WW 11 - Secret

Shhhhh...........
I’ve got a secret.......


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Mensa Invitational

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit! and the person who doesn't get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate's disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12.. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.! ): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:

18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole


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Wordless Wednesday 10

This is Marti


This is Marti on Glucosamine


This is Miss Cellania’s computer


This is Miss Cellania’s computer on explosives*


I know just how it feels. I am recovering though. The computer, I fear, will not.


*Some good ole boys in Kentucky celebrated Independence Day by launching computers with explosives and shooting them. She’s got video proof of what they did to her iMac. Go by and check it out! It’s her first exclusive video!


Best wishes to all for a Wonderful Wordless Wednesday!

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The Wordless Wednesday Blogroll

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Wordless Wednesday
Miss Cellania
>Blow up computer


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SOB

I am proud to announce I am an S.O.B.!

Liz Strauss of Successful Blog was kind enough to bestow the honor of being a Successful Outstanding Blogger upon me, and do an interview with me to help promote my new book. Stop over and pay her a visit!

Be sure to take your coins for the bridge troll...LOL

Thank you so much darlin'!

I got REALLY sick last night, so I'm just getting up and about. It was the craziest thing...

Since I’ve broken so many of my bones, it seemed like a good idea to be taking a supplement. When will I learn that “good ideas” are not for me? LOL

I got a chewable version of Glucosamine Chondroitin and ate one. In less than an hour I started feeling sick. My throat felt tight and my right jaw started swelling up. By two hours later, the whole right side of my face was inflamed and throbbing. My right eye was watering like it was being given a private showing of Terms of Endearment.

I took some aspirin - didn't help. I took some Aleve - didn't help. My right eye swelled nearly shut. My cheek was invading my earlobe's personal space.

The pain intensified. THROB! THROB!

I was thinking “S.O.B.” but not in reference to darlin’ here


I began drinking gallons of water while looking up glucosamine adverse reactions on the internet (with my one good eye). It seems that in rare cases, it can cause the symptoms I had. That’s usually in people who have allergic reactions to shellfish, which I’ve never had, but we are talking about ME here LOL

If there is anyone on the planet who is going to develop a sudden freakish symptom, it will be yours truly. I kept drinking water to flush it out of my system, and finally found some old Vicaden and took one of them. That let me get some sleep (except for waking up ever two hours to pee LOL)

Still tender this morning.
Continuing to drink water (and pee - LOL) Ah oh, gotta go (literally)...........

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successful blog
Queen Klutz

Runnin’, Runnin’

Pzzzew...

What was that? Something just went whizzing by at just under the speed of light.

Oh, that was Marti. School starts today.

Just got the girl-child onto the bus. You know, the one the school newsletter said would leave the bus barn in ten minutes. C’mon, I didn’t get this old bein’ stoopid. LOL I’ve been puttin’ youngens on that bus for twenty years.

ME: “Come on girl! We have to drive down to the end of the driveway.”

GIRL: {{Still performing ablutions in the bathroom}} “It’s not time yet!”

ME: “Yes it is! Look at the clock!” (Note: This is the clock I set ahead four minutes, in preparation for this moment *snicker*. Clock manipulation is one of the many artifices in the prepared mother’s bag of tricks.)

GIRL: “Ack!”

ME: {{must not chuckle must not chuckle}}

GIRL: {{Dashing towards door}} “So let’s GO!”

Go we did. Slowly at first, until we reach the crest where we can see the street. The street where a big yellow rooftop lurks.

GIRL: “Ack! Go faster!”

We are already going 25 miles an hour down the gravel roadbed. If I speed up we will hit that last bump near the end of the driveway and launch OVER the bus, a la Dukes of Hazzard. Since I’m not wearing my cut-off short-shorts and a bandana printed shirt tied jauntily under my breasts, I decline. We still managed to get her safely up the rubber-cleated steps. The driver grins and waves to me. A new year begins.

I return to the house to learn that...ACK! (A good “Ack“ LOL) I have been profiled on Third Age Blog by BlogHer featured speaker, Yvonne Divita!

Please swing over there and read the interview! Right now I have to go reset all of the clocks, the boy has to get up for work before long....LOL!

Hope all of you have a wonderful day! Thanks for stopping by!



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Left Handed Link Love

I’m proud to be a southpaw! Today, August 13 is National Left Handers Day!

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THIS JUST IN!
(Fanning myself like Scarlet O'Hara all a-twitter here LOL)
I submitted a guest article to Mommybloggers, and they just let me know they have used it today! There are wonderful stories there - you don't have to be a mom to enjoy a visit.
As they state:
~The goal of our site, Mommybloggers, is to expose the diversity of the writers who commonly fall under the label "mommyblogger". This site is set up to be an inclusive experience for our readers, both for parents and non-parents alike. We will feature women who will share how their experiences in motherhood effect the many various aspects of her life in humorous, supportive and informative ways. Mommybloggers are making a real difference in this world. Mommybloggers.com wants to introduce you, our readers, to these amazing women.~
I am so grateful to them for using my article. Please stop by for a visit! Thanks!

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Hoss is in love!

