When I was in high school, I had a classmate whose family owned a local fish market. They were known for selling the freshest seafood at affordable prices and it didn’t hurt they were the only game in town.
I enjoy seafood, and I absolutely love lobster.
One day I was talking to two of my girlfriends about how much I love lobster… hot and dripping in butter… a salad and a baked potato – pure heaven.
We were all in agreement about the pure heaven part and before we knew it, I was driving my baby blue Chevy Chevette to the fish market so we could score some lobster.
It is easy to cook, right?
I mean, just boil it.
It is sort of sad, though, don’t they scream?
We talked the entire way there, feeling rather adult-like while convincing ourselves we could certainly prepare a delicious lobster dinner.
Once inside the fish market we were taken aback by the overpowering smell. Okay, so fish smell… but lobster dinner, totally worth it.
We selected three lobsters with the care one takes in purchasing a new vehicle (not that I would, I mean, I owned a Chevette!) and smiled as we handed over our hard-earned cash.
They gave us a brown paper bag containing the lobsters and not one of us extended an arm to grab it.
“Well somebody has to hold it!” I announced, “I have to drive.”
Reluctantly one of my friends finally grabbed the bag and carried it at arm’s length, as if it contained a boa constrictor.
She placed the bag on the back seat, I started the car and we were on our way.
We were laughing and talking, as teenage girls do, giddy with excitement over the feast we were soon to prepare.
“How long do you think we have to boil them for?” I asked.
“Until they’re red.” My friend in the passenger seat replied.
Suddenly, my friend in the back seat let out a blood-curdling scream.
I slammed on the brakes right in the middle of Route 1, a busy, well-traveled road.
“They’re getting out of the bag!” She yelled as she swung open the car door.
We all screamed in unison and fled the vehicle leaving all of the car doors open.
“Oh my God! What are we going to do?” My friend yelled.
“I’m not picking them up!” I said, as I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Cars were stopped behind us as the people driving in the lane to the left of us slowed down to see what all of the commotion was about.
“They’re trying to crawl into the front seat!” My friend bellowed, and we all started to shriek again.
I was panicked about the loose lobsters in my car. I liked them better when they were in the bag, which I intended to dump them from into a boiling pot of water I thought as I saw the flashing lights of the cop car behind us.
The officer approached and asked, “Is everything okay? Are you broken down?”
“No, officer.” I replied.
“You can not stop and abandon your vehicle in the middle of a busy road like this,” he instructed.
“Well, the lobsters are out of the bag,” my friend stated, looking like she was going to start to cry.
The traffic was mounting around us.
The officer looked into the vehicle. He never even asked to see my license or registration.
He simply picked up the lobsters, put them back into the brown paper bag and rolled up the top.
“Go straight home,” he said, and we got back into the car.
I never drove so carefully or with as much anxiety, as I did that day.
We cooked the lobsters, dumping them straight from the bag into the pot of boiling water and they were as delicious as we had imagined they would be…
To this day, I have never purchased another live lobster from a fish market, and not because I wouldn’t like to.
I just think that it would be better if I got them an UBER.
How many years do I have to listen to Family Guy blasting from my son’s room? I have to tell you, I absolutely hate Family Guy and everything that it stands for. (If it stands for anything at all… I still haven’t figured that part out, and I probably never will)
Okay, I admit, I may have laughed because of the shock value, once, but let me tell you, I was ashamed of myself. I abhor judgement and prejudice. In my opinion, Seth McFarlane has left no stone unturned. Family guy is unmerciful to women, every race and every religion.
I will be forever amazed by the ratings and popularity that this show has received while being consistently violent, racist and sexist.
What bothers me more than that, is when I see a four-year old wearing a Stewie shirt…seriously? What are we teaching our children?
Or… worse yet an infant.
Whatever.
In my home, when I yell, “Please SHUT THAT OFF! I don’t want you watching Family Guy!”
I’m met with, “Why mom? It’s funny!” in unison.
To which I reply, “Because Seth McFarlane is the devil!”
In response, my kids laugh until they can’t breath.
We have repeated this conversation again and again throughout the years, to no avail.
I continue to cringe each and every time I hear the Family Guy theme song blaring from the other room. Oh, dread!
I stand by what I say, and my kids think that I just take Family Guy all too seriously.
