My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Browsing Category Humor

To Have and To Hold—or Not

by on ·Friends and Lovers, General, Humor

I have an issue with words that seem inappropriate for a situation or a person. Take the word boyfriend. I don’t think a man older than thirty should be called a “boyfriend.”

Fellows, admit it, if you’re having a mid-life crisis in your fifties, if you’re in your sixties and your gait has gone from a swagger to a shuffle, or if you’re baby-stepping at three-quarter years from a hundred, you are too old, let me restate that – too mature, to be called a boyfriend. As I see it, the word boyfriend isn’t a good fit for a grown a** man.

My male companion and I have been together for over two decades, and I refuse to refer to him as my boyfriend. It also bothers me when I hear other women refer to a grown man as a boyfriend. As I understand it, the word has been used to describe a male suitor since the 19th century, and some folks will think I’m being silly, but something about the “boy” part of that word bothers me. Maybe it is because I am always mindful of history, and the prefix in “boyfriend” was once a derogatory insult. That’s just one of my quirks.

Nevertheless, I use more appropriate words for my main squeeze. I refer to him by any number of other affectionate terms: my SO (significant other), my Boo, or my long-time companion, except when I’m angry with him, then he is a PITA. I’ll leave it to readers to decipher the acronym. Choose any four words you like, but here are clues if decoding is too stressful for you: Clue 1 – PITA isn’t any more gender-specific than SO or Boo. It could apply to a male or female. Clue 2 – I’m not talking about bread. Final clue – think, the rear-end of a donkey. If you guessed what PITA stands for, then you must have used the term. LOL

While using the word boyfriend is awkward, I have no problem referring to my female buddies as girlfriends. We frequently refer to each other as girl or girlfriend. We’ll say, “Girl, guess what I bought today” or “Girlfriend, you’ve got to see the new Ibris Elba movie. That man is finer than gourmet wine.”

Back to discussing SOs, sometimes, when asked if I plan to remarry, I firmly reply No. No. And No. (Although hardly anyone who knows me asks anymore.). Once was enough. My Boo and I will merely ride this union until the wheels fall off or until death do us part (Um, that’s kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it?).

Just as I know more people who are dead than alive, I know more previously married people than couples still living together in wedded bliss. I’m not counting pairs who are unhappily married but remain together for convenience or to adhere to biblical laws, nor am I including those doing it the second time. For some married couples, the second time around is the charm. That’s all well and good—more power to you. But a second marriage is not on my wish list, my things to do before I kick the bucket list, or in my head.

Since I’ve long passed the age of young girls with a heart-shaped-eyes fantasy of marriage, I can now clearly see that union without rose-colored glasses and have a learned insight about marriage.

Looking back, I feel that traditional marriages were ill-fated from the start. (Let me be clear before anyone gets wind in their jaws.) I’m talking about back in the day. I’m not talking about the Millennials, Zs, and subsequent generations, who may never marry for whatever reasons, or they’ll choose to have an anything-goes, let it all hang out, boogie down the aisle half-naked, write your vows, or dispense with vows altogether, and do your own thing contemporary wedding.

As I was saying, sometimes I think marriages back in the day were predestined not to last. Why? You ask. I’ll tell you what I remember. (I know that right now, someone reading this probably wants to smear a piece of wedding cake in my face, but hear me out.)

The separation begins even before the bride walks down the aisle. The ushers greet guests at the church door as they arrive, ask if they are friends of the bride or groom, and then seats them on the appropriate side. That prepares friends and relatives to choose sides before the ink is dry on the license.

And how often is it that when the priest asks, “If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace,” does one of the bride’s exes (or one of the groom’s) bite their tongue to keep from shouting, “Hell yeah! I do.” That unanticipated outburst preceding the “I do” from the bride and groom renders everything null and void. (Side note: Although I invited him, my ex refused to come to my wedding because he told me he’d do just that if he did. And although he was as mild-mannered as Clark Kent, I believed him. Years later, after we reunited and discussed what might have been, he reminded me that he would have stopped the ceremony. Unfortunately, he died before I met my current Boo.)

Something occured on my wedding day that some would say was a bad omen.

It was June 8, 1968. My future husband was almost late for our wedding. He had caught an early train that morning and was traveling to D.C. from his hometown in New York on the day of our nuptials. I was at my parents’ house getting dressed. Other folks there, especially my Uncle Henry, were all hustling and bustling around, getting things ready for the small reception to follow the ceremony. It was very close to the time for us to be at the church, and no one had seen or heard from my betrothed. Everyone was wondering (some out loud) if he would make it to the church on time or if he decided to be a runaway groom.

