Out to Lunch…Literally

By Lois Lane AKA Nonewz

One cold fall afternoon, a few little owls flew from the nest. They gathered in a small town in Illinois to share lunch and laughter.

Jennifer Squared, (also known as, Iteach Jennifer and The Other Jennifer) Jodi and Lois accompanied by their 15-year-old daughters Lane 2 and Samtastic, sat at a table in the center of an Italian restaurant.

It was my first meeting of them, although the Jennifer's are practically my neighbors. It’s funny how the internet can bring people together. When you’re an adult, it’s hard to make new friends. Sure you have your work people, neighbors, kids’ friends’ parents who become your friends basically by default, and people you run into around town, but when is the last time you made a real new friend outside of the internet? I can’t even remember.

Iteach was the last to arrive. Lane 2, pointing randomly, excitedly said, “Oh there she is!” The Other Jennifer and Jodi turned to look, until I said, “Yeah, only you don’t even know what Miss Jennifer looks like!” Who knows where she gets her little prankster ways?

The Other Jennifer, not to be confused with The Other Sister (who was equally lovable but not nearly as bright) gave me a tiny scare right off the bat. The waitress approached our table to take our drink order. When she uttered the words, “I’ll have a Chianti.” I looked at my new friend and said, “If you order fava beans as your main course, I’m outta here!” With a slithery sound of their tongues, mother and daughter, Jodi and Sam gave the infamous Silence of the Lambs sound effect. Perfect comedic timing!

We talked about our jobs, kids, The Nest, The Hooters, schools, the towns we live in, books and old guys who look like Santa. We learned that Sam and Lane 2 are in love with Asians, a fact neither could explain. Lane 2 dresses like a senior citizen with her crocheted cap and flashy scarf. There was actually a cute little Asian lady at a table next to us dressed an awful lot like my kid.

Sam the vegan, likes mustard and pickle sandwiches, and much to Lane 2’s shock, “can’t even eat cheeseburgers.” Apparently mustard and pickles provide enough energy to run a locomotive… that child never stops talking, and I kind of loved that about her. Plus she laughed at some of my corny jokes, not the one where I pretended to grab her mom’s boobs, however.

My daughter was certain she was heading out to be, “murdered by Mom’s crazy internet friends” it was even what she set as her status update on Facebook on our way out the door to meet them. So, from Lane 2, “Thanks for not murdering us!”

Jodi came bearing gifts. For the Lanes, a lovely Raspberry Tart Wisconsin-brewed ale, which may or may not have gotten someone laid. *cheeky grin*

Ladies, it was a pleasure to meet all of you. I’m looking forward to Chicago 2010!

Blogger Confessional

8th Grade

By Lois Lane

Even if you aren't Catholic there's times in life when you want to spill out your confessions to cleanse your conscience. Today is that day for me.

Forgive me bloggers, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last real visit to the nest. I wish I could say I have been busy working or taking a lovely vacation with family, but truth is, I've been cheating on all of you.

*Hangs head in shame*

You see, it all started when one of my old classmates recognized my photo on Facebook. Even though I go by a moniker, there was no hiding this mug of mine.

Once I came out of my state of shock, I answered and accepted him as a friend. Before long, the majority of my 8th grade class was back in my life as if they'd never left. I've spent every free internet moment catching up on the last 20-plus years of their lives. Which is reason #1 why I haven't been here.

It amazes me what the mind can dig up. You see a thumbnail photo of a friend and a flash of information takes over the mind. Memory lane has been good to me.

It's funny that this specific group of people from so long ago, were some of the closest friends of mine. I believe because in elementary school (it was a k-8 school) we went through so many stages and phases, and they were there through it all.

By the time high school came along, we had already changed. Many moved away. New friends didn't get to learn as much about who we were or where we came from. College friends and adult friends never got to know the internal workings of our lives either.

The older we get, the more guarded we become. If we could open ourselves up and just be, like we were so long ago, we would all have too many friends to count.

The internet, my blog, this blog are a few of the places where I've let my guard down, offering up the real me. I believe that is why I feel so close to you all, and why I feel so guilty about not being here lately.

If you're on Facebook, please add me. My name is Lois Twater, which is a story in itself. Facebook wouldn't accept Lois Lane as a real name. Since I am cautious about my real identity online, putting my real name wasn't an option. So I asked my teenaged son for some help.

"Find me a name as close to Lois Lane as you can."

Within seconds, I was Lois Twater.

Our real last name causes teenaged boys to call my son twat and twater, among many other fun nicknames. When my son had his Facebook account, he went by Harry Twater. Yes, I'm so proud. Anyhow, that's where the name came from.

