Musings of a Quirkyloon

Manna Barking From Heaven

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

You know this whole blogging adventure is just that: an adventure.

You never know what will inspire you to write the silly or sad, happy or mad, or just plain quirky things that happen in your life.

I live for the quirky.

And the humorous.

Hence, I always look at life with the cup one-third-full of laughter and quirkiness. (Half cup is too typical and expected. I am atypical.) *smile*

It works for me.

I highly recommend it.

I have mentioned previously that I keep a blog notebook and jot down ideas for future blog posts.

I still do that.

Some ideas will probably never come to fruition. Sometimes I will reread an idea and think to myself, "And....?"

Lucky for you those shall remain in the notebook unless I can twist it into a funny.

But what I love are those days when blog fodder falls upon you like manna from heaven.

Recently, blog manna was bestowed upon me.

*****
(faint barking heard)

"Darn... (yawn) that dog! Somebody shut (double yawn) her up please?"

*snore*

(one minute later)

"Dang it. She's still at it. I'm soooo tired. It's not even 6:00 am! The neighbors are gonna get upset. Won't that dog shut-up?"

(one minute later)

"All right, all right! I'm getting up. Where are my specs? Drat, I gotta take a pee first."

(sitting on pot)

(dog barking)

"Guvvie! Be quiet!"

Of course she can't hear me, she's an almost 17-year-old dog who has cataracts and has gone deaf. I plan on going outside to shut her up, but I will have to get her attention and use sign language. (Don't worry the sign language doesn't involve the use of any middle fingers. *smile*)

(still barking)

"All right!"

I shuffle down the hallway through the dining room to the back door. I open it and step out. Now where is the culprit? She's got to be close to the RV gate. She probably saw a shadow and now thinks somebody is trying to break and enter into our lovely backyard.

(Quirky rolls her eyes.)

I scan the yard and burst out laughing.

I ran back inside and grabbed my cell-phone. No time to dig out the digital camera. I quickly turn it on and switch it to camera mode. I click away.

Guvvie is still barking through all of this.

I'm still laughing.

Because this is what I saw:

Now I understood why she wouldn't stop barking.

Her head was stuck inside the bag!

She was barking for help.

I performed the operation with the utmost care. I gently removed the "growth" from her head and she was free!

I gave her relief from her dog food bag prison.

But what she gave me? It was precious manna from heaven.

And I said a prayer of thanks for the blog manna, erm, I mean, fodder.

It was hilariously heavenly!

*ruff*

B.S. Guvvie was not harmed during the production of this post. I removed the bag and she briskly ran inside for some water and then plopped down for a good rest. I'm sure the neighbors did too!

Paper Clips And Rubber Bands Fear Me

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Many moons ago, I committed a ghastly ("ly" ha to you Marvin!) injustice to paper clips and rubberbands.

You see once upon a time, a Quirkyloon was working her way through college. She worked for a utility company (that shall rename UNnamed) as an emergency dispatcher.

What a joke.

Like I could help ANYBODY during an electrical outage. Yep, those linemen were depending on ME to tell them accurate information regarding outages so they could get people back in power.

At the time, it was great job for me because I needed a flexible schedule and this position provided it.

You know it really sucked during my junior and senior years at college that certain required courses were only offered once a year and only met at 2:40 p.m. on Tuesdays.

Yeesh.

Howza a Quirkyloon supposed to support herself with a job and go to school?

It was tough.

No, no need for violins this time, but thanks for offering.

Before I started working as a dispatcher, I worked in a different department for the same company.

Let's say the manager in this department liked to give me a very hard time. Talk about an injustice.

I think he was secretly crushing on me. Definitely an injustice.

This was pre-sexual harrasment days.

He would comment on my clothes, my hair, my make-up, my earrings, my everything. He would hang out at my desk all day, making small talk with others, while keeping an eye on me. A horrific injustice.

I disliked him. Immensely.

He made me feel very uncomfortable.

So after I left that department and moved to the dispatching position which happened to be located in a completely different building, I told a co-worker about this previous manager.

This co-worker ended up becoming a great friend. She had a great evil streak in her, just like me. I just kept mine a little more hidden.

One slow day, we put our evil minds together and concocted a way to get back at this manager.

Naturally, we started collecting paper-clips and rubberbands.

After a couple of weeks, we had a lot paper-clips and rubberbands galore. We took an inter-office envelope and filled it to capacity with the paper clips and rubberbands and then I did my best left-handed writing to address it to this manager. (I'm a rightie.)

