I’m Jean Teasdale, and I Have a Funny Way of Looking at Things!

Aren’t introductions awkward? Don’t get me wrong; I love meeting people and making new friends. I’m the type who will start up a conversation with a total stranger in a waiting room, a laundromat, an all-you-can-eat buffet, a movie theater, a juror room—you name it! However, when it comes to written introductions, I’m at a bit of a loss. For one thing, they stink! They sit there like bumps on a log and cry out to be skipped over. Intros just stall you from getting to all the fun action, the real meat of the book. Plus, they can be a real rhymes-with-witch to write! After all, how do I sum myself up in a few words, especially given the vast and colorful tapestry that has been my life?

Should I call myself an average, humble homemaker who lives at 1567 Blossom Meadows Drive, Apartment 4B? I could, but it would mean leaving so much out, because this homemaker has worn many hats in her day. It’s true: If you live in my area, you’ve probably known me at various times as your supermarket cashier, your drugstore cashier, your liquor store cashier, your truck-stop waitress, your bowling-alley shoe booth clerk, your junior shampooist, your assistant florist-trainee, your soft-serve ice cream server, your advertising-flyer deliverer, your discount clothing-store sales associate, your indoor flea-market vendor, and your data-entry clerk. You may also know me as one of the Pamida’s best customers. Or you may know me as the woman who dresses up in bunny ears every Easter and waves to cars from the balcony-porch of her apartment. For it’s true, I am all those things.

I’m also known as the wife of a Mr. Richard Teasdale, better known to readers of my column as Hubby Rick. While I hold down the fort, Rick works full-time at a tire center. I guess you could call Rick my rock. Actually, Rolling Rock may be more accurate! Because he drinks a lot of beer, get it? (See how this is a humor book?) Rick and I have been together nearly twenty years, through thick and thin and good days and bad. I ask you, how many shotgun marriages can say the same? Sure, neither his dad nor my mom were thinking much about the long term when they caught us making whoopee in the back of Rick’s rusted-out Chevy Luv in the Jewel parking lot all those years ago—they just wanted to make an honest man out of him, at least until they could talk the church into an annulment. But I guess Rick and me are like two old shoes—except I’m a fuzzy slipper and Rick is a steel-toed boot! Whatever our differences, I can’t imagine being with anyone else. It would take heaven and earth to pry this ring off my finger—well, maybe just Dean Cain! (Hubba hubba!)

The hubby himself!

Sadly, I can’t say that I’m a Mommy Jean as well as a Wifey Jean. Personally, I think being a mother is the greatest job on earth (personal shopper is a close second). But something’s always been in the way—namely, our tummies!! Just kidding…well, kind of. Rick’s boys swim, there’s no doubt about that—it’s just that they seem to prefer pickling in Coors than baking in my toasty little baby oven! Anyhow, never say never—there’s still plenty of ticking left in my biological clock!¹

The other grand passion of my life (it may be my only grand passion) is that delectably sweet, rich, brown food of the gods that has for so long served as my muse, savior, and midday snack: yep, none other than almighty chocolate! I shudder to think of a world without it. I love all kinds of yummy chocolate concoctions, many of my own invention! Ooey, Gooey Choco-Cocoa-Mocha-Mint Raspberry Cupcakes with Coconut-Caramel Icing, anyone? Then again, I’m the type to get a contact high from a discarded Hershey’s Kiss wrapper! With chocolate, who needs marijuana and cocaine? Actually, lots of people. Still, I’ll take a chronic addiction to chocolate to a semi-truck full of OxyContin any day! (I am also extremely addicted to coffee.)

For many women, marriage, chocolate, and an endless string of part-time jobs would be fulfillment enough. Not for me, though. Years ago, I realized I would need something more. I had always loved to express myself through writing, whether in my diary or compositions at school. (True, I never did better than a C-plus in English. But I still think it was the heart in my work that mattered most, less so spelling, grammar, sentence composition, choice of subject matter, and ability to stay on point.) With writing, I could be totally honest, sincere, and original ’til the cows came home! And because I did it in my spare time, I didn’t have to worry about parents, siblings, stepsiblings, aunts, uncles, teachers, priests, den mothers, bosses, or classmates peeking over my shoulder and “correcting” me. It was not only tons of fun, but more therapeutic than getting massaged on a fluffy cloud by a giant teddy bear! (Well, almost!)

