Enter the Laughter Redeux

Asiana pilots named

2013-07-12T16:59:00.001-05:00

OMG! Newscaster says on TV that pilots' names "Som Ting Wong" "Ho Lee Fuk" "We Tu Low"

Happy Leap Day!

2012-02-28T21:02:00.002-06:00

We only get one every four years - hope you enjoy yours!

Do Not Read

2011-01-27T18:05:00.002-06:00

I should not read when I first wake up. Stuff just doesn’t make sense until I’ve had some coffee.

Yet I started checking my e-mail early...pre-coffee. Big mistake.

I get e-mail notifications from Freecycle, a great organization that has local websites for most major cities in the United States. They allow people to post stuff they would like to give to someone (no sales) rather than throw it in a landfill. People can also ask for items they need, free of charge. Great idea, right? It is unless you misread the e-mail subject line.

Bleary-eyed and caffeine-deficient I saw, “Wanted: Heavy Water”. My immediate thought was, “Oh my God – terrorists are asking for nuclear materials right here on Freecycle!”

That was enough to drive me to the pot (coffee pot). When I returned, all set to look up the number for Homeland Security, I realized that the poor soul I was ready to release the power of the armed forces onto was actually not a terrorist. The rest of the headline was actually, “Wanted: Heavy Water Bowl for Large Dog”.

Sometimes the headlines are genuinely weird though, like this one for, “Spider Infested Box Springs”.

I mean, really?

Headlines can also just be easily misinterpreted, due to poor wording or bad punctuation, like:

Include Your Children When Baking Cookies
Miners Refuse to Work After Death
Stolen Painting Found by Tree
Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half
Eye Drops Off Shelf

So please, don’t read before you’ve had your coffee, tea or energy drink, or you could end up with spider-infested nuclear weapons.

Happy Thanksgiving 2010

2010-11-23T21:36:00.000-06:00

I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving! I am so grateful for your friendship and for you stopping by my blog!

Here's a little cartoon to give you a grin:

*** Blind Turkey Farmer ***

Please visit my main blog here Thanks!

The Rotisserie Butt Tuck

2010-01-16T20:56:00.003-06:00

Baby it's cold outside!

It's been cold and miserable across the country for weeks now. Since before Christmas, the country has been plunged into the deep-freeze, with even the southern-most regions, like Florida, seeing snow and frigid temperatures.

This brings into play previously undiscovered differences in people's relationships. There have always been "odd couple" pairings - a saver involved with a spender, a slob living with a neat-freak or a sauce versus a rub (oops, sorry - that's barbeque, watched "Pitmasters" last night)

But the cold weather brings out another division in personalities - the rotisserie versus the snowballer. This is in reference to how people sleep….more specifically, how they roll over in bed.

A rotisserie sleeper changes their position in bed by flicking the covers upward and executing a quick roll that involves raising up on heels and elbows to flip over wile remaining in virtually the same real estate. They shift from back to side in a smooth maneuver without affecting their longitude or latitude on the bed surface. The blankets flutter back down, almost undisturbed. They are good people. :-)

On the other hand (the not so good hand - LOL) there is the snowballer. The snowball sleeper rolls in the manner of a steamroller, collecting sheets, blankets, comforters, duvets and possibly pets as they hurtle themselves across the landscape of the sleeping area.

Woe be to anyone sharing the bed with a snowballer.

You will be left shivering in this cold spell, as all of the linens designed to keep you warm are now wrapped around the snowballer like a burrito shell.

This can lead to arguments and accusations, none of which will do your relationship any good.

Is there a solution? Why yes, there is.

If you sleep with a snowballer, be forgiving. They are usually unaware of this tragic personality flaw and will deny it, even as they struggle to unswaddle themselves from their shroud. "I don't know how all of the sheets, blankets and the cat ended up wrapped around me! Are you sure you didn't do this to me?"

Your best bet is a good defensive move. Remember, they know not what they do, so when you are ready to go to sleep, lean over and kiss them goodnight.

Butt! (And I do mean butt) as you roll back over to your side of the bed, grab the edge of the covers and shove them firmly under your posterior. Tuck those suckers in tight. Otherwise, you're going to get fat.

That's right. I believe that many people gain weight once they're in a relationship for a while, not because they let themselves go, but because they're just trying to stay warm. Those of us who've packed on a few pounds aren't lazy or overeaters, we're just trying to insulate - grow our own body-blanket.

Help save your relationship. If you're a rotisserie sleeping with a snowballer - learn to butt-tuck. Or do this:

Just Wanna Ride My Motor-Sickle

2009-07-16T23:53:00.006-05:00

Summer, that time of year when the bug population is trimmed back thanks to the personal bug catchers sported by a small segment of our community - the bug-splattered teeth of motorcycle riders. This reminds me of my own days as a Two Wheeled Terror when I spent time making my dentist rich by having him remove particularly hard bits of beetles from my incisors.

