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Kelly Melang, writer, business owner, avid fitness freak.  If you're not living on the edge then you're taking up too much space!

Monday, October 31, 2016

WTF - Yea? But did you cry?

How can you not love Halloween?

The one day where you can let all cleaning skills go stating that "Dust and Cobwebs are decorations!"

You get to dress up.

You get to scare people.

Typical Halloween conversation at our house, two days before the event:

Did you buy enough blood?
Of course, I have plenty of blood. The problem is we may not have enough horror flesh.
Oh OK, then I'll use the bloody scab instead and save the horror flesh for you.
You are the best!

If anyone stopped by the house the day of Halloween they'd hear:

Hold still, the blood is going everywhere!
Let me pick that scab off of you, it needs to look bloodier.
Ewww, these guts are sticking to my fingers!

The boys and I have the best intentions: Scare people in the neighborhood haunted house!

So we dress up, we go over and we do our best!

I'm the opening act, so that requires quite a bit of screaming, lots of yelling and of course my signature sequence:

"I have two potions, one is a good potion, one is a bad potion. Which will you choose?"

The sadistic part of me loves when they choose the bad potion because, the good one smells like flowers the "bad" one a few sprays of my "Instant Smelly Shit" spray.  So not only do I scare them but I get to enjoy their reactions when they choose the "bad" potion!

The boys are zombies in the graveyard and they take their part very seriously. So seriously that they come in saying, "So the guy that runs the place says we have to scare according to his rules, do we have to?"
"What are his rules?"
"Don't freak out the little kids."
I think about it, "Yeah that sounds about right. The adults and teenagers, go for it!"

We spend 3 hours with spaghetti noodles, Instant Smelly Shit, Barf Spray, Jello and of course, treats.

We stop periodically for "Fix my flesh Mom, add some more scab to it."
"I need more blood, I'm too pale."
""Mom, I lost my teeth!  Where are my teeth!"

The end of the night we are laughing about all the people we scared, everyone telling different stories. The best line of the evening was:

"Well, I made two little kids cry, did you make anyone cry?"

It was a good night, a dark and stormy and very good night. Cobwebs and dust included.

Segway post about Karma. Sure I love scaring all the little kids with the Smelly Shit so I get it back when my son decides he wants to see what it smells like and spills it on himself in the car on the ride back.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

WTF - Woods Of Terror, they said. It Will Be Fun They Said......

Do you know what scares a Mom?

Haunted Trails are like childbirth to me. The getting there is the fun part, but then you remember how much you hate certain parts, right?

This year it was 5 teenagers, one car and a two hour drive from Beech Mountain, NC.

Why do I drive two hours? Because out of all the trails we haunt, Woods of Terror is one of the favorites!

First problem, How do I feed 5 children and not break the bank?

I don't save money on separate meals, I buy the catering size when it comes to teenagers! The look on their faces was classic as I handed back 64 chicken nuggets, large tub of sauce, and a gallon of sweet tea with 5 glasses.  "We will never eat all of that," one whispered.

Fifteen minutes later.

Gone.

The fun part? Watching them save the mega tray sitting on the console every time I made a turn. "Save the NUGS!!" was the cry.


My second hint is plan a weekday and early evening for two reasons:  Don't miss the Monster Parade at dusk, where every monster from the haunt marches out behind a coffin car and the owner wearing an yellow snake. Oh, and getting their early means you don't pay the extra per person Fast Pass fee, effectively saving me enough money covering the tray of "nugs" and the tea!


We brought two Woods of Terror virgins with us, teenagers acting like they don't get scared until the song IronMan started. I don't care how many times you come to Woods of Terror, that song starting the parade will always get your heart racing. The monsters coming through then completes the process as one of the two virgins looked at me like, "What have I gotten myself into?"

"They can't touch you, right?" He asked watching a woman walk by with blood dripping out of her mouth.


"Yep," I say, laughing watching her sneak up to him, screaming in his face as he turned back to the parade


"They don't need to touch you to scare you," I say.

In order to survive, here's a few hints:

Go for it, scream your little heart out, believe me, it makes it more fun!
Aim for the middle of the pack, the front gets the first scare, and the back is always followed.
Get used to the sound of chainsaws.
Invite someone really tall or with red hair, they'll get all the attention from the monsters as you pass safely.
If you are under 40 wear a spare mini pad (girls and boys) over 40 think about Depends.
Don't be that guy pointing out what's next, this is the perfect way of getting ditched.
Dress to run - that little girl in the high heeled shoes, well, they ate her for lunch. 
If you get scared, push someone else at the monster. In my case it was the kids pushing me.
Inevitably you WILL end up in front. I don't know how this happens, but it happens.

