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdEoXXVbWcn4ZZAji7u9YcKU7ZZaQUAMmR8IoMMT9BNz1JlqmCDkhCCfTu8q9uPTPIK3XDJA-R5ada7mA19lo4KB3npOhckjGoBZu49GXTXWp0UcHx_jutRyPE4Cdy9vD716bNHDF6TBG/s640/E20DD455-5F28-46BA-8AEC-BE3E13B30F81.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdEoXXVbWcn4ZZAji7u9YcKU7ZZaQUAMmR8IoMMT9BNz1JlqmCDkhCCfTu8q9uPTPIK3XDJA-R5ada7mA19lo4KB3npOhckjGoBZu49GXTXWp0UcHx_jutRyPE4Cdy9vD716bNHDF6TBG/s320/E20DD455-5F28-46BA-8AEC-BE3E13B30F81.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I'm wearing a bathing suit<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>The first full week of June, I went somewhere I'd never been before! OBX BABY!!!! My Ride or Die bish, Susan and I went to Kill Devil Hills for the week and we could not have asked for more perfect weather. This summer our trip was way warmer than last summer when we went to OCMD and froze our asses off the whole week. This year, temps were in the 80's and the sun was out all week. It was AH-MAY-ZING. Our girl Jazzy Jen met us for the first 2 days, which we spent on the beach drinking Tito's and Tea and watching pelicans dive bombing fish for hours. After Jazzy Jen left us, we spent the rest of the week on the beach drinking Tito's and Tea and watching pelicans dive bombing fish for hours. I did run every morning while we were at the beach, just to break up the monotony of Tito's and Tea and dive bombing pelicans. </p><p>I spent my birthday weekend (July 4th for those planning my party for next year) with friends and loved ones laughing and drinking and laughing some more. We had family come in from the beautiful Pacific Northwest during the month of July so naturally I had to show off our gorgeous vineyards (I'm looking at you, <a href="https://www.bigcorkvineyards.com/" target="_blank">Big Cork</a>!) </p><p></p><p>I got to participate in helping put together a charity golf tournament in late July to learn how to do it because last week I had my own charity golf tournament to host to benefit our local Rotary Club. This summer, I took over as chairperson for our Rotary Satellite Club and so far I'm doing an okay job of "fake it til you make it." <br /></p><p>We bought new beds for the girls' rooms and I had some of my very best friends come to visit in late July and August and they didn't have to sleep on twin beds that were over 20 years old! WINNING! </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfJHhilzrNIzPFo-LrCInshn2Q5wN8-RimndNmAoP37QJ9KaQbkEp4VvWa-n9rse_pAjFf77wws7SOadUFzTcyCaCk8Fo-MW1O7YjeEGzVopzFUSIWUSQmXe-hxccBDK05yQNWsV0azes/s640/1EB6D6ED-EE5F-469F-9806-02D133491B3F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfJHhilzrNIzPFo-LrCInshn2Q5wN8-RimndNmAoP37QJ9KaQbkEp4VvWa-n9rse_pAjFf77wws7SOadUFzTcyCaCk8Fo-MW1O7YjeEGzVopzFUSIWUSQmXe-hxccBDK05yQNWsV0azes/s320/1EB6D6ED-EE5F-469F-9806-02D133491B3F.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tybee Beach, bishes. It was awesome<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>At the end of August, Ride or Die bish Susan and I joined 12 of my closest (fully vaccinated) Duranie girlfriends on the beach in Georgia for a long weekend and it was pure bliss. I did not realize how much I had missed all of their faces until I got to hug and squeeze them all. The last time many of us had been together was in 2016 for a Duran Duran concert in Washington DC, so this reunion was long overdue. On our last night there, we went to the beach and watched the stars and saw the Milky Way. We all downloaded the SkyView Lite app and saw some incredible things. This is probably my favorite picture from the whole trip:<br /></p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6pzLa7UyP8TQSRyIqGsQ-cvND8Q4vjF8-d3N-U1szxFQl-HpxXQyiTQeCImrESe4qitnrTmfvI3Cclmsu1hz3PhKtaTM3AyPA6x7Snph3d3fZH5gzFkEh3EsG70JI0hzEDrJ7Q4Uzllj/s640/8F6F3C0C-C0DA-4D12-BCC7-7696D3B7C665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="640" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6pzLa7UyP8TQSRyIqGsQ-cvND8Q4vjF8-d3N-U1szxFQl-HpxXQyiTQeCImrESe4qitnrTmfvI3Cclmsu1hz3PhKtaTM3AyPA6x7Snph3d3fZH5gzFkEh3EsG70JI0hzEDrJ7Q4Uzllj/s320/8F6F3C0C-C0DA-4D12-BCC7-7696D3B7C665.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stargazing on our last night<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>September was spent running around all over the 3 state region (WV, MD and VA) picking up raffle prizes for our Rotary Golf Tournament, which I'm happy to report went off without a hitch last Friday. We raised a lot of money, gave away a lot of really cool prizes and are already planning our 2022 Rotary Golf Tournament. <br /></p><p>Friday night, after the tournament had finished, the hubs and I had Mexican food for dinner and a pitcher of margaritas, and I was sound asleep by 9:30. </p><p>It was an eventful summer, my friends, and I loved every minute of it. And I'm looking ahead at a cool, crisp fall with lower temps and no humidity. 21 and I are running a half marathon in October (she'll be 22 by then, so I'll need to change my description on the old blog). It will be the second one we've run together! </p><p>Tell me what you did this summer! Did you have fun, despite the global pandemic? <br /></p><p><br /></p>SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-86612490275114312662021-06-24T17:45:00.001-04:002021-06-24T17:55:58.026-04:00SURPRISE!!! A New Post! All About the Eyes.<p>Well hello there, you! How've you been? You look amazing, is that a new shirt?</p><p>Yeah, I know. It's been a hot minute since the last time you saw me here but I am writing to let you know that I've just had to make a change to the old blog and wanted you to be the first to know. Many of you (ok 173 but who is counting?) subscribed to the old Snarkfest Blog through that little "subscribe" button there on the right side of the page. The platform that managed subscribers on Blogger is going away and I had to switch over to a new platform to make sure that everyone who wants to see me in their inbox gets that chance (that sounded dirty). </p><p>The new platform is called <a href="http://Follow.It" target="_blank">Follow.It</a> so when I put up a new post, the email you receive to notify you that I've written something new will be from Follow.It. Truthfully, I don't understand much of the technical stuff related to the blog. Hell, I'm lucky I can Forrest Gump my way around to actually post a blog, hit publish and not have my computer explode, so YAY ME! </p><p>In other totally unrelated news, <u><b>GETTING OLD SUCKS. </b></u></p><p>I turn 54 next week and while I'm in fairly decent shape (I run 5 miles every day, I try to eat semi-quasi-healthy-ish) there is something going on with my eyes. I was painting our guest room last weekend with my oldest daughter, 23, when I started seeing flashes and weird things. There had been a fly in the room and after I finally killed it, I kept seeing something flying around out of the corner of my eye.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiaImssum08KZj-BiFXRNkoW8VlyqZ2XtlZBtYoPbXcnSlqNl9H96GsfTn1yivDw1EBxP4kBZXsa5xC2GiteWr_Qnvb_QGreYkUtzoq5FTOmTYNHOcDStk4vpbstpgNnLeczWibtGFasJ/s640/image0.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="509" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiaImssum08KZj-BiFXRNkoW8VlyqZ2XtlZBtYoPbXcnSlqNl9H96GsfTn1yivDw1EBxP4kBZXsa5xC2GiteWr_Qnvb_QGreYkUtzoq5FTOmTYNHOcDStk4vpbstpgNnLeczWibtGFasJ/s320/image0.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EYE am watching you. My actual eye after dilation. I know. Uber creepy. Sorry.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>"Dammit I swear I killed that little bastard!" I groaned.</p><p>"You did, mom. There's nothing there" said 23. </p><p>While I didn't actually feel like I had anything in my eye (like paint, an eye lash, dust or a Corvette) I definitely was seeing something odd out of my right eye. I did the whole eye wash thing, had 23 check my eye to see if she could see anything but nothing helped. Naturally we checked Dr. Google and Dr. WebMD, and they both suggested I had a retinal tear. With visions of needles poking in my eye and other horrific ideas, I called an ophthalmologist first thing Monday morning and was lucky enough to get an appointment to see him Tuesday morning. </p><p>After dilating both eyes and shining REALLY bright lights in both, the doctor put me at ease when he repeatedly said "no retinal tear" after each instruction (Look up to the ceiling in the left corner, no retinal tear. Look down to the floor on your right, no retinal tear, etc). So good news, no retinal tear.</p><p>The bad news is, I've got <a href="https://www.webmd.com/eye-health/posterior-vitreous-detachment-facts" target="_blank">vitreous detachment.</a> Basically the goo inside my eye is shrinking and it's causing what looks like cobwebs floating around the inside of my eyeball (not the technical terminology). I'm at a greater risk because I'm nearsighted (for those of you who, like me can NEVER remember which is which, I <i>can </i>see near, but I need glasses to see distance). Dr. WebMD says that if you get it in one eye, lucky you, you'll likely get it in the other eye within a year. </p><p>Bitchin'!!</p><p>What I've got isn't fatal, it doesn't hurt, I will live and eventually I will get used to these floaters. But the fact that I'll be 54 and try to take good care of myself, but my eyes seem to be rebelling against me makes me really cranky. Who else here has eye issues? Apparently it's common for us folks over 50 to start deteriorate, so speak up and let me know I'm in good company. Please. <br /></p><p>If you liked this post (seriously I'm bitching about my eyes and my age, what's not to like??) and want to read more of my posts, feel free to put your email in that little box on the right. My last blog post was in February, so OBVIOUSLY it won't be like I'm stalking you. You'll see me in your inbox only occasionally and I promise I'll be fully dressed. I may have a cane, dark glasses, a cup with pencils and maybe a seeing eye dog the next time you see a new blog post from me, but at least you'll be up to date!<br /></p>SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-39321755913035476522021-02-24T16:57:00.000-05:002021-02-24T16:57:27.250-05:00You are enough<p>Well hello there! I was inspired by my friend Eli over at <a href="https://coachdaddyblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Coach Daddy</a> to dust off my blog and try my hand at writing something again. So here goes.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowH3sGA0ttr_oCJpOvdRUzJrf0bz_Robbrldq0r0fTAenA3qmCVF1dmWc0ABNi_vzvNV1w5zLGAxCy9zwEAR5y6T8NPMWUfxGZviDlZoy6VluVLJ1ox65x9p0I9J3VccQzRLkdHj0sUPU/s364/enough.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="341" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowH3sGA0ttr_oCJpOvdRUzJrf0bz_Robbrldq0r0fTAenA3qmCVF1dmWc0ABNi_vzvNV1w5zLGAxCy9zwEAR5y6T8NPMWUfxGZviDlZoy6VluVLJ1ox65x9p0I9J3VccQzRLkdHj0sUPU/s320/enough.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Obviously if you are a follower of all things snark, you'll know that over the course of the past 4 years I have really let this blog fall by the wayside. Probably has something to do with the fact that we had an orange tumor in the White House and I got tired of constantly bitching about it. It was exhausting. I bitched on my personal FB page as well as my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SnarkfestBlog" target="_blank">Snarkfest page</a> and just felt like I was screaming into the void over and over again. So I stopped writing here altogether.</p><p>For now, I'm going to write a little something about accepting yourself without exception. My friend Vicky posted a picture of herself the other day on the Facebooks and she was wearing these pants that she loves and wears all the time. Her reason for wearing them so much is because she thinks her legs are ugly, and wide leg cut pants camouflage her trouble areas. But she said that she hates her legs and it's okay. I commented to her that I totally feel what she's saying. No matter how much weight I have lost, my calves and thighs are tree trunks. I will never, ever wear skinny jeans and that's okay with me. Because I run 5 miles every morning, and longer on the weekends. Those tree trunks get me to where I need to go. Do I like my legs? Nope. I don't like them at all, but they are my legs. They function well, I can walk, run, jump, dance (ok that's up for debate) and move. </p><p>They are splotchy with weird veins, they are flabby in spots, lumpy in others, but who cares? I need to stop, no WE need to stop beating ourselves up over perceived imperfections. My arms are flabby. Totally my fault. I ate like there was no tomorrow, I gained weight everywhere, then I lost weight and my arms are still flabby. Bat wings. They flap when I'm waving hello and they are still waving when I put them down. And you know what? Who cares? My tree trunk legs and bat wing arms don't define who I am. I do that. Through my words and my actions. </p><p>I birthed two amazing and beautiful human beings, and am trying to raise them to be good human beings. How flabby my thighs are means nothing to them. The fact that I am a loving mother to them is what they care about. And one of the things I love about THEM is their acceptance of their body image. Those girls got the cakes and are totally fine with it. I have taken a page from their books. How's that for growth?