Belly buttons.
We all have them. Most of us keep them hidden. Some people have them pierced. Ouch! Some celebrities flaunt them. Some are “outies.” Some are “innies.” Small children are fascinated with them – especially their own.
I once knew a kid who thought that if his belly button fell off, his guts would fall out. He knew it was true because his big brother (age six) told him. His older brother also told the kid he was adopted – and came from Mars. The kid got even, though, as he was the first to figure out the relationship between parents and St. Nick and wasted no time exploding his older brother’s firm belief.
Now the question is, which came first, the pierced and revealed belly button or low-rise jeans? Did manufacturers respond to a “need” to show off belly button jewelry or did manufacturers of belly button jewelry exploit an area of anatomy to boost sales?
Ankles were hot in the 1920s, the braless look took over the 60’s and miniskirts and hot pants showed off thighs plus in the ‘70s. By the ‘80s, women were wearing power suits with big shoulder pads. By the 1990s, we were all wearing plaid shirts, cowboy boots and hats, and line dancing the night away.
Now, along with rings, rods, and plugs, the young teen and twenty somethings are covering their bodies with symbols, pictures and words.
What’s next? It will be interesting to see what the next generation does to rebel against their parents. Will nudity become the norm or will teen angst be expressed in extreme modesty and conservatism.
I hope I’m here to see it, what ever it is. Maybe the kids will bring back rock and roll and disco so we older folks can bop and boogie again until the wee hours of 9:30. Whooo, hooo.
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
Friday, March 31, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Moving Day
Okay, everyone, show of hands, please.
Everyone who has moved at least twice, please raise your hand.
Ah, ha! Every one of you!
Then you remember what it’s like. Or maybe you would rather forget.
Depending on your personal organization skills, how much stuff you had, and the length of time you had to round up boxes and toss out junk, probably reflects your feelings about your moves. Have you noticed that after five or six relocations, sentiment gives way to practicality, but no matter how many times you move, part of your heart is still in your first real “home.”
Have you also noticed how stuff accumulates in proportion to the space you are leaving? You always have one more room full of stuff than you have rooms. When I moved from my parents’ house, it was a couple of suitcases, three or four boxes of shoes (I was big into shoes), and a few dresses in dry cleaning bags. In no time, boom, I filled a one-bedroom apartment. Eventually I worked up to a three-bedroom house with closets to spare. Five years later, a long-distance move from that house now bulging at the seams delighted the movers. A few houses later, I came back to an apartment with half the stuff and shortly worked up to another house with over-flowing closets.
Now I’m thinking of down-sizing (again) and have been cleaning out closets. I’ve been cleaning out closets for almost three years and I’m convinced they refill on their own. I’ve discovered weird things on top shelves and things I don’t even remember buying. There must be someone living here that I don’t know about who slips out, brings in things and crams them in the closets.
My ideal closet would be poised over a bottomless pit with a spring-activated door in the floor. When the weight on the floor door reached a certain weight, the door would silently swing downward, permanently “storing” the contents of the closet in the pit below. There would always be plenty of room in that closet to pile, stack and heap more stuff, and when asked where something was, the answer would be, “I put it in the closet!”
I have a friend who has a small place that is always neat and tidy. If she brings something in, something goes out. She can pack up and move with two days notice – and has done it. My neighbors just moved. Took them four days, three friends and a huge rented van to move the furniture and yard equipment. That’s after a week of several pickup truck loads of boxes every evening. They should finish up by tomorrow!
I’m not looking forward to moving again. My perfect move would be to pick up my purse, have a lovely drive and then walk in the front door of my completely furnished and stocked new place. Since that’s not about to happen, I guess I’m back to cleaning closets. You wouldn’t happen to want twelve pairs of sandals, fifteen pairs of sneakers and athletic shoes, eighteen pairs of casuals, and nine pairs of pumps, would you?
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
Everyone who has moved at least twice, please raise your hand.
Ah, ha! Every one of you!
Then you remember what it’s like. Or maybe you would rather forget.
Depending on your personal organization skills, how much stuff you had, and the length of time you had to round up boxes and toss out junk, probably reflects your feelings about your moves. Have you noticed that after five or six relocations, sentiment gives way to practicality, but no matter how many times you move, part of your heart is still in your first real “home.”
Have you also noticed how stuff accumulates in proportion to the space you are leaving? You always have one more room full of stuff than you have rooms. When I moved from my parents’ house, it was a couple of suitcases, three or four boxes of shoes (I was big into shoes), and a few dresses in dry cleaning bags. In no time, boom, I filled a one-bedroom apartment. Eventually I worked up to a three-bedroom house with closets to spare. Five years later, a long-distance move from that house now bulging at the seams delighted the movers. A few houses later, I came back to an apartment with half the stuff and shortly worked up to another house with over-flowing closets.
Now I’m thinking of down-sizing (again) and have been cleaning out closets. I’ve been cleaning out closets for almost three years and I’m convinced they refill on their own. I’ve discovered weird things on top shelves and things I don’t even remember buying. There must be someone living here that I don’t know about who slips out, brings in things and crams them in the closets.