I spent the hour through Woods of Terror laughing (OK, with a few screams in between) because not much scares me anymore. I've lived through dirty diapers, temper tantrums, science experiments and now,

now,

PUBERTY!  (Insert scream of terror here!)

Woods of Terror, the perfect way to scare the kids, and Moms, if you are looking for a fun night and no voice the next day, this is the place for you.

Don't forget your Depends.


Saturday, October 22, 2016

WTF - Adult or Adultish?

How can you survive having kids without being a little Adultish?

If you've never heard of the word Adultish then stop right, I'm not responsible for corrupting you.

If you are the mother that loves those "community events" that miraculously schedule themselves in taverns with other like minded mothers then read on.

Where's the fine line between being responsible or someone calling child services on you?


Adultish is loving your kids, but giving them some freedom usually enough that you feel that twinge of guilt easily taken care of by a nice glass of red wine.

Adultish is being an adult, but not being a REAL adult, get it?

There are some benefits to being Adultish:

You get the best videos on your camera.

The adult in us sees the bad ending to many of our children, yet the Adultish in us sees many great stories and quite possibly that viral video that could make us all rich.

I tell my children not to do something. They sneak behind my back convinced that my advice "you'll get hurt" isn't real.  Now I am sure Darwin may be at work here, but not my child, so I'm quiet until I hear the squeal. Do I comfort first? No.  I say, "What did I tell you?"

Better yet, sometimes I'm filming.

Being Adultish means any decision is good decision because you are the Adult.

"Tonight's the night of Breakfast for dinner!" Plates of Egos and Pop Tarts all around!

Sure you can tell them you're beat and don't feel like cooking but with enough Adultish authority, they'll all cheer Breakfast for Dinner idea!

Being Adultish means you are allowed to give yourself a break.

Sure you've got a long list of things to do, which all eek of responsibility.

Then your non adult friends inform you they are heading to the pub to solve the problems of the world.

Just for one.

Time to take one for saving Humanity.

Adultish saves you money.

Adults only Gluten Free, Organic, From Friendly Farms, Without Any Preservatives, Lightly Massaged Cereal or Chicken or Meat or even Produce.

Their kids are used to the taste of cardboard.

Adultish justifies that box of Pumpkin Spice doughnuts because, well, because, ummm, because......

It was ON SALE!

Most of all Adultish lets you not take yourself so seriously, laugh at the different lessons you've learned (not fails) especially that idea of putting a tissue box of ping pong balls around your waist, then trying to empty the box by gyrating as hard as you can.

What? You haven't tried that party game?

Well then you must be an adult, not a REAL adult.

Monday, October 17, 2016

WTF - Thank You Social Media For Giving Me Patience

Is it good or bad that Social Media has helped us old folk with our patience?

Waiting has taken on a whole new meaning with Social Media. Kids, social media gives you an extra buffer when parents are waiting on you!

Pulling into the parking lot of High School waiting on my child, normally I'd be frustrated 36 seconds into it because my attention is finding him.

However, a totally new routine gives him extra time as I pull out my phone:

Check text messages, anything important? If not, send a few random things to people.

Check through Facebook, purposely reading through the newsfeed before taking the time checking my own notifications because that is the way you do it. Your notifications are like dessert, "Someone LIKED me" so go through all the mundane stuff then move to dessert last.

Of course, my son isn't here so I'll stalk a few people I'm interested in, lurking away quietly.

Do I send a text message to him saying, "I am waiting on you in the parking lot, come on!"

No, I move over to Instagram, looking through pictures before looking at who liked my picture, (just like the Facebook notifications, dessert last) because it is not all about MY ego, it's about the artwork.

I'll then look through what my Instagram friends like possibly following something if it looks interesting.

I'm not done yet. Perhaps I go back to Facebook because I'm sure within the 3 minutes of Instagram I could miss something there.

Move over to my blog, I check how many people read my post (that's it???) Look through friends blogs, making a few comments. (Why don't people comment on blogs?)

Finally, the finishing with my favorite, SnapChat because I feel this is a direct connection to people and that is important! Take a random picture for my MyStory because my life is that exciting.

When all is said and done, I look up aggravated, "What is that boy doing over there, doesn't he know I am waiting?"

