It’s Blogging 4 Books time again! This month’s B4B topic is: Clubs.

At first, I found this to be a difficult topic to blog about. I’m not a member of any local clubs. I live so far out in the pine trees, going to a neighbor’s house requires getting into my truck. The only clubs in my little town either involve octogenarians playing dominoes or Harley Davidson motorcycles (sometimes both!). While I have more gray hairs that I’m willing to admit and while riding on the back of a Hog sounds racy and dangerous, these are not clubs for me.

I don’t go out to clubs. Even during my pre-spawnling life, I didn’t frequent them all that often. Clubs like that involve drinking. Adding alcohol to the naturally tipsy cocktail that is me, more often than not, leads to an astonishing loss of inhibitions and, frequently, vital articles of clothing. Regrettably, to some, these are not clubs for me. [Mr. Clean prefers I remember I’m married And keep my clothes on while in public.]

Now, I’ll admit, the idea of knocking some folks over the head with a club is thoroughly enjoyable and good for hours of daydreaming. But, on the other hand, I think experiencing the inside of a jail cell could suck all the fun right out of it. I could always whittle a mini-club just big enough for my purse, and then use it to Club-and-Run, virtually undetected. But, no. While it might provide some much needed stress relief, the karmic backlash is bound to be painful and I’m already dealing with the agony of Parent’s Revenge. This kind of club is not for me.

I do enjoy playing poker and that involves clubs, but only if they’re in the hand you’re dealt. Nonetheless, the clubs on cards hold no special significance for me - unless there are five of them in sequential order from 10 to Ace, and the pot is a veritable mountain of green, on which I can do the “Neener Neener” booty dance. While I would pet and coo over those clubs, the odds of them being the ones for me - not in the cards.

I wracked my brain thinking about clubs. Soon, I feared I was doing damage to my tender gray matter so I gave it a break. But then my sister called and, at one point, said to me, “I’m so tired I can barely open my eyes.” And I immediately replied, “Welcome to the club.”

It dawned on me, then – the frequency with which I utilize this expression indicates I actually Do have a club to talk about. My own! While slightly sarcastic and sometimes cynical, it’s always empathetic -- an all encompassing club with me standing at the door, welcoming anyone who’s willing to come in.

-- Got a kid who stuck something Interesting? Hideous? Mind-boggling? up his nose? Welcome to the club.

Although my Doodlebug is more likely to be pulling something out, usually while we’re cuddled up head to head and reading a book. Just the other night, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye while reading to him. Turning, I found him two knuckles deep on a gold mine exploration. “Umm, Hello. Ewww!” I told him. He slowly removed the offending appendage from his nostril and then, flashing me the most innocently impish grin, said, “I love you Mom.” The smile does it every time.

-- Find yourself having odd narcoleptic episodes resulting in keyboard face during the day but then suffering from raging insomnia every night? Welcome to the club.

I don’t fear wrinkles but I’m scared to death the little square imprint from the ‘Delete’ key is never going to disappear from my forehead. Worse, the tiny sci-fi geek in me occasionally wonders if one of these times, my brain will interpret that delete key by osmosis and start erasing some of the more important files upstairs. Like, say, the program which distinguishes between thoughts to be spoken aloud and those to be kept silent, No Matter What. Trust me, although that file routinely misfires, I really need it to stay put.

-- Feeling like the world is conspiring against you? Welcome to the club.

When I woke up this morning, I discovered it was Cold outside (finally!). With a surprisingly chipper attitude - considering the sun had yet to show up - I quickly located and donned my favorite comfy sweater. Ten minutes later, I was attacked by lunatic puppies who had bathed in mud like warthogs all morning. We live on acres and acres of red clay. The sweater? It looks like a piece of evidence from a CSI murder scene. Doodlebug pointed out that at least my hair looked nice (so Sweet of the Booger Snatcher). As the bus pulled up to whisk him away to school, I felt raindrops. But, looking to the sky, I found it confusingly clear. Reaching up to see if my head was indeed damp or if I’d been having morning hallucinations brought on by exhaustion, I found it was not rain. It was not even dew from the tree leaves overhead. It was Bird Poop!! On. My. Nice. Hair. Thank you, Morning, for greeting me so warmly. I know we have not seen each other in quite some time… and now I remember why.

On the way back into the house, I tripped over laundry left just inside the utility room and fell on the psychotic cat – who will now stalk me for the remainder of the day and, once I’m appropriately twitchy, pee on something I hold dear. Since Mr. Clean’s departure, I’ve come to the conclusion that laundry multiplies faster than bunnies in hot, hot passionate love. Definitely a conspiracy, but also? A heads up that I owe Mr. Clean some serious “I’m not Worthy” bowing and scraping upon his return. How he handles this particular household job with such ease is an utter mystery to me.

After burning my sweater and washing my hair, I dismissed the morning’s antics and buckled down for work. Except, the office cube-dwellers? All conspiring ninnies. On a day full of deadlines, I have only received 10% of the information I need for my reports. The cube-dwellers are all conspicuously absent from email, forcing me to call each and every one of them. Repeatedly. To talk to their voice mail. Either I forgot today is a holiday or they’re all hiding in a conference room, stuffing their faces with birthday cake. Add to that a remote connection that’s decided to be half a dozen steps over on the wonky side… just for kicks. The world? Conspiring? Oh My, Yes.

My club is hopping today and it’s not even Noon yet!

So, really, who needs a Quilting Circle or an all-night Rave? My club is The place to be. I have an all day hotline. Call me up – or heck, use email - and I’ll guarantee commiseration, no matter what the situation.
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