Friday, March 31, 2006


Our electricity went out yesterday from the severe storms in Mazoorah. Going to the Downed Branches Festival (being held in my front yard LOL) this weekend, to see what I can pick up.

Have to go see the Incredibly Smart Tax Lady later, to amuse her with my ignorance.

A few days ago, I made a batch of pumpkin cookies, and realized I didn’t have all the ingredients (About all I did have was pumpkin - duh, we’re pumpkin farmers LOL) Rushed to store, rushed home, threw flour, eggs etc, in bowl. Slammed mixer into bowl, ran first blending step, stopped mixer, threw in more ingredients, ran mixer again. In haste pulled mixer out of bowl. Forgot to turn mixer off. Flung batter in wide arc around room and onto me, coating face and hair. I was a human pumpkin cookie LOL

I ordered a gift basket of bath goodies for my wonderful mother-in-law from Mystickal Incense. Arrived yesterday, and is beautiful! Smells incredible too! Thanks hon!

Had to delete a bunch of spammy comments from some stupid little BlogTroll. Makes me long for the days when we took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese and I could take my frustrations out on the Whack-A-Mole game - LOL

Not to worry though, I am not going to activate word verification, I think it is just too much trouble. Anyway, I have come up with an alternative....

Big Blog News! I have taken the plunge! I registered the domain name and I am going to set up WordPress over the weekend! Work is coming along on getting the book of humor essays published, and I wanted to have a “real” domain name to list as a place to visit for more crazy stories LOL

Special thanks to Ellen for her fabulous custom illustration, and to Karen for her incredible patience and with me, and her fabulous skills designing the book cover.

WARNING! When I switch to WordPress I am going to trim the ol’ blogroll. It has really gotten out of hand, as I tried to link to many of you who left comments, or have blog that I visited and enjoyed. I’m thinking I may break it down into different categories, like my mom-blogging-friends, my writing-blogging-friends, etc. But I’ve gone overboard, and I know there are blogs on there that haven’t been updated in months, or that I don’t visit much, or (and this is a hideously selfish reason) bloggers that don’t ever visit or comment here. So, if you get dumped and are upset, let me know and I’ll add you back on (gawd could I sound any MORE egomaniacal? LOL)

Best wishes to everyone for a wonderful weekend - don't forget daylight savings time switch is this weekend - change your clocks one hour forward - lose an hour of slee-yawn-sleep.

Peace and joy to all!

Wednesday, March 29, 2006


My apologies for not posting much. Have been stricken by the triple threat: Teenager Angst, Taxes and Technology.

Am sworn to secrecy regarding Teenager Angst.

Taxes, well, everyone understands what a headache that is.

Technology, in that I know what I want, but do not comprehend how to get what I want done.

- - - - - - - - - - -
I took solace from it all by reading a very funny book:
The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club by Laurie Notaro.

(Yes, I am an Amazon Associate and if you buy this book through this link I make two cents to apply towards my hideous debt to the IRS)

I visited the Idiot Girls Yahoo Group and picked up (*coughstolecough*) this joke.
Enjoy. I will be slaving away to slay the triple threat.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Many of you have heard Dr. Laura, Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell, Rush Limbaugh and others speak of the "Homosexual Agenda," but no one has ever seen a copy of it.

A friend of mine recently obtained a copy directly from the Head Homosexual.
At long last we will all know exactly what is on this "Homosexual Agenda".
I certainly hope it will assist all of you so that you will be prepared when these leaders reveal their plan...

6:00 AM: Gym
8:00 AM: Breakfast (oatmeal, egg whites and mimosas)
9:00 AM: Hair appointment
10:00 AM: Shopping (preferably at Neiman's or Saks or Barneys)
12:00 PM: Brunch
2:00 PM: Assume complete control of the U.S. Federal, state, and local governments, as well as all other forms of world government, destroy all healthy marriages, replace all school counselors in grades K-12 with agents from Colombian and Jamaican drug cartels, bulldoze all houses of worship, secure total control of all of the internets and all mass media.
2:15 PM: Be fabulous
2:30 PM: Mud mask and forty winks of beauty rest to prevent
facial wrinkles from the stress of world conquest
4:00 PM: Cocktails
6:00 PM: Light Dinner (soup, salad with romaine, radicchio, arugula, and balsamic vinaigrette dressing, and Pouilly Fuisse)
8:00 PM: Theatre
10:30 PM: "Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight!"

