Oh, SOMEONE’S bein’ SASSY!

So then…I figure I’d best share some o’ my Memes so you can see some of the funny stuff goin’ on over on my So Then Stories Facebook page (which you should totally follow!)

Tools Used When My Teen & I Disagree

You know that funny character in the movie...?

 

Wait - I'm in the Russian Bride Club?

 

For a Healthy (or FUN) Halloween...?

 

Parenting for the WIN!

 

Oh your belly can only support a ring?

 

Wanna make your son speechless?

And as you know — there’s a CAKE for that!
AND a PARADE!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Go ahead – make my day!  Tell me your favorite!)

Would You Like Some Vagina…Cake?

So then…we’re celebrating my daughter Chloe’s 16th birthday today — but she bought ME a cake!

Before our celebration plans tonight, she and her old brother Tucker snuck off to the store so she could order this cake for me:

Vagina Cake (RAW)

I die laughing.

I love Chloe’s sense of humor!

And I can only imagine the baker’s expression as he was asked to write:

“Thanks for pushing me out your Vagina.”

First of all, what choice did I have?  I certainly couldn’t keep her in there!

And second of all, why did the baker capitalize “Vagina?”

Does he think that’s someone’s name?  (I guess it could be a car’s name – like, “Thanks for pushing me out your Toyota before the train hit us.”)

Either way, those rapscallion kids of mine are snickering up a storm as they hand me the cake.  And I must say – it is delicious.

Several visitors have been in and out of the house today – and yes, we ask everyone who arrives:

“Would you like some vagina…

cake?”

Horrified looks quickly give way to laughter when they see the cake.

But it does raise an interesting point.

Why AREN’T we sending cakes and gifts to our moms on our birthdays?  After all, it’s the anniversary of the day they spent hours in agonizing labor to grant us life!

So am I suggesting that my kids should give me cakes and gifts on Mother’s Day…AND on my birthday…AND on their birthdays?

Why, yes – yes, I am.

Who’s with me?

— Darcy Perdu

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(Do you agree we moms should get cards and gifts on our KIDS’ birthdays too? What goofy shenanigans do YOUR kids get up to?)

EMBARRASSING Teen Texts – from My Own Teen!

So then…my teen daughter shoots me the glare of a thousand blazing suns and motions for me to BEHAVE.

And for no reason!

I’m merely sighing, foot tapping, and looking pointedly at the clock in a subtle effort to indicate to the two employees sitting behind the desk of this tutor center that it’s well past our appointed appointment time.

Chloe, age 15, whispers, “Stop that!” and nods her head toward the employees.

I whisper mock-seriously, “It’s fifteen minutes past our appointment with the manager! I’m a super-important busy woman with super-important things to do!”

Chloe whispers, “Shhhh!” then texts me fast and furiously on her phone so the staff can’t hear us:

TextAAAA1

Tsk – she’s worried I might embarrass her when we meet with the center manager. How about the appalling lack of punctuation and grammar in that text she just sent?

Chloe took the mock SAT test earlier this week, so today the center manager will tell us the test results, recommend which areas Chloe needs to strengthen, and try to sell us on a package of SAT prep tutoring sessions. Many of Chloe’s classmates study for the SAT and ACT at this center.

If you’re wondering why on earth Chloe thinks I might embarrass her in the meeting…

1) I’m a mimic.

Not in a mean way. Just in a “that-seems-cool/fun/awesome-I-want-to-do-it-too” sort of way.

So if we’re on the dance floor and you’re bustin’ some sweet moves, I will instantly copy those moves. Not to make fun of you. Just because it looks cool and I want to do it too!

If you’re humming a song when I pass you in the grocery store, I’ll still be humming that same tune 3 aisles later.

If you have an accent, I will speak in that accent. To your face. I don’t even realize that I’m doing it. It’s an unconscious mimic reflex!

If you’re Southern, a slight drawl will creep into my inflection.

It’s undetectable at first, but eventually my speech pattern will emulate yours, even if you’re from New Yawk or Bah-ston.

Now if your accent is British, French, or Australian – my involuntary imitation of your manner of speech is either adorable – or awkward – or mildly annoying.

But if your accent is Spanish or Asian – my unintentional simulation can come off as slightly racist.

But I swear I’m not racist!

Honestly I’m not! You can ask my ethnically-diverse friends and relatives!

I genuinely make an effort to curb this inadvertent replication, but every once in awhile, I slip. My kids are there to shoot daggers if I do.

So Chloe might be nervous about our upcoming meeting since the manager and two employees of this education center are all Asian.

2) I like lemon.

Well, that’s fascinating, Darcy, but what the hell does lemon have to do with anything?

At restaurants, I always order “a Diet Coke and a water, with lemons, lots of lemons.” Usually I get no lemons. Or one tiny lemon slice in each drink. But I like LOTS of lemons.

So I’ve learned that if I say, “May I please have a Diet Coke and a water – with a little tray of lemons?” accompanied by hand motions that form a little tray, the server knows exactly what I want – and they bring me a little plate covered in lemon slices.

I’m thrilled – and my children are mortified.

“Why do you have to make the hand motions?!?”

“It’s the only way to get the plate of lemon slices. I’ve scientifically experimented with, and without, the hand motions. It’s the only way.”

“It is NOT the only way!”

“Shut up and eat your bowl of pasta I could’ve made at home for 79 cents.”

3) I like discounts.

Look, I’m not a fanatic. I’m not price-haggling every merchant like a loon.

But if I find myself buying something at Bed Bath & Beyond when my 20% off coupon is still back home on the kitchen counter, you’re gonna hear about it. All day long. And possibly into next week.

And if someone’s trying to sell me hundreds of dollars of SAT prep classes, you can bet I’m going to inquire about a discount – or at least ask if my friend Yvette can get a discount on her daughter’s classes since they referred us to this center!

So now you know the context behind these texts:

Chloe’s texts are on the left in grey – and my responses are on the right in green or blue.

Since she told me to behave at the meeting, I reply:

TextA2A

Chloe looks horrified!

I text:

TextA2B

TextA3

I giggle a bit.

TextA4

Chloe smirks, so I respond with:

TextA4B

TextA5

I crack up laughing.

TextA6

At this point, Chloe snatches my phone and texts me on my own phone:

TextA7

Just then the door opens. The manager says, “Thank you for waiting. Please come in.”

Chloe fires me a warning look. I smile innocently. We follow the manager into her office.

— Darcy Perdu

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(What are your favorite ways to embarrass YOUR kids? Anybody else out there with “involuntary accent mimic syndrome?”)

EMBARRASSING Teen Texts - FROM My Teen! #funny @SoThenStories.com

Just never you MIND how I know — I JUST KNOW!

Don't ask me HOW I know -- but, oh boy, DO I KNOW!!  #funny @SoThenStories.com

So then…I capture your attention to make a crucial Public Service Announcement.

When you become a person of a certain age, and you think you might need to pee…

Go pee. Go pee right that moment.

Don’t hold it.

Don’t wait.

Don’t think, “Oh, I have time. This is just the initial tingling. My bladder’s a sturdy beast. I’ve waited much longer before I’ve really needed to go.”

