Tell The Boss You're Off On Fridays. Because I Said So.

(post copyright 2011, Dawn Weber)

It's Friday. So sorry - but I'm closed.

In fact, by the power wasted on me, I hereby declare Fridays off. For everyone. From this day forward.

I can almost see your smiles, hear your sighs of relief at this wonderful news. Really, it was no bother for me to grant you a four-day workweek. I know, I know - you want to hug me. Just send cash.

My decision to give us all a reduced schedule is based on extensive research, with the following very scientific findings:

A. I am tired, and...
B. I need a nap since...
C. all I do is work and...
D. lots of folks tell me they feel the same way.

Want to know why?

For the most part - I think Americans work too much. We also work too damn hard. Do the math: Five of the seven days in a week, we use up HALF (or more) of our waking hours at jobs. HALF! Or More!

Somebody get me a Xanax.

Seriously, though - teachers spend more days with my kids than I do, and I spend much more time with my co-workers than my family.

I know that, for many decades, this is the way things have been. But please - tell me the name of the person responsible for deciding that we MUST work five days, 40 hours a week to earn benefits and a decent wage. If he's still around, send him my way - because I'd really like to kick him. Directly in the ass.

I do have some good news related to my decision to change your hours: There is some trending towards an altered schedule. Utah state employees - along with many American businesses - have adopted the four-ten hour work-week with great, money-saving results.

I found the following info on the Internet (therefore it must be true). Many four-day work-week supporters say such a schedule:

• Increases employee productivity
• Increases time spent with family
• Increases employee happiness

Yeah. But can't you just hear The Man?: "Employee happiness? Ha! Who cares about that?"

True, in this employers’ market, increasing workers’ morale doesn’t usually rank as a priority. Today's business motto? “Shut Up and Work - You're Lucky to Have a Job.”

So how about these assertions from the same site, which state that four-day work-weeks:

• Reduce labor costs for businesses
• Reduce operational costs for businesses, in the form of decreased security, energy and utility expenses
• Reduce employee absenteeism
• Increase productivity

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Boss.

Anyway, screw him. I've decided I am your supervisor today, hence my decision to give all of us another day off. Because, simply put, if no one worked on Fridays, then no one else would have to work on Fridays. Word.

Stores could close. Offices could close. Banks could close. We could all stay home and spend more time with our loved ones. What a concept.

Imagine the savings! Imagine the reduced stress! Imagine the lack of dummies on the road traffic!

For the love of all that’s holy, people. Imagine the NAPS!

Naked Blogging

Obviously, I need to do more Naked Blogging.

Jeez-Louise, people! During my last post - concerning the very vital, very riveting topic of Nude People Dancing - I received 7 new followers and 28 comments.

I'm bad - I'm nationwide, yo! In my own mind, for two days tops...

Yep - sex still sells. Actually, I should have known the last piece would rank high - Blogger stats say that my most-read post until now was "They Are Not Hooker Shoes!"

Apparently all I have to do to gain readership, and maybe someday possibly almost make a buck from my writing, is talk about something racy or tack on the word “naked.”

This, and a recent post by my friend Audubon Ron at Ducks Mahal, reminds me of the old fortune cookie game, in which you take the little paper predictions and attach the phrase "in bed" or "between the sheets." I.E. "You will have a memorable evening...in bed."

Maybe I should really run with it. Become the Naked Blogger in bed. Although the husband's not a fan of stripped strangers, he's appreciative of my nudity, and I'm sure this would be a big hit with him. Me, sitting around, laptop-on-ample-gut, buck nude and pecking away between the sheets.

This would, of course, mean that you all have to become my Naked Followers. You’d like that, woudn’t you? Haha. That’s because ya'all are a bunch of pervs like me between the sheets. I love it! naked in bed.

But as a mom, I could never completely pimp my blog with nudity. After all, everyone knows mothers never think of sex. I have two kids who can’t stomach their parents kissing, let alone (gasp!) anything else. No, these two hope that they appeared on this earth by magic, brought here via immaculate conception. Or maybe little pink bunnies in bed.

The children would not appreciate the visuals of me as a Naked Blogger, either. They get ill when I remove a bra under my shirt - highly offended and repulsed, apparently, by the fact that women have nipples.