Off it went into the inter-office mail bin.

I was still friends with another girl who still worked in that department. Very casually, I asked her one day how things were going there.

Of course, this envelope incident or the PCRBgate (Paper Clip Rubber Band) as I liked to call it, stood out in her mind.

I was sooooo good.

I never let on one teensy weensy bit, that I co-partnered this act of contempt!

I could not risk it. But when she told me about it, I laughed and laughed and laughed.

I couldn't wait to go back and tell my co-worker about the success of our prank!

And boy howdy, did we roll with laughter.

To this day, I can't help but smile when I see or use a paperclip or a rubberband.

I remember this mischievous act with great fondness.

I know one day I will pay for this sin.

But until then?

I smile.

B.S. No paperclips or rubberbands were harmed or mailed to anybody that I know during the production of this post. But beware, you cross me? You never know what might happen! I'm capable of worse, much worse. *wagging eyebrows*

Matinees

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Today's injustice is brought to you courtesy of the American Movie Association.

Movie matinees are not what they used to be.

I remember many moons ago when the beloved matinee price was any show time before 6pm.

Then they moved the time up (or is it back?) to 5pm.

Still doable and worthwhile.

Then it seemed like the very next week, it had been moved (up or back, still not sure) to 4pm.

What the show?

Now 4pm was ridiculous. Right dab smack in the middle of carpool time or after school sports time. I mean really. Who goes to a movie before 4pm? Not me.

Then it was 2pm.

Then 1pm.

But now they have pushed it even further up or back (can somebody please clue me in?). Yes, now the beloved matinee price is only valid on any movies seen before 12pm.

That's noon.

Are they freakin' serious?

Who goes to the movies before noon?

I do.

*smile*

With both boys in school during the days, once a week, a good friend and I go see a matinee. It's so nice to be able to see a chick flick or something that is NOT animated.

Last week, we saw the Michael Jackson movie, "This Is It." We both enjoyed it immensely. Say what you want about his questionable personal choices, but as a musician? He was a genius. It was better than watching him in concert, because you got a great feel for the behind the scenes and what was ticking in his mind to perform a song this way or that way.

But alas, my friend will probably be working at a part-time job soon. Something I would consider, if I didn't have so many ongoing health issues. Yes, please play your violin for me. I always enjoy hearing, "My Heart Bleeds For You" on the finger violin. Um, Noname? I can't hear you. Ah, that's better. Thank you. It's so touching when somebody cares.

But who says a Quirky can't go to a movie matinee by herself? I used to do it all the time, before I was married, and even after I was married. Pshaw on those women who can't do anything by themselves. And yes, I have eaten at restaurants by myself. I drove myself to chemo and radiation therapies (good times, people, good times). And by golly, I even pump my own gas!

It's no big deal.

So I shall continue to treat myself to a matinee, until Winter Break and the boys are out of school for two weeks!

Gah.

That will be a miserable two weeks for me.

*sigh*

Can't wait.

Until then?

Matinees, here I come!

Next on my list? "2012."

John Cusack and the end of the world? That's my kind of matinee!

Oh yeah, baby!

So AMA? You just keep moving (up or back ?) the matinee times. I'll just keep going earlier and earlier.

A big harumph to you and a...

In your face!

B.S. No movie theaters were harmed or vandalized during the production of this post. Quirky has been practicing her spray painting skills, so it could still happen. Watch out projector screens...."Viva La Quirky!"

I Am Anconeus!

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

You humans disgust me.

You are guilty of a huge injustice.

No, no, no. Oh no, you don't.

No clicking away allowed.

You can't run, you can't hide. You will listen to me and my case.

Anconeus is my name.

Don't know who or what I am?

Oh, you shall. Mark my words. You shall.

Oh, I know you are very familiar with my brothers and my sisters. They get all the attention. Everybody knows their names. Everybody cares what they're doing. Everybody can't wait to flex them. Everybody is excited to see how they develop, their tone and definition.

But there is something you don't know.

Without me?

They are nothing!

Noth-thing.

That's right. You read it correctly. And now? I am here to stand up for the rights of all anconeus world wide.

Of course, you still have no earthly idea of what I am.

And you should.

I am the small triangular extensor muscle located by your elbow. What's my function? Extension of the forearm.

Yet all we arm muscles ever hear is about the triARMverate, erm, I mean, triumverate.

