A Neighborly Thing to Do

Did you ever have to borrow a cup of wine from your neighbor?

First on one side. . .

Then the other. .  .

I'm not sure, but it's 6:33 pm and I just picked up my box of wine and discovered that its very light tonight.   I wonder who consumed its contents?   I am now quite certain that before the sun sets I will be forced to take that plastic lining out of the box and milk it like its a cow's udder.  And don't you think I'll be getting any help from Drip Dry stopping by the liquor store on his way home from work because he's out of state tonight on a business trip.

Speaking of states, I need to tell you that I envy those of you who live in certain of these United States where you can purchase wine at the gas station.  Yup, you and your wine glass could pull up to the pump and say to the attendant, "Fill 'em both up!"  Oh, I forgot; you people who are not from New Jersey have to get out of your car and pump your own gas.  Trade offs, I tell you, trade offs.. .

What about those states that sell wine in the pharmacy?   Perfect place for it to be.  Medicine.  It's pure medicine.  Tell me, is it available in prescription form at the drive thru window?

And as for the convenience store?  Well, those people would see a lot more of me if a stray bottle of Pinot Grigio were to replace a carton of milk now and again.   For after all, it's mothers' milk; is it not?  Who needs lottery tickets and cheese doodles?  

I NEED WINE!!!

Let Me Drink What?

So you may not know this one little fact about me:  I'm a crazy serial reader.

That's right. .  . a serial reader.

And in the last three months my appetite for the "classics" has been veracious.  I have re-read my favorite Jane Austen novels. .  .suffered my way through only one Oscar Wilde book (after being spooked by Dorian Gray, why would you venture another???). . .  worked my way through at least seven novels by Trollope (I'm not the trollope, mind you, Anthony quite clearly was). . . and - with Henry James on deck in the batter's box - I'm now thoroughly enthralled by Edith Wharton.

Or I was. . .

Until I stumbled upon the following quote by her today:

This quote. . . on this day.

The day after my return from the family "vacation" which nearly undid me. . . the very day after the very night I listened for the return of one daughter who never came home and another who departed for Boston at 4:00 a.m. . . .the day I woke up and literally hobbled throughout the house with the pain in my knees, ankles and hips. .  . the day I succumbed to a two-hour nap. . . the day I took one look at the bright beautiful sunshine and thought:  Oh how many layers of SPF clothing and how much suncreen will I need to protect myself from THAT!. . .the unmistakeable day when I decided to shut myself in my air-conditioned house and bury myself in Edith - despite the fact that there isn't an ounce of food in this house? And This is what Edith has to say to me today???

Oh Edith, how you disappoint!

So I'm changing your quote, lady.   I'm changing it to this:

Keep Closed the Windows and Let Me Drink My Box!

Only a Sister. . .

So I think by now we all know that I'm a bit of a wine "enthusiast". The fact that I have a Pinterest Board with a current count of 292 pins on my love of wine alone may testify to that. . .


And I don't think I've kept it a secret from my readers that I've been know to imbibe from time to time in wine that comes in a cardboard "cask" (a.k.a. box)

or - in a pinch - a purse. . . .

 But only a sister would be brave enough to send me a photo of this sign she saw while on vacation. . . .

Now if I could buy wine by the suitcase, I'd be the happiest woman in the world!  Just think how much fun I'd have packing. . . .

 

Oh. . . and did I show you the new travel mug I bought today????  It sooooo matches my bedroom decor.  Not to mention my car!!!!

What Should a Teenage Driver Never Do to her Mother?

 Question #1: What should a teenage drive never do to her fragile, stressed-out, and vertigo-challenged mother?

Answer:  Text her the following message while driving someone else's seven-year-old child. . . These brakes sound terrible!

To which the mother quickly replies. . . What do they sound like and where are you? . . . before running into the liquor store for a bottle of wine and some lottery tickets (which are really the only two remedies that the poor mother can think of when yet-another of the family's vehicles starts messing with her  already-bad car-ma. . .)

Question #2:  What is the next thing a teenage driver should never do?

Answer:  Proceed to call said mother while she's in the liquor store and not leave a voicemail  when the mother doesn't pick up.

Question #3:  And what is the third - and final - thing that same driver should never do????

Answer:  Not answer her phone or her text messages for the next forty-five minutes so that the mother will become frantic - visualizing both the teenager and her babysitting charge unconscious in a ditch somewhere and fretting over the lawsuit that would ensue for allowing the daughter to drive a unsafe vehicle while wondering how she could convince the jury that Roberta really was the prized car in the Spin family stable????


Question #4:  And what - I might ask - is the moral of the story?

Answer:  That  next time A Mom on Spin needs to find a drive-thru liquor store!

Any Port in the Storm

Tonight I have discovered one ultimate truth, my friends.

Any port in a storm will do. . . .

Veggie returned home from the U.K. today after five months abroad.  And, as you all know, Trigger arrived back home over the weekend for her Thanksgiving break from her first semester in college.

And so, after an early (and I mean E-A-R-L-Y) morning visit to Trigger's pediatric rhematologist in New York and and a hurried run to Newark Airport, I had planned to prepare a gourmet vegetarian feast of Tofu and Black Bean Enchiladas as a fitting welcome-home dinner for them both.