<br /></p><p>So why do we constantly beat ourselves up because we don't think we are thin enough, fit enough, ENOUGH? We need to stop looking at social media and comparing ourselves to everyone else. Nothing there is real. Literally EVERYTHING is fake. Filters, airbrushing, photoshopping, none of it is real. So stop beating yourself up because you're a size 12 or 20. What good do you bring to this life? What do you do for others and for yourself? Judge yourself on those things and not your bat wings. Those bat wings are attached to hands that could lift others up. Those tree trunk legs are attached to feet that move, so move those feet and bring yourself someplace where you can do good things with those hands. </p><p>Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. Hopefully I'll be back soon with more snark. Stay tuned, Snarklings.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-66509653116749597282020-10-23T21:12:00.001-04:002020-10-23T21:12:55.518-04:00Trying to Make a Difference....<p>Hey Snarklings! It's been awhile. Did you know there's an election coming up? You may have seen a commercial or two. Maybe a debate, I don't know. Perhaps you've received a postcard or a letter in the mail or maybe even a text (or 18). If so, it's very possible that I'm the one who sent you that piece of mail or that text.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxP7ZXcYCzSgkyOZgQqeknszXsXYYbLgGCw6_l3byGpAMNRa-b_1xeCXhgMserePng900hR0ahYsiuDRw0nac6H-BexLoZLmOeVvE1Zg9TsagvwqwXD9hpAKMarfudW20Rgrk0hsTFVtAw/s960/GOTV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxP7ZXcYCzSgkyOZgQqeknszXsXYYbLgGCw6_l3byGpAMNRa-b_1xeCXhgMserePng900hR0ahYsiuDRw0nac6H-BexLoZLmOeVvE1Zg9TsagvwqwXD9hpAKMarfudW20Rgrk0hsTFVtAw/s320/GOTV.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>We've all seen the political propaganda that comes in your mailbox every stinking day. He said/she said. I won't raise your taxes. My opponent voted against that. It's overwhelming and annoying. I know. I get a shit ton of it every day.</p><p>So what's up with that picture of pens, letters and postcards up there? Let me tell you a little story.</p><p>Once upon a time there was an absolutely amazing Supreme Court Justice named Ruth Bader Ginsburg. After living a very long and celebrated life, inspiring literally millions of young women to aspire to greatness, she passed away. Within hours, the Republicans were already talking about filling her Supreme Court vacancy. I felt absolutely sickened. That night, the night she died, I cried like a baby. I felt defeated. Helpless. </p><p>The next day I woke up feeling angry and needing to take action. I reached out to some friends, did some Googling, looked on Facebook and found <a href="https://postcardstovoters.org/" target="_blank">Postcards To Voters</a>, <a href="https://votefwd.org/dashboard" target="_blank">Vote Forward</a>, <a href="https://www.crstandsup.org/" target="_blank">Capital Region Stands Up</a> and <a href="https://www.thrutext.io/" target="_blank">ThruText</a>. I ordered 100 postcards, applied to send letters to voters and started text-banking. Little by little I started coming out of the sadness and felt like I was actually doing something worthwhile and helpful.</p><p>I know that donating to political campaigns is absolutely necessary but I've got 2 kids in college, 3 car payments and an obscene monthly car insurance bill, so just writing one check and moving on really didn't feel like it would help me with my helplessness.</p><p>However, the feeling I had after handwriting 100 postcards (for candidates in Kentucky, Ohio and South Carolina), 60 letters to voters in Florida and Georgia and close to 3000 texts to Pennsylvania voters made me feel like I was truly making a difference. Texting didn't cost me anything other than time. The postcards were about $35, no charge other than paper and envelopes for the letters and about $68 in postage and I reached 3160 people. I feel like reaching out to that many people may have made more of a difference than sending a $100 donation to one political candidate. </p><p>The usual political propaganda we get in the mail is all preprinted from campaigns, but these postcards and letters were all handwritten by thousands of volunteers. And even if someone looks at it and just tosses it in the trash, at least there is some thought behind it and not a political machine pumping them out. </p><p>What are you doing to get through this election season? (I've been drinking) </p><p>Have you made a plan for voting yet? </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-41975428182077205572020-04-30T19:12:00.000-04:002020-04-30T19:12:37.526-04:00We are not okay....and that's okay.I've had this post sitting in my drafts for about 2 weeks now and haven't gotten back to finish it. Now's as good a time as any. It's been raining here all. damned. day. It's a good, soaking rain that washes all the pollen away and hopefully will wash away all the negative feelings I've had these days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwt0fQ6TGvsEltqaZx-Q5W5_s2tzek2u38s5rworhHE1tnL4B3OznCrNAGXz8N7M7CUYhxJgna1_aOEBB_vfzF7F9MrGxOQyJ8R1rwGmnqfxvTJf-aBpjqacgmxnzuSZbzjdbPElRKN3g/s1600/Rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwt0fQ6TGvsEltqaZx-Q5W5_s2tzek2u38s5rworhHE1tnL4B3OznCrNAGXz8N7M7CUYhxJgna1_aOEBB_vfzF7F9MrGxOQyJ8R1rwGmnqfxvTJf-aBpjqacgmxnzuSZbzjdbPElRKN3g/s400/Rain.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image courtesy of Morguefile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm one of the lucky ones who isn't going stir crazy inside my house. My kids are in college so I don't have to try to home school them (thank you sweet baby jeezus, I don't know nothin' 'bout no physics). My husband is working from home so he gets to deal with letting the dogs in and out and in and out (x 1000) during the work day. My co-workers are all working remotely, so I'm the only one in the office. I need access to the check book and the files, so I actually enjoy going in to work. I get to take a walk to the Post Office (where I practice social distancing and wear my mask) to get some fresh air every day.<br />
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But man, this sucks. This new normal really sucks. Wearing a mask sucks. Staying 6 feet away from people sucks. Not being able to hug my friends sucks. But guess what sucks more. DEATH!<br />
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Yup, death sucks worse than the rest of these precautions. So here's the deal: if you want to take your life into your own hands by going to get your hair or nails done, have at it. Wanna go to a sit-down restaurant to eat? Knock yourself out. Wanna go to the gym? Sure thing! But think about this: not only are you putting yourself at risk and the lives of those around you at risk, you're also putting at risk the lives of first responders and health care workers. They are the ones who have to deal with your sorry ass when you catch the Corona and have to be treated. Is it your right? Maybe, but does it make you a selfish prick? You bet it does.<br />
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Science matters. The experts know what they are talking about. Jesus Christ, that's why they are EXPERTS. That's why they don't ask Bubba, the gun-toting, flag waiving jackass from Michigan who is protesting to reopen his state so he can go bowling with his buds. He's not an expert, he's an asshole. Listen to the experts who have been dealing with these infectious diseases for LITERALLY DECADES!! <br />
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I saw earlier that president shit for brains wants to go back to holding his giant campaign rallies ahead of the election in November. At this point, you know what? Go ahead, fucktard. Hold your rallies. Let your thousands and thousands of kool-aid drinking supporters all gather in one building, breathing one anothers' air, spewing their hate along with their spittle on to one another. Let those freak germs fly! I believe that's called thinning the herd. And while I'm sorry for all the front-line health care workers who have to deal with your sorry, stupid asses, perhaps it will shine a brighter light on what a goddamn stupid idea it was in the first place to gather together.<br />
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Do I sound a little bitter? Yeah, probably. Two weeks ago we had to cancel our family vacation to Hawaii. We were celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary and my oldest daughter's college graduation. My youngest and I were planning on running a half marathon together (her first!). And we had to cancel our trip. Our hotel closed, and our flights were canceled.<br />
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So yeah, I'm a little bitter. I can't go on vacation but I understand why. It would be incredibly stupid and amazingly irresponsible of us to do so. So we are following the rules. Because that's what it's going to take to get past this round of the Coronavirus.<br />
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The one thing that I will give the president credit for is bringing Dr. Fauci on to lead this fight. It's the one and only thing I'll give him credit for. For the love of God, listen to Fauci. The man has worked with 6 presidents, Democrat and Republican. He has the nation's best interest at heart. <br />
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The bottom line is this: Yes, things suck right now. Yes, it feels like maybe our freedoms are being taken away. Yes, the rules are hard to follow. And yes, it sucks and we are not okay. But we will be. <u><b>We will be fine after this</b></u>. We're learning just how strong we are and how much we miss our loved ones. Maybe when this is over, we'll hug them a little longer and not take them for granted. And maybe we won't take our freedoms for granted. <br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-15518214368262938752020-03-20T17:06:00.000-04:002020-03-20T17:06:43.512-04:00Just Be Kind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />Hey Snarklings. I hurt my back a few weeks ago while cleaning, vacuuming and mopping my house (I won't make THAT mistake again!) and have been dealing with ongoing pain since it happened. The pain got so bad that last Saturday I sent a FB message to a friend who is a nurse and asked if she were in my shoes, what would she do? In the time of COVID-19, I didn't really want to take a chance on sitting in a packed ER and opening myself up to the possibility of being exposed to possible carriers. But I had to do something because I was in agony.<br />
<br />My friend recommended going to Urgent Care, so that's what I did. I entered the building touching nothing. I approached the check-in desk and was met with a smiling young guy named Justin. He took my info and directed me to the waiting room. There were probably 4 other people in the waiting room and none were hacking up a lung or wearing a mask (the sign on the front door directed people with flu-like symptoms to please pick up a mask at the front desk). I brought my book with me because it's an Urgent Care and I fully expected to wait quite awhile to be seen. I thought this was pretty standard, having to wait at an Urgent Care.<br />
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Apparently not everyone got that memo.<br />
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A woman (let's call her 'Itchy") walked in after I had been sitting there for about 10 minutes and I heard her telling Justin that she had a skin condition. He took her information and directed her to the waiting room as he did with me. A few minutes went by and she looked in my direction and I heard her exclaim "Oh are you kidding me?? An HOUR and FIFTEEN MINUTES??" At first I thought she was yelling at me for something, but when I looked over at what Itchy was looking at, I actually saw the TV monitor on the wall showing the approximate wait time for each person. Mine was 45-60 minutes. Hers was longer. She ranted, hooted and hollered in the waiting room, then went back to the check-in desk (scratching her ass the whole time) to give Justin a piece of her mind.<br />