So teenagers, now that your parents are on Social Media, you know you have a good 24 and a half minutes before they really start looking for you! If you haven't introduced Mom to SnapChat, add that because you'll but another 5 minutes of talking with your friends in the carpool with that one!

Has your patience increased in the DMV, the grocery store, the bathroom because your phone keeps you company?

Have you become a raving maniac waiting in line WITHOUT your phone? ("what am I supposed to do, I need to LIKE something")

Tell me Social Media does not have the redeeming quality of giving you more patience?

Friday, October 14, 2016

WTF - Do I Have To Be An Adult Today?

It's decision time, to adult or to adultish today?

This morning everything would be different, I'm going to be an adult and be responsible.

Right?  Right!

I consult the list I wrote (the night before with a glass of wine) of everything I need to do to be a responsible adult.  Gosh, I don't remember writing down that recipe for dinner, that looks pretty hard?

But today is ADULT DAY! Hooray!

I resolve not to yell as the kids get ready for school, tackling the first chore - putting the laundry in the washer so it's ready for the dryer when I come back from carpool.

I'm congratulating myself. I made healthy lunches AND the washer is going at full speed as we leave.

This adulting is going pretty well.

I'm multitasking.

I move from dropping them off at school to the next thing on my list.  Groceries.

I don't feel like going to the grocery store right now, I'll just do it later.

No, I must be an adult, I must go to the store right now. This is how I prioritized my list, less gas.

But I'm out of coffee, I need more coffee to get through the grocery store.

Wait, there's more coffee at home, that's what I'll do, I'll get coffee then I'll go to the store later.

Mountain folk at this point know I am doomed, I went back up the mountain, it will take a Zombie Apocalypse to get me back down. But that's another story!

The wash is done as I enter the house.

OK, the wash, yep, I'm still an adult. I got this.

My list says BATHROOM!!  I look over to the bathroom then back to the coffee maker.

This adulting thing is exhausting, I'm gonna just take a little break and check Facebook.

20 minutes later I feel a little guilty, I really need to get to the next thing on my list.

Oh is that puppies playing in a bathtub?  Hold on a minute.

My washer reminds with an irritated ding that it's waiting.

Oh yeah, the wash, I'm adulting today, I think marveling at the number of yoga pants I've worn this week. Second load of wash in the washer.

I give myself another break because I have crossed off 4 things from my to do list. Need to start adulting with baby steps, don't want to ruin the whole thing in one day.

I could just do the groceries tomorrow morning right after carpool, that way I don't have to leave the mountain early, (See the whole mountain thing, I'll have to write more about this.) This gives me time for coffee.

But what about that crazy dinner I planned for tonight?

Did I tell anyone I was making it? I can't remember, I'll just play dumb. Spaghetti it is, I think the sauce is organic.

So another cup of coffee because I know I'll need more caffeine to adult the rest of this day.

I mean, I've pretty damn good.

Oh look, there's a cute video of babies laughing.

Crap! Time to get the kids from school, where did the day go?

These jeans are digging into my stomach like a Caesarean Section, let me put on my yoga pants before leaving, at least they are clean.

Tomorrow I'll be much better at adulting, I'll hit the grocery store first!

The next morning, I'm rolling out of school drop off congratulating myself for being an adult, being on time two days in a row!

Groceries. A big frown hits my face. I think we can survive one more night without food. There's a cup of milk left in the gallon if I water it down I can get two more bowls of cereal out of it tomorrow morning!  I've got this adulting thing!

Back home for the steaming cup of coffee, this time I'll bypass Facebook and get right to my to-so list!

Yeah, right!

What is that I smell?  Oh, the laundry. Oh well, time to run it again.

What chore has made you question your adulting for the day?  Comment below!


Tuesday, October 11, 2016

WTF - The History of Candy Corn In A Cornhusk

Pausing, with the handful halfway to my mouth, I look at my children.

"What? Do I have to share?"

"Because there isn't enough."

Who doesn't love candy corn? That sugary confection defining FALL! Like most items that go from your mouth straight to your hips many have that love hate relationship with this candy. I thought I'd help you fall in love with it again with a few interesting facts!

Did you know Candy Corn was originally called "chicken feed?" There is no real inventor of the recipe, just oral tradition until it was picked up by the Goelitz Confection Company and marketed as Chicken Feed. I guess low sales made the change to a more appetizing name Candy Corn!

The Goelitz Confectionary Company also makes another addictive candy! They changed their name to Jelly Belly so technically they've been making candy corn since the 1880's. That's a lot of sugar!

 What exactly is in Candy Corn you ask?

Sugar, of course!

