My Comment Column

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When I just feel the need, I am going to have a section in my posts where I comment on comments. I’ll be the comment commentator. Today, I think that is all I will do and you’ll read why after you hear this story. After my last post, someone left a comment asking for my advice. Because I did not want to leave this nice person on pins and needles over the weekend (I feel the need to point out that I was being very sarcastic there), I thought I’d quickly update this blog. I’ll just say the dang word. I noticed that I left blanks for the word “blog” in some places during my last post and then actually used the stinkin’ word in other places. Blog, blog, blog. Ultimately, I don’t like the word “blog” because it reminds me of head cheese. Sick, sick, sick. COULDN’T they have thought of a better name for that cheese?? Is it really made of anything to do with a head? If you are an expert in head cheese, I’d love to hear from you. I’d Google it, but I’m busy with my blog, you see. Head cheese reminds me of boars, boars remind me of hogs which rhymes with blogs which has the root word of blog. Doesn’t everyone think of head cheese when they think of a blog? There, see? I knew I wasn’t the only one. By the way, this cute image is from http://fuffer.wordpress.com/. So cute!

Here’s the comment from “Anonie” (short for Anonymous):
Dear Nelly- love the blog- need some advice please. SO, I am invited to go to a luxury resort with my husband & kids to be shown off like a fancy piece of Jewelery. This place is spool fancy we cannot afford to eat daily-but damit we look good!!!
The first night we make a great showing- the second night we get a babysitter and go out with just grownups. Have a blast, drink too much wine, making a great impression from sales reps from all over the country, until I pass out in the Hotel bar and wake up in a stranger’s arms being carried to my room with vomit all over me (mostly). I wake up horrified and mortified totally aware of what just happened. As if that is not awful enough- someone from the hotel has called 911 and the paramedics and an entire fleet from the fire department comes to the door. I had to convince them I am not injured or a raging alcoholic.
Do u think I made a good impression for my husband? I hid in my hotel room for a day. I finally got a chance to appologize to my husband’s boss & she actually told me most people thought my husband “married up.”

***THIS sounds like it is STRAIGHT from a movie!!! Hahahaha!! I had to re-read it to make sure I understood. Thank you for leaving such an entertaining comment! Did this really happen or are you joking? Let me see if I have this straight: you went to fancy resort on a work-related trip with your husband and kids. You were looking quite stunning on his arm despite your desire to eat everything in sight (pillows, ash trays, potted plants, etc.) due to the extremely high cost of the trip and everyone was thinking, “Wow, that man married UP. Yes, he did”. After you get your kids settled with the hotel sitter, you proceed to have too many drinks, you pass out at the bar and, at some point, you vomit and then what happened?? Did a hotel employee take you to your room? Where was your husband? Was he being carried by another (really strong) hotel employee to your room? Now, where does the 911 call come from again?? Maybe your husband can’t find you, he gets worried sick and he was the one that actually called 911? Or does the hotel babysitter not watch your kids close enough and THEY call 911? OR in your stupor, do YOU call 911 and not even realize it? Were you able to wash the vomit off of yourself before the firemen & paramedics arrived? So many details I’d love to know. What I do know is that you OBVIOUSLY made a wonderful first impression! You are so silly to worry yourself over that. At some point, EVERYONE has passed out at the bar, been carried to their hotel room by a stranger and had a whole fleet of firefighters arrive at their door on a work-related trip, right? As far as the advice you asked for goes, I think if you already apologized, what more can you do? I guess you could write your husband’s boss and say, “Uhhhh….sorry about the commotion at the hotel. Can my husband get a raise?” If anyone else has any advice for “Anonie”, speak up!

Here’s the comment from Randie (“Mom of Three Boys”), a friend of mine from a local mothers group:
I absolutely love the fact that another “Mom of adorable boys” has the same mis-adventures as I! I do have a thought for you my dear friend…why is when I place 10 pairs of socks into the dryer only 17 individual socks return? Is there a secret door I am not aware of? Thought I would ask you – considering you have taken care Aunt’s Ants and all….Love ya!
***Randie, I think you are on to something. If all my years of taking care of ants has taught me anything, it’s that dryers have trap doors. I will explain that relationship at a later time (which will be in a very quick, low, murmuring voice directed at the back of your head while you are talking to someone else and can’t hear my explanation. You’ll turn around to swat at what you think is a mosquito and you’ll be startled when you realize it was me talking to you. You’ll give me a look that says I am the oddest person you know and then you will ask what I was talking about. I’ll tell you that it was about the relationship between ants and dryers. I’ll apologize profusely at that point because of my need to leave RIGHT THEN for an appointment of some sort. You will be slightly disappointed, but then you will have forgotten what I was going to tell you and will never wonder about how ants and dryers are related again. Now, on the count of three I want you to wake up and forget that you ever read what is contained within these parentheses. One….two….threeeeeeee). Once those socks enter those trap doors, they are free to go wherever they want. I have heard that there is a whole community of runaway socks that live within the subway system of New York City. It is really sad. They never see the light of day, they never take a bath and get lots of holes in them. They try to put large earrings in the holes, but the hole keeps getting ripped wider and wider. They eventually find themselves with a gaping hole and will try to fill it with unhealthy friendships and alcohol. They will literally drown themselves in sorrow as they can’t really absorb alcohol well. Being soaked in alcohol with a gaping hole in their hearts will make them long for that dryer again. Because they can’t find a dryer, they’ll try to hang themselves out to dry. They’ll wish they never escaped. It is a very ugly situation. So, please, PLEASE find the trap door, get the blow torch and face mask out that you keep in your pantry next to the Frosted Flakes and SEAL IT SHUT!!

Well, friends, that’s it. I need to go clean the house.

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