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Look, I get that in this time of uncertainty, we are all a bit on edge. I understand peoples' fears, but that's no excuse to be rude to anyone. I'm sorry, but if you come to an Urgent Care on a Saturday morning, you are going to have a wait. Unless you're head is hanging off and there's blood gushing out of your neck cavity, you're waiting just like the rest of us. Suck it up, Buttercup.<br />
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I was embarrassed for her. I understand she needed to be seen just like the rest of us, but that's no reason to be an asshole. We are all on edge with this COVID-19 pandemic, and I didn't really want to be sitting in an Urgent Care waiting room, with the possibility of being exposed, but the alternative is to sit in a crowded ER waiting room, and with a skin condition being her 'emergency' she'd probably have waited much longer than an hour and fifteen minutes. <br /><br />Not long after her rage filled rant, a boy and his mother came in. The boy was hobbling and the mother helped him to his seat before going up to check in with Justin. The boy apparently thought he had broken his foot. By that time, I was next to be called and I toyed with the idea of letting the boy go ahead of me, but that would have pushed Itchy's wait time back even more and I was afraid she would come over and touch me and I'd get her cooties, so I shut my mouth, waited my turn and went in when I was called. <br /><br />Here's my point. Don't be an asshole. We are all worried, we are literally ALL in this together so let's try to be patient. It's only going to get worse before it gets better, so while we are dealing with this horrific pandemic, can't we all just try to be kind to one another? <br /><br />After being seen, when I was checking out with Justin, I made a point to thank him for handling this madness with grace and a smile. I told him that I heard the interaction with Itchy and that I was sure she wasn't the only one to give him grief and that he was doing a fantastic job in a shitty situation.<br /><br />Just be kind. It's not that hard. (unless you're the president, apparently he doesn't know the meaning of kind). The rest of us are capable, so let's just be kind. <br /><br /><br />
<br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-80638048179283557672020-02-11T12:43:00.000-05:002020-02-11T12:43:05.983-05:00DumbassIn honor of the fact that my cat, Cinnamon (you all know her as Dumbass because that's how we've referred to her since we got her) turns 19 (!!) this year, I'd like to dedicate this post to her.<br />
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For the love of God how much longer are you going to live???<br />
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No, seriously, you have used up 14 of your 9 lives, cat!<br />
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How many times have I posted about Dumbass jumping into AND GETTING STUCK IN the refrigerator?? COUNTLESS, that's how many. She has been trapped in there more times than I can remember!<br />
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I remember when we brought her home on the day my husband ran his first Marine Corps Marathon back in 2001. This cat was actually born ON September 11, 2001 (we should have named her 'Disaster' or something, but we went with Cinnamon). 22 and 20 fell in love with her. She was tiny and sweet and cute and all the things a kitten should be.<br />
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And stupid, did I mention stupid?<br />
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But I digress. Back in those days, it was still okay to get your cat declawed, so we did. (sorry animal lovers but furniture is expensive, yo!) Only her front claws were removed, we aren't complete monsters. This was a cat who, while supposed to be indoors, tried to escape every chance she had. If that front door opened for any reason, she was there trying to get out. She never went far, usually just to the tree out front, but the sweet smell of freedom has always been like a siren calling to her. To this day she still tries to get out, but she always comes back.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHSPhpOHZEYAfu7j9QPuxuqJ3fsBwhzRHCHnVSh0f4SGeKmNExpcSGv_SmpmYROT0Rnj6SoKReRWwKe10kIi-nvTxAZdA2SjavWWDUtRXYFLKj7AaL7G0-jxNLBfwQTksSkpAf9YWgkun/s1600/Cat+near+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHSPhpOHZEYAfu7j9QPuxuqJ3fsBwhzRHCHnVSh0f4SGeKmNExpcSGv_SmpmYROT0Rnj6SoKReRWwKe10kIi-nvTxAZdA2SjavWWDUtRXYFLKj7AaL7G0-jxNLBfwQTksSkpAf9YWgkun/s400/Cat+near+tree.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anyway, the day we brought her home from the vet when she was declawed (I said I was sorry!) she found herself at the door when one of the girls came home from school and she took off. She went right out to the Bradford pear tree out front and attempted to climb it, as she usually did when she tasted freedom. Only this time, she was at a disadvantage. No claws means no climbing. She got about halfway up and slid down like a fireman sliding down the fire pole en route to get on the truck and go fight fires. It was something to behold.<br />
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She terrorized our old cat, Pinhead (are you seeing a pattern of rude nicknames for cats in our house yet?). Pinhead's real name was Sherri (clarification: we had a black cat named Sunni and when we got the new cat, my husband thought Sunni and Cher would be just adorable names for cats. I, however, disagreed. We compromised and instead of Cher we went with Sherri. Except from the moment we named her, we never called her Sherri, because she was such a Pinhead. So Pinhead stuck).<br />
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Digressing again. Dumbass always terrorized Pinhead. When we moved from New Jersey to West Virginia, naturally we brought both cats with us (but in separate cat carriers) and when we went to make settlement on the new house, they came into the office with us. We had them facing one another for company and they chatted with one another during the whole settlement process. Everyone in the room got a big kick out of it.<br />
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Pinhead eventually went to that big litter box in the sky and we brought home Henry and Cosmo. Dumbass started getting a taste of her own medicine, with the dogs terrorizing her daily. But now that she's old and crusty, she tolerates the dogs and they pretty much ignore her.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXPoId7bAQ1XVtj_TWgwyWMdVX1Q7ZIKErWQR8q3FbICNzTiFfRa9if32FNwmWIlNvgIZqcgjWN98p70ZdtLPVjmtLHpyACu__9rEM5m6et4EKRVfJ1ZbySUSVsCXMnZV2yxY8mXt4Zds/s1600/cat+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="604" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXPoId7bAQ1XVtj_TWgwyWMdVX1Q7ZIKErWQR8q3FbICNzTiFfRa9if32FNwmWIlNvgIZqcgjWN98p70ZdtLPVjmtLHpyACu__9rEM5m6et4EKRVfJ1ZbySUSVsCXMnZV2yxY8mXt4Zds/s320/cat+dog.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice the tongue sticking out on this vicious killer cat. The dog is now 34 times her size and could eat her in 1 bite.</td></tr>
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Nowadays, Dumbass doesn't really want to be bothered unless someone is in the bathroom because that's where we keep her food. If you enter the bathroom (for any reason) she thinks you must be in there to feed her. I could go in, feed her, take care of business, wash my hands (of course!) and leave, but if I go back in there 10 minutes later, it is obviously time to feed her again. It's a vicious cycle with her. I don't know if she's forgetting that she just ate or if she thinks her time is limited so she should eat ALL the time. <br />
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She has brought us lots of laughs, many scratches with her back claws, many instances where we've tripped over her but she's still here. I think she just refuses to die because she's stubborn. Either way she's been a good old girl and I wanted to celebrate her while she's still with us. Sort of a living eulogy for the cat.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaxed Dumbass</td></tr>
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-66317556153479593542020-01-29T11:07:00.001-05:002020-01-29T11:07:11.075-05:00Dear Verizon...<br />
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<br />
Dear Verizon,<br />
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I'm cc'ing Apple on this blog post because while you aren't totally to blame, you both need to be in on this. I recently began having issues with my iPhone 6, purchased from you, Verizon, and paid for over the course of God only knows how many months. Shut up, I know that all the cool kids are on the 11 right now but I've never been one to follow trends and I hate learning new things, so sue me.<br />
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Anyway, my battery life was seriously starting to dwindle down and no matter how often I'd charge it, it was constantly losing power, to quote Elmer Fudd, at a <i>vewy wapid wate</i>. It became so bad that when I would go out for a morning run, the phone would die halfway through a 5 mile run. Granted, I'm a really slow runner, but still, all I had open was iTunes and I was happily running along when my music would stop. I'd take the phone out of my arm band to see that it had died. Before you ask, no I had no other apps open. I've learned my lesson over the years that when I run, I don't keep other apps open because I know that they will suck the juice out of my battery.<br />
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Now here is my major concern: I run half and full marathons and in doing so, I go out on a lot of long distance training runs. I cannot be without a phone if I'm 8 miles from home and either I suffer an injury or God forbid there is an emergency and either I need to contact family or they need to contact me. It's just not an option. So when my phone dies after 25 minutes of only music playing, there's a problem.<br />
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I took my phone to the Verizon place in Frederick MD, a place where in the past, I've had excellent customer service. This time, not so much. In the past, they've greeted us at the door, and if there was a wait, they'd take our names and get to us in a timely manner. This time, no one came to greet us. We had to walk over to the table where 2 of your employees were sitting, looking at their phones. Yup, that sucked. When your representative asked what my issue was and I explained to him the problem, he informed me that yes, it sounded like my battery was going bad (ya think? Thanks Mr. Obvious, you're a lifesaver!) However, instead of suggesting that I just go someplace and get a new battery, he told me that Verizon would happily send me a replacement (read: refurbished) phone.<br />
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<i>As a side note, dear Verizon, when I asked where the bathroom was (I've used their bathroom in the past but they have since remodeled), I was told that they didn't have a public restroom, so I couldn't pee. WHAT?? Let me tell you something, Verizon: I pay you exactly $274.56 every single month for 4 goddamn iPhones. For $274.56, you owe me the use of your bathroom in your store. Just let me pee!</i><br />
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But I digress, he told me that they would send me a refurbished iPhone 6 and that I would have to back everything up and reload everything onto the new (refurbished) phone and then wipe the bad phone and return it. So now I'm doing their job. Fine, whatever.<br />
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The first refurbished phone arrived that Tuesday. I backed everything up to the cloud, wherever that is, wiped the phone with the bad battery and shipped that one back. On Thursday I ran 5 miles and that first refurbished phone died halfway through my run. I. Shit. You. Not. So I contacted Verizon via chat (why the hell would I waste the gas to drive 45 minutes back to Frederick for nothing?). They were able to do a diagnostic on my first refurbished phone and they told me that yes, in fact, that first refurbished phone battery was bad. Great. They said they would send out another (my SECOND refurbished) phone and I had to backup everything from the first refurbished phone to the cloud (where the hell IS that anyway??) and reload it to the second refurbished phone and send the first one back. That second refurbished phone arrived Saturday. Again, I did as I was told, (which in the past, Verizon has always done as a courtesy but alas no more). I went through the whole process again, backup, upload, wipe, return. This time I checked the battery health on the second refurbished phone and found that it was only 86%. I did not have a warm fuzzy about that.<br />