My ideal closet would be poised over a bottomless pit with a spring-activated door in the floor. When the weight on the floor door reached a certain weight, the door would silently swing downward, permanently “storing” the contents of the closet in the pit below. There would always be plenty of room in that closet to pile, stack and heap more stuff, and when asked where something was, the answer would be, “I put it in the closet!”
I have a friend who has a small place that is always neat and tidy. If she brings something in, something goes out. She can pack up and move with two days notice – and has done it. My neighbors just moved. Took them four days, three friends and a huge rented van to move the furniture and yard equipment. That’s after a week of several pickup truck loads of boxes every evening. They should finish up by tomorrow!
I’m not looking forward to moving again. My perfect move would be to pick up my purse, have a lovely drive and then walk in the front door of my completely furnished and stocked new place. Since that’s not about to happen, I guess I’m back to cleaning closets. You wouldn’t happen to want twelve pairs of sandals, fifteen pairs of sneakers and athletic shoes, eighteen pairs of casuals, and nine pairs of pumps, would you?
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
Monday, March 20, 2006
When Daughters Turn Into Their Mothers
I made an astute observation the other day about mothers and daughters. Daughters turn into their mothers when they start hooking their back-hook bras in the front. The speed of the spin to get everything in the right position depends on the age of the daughter-turned-into-her-mother. The older the daughter/mother, the slower the spin.
Daughters who wear the newer front-hook bras have the ability to defy aging because they probably also go to yoga classes or have personal workout equipment that folds flat for easy storage under the bed. They may also carry PDAs, have a large collection of CDs, DVDs, and video games, and burn their own disks with their 8X CD/DVD (DVD+/-RW) drives.
Daughter/mothers also dye their hair red to disguise the resemblance to their mothers who have dyed their hair blue. (This is particularly patriotic if another relative has snow-white hair and stands in the middle.)
It’s a very strange process, this business of getting older. Looking at the annual reports from companies that manufacture age-defying products, business is flourishing.
It can also be a lot of fun. Just today in the grocery store, I watched from the sidelines as a young mother tried to catch her toddler as he sprinted down the cereal aisle. And I just love it when a teen in his new graduation car zips past and rushes to be first to stop at the light. We older, wiser folks estimate the light change and roll past the youngster who is still at a dead stop.
For those of us too old to be young and way too young to be old, it’s an adventurous time of life. Right now, since I can’t decide if my hair should be red or blue, I think I’ll just get a little of each. Yeah, that’s it, with a white streak in the middle just in case a parade comes along!
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
Daughters who wear the newer front-hook bras have the ability to defy aging because they probably also go to yoga classes or have personal workout equipment that folds flat for easy storage under the bed. They may also carry PDAs, have a large collection of CDs, DVDs, and video games, and burn their own disks with their 8X CD/DVD (DVD+/-RW) drives.
Daughter/mothers also dye their hair red to disguise the resemblance to their mothers who have dyed their hair blue. (This is particularly patriotic if another relative has snow-white hair and stands in the middle.)
It’s a very strange process, this business of getting older. Looking at the annual reports from companies that manufacture age-defying products, business is flourishing.
It can also be a lot of fun. Just today in the grocery store, I watched from the sidelines as a young mother tried to catch her toddler as he sprinted down the cereal aisle. And I just love it when a teen in his new graduation car zips past and rushes to be first to stop at the light. We older, wiser folks estimate the light change and roll past the youngster who is still at a dead stop.
For those of us too old to be young and way too young to be old, it’s an adventurous time of life. Right now, since I can’t decide if my hair should be red or blue, I think I’ll just get a little of each. Yeah, that’s it, with a white streak in the middle just in case a parade comes along!
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
Monday, March 13, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Rhyme Time
For the past several days, a silly rhyme from my childhood has been drifting in and out of my thoughts. It’s also morphed into other little ditties, mainly the sing-song stuff we used when jumping rope.
I had the evil thought that if I passed these rhymes along, they would stick in someone else’s brain and I would be free to ponder more important issues.
Okay, here goes.
Hi, Ho
Hi, ho, silverware.
Tonto lost his underwear.
Tonto say, “Me don’t care,”
Lone Ranger buy me ‘nuther pair!”
Found a Peanut
Found a peanut, found a peanut,
Found a peanut just now.
I just now found a peanut,
Found a peanut just now.
It was rotten, it was rotten,
It was rotten just now.
Just now it was rotten,
It was rotten just now.
Ate it anyway, ate it anyway,
Ate it anyway just now.
Just now ate it anyway,
Ate it anyway just now.
Got a belly ache, got a belly ache,
Got a belly ache just now.
Just now got a belly ache,
Got a belly ache just now.
Called the doctor, called the doctor,
Called the doctor just now.
Just now called the doctor,
Called the doctor just now.
Died anyway, died anyway.
Died anyway just now.
Just now died anyway,
Died anyway just now.
