Tag: humor

Most of us are familiar with the idea of an alter ego. It’s the very basis of our superhero fiction. Mild mannered Clark Kent becomes Superman. Uber rich Bruce Wayne becomes Batman. Scientist Bruce Banner transforms into the The Hulk.

Even my kids had alter egos. When our son was very small he decided that he was no longer a little boy and for several months insisted that he was a pig. For a time he ignored anyone who called him by the name Jason, insisting that he was Pig. During this phase he did a great deal of snorting and rolling around the floor in pretend mud. We considered taking him out to search for truffles, but by that time he’d outgrown the pig phase.

Similarly, when our daughter was four she became so enamored by the musical, “Annie” that she began asking everyone to call her “Ashley/Annie.” She even coerced her dad into getting her hair permed Annie style. I’m not totally sure she ever gave up on the Ashley/Annie personality. It wouldn’t surprise me to find her sporting a big permed hairdo and belting out “Tomorrow, Tomorrow!” even today, today.

So both of my children had/have alter egos. Most superheroes have one. I want one. I want something badass–the perfect counterpoint to my nice girl image. Like Walter White’s “Heisenberg,” I want it to be on the cerebral side.
Hmmm. Here’s how my brainstorming went:

Madame Curie. No, too reactive.

The Headcase. Too close to the truth. Everyone would know.

Wonder Woman. Already taken. Although, I do wonder a great deal…I wonder where my phone is, where my keys are, what I’m cooking for dinner, if these pants make my butt look big….

Mara Jade. No, I’d always have to explain the relevance to non-Star Wars Universe people. Exhausting.

Then I realized, I already have an alter ego! Nana Noyz! It’s alliterative, as a good alter ego often is, and it fits me perfectly. Just don’t misspell it in the comic book version of my life.

Peace, People!

Recently I read a post about a man who’d had a moth in his head for two years. A moth. For two years. I once had a spider in my ear for two seconds and thought I had lost my mind.

I was sound asleep, dreaming that I was in the school cafeteria. In my dream, someone was eating extra crispy lettuce right next to me. It was annoying! I politely asked this person to stop, but he got even closer, leaning on my shoulder and crunching in my ear. I pushed him away, but he kept getting closer and closer until his mouth was covering my ear!

I awoke from my dream to escape this stranger with a lettuce-eating ear fetish only to find that the crunching continued. I panicked! Had I finally lost my mind? Is this what insanity felt like?

Scrambling out of bed, I ran about the room like a woman possessed, shaking my head and slapping at my ears. Then, blessed peace! Looking down I saw the tiny offender scrabbling across the floor. I smushed it. Then I shivered violently. There aren’t enough ewwws in the world to describe my disgust. Just, eww!!!

For many nights I couldn’t fall asleep without a spider barrier (more commonly known as ear muffs) on my ears. But I also wondered, are there people in institutions who just need to be inspected for arachnids? Seriously!

Peace, People!

My husband, Studly Doright, is a Golfer. He lives, eats, and breathes the game, and over the years he’s become rather good at it. He’s self-taught, with a homemade swing that looks a bit awkward, but is certainly effective.

Studly didn’t begin playing until his mid-thirties when our son indicated an interest in learning to play; although, my dad tried to get him involved back when we first married. Studly thought then that golf was an old man’s game and couldn’t believe anyone under the age of 60 would take a serious interest in smacking a little white ball around for three hours on a Saturday morning. My how times have changed!

Every week for the past 20 plus years, weather permitting, Studly has played golf on Saturday and Sunday mornings and at least one evening during the week. His first three years of golf were played in North Dakota, so the golf season wasn’t very long. But Studly was the first one on the course in the frigid spring and the last one off the links in the freezing fall. Our North Dakota neighbors decided that “Tex” was crazy. I didn’t try to dissuade them.

The man is a pretty natural athlete, but golf didn’t come easy for Studly at first. He could hit the ball a figurative mile, but there was absolutely no telling where it would end up. He called it military golf (left, right, left) as we walked a million miles in search of wayward Titleists.

Now, I’m not a golfer. Daddy tried to teach me, then Studly did his best, but the consensus was that some people just are too uncoordinated to even pull a club out of the bag, let alone try to swing one. Even so, I’m a fan of the game and an even bigger fan of my own favorite golfer. Imagine my pride when he told me he’s basically got a 2 handicap. That’s darn good for someone who only began playing in his mid-30’s.

Where at one point in our marriage I detested the number of hours he spent on the links, I’m now encouraging him to play even more. It’s raining? I don’t want to hear it. Get out there, man and hit that ball. You say it’s too cold? Wear more layers! Put on heated gloves! Too windy? Suck it up, buttercup! I’m signing him up for the senior tour next year, and he won’t make it with a 2 handicap. No more slacking!

Peace, People!