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Flash forward to Tuesday. Yes one week after the first refurbished phone arrived, the second refurbished phone died during a run. What the actual eff??? I'm wondering if they sent me my original phone back. Anyway, we make the phone call this time and it was determined YET AGAIN that my battery was bad and that they'd be sending me a THIRD REFURBISHED PHONE. Why did NO ONE offer the option of just taking the phone to get the goddamn battery replaced?? Because you people have us trained that when one phone dies, we HAVE TO BUY ANOTHER, bigger better stronger faster phone.<br />
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Ok so the third refurbished phone arrives, and I go through the motions yet again. And then I checked the battery health on refurbished phone #3. It was 85%. Again, I shit you not. So guess what happened the first time I went for a run. Go ahead, guess. I'll wait.<br />
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If you said my phone died during my run, you win!!!<br />
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Guess what I did! At the recommendation of a friend, I took the phone to a place that replaces cell phone batteries and had that bad boy replaced for $60. My battery health is now at 100% and my phone has not died once since getting the battery replaced.<br />
<br />
Yes, perhaps I should have done that in the very beginning, but I honestly did not know that it was an option. It's an iPhone, so I assumed if I replaced the battery it would no longer be covered under warranty. But guess what. YOUR WARRANTY SUCKS ASS. I am keeping my third refurbished iPhone 6 until I run that bitch into the ground and then I'm switching cell providers because your customer service just ain't what it used to be and I am doing all the work AND paying you close to $300 a month.<br />
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Phew, I'm glad I got that off my chest. Thanks for your time. And next time, just suggest I replace the battery rather than sending me 3 refurbished phones and making me want to drink my dinner.<br />
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Sincerely,<br />Snarkfest<br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-89350114551848108292020-01-24T12:02:00.001-05:002020-01-24T12:02:52.335-05:00High School ReunionI'm heading back to New Jersey this weekend for my (cough cough) 35th High School Reunion. This will be the first time I've been back to New Jersey since my mom passed away in 2016. I've definitely got mixed feelings about it all.<br />
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On the one hand, crossing over the Delaware Memorial Bridge is going to bring back a flood of sad memories. Memories I've blocked out for 3 years. Memories of watching my mom struggle to breathe, being restless in her sleep and finally, taking her last breath and passing peacefully. Those are memories I don't want to relive.<br />
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But then there are the other memories. The good ones. I lived in New Jersey most of my life. We moved there when I was 7 and I left when I was 39 so that's a pretty good chunk of time. I still have best friends who live there. I have a history there, so I need to suck it up and make the trip.<br />
<br />
I married my husband and had both of my babies there, worked in the casino biz for over 20 years in Atlantic City. I lived at the beach for many many years and was spoiled by it. It wasn't until I left the shore that I realized how lucky I was to have it so close. Now, going to the beach is a once a year event to be treasured, but back then it was an everyday occurrence that I could take or leave. I'd take that back in a heartbeat.<br />
<br />
One of my very favorite parts of living at the beach was being able to walk on the boardwalk in the middle of the winter without a soul around. Honestly, I loved working on the boardwalk during my high school years, with the crowds, the noises, the sights and smells. And the boys. So many boys!<br />
<br />
But the winters were so peaceful, so isolating, so wonderfully serene.<br />
<br />
I am looking forward to seeing my crew, my ride or die high school friends, some of whom I haven't actually seen since high school. We've been lucky enough to keep in touch through the magic of Facebook but it will be so good to see them, to hug them, to catch up in-person.<br />
<br />
I am also looking forward to being catty and seeing people who I didn't care for back then, secretly hoping they look old, remembering what jackasses we thought they were. There will be many many laughs, maybe some tears but definitely good times ahead and hopefully we'll make more good memories that I can take home with me. SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-69197491255651205722020-01-13T11:14:00.000-05:002020-01-13T12:03:00.932-05:00Eulogy for the Living<br />
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As I mentioned in my blog <a href="https://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2020/01/the-beauty-of-friendships.html" target="_blank">from last Friday,</a> I attended a funeral for the friend of a friend this weekend. The place was packed. Stacey, the woman who had passed, died of lung cancer (not a smoker!) and she had been a member of NA for many many years. Apparently, she had touched more lives than anyone actually realized. That's the beauty of life: you never know how much of a difference you make in peoples' lives.<br />
<br />
Hundreds of people showed up. My friend read her eulogy for Stacey, and then another friend did, then both of Stacey's children spoke, and then finally her husband. Eulogies from family and friends were shared with the living.<br />
<br />
But Stacey never heard those words. She knew, I'm sure, how loved she was, but that got me to thinking on the drive up to PA about just how much our friends know about how we feel about them. We say beautiful words about our loved ones after they've passed. But why don't we say these beautiful words BEFORE they die? I decided then and there in my car that I would write living eulogies for those that I love (don't worry, I didn't start writing while I was driving).<br />
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I don't want to wait until someone dies to say wonderful things about them. I want to share good memories, fun stories and the love I feel for them while they are still alive and while they can still hear me.<br />
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I'm not going to publicly post my eulogies for the living, but I do vow, here and now, to write them and share them with my loved ones. Why should they be dead before I get to tell them what I love about them? <br />
<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-86601580899743530562020-01-10T11:04:00.000-05:002020-01-10T11:04:22.000-05:00The Beauty of Friendships........I can only speak to my experience as a woman about friendships. My husband has very few close friends but those whom he loves are near and dear to him. For me, I have a shit ton of friends, both old and new. I have the friends I made in grade school (yes, grade school, some 40-plus years ago) with whom I am still in contact. I have my high school friends (celebrating our 35th reunion later this month!). I have my friends from my post-high school days (I didn't stick with college so any acquaintances made there have long since been forgotten, sadly). I have friends from my days in the casino biz and I have the friends I've made since moving to West By-God Virginia.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends through the ages: Susan, Mandie and Karen. They have my heart.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We may not speak for weeks, months, or even years, but that does not mean we don't love one another or have an unbreakable bond. We were maids of honor to one another, we are Godparents of one anothers' babies, we've watched our kids grow up. Our tastes have changed. We no longer drink Milwaukees Best in the basement, or Bartles and James wine coolers at the park. We have good jobs and can afford nice cartons of Bota Box or Black Box. Hell, we even hit the wineries and sample the better stuff now.<br />
<br />
Some we see day to day on Facebook and we keep up with one another there. Some we text weekly. Some monthly. Others, years may go by but that bond never goes away. Our tastes change, our political views are not always the same, but I don't love my friends for their preferences, I love them for who they are and for our history together. I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't have them in my life.<br />
<br />
When one of my friends is mourning, I mourn with them. One of my best friends recently lost one of her life long friends. She and her friend had known one another since high school and had drifted in and out of one anothers' lives but they never stopped loving one another, no matter how many miles or how few phone calls or texts occurred. I met her old friend at bridal showers, my friend's wedding, baby showers and the like. And while I never felt a strong connection to her, my best friend did. So I mourn with her over her loss.<br />
<br />
I texted her last night, asking how she was. She asked if she could send me the eulogy she wanted to read at her friend's funeral and I told her she didn't have to. I would be there. Because friends do that for friends. They are there when you need them, and I know she needs me. We all need each other. Good times. Bad times. We need to be there for one another.<br />
<br />
I will hold her hand as she held mine when my mom passed away. I will hand her tissues when she finishes reading the eulogy. I will crack open a box of wine with her and we will toast to friendships. And I will never stop loving her. I will cherish her as I will cherish all of the people I hold dear to my heart. <br /><br />Whether you have one really close friend or dozens, you cherish them. That's how we go on. SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-16203877032028022902020-01-09T14:23:00.000-05:002020-01-09T14:23:15.867-05:00If you write it, will they read?That's an excellent question.<br />
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<br />
Afternoon, Snarklings. Do y'all remember me? Those of you who have subscribed via email, HOWDY!!! Those who stumbled here through the Facebooks and Twitters, WHASSUP? I've really missed you guys. I'm sorry it's been so long. <br />
<br />
I've decided to blow the dust off of this old website and vomit up some verbiage. Hopefully I will make a habit out of doing this but for now, here's one blog post to start.<br />
<br />
Let's catch up shall we?<br />
<br />
For those of you who are new, I'm Teri, your Queen of Snark. I've been blogging since 2013 (ish) and have had some pieces published in some books (which is very cool). You can check those out on the right side of this page or on the <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/p/buy-pee-book.html" target="_blank">BUY MY BOOKS</a> page, if you are so inclined, but no pressure.<br />
<br />
Still married. Still working for my favorite environmental nonprofit called <a href="https://skytruth.org/" target="_blank">SkyTruth</a>. Running again. I just finished my 4th full marathon (ok not JUST, it was back in October). Looking to run my 5th later this year. I've lost 70 pounds on <a href="https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/checkout/iaf/?iaftoken=5A04EF2500" target="_blank">Weight Watchers</a> over the last year and change.<br />
<br />
My oldest is now 22, my youngest is now 20 and both are baristas!<br />
<br />
Still have my Dumbass cat (now 18!! If she were a he, I'd register her for the draft just to get her out of the house), and my pups, Henry and Cosmo are 10 now!! All growed up.<br />
<br />
The president is still a fuckstick.<br />
<br />
My latest obsession these days is THE CHILD. AKA <a href="https://twitter.com/kristinnoeline/status/1194237737362165760/photo/1" target="_blank">The Baby Yoda.</a> Dear sweet Lord, Disney you are brilliant. I'm not posting any images because I'm not trying to deal with any copyright infringements, but you have to know how adorable this damned thing is.<br />
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I'm also watching $chitt's Creek on the Netflix and have started watching The Avengers series (yes I'm a little behind the times, so sue me) on the Disney+ because it's free. That's how they get you. I got a year of free Disney+ and they had to go and make THE CHILD so damned adorable that there's no way on God's green earth that I won't actually pay for it so I can watch season 2 of The Mandalorian to get my Baby Yoda fix. Well played, Disney+, well played.<br />