Candy Corn's basic recipe is Sugar, sugary corn syrup, carnauba wax and water, mixed with Fondant for texture and Marshmallows for the soft bite. The mixture is dyed different colors then poured into molds on a three pass process. The original labor process used large vats with workers pouring the different colored mixtures three different times, that's a lot of lifting. Now they have machines that mix the sugar concoction before pouring it into the molds.

Based on the success of Candy Corn, companies went on to make Candy Pumpkins (way too much sugar for me) and Candy Turnips (Oh how appetizing!)

If you are staring at the bag, like me, remember, eating 19 pieces of Candy Corn is the sugar equivalent of drinking one can of Coke. Your hips and teeth will thank me later.

But who only stops at 19 pieces when there is a WHOLE bag?

In a recent survey, Candy Corn is one of the most hated confections of Halloween. Brach's begs to differ, selling between 9 billion and 15 billion kernels of the stuff yearly. That's what's keeping dentists in business because someone obviously likes this stuff.

If you need a reason to eat Candy Corn without feeling guilty, the day before Halloween is National Candy Corn Day, I'm pretty sure it doesn't have any calories on that day.

Just when everyone sighs in relief putting the Candy Corn away for another year, Candy Companies have now come up with Reindeer Corn, Cupid Corn, and of course, Rabbit Corn!  You're welcome.

Finally, kids don't read this part. If you're needing some fresh cash, you can always bite off the white part of the Candy Corn, tell your parents you lost a tooth, place it under your pillow. Apparently the tooth fairy has a sweet tooth because this worked for me when I was a kid, oh, and last week also!

The weather's turning cooler, change in the air, the leaves are falling. Go ahead, take that handful of Candy Corn, it is a fall rite after all. Just make sure you share!

Where do you stand? TeamCandyCorn or TeamReeseCup?


Friday, October 7, 2016

WTF - It Sure Was Different Then

"You'll go blind." I heard them say once to my older brother, because I, being a nice Catholic girl, would never even think of it!

I laugh now because when I was a kid, my only foray into something diabolical was finding a Playboy magazine in my brother's bedroom, now with the computer and the Internet accidentally typing in "Pretty Pus" instead of "Pretty Pic" can land you in therapy for a few years.

How did my brother get those Playboys? In a diabolical kind of way.

Enter the neighbor, who looked very neighborly, but unbeknownst to us had a secret stash of Playboy magazines! And said neighbor, and this is the writer taking a little poetic license here, got caught by his wife on said Playboy magazines and was coerced to throwing them away. (Hell, he could have run out of storage in his basement or found the boxes saying, "Where the hell did this come from, I'd better throw them away before Sylvia finds them!")

So all the magazines go into their garbage cans, and since it is Thursday, all garbage cans go out to the curb the night before.

Seriously, I think God has a sense of humor because a beautiful calm sunny night turned into a Squall of a morning, blustery winds, driving rain and did I say blustery winds?

Said blustery winds decided that knocking over the trash can full of Playboy magazines was a must, spreading them all over our Catholic neighborhood, my mother waking to a full frontal nude picture as she opened the front door for the morning paper.

I remember her stomping through the house muttering, "Those lousy no good, I knew there was something wrong, not the stuff for children, all over the neighborhood, half is in my yard they are going to think they are mine!"

She walks out into the tempest, black trench coat (my father's) big bucket hat on her head, goulashes on her feet, walking up and down the street with a trash can picking up the "filth" that has strewn all over to the neighborhood during the night. She is extra careful cleaning up our yard because you can't get "Yard of the Month" if there's a picture of a naked lady draped across your holly bush.

All magazines, miscellaneous pictures, and even a few pieces of trash end up in our garbage, set out again, with lids secured, for the garbage man.

Coming into the house, her deed is done, the neighborhood clean, and starts making breakfast. We all want details about what happened causing commotion in the house but are silenced with an empty bowl, a cereal box, a jug of milk and a "It's none of your business."

My brother, the oldest, the more mature, gets wind of what's happened from my mother's mannerisms and the way she refers to the garbage as, "I cannot wait for the trash men to come by and take care of those Playboy magazines."

Playboy? Did someone say Playboy?

He's not hungry for breakfast, quickly putting on his cub scout hat, jacket and sneaking out the downstairs door as my sisters make barricades with cereal boxes so they don't have to look at me as we eat breakfast.

What is he doing?

I run out in the rain checking on my brother, because that is what the middle sister does.

"What are you doing?" I yell as the rain pelts down.