Yes, back in my youth, I was a Motorcycle Not Yet Mama, as this was before I had children or any sense of my own mortality.

I got a Zen feeling while riding and it wasn't from sucking fumes from a bus while waiting at a traffic light in the middle of the city. My Zen came from riding through the countryside and breathing the exhaust fumes of thousands of dairy cattle mere feet from the road. I tried to get others to ride with me, but they kept worrying about the guys from Deliverance stepping out from behind a tree to torment them with Dueling Banjos. I assured them that we would not meet any toothless, gun-toting sodomizers.

That was my second mistake.

My first mistake was assuming my co-riders knew which end of a mule does what and which end you should avoid unless you need fertilizer. Almost as soon as we were out of the city limits, these poor souls displayed an inordinate amount of ignorance. People think us hillbillies are dumb, but these folks were spooky stupid.

"Hey Marti, why are those horses so fat?"
"Because they're cows."

"What's that smell?"
"Fresh air."

With my irritation growing to the size of a cow pregnant with triplets, I suggested we find someplace to buy a cold drink and take a break. We stopped at what could loosely be termed a convenience store, but was really more of a fishing supply and liquor shop. The closest thing to a Slushee was the bucket of stinkbait.

I knew right off the bat that my friends were uneasy when they saw the mounted Jackalope by the front door.

Things got worse when we entered the building and were greeted by a toothless, gun-toting sodomizer.

Just kidding. There was a shotgun propped up in the corner behind the counter, but the proprietor actually looked more like Riff-Raff from Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Except wearing bib overalls. She was toothless, though.

My friends cowered in a tight huddle, glancing around nervously at the containers of leeches, night crawlers and other assorted fish bait. I was not afraid, as fish bait and bald, toothless women were a common sight for me as a child of the Ozarks. While my riding buds were busy being terrorized by leeches, I looked for the drink and frozen bait cooler. Drinks are always stored next to the frozen bait. It's probably a government regulation for rural bait shops.

I saw, under stacks of minnow buckets, a Coca-Cola chest-type cooler. The storekeeper's left eye saw me heading that way while her right eye watched the leeches.

She called out, "Sheen's busted. Sumpin widda gay-ers. Iffen ya wanna sodee we's gwanna hatta go gittum out the walkin roun' back."

I smiled brightly and said "OK," because I speak Hillbillyese, and fully understood that the vending machine was broken - some sort of mechanical failure involving the gears, but that soft drinks were stored in a walk-in cooler located at the rear of the shop.

The others remained where they stood, trembling at the front of the emporium, muttering possible translations of the conversation. I went out back leaving my buddies packed tighter than sardines near the front door. The leeches swam in their tank, occasionally stopping to bare their teeth at the leather-clad riders, who responded with moans of terror.

I returned with an armload of soda pop and extracted payment from everyone without having to threaten them with a leech. They teleported back to the motorcycles.

"Wha-what did tha-that person say?" they all asked.

Before I could answer, one said, "It sounded like she mentioned Martin Sheen, Christopher Walken, and something about gays."

Feeling a tad ornery, I leaned in and whispered, "Yes, there are a lot of Hollywood celebrities who come to the Ozarks to get their freak on away from all the press and photographers. They spend a lot of money in these parts though, so we try to keep it kind of hush-hush."

I had a hard time keeping a straight face, but they all seemed in awe of my insider knowledge. I was just about to divulge the truth when another pointed to a cornfield and asked, "What's that?"

I offered an explanation, and we departed. I grinned all the way back to the city, thinking about them telling their friends about the wild celebrity bashes in the Ozarks and how they'd seen real live spaghetti plants ready to harvest - you could tell they were ripe because the spaghetti was popping out the top of the pods and withering into brown silky strings.

It was worth the bugs in my teeth.

Turkey Humor 2008

2008-11-26T14:14:00.003-06:00

First, let me say that on this Thanksgiving, I am SO grateful for all of my wonderful friends who stop by this blog. You have shared the joy and laughter in my life, and helped me through the dark times. Blessings to all of you!

And now, a little humor:

Here is a turkey recipe that also includes the use of popcorn as a stuffing -- imagine that. When I found this recipe, I thought it was perfect for people like me, who just are not sure how to tell when poultry is thoroughly cooked, but not dried out. Give this a try.

8 - 15 lb. turkey
1 cup melted butter
1 cup stuffing (Pepperidge Farm is Good.)
1 cup uncooked popcorn (ORVILLE REDENBACHER'S LOW FAT)
Salt/pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Brush turkey well with melted butter, salt and pepper. Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn. Place in baking pan with the neck end toward the back of the oven.

Listen for the popping sounds. When the turkey's ass blows the oven door open and the bird flies across the room, it's done.

And, you thought I didn't cook...

Free Hugs Day

2007-09-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

I will no longer be repostng my entire message here. Please visit my main blog here
Thanks!

Then They Broke Down the Door

2007-09-04T08:01:00.001-05:00

I will no longer be repostng my entire message here. Please visit my main blog here
Thanks!