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A little side rant: last night one of my favorite Snarklings, Jon, sent me a message with a link to an article that said someone had the audacity to photoshop your dumbass <a href="https://god.dailydot.com/don-jr-baby-yoda/?fbclid=IwAR16MI8m0Dl5qNoDiov5S76RyFR2VyF-tI_1Y8n3qXR1HW9z4jdZVWw9zmM" target="_blank">president's head</a> on to the Baby Yoda's body and that's just not right. Idiot Son #1 posted the image on Instagram and I want to set them all on fire. They crossed a line. It's just not right. I can't even post the image here without wanting to throw a punch.<br />
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That's all I've got for now. I don't want to overwhelm you on my first day back in over a year. Please stop back to see if it takes me that long to blog again. Until next time, stay Snarky my friends. <br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-45717426798223261932018-10-30T08:28:00.001-04:002018-10-30T08:28:07.066-04:00None of this is okay.......Yeah, it's been awhile. You remember me? Short, snarky, sarcastic. It'll come back to you. I can wait.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I have something I need to get off my chest.<br />
<br />
Last night I attended a vigil for the 11 Jewish victims murdered at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh and for the 2 African-Americans murdered in Jeffersontown, KY. I'm absolutely sickened by the actions of these white supremacists who thought it was okay to murder people in cold blood because they look differently or have different religious backgrounds.<br />
<br />
I'm sick of people being horrible to each other. I'm absolutely horrified by the actions of the president of the United States. If you are a Trump supporter, just stop reading now and close the tab because you will disagree with me and want to comment about how wonderful he is and that's just going to make me sick. I don't want to hear anyone tell me about how terrible the Democrats are. I don't have the patience to listen to people say how awful the media is. I'm sick to death of hearing Trump supporters parroting back the shit that comes out of his Twitter feed on a daily basis. Nothing you can say in favor of Trump is going to get anyone to change their minds. And nothing I say about how terrible he is will change anyone's mind, so let's just agree to disagree and move on, shall we?<br />
<br />
The president of the United States is a purveyor of hate. He spews vile rhetoric at his rallies and that seems to give people the permission to be awful, terrible excuses for human beings. Racist, homophobic, intolerant, all of the dregs of society are crawling out of the gutters and have been told by Trump that it's okay to be awful to people who don't look like they do.<br />
<br />
As a result of the president giving permission to these disgusting people, there has been an influx of awfulness. There is now so much division, anger, hatred, divisiveness in the United States it's terrifying. If you are black, brown, Spanish, Muslim, gay, trans, bi, anything that doesn't look like the president, you are a target. Does anyone else think it's ironic that Trump paints those people as the villains, yet in the past week it's been 3 white middle aged American men who have perpetrated these violent killings or attempted killings?<br />
<br />
Don't even get me started on the 13 explosive devices that were sent by that crazy ass bastard with the sticker-filled van in Florida. Someone posted on my FB wall that 'not all Trump supporters are like that'. But if you support Trump, you can't pick and choose what you want to agree with and what you find distasteful. It's not a buffet. You either support him or you don't. No middle ground. Terrible things have been allowed, even encouraged, in this country since Trump took office, and even more will be allowed to happen. He welcomes it. He has lit a fire of hatred and it's burning out of control.<br />
<br />
All I can do is hope for change. I have to believe that there are millions of people out there who are just as sickened about the turn this country has taken and that those people will get out and vote. Vote for people who do not condone the senseless killings of innocent people. Vote for a change. Just vote.<br />
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"Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head, all the time.... Can you understand?" - John Coffey, The Green Mile, Stephen King, 1996<br />
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SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-41584520613576945202018-03-20T11:44:00.000-04:002018-03-20T11:44:17.511-04:00How Many More?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
My daughter walked out of school last Thursday with a good many of her classmates. They walked out to honor the 17 students and educators who died at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland Florida. I'm sure many students at Great Mills High School in St. Mary's County, Maryland also walked out to honor those fallen folks. And now, less than a week after that peaceful walkout, there is another school shooting. This one at that very school.<br />
<br />
How many more?<br />
<br />
This Saturday we will march in Washington DC along with hundreds of thousands of others who are sick to death of school shootings and gun violence.<br />
<br />
As a parent, I absolutely cannot begin to imagine what those parents are feeling at this moment. I have a knot in my stomach just trying to imagine what it would be like to hear that there was a shooting at my kid's school. The uncertainty until a parent gets proof of life from their child, that time must be extreme agony.<br />
<br />
How many thoughts and prayers does this country have left?<br />
<br />
18 and I were interviewed last night for a podcast by my friend Mike who runs <a href="https://papadoespreach.com/" target="_blank">Papa Does Preach </a>for his new podcast, DadAF. He wanted to talk to her about her experiences with the walk out last week and how it affected her. She spoke about how she stood in solidarity with those school shooting victims and how we need to bring about change. And now this.<br />
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How many more??<br />
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I am sickened.<br />
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I hate to even think this, but will it take a gunman going into the school of a congressman's or a senator's child or even the school where the president's son goes before something is done??? You'd think after last summer's shooting at the congressional softball game that action would be taken, but no. More children have to die because no one will do anything to prevent guns from getting into the hands of children or angry people with an ax to grind. WHAT. MORE. WILL. IT. TAKE??<br />
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ENOUGH!<br />
<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-34669993074324763332018-03-16T10:41:00.000-04:002018-03-16T10:42:32.500-04:00Colonoscopy. A story of hope, and poop. Mostly poop. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">The day before:</span></u></b><br />
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8:00 a.m. The liquid diet day begins. I suck on a delicious orange popsicle while feeding the dogs, and I'm actually a little jealous that they are eating solid food. Not saying I want to eat dog food, just saying the orange popsicle left a little to be desired.<br />
<br />
11:00 a.m. The caffeine-deprived headache has taken hold and I'm squinting at everything. You'd think I was sitting on the sun with how much I'm squinting. I miss coffee. Also, I'm cold.<br />
<br />
12:00 p.m. I have just taken the recommended 4 laxative pills. My guess is, the fun should begin any minute now. I have knocked back 2 cups of beef broth that my boss made for me because she loves me. It was like manna from the gods. I chased that with a cup of pineapple jello. I'm not ready to gnaw on anyone's arm just yet. But it's early.<br />
<br />
3:00 p.m. The stomach gods have awakened from their slumber. No movement yet but they must be in a meeting. Getting loud in there.<br />
<br />
4:00 p.m. Just made my Miralax/Gatorade cocktail and I get to drink 8 ounces of this delicacy every 15 minutes for the next 2 hours. Jealous yet?<br />
<br />
5:15 p.m. Nothing happening so far. I'm starting to wonder if I should be worried.<br />
<br />
5:50 p.m. Houston, we have movement........<br />
<br />
6:48 p.m. Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln.<br />
<br />
7:04 p.m. I'm reminded of a story my old college roommate told me. She went to high school with a girl who tried to lose weight by eating Ex-Lax (old chocolate laxatives for you kids). One day she was in the locker room after gym class and she sneezed and shit herself. I laughed when she told me that.<br />
<br />
I'm not laughing now.<br />
<br />
7:12 p.m. poop<br />
8:29 p.m. poop<br />
9:04 p.m. more poop....... lather, rinse, repeat. Also, I'm starving. <br />
<br />
10:45 p.m. I try to go to sleep and manage to successfully not shit my pajamas.<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">C-Day:</span></u></b><br />
<br />
1:30 a.m. Back on the toilet<br />
<br />
1:35 a.m. Back to sleep, still no pants pooping<br />
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5:30 a.m. My alarm goes off and it's time to drink my Magnesium Citrate which, at 5:30 in the morning, tastes twice as bad as it would have if I was drinking it at noon.<br />
<br />
6:45 a.m. My alarm goes off again to make sure 18 gets off to school<br />
<br />
6:46 a.m. poop<br />
<br />
6:50 a.m. Back to sleep for 45 minutes<br />
<br />
7:35 a.m. poop.<br />
<br />
7:40 a.m. Have the pleasure of watching my husband drink coffee. Drool a lot. Then poop.<br />
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7:45 a.m. poop. Shower. poop.<br />
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8:15 a.m. On the road to Winchester for the big event! I manage to make the entire trip without pooping myself. BONUS!<br />
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9:30 a.m. I am called back, registered, checked in, given my beautiful designer hospital gown, got my IV, signed my life away and was called a 'young healthy gal' by the anesthesiologist who couldn't have been more than 33. Apparently 50 is the new 70. Who knew?<br />
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10:13 a.m. I am wheeled back to the scope room and get to meet the doctor who is also from Philly. We discuss the Eagles (who I haven't really followed since they signed convicted dog-killer and general jackass Michael Vick). We also discuss the 1980 Phillies team. I roll over onto my left side, and watch the young anesthesiologist shoot me full of the same drugs that Michael Jackson was addicted to. (I was told that fact by no less than 4 staff members. Had I known this, I would've worn my one silver glove). I remember nothing after watching the drugs go in.<br />
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11:05 a.m. I am gently roused from my nap by the lovely nurse who put in my IV. She and my husband are both laughing because apparently when I was first coming out of the anesthesia, I dropped the F bomb. Hubby said I said something like "<i>Fucking Phillies</i>" which makes no sense because I LOVE the Phillies. I blame the drugs and the young anesthesiologist. Maybe I <i>MEANT </i>to say "<i>Phucking Phillies</i>" which is much nicer. <br />
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11:40 a.m. Back in the car for the drive home. I want to eat ALL the foods. All of them.<br />
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Present time: My butt hurts. A lot. But my colon is as clean as a whistle. I don't have to do this again for another 10 years.<br />
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On a serious note....<br />
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I have a friend who passed away 11 years ago from cancer. She battled colon cancer twice in her 30's and the third time she just couldn't beat it. If you have a history of colon cancer in your family, DO NOT WAIT. Go get your colonoscopy. Yes it's a pain in the ass (LITERALLY) but it's so worth it to get yourself checked and make sure you're clean.<br />