Down in the Valley
Down in the valley where the green grass grows,
There sits Betty pretty as a rose.
Up came Jimmy and kissed her on the cheek,
How many kisses did she get this week?
1, 2, 3 ...
One Potato
One potato, two potato,
Three potato, four.
Five potato, six potato,
Seven potato, more.
Mississippi
How do you spell Mississippi?
M!
I!
Crooked letter!
Crooked letter!
I!
Crooked letter!
Crooked letter!
I!
Hunch back!
Hunch back!
I!
That’s how you spell Mississippi.
Love and Marriage
Betty and Jimmy sittin' in a tree.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
First comes love,
Then comes marriage,
Then comes Betty with a baby carriage!
How many children will they have?
1, 2, 3 …
Now that I'm free of silly songs, I have begun to wonder just what was it that Meat Loaf would not do for love. It’s much easier than trying to understand what it is that Medicare Part D covers.
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
I had the evil thought that if I passed these rhymes along, they would stick in someone else’s brain and I would be free to ponder more important issues.
Okay, here goes.
Hi, Ho
Hi, ho, silverware.
Tonto lost his underwear.
Tonto say, “Me don’t care,”
Lone Ranger buy me ‘nuther pair!”
Found a Peanut
Found a peanut, found a peanut,
Found a peanut just now.
I just now found a peanut,
Found a peanut just now.
It was rotten, it was rotten,
It was rotten just now.
Just now it was rotten,
It was rotten just now.
Ate it anyway, ate it anyway,
Ate it anyway just now.
Just now ate it anyway,
Ate it anyway just now.
Got a belly ache, got a belly ache,
Got a belly ache just now.
Just now got a belly ache,
Got a belly ache just now.
Called the doctor, called the doctor,
Called the doctor just now.
Just now called the doctor,
Called the doctor just now.
Died anyway, died anyway.
Died anyway just now.
Just now died anyway,
Died anyway just now.
Down in the Valley
Down in the valley where the green grass grows,
There sits Betty pretty as a rose.
Up came Jimmy and kissed her on the cheek,
How many kisses did she get this week?
1, 2, 3 ...
One Potato
One potato, two potato,
Three potato, four.
Five potato, six potato,
Seven potato, more.
Mississippi
How do you spell Mississippi?
M!
I!
Crooked letter!
Crooked letter!
I!
Crooked letter!
Crooked letter!
I!
Hunch back!
Hunch back!
I!
That’s how you spell Mississippi.
Love and Marriage
Betty and Jimmy sittin' in a tree.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
First comes love,
Then comes marriage,
Then comes Betty with a baby carriage!
How many children will they have?
1, 2, 3 …
Now that I'm free of silly songs, I have begun to wonder just what was it that Meat Loaf would not do for love. It’s much easier than trying to understand what it is that Medicare Part D covers.
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
Monday, March 06, 2006
License to Email
I think there should be a test and then licensing for people to use their email! Maybe even pre-mailrital counseling with an instructor. Why? How many emails have you gotten with a least ten forwards and not one of those emailers knew how to use the delete key. My motto is if you have to scroll through more than four previous senders or a hundred-fifty names, it’s not worth reading!
There should also be a ban on those gushy emails that promise happiness at the end. You know the kind: Send this to five people and you will get your wish in twenty-six years, ten people and it’s only twelve years, and four-hundred and ninety-two and your wish instantly comes true.
I fell for that one, not once, but twice. It doesn’t work. My boobs are still not up where they once were and I’m not driving a shiny new Cadillac STS-V.
Has it been “Friendship Week” every week for the past three years? Who invented the custom of sending pictures of sunsets and babies to celebrate the event? Here’s the part that mystifies me. At the end, the email gives specific instructions to “pass this to your friends and send one back to me.” Is that like having to wear a porkchop around your neck to get the dog to play with you? I love my friends – couldn’t make it without them, so I try to let them know in ways other than threatening emails.
Well, that’s my rant for today. I just got an email that promises 1,526 bars of chocolate in only three weeks if I forward it to everyone in Siberia and I have to get busy.
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
There should also be a ban on those gushy emails that promise happiness at the end. You know the kind: Send this to five people and you will get your wish in twenty-six years, ten people and it’s only twelve years, and four-hundred and ninety-two and your wish instantly comes true.
I fell for that one, not once, but twice. It doesn’t work. My boobs are still not up where they once were and I’m not driving a shiny new Cadillac STS-V.
Has it been “Friendship Week” every week for the past three years? Who invented the custom of sending pictures of sunsets and babies to celebrate the event? Here’s the part that mystifies me. At the end, the email gives specific instructions to “pass this to your friends and send one back to me.” Is that like having to wear a porkchop around your neck to get the dog to play with you? I love my friends – couldn’t make it without them, so I try to let them know in ways other than threatening emails.
Well, that’s my rant for today. I just got an email that promises 1,526 bars of chocolate in only three weeks if I forward it to everyone in Siberia and I have to get busy.
© Copyright 2006 Suzzwords
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