So don't worry. My new-found very temporary popularity will not go to my head, I promise. I will keep my clothes on, much to my children's relief, and continue to explore such vital issues as cats on cars, the tooth fairy, endlessly awful Ohio weather, and Dairy Queen Blizzards in bed.

You're welcome between the sheets.

The Winds of March? Yeah. They Blow.

(post copyright 2010, Dawn Weber)
Giving myself a little bloggy break right now. But I didn't want to let my readers, (all ten of them! I love you guys!) down. (Also I am OCD about posting once per week). This piece first appeared in my "Lighten Up" newspaper column in the Buckeye Lake Beacon last winter. Since March still sucks, I thought I'd re-publish for your pleasure. Lucky you.

 March: what a tease.

Blowing in our ears with a little warm breeze...slipping off the clouds now and then...giving us a little peek at the sun...batting the robin’s wings.

And then - BAM! More cold, more snow, more gray, more misery.

Yeah, good old month three. My buddy Rick said it best:

“March is my least favorite month of the year. I’m done with winter, but winter ain’t done with me.”

Think this winter’s finished with us? I’m afraid to look. Anyway, something’s wrong with my eyes: The only colors I can see are gray and white.

That’s because, last month alone, the skies dumped more than 30 inches of white stuff on our area, making it the snowiest February on record. Nationwide, it snowed or froze everywhere from Georgia to Florida to Texas.

Somebody get me a Snuggie.

The White Death. Snowmageddon. The Blizzard of 2010. The Worst! Weather! Ever!

Whatever you want to call it - enough already. First snow, then icy rain. Then, more snow. Thawed enough to cause a frigid, ankle-biting, bone-chilling crust. On top of this, guess what? Snow.

We can hack it, though. We’re Ohioans - our state color should be gray. We don’t expect rainbows and unicorns.

We count on crappy weather. We thrive on crappy weather. We ARE crappy weather.

Fifty-five degrees one day, five inches of snow the next? Bring it on. Sunny warm breezes one hour, tornado warning the next? Scoff. What else you got? We’re Buckeyes, baby - tough nuts!

Not only has February 2010 toughened my already thick Buckeye shell, it has proven most educational. I have learned valuable lessons, such as:

• The old college prank is true - you can lift a Volkswagen Beetle. My neighbor and I hoisted mine out of three-foot-high snowdrift. My lower back will not forget it. Ever.
• During a power outage, home furnaces can be wired to gasoline-powered generators. In a pinch, this can be done by a 40-year-old cussing mother of two. Crouched amongst spiders. Using a cell phone screen as a flashlight.
• Shoveling the roof sounds stupid and dangerous. It is! To keep a structure standing under the weight of hundreds of pounds of snow and ice, it is also sometimes necessary.
• Icicles are lovely. Icicles can also back up inside gutters, thaw inside walls and cause leakage, mold and rot. Icicles are not lovely.

Yes, it’s been an interesting February, the shortest, longest month of the year. But, sure as yellow snow, it does end. Eventually.

And the one good thing about March? It ain’t February.

Where Are the Ohioans?

(Post copyright 2011, Dawn Weber)
Although I keep trying to forget, it's winter. Still. So lately I've been plopped on the couch like a proper Midwesterner. Watching the boob-tube.

Now that I said "boob," and I have your attention, I ask you: Where are the regular people? Where are the Ohioans?

All this diversity in entertainment, all these faces in all these different skin tones, yet one thing stays the same - everyone is achingly beautiful and disgustingly fit.

I want to punch them.

As a Buckeye, (State Motto: Eat Your Food - There's Nothing Else To Do) I'm feeling, well, under-represented. Where are the wrinkles, the paunches, the bellies, the double chins? Where are the split ends, the receding hairlines, the mutts, the American cars, the crappy jobs. Hell, where are any jobs? Do these people work?

Holy Toledo, where are the old people? What have they done to the old people?

Just look at the “Desperate Housewives.” Why so desperate, skinny bitches ladies? Someone take your botox docs? Gorgeous little minxes, all of you. Chiseled cheeks, perfect hair, long legs, flat tummies, jutting hipbones...

Hipbones. I remember them from such decades as the 80s.