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The personal computer is 25 years old!

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Do you Squidoo ?

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Miss Cellania will have you rolling on the floor, holding your sides and spewing coffee all over your monitor with all of her hilarious links! She’s a sweetheart - please stop by!
I will be joining Miss C, Karen and many other bloggers in a month, when we mark the five-year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. D. Challener Roe is working hard to get 2,996 bloggers involved in a non-partisan tribute to the victims of 9/11. The idea is for each blogger to post a tribute to one victim on September 11, 2006. Although mine is a humor blog, I will be posting a serious tribute to:
John F. Swaine, age 36.
Place killed: World Trade Center.
Resident of Larchmont, N.Y. (USA).

I Remember
John F. Swaine
World Trade Center.

I am the 1724th blogger to sign up for the 2,996 Tribute Project.

Anyone who wishes may use this candle image with my blessing.

Please consider blogging a tribute. There has been amazing response, but it's not all that are needed. Roe is keeping track and posting updates at the project blog, 2996. Bloggers can go there to sign up and be assigned a person to write about, or you can request a particular individual if you want. Thank you so much!

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Amy, (who is muttering, “Gee thanks a lot! How am I supposed to follow something like the tribute?”) is a "Can't miss" blog.

I KNOW you can do it sugar! Anyone who can tell a story about sucking a hamster...well y’all will just have to go see. LOL!

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Need more laughs? Go read:
USA Deep South
Southern Humorists
The Dixie Dispatch
The A.B.B.
(You might even run across me at some of these places! LOL)

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School starts here Thursday, so I won’t be back until then, providing the men with the straightjacket don’t cart me off before then - LOL Sorry for not visiting much, I miss y’all...just been awful busy being a little book trollop - LOL!




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I Dream of Beavie?

Have you seen these commercials for Rozerem, the new sleep aid pill?

They feature an insomniac man who enters his kitchen to find a chess set on the table, Abraham Lincoln, a talking beaver and a strange figure that is either a deep sea diver or space alien with its back to us, over near the stove.

There is talk about how insomnia plagues so many people and how the man isn’t dreaming, thus not visiting Abe and the beaver (who is eating from a plate using a fork).

I’m assuming the beaver is a metaphor for sex, but maybe that’s just me. LOL

But frankly, if you’re dreaming about Abraham Lincoln, talking mammals who use cutlery and unknown creatures cooking in your kitchen, all wanting to capture your queen, I think you’ve got bigger problems than a sleeping pill is gonna fix.

Have a great weekend, y’all!

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Wordless Wednesday 9

Queen Klutz - The Misadventures of a Very Clumsy Woman

Happy Wordless Wednesday from the book hooker - LOL

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Hard out here for a pimp

Pimpin’ my goodies again.

Sigh. It’s a dirty job but somebody has to do it (That would be me LOL)

Found a fabulous bordello to hang my shingle at, where I can traffic all my wares. It’s called Squidoo. They say:
A LITTLE ABOUT SQUIDOO:
We have built a new online platform and community that makes it easy for anyone to build a single page--called a lens--on a topic, idea, product or cause he is passionate about. These lenses in turn help finders get unique, human perspectives instead of computer-selected and often irrelevant search results. Not only can Lensmasters spread their ideas, get recognized for their knowledge, and send more traffic to their Web sites and blogs—they could also earn royalties.
Squidoo's goal as a platform is to bring the power of recommendation to search. Squidoo's goal as a co-op is to pay as much money as we can to our lensmasters and to charity. And Squidoo's goal as a community is to have fun along the way, and meet new ideas and the people behind them.

Squidoo was started by the Original Squid, Seth Godin. Nearly ten years ago, Seth founded Yoyodyne, which originated the idea of permission marketing online. After Yoyodyne was acquired by Yahoo, he served as VP Direct Marketing for Yahoo for about a year. In 2000, Godin focused full-time on his career as an acclaimed public speaker, an author and a blogger. Seven of Seth's books have been bestsellers somewhere around the world, and his blog has been picked as the best business blog by several leading publications. Seth's head is the most recognizable author icon in business. Yes, his head.

Anyway, back to ME LOL
My Squidoo has links to my newly published book of humor essays, (which is crying out, "Please buy me, I'm so lonely") my funny sayings T-shirts at Cafe Press, some Amazon links, links to a few very funny bloggers, jokes and a guest book for feedback.

It’s pretty cool to be able to put everything together in one place! Stop by! *pleasepleaseplease* LOL

Best wishes to all of you for a wonderful day!


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Cruel School

Well, it’s almost that time again. Back to cruel...err, school.

Do you look back fondly on high school? Any of you who do, please line up over here. Yes right there on that square.

YOINK! {{ Followed by shocked look and hair flying over heads, as trapdoor flops open dropping them into pit below }}

High school is a horrible but necessary training ground for the rest of life in this cruel, cruel world.

I realize now, and have tried to instill in my children, the fact that every one of the greasy little pigs believes they are hideously ugly - more disgusting than a bowl full of intestines. Yes, even the cheerleaders feel this way. That is why they are especially cruel. It’s a defense mechanism.