And whatever you do, don’t drink more liquid while pleasantly biding your time.

Just find a restroom right away.

And take care of yo’ bidness.

At the first inkling you think you should be tinkling, just go.

Do not wait.

Because you may not make it.

*

Take my word for it.

*

Just never you mind how I know.

*

I just know.

*

It doesn’t matter how I know.

*

Omigod, why are you so obsessed with me?

*

Stop ASKING.

*

Stop LAUGHING.

*

It’s NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!

*

Just…

Just trust me.

— Darcy Perdu

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(Look, it doesn’t MATTER if I’m talking about a toddler or someone my current age. Why is that important? The advice still stands. This may not even be ABOUT me. Just mind your own beeswax. So stop asking. Shut up. No, YOU shut up.)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

Wanna Hear Some Embarrassingly Comical Classroom Blunders?

Embarrassing & True - Comical Classroom Blunders @SoThenStories.com
So then…my Saddle Oxfords swing to and fro beneath my blue plaid skirt and white blouse, as I try mightily to pay attention to the teacher at SVA – that’s St. Vincent’s Academy, the all-girls Catholic high school.

We joke that SVA stands for “Saints, Virgins & Angels.” (cough cough)

Anyway, I strain to comprehend Mr. A, our physics teacher – because honestly, all science is a mystery to me. He might as well be speaking Japanese and drawing hieroglyphics on the chalkboard for as well as I’m understanding this subject matter.

Typically, I fare pretty well academically, but in this class, I’m skating by, strictly on the basis of memorization.

So when Mr. A begins discussing resistance of electric circuits — I get super excited that I actually know the answer when he asks the class, “What does “Z” stands for?”

Without even raising my hand, I shout, “IMPOTENCE! IMPOTENCE!”

Silence.

Mr. A’s shocked face.

Giggles and guffaws from the whole class.

Apparently the correct answer is impedance (pronounced “im-peed-ins”)

IMPOTENCE is something else all together.

And back in the days that I went to high school, IMPOTENCE is not exactly a word you heard commonly bandied about in an all-girls school, especially in front of our only male teacher.

Mr. A turns bright red.

He opens his mouth to speak, but dissolves into silent laughter.

He turns away and starts again – no words came out. Just more laughter.

He tries to write something on the chalkboard, but he laughs so hard, his hand shakes.

He tries yet another time to speak, but cannot contain his mirth.

Blessedly, the bell rings for lunch and we girls scuttle out of the classroom.

(Much later, Mr. A tells me that he went to the Teacher’s Lounge to eat his lunch and kept bursting into silent fits of laughter, while the other teachers looked at him oddly.)

I have no idea if Mr. A knows someone who suffers from that particular bedroom issue – or whether he just thinks IMPOTENCE is a hysterically incorrect answer for impedance, but I’m glad to provide him with such a hearty chuckle!

Of course, nowadays, formerly forbidden language is tossed around in daily discussion: “What’s with all the bathtubs in those erectile dysfunction commercials? Which reminds me, when you’re at the store for chips and salsa, pick up condoms. Great, thanks, pass the salt please.”

But back in my high school days, especially at a Catholic all-girls school, one simply did not talk about such things!

In fact, at our Junior Talent Show, my classmate and I served as co-MCs, so we’d take turns telling jokes as we introduced the acts.

On the first night, my co-MC asked the audience, “How can you recognize Ronald McDonald at a nudist colony?” Answer: “By his sesame seed buns!” Huge laugh.

But the school notified her that her MC services wouldn’t be needed on the second night!

Seriously! Booted from the show for a buns joke!

Four years later, my little sister Della served as MC for the SVA Junior Talent Show. In her enthusiasm, she stumbled on her words and announced to the whole auditorium of students, siblings, parents, teachers, and nuns:

“At intermission, please join us in the lobby for cocks and cookies.”

Cokes.

She meant Cokes.

Not cocks.

I never saw the nuns run so fast. To the lobby.

Ha, OK, kidding. The nuns did not run to the lobby – and they were not amused by my sister’s faux pas. But even they had to admit it was merely a mistake – and not a deliberate offer of penises. (peni?)

So between my sister’s cocks and my impotence, we’re obviously fabulous role models!

— Darcy Perdu

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(What words are commonplace now that you’d never have dreamed of uttering in the classroom when you were a kid? Ever embarrass yourself with a funny mispronunciation or wrong word?)

Do I Embarrass Myself in Front of Celebrities? Why Yes, Yes I Do!

Backstage Bungle -- funny & embarrassing story!  @SoThenStories

So then…I confess that I neglected to share a rather embarrassing tale from my recent trip to Vegas with my two teen kids and their three pals.

Oh sure, I shared our shenanigans and hypnotized hilarity – but of course, no trip is complete without my own personal embarrassment…

THE BACKSTAGE BUNGLE
Our friend arranges for us to see a comedian friend of his, so the teens and I get awesome free seats and an opportunity to meet the comedian backstage afterwards.

The show’s hilarious! We love it!

Afterwards, an usher brings us to an attractive guy named Jim who’s the comedian’s assistant or road manager or something. He takes us backstage to a waiting room, then into the comedian’s dressing room.

The kids and I greet the comedian and thank him for the seats.

While the kids are talking to the comedian, I go off to the side with Jim. I gesture toward the kids with my Iphone and whisper to him, “Do you think it’s OK if I take a picture?”

“Sure!” he says, “That’s flattering!”

“Oh, OK,” I say shyly. “I never know. I don’t want to ask a celeb for a photo if it’s too pushy or something.”

“Not at all!” says Jim, smiling. “I’m happy to take a photo with them. They probably won’t know who I am though!”

Huh?

I look at him strangely. They won’t know who you are? I don’t know who you are, either!

So I’m looking at this Jim guy totally confused, when suddenly –

LIGHTBULB!

Oh, damn. Now I remember! The comedian mentioned during the show that his friend was in the audience – a singer from a popular boy band in the late 90’s.

Oh, damn, damn, damn. Jim’s not the comedian’s assistant! He’s the friend – who’s also a celeb! And he thinks I’m asking for HIS picture!

I quickly try to recover gracefully, nodding my head enthusiastically, like yes yes that’s exactly what I intended all along please by all means get in this photo you delicious little former boy-bander you!

So then follows a horribly awkward photo shoot where I’m directing my kids and their friends to all smush together in pics with the comedian and the hottie 90’s singer-dancer.

Argh!

Could I just make it through ONE WEEK without embarrassing myself?

Nope.

As we leave the theater, walking along, I stop dead in my tracks and gasp!

Because now I remember something that makes me wince with fresh new embarrassment.

Before we went to the comedian’s dressing room, about 10 of us were squeezed into a tiny waiting room — me, the 5 teens with me, a few friends of the comedian, and Jim.

Jim was standing and the rest of us were sitting on two benches facing each other – smashed in so close, our knees were touching the people seated opposite us!

After awhile, conversation petered out a bit, so one of the adults said, “We need some entertainment while we’re waiting” and someone said something to Jim like, “Are you humming over there?”

