The Average Temperature of Worry

I know there are a lot of women in this world who obsess over their weight. They weigh themselves all the time and carefully track weight loss or gain. We have a scale in our bathroom. It’s a fancy one too, but it doesn’t interest me nearly as much as the thermometer.

Every time I go into the bathroom I secretly take my temperature. It’s one of those electronic thermometers so it beeps when it’s ready. I don’t even think they make the mercury ones anymore. Anyway, if I think someone is anywhere near the bathroom door, I’ll run water in the sink so they won’t hear it beep.

Sometimes my temperature is a bit too low and sometimes it’s too high, but sometimes it’s like Baby Bear’s porridge was to Goldie Locks–just right. On those occasions I’ll walk out of the bathroom and make an announcement. “My temperature is bang on 98.6,” I’ll say excepting some sort of positive response possibly even a high five.

Nothing o_0

How is it that no one else seems to realize how important my temperature is? Don’t they know that body temperature is serious business? If your body temperature is consistently too low you could have low thyroid function. If it is consistently too high you could have a tiny alien blacksmith in your head pounding out horseshoes. Either way it’s not good.

If I feel like my temperature is running a wee bit high, I trick the thermometer by taking it out of my mouth as soon as it hits 98.6. Yes, I know that wasn’t my real temperature, but there’s something deeply satisfying about those numbers on the little gray screen.

When I decided to write this post this morning I decided to take my temperature and then take a picture of the thermometer to post. The only problem was my temperature was a troubling 97.9 which is not the magic number I’m looking for. After fretting about it for a while I realized that it probably has something to do with the ice cold cucumber salad I ate only minutes before sticking the thermometer in my mouth.



boxesIt was 11:30 last night when my husband said, “You know our UK taxes have to be filed by the 31st of this month, right?”

This wouldn’t be a big deal if we weren’t living like hobos right now. Have I explained our living situation to you yet? Since we moved to the US we’ve been packed into the guest bedroom in my parents condo along with all of our earthly possessions. If you’ve ever been in a living situation where you can’t seem to get organized and you don’t know where anything is multiply that by 7 million and you’ll know what we’re going through.

“Can’t they wait until March?” I asked my husband after I opened the closet door and looked at the stacks of boxes and clothes. We’re supposed to close on the house we’re buying on March 1st and once we’ve moved in I’ll be able to get a handle on things.

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said.

What does he mean it doesn’t work that way? I think countries should let you file taxes whenever you get around to it. That would be so much more convenient for me and you know every nation in the world should make their laws according to my convenience.

I started pulling stuff out of the closet and realized that I have so many silk scarves that someone might mistake me for a magician. I’m also quite good at making money disappear, but that’s a different story. Among the silk scarves, musical instruments, and sweaters I probably won’t wear again any time soon where a stack of unlabeled boxes. Labels … who needs the labels? I’m a magician. I can see through cardboard. My tax records were in the second box I checked. I’m a lucky magician.

Once I found them I spent a few minutes … okay probably like 15 … sitting amongst the mess feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know what made me feel worse the fact that I had to put all that stuff away again or the fact that I would have to do my taxes. My ultra organized husband probably finished his taxes in the time it took me to find my records. Okay, that’s not true. He didn’t do anything about his until this morning.

My taxes are done now and I don’t have to panic again until it’s time to do the US taxes.

Photo by ejhogbin

Nothing Beats a Lifetime Movie

I love a good story. That’s why I love to sit down an watch a movie every now and again. I saw Silver Lining’s Playbook last week and really enjoyed it. That renewed my desire to see movies.

You see, I’ve been burned by Hollywood in the past. You know how it is, they lure you in with an exciting trailer and it turns out that the best thing about the whole movie was the trailer. It’s a drag really. Who has a few hours to waste on a crappy story? Not me that’s for sure.

Sometimes you see a movie because you know it will be comically bad. That’s what the Lifetime Movie Network is good for. There are nights when you just need to put on your pajamas and sit down with a bowl of popcorn to watch a Lifetime movie.

I did that a few nights ago minus the popcorn. I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the movie, but the plot was standard for Lifetime.

Woman meets man.

Man seems too good to be true.

Woman’s best friend warns woman that something isn’t quite right about man.

Best friend suddenly dies.

Man comforts woman.

Relationship moves forward.

Something doesn’t seem right but woman ignores it.

Woman starts snooping around on a hunch.

Woman finds out man is really bad bad bad.

Woman confronts man about findings alone in an isolated setting.

Man attacks woman.

Struggle ensures.

Here is where a the story can vary a little. One of several things may happen.

Option 1: Woman kills man.

Option 2: Someone shows up to save woman and kill man.

Option 3: Police come to arrest man.

Option 4: Man somehow flees and disappears forever.