Yes, deltoids, biceps, and triceps, oh my!

I'm sick to death that they get all the attention.

What about the anconeus?

Or the brachialis?

The rhomboids? (Not to be mistaken for the other 'rhoids.)

All of us contribute to the flexion and extension of the human arm.

But to hear you humans go on and on, it's ONLY about the deltoids, biceps, and triceps.

Gah.

Consider yourselves warned.

We anconeus will not be ignored any longer.

We will unite!

We shall fight!

We shall overcome this injustice.

We shall arm ourselves with the truth.

And the arms shall set us free!

Arms!

They ain't nuttin' without me.

Noth-thing.

B.S. No deltoids, triceps or biceps were harmed during the production of this post. But please try to remember: anconeus are muscles too!

Stream of Consciousness Sunday

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

I can't believe the holidays are almost here. Gah! Please, please, please don't let it be me who gets to cook the turkey this year. Freaks me out how bird-like the turkey looks. It's always slipping in my hands. Icky. Too easy to imagine it clucking and freebasing, no, dumb Sandie, it's not freebasing it's free ranging poultry. Hmm. I think. Maybe I'll google that later. I contributed five dollars to the Michael Jackson estate. Despite his questionable personal life, he was a musical genius on stage. Amazing. Oh looky there, I just remembered the "hee haw" in Wanna Be Starting Something. Drat! I keep forgetting to take a picture of my cute "Zombee" t-shirt. It's the cutest little zombified bee. "Pour some sugar on me!" Darn dog Maisy, she struck again. Hamburger buns gone! Jon and Kate From Love to Hate? Is this for real? Gee sounds like a cheesy title I would come up with. Mmm. Cheese. Nothing like a good slab of mellow cheddar. Kill Bill marathon? And I missed it? Gah. Where is the remote? Oh no not that movie! Would anybody really name their daughter, Baby? Dirty Dancing...whatever. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together." I can be such a hater of movies. I try not to be, but with movies like... I can't think of any titles right now. I'll have too google that too. Where's the spike in Spike TV? Ha! A new buzzword: BURN. I just heard it on iCarly, so must be hip. It replaces the "old" buzzword SNAP! I think I like snap better. I can't believe the holidays are almost here again! Did I already think that? Oh yeah. Where is that book? I know I put it somewhere. Where are the crackers? Who invented playdoh? And why? Hmm. I guess I could google that later. Wait wasn't there something else I wanted to google? What was that again? Did Steven Tyler ever recover from his stage injury? Why don't I think before I speak? Did I really ask that woman if she was a natural blond? I could clearly see the roots, so why would I bring attention to it. Gah! I hate it when people do that to me. By the way, lots of hateful people around today. But hey, I'll sing if I want to! So what if I'm in public. You don't like the voice, turn up the volume on your IPOD. Yeesh. Oh, yeah, what to blog about. Better dig out my blog ideas notebook. "I am the eggman. They are the eggmen. I am the walrus. Goo goo ga joob!" Oh yeah, that was the book I was looking for! Oh no! I broke a nail. Should I buy Depends? I don't really need them...yet. Venus De Milo. Was there a weird dance song about Buffalos in the 80's? I can't stop thinking about Oprah. Does she really care? "Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna." I wonder if I have a booger hanging out of my nose. I hope not. Woops! I farted! And it was a double! A-rat-tat! Oh well! "Goo goo g'joob, G-goo goo g'joob, Goo goo g'goo, G-goo goo g'joob goo! Hee hee hee, ha ha ha, ho ho ho!" (And if you lasted this long? Go and have somebody do something real nice for you. Real nice. *smile* Tell 'em Sandie sent you. *grin*)

B.S. No streams of consciousness were interrupted during the production of this post.

Apparently...

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

I'm a racist.

According to my twelve-year-old son.

He is doing my reputation and my character a huge injustice.

(There's that word again--injustice! Funny how it just conveniently keeps popping up. *big, slow, deliberate wink*)

This might seem cheesy, but I looked the word up at Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary.

Racism:
1 : a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race
2 : racial prejudice or discrimination

What?

He thinks I am a racist?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I have never ever judged a person by the color of their skin. I judge others by how quirky they are or are not. Isn't that the number one "judging" criteria by most people?

But really, I love brown, black, yellow, red, and yes, even white people. It matters not to me where they come from, or how they speak, just be nice and friendly to me and I'll be nice and friendly to you. That's all I ask.