He grinned — so I asked, “Oh, do you sing?” in that tone of voice you use when you discover someone who has one job — has just been revealed to have another talent.

Like the tone of voice I’d use if my plumber glanced longingly at my piano and I said with a tinge of surprise, “Oh, do you play?”

I was thinking, “Oh, Jim the assistant also happens to sing.  That’s cool.”

And when I asked “Oh, do you sing?” — Jim and the others laughed which I took to mean “Good God, no!” which is the same response I’d give – because I’m a dreadful singer (even the nuns say so).

Just then, the door opened and we filed out to the comedian’s dressing room.  One of the women smiled at me and murmured, “That’s a good one.”

NOW it all makes sense. She and the others thought I KNEW Jim was a famous former boy bander so they interpreted my question to be “faux innocent” – like I was ribbing him or teasing him!

Like batting my eyelashes and asking Kobe Bryant, “Oh, do you play ball?”
Or asking Meryl Streep, “Oh, do you act?”
Asking Miley Cyrus, “Oh, do you twerk?”
Asking that old Vatican guy with the funny hat, “Oh, are you religious?”

So Jim and the other adults all thought I was being clever and coy and maybe even flirtatious!

But I was just being completely clueless – which, I suppose, is its own special talent.

Embarrassing myself being yet another special talent I possess.

So, former boy bander, if you ever read this post – just know that you’re still smokin’ hot and I’d love to hear you croon anytime, baby!

— Darcy Perdu

PS I changed his name for this post so as not to embarrass him – or myself – any further!

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(Ever embarrassed yourself in front of a celeb? Do you know all the 90’s boy banders by sight?)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

WHAT in the WORLD…?

Not sure what's the MOST embarrassing thing in this post - but ALL of it has me in giggles! @sothenstories

So then…I clarify that this post is not intended to make fun of the people mentioned in the post.

Which I’d never do.

It IS intended to make fun of my teen daughter Chloe.

Which I do all the time.

In fact, it’s my life’s work.

But let’s face it, she’s an accomplice to that. She just makes it so easy.

For the purposes of today’s tale, you should know that Mr. V is a very smart, skilled science teacher with grey hair – and an accent from a country whose surnames have so many vowels, everyone just calls him Mr. V.

And now our tale:

As I’m laying down on Chloe’s bed while she puts on her pajamas, I tell her about a vendor’s new employee I met today. “She’s very sharp, capable, professional – dresses beautifully – really very impressive—”

“But…?” asks Chloe, as she climbs into the bed.

“But she ends every sentence with ‘and everything,’” I say. “It’s the oddest thing. I’m used to people saying ‘ya know’ or ‘ok’ repetitively, but I’ve never met anyone who said that. And she kinds of slurs it, like ‘an’ errrthing.’”

“She says it a lot?” asks Chloe.

“Yes! She’ll say, ‘We’ll send you the spreadsheets an’ errrthing, then you can review the figures an’ errrthing so we can get together for a meeting an’ errrthing.’”

“No way!”

“Yes, really! But she’s so professional in every other way, she may not even know she’s doing it. We’re going to be working together a lot — I’m wondering if I could discreetly mention it to her, as a helpful—”

“NO!” says Chloe.

“Just a friendly word of advice? She might appreciate it.”

“No, Mom, you cannot do that! I hate when people tell me I use the word “like” all the time! I know I use it, but I’m like a Valley Girl – I can’t help it!”

‘Like’ a Valley Girl?” I grin. She laughs.

“Well,” I say authoritatively, “Sometimes in business it’s OK to advise people—”

“No, no, no!” She shakes her head vehemently.

I laugh and say, “Yes, it IS OK – hey, don’t you remember that time my friend Carol had to tell her employee that people complained about him stinking? Remember? And she had to tell him to take showers? He was from a different country where they don’t shower that much so—”

“OMIGOD! Like Mr. V!!” she exclaims.

“Oh really? Does he smell a bit—?”

“OH!” she says fervently, “It’s in-TOX-icating!”

Bwahahahahahahaha!

I die laughing.

“In-TOX-icating? The smell is in-TOX-icating?” I ask.

She blushes and blurts, “Yes! Wait! Is that the right word?”

“Chloe, that means you find his scent powerful and exhilarating! Appealing and captivating! Like you’re drunk on his aroma! Like you’re swooning!”

She buries her head in the pillow – mortified!

“Did you mean the smell is ‘in-TOL-erable” instead of ‘in-TOX-icating?’ Maybe? Just maybe?”

She pulls the covers over her head.

I impersonate her voice and add a flirtatious lilt. “Oh Mr. V, come closer, come closer. Your smell is so in-TOX-icating!”

She’s shouting “STOP STOP STOP!” from under the covers — and the bed’s shaking ‘cause we’re laughing so hard.

And you can bet that ever since then, whenever she least suspects it – (and often when we’re in the company of others) – I interrupt the conversation to passionately blurt, “Oh! It’s so in-TOX-icating!”

She always turns bright red and shoots me a fierce look – and I just laugh and laugh and laugh!

— Darcy Perdu
PS I changed his initial to further protect the teacher’s anonymity!

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(What words do YOUR kids mix up? Have you ever had to give constructive feedback on an awkward issue to an employee/coworker?)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

Hypnotism and Humiliation: Vegas-Style!

Hypnotism & Humiliation - Vegas Style
So then…I take my two teens and their three pals on an educational Spring Break trip to Washington DC to learn more about our nation’s politics.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Are you kidding me?

I take ‘em to Vegas!

You can click here for Part 1 of our shenanigans –

And now for Part 2 –

HYPNOTIST SHOW

My teens, Chloe and Tucker, and their pals want to see a Hypnotist Show, so we head over to the Marc Savard show at the V Theater.

I glance about skeptically as we file in and sit down.

The hypnotist starts speaking. I cross my arms.

I don’t believe in hypnotism.

The hypnotist tells the audience that lots of people think they don’t believe in hypnotism.

(Well, he’s psychic at least! That’s exactly what I’m thinking!)

The hypnotist says that’s like saying, “I don’t believe in gravity,” but it still exists. “Hypnotism exists whether you believe or not.”

I smirk. No such thing. His “volunteers” will obviously be plants – people he hired to pretend to be hypnotized.

He calls for volunteers from the audience. My son’s friend Marco stands up. WHAT!?

Marco goes on stage, gets hypnotized with the other volunteers — and starts following the commands of the hypnotist — tapping, standing, snoring, squirming, making funny faces, reacting to imaginary snakes, and RIVER DANCING!

Yes – RIVER DANCING! – 18-year-old tall, cool Marco is kicking his Irish Jig legs all akimbo, enthusiastically strutting and popping heel-toe-heel-toe, sideways kick!

So unless Marco is secretly on this hypnotist’s payroll, I guess hypnotism IS real?

Mind blown.

We’re all laughing hysterically at the antics on stage.

The hypnotist convinces one volunteer that she’s wildly in love with him – and convinces another that she’s repulsed by him.

He hypnotizes a huge muscular guy to respond to every shoulder tap by breaking down into sobs and hugging whoever’s closest to him!