"Grab these, take them into the garage," he yells over the howling winds.

I grab a stack full of paper from him running into the garage, putting it on the floor, before running out for two more stacks of paper. I don't know what they are, they are important to my brother therefore since this may put me in good grace with him and his friends, I'll do whatever he says.

The stacks of paper move from the floor of the garage to a corner, covered with a blanket as we hear, "Get walking, you'll miss the bus!"

Later that afternoon, in the underground fort we built in the woods behind our house, my brother, his friends and I (my little sister was "too young for this") contemplate his booty.

Wow, I've never seen women like this, cringing as women,  stuck together from the rain, rip in half as the boys try turning pages. All of the magazines are littering the floor of the fort, hidden from parent view. I get kicked out in the very beginning because "I am a girl" and given so many threats "if I tell" that I am convinced I'd end up in a prison colony in Madagascar for squealing.

Those magazines stayed in that fort for a little while, I am sure my brother and his friends enjoying all the "great articles." That is until two of the boys got into a fight inside the fort, one kicking dirt into the face of another and during that fight the support of the underground fort collapsed sending boys out coughing and magazines into their shallow grave.

Unless someone got out their goulashes and a shovel and decided perhaps they were worth saving.

Luckily, I didn't hear of any of my brother's friends going blind, so maybe the magazines stayed where they are.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

WTF - Overheard At The Doctors

Wait a minute, is that a tickle in my throat? No, it feels like a sore throat. Let me go check WebMD

Could I have strep throat? Is it contagious?

 My quick visit to a Minute Clinic for antibiotics should be uneventful, right?

Wrong.

Sometimes you can't make this shit up, seriously.

Two women sitting in the far corner, I figure they are the safe spot because most of the other people in the clinic are wearing white masks which scares the hell out of me. I mean I could be contagious with strep throat, but what the hell do they have. I take a spot next to them.

Let's just call them 1 and 2, 1 being the person who is sick.

2: "You've got to fill out this paperwork", she says looking at the clipboard.

1. "I can't fill it out because my hand hurts from falling off the 4 wheeler, can you?" She holds up a perfectly good hand.

2:  "Sure, OK, do you have insurance?" She is looking up from the clipboard, pen poised.

1: "Of course I do, I'm on (insert what you will here, TenCare, Medicaid, Medicare, Uncle Cecil's Company policy)"

2: "Good, because it may take longer if you don't have insurance," she replies looking down.

(What may take longer? less paper work, or paying the bill because believe me, I've been there.)

2: "There's a space here for what's wrong with you. It says, what are your symptoms? Your hand hurts right?"

1: Nodding, "Yes, my hand hurts, I've got chills, a headache and white spots down there."

(At this point I have to physically control my head from swiveling over to the two of them with a "WHAT?")

2.  Looking up from the clipboard, "Do what?"  (Honey, I am right there with you.)

1: She points down to the seat of her chair, "You know, down there, the hootchie."

2:  Looking up from the clipboard, "You want me to write that down? You have white spots there, wait a minute, how do you know you have white spots in your hootchie?"

(My question exactly, the last time I checked it was pretty damn difficult looking down there.)

1:  Looking at her friend like she was crazy, "Because I have a picture of them." (Said in the tone that implied it should be followed by a "you dumb ass.")

2:  She is looking at her friend, "You have a picture of what?" (I'm in hook line and sinker, as a writer I gotta see how this story ends.)

1:  Another sigh, "I don't have the picture Carl took it with his phone."

(Another pause for me. Carl? Who is Carl? And where is his phone? And what is he going to do with the picture?)

2:  She nods, she must know Carl, he must be trustworthy with a picture of #1's crotch, "Oh OK, have Carl text you the picture in case the doc needs to see it." (This is making total sense to me.)

1:  Looking at her phone, "Do you think they'll write me a note, I'm gonna be late to my shift at Taco Johns." (Of course.)

2: Signing #1's name to all the paperwork, "Sure that's what doctors do, they give you medicine and write you notes."  (They forgot the "they send you bills" but maybe their insurance isn't like my insurance.)

Folks, seriously, you can't make this shit up.  Darwin is definitely at work here.

Monday, October 3, 2016

WTF - Where's The F*cking Manual

Guys, I think I need to break up with a few appliances. Cue Bad Romance right here.

New Appliances remind me of bad romances.

Start off all shiny and new, you are excited seeing them every day.

Then you fall into a routine, and when you see them you sigh.

Then they become the has been, looking like a used whore in the kitchen with old lipstick, rust in a few places, the novelty worn off as they take up space.

