Car Conversations

Middle school is an odd time.  I say odd because there isn’t really another adjective I can use to explain how weird my discussions with my middle school son, String Bean, have become.

And the car has become the place for these odd talks.

Long gone are the car discussions about the merits of Wendy’s nuggets over McDonald’s McNuggets.  Or the chats about the zillion unique Pokemon characters (Legendary ones versus morphed ones, etc.) and how important each one is to the game.  No.  These car conversations are now replaced by talks about social skills and, gulp, dating.

I should preface – String Bean is in 6th grade.  I still recall playing Barbies in 6th grade.  I don’t remember having a boyfriend or calling a boy’s house or being at all interested in the opposite sex.

Times they are a changin’.

This past car conversation proved very interesting.  String Bean and I had just left the community theater and I was running one of the middle school girls, who is in the musical with us, home.  She is in 8th grade.  String Bean is smitten with her and, basically, wouldn’t lend a word to the conversation.

So I led it and told her that String Bean and I were going to go home and try to catch an episode of The Family Guy. This is something he wasn’t allowed to watch until he hit middle school status, so we watch it together (mostly in case of any questions that may come up!)

She laughed and said that it was a funny show.

String Bean sat there and said nothing, but his body language said it all.  I had done the worst thing a parent can do: embarrassed him.

We chatted more, and finally arrived at her home.  I waited until she went inside before pulling out of the driveway.

The silent middle child sitting in the car became quite chatty.  He asked me how I talked to people so easily.  I told him practice.  I also told him the biggest secret of all: ask THEM about themselves.  It works like magic.

He took all of it in and seemed completely content by the time we reached our home.

About 10 minutes later, he got a text on his iPod from the 8th grade girl.  It said: “Turned on the TV and The Family Guy was on.  Thought of you two.”

Needless to say, String Bean didn’t stop grinning all night.

Growing too fast.

Growing too fast.

Middle Schoolers Seeking Dating Advice From Crazy Parents: A True Story

My oldest son is now in middle school.

We have entered the big leagues, my friends.

The thought of String Bean walking through the doors of middle school sent me into a panic. All I could think about were my uncomfortable days of junior high.  I never wanted to relive those moments of hell again.

Fortunately, all my worrying was for nothing. String Bean has had a good run thus far.

Lately, he has been asking me some unique questions.  Questions that he has decided I am the best resource to ask.  Questions about dating.

Yes, dating.  Apparently something resembling this happens in sixth grade.

Sadly, I don’t want to share my middle school dating experiences which only consisted of one slow dance, a note that had the words, “Will you go out with me? Circle one: yes, no or maybe,” and being dumped by the said note-writer because I wasn’t allowed to go with he and his older brother to an amusement park.

Obviously, I was not the best person to ask.  I didn’t become a good person to ask until later in high school and in college.  Oh yes.  Good times.

So sorry – I digress. Back to String Bean.

“Mom.  Can I talk to you?” he said as he is working on his math homework.

“Sure thing, dude,” I said as I stared blankly at his math homework.  It looks more advanced than my college Algebra class.

“How do you know if a girl likes you?” he said, not making eye contact with me.

“Do you talk to the girl at school?”

“Yes. We sit near each other in Social Studies.”

“Have you talked to her about anything in particular like movies or Legos or anything?”

“Mom. Seriously? You think I am that dorky that I would talk to a giiiiiiiirrrrrrrlllll about Legos?”

“No, not at all. Probably not a good idea to talk about Legos.  I was just thinking about Legos for a second. My bad,” I said while looking at the Lego Shakepeare figure he gave me last week.

“How do I know if she likes me?” he said, starting to lose patience with me.

“Has she given you any hints that she likes you, such as giggles or whispers to her friends or smiles really big when you are around?” Yes, I am grasping here.  Failing like I failed many a math test.

“Yeah, kind of.  So, how do I ask her on a date?”

Wait a second.  A date? Wwwwwwwhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaatttttt???

“Umm. You could ask her if she likes Thor, and if she has seen any of the movies,” I said.  I am not sure where my response came from except for the fact I really like Thor.  Really like him.  And I want to see Thor, so I would take anyone to see it with me!

“OK.  Maybe I will talk to her about movies then,” he says and goes back to his homework.

Successful dodging of topic!  Hooray!

Later in the evening, as we are doing the bedtime ritual, I go to tuck String Bean in.

“Mom.  So how do I ask a girl on a date again?”

“Starting talking to her and then see where it goes,” I said, and, knowing full well The Captain was nearby, I added, “Maybe you should ask your dad because he is a guy also.”  Ha.