Nevertheless, this statement has become the running joke in our home. The other day I overheard my son Rocky on the phone. “Ya, my mom thinks that Seth McFarlane is the devil. (Laughter) I know, right?”
I don’t feel comfortable completely bashing a fellow New Englander, so in Seth’s defense, let me spin you a little story…
We were living in North Carolina when my kids were young. One day, my son Rocky got off of the school bus with a black eye, a real shiner.
“Rocky what happened to your eye?” I asked.
“A girl called me “Cracker” and then she punched me.” He replied.
“Oh, my God! I’m calling the school and the bus company!” I stated.
“Mom, don’t.” Rocky pleaded, as I got some ice and wrapped it in a towel to apply to his swollen face.
“This is discrimination.” I said, “But I want you to understand discrimination. This is what African-American people have suffered for centuries.”
“Mom, my eye hurts.” Rocky said.
“I’m calling the school now.” I replied, “Just keep the ice on it.”
I talked to the school, the bus company and met with the girl’s parents. We worked it all out but Rocky was afraid to go back to school and he was obviously embarrassed.
I got an idea in my head, and when I get an idea, there is no stopping me. We were all going to watch the 1977 miniseries Roots, as a family. I thought it would be a good way for my children to learn about racism and discrimination, as well as, the perfect time to turn a set back, into a life lesson.
As fate would have it, within days, I just happened to find the entire Roots video series at a local consignment shop for only twenty dollars. I was elated! I was on the right path and the universe was working in my favor!
“Okay everybody, tonight we are watching Roots, as a family!” I announced.
“What’s Roots?” Kevin asked.
“It’s a movie that I watched as a kid. It was on television. We’re going to watch a segment every night.” I explained.
“For what?” Rocky inquired.
“Well, so we can learn about discrimination, racism, slavery and… well, history.” I replied.
“Slavery?” Kevin asked, “Is that when all of the African-Americans escaped and were hiding, lying down, on the lower level of a ship?”
“Didn’t a lot of them get sick and some of them died trying to get free?” Eric added.
“Yes.” I said, surprised and impressed with my children’s knowledge. “You both must have been paying attention in history class!” I exclaimed proudly.
“We didn’t learn that in history, mom.” They both stated, “And we already know all about slavery. We don’t need to watch Roots.”
“You’re not going to watch Roots? Why not?” I asked, feeling my pride slip into disappointment. “How do you know all about slavery?” I asked.
“We watched it all on an episode of Family Guy.” They replied.
My heart sank. So much for family movie night.
I do have to hand it to Seth McFarlane, I never saw the episode, but my children had learned some history.
None of that has changed my opinion of all of the detrimental things that I feel Family Guy offers.
Writing this, I felt compelled to googled Seth McFarlane.
He is self-made and pretty impressive.
And guess what? This dude can sing!
Don’t believe me, check out the video below.
Maybe, I’ll never be a Family Guy fan, but I do know this…
Seth, you did teach my kids some history…
And after watching that performance, I think that you may have been a little off target on your calling. Micheal Buble’ look out, Seth McFarlane may be giving you a run for your money. Imagine that!
Either way, I’m pretty sure that now, “I’ve got Seth under my skin.”
And, Seth McFarlane, if your schedule allows, do you think that you might be available to sing at my wedding?
Many thanks to the mainepaperpusher for nominating me for The Entertainer Blogger Award based on posts that I’ve written like, “The Art of Individual Expression.” (mylifeiswear.com/2017/04/11/the-art-of-individual-expression) I’m honored and I have to say that it feels good to be recognized! For those of you who haven’t checked out Linda’s blog, mainepaperpusher.wordpress.com. You’ll be entertained, you’ll laugh, you’ll love it. Trust me.
Here are the rules:
Thank the person who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
Nominate 12 other bloggers who are funny, inspiring and most important of all, ENTERTAINING!
WHY DID YOU START A BLOG IN THE FIRST PLACE?
Writing is my passion and I want to share my sense of humor, my perspective and my inspiration with the world. Plus, my life is chock full of good material… just sayin…
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BOOK?