He tells them all that a belt is a snake, so when he approaches with the belt and a hiss, they all flip the flip out!

Then the hypnotist brings out a STRIPPER POLE and invites the volunteers to AUDITION!

My son and I exchange a look. A look that says, “This is about to get REALLY awkward.”

Nothing like watching your guy friend attempt sultry stripper moves in front of your Mom. Not to mention the rest of the audience.

If he performs really badly – it’s embarrassing.

If he performs really well – it’s even more disturbing!

Should I storm the stage and rescue my teen charge? Should I just avert my eyes?

Who suggested this damn show? Why aren’t we doing something respectable like visiting the MGM lions?

Fortunately, the hypnotist is playing the scene for laughs – so he quickly taps the “strippers” if they start to take their audition a little too seriously.

And believe me, some of these volunteers tackle this task with a gusto and passion that’ll make your eyes bleed!

The audience is dying laughing – Marco’s looking like he’s having a great time – and yes OF COURSE we pay the $20 bucks for the DVD of tonight’s show so that we have Marco Blackmail Material for many years to come!

(Perfect wedding reception video, don’t ya think?)

All in all, we have an absolute blast swimming, sightseeing, dining, and enjoying shows. We love us some Vegas!

Of course, about 3 hours into the drive home to LA, Marco realizes that the $120 cash he put in the room safe for safekeeping was still safely IN the safe!!

As we call Lost & Found, I can’t help wondering if the hypnotist hypnotized Marco to leave the money there — and secretly extracted the safe code from Marco so he could recover the money himself!

Hmm…googling “How to become a hypnotist” right now!

— Darcy Perdu

UPDATE!  Because the internet is a miraculous place, my blogging friend Jessica Ziegler of hilarious Science of Parenthood saw this story and said she KNOWS hypnotist Marc Savard – then HE commented too!     Hypnotism (Facebook comments)

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(Do YOU believe in hypnotism? Can I BECOME a hypnotist so I can make business colleagues bend to my will & make my kids clean their rooms & make hot celebs fall in love with me? What would you do with YOUR hypnotism powers?)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

I’m Published! In a BOOK! Aw HELL Yeah!

So then…I’m published!

I bound up the stairs, then execute a flawless triple axel from the balcony, two cartwheels, and some enthusiastic twerking!

Followed by my SUPAH STAH pose:

Molly Shannon

Shout out to the incomparable Mary Katherine Gallagher (Molly Shannon)!

Yep, I’m published, peeps!

In a real live book!

THIS BOOK!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com
And you can OWN this book!

For a mere $9.99!

Just click this little book ritecheer:     

OR I can personally autograph the book and mail it to your house for a slight upcharge of $3.00 to cover shipping, handling, pen ink, and the laborious labor of me actually signing your book – plus workmen’s comp in case I sustain a signing-related injury. Just PayPal me a total of $12.99 to darcy@sothenstories.com — and tell me to whom to inscribe the literary tome – as well as your personal home address so I can mail you the book (and watch you while you sleep).





“Darcy, you know we worship the very ground you walk upon,
but is this book really worth the money?”

HELLS YEAH!

Not only does it contain MY hysterical true tale, it contains HILARIOUS & HEARTFELT stories and essays from 39 other kick-ass writers.

Jen Mann, New York Times best-selling author, hand-picked the 40 contributors in this book to produce one helluva rollickin’ read!

“I am mightily intrigued! What’s your story about?”

Well, you know how I share some of my most bodacious blunders and hilarious humiliations on this blog so you can laugh out loud – and cringe, thanking the Good Lord you’re not me?

Well, the story I share in this book is THE MOST EMBARRASSING thing I have EVER done.

And it’s in PUBLIC – like, VERY PUBLIC.  Like DISNEYLAND PUBLIC. 

And it’s HYSTERICAL!

Seriously! One time, I tried to TELL the story verbally – but I was laughing and crying so hard, gasping for breath, I couldn’t even get the words out!

So I had to write it down! And submit it to this anthology! And Jen Mann chose it for the book, so I CAN’T WAIT for you to read it!

And if any of you awesome peeps are going to be in the LA area on April 30, you can come celebrate with me, Jen Mann, and 3 other contributors, Kathryn Leehane, Tracy Sano, and Mackenzie Cheeseman at our Book Reading/Signing Party!

We’re all humor writers so we’re going to read hella-funny stuff, share cupcakes, and sign books! So if you happen to live near LA, email me at darcy@sothenstories.com if you can join us at 12 noon on April 30 at Calabasas Library, 200 Civic Center Way, Calabasas, CA!

Meanwhile, you’ll also enjoy reading all the stories and essays in the book by the other fabulously talented writers!

And guess what?  PERFECT MOTHER’S DAY GIFT!

Aw hell yeah!

So pony up some pretty pennies to buy a copy for you – and yo mama – and yo sister & neighbor & teacher & Zumba partner & parole officer!

THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY DID-I-MENTION-I’M-A-PUBLISHED-AUTHOR HEART!

— Darcy Perdu

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(So excited, you guys! Hope you check out the book at Amazon.com – or the library – or just read over someone’s shoulder! I hope you like it!!)

My Daughter’s So Frikkin’ EMBARRASSING! (But It’s POSSIBLE She Inherited That Trait!)

So then…just as we exit the Stephen Hawking bio-pic, “The Theory of Everything,” I overhear this exchange between my teen kids:

Chloe:  He only wrote one book?  I thought he wrote TONS of books!

Tucker (facepalm):  That’s Stephen King.  This movie’s about Stephen HAWking.

Me (distancing myself from them, hoping no one thinks I’m related)

Much later, after the laughter subsides, I say to Chloe:

Me:  Did you really think the movie was going to be about Stephen King, the horror writer?

Chloe:  Yes!

Me:  Didn’t you think it was strange when the Stephen in the movie got so sick?

Chloe:  I thought maybe his illness is why his books are so dark!

Me:  What about all the physics stuff?

Chloe:  Yeah, that was confusing.

Me:  Chloe!  The movie said Stephen Hawking could only write 4 words a minute!  Stephen King has written a GAZILLION BOOKS!  Do you know how long that would take???

Chloe:  (pause)  Well, he seemed really determined.

I swear — for such a bright, clever, academically-gifted child, she’s an incredible knucklehead –

ALTHOUGH TO BE HONEST….

The apple does not fall far from the tree.

For many years – I’m talkin’ YEARS – I thought that the Warren Buffet guy who made all the brilliant investments was the same guy who sang “Margaritaville.”

Yep, I thought THIS guy –

Buffet Warren Fold Arms 300

Was the same as THIS guy!

Buffet with Hands Up 429

NOW HEAR ME OUT.

First of all, Buffet’s not a common name.  So first I heard about Jimmy Buffet, a singer-songwriter who sold millions of records and scored tons of cult fans who call themselves, “Parrotheads.”

Then I heard he opened chains of restaurants called “Margaritaville” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” – AND hotels – AND casinos!  Years ago I read an article that he wrote books, flew his own plane, owned minor league teams, created internet games, and opened a record label – making over $100 million a year from all these business ventures!