“Dad, how do I ask a girl out on a date?” he said.

The Captain appeared in the doorway looking completely baffled at the question, but without missing a beat, he replied, “You are too young to go on dates.  Now go to bed.”

String Bean looks at me and whispers, “See, Mom, this is why I asked you. Dad must not have had any dates in middle school.  He probably talked to girls about Legos.  Poor guy.”

They grow up too fast...

They grow up too fast…

On the eve of 40

Tomorrow marks the day of my 40th birthday, or as my mom calls it, “the big one.”  My husband, The Captain, has another name for it.  He calls it a “decade” birthday and says kind things like “it’s not a big deal” and “it is just a stupid number” and the sweet, special insight such as, “you know, your life is halfway over.”

As with everything, these “big” or “decade” birthdays are a “rite of passage,” right? And “age doesn’t matter” and “it’s how you embrace life that gives it meaning” and “it’s just a number after all” and a million more clichés folks use to make “the big one” feel a little smaller.  Phooey.

So, on the eve of my 40th birthday, I decided to think of some cool things about turning 40 to soften the blow without sounding too much like a Hallmark card or a group therapy session.  “Hi, my name is Allison and I am going to be 40.”

The first cool thing about turning 40 is that I am now confident enough to say NO to things.  This was a hard lesson to learn, and many times I would find myself involved in activities I hated just because I felt that I had to say YES all of the time.  Now, I say what I think.  Do you want to do this? No.  Can you…” Nope.

Second, my children are potty trained.  This may seem like a small issue, but really it is not.  I don’t have any children in diapers therefore I don’t have to buy diapers anymore!  Woohoo!  That is relief within itself.  My purse can now be my purse, not a diaper bag, not a living, breathing, well-stocked necessity for every venture out of the house.  Also, I don’t have to carry any training pants in it for “emergencies” or throw away those training pants in the mall bathroom because “someone had a little, itsy, bitsy accident in them.”  Also, it is a relief to not have to stock up on Cheerios just to teach my boys where to aim in the toilet.  Cheerios have returned their “kitchen only” usage in my home!

The third thing cool about turning 40 is that I rock at the Pop Culture Edition of Trivial Pursuit.  Give me any question from the 80s to present day and I have got it.  Except for sports.  Those can just stay in the rectangle box.

The fourth cool thing about turning 40 is that I don’t get carded anymore.  This means I don’t have to wiggle my driver’s license out of my wallet which can be very inconvenient.  Really it is!  And if I do get carded, it is a compliment to how well my Clinique make-up looks.  Thank you, Clinique!

The fifth cool thing about turning 40 is that everything that I grew up with, like The Smurfs, Superman, vampires (think The Lost Boys), The Muppets, Super Mario Bros and Star Wars are all back. Back and, as George Costanza said, “Loving every minute of it.”  And guess what?  My dudes seriously believe I’m “cool” because I know about all of this crap.  Being 40, I think I may be a hero to my kids.  The force is with me.

The sixth cool thing about turning 40 is that I can brag about awesome concerts I have seen.  Now, I didn’t get the bragging rights by seeing the Beatles, but I have seen The Rolling Stones in concert (yeah, 8th row in Chicago) and Bon Jovi’s Slippery When Wet tour (among other Bon Jovi shows).  I have seen The Boss in Asbury Park, NJ, and Sting and U2’s amazing Joshua Tree concert.  Plus, Clapton, BB King, INXS (the original), REM, the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac and the king of boat drinks, Jimmy Buffett.  Oh, and the Boss?  Bruce Springsteen?  Yeah, I dated his cousin when I was a ninth grader.  We went to the mall together.  Twice. And a dance. Once.  It didn’t last.

And the last cool thing about turning 40 is that I get it now.  I get that my parents were right – they were right all along.  I get that my dudes are kids and they need to be kids as long as possible.  I get that my students have a lot of growing up to do and that’s OK because they are teenagers.  I get that I can always reflect back on my 30s, 20s, and younger and know that each experience was important, priceless, and each lesson learned made me who I am today.  I finally get it.

So bring on 40.  September 11th, 2012.  Anyone up for some Trivial Pursuit?

My facial expression is one of fear. Forty candles looked like someone set the entire cake on fire.

Why Act My Age?

Later this year I turn (gulp) 40.  And with this big birthday around the corner, I began thinking that maybe I should start acting my age.