I've missed you all, and will be back just as soon as I catch up with my past, or visa versa.

Dr. Nanny is in!

by Lois Lane

Due to a comment about a planters wart making Carol's shoes not work, I thought it would be fun to talk about home remedies. I've already mentioned in the comments at some point that my grandmother in-law, Nanny, was a wise old bird. She lived for sharing and trying home remedies.

She was the kind of lady who washed her windows with newspaper rather than paper towels. She said it prevented streaking. Although her windows looked fabulous, I still had a hard time not tearing my clothes off and running around all willy nilly. Perhaps they prevented other types of streaking.

Acne doesn't need any fancy crap like proactiv, according to Nanny. Just mix some baking soda and peroxide into a paste, slather it on your face and wait until it feels like your face is going to fall off. Then rinse add a light face moisturizer and poof. Also works on backne.

She used to polish her decorative candles with old pantyhose. It took the dust off and shined them right up. And once when her old man, Papa, spilled candle wax on the tablecloth her mother gave her 50 years earlier, which had been given to her some 40 year before that, she took a brown paper bag, laid it over the wax, and ironed the paper. It came up, saving the heirloom.

It went on and on!

Eye infection = potato
Boil = potato
Sore throat = warm salt water
Yellow teeth = baking soda as paste and peroxide as rinse
Head lice = tea tree oil
Foot odor = clothes dryer sheets in shoes
Planters wart = nail polish (five days in socks - can wash not too much, if paint comes off, reapply, peel after five days, watch the "cork" stick to the polish without pain)

Oh she was something!

My son, Lane 1 was a couple years old when she finally met him. We lived in Illinois, she in California. Upon our return, Lane 1 was scheduled to get tubes put into his ears, due to repeat infection. Nanny acted as if Mr. Lane and I were insane, "Putting that damn baby under the knife for no good reason."

Somehow, this bulldog of a woman, convinced me if I put Vick's Vapor Rub in his ear on a cotton ball at first sign of discomfort, it would drain out the fluid before it could cause an infection.

I called my sister in-law, Claudia. She is straight off the German boat and married to my brother. She knows all about this type of stuff. I really wanted her to talk me back into the surgery, instead, for the first time in ten years, she and I had a language barrier.

Oh dear!

"Why would you put that nasty in your baby's ear? That woman is crazy! There's laws about that!!"

At first, I didn't understand why she was so incredibly upset, or how that could go against any law.

"What are you supposed to do? Tell your husband to jerk off at the kid's ear canal?"

Apparently, "vicks" in German is "cum/jizz/semen/bubblin' man goo."

Whoa! I knew right away something was amiss. After explaining what Vick's is in English, we laughed our heads off. Then she calmly said, "Try it!"

So, I did. And to my surprise, and his doctor's, it worked.

Have you heard of or tried any of Nanny's treatments? Share your home remedies.

I Hope You All Have A Ball

By Lois Lane AKA No_Newz

Every year for too many to count, I'd race through the house screaming on Thanksgiving morning, "I call the neck!"

Most of the time, I was the early bird catching the worm so to speak. Other times, not so much. My sisters Mary and Lucy were my biggest nemeses in those days. Every once in a while they would "call the neck" before I even rolled my tired little bones out of bed.

I don't know what the fascination was, it's not that tasty, and certainly doesn't have much meat on the damn thing. Maybe, because there was only one neck to be had, and so many mouths that wanted to eat it, caused the stir. Whatever the case, I started my own Thanksgiving morning catchphrase on those years I missed out on the neck.

Sliding into the kitchen in my socks, I'd yell to my mother, "I call the balls!"

I meant the gizzards, but no one felt it necessary to correct me.

As the years progressed, my catchphrase didn't really catch on, because seriously, who wants "the balls" anyhow?

Many necks and "balls" later, I was dared by a bunch of blog friends I met through Ross, to enter The Tonight Show's "Who Wants to be a Correspondent" contest. I've never wanted to be on TV, but I take dares very seriously and went for it. Thankfully the tape never aired.

I had so many jokes in my head, but I was trying so hard to be PG since it was for TV. An unedited version of the same event may have come with an NC-17 or R rating.

Being among friends here at the nest, I thought I would share my audition tape with you. Why? Well because for my audition I chose to cover a Turkey Testicle Festival. I thought the concept would be funny, who knew I'd actually put a real turkey ball in my mouth? That's right, for the sake of comedy I ate a turkey testical.

Bark at the Moon

By Lois Lane AKA No_Newz

Darla

Well this blog has gone to the dogs. Why? Zona's fault. She sent me a message at MySpace saying how much my dog Darla looked like her beloved Remmy. When you find that perfect companion, you are hooked for life.