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One last thing. If this post made you laugh you should definitely check out my friend Foxy Wine Pocket's <a href="http://www.foxywinepocket.com/2014/12/11/camera-up-your-ass/" target="_blank">post about her own colonoscopy</a>.<br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-80923017821113040772018-03-09T11:51:00.000-05:002018-03-09T11:51:31.396-05:00Almost Empty Nest.........Hey Snarklings. Experts say Friday is the worst day to post a new blog. I don't know why, that's just what "they" say. Whoever "they" are, they can kiss my butt. It's so rare that I get an original idea for a blog post, that when I get one, I have to run with it, regardless of what day of the week it is, regardless of what "they" say.<br />
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As I write this post, we are a mere 2 months from my youngest daughter's high school graduation. Those of you who have been with me for a long time may remember the last time I went through a high school graduation. You may also recall that <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2015/03/i-cried-this-morning.html" target="_blank">sales of Kleenex tissues</a> spiked dramatically during that time period. You see, I was coming off of <a href="http://mamalode.com/story/essays/breaking-the-addiction/" target="_blank">an addiction to Effexor</a>, a really strong anti-depressant that I didn't actually realize I was addicted to until I tried to wean myself off.<br />
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Holy shit, you guys.<br />
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I cried for weeks over every. single. thing. It was embarrassing. Even my closest friends questioned the decision to quit the anti-depressant so close to this monumental life-changing experience. Probably not my best call.<br />
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I was interviewed by <a href="https://www.prevention.com/mind-body/what-happens-when-you-stop-taking-antidepressants" target="_blank">Prevention magazine</a> in 2016 about my experiences stepping down and eventually quitting Effexor, and that interview has been making the rounds again lately. I received a Facebook message out of the blue from someone, a total stranger, who read that interview and asked me for some advice on getting off the anti-depressant. "Will I ever feel better?" she asked. And I'm happy to say YES. YES you WILL feel better. It won't happen overnight. But it WILL happen.<br />
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Which brings me to today. We are nearing the finishing line, folks. 18 is graduating! 18 got the gown for her senior prom. 18 has been accepted to college and will be in the band once again with her big sister. And guess what! I haven't cried yet. Well, that's not necessarily true. I have teared up thinking about the 'lasts'. I chaperoned the 'last' Christmas parade in which the high school band marched. I chaperoned the 'final' band competition at the state capital and yes, I was weepy. My eyes filled up. However, it's not the 'body racked with heavy, wet, snotty sobbing' kind of crying that I went through 3 years ago. When 20 graduated high school in 2015, I was an emotional train wreck, I think we can all agree on that. But I'm not sure how much of that was truly me being sad that my first-born baby girl was growing up and leaving, or how much of it had to do with the side effects of the drug leaving my body.<br />
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It's really hard for me to say which it was, but back then I was <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2016/07/listen-to-your-mother-videos-are-up.html" target="_blank">overwhelmed with all the feelings</a>. I was happy for my graduate, excited for her new journey, sad for me that she was leaving me, sad for her sister who was losing her best friend to a campus of 30,000. I was grieving a loss. All of those feelings mixed with the side effects of detoxing truly made me feeling like some sort of psycho.<br />
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But my head is clear now. My baby is graduating and I'm not going to lie: I'm sad. I'm sad because my nest will soon be empty, I won't be chaperoning anymore band trips, nor will I be spending anymore nights in the cabin at band camp (okay maybe I'm NOT really all that sad about that). But I'm emotionally ready to handle it. I feel so much stronger now. These experiences have made me stronger, and while they sucked while I was dealing with them, I feel like I have come out on the other side better for having gone through it.<br /><br />I will add one thing: you may want to disregard that last paragraph on the day that I drop 18 off at college in August. Make no mistake. I will be a sobbing, snotty mess that day. My nest will be empty then, and I think I'm allowed to be emotional then. But I now know that I can and will get through it. SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-86137328865176111102017-10-06T13:40:00.001-04:002017-10-06T13:40:42.893-04:00Hit By a Mack Truck of a Memory....Have you ever been hit by a freight train? A Mack truck? It happened to me last weekend.<br />
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I went out for a run because I'm training for what originally was supposed to be a half marathon. However, due to lack of proper training and a nagging knee injury, I'm only training for a 10k now. Totally not the point, but let's just say I was out there getting it done. While I was out schlepping along, I was thinking that this time last year I was winding down my training for the Freedom's Run full marathon. Thoughts began to wander and I ended up thinking about the day after last year's marathon when I got the call that <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2016/12/mothers-medicaid-mishaps-and-more.html" target="_blank">my mom had been found </a>in her apartment after a fall.<br />
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That call and the ensuing week that followed left me reeling. I literally packed and hauled ass to New Jersey and spent the week either with my mom at the nursing home, at city hall cutting through bureaucratic bullshit or cleaning out her apartment. I was literally running on adrenaline and had little time to think about anything but making sure my mom was cared for, both at the time and for the future. She could no longer live on her own, so we needed to make sure her Medicaid application was complete and submitted so that she could remain at the nursing home which was providing her with amazing care.<br />
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While at her apartment, my brother and I boxed up all non-perishable foods and donated them to the little food bank her apartment building had. We bagged up most of her clothes and donated those to the mission or Goodwill. We got rid of a lot of stuff that didn't have sentimental meaning and kept more that did. And I cleaned out her linen closet.<br />
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Flash forward to last weekend. I was finished my run and ready to grab a shower. It had been a really busy week at Casa Snarkfest with little time for house cleaning or laundry, and so we were running low on towels in our linen closet. I reached the top of the closet, way in the back and found a towel that really didn't look familiar. But it was a towel and I was really smelly, so I brought it into the bathroom and started the shower. It was then that the Mack truck blazed through the bathroom and hit me at 80 mph. <br />
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I held that towel up to my face and breathed in the smell of my mom's apartment and I began to cry hard, ugly tears. I never liked the smell of that apartment. Technically, it wasn't the apartment, it was her whole floor that had a distinctive smell, a smell I hadn't taken in in a year, but one that brought me right back to her apartment, sitting in her living room with her watching the Phillies lose. Eating pizza with her. Listening to her coughing the awful, heartbreaking cough that COPD brings. And laughing. There was always so much joy and laughter with my mom. She was hilarious and had no filter. God I miss her. And until that moment in my bathroom I didn't realize just how much I missed that apartment and those memories.<br />
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I called my girls upstairs and told them to smell the towel and tell me the first thing that came to mind. Both looked at me like I had 6 heads but they did as I asked and both immediately said "MOM-MOM'S APARTMENT".<br />
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That towel is now in the hamper, ready to be washed. Part of me can't wait for it to be clean, but there's a little part of me, way down deep inside, that really hopes that smell doesn't get washed away. Maybe some day. But not yet.SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-45903262845717720492017-08-08T07:30:00.000-04:002018-06-20T10:41:20.353-04:00Water Ice and Gravy....<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;">Mmmm that sounds tasty, doesn't it? I'm guessing that unless you're from Philly or South Jersey you're looking at this blog post and wondering what the hell that crazy Snarkfest chick is talking about. And that's exactly how some of my closest friends look at me (all the time). </span><br />
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Last weekend I met up with a good friend in the grocery store while I was buying a frozen dessert. We went back to my house (where her son was hanging out with my 17) and as I was unpacking said frozen dessert I said (in my most hospitable way) "would you guys like some water ice?"</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water ice. Not ice water. Never ice water.</td></tr>
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Both mother and son looked at me 'that way' and slowly cocked their heads to the side like confused puppies. Mom said "I'll have some ice with water if that's what you're talking about" to which I replied "ok but do you want some water ice too?"</div>
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I had completely baffled them both. You see,<a href="http://www.movoto.com/guide/philadelphia-pa/philadelphia-words/" target="_blank"> I'm from Philly</a>. And in Philly, the term 'water ice' actually means 'Italian ice' (which is stupid and a little racist if you ask me. Why do Italians get the credit for this amazing frozen deliciousness? Anyway I digress). By water ice, they thought I meant a glass of ice water. What I actually meant was dessert. I ended up serving one ice water and one water ice. Go figure.</div>
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Later that weekend I had the same exchange with 19's boyfriend who thought I had completely lost the plot. It was only after I pulled out the Urban Dictionary that he REALLY found my argument invalid. It was only after I hit up The Google that he relented and admitted that (maybe, possibly) I wasn't crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm from Philly. There's a difference. </div>
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Another bone of contention comes between my husband and me. While he did have my back about water ice (because we lived for a long time in South Jersey and he ate more than his fair share of water ice), he can't wrap his brain around what I call the stuff you put over spaghetti. In Philly we call it 'gravy'. Apparently everywhere else that sane people live, they call it 'sauce'. Bah. Whatever. To we who eat spaghetti in Philly it's gravy and when I make a pot of spaghetti, I always make a big pot of "spaghetti gravy" and he always mocks me for it. (Make no mistake, he'll eat the hell out of it).</div>
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I can't help what I know. I know gravy and that's what I grew up calling it. I know water ice. I know hoagies (not sliders, not grinders and while I did get used to calling them subs because that's the South Jersey term for them, they'll always be hoagies to me). I know Jimmies (not sprinkles, that's just stupid). I know MAC machines. I mentioned to 17 that I had to go hit MAC the other day and she gave me that very same "I have no idea what you're talking about" look that I get a lot. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimmies. Always Jimmies. Never sprinkles.</td></tr>
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I know Mummers. Mummers, so I've learned, aren't the same everywhere. In Philly they are New Year's Day costumed revelers. In other places, they are not. Don't ask me what they ARE in other places because I don't care enough to find out.<br />
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I know scrapple. Yeah, I'm well aware what's in scrapple. It's the stuff that is just too disgusting to put in hot dogs, but you can bet your ass I'd beat up a nun for a plate of scrapple. No lie. </div>