School Duhs

2007-08-30T08:00:00.000-05:00

I will no longer be repostng my entire message here. Please visit my main blog here
Thanks!

Wheelin’ and dealin’

2007-08-16T10:15:00.000-05:00

I will no longer be repostng my entire message here. Please visit my main blog here
Thanks!

Life is like...

2007-08-10T14:06:00.000-05:00

I am no longer going to co-post my blogging.

To read the latest post, please go here
Thanks!

Suicide Bambi

2007-08-02T20:08:00.000-05:00

Can woodland creatures become terrorists?

That is the only explanation I can come up with for what happened. (You know it’s gonna be bad, doncha?)

I was attacked by a militant deer.

I needed the car, so I did the insanity run, got up at 3 AM and rode out to Husband’s office in the next state. Followed the yellow brick road out of Kansas and back into Mazoorah. Almost made it safely home.

Almost.

Cruising down a rural road near a county lake, I passed the deer crossing sign. I’ve passed this sign hundreds of times, and always wondered, “How do the deer know where to cross?”

Turns out they don’t. At least not the one who decided to wait until I was coming down the hill in the rain. This animal HAD to be lying in wait for me, I’m sure of it. Hiding over there in the brush, plotting its jihad. This deer must have been brainwashed by an extremist forest fatah. Maybe it’s all the subdivisions cropping up. Maybe the cell phone tower signals affected its mind.

All I know is Bambi had a death wish and saw me as a suitable subject for destruction.

So down the road I go, when suddenly this suicidal doe attacked the car by flinging itself in front of the moving vehicle.

I had about two seconds of warning. I did slam on the brakes, but the next sound was “THUMP!”

Jane Doe bit the dust.

I felt horrible about killing the animal, even though it was clearly a suicide. I didn’t know how severe the damage was until I got home. Pretty bad. (Photos) This meant I had to cry, then pull myself together and call Husband. Then contact the insurance company. Then cry some more.

I took the car to the insurance claims office and they were very nice to me. They even told me that the rental coverage was going to be upgraded because they didn’t have a mid-size sedan available. Visions of Porches danced in my head - LOL

Then they took me outside. There was the biggest damn pickup truck I’ve ever seen. I needed an extension ladder to get up into it. I could see the roof of the building - below me. But it was what they had, so off I went in the bowels of MonsterTruck. It was the most uncomfortable vehicle I’ve ever driven, but I was so afraid of all the flashing lights and readouts, I didn’t let on. It was like being with Hal from 2001:A Space Odyssey. It told me what direction I was going, the outside temperature, how many miles per gallon (or more like gallons per mile) it was consuming, how many miles to our destination and my body mass index.

I hated it. Fortunately, they were able to exchange it today for a lovely little PT Cruiser. Cute. Fun to drive. Doesn’t make me think it will kill me in my sleep. Doesn’t take a hundred dollars worth of gasoline to get to the end of driveway.

Husband’s car will be in the shop until the middle of next week. I will be in therapy for months.

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Stunday

2007-07-23T10:08:00.000-05:00

For most of you, yesterday was Sunday. Here it was Stunday, as in a day of stunning events.

First, I was stunned (in a good way) to see a spike in book sales following mention by Chris Brogan, praising Queen Klutz. I’ve been pimping ...errr...promoting the book for months and haven’t seen this kind of sales. Maybe it was his honesty. Not many men would admit that their wife laughs in bed, but this brave soul left this twitter post:

God love ya, Chris!

I saw a similar spike following my interview with Liz Strauss.

I thank them both! Isn’t it great when the blogosphere smiles on you?

Then I was stunned (in a strange way) when Husband got gasoline. No, the act of gassing up the car isn’t stunning (expensive, but not stunning). He dropped Daughter and I off at the grocery store (scene of the non-juggling hair-hanger routine) and took off for the service station on the corner.

Daughter and I finished shopping and waited outside the store. We could see the station but didn’t see his car. We wondered where Husband was, and made up all sorts of fictions about what could be delaying him.

Truth is stranger than fiction, though.

When he pulled up to pick us up, he said, “You’re not gonna believe what happened.”

It takes a lot to send our Unbelievablility Meter into the red, but this did.

While he was at the station, and we were inside the store, he was approached by a scraggly fellow wearing a bandanna. (Not just a bandanna, but as the topper of his crusty, fashion faux pas outfit). Scragglyman asked Husband for a ride to the hospital.

Husband is no fool. He’s been around the block. Hell, he’s been around the world (and yes I mean that both ways - LOL) He sized up ScragglyMan, and determined that he appeared unarmed, non-threatening, and indeed in need of medical assistance. So Husband drove him to the ER.

Along the way, the tale of ScragglyMan unfolded. ScragglyMan’s recent past is...uh...”colorful”.