I have to be honest, I've always been a cat person. They are a lot like me, self-sufficient animal, attention whores when they want to be. Hidden when they choose to avoid certain people. Loving to a select few. Love their afternoon naps. Hissy and pissy when things are not going their way. I've just described myself and my cat in one paragraph.

Dogs are fickle. They give their love to anyone with a hot dog in hand. Well, my dogs do anyhow. I love my dogs, but they are best friends with whomever has the food. Plus, they are some stinky mofos! Fresh out of the bath every single time, they hop around three-legged as if they are about to lose control of their bladders. I fall for their trick every time. What they really want is to go outside, find a stank pile, and rub their dumb bodies all up in it.

My cat Chip is about the cleanest, best smelling creature alive. He wouldn't be caught wasting any of his nine lives rolling in what can only be described as deer shit. Really? Deer poo? How in the heck did a deer get in my yard and crap? (Sorry, my mind wandered.)

Chip's Light Switch Trick 2

People who know my cat Chip say he is dog-like, therefore, I am really a dog person. I don't know if that's true. Sure Chip will fetch a ball and bring it back. He does other tricks, like turning off the lights, turning on the bathroom faucet for a drink, and answering back when I talk to him? Oh yeah, he sure does. I should get video of this since so many people video tape their dogs saying, "I love you."

Chip says, "Mama, hello and no." He currently sounds like he is working on I love you., likely in an effort to not be upstaged by any dogs.

Okay, knock it off. I see you rolling your eyes at the screen! He really does talk. He is the smartest cat on the planet.

Anyhow, Darla and Daisy, named after Darla on The Little Rascals, and Daisy Duke, came into our lives because some woman got busted for backyard breeding. She had nearly 600 animals in all.

Daisy dressed and playing mommy

We went to the shelter, looked in this cage, and simultaneously went, "Awwwww!" Mr. Lane was looking at a min-pin, and I was looking at a long-haired doxie. Neither of us could talk the other out of their dog of choice. Since they were in a cage together, we figured, they get along well enough, we should adopt both.

We later found out that they were put together because the shelter was limited on space. Sure, they like each other. In fact I would say perhaps they are life partners. Don't you roll your eyes, again. They cuddle up together to sleep. They lick each other. They even hump each other's faces?

Oh yes, they do. And let me tell you it is a real K-9-69 situation.

Rich in love

By Lois Lane AKA No_Newz

The fads post and your comments put this blog into action. Seems many of us beautiful owls grew up in meager nests, loved and warm but without extras. I hope as I fly down memory lane, you will find yourself reflecting back.

Growing up Lane was fun, no matter how poor we were. I was the last of eight kids, raised in a three bedroom apartment in Chicago. Dad worked fulltime, and Mom ruled the roost. What we didn't have in material things and popularity, we made up for in other ways.

No matter where we went, we always had seven friends nearby. Seven other people who would always have our back, should there ever come a time. We should have been declared a gang.

Mom and Dad sure lucked out when the Catholic school offered a huge discount for large families. They got a buy three, get five free discount. And they were on that like an alter boy on the communal wine bottle.

Being popular was virtually impossible for a Lane kid. Everyone and everything in our school, St. Whack 'Em on the Knuckles, revolved around the almighty dollar, rather than the almighty, Almighty, if ya know what I'm sayin'. I suppose our parents raised us differently. Rich in love, rich in faith, rich in fun, rich in togetherness, which sometimes resulted in feeling... rich in claustrophobia.

I remember all of the cool and popular girls wore black and white Saddle Shoes. We Lanes had Trax from K-Mart. They were unisex, blue canvas with white stripes on the sides. If you stepped into a puddle, your toes and socks would turn blue. That was my favorite thing about those ugly shoes. I can't tell you how many times I rushed out of the house wearing one shoe that belonged to one of my siblings. That usually resulted in a mini war, ending in a per-syllable-spanking.

I had moments of jealously. Specifically of the kid whose folks brought McDonalds to him at school. I'll never forget how upset my taste buds were as the smell of those French fries wafted, my teeth sunk into my purple stained bread. That darn apple always squished my sandwich, and by lunch time, the jelly had kicked the peanut butter's ass. It was thin as a Frisbee, and purple as an elbow after taking a major brodie onto the concrete.

As I watched that boy enjoy his fast food goodness, and classmates begged to bum a fry, I reached into my lunch bag to get my apple. Instead, I felt paper. It was a note from my mom.

"Dear Lois, have a nice day! I love you! Love, Mom" She drew a smiley face after her name.

I do believe that note kicked that Happy Meal's ass.