Inspired by the AtoZ Challenge

In April, 2015 I joined an event called the AtoZ Challenge. The rules were simple: post a blog each day of April (except for Sundays) choosing a topic that correlated with the next consecutive letter of the alphabet. Because I got my start in writing as a stand-up comic, I thought I'd return to my roots. This blog is the result. 

Warning: this list is rated PG-13. Prudes need not apply. 

Access the audio version here

At the recommendation of an overly ambitious friend, I've signed up for an event called the "AtoZ Challenge," coincidentally the caption of the above picture. I call attention to the above referenced image only because it took me so long to insert it into this blog on my son's Mac, I need confirmation for my soul that you've at least looked at it. 

When someone mentions a challenge, I figure one o...

Access the audio version here.

My dad was the caretaker for his parents for years. I don’t know how many exactly but he’s definitely a contender for sainthood. So when he recently read on my blog that I was a participant (casualty, perhaps) of the AtoZ Challenge, he instantly gave me the topic for A: Alzheimer’s. 

During the conversation he shared, and more importantly (or surprisingly) laughed about the stories regarding m...

If you’re not a fan of baseball, you’re probably equally confused by the new rules.

Wait. I guess that’s obvious.

When I don’t know what people are talking about, I always feel better when someone starts laughing.  Laughing along is the best way I know to fake it.

Hey, sounds like my honeymoon. 

But is there anything funny about screwing with the timing of baseball?

I just enjoyed my 52nd birthday. I like the pace of middle age. Ob...

My husband thinks I’m confident. He wonders why. My answer is simple: I think I’m far prettier than I am. 

 Really. I see younger bodies, hot blondes and scholars and I’m not remotely intelligent enough to know I don’t compare.

That’s my secret. Low IQ.

As a result, I have one piece of advice: stop gathering information. Honestly. The power of information is in how it’s perceived so if you read words on a page and are being manip...

Our dog weighs six pounds. Her name is Sweet. I tell people right off the bat, “That’s deceptive.”

Sweet likes to hibernate in winter. Unfortunately her bowels don’t. But I give her kudos for thinking she can hold it until the thaw. 

We have this word we use to convey to her that she needs to make the effort to relieve herself someplace but in the house. We say, “Outside.”

Well, "outside" our back door is a concrete stoop about t...

I have a bad shoulder. It’s not horrible, like some, but it’s inconvenient enough that I’ve now mastered working it into conversation just to whine. Being Irish, it’s extended my cue of worthless conversation pieces to an all time high.

The latest was with my son. Since I’ve been milking my condition to get out of doing everything, I think he needed me to justify my disability. So he wanted to know exactly what was wrong. Since...

My son is an only child. He’s also the only one who gets blamed when I can’t find something and the only one who gets to take out the garbage. I know there’s a whole paradigm surrounding the concept of being an only child that makes them think they’re far more unfortunate than they are, and as a result, some of them develop imaginary friends.

My son took it to the next level. He has imaginary frat friends.

Imaginary frat friends...

I’m going gray. Matter of fact, I’m not going, I’ve arrived. I caught the bus and rode that sucker out of town without even a ticket.

I try to look at gray hair not as a loss of color but as a blank slate. It’s a chance to experience the color palette like I did my first box of 64 Crayola crayons.

Pure possibility.

Kind of like what I did when I cowered in misery in the basement bathroom of a rented house when I discovered I’d lo...

When I slipped from the womb, all that kept me from climbing on the back of a horse was my lack of mobility. And a horse, of course. Due to a few quality blows to the head, I have few memories of the Mesozoic-like period of my life, but the era is vaguely reproducible from a drizzle of curling black and whites and fading Polaroids of me sitting on anything that resembled a horse, along with the myriad of family complaints of m...

I miss some things about living in Iowa:

Watching television from the davenport.

Tying my tennis shoes to play outside.

Enjoying a bubbly can of pop.

Filling my gas tank at the local Kum and Go.

It’s really called that. This was way before you could cross reference your unintentional innuendo on Urban Dictionary. Oops!

However, the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed in Iowa actually happened in Wisconsin. It all started when the sta...

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© 2019 by Cindy Falteich

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