How I Spent Lent ...

by Little Kathy Funk
(OK, I'm not as little as I used to be)

The menfolk threw down a challenge to me while I was pondering what sort of self-denial I was going to endure for the 44 days of Lent. Give up Pop (or Co-Cola, to my southern relatives)? Nope, gave that up during a Biggest Loser contest at work. Smoothies? I live off Smoothies for lunch ... but I could give up the most decadent (from my perspective): Peanut Butter Cup (stock tip for anyone out there looking to invest: Tropical Smoothie. I'm keeping them in business.) Fast food? TV? Been there, gave up that and that. It was about that time Leo started snickering a sadistic little snicker: "How about facebook, Mom? I bet you can't give up facebook." "What?" I muttered as I looked up from posting something to fb from my phone. "Dad, do you think Mom could give up facebook?" B.O.B. laughed and said, "NO WAY!" They both cackled as I looked on knowing full well I could show them ... and exercise a little self-denial all at the same time.

But first I had to post that I was leaving fb and would return in 44 days.

To tell you the truth, it was harder giving up the Peanut Butter Cup Smoothie than it was fb. How did I while away the extra time? Did I become a better person? Did I spend more time with my family? Did I take the dog for a walk every night like I keep promising him? Did I find a way to help my fellow man instead of opining about my ineptitude as a cook or wishing it were Friday or whatever else I had to whine about on fb?

Actually, I spent a large portion of that time flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. Bored. Out. Of. My. Mind. Counting. Cobwebs. Was it fb withdrawl? No, it was a sprained back. And it's not even like I was enjoying myself when I sprained it. The medical conclusion: I was overly tired. TIRED? Are you freakin' kidding me? Couldn't it have at least involved a pole or a swing or an act of contortion? Nope. Years down the road, B.O.B. and I can't look back and laugh about the time I sprained my back.

So, here it is, 45 days later. I'm back on fb. I'm upright even though my back is still recovering. My friends on fb have remarked on my strength and willpower. I wish! Obviously, I can't even make it without an afternoon nap before my body rebels.

What I do have is priceless: an odd quietness that has enveloped Chez Funk. My male naysayers didn't think I could do it. Now I don't have to spend the next 44 YEARS hearing about how I failed my Lenten promise of 2011.

Ahhh ... peacefulness while I enjoy my Peanut Butter Cup Smoothie and count the new cobwebs.

Bartender, I'll Have a Prilosec OTC Chaser

You know you're old when ...

You liken the experience of having whiskey on the rocks for the first time to a bout of acid reflux.

Just waiting for the AARP application to arrive in the mail.

I'm Doomed AND Lactose Intolerant

While in the midst of a dream this morning, everyone in said dream started chanting, "You're doomed. You're doomed. You're doomed ... " Well, if that doesn't make someone who already suffers self-esteem issues bolt awake, I don't know what will. These chanters were actually my friends, adding insult to injury.

Except it was my electronic alarm clock. The tone, "Beeeep beep Beeeep beep," has the same cadence as "you're doomed."

Great. Couple that with a bird who starts taunting me promptly at 6:45 am every morning by sing-songing "CHHHEEESSSEE burger CHHHEEESSSEE burger." (As B.O.B. as my witness, that is exactly what the bird's tweet sounds like!) So I'm reminded every morning upon waking that I'm lactose intolerant. Where, oh where, is a little feathered friend who can tweet, "VEGGIE cheese burger!"?

Electronics are sending me subliminal messages. The avian world is bullying me for being unable to digest diary products. Ha. I can strike back! I can change the alarm tone. And the bird? "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, I have a job for you, my little furry assassin."