Anything by Jodi Picoult. I love how she flips the perspective on things. Jodi Picoult is the author of My Sister’s Keeper, which became a movie. Maybe you’ve seen it. She wrote a book called Nineteen Minutes. The book recounts a story of a school shooting. The mother in the story shows up at her son’s school, only to find that her son is the shooter. Through flipping the perspective, Jodi Picoult teaches non-judgement and “For the grace of God, there go I.” It’s a message that I live by and one that we all have to keep in mind when we find ourselves falling into the trap of passing judgement.
WHAT DO YOU DISLIKE THE MOST?
The thing that I dislike the most is being lied to! Give me your truth and I’ll deal with it… lie to me and you will shatter my trust forever. A close second is injustice. Injustice fuels my passion and my voice. I am fearless to stand up for a cause that I believe in.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD AT THE MALL?
I hate the mall and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been to the mall in the past three years. I don’t feed into the “Keep up with the Jones'” mentality or feel the need to buy something because it is trendy, popular or a status symbol. I’m not connecting to material things and I don’t go to the mall so I don’t eat there. Enough said.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PASTIME?
Writing. I don’t watch T.V. or the news and I haven’t in years. People ask me all the time, “Did you see that commercial where the…?” or such and such a movie or T.V. show, and I reply, “I don’t watch T.V.”
They look at me like I have 3 heads…but it’s true.
Mt time is too precious to spend it watching T.V.
NOMINATIONS:
Let’s just say that I’m thinking and working on this. I will update this post with my nominations when I’m done with my fifteen hour a day working streak.
Kevin is taking his girlfriend to her prom in Long Island.
I think that I’m more excited about it than he is. Kevin always keeps a calm, low-key demeanor about most anything exciting that is happening in his life… that’s just how he is and where I pick up the slack.
He is also the king of leaving everything for the last-minute, which always seems to include a lot of running around for all of us.
After a long weekend of doubles,which also included driving around with an 80 pound pig, (see that post for details) I found myself driving Kevin to Men’s Wearhouse to pick out a tux, with only days to spare before the prom.
I was shocked to discover that renting a tuxedo starts at two hundred and fifty dollars. Holy shit! Have I been living under a rock?
Maybe I have or I just haven’t ever had the need to rent a tuxedo or to date a man who wears one, for that matter…
Anyway, after style, color selections and much measuring, we had finally narrowed it down to a black tux with a single button jacket and pink accents to match Kevin’s girlfriend Anna’s pink gown.
“Do you want to wear a cummerbund?” Devin (our sales clerk asked).
“What’s a cummerbund?” Kevin asked, as if he had never heard the word before, while confirming that he most definitely hadn’t.
“A cummerbund goes around your waist.” I stated, “Why don’t you just go with the vest?”
“They call it a crumb catcher.” Devin added.
“I won’t need that.” Kevin replied, with a serious expression.
Devin and I both laughed. I admit I was feeling quite giddy about the whole prom thing and seeing my son in his first tux.
“Mom, can you calm it down a bit.” Kevin suggested, as if my excited mood was embarrassing him.
“Would you like argyle socks?” The sales clerk inquired, “They’re twenty dollars extra.”
“Twenty dollars for a pair of socks?” I laughed, “You’ve got to be kidding me! No, No…we don’t need argyle socks.”
The clerk handed Kevin a shirt, stock tuxedo and a pair of shoes to try on as he pointed him towards the dressing room.
Devin and I talked, joked and exchanged stories while we waited for Kevin to get changed.
Devin walked to the dressing room door and passed something over to Kevin.
“What’s this for?” Kevin shouted out.
“It’s to put on when you try on the dress shoes.” Devin replied.
“What?” Kevin said.
“Kevin, it’s a ped. You know, what you put on your foot to try on shoes… remember you and your brothers pulled them over your faces in Payless Shoes when you were little… you looked like you were going to rob the place…”
Devin was cracking up.
“Mom, can you take it down a notch, please.” Kevin yelled from the dressing room.
When the door finally opened and I saw Kevin in his tux, I couldn’t believe the handsome man who stood before me.
“Kevin, you look gorgeous!” I said with tears in my eyes, “The next time we’ll be doing this there’ll be wedding bells.”
“Mom, please don’t start crying.” Kevin pleaded.
Before finalizing our transaction Devin gave us a thirty dollar discount on the rental.