I heard that he invested his money so well, and was so super-rich, that he lived on an island – or bought an island – or some shit about an island.

So I’m thinking – cool, this guy’s a musician AND he happens to have a head for business.  That’s pretty frikkin’ awesome.

So when I started seeing clever quotes about investing and finances attributed to some Buffet guy, I just figured — it’s the same guy.

“Someone is sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago.”

“It takes 20 years to build a reputation and five minutes to ruin it.  If you think about that, you’ll do things differently.”

Those Buffet quotes are so succinct and clever, they sound like a songwriter DID write them!

“Price is what you pay.  Value is what you get.”

“Risk comes from not knowing what you’re doing.”

Yo, dog, these could be song lyrics!

And you gotta admit – those balding old white dudes tend to look alike.

Buffet Lookalikes 360

Jimmy Buffet                       Warren Buffet

So EVERY TIME I heard something about one of those Buffet guys, I assumed it was the same person.

Until the party.

Yep, the party where my error was exposed in excruciating detail for all the world to see.

Picture the scene: Crowded party, noisy – several of us are chatting by the dessert table.

1st Man:  Warren Buffet said the best way to invest is (blah blah financial stuff).

2nd Man:  And he said next year, the interest rate is going to (blah blah financial stuff).

(I don’t really understand all the financial references, but I want to participate in the conversation.)

Me:  Yeah, that guy’s amazing.  SUPER talented.

Both men look at me quizzically.

Me:  You know – the singing.

Both men look confused.

Me (somewhat condescendingly):   Hello – Margaritaville?

Both men are stunned.

Time stops.  The air’s sucked out of the room.

All 5 of the men and women stare at me in utter disbelief.

1st Man:  Do you mean…

2nd Man:  …JIMMY Buffet?

Me:  Yeah, Jimmy Buffet.

1st Man:  But that’s not the same as WARREN Buffet.

Me:  Who’s Warren Buffet?

Time stands still again.  Everyone stares in horror.

My friend Megan quickly jumps in and says, “Ha!  Oh Darcy!  You and your sense of humor!  You’re pretending Warren Buffet is Jimmy Buffet!  Ha, ha, ha!”

I quickly join the cover-up and laugh weakly:  “Oh, yeah, heh heh heh.  Just jokin’ around with you guys.”

1st Man and 2nd Man do not look convinced.

I excuse myself to the bar, grab a glass of wine, and head into the bathroom with my Iphone.

“What the FUCK?” I mutter as I quickly Google those wily bastards, Jimmy and Warren.   “Sonofabitch!  They ARE two different guys!”

Here all this time, I thought the boozy, happy-go-lucky Margaritaville singer was giving financial advice to Presidents and Kings.

Don’t judge me.

It could happen.

(Saturday Night Live alum Al Franken of self-help guru “Stuart Smalley” fame is a U.S. SENATOR, for God’s sake!!)

So there you have it — 

It’s no wonder my daughter watched an entire movie about world-renowned physicist Stephen Hawking, thinking it was a bio-pic on horror writer Stephen King ——- because her own mother thought the billionaire investment magnate Warren Buffet was also the singing Parrothead guy Jimmy Buffet.

Buffet Warren Head Jimmy Body 429

The knuckleheaded apple does not fall far from the knuckleheaded tree!

So today, I ask you, what embarrassing misconception can YOU admit to?

It can be small, like my childhood assumption that people on TV could see me since I could see them, hence I always changed clothes BEHIND the couch.

It can be odd, like my childhood belief that everyone’s given a maximum number of words in a lifetime, so I was very quiet in my youth so I could save up my words for adulthood.

It can be embarrassing, like my voracious reading habit that made me attempt to use words I had no idea how to pronounce so I’d say things like, “Well, that’s the very ‘epi-TOME’ of greed!’ instead of the correct ‘i-ˈpi-tə-mē’ — thereby creating gales of laughter for those in the know.

So ‘fess up, friends!

What’s YOUR equivalent to my Buffet Blunder?

— Darcy Perdu

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(Let’s hear it! You must have SOMETHING to confess – a misconception, an assumption, a flat-out blunder! Share your hilarious humiliations!)

Argh!  My kid's SO embarrassing!  (but then again -- that apple doesn't fall far from the tree!)  Do you think it might be hereditary?  #funny SoThenStories.com

Elf on the Shelf Narcs on MOM!

Ellington, Elf on the Shelf, turns his tattle-tale focus on MOM this Christmas -- and you won't BELIEVE what he's tellin' Santa!  #funny #sexy #Christmas @SoThenStories

So then…I wake up at 3 am to the sound of click-clacking. I pop downstairs, peer round the corner, and see two tiny red felt feet scurry out of sight. My laptop screen is glowing, so I cross the room, lean in…and what to my wondering eyes should appear – but EMAILS from Ellington, our Elf on the Shelf, to SANTA!

Hey Santa,
Ellington the Elf here, reporting from the Perdu household! My vertigo’s still acting up, so rather than fly back and forth to the North Pole, I’ll just email you my reports!

Day 1
So excited to meet my new family, Darcy (Mom) and David (Dad) and their darling kids, Tucker, age 8, and Chloe, age 5. I’ll be on the lookout for any naughty or nice behavior to report back to you!

Day 2
Look, Santa, I don’t want to tell you your business, but the naughty ones in this house are NOT the kids. Oh sure, they bicker and whine a bit, with the occasional fib – but the one I REALLY need to keep an eye on is the Mom!

When she made breakfast this morning, the Dad asked, “Are these real eggs and bacon?” “Of course,” she replied. Nope. Egg Beaters and Turkey Bacon. He asked for regular coffee and she snuck in Decaf. For dinner, she assured the kids she served “real” hamburgers. Nope. Veggie Burgers. So she’s a liar. Maybe for a good cause – but still – a liar.

Day 3
When the class mom called for volunteers to collate papers at school today, Darcy, the Mom, said she couldn’t because she had a “doctor’s appointment.”

Then she watched the Dr. Oz show on the DVR. That is NOT an appointment.

Day 4
She straight up lied to the kids today on the way home from school. There’s no way Chuck E Cheese, Toys R Us, AND Game Stop are ALL closed for renovations.

Plus she gossiped at great length with her friend about Mrs. Kobar, one of Chloe’s teachers who’s allegedly very short-tempered and cancels recess when the kids are rowdy.

Day 5
While watching TV tonight she passed gas with such a foul stench, I had to gasp for air. She blamed the dog.

They do not even HAVE a dog.

Day 6
She tells the kids never to swear, but when she was alone on the freeway today, she let loose a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. Honestly, Santa, I cannot even TYPE them for fear my hands will go straight to hell. Omigod, now she has ME swearing! She’s corrupting me, Santa!

Day 7
The Mom does do lots of nice stuff with the kids. She helps with homework, makes crafts with them, and plays silly games.

But tonight when she was baking cookies with Chloe for teacher gifts, I noticed she set aside all the misshapen, over-cooked ones for Mrs. Kobar.