Hand-in-hand with the writing comes something very valuable. Without it, my career would be a total wash. Not only am I a writer, there’s another Jean you should know about: Jean the kidder. Yep, I’m a bit of a card—let’s just say my funny bone takes up most of my arm! For example, how many people would ever think to wear a round red clown nose at their job? This one would! It’s stuff like that that sets me apart from the crowd. Of course, I’m always asked by my supervisor to take the nose off, as it supposedly “bothers” the customers or makes my fellow co-workers “uncomfortable.” And I comply, but hopefully I’ve planted the seed in people’s brains that life need not be so serious. (You’re welcome!)

Even if I can’t always express my sense of humor in public, it’s far too good to keep to myself. So long ago I decided to join it with writing. I’m rarely without my notebook and something to write with, usually a six-color pen. (And yes, I use all the colors, even the hard-to-make-out orange!) Besides the crazy circus that is my life, I write down my thoughts, observations, or whatever darn thing that enters my head! Sometimes, when I’m on a real tear, I fill page after page. Does that happen to other writers? I’m not sure, but surely it must. I have heard of “writer’s block,” though. Not to brag, but I’ve rarely experienced that. I guess I must have some kind of God-given gift for putting pen to paper. And I’m not even counting margin doodles. I should have entered this book-writing business a long time ago.

You might not think that everyday life would provide any inspiration at all, but believe me, it does! Take my household clutter, for example. Boy, if that mound of laundry and old Good Housekeeping magazines could talk! (Actually, it has, and it’s told me, “Feed me some more of those yummy tube socks and profiles of Kelly Ripa!”) From “cultivating” science experiments in the fridge, to hunting for buried treasure between my sofa cushions (so that’s where my iron and ham sandwich have been all this time!), my columns have shown that humdrum home life can be anything but! I don’t limit my observations to the confines of my one-bedroom apartment, however. For example, ever notice that trying on clothing can itself be very trying? And did you know that the only thing I’ve improved on with age is aging? Oh, and men! Don’t get me started! Pair this with my incredibly rare female perspective (seriously, there are not enough gals out there telling it like it is!),² and you get literary dynamite! Sure, maybe you uninitiated aren’t used to a sassy mama dishing it out, but if I don’t do it, who the heck will?

Casa Teasdale! (upper floor, second window from left)

For me, laughter and life go hand in hand—and if you have a life like mine, you need all the laughter you can get! See, I’m the type of person whose parking place gets stolen; who receives her order last at every fast-food joint she goes to, even if it’s just a Pepsi; whose umbrella blows hopelessly inside-out the second she steps outside in the rain; who gets the evil eye from her fellow co-workers when she forgets to bring in a snack during her assigned snack day; who tears out the seam in the posterior of her leggings when she tries to wrest two carts apart at the supermarket; who gets the antenna broken off her car at least twice a year…shall I go on? Okay! I’m also the one whose microwave implodes when she’s nuking some much craved-for cheese nachos, and who, when she wears a button-down shirt, doesn’t notice her middle button has been open all day, revealing her bra and cleavage to all the world!

Once in a while I get asked, with all the crazy stuff that happens to me, why don’t I just dig a grave and lie in it? Well, I suppose I could, but it wouldn’t really work in my favor, would it? I’m a firm believer in the notion that, if life gives you lemons, throw them out and make Crystal Light instead, because who needs the extra calories?!? See what I’m driving at here? It feels better to laugh at life than to cry, so why not opt for giggles rather than sobs? And if you’re still not sure how to go about it, hopefully this book will show you.

I guess I’m just a daydreamer at heart, thinking of what should be rather than what is. It’s true: If I’m doing something, chances are I’m thinking about something else entirely different. I’m not content to satisfy myself with the immediate present, because let’s face it, reality is strictly for the birds! I do a lot of reflecting. You name it, I’ve probably reflected on it. Sometimes I just get lost in the unnoticed beauty in the patterns of ceiling tiles. I admit that this has sometimes gotten me in trouble at jobs. (A word of advice—never daydream and laminate at the same time!) Hubby Rick once asked me if there was some such thing as remedial special-ed classes for adults, because I could sure use them. (Hardee-har-har, Rick!) Well, call me a flake or a ditz all you want, but none of us were meant to be machines, and I firmly believe that if people were more in touch with their inner imaginations, they’d be a lot happier!

And think about it—maybe if there were more people like me, the world would be a lot easier to live in. True, we’d have to expect things like getting fired a lot from jobs, or accidentally tripping and falling over toddlers at the park, or losing teeth at our friend’s wedding, but we’d greet it all with a wink, a smile, and a wistful sigh. And of course, if there were more people like me, there would be fewer people unlike me who think people like me are completely out of our minds. Another plus!

So shrug off your cares, relax, and pamper yourself with this book! You deserve to!