It started with the Mixer making an appearance in the house.

But wait, who needs a stand up mixer when you have a hand mixer, right?

We all oohed and ahhed over the appliance as it basked in the glory of newness.

"You just wait," said the dishwasher, the broken handle duct taped.

"They'll forget about you too," said the apple peeler from the back of the bottom cabinet.

"You give them everything then they betray you with something new," said the Parmesan Cheese shredder.

"At least I'm still considered useful," said the refrigerator.

Romances need a lot of communication, key to making things last.

Want to know the reason we break up with new appliances so easily?

I pull everything out of the box, I put it together winging it along figuring, this fits here, so obviously it goes there.

Holding one extra piece, I start looking for a manual.

Finally, I find it, looking at a few pictures on what the mixer should look like,

My mixer doesn't look anything like the pictures.

I must have screwed something up, going back to the piece of paper, I turn it over.

"For instruction manual, visit our website."

Translated, this mean, "We don't want to kill trees for something you'll lose anyway, so either Google that shit or go to our website."

I look back to the mixer, "I can figure this out, I'm pretty smart."

And that is why the mixer sat on the counter, moving quicker than the dishwasher or apple peeler from new shiny fun romance to "has been" in the matter of a week.

But wait, this romance has a happy ending!

The hubby, not a rocket scientist but pretty close, asked, "How's the mixer working out, are you making bread yet?"

I look at it, "We're separated right now, I can't figure it out."

He does the right thing, looks at it, Googles that shit and has it all together!  "Why not give it a try?"

I look at the mixer, wondering why I wanted to dump it, it's so shiny and new!

"Yeah, let's give this relationship another try," I say pulling out flour.

"Not fair," says the dishwasher, "All I need is a screw in my handle."

"At least they see you, I'm hidden so far in the back of the cabinet, they'll find me again when they move," says the apple peeler.

"I'm just going to sit here and cry," wails the Parmesan grater.

"At least I am still useful," sighs the refrigerator and I reach in for butter.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

WTF - Uh Oh, He's walking toward me!

Oh no, he's coming toward me!

Living in a small community means rules are slightly different. We've already learned how quickly word travels around this town, pleasantly surprised when the trash truck stops and asks if you need help when you're stopped in the 20 yard area on the mountain where you actually get a signal.

Small town means small get togethers meaning rewriting the etiquette when it comes to a party.

On this mountain we have what's called "Touchers," "Kissers" and "Huggers.


No I am not talking about the National Pedophile database, I'm talking about the way we great each other at get togethers. Knowing everyone in your inner circle means you should remember what
 to expect.

The "Toucher" simply touches your shoulder. We call them "drive bys" the makes you think they are buying you another drink,  30 minutes later you realize it was a goodbye.

The Kisser is the person that leans forward like the Toucher, but always includes some type of kiss - juicy, dry, peck or "was that tongue?" type of kiss.  You have to be careful about the Kisser, know whether they are a right or left kisser because if you aim for the wrong side you'll end up with a little French action you didn't anticipate.

The Hugger is the most benign, a quick hug. Where the Hugger gets complicated is when the hug lasts a little too long, what is deemed inappropriate? Sure, I know the hug with the hands on your ass is considered inappropriate or if they snap your bra in the process. Remember huggers sometimes need that reminder, from a slight pull away to a kick in the balls to, LET GO."

So I'm at a local establishment, enjoying a tasty beverage and some live music when I spy him from across the room. He already smiling at me moving through the crowd,  I try to remember, is he a "Kisser" "Hugger" or just a "Shoulder?"

I'm thinking Fran Tarkenton would be a good announcer for this move........

"Well Chris looks like he's planning a running move. He's fading back before charging forward. He cleared several blockers, a quick spin move to the right and Chris, he may break free.  Yes, he's free his arms are coming up. Look she's dropping back anticipating the pass!. She's looking a little awkward, her arms are shoulder height, is she in Hug Mode, or blocking him with a Touch Mode? Ohhhh, contact is made!

A combination of Kiss and Hug!

Gentleman I think he's close to the finish line. No! She backed off and moved to just Touch Mode. Chris, I think we'll need instant replay to see if any illegal contact was made."

So when invited to the small intimate party on the mountain keep a cue card in your pocket listing names and types.

Never underestimate the audacity of a Kisser and never ever, lose sight of the Hugger.

Coming up, Huggers, Kissers and Touchers are totally different animals when it comes to the extra padding of ski clothes!