I paid for the tux (minus the argyle socks). Devin printed our receipt and explained the pick up and return instructions.
We had just enough time to get Kevin to work and I was quite pleased with all we had manged to accomplish in a short time.
As I pulled up in front of Kevin’s place of employment and put the car into park, Kevin leaned over and gave me a tight hug.
“Thank you Mom for paying for my tux. I love you so much.”
“I love you too Kevin. It was my pleasure. You and Anna are going to look beautiful!”
As, I watched Kevin walk into work, I thought, two hundred and fifty dollars isn’t expensive for a tux… in fact, it’s worth every penny.
I’ve been eager to get back to my blog after working long hours all weekend. I’m a waitress, which doesn’t seem very exciting… unless you work where I work.
After a long Friday night shift, I was back at work at 6 a.m. the following day. By 7:20 a.m I was pulling a large truck around to the backside of a farm to pick up an 80 pound pig that my boss had ordered for a pig roast that we were catering.
I stepped out of the vehicle and was greeted by one of the workers.
I told him the name of the restaurant and repeated the details that I had committed to memory.
“I’m here to pick up an 80 pound pig, gutted, split and de hoofed.”
My stomach turned at the thought.
“You need a fig?” The worker replied.
What? I thought, confused.
“A pig.” I stated.
He nodded, turned and walked into the shadows of the barn.
I chuckled to myself, you would think that this guy would learn to pronounce the word pig, seeing that he worked at a pig farm.
He returned with a large sheet of brown paper and laid it across the length of the interior of the truck.
That was my cue, I quickly got back into the vehicle and sat in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t bear to see this dead pig.
When I heard the back doors of the truck slam closed, I started the engine and drove away.
I glanced in my rear view mirror… thankfully I couldn’t see a thing.
Although it was the early morning, the temperature was already rising as I rolled down the truck’s windows to let in some fresh air.
I thought about how I’d rather be writing than driving around on a hot day with a gutted pig on his way to meet his barbecued fate.
I knew that this busy weekend was going to leave me neglecting my blog.
Oh well, I thought, I can’t blog while I’m driving around with an 80 pound pig…
Participating in this writing challenge from the braveandrecklessblog.
Here are the rules if you’d like to participate.
The Rules:
Write about life experience using only 10 objects (see Asylum for format)
Add the hashtag #brave10objectchallenge
Publish the piece on your blog before midnight EST on Friday, June 16
In the reply section below, leave a link for your posted piece
Convalescent Home
Another Day
Ticking Clock
Hospital food
Mopped Floors
Silent Phone
Medicinal Smell
Sharp Cries
Wrinkled Faces
Idle Hands
Four Walls
I worked at a convalescent when I lived in NC, it was an experience both good and bad. Everyday you showed up at work to find out that someone had died. It certainly wasn’t easy in that respect, but I loved the people. It really changed me in a good way.
I’ve been invited to submit an article to Erma Bombeck’s Writer’s Workshop. How cool is that? Excited but feeling a bit intimidated. Going for it anyway. Was thinking of sending something that I have already written. John thinks that I should write something new. I’m probably going to write something new. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to pipe up.
Aunt Betty, I promise that I won’t let you down.
Much love,
Erin Cooper Reed
P.S. – If you don’t know who Aunt Betty is, go to the “Read all blog posts” link at the top of my page and scroll to “The Center of Things” it will explain it all.
Wish me luck! 🙂
P.P.S – Actually, The Center of things is listed under this blog post. Just in case inquiring minds want to know…
Three straight weeks of my next door neighbor moving our trash cans from the side of my driveway adjacent to his property, and putting them at the apron of my driveway, right behind my car.
Everyday I move my trash cans back, slide both of his trash cans over to make room, and leave my trash cans to the left of my driveway next to the sewer.
When I return from work, I find my trash cans blocking the entrance to my driveway, get out of my car, slide both of his trash cans back over and move my trash cans back near the sewer.
The street we live on is narrow, hilly and woodsy which makes it feel more like a Vermont road than a street in Shelton, Connecticut. Parking is limited and I can’t put my trash cans to the right of my driveway because my landlord has had a vehicle parked there for over a year. (Another irritation)
To make matters worse, the Garbage Can Nazi next door thinks he owns the street in front of his house. He has gone as far as placing cement deck anchors on the road in front of his house so that no one can park there. Note: The road is public property, just for the record.