He needed a lift because he didn’t think he could walk the five more miles it would take to make it to the hospital. His medical emergency was that he was peeing blood now, after being on a meth bender for several days (or possibly months). He wasn’t able to drive because he’d lost his license some time back. Seems he’d been driving someplace to get some weed, and he got kind of tired, so he decided to take a couple of mini-whites, but it turned out they were tranquilizers. He fell asleep at the wheel of the car and had a wreck. For some reason (which he didn’t fully understand) the state saw fit to take his license way from him for this infraction. Oh and he was in mourning because his sister was recently found in a shallow grave. Fortunately they’d reached the ER by the time this bit of information came out, although Husband was never really worried because he is six foot four and ScragglyMan was small, frail and peeing blood (luckily, not in the car).

Even I couldn't make this stuff up.

Then we drove over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house. Armed with multiple pages of notes on possible fixes for taming the demon Vista, we again attempted to get the DSL to work. We tried them all. None worked. So with a sigh, I called customer service again.

I was stunned (in a "this-must-be-a-parallel-universe" kind of way) to get someone who spoke English without an India accent. I was even more stunned when he walked me through the setup again, but had me register the modem this time ‘round. Sweet Jesus action figure, things started to work!

So that was the solution. It seems so simple and obvious, I don’t know why one of the 150 people around the world (only one meaning - LOL) I’ve spoken to in the past few weeks couldn’t have told me this, but at least it IS working now. We turned the machine off and back on several times, and tested it in different parts of the house, and it was all good. (Knock on wood - LOL.)

So it was a stranger-than-fiction, stunning weekend here in Mazoorah. How was yours?

chris brogan

liz strauss

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

HELP!

2007-07-17T10:33:00.000-05:00

I went to the grocery store last night, after a frustrating day of trying to get my mother-in-law’s computer to recognize the AT&T/DSL Internet connection we had made for her. We might as well have been trying to talk to the Mars rover. More on that in a moment.

It was hot - really hot, but not in a fun, Paris Hilton kind of way. We’re talking temperature and humidity in the 90’s.
I parked the car, went in for supplies, returned and unlocked the door. I was tired and frustrated. I flung the door open, tossed the sack onto the passenger seat, and dropped towards the driver’s seat as I pulled the door shut behind me. The key word in this sentence is “towards”. I did not make it fully TO the seat, as an updraft from the heated interior of the car caught my ponytail (I can’t stand this mat of heavy hair on the back of my neck when it’s 95 outside).

Just as the door slammed fully shut, the ponytail was lodged between the door and the roof of the car, suspending me, much like this circus performer, except less graceful and not juggling. If I had the equipment and ability to juggle it might have helped me attract attention though, which would have helped, because I was stuck.

I reached for the door handle, (not an easy maneuver) but the position I was trapped in, and the fact that I do not have six-foot-long arms, prevented me from popping the door back open.

I screamed, “HELP!”

This is a small town grocery store though, largely abandoned in favor of the Mart That Sells Walls (another Paris Hilton reference) over in the next town, and there were no patrons milling about, waiting to be amused by or helpful to, the Klutz Who Caught Her Hair In The Door.

I shuffle-bumped my body in a manner similar to the person in a movie who has been tied to a chair by the bad guy, (who never watches movies and thus leaves the tie-ee alone to shuffle-bump their way to escape) until I could feel the electric window button, which was closer than the door release.

I lowered the window and managed to contort my arm around so I could pop the outside door handle to release me from Hair Hell.

Hooray!

I was free, and now know I have alternative occupation skills if Barnum and Bailey are ever looking for a non-juggling, middle-aged hair-hanger. (Unlikely, I know, but stranger things have happened...maybe.)

Now, back to mom-in-law’s computer.

It seems that Vista is incompatible with DSL (all the geeks snicker and go, “like duh”). The people at AT&T did not tell us this when we signed up. (Double duh)

So I implore all of you clever folks who are technical wizards. Is there any way to get Vista to see the 2Wire DSL modem, which AT&T says “pings” properly? I am desperate. I spent all day yesterday (prior to my performance) trying to make the damn thing work. We disabled the firewall, lowered the security and privacy settings, re-installed the set-up and did a strip tease for it (grandma’s air conditioner is failing, but that’s a whole ‘nother post). Nothing worked. Vista is the most frustrating operating system ever designed by those sadists at Microsoft. I have spoken to so many help center people form India I should speak Hindi by osmosis.

We may just remove it and install XP because my head hurts, metaphorically and literally. Please help me before I hang myself (by my hair) again.

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Cave Boy and the Goblet of Squid

2007-07-13T07:00:00.000-05:00

Middle Son remains at home, as the person he is replacing in the shared household he and his lady-love will be joining, has yet to depart. The kid who was supposed to move out must have taken my death threats seriously.......

:)

Although he still lives here, he is no longer a McPloyee. He and lady-love both bid adieu to the golden arches for greener pastures. Then they went under them.

They are both now working in a cave. Honest.

Subtropolis.