But somewhere around 6:00 p.m., I realized that the recipe called for a quarter-cup of sherry.

Sherry?

The only thing I knew about sherry was that it came in a bottle that my mother used to uncork at about 5:00 p.m. each night as I was growing up, and - although she still lives next-door - I know for a fact that she moved onto Vodka at 6:00 somewhere when I was still in my twenties. . .


Sherry?

A call to Mr. Drip Dry solved my problem.

Try the Port, he said.

The Port?


Yes, the Port wine in the liquor cabinet.  It's probably the closest thing to sherry we have.


And so I did.

And damn!  I'm here to tell you that that Port-in-the-Storm was good. . . .both inside the enchiladas and out.  For who - in their right mind - could resist pouring themselves a glass after carelessly sloshing  it into their gourmet recipe?????

One quarter-cup for the recipe. . . .one glassful for me. . . .

And quickly, its heady aroma made me forget that early morning passage over the Tappen Zee Bridge. . .  and the doctor's cautious warnings to Trigger. . . . about her clotting antibodies. . . and their potential for a blood clot. . .and the dangers of her OVER-tanning on her autoimmune system. . .

And it also somehow managed to soften the memories of me waiting anxiously in Terminal "C" to meet Veggie's flight - only to discover, after it landed, that Terminal "B" was its ultimate destination. . .

And it somehow made me forget that - although I had worked for over ten straight days without a day of rest - I was still bothered a total of three times today by the I-know-you-can't-believe-it-but-ever-pressing-church-business (folks die, you know. . . it's just part of my job. . . .)

Yeah, it helped with all of the above. . . 

Why didn't anyone ever teach me how to cook with this stuff before?????

You Know What They Say About Breaking Up

Dear Mr. Fish Eye in a Box,

I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I'm breaking up with you.

That's right, our long-standing relationship is over. . . Done. . . History. . . Finito. . .

After all of the time and money I have invested in you, I didn't think you would disappoint me. 

But you have.  


Do you know how I felt when I reached for you after a long, tough day (aren't they all) only to be disappointed?  When, after struggling to Open flap A and Remove flap B, I pulled your little spigot out from your roly-poly belly only to find that something had gone terribly wrong with your fermentation process?  Do you realize the pain I was forced to endure while drinking my husband's red?

And do you have any idea, Mr. Fish Eye in a Box, the "udder" discomfort I felt when I was forced to pull the insides out of your box, open your spigot and squeeze the equivalent of four bottles of wine  down the drain of my kitchen sink?

Devastating!

I know that life may never be the same without your best customer, my friend, but you'll have to muddle through somehow.

I have.

 

 

 You see that circle on the front of the box?  That's A Mom on Spin's official seal of approval.  I swear!

The Cleanest Sucker Around. . .

I kid you not.

I am a marketing manager's best friend. Forget the focus groups . . . I'm a sucker for a pretty package!!!!

First they give me tissues that look like this. . .



Then they offer disinfecting wipes that look like this. . .



Followed by Q-tips that look like these. . .



I have to admit it. . . I'm the cleanest sucker around!



What will they come up with next? A wine bottle that beats my all-time-fave????





Never!

Give me something that changes my view on toaster covers, and you'll hit the jackpot, my friend, you'll hit the jackpot . . .

Dear. . .Anyone Who Cares to Listen

Even though I've been writing letters all week, I still have a thing or two to say. . .

Head over to Kat's to see the other letters heading to the post office today . . . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Allstate,

Having this week to myself has given me the chance to catch up on a little paperwork. And I must say that I was truly dismayed to discover that you had not updated our insurance cards - for the cards we carried in our glove compartments all expired at the end of March.

What's that?

My fault?

Don't you know that I would never let something as important as that lapse???

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Auto Mechanic Guy (whose repair skills may or may not be sucky - depending on whether you charge me for the tow back to your shop. . . and actually fix the car this time. . . )

Thank you for informing me that my daughters' Jeep, Roberta, was overdue on her state inspection also. I can't - for the life of me - imagine why my daughters didn't notice!

And, of course - if they had - I would have taken care of the situation right away.

Now get your head back under Roberta's hood . . . the girls will be back with their nail guns tomorrow!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Division of Motor Vehicles,

Thank you for your timely response to my renewal of White Ice's registration, so I can now proceed to get her inspected.

But - next time - could you send the renewal form out in a neon envelope? If you had, I would never have let something as important as that lapse. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr. (or perhaps, Ms) Ziplock,

Thank you for making those ginormous bags where I can stuff the mail when it comes. . . 'cause it looks so messy and disorderly out on the counter. And, what's more, the bag is see-through so I can always see every little item that needs my attention.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr. Clean,

Thank you for staying with me this week. I'm so sorry to lose you as a housemate. Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay around a little longer? Have you ever really tried getting along with the rest of the family????