I’m probably missing some options here. Let me know if you can think of any other common endings.

Why do I watch these movies if I already know what’s going to happen? They are comforting in a way. Maybe it’s the bad acting. Maybe it’s the fact that most claim to be a true story and I can sit there thinking, “I can’t believe she fell for that. I’d never fall for that.”

Whatever the reason for watching sometimes nothing beat a Lifetime Movie.

Attack of the Flu

It’s that time of year again. That’s right, the time of year when the news reports feature lots of stories about the flu accompanied by images of people in hospital beds and needles dripping with flu vaccine jabbing people in the arms. It’s also the time of year when we hear reports that most states are short on flu vaccine so you better go out and get yours as soon as possible.

Normally I scoff at flu season. I live in a shiny internet bubble where my contact with the outside world is limited. It’s kind of like John Travolta in The Boy in the Plastic Bubble only with less drama and more computers.

This year I was one of the lucky few to come down with a case of the flu. The good thing about having the flu is that it got me out of cooking for four whole days. I can’t decide what’s worse a fever, achy joints, and feeling generally miserable or cooking dinner. I’m leaning towards cooking dinner.

I got the flu from my stepson who got it from his mother who got it from work, I guess. This is what happens when you come into contact with actual living human beings during the course of your day.

The whole time I was sick my husband kept telling me that he wasn’t going to get sick because his immune system is so much stronger than mine and if I ate less cake I wouldn’t have gotten the flu in the first place. How could you blame the flu on something as wonderful as cake?

Well, guess who has the flu now. That’s right, Mr. Too-Good-For-Cake-Iron-Clad-Immune-System. Maybe someone’s been eating cake at his gigs. How else would he have gotten the flu?

A few days ago as he lay in bed delirious with fever he admitted that I won. “What’s that?” I asked delighted.

“You won. I admit it. You won,” he repeated.

I walked silently out of the bedroom pulling the door closed behind me. Then I clasped onto the floor in a fit of laughter. There’s nothing like the joy of victory. It is definitely worth a few days in bed with the flu.

The Seven Best Things About Being Married

Today is our seven year wedding anniversary and of course I have no good pictures to show you as evidence that we actually did get hitched. That’s the nature of being less than sentimental and completely unorganized. Anyway, I found this poor quality one on my hard drive. We were so young back then.


In honor of our seven year anniversary I thought I’d write a list post because we all love a good list. So here are the seven best things about being married.

7. When a giant spider makes its way into the house I don’t have to deal with it. Even if my husband isn’t home I just trap the spider under a plaster container and let it wait for him to release it into the wild. We don’t kill spiders. We set them free.

6. I never have to do dishes … well except when I have to do dishes, but that’s not very often.

5. I have a chauffeur. I hate to drive.

4. If anything ever needs fixing around the house I can count on someone to attempt to do it … badly.

3. I always have a date for the party. Now I just have to start going to parties.

2. There’s always someone on my side except when my side doesn’t agree with his side.

1. I never run out of material for this blog because my husband is always doing something that is worthy of mocking.

Looking for a Fight

Have you made any New Year’s Resolutions? It’s day 2 and if you are anything like me you’ve already broken all of them. You can be honest with me. We’re all friends here and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.

One of my resolutions was to spend less time on Facebook. While looking at pictures of other people’s babies and knowing what this or that friend had for lunch today contributes to my quality of life, it impedes my ability to finish the list of 5 million tasks I’ve given myself to complete in a day. Maybe if I just included check Facebook eight hundred times on that list, I would feel like I accomplished more.

One of the funny things about Facebook is the strange arguments people have in the comments. I used to never get why anyone would bother arguing with someone on Facebook. I say used to because I found myself in a Facebook argument with someone I don’t even know just last week. This person obviously didn’t realize I write a humor blog.

The names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. Click the imagine twice to make it a more reasonable size to read.


This exchange went on and on, but I just posted the best part for you. I never thought that being called an idiot would make me laugh so hard. Now I spend even more time on Facebook than I ever did before. I’m not just looking at cute pictures of babies though. I’m looking for a fight.

2012 – A Year in Review

2012 was an eventful year for the Mooch. Good things happened. Sad things happened … but mostly there was a whole lot of funny. Here’s a look back.

January: Bates exercises are supposed to fix your vision, but if you don’t bother learning how to do them properly they don’t work. Just not wearing your glasses doesn’t count and really annoys your family.

February: They make movies in Borehamwood, so all the stars have been there. That’s why I thought the Travel Lodge on Studio Way in Borehamwood might be a pretty good hotel. I was wrong.

March: Even if your husband is a bass player, he still cares about what his hair looks like.

April: They say that it’s perfectly safe to walk through a field of cows. Don’t believe them. Those cow will stare at you with a thirst for blood in their big brown cow eyes.