It sounds like somewhere a superhero arch-enemy would hang out, doesn’t it? LOL
But it is a real place, the world's largest underground business complex, a subterranean industrial park with nearly five million square feet of leasable space.

Speaking of bidding adieu, I am in the process of getting rid of many of my Squidoo lenses. It’s nothing personal (despite my rant at Calacanis)

I just don’t have the time, or sufficient drug supplies (to DEA computer scanner - just kidding) to keep them up. So I’ve let others adopt them. Summertime is always busy here at the farm, and there’s bingo to go cheat at - LOL

My cup (or goblet, since I’m not above shamelessly leveraging the popularity of Harry Potter - lol) runneth over. Fare thee well, my little lenses!

Happy Friday the 13th to everyone!

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

NO SEX SINCE 1955

2007-07-11T09:22:00.000-05:00

A crusty old Marine Sergeant Major found himself at a gala event hosted by a local liberal arts college. There was no shortage of extremely young, idealistic ladies in attendance, one of whom approached the Sergeant Major for conversation.

"Excuse me, Sergeant Major, but you seem to be a very serious man. Is something bothering you?"

"Negative, ma'am. Just serious by nature."

The young lady looked at his awards and decorations and said, "It looks like you have seen a lot of action."

"Yes, ma'am, a lot of action."

The young lady, tiring of trying to start up a conversation, said, "You know, you should lighten up a little. Relax and enjoy yourself."

The Sergeant Major just stared at her in his serious manner.

Finally the young lady said, "You know, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but when is the last time you had sex?"

"1955, ma'am."

"Well, there you are. You really need to chill out and quit taking everything so seriously! I mean, no sex since 1955!"

She took his hand and led him to a private room where she proceeded to 'relax' him several times. Afterwards, panting for breath, she leaned against his bare chest and said, "Wow, you sure didn't forget much since 1955!"

The Sergeant Major, glancing at his watch, said in his serious voice, "I hope not, it's only 2130 now."

Don't ya love military time?

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

070707

2007-07-07T06:09:00.000-05:00

The Good The bad and the Adly

Today is supposed to be a lucky day - 07/07/07. I hope it’s lucky for you!

Any special plans for today? Does July have any special significance for you...a birthday, anniversary, special memory?

I have a few thoughts (often very few LOL )

THE GOOD
I got a very nice book review for my book of humor essays (some taken from this very blog - LOL)

I didn’t die in a horrible flaming car crash when the wheel fell off the car

My birthday is on the 29th.

THE BAD
Middle Son has informed me that he and his lady-love are going to move in together, which means he is moving out of our home. I will miss him and all of the topics he gave me to blog about - LOL

Eldest Son moved out ten years ago, when I was just getting started on the Internet. Daughter is 18 and going into her senior year of high school, so she’ll be gone before I know it. The cats better start doing some pretty funny stuff - LOL

THE ADLY
I love advertising. I know most people are annoyed by it, but I find the psychology of marketing fascinating.
Did you know that several 7-11 stores are being converted into “Kwik E Mart” to promote the new Simpson’s movie?

Over the weekend, 7-Eleven Inc. turned a dozen stores into Kwik-E-Marts, the fictional convenience stores of "The Simpsons" fame, in the latest example of marketers making life imitate art. Those stores and most of the 6,000-plus other 7-Elevens in North America will sell items that until now existed only on television: Buzz Cola, KrustyO's cereal and Squishees, the slushy drink knockoff of Slurpees.

Then there’s this new Wendy’s hamburger commercial, that shows a bunch of people in a forest, all kicking a tree. I thought, ”WTF” and was not alone - LOL I Googled it and there are a LOT of people asking “WTF?” The general consensus seems to be that the message is “don’t be like everybody else”. I think it’s great when a TV commercial cam get that many people asking, “WTF?” LOL It is just so bizarre and “random” (which is apparently the new “cool”)

Speaking of weird randomness. Is anyone watching John From Cincinnati on HBO?

Or have you seen “Black Snake Moan” with Samuel L. Jackson and Christina Ricci? I caught both recently, and frankly, I think my weirdly cup runneth over - LOL

Black Snake Moan
Best wishes to all of you for a great weekend!

07 07 07

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Toad Strippers and Near Death Experiences

2007-07-03T16:06:00.000-05:00

I have had one hell of a week and it’s only Tuesday.

The “week” I am referencing goes back to last Friday though. Although the rains have finally stopped here, it was pouring on that day. It was starting to look Biblical. Then the plague of frogs struck.

I had gone to the roadside vegetable stand and picked up some fresh garden goodies for a dinner salad. When I got home and came up the driveway, it was considerably softer than usual. Then I realized I was running over thousands of frogs.

They were everywhere.

I stepped gingerly out of the car, and tried to avoid stepping on one as I made my way to the door. Then one of the little boogers jumped on top of my shoe. I was balancing bags of produce, and trying to maintain my balance, so I slowly lifted my foot and tried to fling it across the yard.