His delayed arrival coincided with a brief episode in history. My fiancé just happened to be on the same train that was arriving from New York’s Penn Station to bring the body of Senator Bobby Kennedy to D.C.’s Union Station. Sadly, the senator had been slain at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, California, three days earlier, and his body was being brought to lie in state at the U.S. Capitol. [To read about that funeral train, click here.]

Unfortunately, (Did I say, unfortunately?) I meant to say, fortunately (LOL) for my groom and me, the train and the groom arrived on time, and the wedding went on as scheduled. We divorced two babies, and a few years later.

I’ve learned many things during my journey through life. Two are essential:  the road is easier to travel if one keeps a sense of humor, and stuff happens for better or worse, depending on how you receive it.

Epilogue:  When I married, a license cost $2.00. Today it cost $45. And a divorce still costs a small fortune.

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Word Games and Anecdotal Nonsense

by on ·Humor

I’m in seventh heaven when I’m writing or playing word games. More outgoing people would rather be shaking their booty on the dance floor, matching winning symbols on a slot machine, or sightseeing in Spain. They’d probably think my idea of bliss is as boring as watching a leaky faucet. The aforementioned activities are an enjoyable diversion for some, but not for me. I dance like a wooden soldier. I dislike having one-armed bandits gobbled up my money with little or no return, and flying anywhere has been removed from my bucket list. (I’ve replaced flying with plans to be an audience member on The View one day. I’d take the train to the Big Apple.). On the contrary, this logophile is enthusiastically into word games. It doesn’t matter if the game is Scrabble, Wordle, or my favorite online game, Puzzly Words.

Sometimes just for fun, I create my own word games or anecdotes using crafty phrases.

For instance, about four months ago, Gertrude Stein’s expression, “there is no there there,” was being volleyed like a hot potato by politicians and commentators mimicking them. I was so intrigued by the phrase that I created an imaginary conversation between two friends trying to outwit each other using Stein’s expression. Listen to Karen and Becky.

Becky:  Stein was right, you know, there is no there there; nowhere.

Karen:  Of course, there is a there there. Everywhere.

Becky:   Where?

Karen:   Depending on the viewer’s perspective, there can be here or in that place. Where? There.

Becky:  Where can’t be there because there is no there there.

Karen:  Au contraire. Where indeed can be there.

Becky:  I’m telling you, where is nonexistent, and there is no there there.

Karen:  But there is there. There is a place nearby, far away, all over.

Becky:  There is where?

Karen:  There is anywhere and everywhere.

Becky:  There can’t be anywhere and everywhere if there is nowhere for there to be.

Karen:  I’m telling you there is a there there. Like where — there can be any place.

Becky:  Listen, there is no where, and no there.

Karen:  So, you believe there is no where and no there? How can I convince you that there is? If I say, let’s walk across the street. You might ask ….

Becky:  Why would we be going over ther ….

Karen:  Over where? Say it; over there.

Becky:  Don’t play with me. Stein had it right; there is no there there.

Karen:  Girlfriend, you’ve taken the whole thing out of context. Stein was referring in her autobiography to her childhood home that was gone after she left and returned years later. That’s what she meant by there is no there there.

Becky:  I don’t know about that. I just know she’s right; there is no there there and no where.

Karen:  If there is no there there nor where, then maybe there is no what either.

Becky:  What? Are you making fun of me? Where is this conversation going?

Karen:  Didn’t you just say there is no there there and no where?

Becky:  This is nonsense.

Karen:  Don’t stop now. I’m all for riding this clunker till the wheels fall off.

Becky:  Whatever!

Karen:  If there is no there there, and no where, what makes you think there is a whatever?  Hey, Becky, come back! Where are you going? Don’t stomp away mad.

 

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Clearing Headspace of Rambling Thoughts

by on ·Food for Thought, General, Humor

I am a contented introvert and don’t mind admitting it. I can socialize without awkwardness, but I’d rather have my privacy than interact with a crowd. Unlike extroverts who draw energy from social gatherings, I’ve never felt the need to surround myself with people. I prefer to enjoy my solitude and be alone with my thoughts at this stage in my life. I found it interesting to learn that, according to Business2Community.com, some celebrities have been identified as popular introverts, including Harrison Ford, Warren Buffet, and Anthony Hopkins. I chuckled when I read that Hopkins said, “We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by thinking about everything. Think. Think. Think.”

I admit I do, do, do spend much time in my head, and if it’s true that overthinking leads to procrastination – well, bingo! That explains a lot.