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Lazy Link Saturday

So many things, so little time - LOL

- - - - - - - - - - -

Miss Cellania has her very own domain now! If you haven’t visited her you should. Just go to the bathroom first, but not a public one (see joke below) because she has so much funny stuff you will laugh so hard you’ll wet yourself - LOL
- - - - - - - - - - -

Lumpy is back! Another “Must See Blog-ie”
- - - - - - - - - - -

And finally, a little jok-ie for everyone - Hope all of you have a fabulous weekend!
- - - - - - - - - - -

My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms.

When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.

That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years", "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full.

When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors.

Every one is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you quickly hang it around your neck (mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!) yank down your pants, and assume, "The Stance."

Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That will have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

“Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle. You lose your balance and slide down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly; knowing that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending out a stream of water akin to a firehose, then suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.

At that point, you give up. The splashing water soaks you. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. The faucets with the automatic sensors refuse to acknowledge your presence and don’t come on. You wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it?) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest? you've got to be kidding!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs.

It's so the other woman can hold the door shut, and hand you a Kleenex under the portal.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Exhausted and Bugged

The tailpipe is now repaired.

Middle Son agreed to take the car to the muffler shop and accepted a ride to McDonalds, (about a mile away) so they could repair it during his shift. He called them when his shift was over, and they came and picked him up (and ordered some fries LOL).

I saw this as:
A) An opportunity for the boy/man to understand the responsibilities involved with car ownership.

B) A way to get me out of four hours of wasted time inhaling garage fumes - LOL

I spent the time cleaning, doing laundry and other physical labor, which wasn't finished in the four hours, but ran over well into yesterday.

So now the car and I are both exhausted - LOL
- - - - - -
Oh. Dear. God.

Watching the morning news and was horrified to see this story
Roaches are Brooches

Living giant cockroaches are being made into brooches, with a small chain leash glued their bodies, the other end of the "leash" is attached to a jewelry clasp.
You pin the clasp onto your clothing, and the jewel-encrusted LIVING roach, is free to wander around on you!

Pardon me while I shiver uncontrollably, while chanting,
"eww eww eww"

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

The Bad News Is...

The white-death blizzard they predicted for us, which all the school children prayed so fervently for, petered out to nothing more than a couple of slushy puddles.

Had to laugh that all of the local TV stations were worked up into such frenzies, they forced all of the morning news anchors to come in at 4 AM, to report on the massive traffic tie-ups and school closings, none of which happened. So they all look a wee bit irritated.

The trip to the muffler store was loads of laughs. Even better, I get to do it again today.

They had to order a part.

It is going to be expensive.

Naturally, two of the three parts of my exhaust system have been replaced are under warranty. The piece that went bad? (Shakes head slowly side to side)

I learned all of this after slip-sliding through the storm’s worst (predicted to be first, but turned out to be only) droppings from heaven.

Entered muffler store with a light coating of sleet on hair and coat. Shook it off like a golden retriever to see the man at the counter intently focused on a movie on the TV in the vacant waiting room. Announced myself, signed form and settled in to uncomfortable chair. CounterMan said (hesitantly, and with fear and loathing in his voice) “Uh, I can change the channel if you want” (as he gulps with longing look at TV).

I can tell he has been watching the movie, and say “Nah, it’s fine.”

He sighs with relief.

Minions inspect vehicle, report back to CounterMan, who is chuckling at the hijinks in the movie, which I later learned was
. It included an uncredited (I wonder why? Snicker) appearance by Bill Maher of Real Time on HBO, former host of Politically Incorrect.

CounterMan tells me the bad news. Part will be in tomorrow, parts and labor will be $228. Then he grins. Karma is smiling on me for not changing the channel to Oprah, allowing CounterMan to enjoy raunch and nudity. He says “Just a sec,” and scoots off to back office, returning momentarily with big smile and coupon for $20 off.