I have Ziplock bags. . . . perhaps we could store them inside. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr. (or perhaps Ms.) Stouffer,

I just want to warn you that sales of your frozen Macaroni and Cheese will be declining next week. My husband will be returning home and I have to eat like a human.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr. Fish Eye in a Box,

I just want to warn you that sales of your Pinot Grigio will be going up next week. My teenage daughters will be returning to the homestead and I - no doubt - be drinking like a fish.

~~~~~~~~~~

And all of the above are affectionately signed,

One girl's happy is another girl's drunk

Ponzi: Mom! You were drunk last night!

Me: I was not!

Ponzi: You were too. . .wasn't she Trigger?

Trigger: Yeah, you were!

Me: Because I danced? I don't have to be drunk to dance! If there was a band right here in the middle of your sister's graduation ceremony, I'd dance in broad daylight. I was not drunk!

Ponzi: Yes you were!

Me: I had a couple glasses of wine, but I was in complete control of my faculties!

Ponzi: I know. . . I'm not saying you were falling down or anything. . .

Me: So what, on earth, would make you thing I was drunk? Was I slurring my words? Was I stumbling? Is there something I'm forgetting? I remember the entire night perfectly clearly!

Ponzi: But you were smiling and laughing. . . and you were having a good time. . .

Me: And????

Ponzi: Well, you're not usually like that. . .

Me: Maybe I was just happy Ponz. . . maybe I was thrilled that my oldest daughter was graduating from the exact University I graduated from 28 years ago. . . .maybe I was remembering what it was like to be young again . . . maybe, just maybe, for once I was truly happy. . .

Ponzi: Oh. . . I never thought of that!

Wine in a box (or "cask" if you prefer)

Dear "Fisheye" Pinot Grigio in a Box,


As you have probably guessed, I've been spending way too much money on wine these days. So when I saw your little cute self in the A & P earlier this week, I just had to grab you and bring you home with me.

Only problem?


When I went to open your box (okay, "cask" if you will) I couldn't find the opening directions anywhere. And when I went to read the instructions on the side of your box, I was dismayed to see, Watch out! This wine jumps out of your glass!

But, seeing that I was more interested in how the wine was going to get into my glass than out of it, I soldiered on to read. . . Toss the corkscrew and relax (Relax??? when this damn box is open I'll relax!) Our patented wine cask system allows you to enjoy fresh wine anytime by preventing oxidation that occurs in half-empty wine bottles. Once opened, FishEye tastes fresh up to six weeks. . .

Half-empty wine bottles?

Six weeks????

Let's be serious here, Fisheye . . . do your owners know who their consumers are? If someone could leave an open container of wine hanging around for six long weeks, I'd wager to think they might be able to afford to spring for a whole bottle! Aren't wine boxes like you meant for people like me? The "uber" wine consumer? The ones who have to build their alcohol consumption into their weekly budget????

And so, because no one ever said, I couldn't put a straw in you and drain you like a juice box. . . I did!





And once your "cask" was empty, where do you think I found the "Easy Opening Instructions"????

You guessed it! On the bottom of the box!

Well, I guess that gives a brand new meaning to the old saying, Bottom's Up!

And you wonder why I call myself. . .

p.s. I forgot to tell you that you tasted good!

A letter to my daughter, Ponzi

Dear Ponzi daughter,

Welcome aboard!

I just noticed that you posted the lucky number 13 comment on my Alcohol Spins post.

It was a valiant effort, my dear. . .

But try to be a little quicker on the commenting next time. What do you think this is - facebook or something????

Affectionately yours, I remain. . .

p.s. And if you - by chance - you were expecting me to believe that you didn't already know that little remedy , then I have some cellulite reducing cream I'd love to sell you. . .

How to stop the only spinning a mother of three daughters has control over

I'm off on a little girls' weekend for my niece Amy's 24th birthday - in honor of which - I will leave you with this little tidbit of information (taken from my fully-completed, but perhaps never-to-be-published book) about how to stop the only spins in my life that are of my own making.



And so, if you have somehow gotten to this point in your life without knowing the remedy for the alcohol spins, the time has come for you to broaden your knowledge base. . .


Step 1: Lie down on your bed. (Truth be told, the spins don’t really start until you lie down on your bed, but it’s still the first step.)

Step 2: Recognize the fact that the room is spinning. Now, you may not have all of your wits about you. Your senses may be a wee-bit dulled by the wine and you may be so used to the whirling-out-of-control feeling that you attribute it to the whole motherhood thing . . . and it’s a good thing that you don’t have to attempt to detect alcohol on your child’s breath tonight because she’d end up giving you the breathalyzer instead, but SMARTEN UP GIRL! –you don’t need to save humankind–you only have to recognize the fact that you’re lying in bed and the room is spinning around you!

Step 3: Stretch your leg out of the covers and let it dangle over the side of the bed until your foot rests securely on the floor. (No, not the one on the far side. Where do you think you are – yoga class?)

Step 4: Recognize that the room has miraculously stopped spinning.

Step 5: Take two Advil and call me in the morning.

Hope you all have a great weekend,

and I promise to drink an extra Bubbly Wubbly for you. . .

p.s. Under no circumstances are you to share this tidbit of knowledge with your teenage daughter. No use making it easy for her!