I don’t just think about contemporary things; sometimes, I contemplate the past. Take the declaration made by historical figures like the alleged promoter of personal freedoms, Patrick Henry, who said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” But, of course, that has me thinking, “Wasn’t Henry a slave-owner?” Go figure.

Speaking of death and briefly putting sarcasm aside, I must vent about something. (That’s one advantage to having your own platform.) I can’t stop thinking about the most recent tragic shootings in Buffalo, New York, and Uvalde, Texas. What kind of deranged person shoots down people shopping for groceries and little elementary school kids like he’s playing a violent video game? Some folks say that the perpetrators are (or were, in the case of the Uvalde shooter) mentally ill. Do we know that? DO WE KNOW THAT, or is it just a lame excuse alleged because the act was so unconscionable? I think such evildoers are mad with the world, and because they are dissatisfied with their life, they can’t stand to see anyone else happy. Undeniably, misery loves company. I don’t care what the killer’s race or ethnicity is. I don’t care what political or social mandate they endorse; there is no justification for the cold-blooded, ruthless killing of anyone, especially children. Killing people is not a black or brown thing. It’s not a white thing. Maliciously killing someone is an evil act, regardless of who the moral degenerate is behind it.

God – if S/He is still alive – must certainly be disappointed in humankind. As if the original sins are not enough, centuries of people have added a multitude of unnatural transgressions, keeping the hellfire burning. I imagine that contemporary Moses will have at least 2000 Commandments saved on a computer tablet instead of ten inscribed on two stones whenever there is a world reboot.

Every time I scratch my head, I think about hair. Hair is a sensitive subject for Black women. It’s one of those topics that we aren’t supposed to talk about in public, like politics, religion, and sex. But Black women aren’t the only ones who wear the fake stuff. According to the Ultimate Looks blog, “Hollywood hairstylist Priscilla Valles, whose clients include Kylie Jenner, Chrissy Teigen, and Christina Aguilera, estimates that 97 percent of all female stars wear hair extensions — both onscreen and off.”

I wonder how some folks would cope if the fake hair industry suddenly went bust? Can you imagine how many celebrities and wanna-be celebs would lose their minds if they could no longer buy those long tresses? Never say never, readers. It could happen. Anytime there can be a shortage of toilet paper, paper towels, and even baby formula – baby formula, for God’s sake! So then, what’s to prevent fake hair from suddenly becoming unavailable? I imagine that some of you readers are saying, “don’t even think about it.”

After seven straight years of going to the gym three days a week, my routine got canceled by the pandemic, and I haven’t been back. My wallet appreciates the rest, but my body is punishing me by puffing up. Although I exercise at home, I am not as driven to stay on a sixty-minute, tri-weekly schedule as I used to do. When Coronavirus shut down everything, I had two months of credit remaining on my membership, but I suspect my credit has expired since I have yet to return.

Tamper-proof packaging has gone too far. I understand that the Chicago Tylenol murders in ’82 prompted the wrap rage, but now it takes a village to open a factory-sealed package, like that bottle of eye drops I recently brought. I struggled for several minutes to get the clear plastic shrink band off the cap before I could finally grip and tear its perforated edge. And then, as if removing the shrink band wasn’t tricky enough, the cap presented another challenge. I was twisting it and snarling like a pit bull mangling a chihuahua. The lid wouldn’t bug until I grabbed a pair of pliers off the shelf. Even with the pliers, it took several teeth-gritting, forceful turns before the cap loosened. I know that tamper-proof packing is to prevent wrongdoers from tinkering with products and protect young children from ingesting detergent pods and other poisonous substances. But what’s the point of safety sealed packaging if consumers can’t open the products? I wonder if the CDC Injury Center keeps track of how many people wind up cut and bloodied while struggling to open blister packs, clam-shell hard-plastic, and heat-sealed items. And OMG, the irony of the situation is that there is a prize created for products with the hardest-to-open packaging – the Oyster Award. Don’t take my word for it; ask Google.

And while it’s on my mind – I’m not a big fan of the idiot box. But, except for a couple of all-news channels, I have one favorite TV program, The View. I am so happy that the show is nominated for nine Emmy Awards. I can hardly wait until September to see how many of the golden statues they’ll win. The cohosts are intelligent and entertaining, and their hot topics always give me something else to think about (besides a preposition at the end of a sentence).

(Artwork for this post created by Khalil Brown-Royal.)