I thank him, and head out in the sleet.

Pick up Son at McDonalds. He hears car coming from several blocks away. Wonders why repairs didn’t happen. Explain situation. See his face fall. Take him home, where we assuage our sorrows with chocolate chip cookies.

Ah, panacea of the gods.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

EDIT/UPDATE 6:45 AM Took this picture of light snow falling on daffodils in front yard.

Monday, March 20, 2006

The Good News Is...

It is sleeting and the roads are expected to freeze over soon.

I just returned from driving Middle Son to McDonalds, and am hoping my hearing returns sometime soon.

What’s that you say? Why?

Seems the lad went out last night (in my car) to dance the night away. Not at a nightclub (not old enough for that) but at the arcade, letting his feet fly across the brightly lit arrows of Dance, Dance Revolution and In The Groove, two "interactive" video games that require the player to move their feet at the speed of light to touch down on the appropriately lit arrows. The decibel level at such establishments must have acclimated the lad's hearing, as he seemed undisturbed by the roar coming from my car’s tailpipe.

When he returned, his approach was announced by a sound similar to a jet aircraft coming in for a landing.

"Hmmm...." I thought. "My car did not sound that way when he left."

He enters and attempts to rush past quickly, averting his eyes.

Ain’t no way.

"Say there son, I noticed the car is emitting some unusual noises."

He tried to look innocent. He failed. "Uh, yeah, I dunno what happened."

"Dear child, please, do try to recall," I implored, or something to that effect, which may have included slightly cruder language.

He continued to proclaim an utter lack of knowledge as to the cause, but was willing to acknowledge that something wasn’t quite right.

Like duh.

It was dark and raining outside though, so further examination of the cause was postponed until the morn. Or mourn in the case of the lad-who-will-be-paying-for-whatever-has-happened.

Come morning, it is still raining. The rain is changing over to sleet and predicted to change over to snow.

This is a good thing LOL

Driving the boy to McDonalds drew fearful stares from other drivers, as the sound of 747 bearing down on you at a stoplight is disconcerting. Fortunately though, since the weather is so horrid, there is no police officer in his right mind who is going to stop us, as the almost-frozen precipitation blown by strong northerly winds stings like a BB shot as it pelts the skin.

So I am delighted it is so miserable outside - LOL

I have called the muffler shop and scheduled an afternoon appointment.

Let’s hope it stays icky outside.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Greetings from the Leprechaut!

Daughter is on spring break and we've been playing with photo programs - LOL

click to enlarge
Happy St. Purrr-tricks's Day!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

ay the road rise up to meet you

May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
May the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Always remember to forget
The things that made you sad.
But never forget to remember
The things that made you glad.
Always remember to forget
The friends that proved untrue.
But never forget to remember
Those that have stuck by you.
Always remember to forget
The troubles that passed away.
But never forget to remember
The blessings that come each day.

May you be in heaven half an hour
Before the Devil knows you're dead!

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Dis and Dat

Being an equal opportunity offender of ethnic humor, I will tell two jokes - one poking a wee bit o’ fun at the Irish, a second showing their wisdom.



An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman each order a Guiness in a pub. Upon being served, each finds a fly in their beer. Repulsed, the Englishman sends his back. The Scotsman gently flicks the fly out of his mug and begins drinking. The Irishman carefully lifts the fly up by its wings and screams, "Spit it out! Spit it out!"


Radio Transmission - British Navy vs. Irish

Radio conversation between the British and the Irish off the coast of Kerry, Ireland

IRISH: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

BRITISH: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision.

IRISH: Negative. You will have to divert your course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

BRITISH: This is the Captain of a British Navy Ship. I say again, divert YOUR course.

IRISH: Negative. I say again, you will have to divert YOUR course.


IRISH: We are a lighthouse.....................Your Call.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Mucky Monday

(Good thing this day of the week doesn’t start with the letter “F” huh? LOL)

Mazoorah has seen better days.

We had NINETY-TWO tornadoes touch down in my state yesterday.