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So I know what I know because I was raised to know these things. Just because I call things something different than you do, it doesn't make me wrong. It doesn't make you wrong either. That's the beauty of who we are. We are all different and that's completely fine. It would be pretty boring if we all called everything the same thing. If we did that, life would be mundane and I would not have material to mock others (you know, those sauce eating Italian ice connoisseurs). </div>
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What are some things that are differently named from where you live?</div>
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SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-68205505586510200912017-08-04T14:36:00.002-04:002017-08-04T14:36:49.571-04:00Been A Long Time..........since I wrote a blog. Actually it's been ages since I've had an original thought. I'm sure that's become obvious to you folks, since you keep getting older blog posts showing up in your email if you're subscribed. If you're not, I promise, I'll work on having an original thought or two before the end of this year.<br />
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My friend Phil from <a href="http://blog.theregularguynyc.com/" target="_blank">The Regular Guy NYC</a> actually asked me if I was still blogging, as did my friend Mike from <a href="https://papadoespreach.com/" target="_blank">Papa Does Preach</a>. Yeah, in my head I do still blog. It's getting words from my brain to this page that has proven difficult, but I'm going to give it my best shot.<br />
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Things have been kind of crazy in my corner of the world lately. 19 has gone back to WVU for the start of her junior year. JUNIOR. What the hell? One of my most read pieces, <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2016/07/listen-to-your-mother-videos-are-up.html" target="_blank">Roots and Wings</a>, still resonates with me and with many other parents, and I'll be going through this process not once but twice next year when 17 turns 18 and goes off to college. <br />
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God help me.<br />
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Anyway, we've had some highs and some lows at Casa Snarkfest over the past year. I'm not going to lie, <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2016/12/mothers-medicaid-mishaps-and-more.html" target="_blank">my mom's death</a> has had a tremendous impact on pretty much everything. In the 9 months since she died, the blog has pretty much gone by the wayside. I'm hoping to turn that around but I'm going to need help. What do you want to read from me? You're probably sick of me going on and on about my pretend boyfriend Mike Rowe. I don't want to cry the blues about both my girls going off to college next year. I could just post pictures of puppies and kittens but that's been done. Recipes? Beauty and fashion? (hold on a sec....<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)</b></i></span><br />
<br />
Ok I'm back now.<br />
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So you tell me, what would you like to see on the blog. I'm taking requests. Suggest some ideas and maybe it will knock something loose in my noggin. Until then, here's a kitten for your viewing pleasure.<br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-34469435628363765612017-06-29T14:45:00.000-04:002017-06-29T14:37:03.413-04:00I Cried This Morning...If you've been following my blog for the past few weeks, you'll remember that I'm nuts. Well, technically not 'nuts' per se, but coming off of an <a href="http://mamalode.com/story/detail/breaking-the-addiction" target="_blank">anti-depressant addiction I wasn't aware of </a>has left me with emotions scattered all over the place. Like, seriously.<br />
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For example, last night 17 was looking at a video on the Book of the Faces, and when I asked her what it was, she told me it was a deaf woman hearing her husband's voice for the first time.<br />
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MUSH. <--------- That's what I turned to upon viewing the video.<br />
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This morning I had my tunes playing while I was getting ready for work, and John Denver came on, crooning his beautiful ballad "Country Roads". Shut up, I like John Denver, don't you judge me.<br />
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Anyway, I'm not sure if it's because WVU was crushed last night by Kentucky and knocked out of March Madness, or the fact that my baby will be a freshman there this fall, but my eyes welled up with tears and I cried. I told myself through my tears that I was being an idiot. I didn't argue with myself, I know better. I'll lose, every time.<br />
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But I cried this morning. I cried because it's a pretty song. I cried because my baby is leaving home in less than 6 months. I cried because my emotions are completely fucked up because of the anti-depressants. Am I depressed? No, I don't think I am. Am I an emotional train wreck? No doubt in my mind that yes, I am. I have tears in my eyes just writing this.<br />
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Last week, we went to the state capitol for our high school's symphonic honor band performance. Both of my girls are in that band and they overwhelm me with their talents. During their last song of the performance, Angels in the Architecture, I cried like a freaking lunatic. I cried at the beauty of the music, the difficulty of the 15 minute piece, the solos that my trumpet playing senior had. I cried knowing that this is her last year playing in this award winning band, a band that changed who she is and contributed to making her a confident young adult. The difference from who she was 4 years ago to who she's become is startling (in a good way) and I cried at how proud of her I am, proud of both my daughters.<br />
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The band director asked if anyone had taken any pictures during that performance. I didn't even try, because I was such a mess that you'd need a Dramamine to view them, they'd be so badly out of focus from my ridiculous crying ass.<br />
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When I think about her graduation in just over 2 months, I cry. I can't even begin to imagine what I'm going to be like on that day, but here's a tip: BUY STOCK IN KLEENEX. Trust me, you won't regret it. My baby will be playing alongside her big sister in the symphonic band's final performance of the year, and it will be the last time both my girls will play together in the same band. And yes, I'm crying again as I am writing that sentence. DAMN YOU EFFEXOR! <br />
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Make no mistake, I was a crying fool long before the anti-depressants and probably a crying fool while on them. But now that I'm off, Jesus, Mary and St. Joseph, I'm a thousand times more emotional than I've ever been.<br />
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I cried this morning. I will cry again soon, of that I have no doubt. It's gotta be normal, right? The emotional wreck that I've become is a side effect of leaving the meds behind, I know that. But I also know that I'm not alone. I received so many comments on my <a href="http://mamalode.com/story/detail/breaking-the-addiction" target="_blank">Mamalode piece</a> letting me know that I am in good company, and for that company I am ever grateful. If you are trying to overcome an addiction, whether it's one you knew you had or you had no clue, YOU TOO are NOT ALONE. Come sit by me and we'll cry together. And we'll get through it. Together.<br />
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SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-66209091798981322552017-06-24T08:15:00.000-04:002017-06-24T08:13:19.695-04:00Things I found on The Google...The Google is weird. Or, more likely, people who search stuff using The Google are downright scary. Every so often I like to type in leading questions to see exactly what The Google will bring up. I start with something innocuous, like "How many times do..." and The Google will fill in with the most common questions that start that way. And let me tell you. People be SICK and shit. Seriously.<br />
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And what poor gassy soul felt the need to ask this question? Who knows, but at least he/she is not alone. Apparently it's a popular question on The Google.<br />
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This one confused me (shut up, I know it's not hard to do). What will you have? Hmmm how about this:<br />
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And for the love of Pete, why can't people learn these things on their own. This was almost a NICE search of The Google, until the hookers showed up:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieHzxm34XFPf4kVx88japXYwgAry49i6ff-Ggsr-XeRozEAxPjB5YRySCkx6InvKDILj1_H8HZ7EJnCwlgQ3M5ZeyFHhyphenhyphenefcn93T6dYyQufBzJ-fD8Nf7lNHkR-u_J4XrIAm4Dj4eg94N/s1600/hooker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieHzxm34XFPf4kVx88japXYwgAry49i6ff-Ggsr-XeRozEAxPjB5YRySCkx6InvKDILj1_H8HZ7EJnCwlgQ3M5ZeyFHhyphenhyphenefcn93T6dYyQufBzJ-fD8Nf7lNHkR-u_J4XrIAm4Dj4eg94N/s1600/hooker.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I know that it's hard out here for a pimp, but when you're a new pimp, it must be extremely difficult to know proper hygiene etiquette, thus the need for this search:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqqCm4-7cADoYGSs_h-IGLnTF_CPAc3Hv4lz4K0oaLEUZvDLaPh5xIe_KKF0ZcQ0W6O-lnTBmsR2BFNzRaJmPUJxn6J8Cx5nmz_NYeuP5ARAN_OH7TVkTV-cXBMJq59P0-woE7jm7qLze/s1600/pimps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqqCm4-7cADoYGSs_h-IGLnTF_CPAc3Hv4lz4K0oaLEUZvDLaPh5xIe_KKF0ZcQ0W6O-lnTBmsR2BFNzRaJmPUJxn6J8Cx5nmz_NYeuP5ARAN_OH7TVkTV-cXBMJq59P0-woE7jm7qLze/s1600/pimps.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Then when I finished doing all of the Googling for the day, I actually had to get directions to the school where 14 will be playing a volleyball game tonight. This is what I found:<br />
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Aside from the fact that the name of the school is spelled wrong, let's focus on the features of the ELEMENTARY school, shall we?? Are we talking a salad bar? A fixins bar? Or a full service gimme a shot of tequila hold the lime cuz I'm no sissy liquid bar???
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SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-80745391071339764472017-06-15T08:10:00.000-04:002018-06-20T10:40:22.816-04:009 Things NOT to do at a Concert<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are 9 rules to follow the next time you go to a rock
concert (or country, or rap, whatever shit you listen to on the daily). Trust
me on this. I’m almost 48 and have been to about a million concerts and have
seen behavior that would make Pope Francis want to throw a punch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-stretch: normal;"> 1.</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t get piss-eyed, falling-down drunk. I went
to the Eagles <i>Hell Freezes Over</i> tour
back in the nineties and there was a woman so drunk she threw up on the people
in front of her and had to be carried out in the middle of the second song on
the playlist. I don’t know about you but when I spend over $300 on concert
tickets, I don’t want to get thrown up on, and I certainly don’t want to get so
shit-faced drunk that I have to leave the show.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-stretch: normal;"> 2.</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t be an asshole to those around you. If you
don’t like the opening act, don’t verbally abuse the singer (here’s a hint: you
don’t have a mic, they can’t hear you complaining). Know who CAN hear your
bitching? The folks sitting in front of you. Maybe they LIKE that opening act.
Keep your negativity to yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-stretch: normal;"> 3.</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t buy the pirate merchandise outside the
theater. Don’t be a cheapskate. Pony up the $40 for an authorized and genuine
concert t-shirt. My friend Karen and I went to see Def Leppard during the
Hysteria tour in 1988 but I was too cheap to buy the official merchandise and
instead bought a pirated t-shirt from some dude in the parking lot. It had an
extra sleeve and it was from the Pyromania tour from 1983. Lesson learned. And
if I ever grow an extra arm, that shirt will FINALLY be cool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-stretch: normal;"> 4.</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t scream through the whole fucking show.