So what gives with this horrendous accusation?

Let's go back to the event that precipitated the bestowal of this notorious label.

It's carpool time.

Everyday I go pick up my 12-year-old son, his friend, and one 14-year-old girl and drive them home from junior high-school. Their parents handle the driving to the school in the mornings. Works wonderfully well for me. This has been going on since mid-August, but until last week, I had not given the girl a ride home.

She was involved in after-school sports. Now, volleyball season is over and she has been needing a ride home.

I told my son that we were going to let her ride in the front. He could sit in the back with his friend and little brother. The boys in the back, the girls in the front.

Whooo-weeee!

You would have thought I tried to cut off his guitar playing hands.

When we arrived home, he had a conniption fit.

I was stunned.

Okay, he was definitely acting like a spoiled brat, but I let him have his say.

Very generous of me, I know.

"Mom, you're a racist! Why should she be able to sit in the front. I'm YOUR son! You're making me feel like I'm not important to you. Why does she get to sit up there, because she's a gir-irl? I can't believe how racist you are being to me. Don't I matter? Why should her feelings be more important than mine? Just because she is a girl? That's so racist!"

I am still stunned.

I was utterly embarrassed and appalled by his behavior.

Thank goodness it was in the privacy of our own home, because I let that booger-brat have it. I mean, I gently corrected him and lovingly explained how his perceptions were a wee bit skewed and just a little bit wrong. I could tell that he finally understood after our thoughtful and tender conversation.

*bats eyelashes*

"First of all, Son... let's learn what racism really means shall we? Open your dictionary to the 'r' pages.... blah, blah, blah, blah.

"And, now let's talk about how you are appearing to be quite disrespectful, but I know you don't mean to be, because I know you love me and would never intentionally be rude to me... blah, blah, blah, blah.

"And, let's not forget how your accusations are without substantial justification, and how I'll be kicking your behind out the car door and you can walk home if you ever make a peep about this again....blah, blah, blah, blah.

"And last, but not least, I must firmly declare: I am not a racist! I'm a sexist! Please, get it straight next time."

What?

Just keepin' it real, folks.

Genderly, erm, I mean genuinely real.

B.S. No Quirkyloon sons were harmed during the production of this post, unless you define emotional and psychological torture as "harm."

That's It!

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

It can only be described as a musical injustice.

I have had the unpleasant experience of receiving an earful of harrowing musical injustices over the years. But recently, it all came to a head.

While waiting in a doctor's office, I had the displeasure of having to listen to some of the most insipid music ever "created." I use the word "created" loosely. Sometimes there simply is no justice to explain how on earth, anybody in their right mind would ever write, produce, record, let alone sing certain songs.

Something wicked was in the musical airwaves that fateful afternoon. It was unreal. How could so much atrocious music be jammed together for a half-hour? So what did I do? I took the time to scribble the song titles in the border of my Sudoku puzzle page.

Lucky you.

I present to you the Top Ten Musical Injustices in the Hall of Quirky Infamy.

We Built This City by Jefferson Starship. What were they thinking? This is the same group that came up with White Rabbit? I think they should have stuck with the airplane and leave the star ships to astronauts or aliens.
Undercover Angel by Alan O'Day. I said, What? We say, ooooooucheee! I said alright? I say spare me, spare me, spare me! Oh yeah, my lyrics are much, much better. No?
Uptown Girl by Billy Joel. I know I'm going to get flack for this one. I acknowledge and recognize that Joel can play the piano and he plays it extremely well. But his music? Major chunks of cheese. And the Brie, Edam or Swiss flavor of Joel "music" is Uptown Girl. Blech! Have you ever noticed how Swiss smells like stinky feet?
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham. Come on. You knew this would make the list, didn't you? The sad thing about this song is it became popular during the pre-CD era. This was also a pre-burning CD era, and definitely not even a wink of a celestial satellite radio station was even conceived yet. In other words, with no other viable options, you were stuck listening to this crap.
Don't Give Up Us On Baby by David Soul. "Don't give up on us, baby. Don't make the wrong seem right." That is the exact reason why this song makes the cut. Ain't no-way, no-how this song is "right" in any way shape or form! It is simply wrong, wrong, wrong!
Here I Am (Just When I Thought I Was Over You) by Air Supply. Gag. My stomach is feeling sour.
Lost In Love by Air Supply. Double gag. Uh oh, the acid is really starting to slosh around.
Even The Nights Are Better by Air Supply. Triple gag. Oh no, was that a mini-episode of acid reflux?
All Out Of Love by Air Supply. Quadruple gag. Are you sensing a theme yet?And another not so mini-episode of acid reflux.
Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air Supply. Gag to the nth degree. Excuse me while I hurl. Hands down this "band" holds the blatant honor of producing such hurl-inducing tunes that make me want to drag my non-existent fingernails on a chalkboard. Oh no you don't! Don't you dare call me a hater. Listen to these Air Supply "songs" again and answer me this: WHO is being hateful? Uh-huh, I thought so.