When the radar indicated one bearing down on our area, I began to consider gathering the family and heading for the basement (a prospect almost as frightening as the storms LOL)

I looked around. . .what personal possessions would I grab to take to safety?

I spied a file folder with our birth certificates, car titles, tax forms etc. on the roll-top desk (I’d pulled it out to do the taxes) That would go with me.

My purse. My cell phone. My drug stash - LOL just kidding. . .
they’re already IN my purse (snicker).

The storm turned and missed us, but it got me wondering. . .if you had two minutes to grab stuff and run for the basement, what would YOU take?

- - -

I just have to wonder. . .Did we anger our "Christian Deity"?
(Remembering that after Hurricane Katrina, there were those who were crude enough to suggest that New Orleans was facing “the wrath of God” for its unholy behavior.)

Sorry for the lack of humor today. I mourn for those who lost so much yesterday, and for what we may well lose soon, thanks to our legislature.

I have many troubling political thoughts but this is not the forum for them. To get an idea of what is bothering me so, you can read this.

(Disclaimer - I am not responsible for the outrage and high blood pressure this may incite LOL)

I read this story aloud to my family yesterday, and they thought it was a joke - some sort of parody. It is not.

I know this may seem irrelevant to those who do not reside in this state. But remember this Martin Niemöller speech, because YOUR state, YOUR rights, could be next.

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Peace and joy to all.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Snake Saturday

I apologize for the dearth of original content of late. (Well, NASCAR OSCAR was original LOL). Amazing how much time "real life" can eat up sometimes, huh? LOL

I have Irish heritage on both sides of my family. When I questioned my father once about it, he laughed and said, “Yeah, our ancestors lived in Ireland - until they threw them out!”

I never knew if he was kidding - LOL

Anyway, I looked up the History Channel explanation of St. Patrick’s Day, and thought I’d share.

What's not to love about a crazy old fart who is a storyteller, has hallucinations, and turns religious symbols on their ear? LOL!

Happy Snake Saturday to all!

The Snake
It has long been recounted that, during his mission in Ireland, St. Patrick once stood on a hilltop (which is now called Croagh Patrick) and with only a wooden staff by his side, banished all the snakes from Ireland.

In fact, the island nation was never home to any snakes. The "banishing of the snakes" was really a metaphor for the eradication of pagan ideology from Ireland and the triumph of Christianity. Within two hundred years of Patrick's arrival, Ireland was completely Christianized.

Who Was St. Patrick?
St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, is one of Christianity's most widely known figures. But for all his celebrity, his life remains somewhat of a mystery. Many of the stories traditionally associated with St. Patrick, including the famous account of his banishing all the snakes from Ireland, are false, the products of hundreds of years of exaggerated storytelling.

Taken Prisoner By Irish Raiders
It is known that St. Patrick was born in Britain to wealthy parents near the end of the fourth century. He is believed to have died on March 17, around 460 A.D. Although his father was a Christian deacon, it has been suggested that he probably took on the role because of tax incentives and there is no evidence that Patrick came from a particularly religious family. At the age of sixteen, Patrick was taken prisoner by a group of Irish raiders who were attacking his family's estate. They transported him to Ireland where he spent six years in captivity. (There is some dispute over where this captivity took place. Although many believe he was taken to live in Mount Slemish in County Antrim, it is more likely that he was held in County Mayo near Killala.) During this time, he worked as a shepherd, outdoors and away from people. Lonely and afraid, he turned to his religion for solace, becoming a devout Christian. (It is also believed that Patrick first began to dream of converting the Irish people to Christianity during his captivity.)

Guided By Visions
After more than six years as a prisoner, Patrick escaped. According to his writing, a voice—which he believed to be God's—spoke to him in a dream, telling him it was time to leave Ireland.

To do so, Patrick walked nearly 200 miles from County Mayo, where it is believed he was held, to the Irish coast. After escaping to Britain, Patrick reported that he experienced a second revelation—an angel in a dream tells him to return to Ireland as a missionary. Soon after, Patrick began religious training, a course of study that lasted more than fifteen years. After his ordination as a priest, he was sent to Ireland with a dual mission—to minister to Christians already living in Ireland and to begin to convert the Irish. (Interestingly, this mission contradicts the widely held notion that Patrick introduced Christianity to Ireland.)