Just don’t. You’re not 12, dude. Screaming’s for 12 year old One Direction
fans, not 40-something chicks who like their hearing. Trust me. Scream when
your band comes on, then scream before the encore. But for crying out loud, not
during the whole show. Some of us want to be able to actually HEAR what’s going
on onstage. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-stretch: normal;"> 5.</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->DO. NOT. RUSH THE STAGE. Seriously, if you
bought a ticket, that seat is YOURS. Do NOT try to squeeze your ass into my
row. There is nothing that pisses me off more at a concert than some douchebag
with a seat in row 19 coming up and trying to push me out of the way when I
actually bought a front row seat. Just don’t do it. It’s cases like that where
it should be legal to stab someone in the neck with a pencil. And I always
bring pencils with me to concerts….just in case.<o:p></o:p></div>
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6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t give me a contact high. I bought my ticket
with my goddamn hard-earned money and the last thing I need is to get high off
your smoke. It’s not cool. Do it in the parking lot before the show. But just
know that if you do it anywhere near me, whether it’s pot, tobacco or crack, I
will totally pour my beer on your joint, cigarette or pipe. Trust me on this.
Nobody wants to smell like your smoke. And I really hate wasting my beer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t try to get on stage. It’s embarrassing.
And if you get your ass thrown out, your friends will feel obligated to make
sure you are okay, and that means they will probably leave the show early. If
they do, then make no mistake, they are well within their rights to kick you in
your stupid ass for being a dick. Do yourself and all your friends a favor and
just stay put, okay?<o:p></o:p></div>
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8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t fart. Just don’t. It makes everyone around
you miserable. I don’t know which is worse, smelling a fart or smelling a
cigarette while I’m trying to enjoy my jams.
You concert farters know who you are, don’t try to pretend it was the
guy in front of you, own your smelly ass. Leave the seat, go into the aisle, do
your thing and come back. Because damn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->I know this is probably a bit hypocritical, but
don’t start a fight. Yes, I’ve been threatening in this post, I’ve come down
pretty hard on the offenders, but trust me on this: I have been kicked out of a
concert for laying hands on someone. Ok
it was a Dan Band concert but still, we were right at the stage and I did
something dumb and had to eat the cost of the ticket. So keep your hands to
yourself. <o:p></o:p><br />
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I'm sure there are a ton of other offending actions one can do when at a concert, but these are the 9 that spring to mind, that piss me off and that I will call you out on for doing. You have been warned. </div>
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SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-51037745406514691952017-05-23T11:29:00.000-04:002017-05-23T15:18:23.508-04:00Manchester<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Like many of you, my heart is broken for those killed or injured at the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester last night. 22 innocent lives lost. More than 50 hurt. Unbelievably senseless.<br />
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The thing that infuriates me the most is that many of those affected were children. They could be my children, or yours.<br />
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I've always loved going to concerts and have passed that love of live music on to my children. I've taken them to see Paul McCartney twice, The Police, Duran Duran, Billy Joel, and <a href="http://snarkfestblog.blogspot.com/2017/01/adele.html" target="_blank">Adele</a>. They've seen their favorite bands, 5SOS and One Direction several times. Some of those times I've been with them for those concerts, and as they've gotten older, I've dropped them off and then gone back to pick them up.<br />
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The terror those parents must be feeling right now is palpable. I feel that terror that they are going through. The fear, the unknown. Where are their children? God, it's sickening. I watched a mother on the Today Show this morning who still hadn't found her child more than 12 hours after the explosion. I was terrified FOR her.<br />
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We were in DC years ago during the DC Sniper era and at one point we had driven by the Home Depot where one of the victims was killed. There were SWAT guys on rooftops as my husband ran the Marine Corps Marathon that year. I had my daughters with me and I'm not going to lie, I was somewhat intimidated, but at the same time, we can't live our lives in fear. We can't NOT go out and live because there's a chance some fucknut wearing an IED will take out me or my loved ones.<br />
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Will I think twice before I take my girls to a concert in a big, vulnerable venue like the Verizon Center in DC, which is just above the DC Metro? A 'soft target'? Probably. But it won't stop me altogether. I can't teach my girls to live in fear. I <i>can</i> teach them to be careful, to be cautious, to be aware and alert. Just like those parents probably taught their children in Manchester. Innocent children who only wanted to see their favorite singer in concert. <br />
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<br />SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-18816047300289363242017-05-09T09:00:00.000-04:002017-05-09T08:09:54.446-04:00Another Mother's Day post?Gather round, Snarklings, I'm going to school you on what it is we moms TRULY want for Mothers Day. And every other day, for that matter. It's not rocket science, you don't need a degree, there's no deep, dark secret that you need Tom Hanks to help you unlock. It's fairly simple.<br />
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Now keep one thing in mind. I am NOT speaking for all mothers everywhere around the world, This is just MY opinion as a mom. We love our children with every fiber of our being. And we want to spend time with them, we want hugs and loving from them. But being their mother does not define who we are. We were women first, before we became mommies. We had lives, we had friends, we had interest that didn't include stuffed animals, bugs, drama and messy rooms. Sometimes we like reminders of that time, a time before we had a 24/7 responsibility to be the caretaker of another life. Perfume fades, flowers die but memories last a lifetime. Memories make us smile when we are down.<br />
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We want memories, both of time spent WITH our children AND without. Last year, I had the pleasure of spending Mothers Day weekend with some of my best girlfriends. We laid on the beach and watched dolphins swim just off the coast, we watched pelicans diving out of the sky and into the ocean and said "Nerrrrrmmmm" with each dive. We drank beer, we ate fattening foods, we laughed and most of all, we made memories. Do these memories take precedents over the memories I've made with my own babies? No, they do not. But what those memories DO for me is to remind me that I'm more than just a mom. I'm a girlfriend, a confident and a woman. I'm the band booster VP, and the PTO secretary, and the band banquet coordinator, and the office administrator, and the transportation to activities, and the money tree when my girls need spending money. I'm a lot of things to a lot of people. <br />
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But I'm also a source of support and strength for my girlfriends when they need me. I'm also a daughter to an ailing mother, I'm a person who sometimes needs the support and strength of others. Sometimes I need to be around people who DON'T depend on me 24/7 to remind me that I'm not alone in this motherhood gig. Being around others who share my struggles, my joys and my sorrows helps me to come back and appreciate the person I've become. The mother, the wife, the community member. <br />
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So what do I really want for Mothers Day? I want to be able to love my children, and have permission to love and spend time with my friends as well. I don't want guilt for being away. I don't want hurt feelings as a result of my choices. Being allowed to go and spend time with my friends, overall, makes me a better mom, a better person. It makes me appreciate what I have in my life. And when I come back home, and I wrap my arms around my babies, I know I'm a better person for having them in my life AND my girlfriends in my life. For having one without the other, I am not complete.SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-346136223430272580.post-55177055011835358472017-04-03T15:30:00.000-04:002017-04-03T15:20:03.051-04:00Kids: They cost. A LOT.....I had no idea how much these kids would end up costing me when I had them. Sure it was expensive to deliver them by C-section in the hospital. Insurance picked up the tab on that one. Thanks, Aetna! But these kids I have are bleeding me dry, one activity at a time. Allow me to sound like an old fart for a moment. When I was a kid, I was involved in NOTHING. I wasn't musically inclined (my school didn't have a band anyway), I wasn't athletically inclined, I had very few hobbies that required equipment. I read. I rode my bike. I wasn't a clothes horse, and when I turned 13, I started working.<br />
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I started as a set-up girl in a restaurant, and when I turned 14, I moved up to waitress. I always worked for my spending money. After my summer as a waitress, the restaurant where I worked burned to the ground (I grew up in Wildwood, the restaurant was on the Boardwalk, we called it Jewish lightning when a Boardwalk block burned down). For the next 4 summers I worked in an arcade on the Boardwalk where I made a little money, and met lots of cute boys. OH the cute boys! But I digress. I had a J O B. I don't ever remember nickel and diming my Mom for stuff.<br />
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Fast forward to today. These kids today. Two daughters. Two talented, athletic, musically gifted daughters. Oh my aching wallet.<br />
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Let's start with 14. Sax player. Sax lessons. We bought her a sax, reeds, nice neck strap, more reeds. She plays volleyball. She's on a team that travels. That's not cheap. Gas, snacks, dinner after her tournaments, sometimes hotel rooms. She plays basketball. She goes to basketball camp every summer. Thank goodness her grandparents pay for that. She also has ginormous feet. Did I mention those feet don't ever seem to stop growing? You know what's totally not fair? I went shopping for basketball shoes for her last year, and the biggest size I could find in women's was an 11. She needed a women's 11.5. So we had to go up to a men's size. And the men's basketball shoes were, no lie, $60 more expensive than the women's shoes were.<br />
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Moving on to 16. Trumpet player, trumpet lessons, sheet music, and now she tells me she needs a Harmon Mute. I don't know what that is but I have no doubt it's going to cost me more than a gallon of milk (or gas). She runs track and plays basketball. Thankfully her feet may have slowed down in the growth department because she has been in the same basketball shoes for 2 seasons (thank you baby Jesus). But she DOES need track spikes.<br />
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What?<br />
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<i>Track spikes, mom. </i><br />
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Can we get them at the running store in town?<br />
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<i>No, mom, not cross country spikes, track spikes are different. We can order them from Dick's.</i><br />
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But I have a gift certificate for the store in town.<br />
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<i>I laugh at your gift certificates! BAH!!</i><br />
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Sunday we went shopping for prom gowns. HO-LEEEEE SHIT. Can I just tell you that I think my prom gown for my junior prom may have cost a total of $89? And that was INCLUDING alterations. The first dress store we went to scared the pee out of me. I didn't see a single prom gown in that store for under $289. And I know that she'd have to have a few alterations done so we were definitely going over $300. Next store we found was a little more reasonably priced but not by much. We STILL ended up going over $300. We said 'yes' to the dress. And my wallet died a little more.<br />
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Next year will be 16's senior year and 14's freshman year in high school. And the band is going to Disney. So that'll be two in the band going to Disney. And my wallet will die a little more. Then 16 will be 18 and go away to college. And my savings will die a lot. <br />
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At this rate, hubby and I will be working until we turn 128. But our daughters will be well-rounded, responsible, beautiful adults. And hopefully, they will take care of us in our old age. Hopefully they'll wipe our drool, or our butts, and they'll thank us for making them the well-rounded, responsible, beautiful adults that they become. Money is overrated, right? Retirement is going to be boring and who wants to be bored, right? SnarkfestBloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15654521423192515080noreply@blogger.com26