Day 8
She’s not terribly organized. Before bedtime tonight, when Chloe suggested pulling out her old 1,001 Deluxe Bead Craft Kit and Tucker requested his 99 Paints & Goop Set, the Mom said she couldn’t find them in the toy closet. I suspect foul play.

Day 9
The neighborhood association called today for volunteers to deliver ballots door-to-door, but she said she had a “doctor’s appointment.”

Yep, you guessed – Dr. Phil on DVR. And the irony? The episode was “Nasty Neighbors” about residents who sue, sully, or sex each other up! It was scandalous and provocative! Honestly, after the third time, I could hardly watch it anymore.

Day 10
While rummaging in the closet for wrapping paper, she found the fancy toiletry bag-shaving kit she bought her husband last Christmas. It had never been used! She uttered some profanity and was about to bring it downstairs to confront him – but then she smiled, dusted it off, and wrapped it to give him THIS year!

Day 11
A new low. She stole quarters from Tucker’s piggy bank for the parking meter in front of the manicure place.

(And that polish is too pink for her skin tone. I’m just saying.)

Day 12
Possible redemption? She donated 3 bags of items to Goodwill today!

But guess what’s in the first bag? Yep! Chloe’s 1,001 Bead Craft Kit and Tucker’s 99 Paints & Goop Set!

Day 13
When her husband asked about his DVR recordings, she innocently said, “Oh, I don’t know how your golf tournaments got deleted.”

I know how, Santa. And I know WHO. Her head’s tilting accusingly toward the kids, but we all know who’s deleting shows to make room for Scandal and Outlander!

Day 14
She told a telemarketer she couldn’t talk on the phone because she had to go walk the dog. Still no dog, Santa.  NO DOG.

She works from home so she has lots of conference calls. The other people on the line think she’s studying the spreadsheets when she’s saying “yes, good point” and “mm-hmm” but she’s really reading Facebook updates!

Day 15
When her family mentioned they’re running out of clean clothes, she said she’d planned to do laundry last night but got sidetracked by other “important things.” I’m no detective, Santa, but that empty bottle of red wine might be a clue.

Day 16
Whenever her husband asks what she wants for Christmas, she smiles and says she has everything she needs: a loving family and a lovely home; she just wants everyone to have a happy, healthy holiday. But then she turns up the volume on all the jewelry commercials – and leaves catalogs lying around, open to pages showing beautiful tennis bracelets. She does not even PLAY tennis, Santa!

Day 17
When Tucker yelled downstairs that he’d accidentally knocked over all his Legos for the 4th time today, she hid in the pantry eating Oreos until her husband went up to clean up the mess. She was giggling, Santa. GIGGLING!

Day 18
Her friend tried to make her join her for a Zumba class, but she said she had a “doctor’s appointment.”

She watched GREY’S ANATOMY on NETFLIX. Oh come on! She’s not even trying anymore. Those aren’t even REAL doctors! Have you no shame, woman?

Day 19
Darcy called the relatives today about Christmas Eve dinner at her house. She “confided” in Aunt Bernice that Darcy’s sister Della really doesn’t care for Aunt Bernice’s jello fruit salad and could she please bring Brown Sugar Sweet Potatoes instead.

Then she “confided” in Auntie Fran that Della made some uncomplimentary remarks about Auntie Fran’s zucchini bread loaf, so could she please bring Brown Sugar Sweet Potatoes instead. Della said no such things!

Day 20
The kids rarely fight, but tonight I think the Mom and Dad got into a huge fight after drinking some after-dinner wine! They went right to their bedroom and locked the door – played music to cover the sounds, I guess, but I could hear them wrestling and moaning and exclaiming, “Oh God, Oh God!” I think they even knocked over a lamp!

Day 21
The gift she brought for today’s Book Club Secret Santa exchange looks suspiciously like the one she received at last week’s Neighborhood Secret Santa exchange! Regifting alert!

Day 22
When the kids asked for dessert, she swore there was no ice cream left. As soon as the kids were asleep, she opened a bag of frozen peas that concealed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s!

Day 23
She sang lots of Christmas Carols with the kids while seeing the lights on Candy Cane Lane tonight. But after 9 renditions of “Let It Go,” she claimed she couldn’t remember the words anymore. How does THAT happen?

Day 24
About 18 relatives came to Christmas Eve dinner at the Perdu house. I’m actually impressed — she’s been cooking all day; the house is decorated; the gifts are wrapped.

Aunt Bernice and Auntie Fran gave a bewildered Della the stink eye. Darcy just smiled sweetly and shoveled in some more Brown Sugar Sweet Potatoes.

At the Christmas Eve dinner, she loudly let one rip and exclaimed, “Tucker!” Tucker protested his innocence while the adults shook their heads and the kids giggled. Tucker laughed too — but Santa, you and I both know who’s passin’ Brown-Sugar-scented gas tonight!

After dinner when it was time for clean-up, she told her husband she had “digestion difficulties” and was going to use the upstairs bathroom for privacy.

But while the relatives were cleaning the kitchen downstairs, she went upstairs to her bedroom instead! She locked the door, pulled out some book about colors – something about shades of grey? – and reached for some kind of strange magic wand — and you’re NOT gonna BELIEVE where she PUT the–

OH NO, she saw me! I’ve got to skedaddle lickety-split. More later, Santa!

–Ellington the Elf

I narrow my eyes. That little son-of-a…

With arched brow, and malice on my mind, I coaxingly call out, “Oh, Ellington? Little Elfie, where are youuu?”

–Darcy Perdu

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All posts on So Then Stories are true, with only the names changed – except THIS post which is completely fiction. I mean, come on, y’all – you know I never pass wind! Ne-vah!

(If Elf on the Shelf reports YOUR naughty behavior to Santa, what would the report say?)

Family Dinner Fiasco: Comedy AND Tragedy in 3 Short Funny Acts

So then…I’m literally so excited about this lasagna I’m making, I text a photo to show the family how amazing dinner’s going to be!

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #lasagna #humor

LOOK! Warm and delicious homemade food! Yahoo!

Everyone has a generous helping and agrees it’s scrumptious — and I’m even more excited that we’ll have leftovers for the next night! Double Yahoo! No cooking! Just heating up! I’m a fabulous heater-upper!

So the next night, I’m in my home office when my daughter Chloe, age 15, texts me from the dining room to ask, “Will you please rub my back while I’m doing homework?”

Now before you accuse me of potentially spoiling my daughter, I can assure you, she’s ALREADY spoiled! That train left the station a long time ago, my friends. As I’ve mentioned, I’d be a much better mother if I had 6 kids like my pal, but I only have 2, so I spoil them 3 times as much.

Besides, Chloe may be a bit spoiled, but she’s also pretty awesome, loving, funny, smart, and helpful.

And she handles her academic career completely on her own – and makes A’s – so if you give me a choice between actually helping her DO the Chemistry homework vs. just rubbing her back a few minutes while SHE does the Chemistry homework – I think you can guess what this mama’d rather do.

So I text “Sure,” then walk through the kitchen, figuring I’ll take the luscious lasagna out of the fridge on my way to the dining room.

