blog hop

Whoop  Whoop


I’m working on clarity.

Writing stuff that makes you laugh without scratching your head saying, “huh?”

It’s harder than you think. I love structure, organization, and linear thinking. But my mind acts like bouncy ball on steroids.

Nights . . . mornings . . . weekends . . . at meetings — it makes no difference I ping around like a preschooler on caffeine.

At least in my mind.

My outer demeanor is more anchored. My house is clean, I’m always on time, I organize my shirts according to season and fabric. On the outside, I’m the tortoise.

On the inside, I’m the hare. It takes all my self-control to harness the crazy, out of control party that plays through my mind and organize it in a way that makes sense on paper.

I’ve signed up for an online class and joined a local writer’s group. Unfortunately, I got sick last month so my first time meeting with this group will be in one week. There are other groups nearby. If I’m still putting smiles on paper by summer then I’ll consider joining them as well.

My process is very much well, a process. I’m not sure I’ve settled on exactly what that process will look like yet. Just as a doctor practices medicine an artist practices her chosen craft. That’s what I’m doing: practicing.

If that practice pays off and makes perfect, you’ll be hearing a lot more from me in the future.

I hope to be hearing from you soon.




“It’s creepy.”

“No, it’s good.”

“So you want people to follow you?” New blogger sounds unsure.

“That means they’re going to get “tequilaandlemonade” posts in their inbox or on facebook.” Old blogger explains.

“How do they follow me?”

“They have to scroll all the way to the bottom and hit the blue button from wordpress, right here. Then you can follow them too.”

“What if I think their page is stupid?” New blogger asks.

“Ignore them, but the more affiliates you have the more traffic you generate. You can even get people to advertise on your site.”

“I hate those annoying ads. I thought if I paid money, it’d keep them off my site.”

“These ads give you money.”

“I like money,” New blogger sounds a bit more excited now.

“Each click on the pad pays you like ten cents or something.”

“Oh, that’s hardly worth the trouble.”

“Do you want people reading your stories or not?” Old blogger asks.

“Only the good ones,” New blogger says.

“People will hit like on the good ones. It’s like recommending them to other bloggers.”

“What about the bad ones. Will they hit a you suck button and send that out to friends?”

“As good as that idea sounds, no. They just ignore it. But you should send your you suck idea to wordpress. It’d probably eliminate about two-thirds of the blogs out there.”

New blogger considers it before saying, “Let’s not get too cocky. I’m new at this. I don’t want them eliminating “tequilaandlemonade.”

“Mom, you’re too funny for that,” Old blogger says.

“Suck-up,” New blogger replies.

“Well, I was hoping you’d spring for that new dress for homecoming.” Old blogger says.

“That one that’s so tight it’d hardly fit a first grader?” New blogger asks.

“You exaggerate. I want Zach to notice me when I walk in with Ben.” Old blogger explains.

“That’s shameless.”

“Exactly, and that’s how youneed to be with your new blog. Shameless self-promotion, that’s how you get noticed.”

“So you’re telling me that I need to have a video of myself with my boobs flopping out shaking my booty in a skin tight dress on my blog?” New blogger asks.

“Oh, God. Now that’s creepy,” Old blogger replies.


A Day at the Beach

“Maybe we should just jump right in,” Lexi suggested.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Rachael cautioned

“Where did all these jelly fish come from?” Penny asked.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Rachael said looking around at all the sunbathers standing at the edge of the breaking waves too afraid to venture into what should have been soothing ocean waters.

The occasional clueless tourist ventured into the water only to emerge screaming and rubbing sand, vinegar, and any other internet cure all for the sting of the poisonous tentacle.

“I can’t take it anymore. This heat is killing me,” Lexi moaned. Her mom only dropped her off at the beach once or twice a summer. She didn’t want to waste it looking at the water.

She inspected the water and walked down the shoreline a few steps. Not seeing any jellies, she bent down and using her hands scooped up the water to splash on her chest and neck allowing it to trickle down and cool her sweltering flesh.

“Ahhhh, that felt good,” Lexi told her friends. “And it’s the only way to avoid a heat. Go ahead, just be careful.”

After a few minutes a small crowd began to form around the gentle waves close to the shore bending and scooping; allowing the cool sensation to replace the scorching heat on their skin. Children joined in while mothers cautiously stood look out for any sign of floating tentacles.

Feeling confident, Lexi returned to the water’s edge and scooped up the soothing ocean water. Immediately she felt a burning like a lit match searing into a particularly sensitive area of her feminine mystique. She started splashing more water, faster, frantically keeping her mouth clinched tight to muffle the involuntary squeal.

Penny asked, “What is wrong with you?”

“Ice, I need ice,” Lexi was jumping up and down while waving her hands like she was about to take flight.

“There’s ice in the cooler. What’s wrong? Did you get stung?” Penny asked. The girls noticed that a handful of people stopped fanning themselves and were watching them while trying to look like they weren’t watching them.

Lexi tried to walk nonchalantly to the cooler not to let on that she had a poison filled tentacle shooting flames into her left nipple. She reached in the cooler for some ice and slipped it into her bathing suit top as discretely as possible and, “aaahhh . . . sweet relief.”

As soon as she could speak again she whispered, “I got stung by a jelly fish . . .  in the boob.”

Penny and Rachael broke into roaring hilarity.

“It’s only funny when it doesn’t happen to you,” Lexi spat at them, causing them to laugh even harder.

Rachael hopped up and began mocking Lexi with a silly dance where she alternately lifted one foot then the other like she was running in place and squeal loudly while flapping her arms. Rachael’s dance inspired Penny to change the lyrics to her favorite Alicia Keys’ song. While Rachael did her ridiculous dance parody, Penny sang, “It’s just a boob, but it’s on fi-yaaaah.” And then they’d fall over laughing again.

“Maybe we should perform our song and dance routine at the dance this Saturday in front of Lexi’s hot date,” Rachael suggested.

“Or maybe you shouldn’t.” Lexi warned.

What’s off limits??

When it comes to a joke, what’s off limits?

I guess the answer is different for everyone. Last night, Jon Stewart presented a long, hilarious parody of the most recent “stand your ground” ruling in Florida. I think he’s a comic genius but I couldn’t laugh. The mother in me sat stoically with tears threatening to expose just how not-funny I found that story. I understood the parody. I got his point. But I did not smile. Not once. I could hardly stop myself from crying.

At least he’s dealing with it. I can’t. Every time I see a show about Trayvon or Jordan I have to turn away. I have a son that age. Sometimes he’s rude, mouthy, and plays his music too loud. Sometimes he makes stupid decisions. I’m terrified by the realization that so many people think an appropriate response is a bullet to the chest.

Sorry. Not funny. Not even a little.