Because here is the thing:  I don’t act my age.  I just don’t.  Mostly because I don’t know how an almost 40-year-old is supposed to act.  Is there a textbook on this or something I can download on my Kindle to explain how to act my age?  No?  Really, no?  Hmmm.  I didn’t think so.

Which brings me to my question, do I really need to act my age?

These are some things I am pondering.  So should an almost 40-year-old:

  • Skip or dance down the hallway if no one is around?
  • Enjoy a trip to Toys-R-Us as much as my dudes do?
  • Sing loudly and poorly and not be embarrassed even in the grocery store?
  • Say words like “cool,” “sweet” and “cute” frequently?
  • Sport a pony tail frequently?
  • Be mesmerized by glittery things (oooh, pretty!)?
  • Chew gum and blow bubbles?
  • Making up crazy car dances when certain songs come on like Train’s Drive By or Madonna’s Borderline?
  • Use hand gestures that resemble those of a 13-year-old drama queen?
  • Cry when people are mean to animals in movies?
  • Laugh really loud and not care who hears me (Valleygirl96 aka Brainvomit40 knows my laugh travels miles)?
  • Go to the midnight showings of all of the Twilight movies and the final two Harry Potter films (and consider dressing up for the latter)?
  • Giggle when the word fart or poop is mentioned?
  • Jump up and down when I am happy or excited about something?
  • Sneak Halloween candy from my dudes?
  • Take super silly pictures of random things on my iPhone (wanna see my picture of the rock that cracked my windshield)?
  • Screen calls from assorted people (sorry, Mom!)?
  • Take almost daily naps after school (thanks to The Captain this can happen!)?
  • Continue my text conversation with my brother that contains newly created words like poopalicious, poopapalooza and poopsicle?
  • Randomly speak in different accents (my Southern and New Jersey ones are best!)?
  • Give silly nicknames to everyone (Sorry again, Crazy Pat, I mean Mom!)?

I guess my final question is what is age appropriate? And who would be the role models of success to tell me and demonstrate the proper age I need to adjust to?  Because if I don’t have any idea, then I am just going to keep doing what I’m doing.  Like speaking in a Yoda voice and saying, “May the Fourth Be With You.”  Because, after all, Star Wars rocks, it is May 4th and I am a kid at heart.

Yes, I am the Tooth Fairy

Spoiler alert:  If you still believe in the tooth fairy, stop reading now.  This may come as a shock to you, and I want you to be OK and not to worry your pretty little head about anything.   Go back, visit Freshly Pressed and wait for the Easter Bunny and Santa.  And remember to brush your teeth because the Tooth Fairy really appreciates it. 😉

This is me! Ready for anything to come my way - involving teeth!

Now, let’s begin.  I am the Tooth Fairy.  I provide the almighty cash when teeth are lost in my home.  I collect the teeth and put them in a special “place” in my secret container located in my bathroom.  I could make a glorious necklace of teeth shed from the children, but I am not creepy so I won’t.

I am the Tooth Fairy.  I have made stealth missions under pillows to find the tooth in the porcelain holder.  I plan my missions with ease and expertise.  I begin planning as soon as the tooth becomes visibly loose.  I show many ways the tooth can be wiggled, prodded, twisted and pulled.  After all, the goal is to lose the tooth.  I patiently wait for the tooth to be placed under the pillow.  Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible has nothing on me.  I am ready.  Bring one the tooth!

I am the Tooth Fairy.  I have made mistakes.  Once, hunting for a particularly difficult tooth under a pillow in a bed surrounded by over fifty stuffed animals, I woke up the sleeping darling.  He looked at me and asked if it was morning yet.  I told him no, that I heard him coughing and I was checking on him.  The Tooth Fairy must think quickly on her feet.  Another disaster was when the sleeping angel woke up and asked me why I had the tooth holder in my hands.  I said I was checking to see if the Tooth Fairy had visited because I knew I would not be home to see if she came.  This answer was acceptable, and the little man drifted back to sleep.  As the Tooth Fairy, I am ready for anything.

I am the Tooth Fairy.  For some reason, my sidekick, The Captain, conveniently never has any cash on the precious Tooth Fairy visits.  “With great power, comes great responsibility.”  Being the Tooth Fairy carries a high threshold of organization and duty, and, obviously, The Captain cannot handle the extreme elements of the task.  For some unknown reason, he does not worry if the Tooth Fairy forgets.  This has happened on his watch and, in Tooth Fairy land, is unacceptable. On my watch it won’t ever occur again.  In retrospect, The Captain makes an awful Tooth Fairy.  He is fired from ever being the Tooth Fairy again.  He may have to do double duty as Santa next year.

