November 30

Sometimes it's tough to fight generalizations. The other day I was stopped at a red light behind a car from Nebraska and they would inch up every few seconds, eager to get going again. I couldn't help but tell everybody I saw by the end of the night what a hurry Nebraskans always seem to be in. No matter how much proof I have to contradict myself, I can't seem to shake the belief that all blacks have a little Aretha Franklin trying to get out. I really assume it is a birthright for blacks to have a good voice. No matter how many times I see them kicked off American Idol with good cause, I can't shake this generalization. I also can't resist the urge to ask my neighbors if they could sing for me. Sure, it makes things a little awkward, but if they'd just sing instead of call the cops on me, I think I would have all the proof I really need to back up my beliefs.

Thanksgiving

If I were to have really good pie, I would try not to rub it in your face.

November 11

Poor letter "Y". It was born a consonant but sometimes it just feels like a vowel inside. Sometimes when it does express the vowel inside, people make comments like, "Wow! Y is sure flambuoyant!" What's a Y to do? A part of Y is comfortable being a consonant but the vowel side makes Y feel alive. It's the only letter without a conviction in its full identity. It's misunderstood by all of the other letters in the alphabet, all letters that have fully chosen a path, either a vowel or a consonant. Lonely little Y is in limbo. Poor letter "Y".

November 8

A money saving tip: When your deoderant wears out and the plastic starts scraping your armpits, you can use a pointed nail file to gouge out all those extra little pieces and save them, along with one deoderant container. After saving deoderant tidbits from 5-6 deoderants, melt them in the microwave, pour into the container. Put a paper towel on a fridge shelf and set the deoderant on top until it sets again-voila! It's like buying 5 deoderants and getting 1/2 of one free!

November 2

I was just talking with my brother about the good old days. He said, "Dimetapp was so good as a kid that I felt like I could almost drink a bottle of it." I got an old-fashioned case of the giggles as I recalled how much Dimetapp I went through. Sometimes it felt like my mom didn't give me enough and we didn't have too many treats growing up so when she'd leave the room, I'd get a little sandwich bag and dump half the bottle in, tie a knot, and take myself a little recess treat. My dad was in the military and back then they'd give us a certain number of bottles of it for free every month. I could hardly wait for a new month, which meant Treat Time!

P.S. For some strange reason, I won't buy my kids Dimetapp.