In case you aren’t familiar with what a cement deck anchor looks like, I’ve posted a photo below. Great way to add just the right touch of curb appeal to your home if you’re thinking of purchasing a few.
The Garbage Can Nazi has also taken the liberty of driving green metal stakes into the ground between our yard and his to mark a property line that he determined without consulting a surveyor. (Yet another beautiful upgrade to his home so feel free to swing by if you’re looking for some trendy new ideas)
I need all this stress like I need a hole in the head… yet, I have continued day after day, and week after week, to move my garbage cans out-of-the-way of my driveway only to find them moved back again.
This week was the final straw.
John had planted a patch of sunflowers in a rock garden on the left side of our drive way. Sunflowers are my favorite flower and I was so happy that they were growing so rapidly, each plant about a foot tall.
I was at work when John text me, “The Garbage Can Nazi weed wacked all of our sunflowers down… well, except for one.”
I was furious but I didn’t confront our neighbor about the sunflowers as the garbage can wars waged on…
I guess because I work nights and the Garbage Can Nazi works days, we have each continued to move the trash cans at off hours from each other’s schedule, leaving us no time to run into each other…
Until last night.
It was dark, maybe about 9:45 PM, as I carried the kitchen recycling bin out to the street, while wondering what it would be like if I had some teenagers who could perform this task for me… oh, wait, well, that’s another post entirely.
As I lifted the lid on the recycling bin, I heard a voice. When I lowered the lid, there he was standing before me in the pitch dark, the Garbage Can Nazi.
“I want to talk to you.” Bellowed the Garbage Can Nazi through a thick accent.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” I said, as I turned and headed up the driveway, fully intending to go directly back in the house.
“This is mine!” he yelled, “Mine, mine, mine! This is MY property!!”
I dropped the recycling bin, spun on my heel and approached him as quickly as my injured knee would allow.
“Please explain to me HOW I am infringing on YOUR property?” I questioned, “You cut down all of our flowers, sunflowers, which are my favorite flower. All except one!”
“You can come talk to me and ask me if you want to plant flowers.” He replied.
“Talk to you? These flowers are on OUR side!” I yelled as I touched the one remaining sunflower, pointing out its position well below the crooked green metal stake that he had driven into the ground.”
“I am a nice man.” he said.
“I am NOT going to ask your permission to plant flowers in my own yard! Furthermore, what kind of nice man moves a trash can behind a neighbor’s car so that they have to move it in order to get in or out of their own driveway?” I replied.
He stood, hands on hips, towering above me on the elevated ground that was his yard.
“This is my property. This is mine.” He reiterated.
“What are you, two years old?” I yelled. “Mine, mine mine! That isn’t how the world works… at least not my world! You act like the garbage can is taking up a space the you actually use! Like your wife and kids are sitting in lawn chairs next to the sewer on a daily basis! The street is public property! I am not wasting another minute on this argument because life is too short! My father died, my mother has cancer and I have a teenage boy that is in distress, not to mention I have an injured knee and you have me dragging heavy garbage cans out of the way so that I can get in and out of my own driveway…”
Suddenly and unexpectedly, I burst into tears. I’m not sure why, I’m generally not a crier but I think that this was about all I could take.
The Garbage Can Nazi raised both hands, open palm, in front of his chest, like I was holding him at gunpoint.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said as he slowly backed away and retreated into his house.
I don’t know if last night was the grand finale of the garbage can wars. I hope so, but only time will tell.
What I do know is this, life is too short to waste your time and energy on things that aren’t at all important in this world and I hope that starting today I’ll be able to smile at my neighbor and say hello.
Kindness, consideration, love and compassion are free to all who seek it, as is forgiveness.
And as far as I’m concerned, those are the only things that I want to call mine.
mylifeiswear.com 
Convalescent Home
Another Day
Ticking Clock
Hospital food
Mopped Floors
Silent Phone
Medicinal Smell
Sharp Cries
Wrinkled Faces
Idle Hands
Four Walls
I worked at a convalescent when I lived in NC, it was an experience both good and bad. Everyday you showed up at work to find out that someone had died. It certainly wasn’t easy in that respect, but I loved the people. It really changed me in a good way.