May: Cars break down and when your husband can’t fix the problem there’s an 18-year-old young woman at Halfords who can.

June: The British really know how to put on a jamming Diamond Jubilee.

July: Sometimes you can know a little too much about the people you kind of know. Thanks Facebook.

August: Everyone should go to the scrapyard to get rid of their car once in their life. There’s nothing like seeing a giant crane hurl your car through the air. We still miss Frank the Car.

September: We all get gray hair eventually. If you pluck all of yours out you could end up bald. You’ll just have to learn to embrace the gray hairs on your head. Even if you dye the heck out of them, you’ll still know they’re gray underneath.

October: Sometimes you learn from your mistakes. Sometimes you don’t. Just ask my mother.

November: Olives are delicious, but not when they taste like caramel.

December: The Mayans had no idea what they were talking about when they told everyone the world would end. That’s the last time I’m listening to them.

Happy New Year!! I’ll see you again soon.

The End is Near …

The end of the world is quickly approaching. Are you ready? I’m not quite sure what one would do to get ready for the end of the world, but as I type this I’m thinking that I should probably do my nails or at least pluck my eyebrows. Everybody knows you have to make sure you go out looking good.

We were discussing how the world might end in the car because, just like gun control, everyone seems to have an opinion. We came to a consensus that it would have something to do with a pole shift. That’s about the only consensus we came to though because my husband and stepson seem to be totally confused about how a pole shift might occur.

They seem to think that it just has something to do with a change in magnetism. All the compasses will will go whacky and start pointing south instead of north, but anyone with half a brain knows that the Earth will basically do a somersault. Everything will get all flipped around as the Earth stands on her head. They’ll be earthquakes and tsunamis and volcanic eruptions. Everyone and everything will die and the world will be over. None of this compass nonsense.

By the way this will have nothing to do with Planet X. Pole shifts just happen because the Earth is in a bad mood which happens every two hundred million years because normally the Earth is a jovial gal. Aren’t you glad I straightened all that out of you. When the end is near it helps to know how it’s going to go down.

Anyway … I have to go get ready. I don’t even have any nail polish. Heck, since the end is near I might as well splash out and get a professional manicure.

If we’re still here in a few days. I guess I write another post, but if not … it’s been nice knowing you.

R.I.P Gran

My grandmother, Betty Allison, died last week. She was a fashionable lady who had traveled the world. We’ve spent last week going through her things. It’s funny what you can learn about someone from the stuff they leave behind.

My grandmother filled tiny notebooks with meticulous notes about her life. They say things like Ella visited June 5, 1987 or dinner with Tom November 15, 1990. Just a person’s name and the date, but none of the details that I would find important like what they talked about or what they ate for dinner.

She collected matchbooks and decks of playing cards from the various countries she visited, sorted the mountains of clothes and shoes in her closet by color, stuffed the sleeves of her coats with newspaper, and put pieces of chalk in with all her jewelry. I looked that one up and found out that chalk keeps silver from tarnishing.

I won’t tell you how old she was because she believed that it was impolite to ask a woman her age. I didn’t even know how old she was until my mother mentioned her age to me recently.

Rest in peace, Gran.

Sidewalks Across America

I really like sidewalks or footpaths for all you who talk like my husband. I really, really like them. You may be wondering why someone would have such an affection for a slab of concrete. Well, let me tell you.

A sidewalk makes a neighborhood. I don’t even know how you can call an area with no sidewalks a neighborhood. If you can’t walk between houses without walking in the street or across someone’s lawn it’s not a neighborhood. If you live in one of these strange sidewalkless communities and I’ve offended you by saying that it is not a neighborhood, I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes you have to take a stand, and I’m taking mine right here on the sidewalk.

I like to go for walks, but a neighborhood with no sidewalks is a neighborhood that discourages walking. A neighborhood that discourages walking encourages sitting around on the sofa eating Doritos all day. That just leads to bad health, a couch with a permanent indentation and a worldwide shortage of Doritos. No wonder Floridians are so unhealthy.

I would like to make a call for action across the state … no across the country. If you don’t have a sidewalk in your community go to Home Depot and buy some cement. I’m not sure how much you need because I have no previous experience with cement. Mix that cement up and make your own little sidewalk right outside your house. It’s okay if it’s a little lumpy. Nothing is perfect and I’ve read that walking on a challenging surface develops the muscles in your feet.

If everyone made their own little sidewalk in front of their houses they could all connect. Then we would all have sidewalks. It would be like Hands Across America only better because it would have a point and afterwards there would be a completed network of sidewalks that people could actually walk on when they took their dogs out in the evening, not just a bunch of confused people trying to stretch as far as they can to hold hands across a bridge and then just pretending there’s not a giant gap in the middle and swaying back and forth singing that annoying song.

Photo by edkohler