Bonfires and Crosses
Familiar with the Irish language and culture, Patrick chose to incorporate traditional ritual into his lessons of Christianity instead of attempting to eradicate native Irish beliefs. For instance, he used bonfires to celebrate Easter since the Irish were used to honoring their gods with fire.

He also superimposed a sun, a powerful Irish symbol, onto the Christian cross to create what is now called a Celtic cross, so that veneration of the symbol would seem more natural to the Irish. (Although there were a small number of Christians on the island when Patrick arrived, most Irish practiced a nature-based pagan religion. The Irish culture centered around a rich tradition of oral legend and myth. When this is considered, it is no surprise that the story of Patrick's life became exaggerated over the centuries—spinning exciting tales to remember history has always been a part of the Irish way of life. )

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Get Over It Day

March 9 is National Get Over It Day

An ex, a rejection, something that makes you sad, an embarrassment...anything you are struggling to get over.
Do it tomorrow!

Get Over It Day is a new holiday taking place on March 9th (exactly midway between Valentine's Day and April Fool's Day) because, at one time or another, EVERYONE has SOMETHING to get over! (regardless of what - or whom - "it" may be for you).

Regardless of age, of race, or of gender,
If you're tall or short, if you're plump or slender.
If you're hot or you're not, if you're straight, gay, or bi-,
This holiday is for YOU, and we'll now tell you why...

NOBODY is happy, EVERY day of their life.
Not an American Idol, not a Desperate Housewife.
Not MVP athletes, not Oscar-winning stars.
Not rich CEOs, not hot chicks at bars.

We ALL have our issues; ALL lives contain stress.
At some point, we're ALL, an emotional mess.
Ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, ex-husbands, ex-wives.
There are people to get over in EVERYONE'S lives...

But as much as things suck, as bad as they get.
If you got cheated on, if you're swimming in debt.
If you're aging or balding or get a cold sore,
Don't ever forget, that it could ALWAYS suck more!
It's all part of life; it will help you grow stronger.
But this "pity party" of yours can't last any longer.
You can sit home alone, being sad and depressed,
Or you can choose to be strong, and do as we suggest...
March 9th is the day, to finally say:
"Move on! It's done! It's Get Over It Day!"

Monday, March 06, 2006

Nascar Oscar

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Here we are at the 78th annual Academy Awards. How’s the field looking, Jeff?
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Mike, we’re hearin’ a lot of good things about this here “Brokeback Mountain” movie. From what I can tell, it’s a western.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: I like westerns. Go Brokeback Mountain!
(Nearby group of set designers remove earbuds of their Ipods, all of which are playing “It’s Raining Men” smile appreciatively, and shout back “You GO girl!”)
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: (Looks around) Uh, they must be talkin’ to them gals behind us.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: The host tonight is Jon Stewart.
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Is he related to Tony Stewart?
I got his autograph back when he picked up the Nextel Cup.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Here’s the first award - George Clooney.
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: He ain’t no Rosemary, damn that woman could sing.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Aw hail, now we’re at the middle of the pack. I’m gonna go have me a chaw.
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: You got some chewin’ tabacky?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Well, I was backstage and I heard this fella a-snufflin’, like he had a bad cold. I was gonna give him my handkerchief, but when I walked over to him, he said, “Want some coke?” I told him I’m more of a Pepsi man. He laughed real hard, and tossed me this here tin. (Opens container.) It’s all white and powdery. Maybe they gots the tabacky mold out here. Lemme put a pinch ‘tween my cheek and gum.....
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Gimme some o’ that too.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: (Upon seeing Ben Stiller) Who the hail is that feller in the green long-johns?
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Got me, Mike. Is it gettin’ warm in here?

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: There’s Dolly! Damn that is one F-I-N-E piece o’ womanhood. Look at them headlights!
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Whoa, Mike, we saw Jennifer Garner slide a bit on the straightaway there.