But just as I pull the tray out, it pings the side of the fridge, DROPS

and SHATTERS INTO A MILLION PIECES –

ONTO MY BELOVED WOOD FLOOR!

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #lasagna #humor

I’m devastated!

I don’t know what’s more distressing:

The loss of our delicious home-cooked meal –
The loss of my favorite glass serving dish –
The marks on my cherished wood floor –
Or
The fact I now have to SWEEP.

I glance desperately at the lasagna on the ground. 5 second rule? Can I just scoop it up quickly? “Hey, family, just eat around the glass shards!”

I huff and puff, stomping off to retrieve the broom and dustpan – colorful profanities spewing in my wake.

Just as I round the corner back into the kitchen — I hear a click, a giggle, and the tiny pitter-patter of footsteps fleeing the scene.

“CHLOE! Did you just take a PICTURE of my floor lasagna!?!?!”

From the other room: *Giggle* “No, Mom, what’re you talking about?”

“CHLOE! Are you texting and Tweeting and Instagramming this!?!”

From the other room: *Snort Giggle* “No! Of course not!”

“OMIGOD, CHLOE, THIS IS NOT FUNNY!”

From the other room: *Muffled laughter* “I know, I know. Do you need any *laugh* help?”

“NO! Just stay there. You’ll just cut up your feet and then I’ll have to take you to the hospital!” I say, in my Angry Martyr voice. Far better for me to clean this up myself — and make everyone else feel guilty about it.

Of course, I DO see the humor in it, so naturally, I snap a pic and post it on Facebook to generate some sympathy. Several people post compassionate words and similar mishaps — and my cyber-buddy Don Re posts, “The lasagna looks a bit dry anyway. Is that helpful?” And perversely enough, that DOES make me feel better.

But now I have nothing to serve for dinner and I want someone to deliver some GOTT-DAMN homemade lasagna to my front door!

Just then I get a text from Chloe saying, “Um…about that back rub…?”

I text back, “Too soon! Give me a minute to mourn, for God’s sake!”

So she texts me this:

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #card #humor

What a wise ass.

I head to the kitchen and holler, “I don’t have time for backrubs! Now I have to MAKE DINNER!”

We don’t have much in the way of ingredients, so I whip this together:

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #Elvis #humor

Inspired Brilliance – or a Cry for Help?

(I actually ate this the other day and IT.WAS.DEEE-LICIOUS.)

I’m definitely making these for my Dinner with Elvis in the After Life. I’ll be like, “Look, El, peanut butter and banana sandwiches are so 1969. The kids today are rockin’ it with Candy Corn.” I know he’ll dig it.

Meanwhile, the mere mortals down here are none too impressed.

So I stuff some ham and cheese in those little crescent rolls and call it a day.

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #rolls #humor

As for Mama — this is MY dinner:

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #icecream #humor

And well-deserved, if I do say so myself.

— Darcy Perdu
(She of many skills, but much maligned for her comical cooking incompetence.)

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(Any kitchen mishaps to make me feel better about mine? What else pairs nicely with peanut butter? What dishes will you cook with YOUR fave celebs & historical figures in the After Life?)

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #comedy #tragedy #humor

Insulting the Neighbor Who Saved My Ass

OH HOLY OOPS! How did I end up insulting the neighbor who saved my ass?  Neighbor Fail!  #funny #neighbor #internet #humor

So then…I panic.

I’d promised my daughter Chloe that I’d FaceTime her as soon as she returned from her first high school trip back home in California.

But my older sister Dawn and I are all the way in Florida, packing up our Mom’s old condo since she’s already moved to a new place.

And FaceTime’s not working because Mom had already cancelled the internet!

Panic!

We call Chloe to explain, who asks, mournfully, “Is there a Starbucks or Kinkos nearby so you can FaceTime me from there?”

Her sad little voice is like a million razor-sharp daggers in my heart.

I’m actually fortunate my 15-year-old WANTS to tell me every detail!

I know those days of mother-daughter closeness are numbered. One day I’ll call her at college and she’ll say, “I’m sorry, who is this?”

But Dawn and I have no idea where local internet cafes might be in this town.

And we don’t even HAVE internet to SEARCH for places that DO have internet!

Brainstorm!

“Karen!” I shout.

“What?” asks my sister.

I jump up. “Karen, Karen! Remember, we met her yesterday?” I grab my phone and my water bottle. “Mom’s neighbor Karen probably has internet; I’m going over there.”

So I skedaddle next door and knock.

“Karen! It’s me, Darcy! My mom introduced us yesterday? Do you have internet!? I’m trying to FaceTime my daughter but we don’t have internet anymore.”

She looks a little surprised but she lets me in and gives me one of the bedrooms.

“Thank you, Karen!”

I close the door and FaceTime my daughter who tells me every detail of the entire trip. We laugh, chat, and marvel at what a blast she had. And it makes a huge difference that we can see each other’s reactions and expressions. Hooray FaceTime!

Afterwards, I return to the living room, a little guilty for taking so long. So I do that thing where I effusively thank the person, using their first name a million times to feign some kind of familiarity and friendliness:

“Thank you SO much, Karen – you’re a lifesaver! My daughter would’ve been so sad if we couldn’t FaceTime. You’re such a doll, Karen. Honestly, I’m so relieved you were home. Thanks, Karen!”

She hands me a slip of paper and says, “In case your Mom needs me to forward her mail or anything, just give me a call.”

The paper has a phone number and the word “Diane.”

“Diane!?” I say, disbelievingly. “Why have I been calling you ‘Karen’ this whole time?”

I look at her with furrowed brow and annoyed expression as though it’s HER fault I’ve been calling her by the wrong name.

She looks at me with that perplexed expression that seems to say, “I don’t know, moron – why HAVE you been calling me by the wrong name this whole time, you internet-mooching knucklehead?”

(I might just be imagining that, since she seems like a really sweet person.)

I raise my eyebrows and shake my head as though I’m still not entirely convinced that her name is Diane – and perhaps she is mistaken. There are practically quotation marks around her name when I say, “Oh, OK, well thanks for the internet, “Diane,” and have a good night.”

I march back to my Mom’s place and say to my sister, “You’re not gonna believe this! The neighbor’s name is DIANE!

“Oh,” she says. “I wondered why you called her ‘Karen.’”

???

“WHAT!? You KNEW her name was Diane!? Why didn’t you correct me before I made a fool of myself?”

“I dunno,” she says. “I thought maybe you knew something I didn’t know.”

Like what?
Like she LEGALLY changed her name between yesterday and today?
Or she’s got multiple personality disorder and ‘Karen’s’ the one who knows the internet password?

Good grief!  How embarrassing!

So now I’m not sure who I’m more upset with –
me for my embarrassing error,
my sister for not correcting me BEFORE I went over there,
or Diane’s parents for not naming her Karen.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Who’s really to blame here: me, my sister, Diane’s parents, or someone else all together?  Have YOU called someone by the wrong name? Do your kids share the details of their adventures with you?)

Laptop & Shopping Cart Cropped

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Sexual Interrogation?