For most of us (peeks in on pit dwellers who are pacing and reciting their valedictorian speeches to calm themselves) high school was a nightmare. Now (oh joy) I get to relive the nightmare (for the third time) through dear Daughter.

She will be a Junior this year. She feels stupid and ugly. I tell her she is smart and beautiful. She says that I have to say that because I’m her mother. Oh yeah, I forgot - that was in the handbook.

We went back-to-school shopping yesterday. This weekend is the “sales tax holiday” here in Mazoorah. Damn, and I forgot to put up decorations. What a crock. The cities could opt out, so the “savings” (she said sarcastically) was the state tax, which is about 4%. So on the $40 we spent on the limited list of products that are included, we saved... WOW! A dollar and sixty cents! Let’s start a college fund for you honey!

There’s the joy of trying on clothes in the dressing room that is too small and badly lit. Finding that perfect first-day outfit for everyone else to gossip about is so difficult. Especially when she’s decided she wants only black apparel, following in Goth Boy Brother’s combat bootsteps.

Plus we have the hair issue. The hair-that-was-dyed-black-over-the-summer. The hair she wants to darken again, much like the throbbing headache that wants to do to my doorstep.

This followed the thrill of attempting to register and adjust schedule for the upcoming school year. The district sent out newsletters (apparently to everyone on the planet) to show up at the high school to register. They all did. Packed like sausages into the Jimmy Dean Gymnasium.

Please bring proof that you exist.

No, the newsletter that came addressed to you isn’t enough proof. You could be a terrorist who went around stealing those out of mailboxes.

The fact that the student has lived in this district since birth doesn’t matter. Or that she has attended schools in this district all her life. Or that the mother has sent three students through these schools and knows every teacher and administrator by name (and evil nickname).

Having served as a room mother, office assistant, field trip manager, chaperone, PTA member, Grad Night coordinator and Secret Santa is not enough. A terrorist might have gotten plastic surgery to look like you. (This is followed by me rolling on the floor with laughter, and Daughter acting like she doesn't know me).

You want to do what? Oh no, we can’t change any of the classes here. The office isn’t open. You’ll have to call and make an appointment for that. Ignore the three hours you spent waiting in line and wrestle your way through the sweating hoard to exit. Step aside. NEXT!

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back to school
tax holiday

WW 8 - The Beat Goes On

(This Wednesday is not wordless, as tragedy has once again stuck Our Lady of Lucklessness)

Drums keep poundin’ nails into my brain
La de da de de, la de da de da.
(Those unfamiliar with the old Sonny and Cher song I just parodied are scratching their nail-less heads)

Yes friends, 1967 was the Summer of Love.

2006 has been the Summer of Shove. As in, shove a spike into my eye socket. It would be a relief. LOL

Who knew that automotive epilepsy was hereditary? I have owned some of the all-time shakiest vehicles in car manufacturing history. This passage is from my soon-to-be-released book, “Queen Klutz”.

I don’t just get flat tires; I have wheels fall off. Mufflers don’t just become noisy, they become disengaged.

My children understand the geography of our area not by landmarks, but by towing incidents.

“Oh, that’s where the transmission dropped out of the blue van.”

“You know sis, over there where the bumper fell off.”

She responds, “Which car?”

So I suppose it should come as no surprise that this trait has passed on to the boy. The boy who purchased the 4-wheel sweat lodge that had neither air conditioning nor operable windows. The one with the battery manufactured by Thomas Edison, with battery cables made from braided goat hair and chewing gum foil.

The boy who drove me home (in said sweat lodge) after I left my car at the mechanics with (y’all were right) a broken alternator.

The boy who THEN showed up at 2 AM in our bedroom saying he’d had a flat tire on the freeway. He has no jack. Course he doesn’t need a jack, he has no spare.

Husband and I arose wearily. Pulled a can of fix-a-flat from the emergency supply closet (which is larger than the living room - think he hasn’t learned anything from living with the queen of the car killers?) and off they went.

Husband instructs boy on how to squirt goo in. By the light of the silvery moon, they watch goo spew out other side. Sigh. Husband tells boy to limp vehicle to nearest tire dealer. Follows weeble-wobble boy at three miles per hour. Brings boy home.

I call tire dealer at start of business day. Please replace tire. Which tire? The flat one. Yes the one that looks like it has rabies, foaming at the south (side) from spewing fix-a-flat out its multiple malocclusions. What do you mean you don’t have a tire that size? You are a tire DEALER, for cryin’ out loud! I have to go WHERE to get one? Can’t you have it delivered? You don’t do that...swell. Hell. I am in hell. Again. I have a frequent dyer pass.

I drove the boy to work and took off for Kazackistan, the only place left on the planet that has a tire to fit the boy’s car. It is 185 degrees outside. There is road construction. I feel sorry for the workers, holding a warning sign in one hand and a gallon jug of water to their lips with the other. Until I hit a giant pothole they have yet to repair, which jarred a wire loose somewhere, and the car died. Had car towed to mechanic. Sat in smelly waiting room, while the just-installed alternator was given life again. Call tire store. Tell them it will be next day. Go pick boy up. Go home to die. Again.

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