Instead, the frog (or toad - I never remember how you tell the difference and at this point didn’t care) leapt...not away, but up.

Up my pants leg.

I dropped the bags and hopped around in the pouring rain, trying to dislodge the critter.

Instead he climbed higher and higher.

A frog in your pants is not a pleasant experience. Since we live way out in the country and our house is not visible from the road, I did what I considered the next logical thing.

I stripped off my jeans.

I peeled off the dripping wet dungarees and gave them a good shake. The frog went flying.

I was relieved to be done with him, when I heard a noise. The electric company comes around at the end of every month to read the meter, and the truck was approaching. I screamed and fled, wearing my soaked-to-the-skin T-shirt and panties.

What do you figure the meter reader thought as he watched me scamper into the house in my undies, leaving a pair of wrong-side-out jeans lying in the mud beside a cucumber?

LOL

On Sunday, Husband and I went for a drive and the car started making a funny noise. Funny noises are never really funny. He suggested I take it to our trusty mechanic on Monday. Of course this meant driving it over to Kansas and back to get him to work.

About halfway back, the noise intensified and it started vibrating. It was so bad, it shook the review mirror off the windshield. But what was I going to do? It was 4 AM and nothing was open. My kids were asleep at home, and Middle Son was depending on me to wake him up to go to work. So I just kept going and going, like a demented Energizer bunny - LOL

I slowed down and crept along on the back roads as I got closer to home. I was praying (seriously) "Please God, just get me home". She did - lol

I pulled into our own driveway and made it almost to the house, when the car slammed to a stop, as the wheel had fallen off.

I walked up to the house, stunned. I sat on the front porch, watched the sunrise and smoked a cigarette.

Then I woke Middle Son up and posted my pre-written mustache

When the mechanic opened, I called the tow service and had it hauled up there. They tell me that the last time the tires were rotated, (not by them) the lug nuts weren't tightened properly, and they slowly worked their way off, the last one taking the swan dive there in the driveway. They said if it had happened ten minutes sooner, when I was on the freeway, I would have had no control and likely would have slammed into a bridge piller, dying a horrible, flaming death (because the rain had stopped, just so I could fry, ya know - LOL)

I wrote to dear friend Amy and told her about this, and she said if I had died she would have written me a nice blogituary, a word she created for the horrible flaming death of a beloved blogger.

I promise to do the same for her.

Wishing all of you a joyous Independence Day!

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Why You Never Leave a Child Alone

2007-06-25T15:08:00.000-05:00

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Under No Cicumstances

2007-06-21T09:24:00.000-05:00

Do NOT go out in the early morning hours to garden, mow grass and pull weeds where there is poison ivy, then rush inside and go to the bathroom without washing your hands.

Excuse me now while I go scoot my butt across the rug like a dog.......

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Snakes on a Drain

2007-06-18T09:12:00.000-05:00

It’s over!

Well, not really, we still have a lot of unsold goods and not-so-goods to pack up, but the doors to sell hell are closed.

It was hot. If you ever wanted to r-e-a-l-l-y get to know your family, (and I can’t imagine why you would want to - trust me) spend several days in a double-car oven, working at a garage sale with them, while all manner of humanity wanders by, pawing through tools and treasures.

The tools sold well. The treasures...not so much. There isn’t a lot of demand for fur coats in June. And everyone seemed to be able to live without a Rockwell collector plate.

The massive depression glass collection displayed in my previous post has been trimmed a bit, but as groovy so succinctly noted, few people are interested in one more thing to have to dust. I see an eBay store in grandma’s future.

The Campbell’s Soup cups and glassware that Peter noticed didn’t draw any takers. Perhaps we should have included actual soup.

On the last day of the sale, I dragged myself out of bed at 4 AM and sat on the toilet, rubbing my eyes and face. I felt severe stubble around my eyebrows, and realized I hadn’t plucked in days. I pulled open the makeup drawer and got out my trusty tweezers and magnifying mirror. Raising the mirror to eye level, I attempted to focus my bleary vision. In the mirrored reflection I saw not only my eyebrow stubble, but something slithering.

I spun around (not easy to do when you’re sitting on a toilet) and saw a small snake retreating behind the faucet. Apparently the lack of human activity in the house and the excessive outdoor temperature had driven the little bugger indoors. I can speak rationally about this now, but when I first spotted it, all I did was scream.

A screaming woman trying to exit the bathroom with her panties around her ankles, after flinging tweezers at a snake at four o’clock in the morning is a sight to behold, I was later told by my amused husband.

The snake was equally terrified.

Husband (my hero!) threw a towel over the terrified snake, carried it outside and released it. Since we live out in the country, this has happened a couple of other times in the 20-odd years we’ve lived here, but I will never get used to it.

But it made leaving to go haul two tons of stuff out onto a driveway, a whole lot easier.

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

My Husband’s Butt and Other Finery

2007-06-12T14:59:00.000-05:00

Well, we’ve moved 8,729 pieces of stuff into my mother-in-law’s garage.