Want to see a Desperate Housewife? Come visit me in January. Add bored, complaining, housebound kids and 11 piles of laundry. Toss in an elderly parent requiring attention, a rag-tag collection of needy pets and a good 20-lb. stress-induced muffintop. For added desperation, drain my last Miller Lite.

But it's not just the nighttime soaps. No, even the reality shows are in on it - "Jersey Shore," "Dancing With the Stars," "Big Brother." For the most part, the participants in these programs look like they stepped out of fashion magazines...or at least out of high-end brothels.

There are a couple exceptions - for one, ABC's "The Middle." Although located in a fictional Indiana, it's pretty accurate in Mid-America interpretation, with freakishly short Frankie, freakishly tall Mike and their wonderfully weird kids. In a messy, badly decorated, Midwestern house, schlumping through life like the rest of us.

And there's TVLand's "Hot In Cleveland," featuring the usual skinny bitches supermodel types poking fun at Ohioans. But we can take a joke. Especially since the sitcom also stars a glorious, riotously funny yay for old people! Betty White. The cast may have a laugh at our expense. But they soon find themselves appreciating Midwestern living, just as the Victoria Chase character said in the pilot episode:

"Cleveland: Where everyone is eating. And no one is ashamed!"

Damn straight, Victoria. We are not ashamed, and we won't be ignored. We are Buckeyes - we have big nuts.

Heartland homeys, it's time to take back the tube and tell Holly-weird: Listen up! We want to see some more "average!" We want hard-working folks living in two-story, mill-worker row-houses, with beat-up Fords and a crabby mom who needs her roots done. Kids with messy hair, glued to electronic boxes! A dad scratching himself in front of the Ohio State game! A dog who pees on the floor! Sometimes!

Now THAT'S my house some quality, reality television.

Spring's Almost Here! Because I Said So!

Well, Happy New Year! January 1, 2011! And all that happy horse-crap.

You know what that means: back to our regularly scheduled drudgery.

Positive thinking: You're at the wrong blog.

Yep. Pack up the Christmas lights, the ornaments, the presents, the serotonin, the smiles. Throw away the stale cookies, and by all means, drink up the last of the gifted wine. You’ll need it. Go ahead and stick your head in the oven.

Because the party's over, kids. The Visa bill is on its way. Calories count again. Winter's just begun. Work weeks last five ridiculous days. Hardly any paid holidays - until May.

Slashed your wrists yet?

Thank God for the holidays. They're really the only thing that makes winter tolerable, and I'm pretty sure He planned it so that we'd have a little joy during the darkest, most depressing time of year. This ensures human survival. Otherwise, many of us would throw ourselves off the nearest bridge.

God: He's no Dummy.

Here in the Midwest, we mostly use winter as a chance to pursue our passion: new ways to ingest cream cheese. This helps with the soul-crushing depression. So we eat more cream cheese, which makes us fat, and leads to more depression.

We? Are geniuses!

I exercise to control the inevitable cream cheese weight gain, and it was on one of these jaunts where I encountered this lovely site:

I know. You're saying "What an incredible picture!"  You can see here why I am an award-winning photographer, can't you?

Shut up.

What is it, you ask? A dog turd? Melting snow? A dog turd in melting snow?

Folks, believe it or not, it's a robin. Spring's own lovely messenger. Bearer of better weather and whatnot. Sure, it was eight days after winter solstice when I shot the photo, the temperature hovered around 15 degrees and Christmas was, like, yesterday. But I know, without a doubt, that the sight of this particular bird means spring is almost here.

Why? Because Mama told me so.

Shut up.

I can hear your whispers. Some of you are saying that robins aren't harbingers of spring because not all of them fly south for the winter. You’re basing this theory on stupid things - such as science. You state that if food is plentiful, many robins will stick around and tough out the cold weather like the rest of the dummies.

Blah blah blah, whatever. Haters.

I bet you don't believe in Santa Claus, either.

But I believe. I believe that our little orange feathered friends bring the spring: Daffodils! Color! Life! Anything but brown and white!

God is in Heaven, Santa’s resting at the North Pole, and all will be right with the world.

Why? Mama told me so.

Shut up.

And pass the cream cheese.

'Twas a Night Full of Witch-mas...