I am the Tooth Fairy.  It is a hard job.  It is demanding, does not come with rewards or benefits.  But there is one thing it does – it keeps the belief alive.  So, I will stay the faithful Tooth Fairy until my services are no longer required.

After all, I am the Tooth Fairy.

A happy customer.

May the Force Be Mine

During college, my mom sent me a Valentine’ Day card.  It read:

Happy Alentine’s Ay.

On the inside, it read:

Try and keep the VD out of it.

She wrote on the card saying that it was a “knee slapper” and a “hoot” and I should show it to my friends so they could get a good laugh.  I didn’t show it around.  In fact, I hid it immediately in the bottom drawer of my desk (I have trouble throwing cards away – don’t ask).

Strangely, I was thinking of this card as I was helping String Bean decorate his Valentine’s card box for school.  We were putting letter stickers on it, writing “May the Force be with you” and spicing it up with Lego Star Wars stickers.

May the Force...

“Mom, you rock at this.  Did they have Valentine’s Day during your childhood?”  String Bean asked.  He likes the word childhood when it comes to any of The Captain’s or my stories about our youth, which String Bean seems to think was during the ice ages or BN (before Nintendo).

“We did have Valentine’s Day.  We decorated boxes with construction paper and paper doilies.”

“What are paper doilies?” he innocently asked.

“It is just like a very intricate paper snowflake-looking thing,” I stated knowing the next question would be about the word intricate.

“Is it as intricate as my Star Wars box?” he asked, skeptically.

“Not exactly. Your box is much cooler.”

Happy Alentine’s Ay to all.  May the Force, not VD, be with you.

VD in reverse is DV or Darth Vader. Interesting...

I’m Honking About It

“I’m honking about it” was one of the more recent auto-corrects from my iPhone.  It was actually in response to a text about trying out for a certain musical and now my friend may think I have lost my mind.  Or that I am driving through my small town laying on my horn.  Or that I am tapping lightly on my horn like when I don’t want to be rude to the person in front of me, but the light has changed to green. Or that I am considering changing to Aflac.  Honk.

Today, my lovely auto-correct fixed my message to my husband (aka The Captain) who is currently at the theater while I am honking all over Northeast Ohio.  My text to him was originally supposed to be this: “I will take care of dinner.  I love you.”  But turned out like this: “I will take car to diner.  I live you.”  Usually, I am pretty good at proofreading texts before sending, but this was the one that got away.  His reply was a simple “?”.  I feel like a simple “?” also.

On another note, The Captain is very new to texting.  He does not like to use any emoticans or any texting shortcuts like brb, lol or ttyl.  In fact, I did text him a very un-classy “fml” once when I crashed my mommy hauler mini-van into another car, and he did not respond.  Later, he told me that he had to ask around what it meant and one very kind friend of ours told him (politely) that it was “f*%$ my life.”  He then texted me and asked my why I would text him something so awful.  I told him because I was angry about the van.  He texted back, “You have a good life.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”  I texted back a sad face – :(.  I didn’t get a reply.

A few weeks ago, mind you he has had a new iPhone since September, I texted him a little funny story about the sticker that I wore on my shirt for the entire day (one that has the size of the shirt on it, and no one was kind enough to tell me about it until the end of the day).  Yeah, how cool is that?!  After it, I put the usual “Lol.”  He texted me back stating he didn’t understand why I put lol on the text.  He said I was not using it in the right context.  I texted back “???” and he called me.

Laugh out loud or lots of love?

Captain: Allison, why are you texting LOL after a funny story?

Me:  Hmm, because it was a funny story.

Captain:  That is just plain weird.  These texting shortcuts have to stop.

Me: It was a good thing to text after my shirt fiasco.  I thought you would think it is was funny.  What is the issue?

Captain:  The issue is that LOL means Lots of Love, so I don’t recall what that has to do with a size sticker on the front of your shirt.

Me:  What?

Captain:  It means lots of love, right?

Me:  It means Laugh out Loud.  Seriously?  You thought it meant lots of love? Awww, that is really sweet, but, seriously, it means laugh out loud.

Captain:  Ugh.  Texting is so annoying.  But, now that you mention it, that does makes sense.  I wondered why my friends kept putting it on their texts.  I thought it was strange.

Me:  (ROTFL) OK. (Giggling) I will be home soon.

The latest series of texting snaffoos goes like this:

Captain:  What do you want for dinner?