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Unscrambling the Mystery of the Chirping Eggs

by on ·Food for Thought, General, Humor

When I was a child, I would listen with earnest to hear if my bowl of Rice Krispies would snap, crackle, and pop as the TV commercial claimed. As an adult, I’m still curious about usual sounds, and I find the stories associated with some of them amusing. For example, my cousin, Vanessa, told me about an interesting event a couple of days ago.

She said that her daughter, Destiny, removed a few raw eggs from the refrigerator and was preparing to boil them for breakfast when the eggs began making a chirping sound loud enough to be heard throughout the room. They both freaked out.

I’ve never heard chirping from previously refrigerated eggs like I told Vanessa, but hardly anything surprises me anymore. I had no reason to doubt her, so I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for a dramatic finish to the story. I thought – if Vanessa tells me that they covered the eggs with a warm towel and within minutes little chicks hatched from them, I’ll tell her to video the chicks and contact CNN immediately. But alas, no such drama happened.

Her resourceful daughter consulted the ultimate practical problem solver, Google. It turns out that it is not uncommon for raw eggs to chirp when there is air escaping from them.

Still, that didn’t stop me from imagining what might have happened if those eggs had hatched. Although I wasn’t there with them, we all would have been jumping up and down and pulling out our hair as if we’d entered the Twilight Zone. That vision cracked me up. Pun intended.

News crews would be scrambling to get to their home, and after being assured that mother and daughter did not whisk up a tale, each station would try to be the first to break the story. No yolking. Another pun. (I couldn’t resist.)

I’ve yet to have first-hand experience with chirping eggs. (I don’t want to either.) But I’ve grown used to hearing various unusual sounds in my home. I wish that I could unhear some of them

There is a harmony of intermittent sounds that are unnerving and downright annoying. Most occur in the middle of the night.

I hear hammering on the metal pipes behind the wall and suspect that poltergeists are causing the disturbance. The wind blows the Venetian blinds through the open window and bangs them against the sill, waking me with a start. The random pop of a closed plastic water bottle on the nightstand, a running toilet, or leaky faucet – drip, drip, dripping are all nerve-wracking. But of all the annoying household noises  – groans, creaks, buzzing, gurgling, hissing, skittering, and humming there is one exasperating sound that beats the others.

It is the fantasy Gremlins that live inside my pillow. No matter how I punch, turn over, or fold my pillow, I can hear them. Think about the high-pitched squeal heard when an inflated balloon is loosely tied or the lip on a balloon is stretched, allowing the air to escape as the balloon deflates. That’s the sound I hear inside my pillow some nights. No, it isn’t Tinnitus. That’s been ruled out. When the pillow Gremlins get too annoying, I’ll put in earplugs or earbuds and let a book or music on my iPod lull me to sleep. I understand that feathery pillows are the worse noise makers, but mine is a memory pillow. Go figure.

Unexplainable noises are attributable to so many things. For example, I’ve learned that stray electrical signals caused by Smart TVs, electric wall clocks, and other devices can emit a low-frequency constant hum. But I don’t find any of those as interesting as chirping eggs.

So much for the things that scramble our nerves in the morning or go bump in the night.

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How to Maintain Sanity During Insane Times

by on ·Health Physical and Mental, Humor, Opinion

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.

Old schoolers and Generation Xers will remember that opening monologue from The Twilight Zone, a TV series in the sci-fi horror genre that ran for five seasons between 1959 and 1965. It seems today that unlike The Twilight Zone, where we entered into a “wondrous land of imagination,” the world is caught up in a real-life nightmare.

The fatalities resulting from COVID-19 are tragic. No one wants to become a victim of a potentially fatal ailment, but the hope and reality are that people are recovering. And while we each have our way of handling challenges, my survival approach is prayer, faith, and a sense of humor.

Before my cynical readers start with their “there’s nothing funny about it” diatribe, let me assure you that I know that COVID is no laughing matter. The ugly virus has devastated families and forced those of us who are compliant to adopt drastic lifestyle changes. But I’ve found that – instead of freaking out – it is easier to cope with dire circumstances when I put a humorous spin on a serious matter.

Homebodies might be handling things with indifference, but we free-spirited people who enjoy going where we want, when we want, are pissed because the restrictions imposed as a result of COVID are a tremendous inconvenience. Aspirin and Tylenol cannot remedy cabin fever.

Fussing, cussing, and throwing a tantrum won’t change anything either. But if we don’t vent, then what? We are used to our independence. A fragile mind could go insane.

My city, like several states, is under a stay-at-home order. It is human nature that when we are told not to do something, we feel compelled to disobey. Even a kid would agree. Say sit down. We stand. Say shut up. We speak. Say stay in, and you know where the hell we want to go – out.