Every one has been washed, so it is not the unwashed masses yearning to be free - it is the washed masses yearning to be sold.

The sale to end all sales (I hope) starts tomorrow.

Every member of the family was drafted into service. Mom-in-law, myself, husband, both sons, daughter and an aunt, have all gathered priceless treasures and deposited them in the garage.

Toby, the cairn terrier was more interested in retrieving anything that was placed low or on the floor, grabbing it and dragging it back into the house, though. Toby does not like change. Toby thinks we are crazy. Toby is right.

Despite Toby’s best efforts to maintain hearth and home as he knew it, the garage is now packed to the brim. The sale starts tomorrow. My sanity should return some time next week.

Here are some pictures - my favorite is of my husband’s butt, which, even when we’re exhausted, will cause me to wink at him when he turns to ask me for more price stickers.

Click to enlarge (the pictures, not my husband. I’ll handle all of his enlargements - LOL)

Mom is selling more than 250 pieces of Moon and Stars depression glass in all colors.

And dozens of collectors plates.

There was so much stuff, we had to put the overflow in the living room.

See the craigslist ad here:

There’s more, but I’m too pooped to post - LOL

Gotta go make more signs now....hope all of you have a wonderful day!

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Twittering Scrotums

2007-06-03T07:37:00.000-05:00

Caution: This post contains political incorrectness

It’s 4 AM and there’s a fat man in leopard prints pants on TV. I don’t know why.

The satellite TV isn’t working because it’s raining. It’s been raining forever. I wanna know how big a cubit is (a free humor book to the first person who can tell me what a cubit is)

I can only get three local channels without the magic satellite signal, and I can’t check the on-screen guide to see what retarded old movie this is. Two of the local channels are showing infomercials. Even in my depleted mental state I will not watch an infomercial. That leaves some 90’s teen movie on the remaining channel. It’s colorful, and has pirates, which should be enough for my reduced brain function.

Ahhh...pretty colors...nooo, brain is insisting it must know...stupid brain. I Google the only celebrity I recognize, Corey Feldman, (Googling Corey Feldman sounds like fun, but only would be, if Google was wearing a studded leather dog collar and carrying a whip.)

Here we are...the best review (unedited, cause that’s what makes it “special” and yes I mean retarded) from IMdb:

National Lampoon: Last Resort - this movie was soooooooooooo FUNNY! I seen it on USA when i was obsessed w/ corey feldman and i used to tape all his movies that were coming on....Anywayz while i was watching it i couldnt help but realize how stupid it was but thats the whole point!

Uh, OK. I got up for this?

No, I got up because of the friggin’ rain. Incessant, mind-numbing rain. Rain that drips like Chinese water torture and keeps me awake and yes I know that saying, “retarded” or “Chinese water torture” is politically incorrect and I don’t give a flying monkey.

A flying monkey carrying a letter of the alphabet.

This is how I explained e-mail to my mother-in-law.

How did we get from retarded pirates to my mother-in-law?

It’s easy when you’re me (thank your lucky stars that you’re not).

As loyal readers know (all three of you, since I never have time to visit anyone else’s blog and therefore my readership has fallen like so many incessant raindrops) I’ve been spending a lot of time with M-I-L. She’s family, and she needs me, so it’s OK that I’m losing my mind.

She bought a computer.

She’s planning an estate sale to get rid of a lot of Pop’s things, since he passed away in February. Now it’s June. God, how’d that happen? Anyway, she has all sorts of collectibles that she wants to sell, and some people at bingo suggested we put them on eBay. Damn them. So she wanted a computer.

Guess who gets to teach her how to use it?

Ever tried to explain the Internet to your grandma? After a while you just sigh and say that there are tiny flying monkeys that take the words off the screen and carry them through the phone line to somebody else’s computer.

About to lose my mind from all of this, I bitched to Amy, who has the patience of a saint. Amy is a smart woman, whose advice to me was, “Never let her see your blog.”

Amy, who is wise in the ways of the Internets also hooked me up with Twitter.

Twitter is a new (to me anyway, since I get to spend about four minutes a month online these days) website that lets you leave little IM-type blurbs about what’s driving you crazy.

This is another thing I will not be showing Grandma

Grandma is not grasping the basic terminology of cyber-world.

She wanted to make lists of the things that we are going to look up on eBay, so I installed Word on her new computer. Grandma called it Microwave Word.

I enlarged the font, once I got out of the bathroom, where I went to hide and laugh without hurting her feelings.

Now she calls it Microscrot. Picturing an operating system designer with a miniaturized scrotum is easy after you spend a few days trying to figure out Vista. Get me the dog collar and whip again.

The Worst Salesman in the World warned us. We went to look at computers and talked to SuperSlacker.

He informed us (in exasperated faux geek talk) that all new computers are equipped with Vista and there’s nothing you can do about it. Nope, you can’t install an operating system you know how to operate on it - voids the warranty.

