Monday, March 26, 2007

Worst Analogies in History

*He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

*She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.

*The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

*McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.

*From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and “Jeopardy” comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.

*Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

*Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.

*Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

*He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

*The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

*Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like “Second Tall Man.”

*Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

*The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

*John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

*The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.

*His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

*The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.

FROM: Worst analogies from high school essays

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Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Dress for Success - Again

I'm off to bingo today, so I'm giving you an encore performance (a rerun - lol)


In addition to all of the colds, stuffy noses, sore throats and flu symptoms the Tribe of Tribulation has been though this year, I have endured a Major Mommy Meltdown from Wardrobe Malfunction.

No, not like the infamous halftime debacle, but from having to invent several costumes to conjure up the look of many far-away lands. Conjuring up made mommy a witch by last week’s end.

Daughter needed a new costume for every school day last week, as they were having international spirit week (which was not, as I quipped to an eye-rolling family, ghosts from foreign countries)..

The entire family chimed in with suggestions. We discarded those with the risk of serious bodily injury, such as Human Olympic Torch to celebrate Greece, or lopping her head off so she could portray Marie Antoinette of France.

They were off Monday for President’s Day, so I was spared constructing an Abe Lincoln beard, suit and top hat. Alternately, I avoided the George Washington powdered wig fashion statement. What a relief, I wasn’t looking forward to carving those wooden teeth.

Tuesday I had to dress her as a Greek. Various mythological figures were considered, but the armless Venus de Milo, while easily recognizable as representative of Greece, posed significant logistical problems, as the technology of removable arms on teenage girls has yet to be invented. Once we threw out the incendiary ideas, her Greek motif was relatively easy – white sheet toga and laurel leaf crown.

The next day was to celebrate our neighbors to the south. We nixed Giant Taco, on the off chance that some New-Year-Resolved soul who has been dieting for months now, and is hallucinating about food, would spy her and believe that at last, enormous edibles are actually walking in their direction.

We finally resolved the quesadilla quandary with a Mexican sombrero.

Thursday was Asian, and she really wanted a kimono. Ever tried to find a Kimono in Missouri? We have. And in Kansas, on the internet, at thrift shops, through the Yellow Pages, and begging for referrals at Oriental food markets and restaurants. I even called her Japanese teacher in desperation. She got a good laugh from the question. “Ha ha! You’re not gonna find a kimono anywhere around here!” She was still chuckling when we hung up. I’m sure it is an amusing anecdote she will share with her grandchildren someday.

I ended up sewing the kimono and the wide “obi” belt. It took all night.

Friday was “France.” It was the end of the week and Mommy Madness Costume Chaos was setting in.

What kinds of images come to mind for a costume when one thinks “France”? French maid? Nooooooo, we are NOT dressing my little girl up like THAT! Napoleon? She would have to walk around all day with her hand on her stomach to pull that one off…no, I don’t think so.

A giant Champagne bottle? No alcoholic references are allowed at school, Daughter firmly informs me, missing the increasingly insane glint in my eye, and that I was only making a bad joke. I was silently wishing for a giant bottle of bubbly by now. A French Fry was my next suggestion, which was met with much groaning and eye rolling.

Apache Dancer? This one elicited “the look” from Husband, who thankfully still leers at me after almost thirty years together. “It’s for your little girl,” I remind him, and the idea of Daughter-directed leers from the rest of the world was enough to nix that notion.

“Well, what are your friends going to do?” I implore, a tortured tinge in my tone.

“Oh! They got a bunch of Mardi Gras beads at the dollar store, they gave me some too…(much digging through backpack)…see? I’ll just wear these!”

Ah. Yes, I see. OK? Oh, of course I’m OK. No, just ignore that pile of pulled-out hair at my feet, dear, I’m saving it. We may have to make a gorilla suit someday.

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Saturday, March 17, 2007

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Flu pi

Today is pi day.

I’ve never been a worshipper, but I find it interesting that there are people who worship at the church of pi.

I’ve been worshipping at the porcelain throne. A stomach flu bug has sidelined me. March madness here is the dash to get to the toilet before one or more orifices explode, expelling the contents of my innards.

So I have to make this brief. Not this brief, which does seem apropos, though, considering...LOL

It is actually a safe! A place to hide your valuables!

Gotta run (groan, horrible pun)
Happy almost wordless Wednesday!

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

DMV Deathstar Strikes Again

Do you believe in miracles?

I think we should contact the Vatican for verification, because (insert angelic music with horns trumpeting) we have more than one working vehicle at our house!

Of course (being us) it came at a price.

Monday we had a medical emergency. Once the threat to life and limb was handled, we returned to husband’s car to discover a flat tire.

One of the four very new, very expensive tires.

Husband replaced the offender with the mini-tire from the trunk. He checked the deflated tire for signs of damage, expecting (being us) to see Satan’s pitchfork imbedded in the rubber.

Finding nothing, off we wobbled, (the Neon does not like having the donut tire installed and tried to shake it off all the way there) to rake the tire man over the coals for selling us a tire that would choose to euthanize itself.

Tire man blamed a bad valve stem. I shook my finger at it mightily, while scolding, “Bad valve stem! Bad!”

Tire man replaced the naughty valve, and husband and I returned home, expecting a quiet day.

What fools we are.

Son had the day off, and had vanished while we were gone. Not unusual, he disappears better than Houdini.

Then the phone rang.

“Uh, mom, is dad there?”

I hate it when conversations start like that. I said yes (being an honest though leery mother). Then he uttered those beautiful words. “I think I’ve found a car to buy.”

After the disaster of his last vehicle purchase, he had decided to have his father take a look at it before handing over his hard-earned McMoney.

So off we went on the Great Car Adventure.

The seller was a minister (thank you, Jesus). The car was in tip-top shape, with complete maintenance records. If you can’t trust a man of God to sell you a used car, the world truly is going to Hell.

So the purchase was made, and the next day the lad headed for the DMV for licensing.

The Deathstar DMV. The same DMV office I was in, when a native of Calcutta asked me, “Is this place always so hot and crowded?” (Read my experience at the DMV ( Diarrhea Mathama Voodoo) post here)

Prior to entering the gates of Hell, the lad had visited the plasma center to sell his bodily fluids for dollars to appease the Sales Tax gods. It left him in a weakened state, which is never a good idea when you are entering the gates of Hell.

The queue was (as always) massively long. The temperature of the room was just shy of being inside a blast furnace.

Son began to feel faint.

Later (after the ambulance was called) he told me that he was woozy but didn’t want to lose his spot in line. Unfortunately they do not save your place in line when you collapse, passing out cold onto the hot tile floor.

Yet he persevered. (That’s my boy!) Once the medical personnel revived him and he refused to be carted off to the hospital (because Spike the cat had warned him that hospitals are very bad places) he called me.

“Uh, Mom? You’re not going to believe what happened.”

This is never the way to open a conversation with your mother.

“The emergency medical technicians are gone now.”

Oh Lord. I thought they were going to have to call one for me if the conversation continued along these lines. I urged him to be a bit more specific.


So he related the tragic tale. I insisted he return home so I could verify that he was breathing. Then the brave lad traveled to a different DMV and completed his business.

I was so proud.

So now (insert angelic music with horns trumpeting) we have TWO cars that run, at our house.

Don’t tell Satan.

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