Me:  idk

Captain:  What do you mean you don’t care?  By the way, care starts with a “c” not a “k.”

Me:  IDK means I don’t know.

Captain:  Oh.  OK.

I think from now on I am just going to let him think what he wants to think about the texting shortcuts.  Maybe I will even tell him that in certain contexts fml means “for my love.”  Or, maybe not.  Idk.  But at least, every time I think (or honk) about it, I am ROTFL.

A book I got my husband for Christmas. It is hilarious!

Pooh are You?

To the tune of The Who’s Who Are You:  Pooh are you?  Pooh, Pooh, Pooh, Pooh.  I really want to know…

What Pooh Are You?  This question was posed to brainvomit40 and I during the school day last week.  I was going on and on about a certain student acting like Eeyore, and Suz was talking about one who was like Pooh.  It was a perfect question and ideal for a manic Monday’s blog entry.

"Say, I'm so happy I feel like bouncing!"

Over the weekend, it was posted on my Facebook saying that I would be Tigger.  OK, I thought, I can handle Tigger.  Tigger is cute – he has stripes, he’s a tiger, he is bouncy.  I am sure that sometimes I really could be a little like Tigger.  Bounce, bounce, bounce.

But the real question is, what Pooh are you?  High school students can easily be put into Pooh categories.  As I mentioned earlier, I have an Eeyore, but I also have all of the other Pooh characters as students.  There is always at least one of each of Christopher Robin’s friends every school year.

I have an Eeyore during my first period class.  In their mind, nothing goes well for them.  The Eeyores never have a good day, and are frequently seen visiting the counseling office because they can’t find their tail.  Again. The Eeyores mumble, and physically show their feelings.  When disciplining an Eeyore, it may require chocolate or some other incentive so they don’t droop down to the floor and give up all hope.

I have a Rabbit.  He knows all and doesn’t hesitate to share it with everyone.  He firmly believes he is smarter than everyone around him – including me.  He, however, does not want people to think he is pushy or a know-it-all and will defend, defend, defend until the cows (or his Pooh friends) come home.

I have a Piglet.  This is a student who gets very excited, eager, basically thrilled about everything.  They have a thousand questions, always needing constant reinforcement and encouragement. Yet, this student is timid with the Rabbit and doesn’t understand the Eeyore.  This student will not voice how very excited, eager, basically thrilled he is because that is not in his nature.  He is a usually a sweetheart.

I have an Owl.  Owls are special because they always know the right thing to say at the right time.  Sometimes, the owls keep talking and don’t know when to stop.  This student will speak until they realize their audience is totally gone.  Then, they will fluff their wings and move on to another group.  The owl is friends with many, however many stop listening soon after the owl starts talking.

I have many Kangas.  This student is the mommy figure who takes some of the Poohs, Eeyores, Piglets and Tiggers under their wings (or in their pouch).  Kangas are special because they are not afraid of the Rabbits and will basically stick up for all of the characters, not just the ones they hold closest to their chests.

I have some Roos.  Roo is a cute little guy who will always want to play.  Roo students are easily distracted and can run with the Tiggers of the world.  Roos also get along with Rabbit, which says a lot considering the Rabbit students are, well, you know, bossy!

I have a Tigger (and apparently I am a Tigger according to our school counselor who knows best).  Tiggers have tons of energy and want to make people feel happy.  They are confident, “The wonderful thing about Tiggers is that Tiggers are a wonderful thing.”  They are proud to be their own person.  They may be entirely too enthusiastic for some.  Like my former boss, for example.

I have a Pooh.  The curious student, who really is concerned with the simple things like, “When is lunch?” or “Do you think we will have a snow day tomorrow?”  Pooh always has random questions that come out of left field.  The Poohs are always thinking about something simple.  Like how many minutes until the bell rings.

So, what Pooh are you?

My own Tigger and Pooh.

Sing Therapy

My wolf pack of BFFs and I take an annual girl’s trip to Hilton Head Island.  It was the second trip we made and we were excited to leave the world, kids and responsibilities behind for a little while.

On the looooong drive down, we end up singing in the car.  A lot.  A whole lot.  Usually it is 80s music, sometimes its (gulp) country, and we have even been known to eerily belt out, with the correct lyrics, many classic rock tunes.  Be jealous, be very jealous.   😉

When we reached our destination, we immediately headed out for some drinks and dinner.  Talking and laughing about our careers as teachers, we all decided to take on different “personas” if we were ever asked what we did for a living.  I decided that I would be a “Sing Therapist” because I think singing makes people feel better.  Nat aka Peanut, who is a little, bitty thing and is a Spanish teacher by day, decided that she would be an artificial insemination specialist for big livestock.  Suz, who shares a love of 80s music and books with me, said she would say that she played the triangle for Bon Jovi.  Double G was going to be a therapist to the stars.  Hooray!  We all had hilarious new jobs!