But where to go? Most retail stores, restaurants, gyms, and other recreational facilities are closed. (The closure of the gym where I have worked out consistently for seven years has me feeling like someone dropped a 26-pound kettlebell on my foot.) Schools, public offices, and private businesses are also closed. Numerous people have been furloughed and some have permanently lost their jobs. Parents who are trying to work remotely with young children underfoot are losing their minds. And their children who don’t understand why school is closed, but they can’t go outside to play with their pals, are pushing them closer to the edge.

I pray that things will soon get back on track. I won’t say back to normal, because I don’t think things will ever return to the way they used to be. COVID has caused a paradigm shift everywhere.

If you are not afflicted with the life-threatening ailment, be thankful, and pray that none of us or our loved ones get it and those who do recover. In the meantime, here are some do and don’t tips for coping and maintaining your sanity during the days, weeks, or months of potential confinement. Yes, for all intent and purposes, we should consider ourselves under house arrest, only without the ankle bracelet.

  1. Don’t fret about what to wear. You can stay in your PJ’s all day without putting on makeup, combing your hair, or untangling your weave. On the other hand, if you are a camera-ham, you can spend days taking selfies. Produce your own photoshoot by changing outfits and hairstyles several times a day, and posturing in provocative poses. Then, upload your photos to social media.
  2. Do challenge yourself. Exercise your mind. Take classes or play games online. I’ve done both. Being competitive by nature, I enjoy playing word games like Bookworm, Puzzly Word, and Words with Friends.
  3. Do resist the urge to eat constantly. Even if you feel compelled to have food or snacks in your mouth all the time, don’t. Avoid going into the kitchen except for breakfast, lunch, or dinner unless it is to get water or coffee (tea for you tea lovers). Do not try to eat and snack your way through the Pandemic. If you must nibble all day, then stick with fruits and raw veggies (like carrots, celery, cauliflower, or broccoli. I like pickles.). Don’t let sugary sweets become your best friend.
  4. Don’t watch television 24/7, especially if the current situation has you feeling depressed, because you will be bombarded with briefings and news breaks about COVID. Trust me, your favorite programs (like The View) will be interrupted continuously with the count of latest casualties and personal narratives from survivors.
  5. Do something crafty to occupy your mind. Paint, draw, or make a quilt. Read a book. Better yet, write your memoirs. Listen to music or get on WhatsApp, Google Hangouts, Skype, or some other video chat program and sing karaoke with friends. If you are by nature a couch potato and start jonesing for the idiot box, then watch documentaries or binge-watch a series on Netflix.
  6. Don’t trip over the cat, step on the dog, or fall down the stairs. Most accidents happen in the home, so whatever you do, try not to injure yourself so severely that you will have to go to the hospital. Unless you think that you might have COVID, the hospital is the last place you want to go right now, because if you don’t have the virus when you arrive at the hospital, with all of the microorganisms in the air you will likely have contracted it before you leave.
  7. Do establish an exercise routine and workout daily in your home. If you want to workout twice a day do it. Once in the morning and once in the evening. Exercise too can get boring, so vary your workout. Aerobics in the morning. Yoga in the evening or vice versa. There are numerous workout videos on YouTube. And don’t forget to stretch after working out. If the weather is nice, go outside and walk for a few miles. Just remember – social distancing.
  8. Do spring cleaning. Rearrange your living space or just clean out the closets or dresser drawers. Have a shred-in. Shred your sensitive documents (personal emails, travel documents, tax files, health records, and other private papers.) A few days ago, I went through my file cabinet, pulled out, and shredded numerous documents that I’ve been hoarding because I did not want to clean out and organize the filing cabinet. Among other things, I shredded all of the copies of old tax returns from 1972 to 2000. IRS recommends that you keep records for three years with certain exceptions. You can find those stipulations on the IRS.gov site.

And finally…

  1. Do ignore people who tell you how foolish it is to stock up on essentials like toilet paper. They are the same people who will be begging to “borrow” some of yours when they run out.

One can quickly become depressed when life is suddenly topsy-turvy, and we are forced to live under what some call the new norm. As difficult as it may be, fight the unhappy feeling with humor. It is easier to sink into a hole of deep depression than to climb out of it. Maintain a positive attitude. Do things that you’ve been putting off because you always thought you didn’t have time to get around to doing them. And if all else fails, phone a friend. Hopefully, it will be someone who will uplift your spirit and not invite you to join his or her pity party.

Life is short. Make the best of it.

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