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: But lookie! Them cute little penguin birds won! And they’re all walkin’ up on the stage! There must be hundreds of ‘, I think I’m just seein’ double...damn that moldy tabacky packs a punch, huh?
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Aw right June Carter won! (Loosens collar, sweating profusely)

MIKE THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: There’s Colonel Sanders from Kentucky Fried Chicken!
JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: Naw, that’s Robert Altman. He must be dyin’, they’s givin’ him the lifetime award.

JEFF THE NASCAR ANNOUNCER: That’s what they come for, Mike, that’s what they come for. Where’d them fellers we seen outside go? I feel like dancin’!

Friday, March 03, 2006

Book Crook

My book is a thief! LOL

It has stolen all of my time for days now. Gawd, I didn’t realize how ignorant I was until I started this project. LOL

I’ve been pulling out CD’s we’d burned to save files from days (and hard drives) gone by, to cull stories for the humor essay book. I copied them to this computer to compile and edit. Some came out as strange little boxes and symbols, as though written by little green men. No, not Leprechauns, although St. Patty’s Day is just around the corner LOL

"Leprechaun" is actually one of the nicknames we have for an American Idol contestant. (I won’t be so cruel as to name which.) Even more cruel would be to name the one we refer to as “Special Olympics” (Spare me your politically correct righteous indignation - I know in the privacy of your own home you make crude references too - LOL) My personal favorite this season is gone-gray-while-still in-his-20’s, I-sing-soul-even-though-I’m-a-white-guy, Taylor Hicks.

- - - - - - Any bests on the Oscars? - - - - - -

Oops, I am digressing. And babbling. It's Babble-gress 2006! LOL

Here is one of the stories that didn’t make the cut (audience moans, "Oh great, throw us the scraps" LOL) No, I didn’t put it in the book because it isn’t funny. I didn’t put it in because it involves family members, and I do not want to upset the sensibilities of those I love and can possibly use to promote the book to their friends LOL

Since these folks don’t read my blog though, I will abuse their privacy here ~snort~

Gawd, I sound horrid. OK, I am horrid. I am so tired of reading my own words, over and over, as every story I copied seemed to be in a different font or page setup, and editing them into a uniform book format has been nerve-wracking. Every damned page has been different. Curly quotes, straight apostrophes, does the comma go before or after parentheses? Adding two spaces after every after sentence, has all sentenced me to a period of insanity. Picture me sitting in front of the computer flipping my finger (no not THAT finger) across my lips, going, “Blubada blubada blubada” LOL

‘Nuff of that - hope all of you have a spectacular day!

Here’s the tale:

Wake Ups and Downs

It was the wake we almost didn’t make.

We picked up Eldest Son, and I made him change out of the Stoli Vodka bright red T-shirt and ripped jeans, and put on dress-up clothes.

We were late picking him up, because of a comedy of errors. I asked Middle Son early in the day, "What are you wearing tonight? Do you have everything you need?" He said, "Yeah, I'm all set." About an hour before we were to pick up Eldest Son, I went in to get dressed. I had colored my hair in the morning, and set it in some curlers (a real rarity for me - LOL!) so I knew it was going to take a while to fiddle with.

During the time I was in my bathroom, fixing my hair and doing my makeup, I heard the washer running. (It is directly below my bathroom) and I think, "hmmm, I did not start the washer, what is going on?"

So, wearing my slip I wander out to the front room where Middle Son is sitting in his boxers watching TV. I ask him if he started the washer. He says yes, he spilled something on his pants. It is now closer to 40 minutes before we are supposed to leave the house. I say, "Do you have any idea how long it takes to run a load AND get it dry?"

His expression turned to panic. He said, "Well, I'll just yank them out of the washer early." I said, "then they’ll be all soapy," so he yells, "WELL WHAT DO I DO?" I asked him what setting he used. "Setting" might as well have been a word like "garfalox".

He was blank. So, half-naked and half-made-up, I tromped huffily to the basement.