(Copyright 2010, Dawn Weber)

Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. Some assembly required.
Yes, gather your unassembled toys and your tools, folks. Soon will come that special night when reindeer fly, children dream, and parents assemble gifts. All. Night. Long. For such a wondrous, joyous, never-flippin’-ending occasion - and since I’ll be very busy that evening - I have written a poem. No, no, don’t thank me. Just send help. Please?

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the joint,
My blood pressure had reached its full boiling point
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Visions of working toys danced in their heads.

And me with directions, and him with his tool,
Got me thinking "For this? I deserve some new jewels."
Down by the tree there was nothing but work,
Me yelling "Not that screw, you big, clumsy jerk!"

Then right beside me there was such a clatter,
I said "For $%* sake what the *#@$ is the matter?"
He tossed the pliers down and said "Ouch!",
Then threw himself over, kerplunk, on the couch.

The moonlight on top of his sorry sad head,
Made me feel bad for nasty mean words that I'd said.
"C'mon honey," I told him, "let's just hit the hay.
Tomorrow we'll do this. There’s hooch on the way!"

He shook his head no. “We must get this done.
If their toys aren't together, they won't have much fun!"
More rapid than arrows, my cusses then came.
I whispered them loudly and spoke names in vain.

But as parents will do, we wanted to please,
And met with directions writ all in Chinese,
We went on ahead through the night with our mission,
Me trying, but failing, to stop all my bitching.

And then, in a twinkling, we fell fast asleep.
The parts strewn around us, a crazy-quilt heap.
As I slept, I dreamt of the big man in red,
Perched at the foot of my childhood bed.

His eyes, they still twinkled, his dimples, still merry,
And I felt just like I was back in the 70s.
But as I looked down at myself in my dream,
I saw belly and hooters and wrinkles extreme.

I said "Hey Santa, it’s work, now that I'm older,
It’s crazy, I’m tired, please, rub my shoulders?
These toys, they're messed up, missing parts, bad directions...
Got the sprockets and whats-its all in the wrong sections!"

He spoke a few words, before getting his start,
“You have to stop buying these toys from Walmart!
Cheap junk made in China, we all hate it too…
Those elves end up fighting like they’re from the zoo.”

And laying his old hands on top of my head,
Right there in my dream on my little-girl bed,
He told me “I know that - at your age - it’s work,
But you gotta stop calling your old man a jerk.”

He sprang to his feet, disappeared from my sight,
And I drifted and dreamed on through the cold night,
Then came the small footsteps, and I thought “Oh crap!
Their presents, they are not finished - or wrapped!”

I nudged the old man, by my side on the floor,
As the kids’ little footsteps drew close to the door,
And what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But assembled, wrapped toys - and a six-pack of beer!

What a jolly old elf, that Santa still is!
Christmas is for all, not just for the kids.
What else did I learn, my valuable lessons?
Less Walmart, less witching - cut back on the cussin’.

It's the Most Wonderful Time...For a Beer

(post copyright 2010, Dawn Weber)

It’s the Most Wonderful Time For a Beer!
My paycheck has gone
Straight to Amazon Com
And the husband’s in tears!
It’s the Most Wonderful Time
For a Beer!

It’s the Hap, Happiest Season
Of All!
Unless you're a woman
In which case you're gonna
Be frantic as hell!
It's the Hap, Happiest Season
Of All!

There'll be lights that aren't lighting
Causing Weber fighting
While hanging the crap on the tree
There'll be traffic to crawl through
To get to the mall through
Please - give some Xanax to me.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time
For a Beer!
The tree’s leaning left
Why is it leaning left?
Sh*t - give me more beer!
It’s the Most Wonderful Time for a Beer!

It's the most Wonderful Time for a Beer!
With visiting relatives
Making me wish I had
Non-working ears!
It's the Most Wonderful Time for a Beer!

There’ll be candy for eating
And fudge to be sneaking
And egg nog filling my glass
There’ll be cookies for scarfing
And pies to be snarfing
Just slap it all right on my ass!

It's the Most Wonderful Time for a Beer!
The money's all spent
I know right where it went
These two kids right here!
It's the Most Wonderful Time...
It's the Most Nerve-Wracking Time...
It's the Most Wonderful Time for a Beer!