Sadly, we were only asked once what we did for a living.  What do you think we all said? “Teacher,” in unison.   🙂

But, I digress.  My point is not just writing about the blast we had in Hilton Head with the wolf pack, but it is the realization that I sing all of the time.  I am Sing Therapy.  I didn’t really notice I did this until a student in my English 11 Honors class said to me, “Mrs. M., you should really be in the choir.”

“What? I am a teacher.  I can’t be in the high school choir.” I asked as I was passing out copies of The Crucible.

“You sing all the time.  You have a nice voice.  Our choir could use you.”

“I don’t sing all the time,” I stated, and then the class went into complete and utter chaos.

“Wait a minute, everyone, why all of this chatting?” I said as I tried to give them the “you better stop your talking” eyeball and the teacher spoken code for “be quiet.”

A sweet, quiet girl raised her hand, and strategically said,  “Mrs. M., you don’t know that you sing all of the time?  You do.  Every time we enter the room, in the middle of your sentences, during your lessons, you sing a ton.”

“Really?? No way.” I replied.

“Yes way.  So far, you were singing a line from that annoying Friday song and then repeating “Last Friday Night” over and over.  You have been singing all day,” said one student triumphantly as if he had written down everything I have ever said word-for-word.  If only he would take notes that way!

“That is impossible,” I said with a tone. “Plus, I have nothing to sing about when it comes to The Crucible.  Now, let’s get to work.”

Another student raised their hand.  “Yes?” I asked.

“Ah, yeah, um, yesterday? When we finished the Act I quiz? You…um…you started singing “You Gotta Keep Your Head Up.”

“Oh, wow.  OK.  Let’s begin.”

After that, I began to ponder the question Do I Really Sing A Lot?  I think I am going to have to ask around.  Meanwhile, I can’t get the Beatles song “Hello, Goodbye” out of my head.  Go ahead, sing it with me.  You know you want to.

My new place of employment? I think not.


Thirsting for Thursday and Yuengling

The latest fascination to come to Ohio is not what one would normally expect.  No celebrity made a special visit here.  No politician came through on a train waving to the crowds.  No steel plant began making a Jetson-type flying automobile.  But one thing came to Ohio and caused a big stir (or froth, if you will) and that was Pennsylvania’s own Yuengling Lager.

Now I know that a beer making its way into Ohio may not seem like a big deal, but this was epic.  The arrival of this beer had major news coverage – TV, internet, newspapers and basically lit up Facebook and Twitter as if the President was giving everyone all of their income tax back.  The beer of beers was finally to be released in Ohio.  Buckeye epic.

When something as extraordinary as this happens, people begin to brag.  One guy I know told everyone that the craze would fizzle out right after it started.  He went on to boast that there are other micro brews that are bigger, stronger and tougher.  Whatever, dude.  Go have another Coors Light.

For many years before this amazing arrival, my husband and I have always picked up a case of this special brew in Pennsylvania.  It was always nice to have it in the fridge, and nice to know that on our next visit there we would do the same again. Which leaves me to my point:  Gone were the days when we would grab a case on our way back to Ohio, but hello to the days of running (driving) only two short miles to get the amazing micro brew.  Now, I don’t have to spend any extra money on gas driving to Pittsburgh because Giant Eagle has my Yuengling.

But, is all of the hype really worth it?  Was it really necessary to skip the important news and completely ramp up the arrival a beer that has been available in 14 other states for quite a while?  I am reminded of George Orwell’s novel 1984.  In the book, the “government” was all about distracting the public from their mundane lives with sports, pornography, gambling and alcohol.  Well, welcome to Ohio!  The arrival of Yuengling has done just that.  Who cares that the Browns are a horrible team because, hey, we’ve got Yuengling.  Who cares who is running for President because, yes, we’ve got Yuengling.  Who cares that Ohio’s businesses are leaving the state because, dude, we’ve got Yuengling.  Who cares that the economy is in the toilet because, sweet, we’ve got Yuengling.

Welcome home, Yuengling.  Ohio loves you.  Now, to getting some legalized gambling here and we will be all set.  Epic.

Here is an epic link to an article about the arrival of Yuengling.

Tonight, I've got my Yuengling.