Fortunately the first setting (the one a boy/man would stop at) is "delicate" which is the shortest cycle, and they were already going into rinse. I yelled at him to stop standing on the stairs halfway to the basement, to come the rest of the way down the steps, that’s right, good boy, now look...see the washer dial? Yes this round thing. When it goes to THIS spot, (me pointing) and the machine stops vibrating and making noises, open the lid, remove the lint basket, and yank your pants out. Put them in THIS machine, the DRYER, and throw in one of these, no wait I'll do that, OK, the dryer sheet is already in now, SEE? ALL you have to do is throw the pants in, and turn it on. I will set the timer for you, just push this button that says, "START," OK?

Back upstairs I go, listening through the floor for his movements. He did as he was told, but he thought they would be dry in five minutes. He went down pulled them out and they were still wet, so he threw them back in and left. Unfortunately, he left withOUT re- starting dryer.

Minutes pass. It crosses my mind, "I do not hear the dryer running" so back to living room I go, where boxer-boy is watching TV again. He informs me he tested the pants dampness factor but they were still wet so he threw them back in the dryer. I say, "Did you push the "Start" button again?" "You have to push that EVERY time?" he asked.

I sighed, nodded and motioned for him to scurry his boxer-butt back down there and re-start it. It was ten minutes past the time we told Eldest Son we would be AT his house to pick him up. So we jump in the van and high-tail it over to the town where he lives.

Did I mention that he moved recently? Well, we got lost. When we had gone to his house before, we approached from the west, but this time we approached from the east.

It is an area of suburbia I am unfamiliar with. A creek transects it, and there are few roads that actually CROSS the creek, but there are DOZENS of Courts, Terraces, Circles, and Drives, which are all cul-de-sacs or dead-end streets, and we took every one of them.

Plus they all have really dorky "castle" type names, so you're on "Abbey" or "Piccadilly" or "Stoneybrook" and going quietly, castle-y insane. They ALL look alike, every frigging split-level looks like the last one and the one on the next street, and we passed the same fat guy watering his lawn at least five times.

Thirty minutes late we knock on Eldest Son's door, see the previously mentioned T-shirt ensemble, send him off to change, and wait. I think he was weaving the cloth for his new outfit. He kept us waiting 35 minutes. His small-talk-challenged roommate was nearly hysterical from the stress of trying to entertain us.

Now it's more than an hour past the time I told Mother-in-law we would arrive, and I am sure she was telling everyone that we were all in comas or something, to excuse our hideously rude behavior.

At last we arrived. Cars were everywhere. We had to park THREE blocks away, which was probably just as well, because I imagine the Mercedes’, Jaguar’s, and BMW’s parked closer to the house would have all driven themselves off a cliff, rather than suffer the indignity of having our 15-year old Dodge van parked any closer, exchanging lecherous dirty-old-van looks and comments. "Hey there cutie...hiccup...nice wheels...I got somthin' for your intake right here baby!"

I estimate there were 75 people crammed into the deceased loved one’s home. White hair everywhere. Mother-in-law, recovering from recent knee replacement surgery, was royally installed in "deceased loved one’s chair" (which even deceased loved one’s WIFE had never sat in); lady of the manor, brand new knee pillow-propped up on the recliner footrest, holding court with the bereaved.

Relief flooded her face when we appeared. Introductions followed. Dozens upon dozens of elderly folk, a virtual AARP army.

We were directed to the rec. room in the basement, where even MORE old people (those still ambulatory enough to trek down the steps) and the buffet tables were. There was enough food to feed all of Africa. Eldest Son acted like he'd found Nirvana. We lost him to an hour-long gorge-fest.

I had some of the worst cookies I've ever tasted. I tried to pawn them off on Husband. He took one bite, passed it back to me with the, "I'll get you for this" look in his eye.

Relative Whose Name I Can’t Remember appeared. "OH! You have some of my cookies! Do you want some more? There are still a lot of them left!"

Thank you dear, but no, I'm really not in the mood to get my stomach pumped tonight, was what I THOUGHT, but of course I only said, "I'm full, thanks".

At last we had shaken every liver-spotted hand, hugged every stoop-shoulder, pulled bloated-with-food son from the buffet, told Mother-in-law that yes, we would be over on Thursday, and headed home.

What a day.