He went on to say that nothing would work with it, not even the free printer in the ad that drew us to the store.

Grandma didn’t understand anything he said after “Whacha want?” (Which I’m sure is in the employee handbook as the proper way to greet customers wanting to drop hundreds of dollars in your lap) and SuperSlacker assumed (wrongly) that I knew nothing about computers. Ha! I speak geek you fool! (I may not actually understand how all of this stuff works, but I know the terminology by God, and can BS with the best of them).

Plus a menopausal, sleep-deprived woman who’s driven ten thousand miles to haul her mother-in-law to the computer store in the incessant rain is not one to mess with.

I laugh at your extended warranty offer! No - “DPI” does NOT stand for digital photographic images, it’s dots per inch, you jackass! I will NOT purchase anti-virus software for $49.99 when I can download AVG for free! You will NOT sell me a five-dollar printer cable for twenty-seven bucks!

Now stop quivering and carry it all out to the car or I’ll sic my tiny flying monkeys on you.

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!

Blood Cell - Fiesta Night on the Deathstar

2007-05-22T08:04:00.000-05:00

Blood is thicker than water.

That’s supposed to be an analogy for family comes first. Or instructions for janitors. I forget.

I forget a lot these days. It’s the lack of sleep. Or the drinking I do when I’m awake - LOL

Family. Do you ever just wanna shoot yours? But then there’s all that damn blood to clean up. Which is a real pain. Just ask Middle Son, who was selling his bodily fluids (donating plasma) when he began to feel faint, and looked down to see the tube that was supposed to be returning his red cells to him, was instead depositing them onto the floor. He called me with the news that he might be late for dinner since he was essentially bleeding to death and wasn’t sure how long it would take the emergency technicians to bring him back to life.

There’s nothing like having your child call and use the term “emergency technician”. Chalk up another “mommy’s heart stops” moment.

I love my family. I’d do anything for them. But there are days...

I’m still spending a lot of hours on the road and away from home in an effort to take care of my family. The drive is made more unpleasant by exorbitant gasoline prices. The “family of man” seems to be one of the lesser concerns of our Evil Oil Overlords.

Then there’s dealing with the Family Plan. As in telephones, or as I’ve come to know it, Cell Hell.

We have yet to get a bill from the Cell Hellions that is correct. The freshest Hell is Husband’s phone.

Husband is, or rather was, an employee of the provider (an oxymoron if ever there was one). Then the provider decided to fu-, errr...change things in what they considered our too-perfect world.

Husband’s department was aborted by the parent company and tossed into the biological waste bag of a spin-off organization. Some sort of horror movie transformation took place and a monster grew. A monster that is actually making money. This seemed to annoy the Cell Hellions, who have frittered away their small earnings on recording endless-loop voice menus for their “help” lines. They expressed their ire by changing coverage for their demon spawn. All previously-free phone service for employees was killed, in a massacre designed to drive me insane.

I am certain that Satan himself runs the parent company (They both start with the same letter of the alphabet) and he saw that Husband was exceeding performance goals, helping make the demon spawn profitable. Satan said, “There shall be no joy in Mudville!” (or some other rip-off of classic literature) and axed the free phones.

Of course it had to LOOK like a magnanimous gesture, (‘cause that’s how Satan works) so it was cloaked as a “transfer of service”. Ha. Good one, Satan. And of course Husband was too busy exceeding performance goals to deal with Satan, so he assigned me the task. I have more experience, anyway.

The promise of a new and better world was a ruse. Like duh. The “no-cost transfer” memo didn’t get sent to the billing department. They saw the end of the original contract as a termination, worthy of a pound of flesh, and sent an exorbitant automatic debit to the bank. The bank that owns the ATM that ate my debit that lives in the house that Jack built. (You know I'm getting crazy when I start quoting Dickens - LOL)

Suddenly, the bank account is gutted and bleeding. I always keep one eye on the bank account, because ya never know what sort of shenanigans those hoodlums are up to. I saw red - figuratively and literally. WTF is this? Why did the phone company steal our money?

I called. I went through the three hours of endless-loop voice menus. I questioned. Oops, our bad, sorry. Sorry my ass, get the money back in the account and cover the overdraft fees. Well, that’s really between you and your bank. We can only issue you a statement of an erroneous debit. You’ll have to go to Fiesta Night on the Deathstar by yourself.

Fine. I gird my loins, have a stiff drink, and deal with the bank bastards. I have driven ten thousand miles, kept my mother-in-law alive and happy, arbitrated Regulations of Adulthood with a teenage girl, and explained a complicated phone procedure to a man in Calcutta, in the last few weeks.

They didn’t have a chance. The phone charges were reversed, the overdraft fees were annulled, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was purchased.

Middle Son is regenerating bodily fluids and I have sobered up for the next Attack on Sanity.

Jack Daniels and I are ready.

To leave a comment, please go here
Thanks!