BOOBIE-trapped -- LITERALLY & Hilariously! True tale when my boob got trapped in...well, you gotta click it to find out! #funny #embarrassing #mammogram #fireman

So then…he looks me over and asks, “Have you had sexual relations with anyone with yellow jaundice or viral hepatitis?”

And I think, Omigod, do I look like someone who’s been doing that? Do I look jaundicy?

“No!” I exclaim defensively.

Now I’m worried he thinks “she doth protest too much” and that I’ve totally been shagging hepatitis-jaundice people all day long.

“Any tattoos or body piercings?” he asks.

“No,” I say, trying to think how I can prove this to him without completely disrobing – and realizing that it would be much easier to prove that one DOES have tattoos (i.e. look at the skull on my ass!) or piercings (i.e. check out my nipple ring!) than to prove one does NOT.

“In the past twelve months, have you had a positive test for syphilis?”

I hesitate. Does he mean “positive” as in – a positive result — like “hooray, I don’t have syphilis!” — or “positive” as in – “damn, I tested positive for syphilis!”

He looks up from his clipboard.

“Nope, no syphilis, nope,” I say quickly.

“In the past 12 months, have you had sex with a male who has had sex, even once, since 1977 with another male?”

Omigod, that’s a lot of pressure. Now I’m responsible for remembering everyone I had sex with – plus everyone THEY had sex with? How would I know? This is the age of the bisexual, the metrosexual, the hypersexual. As far as I know, none of my males had relations with other males, but that phrase “even once” is stressing me out. I’m trying to recall if anyone’s said something like “I experimented a bit in college” — or “one time, at band camp…”

“Ummmm,” I stammer. “I’m not sure. Since 1977, huh? That’s a lot to think about.”

He says, “You don’t have to think of everyone you had sex with since 1977 – just if your recent partners had male relations since 1977. So just think of the people you’ve had sex with in the past 12 months.”

Oh, that narrows it down some.

“Ok, then no.”

He checks off the box on the form and prepares to ask another question.

He’s already asked if I’ve been to Haiti — if I’ve injected drugs by syringe — if I’ve had sex with anyone who’s injected drugs by syringe — while in Haiti.

These are awfully personal questions and I should be incensed by this invasive procedure. I’m just trying to give blood, for God’s sakes. I’m trying to save lives, people! Cut me some slack on the inquisition!

On the other hand, I’m such a people-pleaser, I want to answer all the questions correctly. And I’m so competitive, I want to ace this test and prove that my blood is the best, most pure, most awesome blood they could ever hope to collect today! Super Blood!

He asks, “At any time, have you taken money or drugs in exchange for sex?”

I pause. “Well, I’m married – so does jewelry count?”

***

Fortunately, the Blood Drive tech has a sense of humor.

I pass the test. I give the blood. I get cookies and juice.

And I save lives, people!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Any fun stories to share about your visits to the doctor, hospital, blood bank – or times when you had to share personal info you’d rather keep private? Do tell!)

Most BRILLIANT Craft Fail

Most Brilliant Craft in the History of All Crafts -- but then something goes TERRIBLY awry... #FUNNY #playdate #party #kids #paint #arts&crafts #DIY #humor

So then…I dart around the craft table, setting out supplies in a wild-eyed frenzy.

It’s Group Playdate Prep Time — and I’m a whirling dervish setting up the kids’ activity for the 12 excitable 4-year-olds about to come crashing onto my patio for festive frolicking!

Sweat forms on my upper lip as I ensure I’ve thought of EVERYTHING.

I shall not be like my sweet friend Kim — who innocently packed her son’s adorable cow piñata with those individually-wrapped miniature chocolate bites — then hung the piñata on a backyard tree – 6 hours before the party — on a 102 degree day.

She unknowingly created a veritable cow “crockpot” where those little chocolates simmered and boiled and broiled. By the time the kids had all whacked and thwacked that poor cow, it burst open, spewing melted chocolate all over the place. It was HILARIOUS – to us, of course — but not so much to Kim – especially when her son gleefully yelled, “My piñata’s POOPING!”

And I shall not be like me — when I provided darling little treasure chest craft kits to the kids at the group playdate I hosted last summer. How was I to know the jewels intended for decorating the chests looked like delicious little candies, causing all the moms to hover nervously to ensure no one ingested a ruby or sapphire? A swallowed gem would mean a mom’s on poop patrol to reclaim that little “treasure.”

Nope, this time, I shall prevail. No Poop Patrols. No Pooping Piñatas!

I’ve cleverly purchased white t-shirts (in a variety of sizes!),

NON-toxic fabric paints (in a variety of colors!),

and brushes (in plentiful supply!)

plus stencils of amazing shapes and designs –

and plastic aprons for everyone!

I am “BRILLIANT CRAFT MOM!”

My sweet 4 year old Chloe and her pals have a blast decorating the white t-shirts.

Moms ooh and ahh over the stenciled hearts, flowers, and moons.

Kids painstakingly create intricate designs with many colors.

Moms and kids make adorable HANDPRINTS and stencil their NAMES on their shirts.

This craft is going over fabulously!

I take a moment to bask in my brilliance.

After snacks and games, my playdate guests make their way home, excitedly holding their personalized crafts aloft so the shirts can dry.

A spectacular success!

The next week, Chloe asks, “Can I wear my painted shirt tomorrow?” Sure!

I toss it in the washer, then when the cycle’s done, I pull it out – and the shirt’s completely WHITE.

WHERE THE HELL did the paint go? Where’s the butterfly – the rainbow – the lopsided flowers – the stenciled “Chloe?”

I look in the washing machine. No paint.

So now I have a frikkin’ plain white t-shirt.

I’m holding the thing in complete shock, wondering what I’m gonna tell Chloe.

And then I gasp because I realize that if this happened to OUR shirt – it probably happened to the shirts of our 12 playdate guests!

Oh.My.God. HOW EMBARRASSING!

Did I buy the wrong paint? The wrong shirts?

I Google “fabric paint washed off shirts WTF!” — and see directions about PRE-washing the shirts – ensuring they’re 100% cotton – IRONING the painted designs with wax paper to SET the paint before washing it – and all SORTS of other things that might’ve prevented my DISAPPEARING DESIGN FIASCO.

I explain it all to Chloe and throw myself on the mercy of the court. She’s quickly mollified by a rousing game of hide and seek and 3 Oreos, so the UN-painted shirt is quickly forgotten.

But here’s the odd thing. I don’t receive one phone call or text about the disappearing paint from ANY of the moms who attended the playdate!

So help me solve the mystery:

a) They’ve never WASHED the shirts – they just let their tykes re-wear the painted shirts over and over without cleaning them!

b) Their kid hasn’t WORN the shirt yet, so it’s a little surprise time bomb just waiting to go off as soon as they try to wash it.

c) The moms have ALREADY washed the shirts, discovered the paint disappeared, and are much too polite to ever mention it to me.

c) Mine’s the ONLY shirt that turned white.  (IhopeIhopeIhope)

— Darcy Perdu

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(Any similar disasters at your parties or playdates? Can you solve the mystery of the silent moms?  Give me your best conspiracy theories!)