There you have it.

What made me so lucky that the Muzak station that day was playing these barbaric strains?

Muzak tormented me.

And I don't appreciate that.

Hence, I have decided. Muzak is of the devil.

And if that is not an injustice to the entire music industry and its innocent listeners (like you and me) than what is?

B.S. No members of the "band" Air Supply were harmed during the production of this post. Many malicious and violent thoughts were entertained, but not acted upon (yet).

The Birds!

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

It's an injustice, I tell you!

Yes, I'm still ranting about the injustices of life.

Today my "hit" group? Old people.

Old people can be for the birds!

No, this is not a takeoff of the Hitchcock classic movie, The Birds.

Although it could be.

It's been awhile since I mentioned the fact that I reside in the sunny and very hot Mesa, Arizona.

We are just a hop, skip, and a dash away from Phoenix.

In fact, the greater Phoenix metropolis makes us more of a suburb of Phoenix, although technically we are a fully incorporated city with a mayor and a bunch of yahoos running our city government.

Our city is known to be pretty laid back. We recently had the honor of being dubbed one of the top ten most boring cities in the United States.

I'll take it.

We are also famous for the many Mormons that live here (of which I am one).

We are part of Maricopa County home to the infamous Sheriff Joe Arpaio and his tent cities and pink striped prison suits.

We are also the landing place for many snowbirds.

You all know what snowbirds are: those retired, rich folks with blue or gray hair. They fly south (here in Arizona) for the winters and they fly back north (wherever) for the summers.

Well guess what?

They're he-ere!

And after having lived here for many moons, you get to know which areas of the city are bonafide snowbird nests.

I had to venture into one on Monday.

There is this wonderful farmer's market which sells outstanding produce for outstanding prices. Unfortunately, it is located right in the middle of a huge Snowbird Area aka Snowbird Nest. It's a bit far from my house, but it is well worth the trip.

Most of the time.

I had forgotten what a headache it can be when the "birds" are back in town.

This outing proved that point beyond any doubt.

First, as I was approaching the market in my car, I got stuck behind a "bluebird" (old lady with blue hair) in her Cadillac.

Nice wheels, lady.

And I had a very long opportunity to check out her vehicle as we moseyed along the street going 20 mph in a 45 mph speed zone. Cars whizzed by in the other lane, making it near impossible for me to switch lanes to go around her.

Nice.

Then the store itself was jam packed with the birds. You have to maneuver yourself very carefully in that store. Don't speed, park the carts on the right side of the aisle while perusing or picking fruit and vegetables, with moving cart traffic always travelling on the left side of the aisles.

But of course, there is always somebody (in this case, another bird) who has to break the rules to make it much harder on us all.

This Old Biddy had his cart angled and blocking the left part of the aisle.

A huge NO-NO.

Several people called out, "Excuse me."

Of course, the dear Old Biddy must not have had his hearing aid turned up loud enough, because he continued to ignore the cries for help.

The line of shoppers with carts grew longer.

I started hot-flashing.

He kept picking up one apple at a time, inspecting it, sniffing it, licking it (well maybe not that), and poking it, then replacing the "failing" fruit back into the bin. Finally, another bird, this time a Blue Bird, tapped him on the shoulder.

(In a grumpy voice) "WHA? Whose tapping me?"

"Sir, could we please get by?"

"Well, why didn't you just say sumpin'?"

*sigh*

Finally a few infinites later, my purchases were paid for and I was more than ready to leave.

I started towards the parking lot, pushing my cart about three steps behind a man using a walker. Instinctively, I kept an appropriate distance from "Walker Man."

You know how there is an inherent rule of the road that you never drive exactly alongside another car in the next lane? I don't know about you all, but it feels creepy to me when somebody does. I guess my space bubble is larger than most people's.

About this time, I noticed that Old Biddy aka Walker Man (meant with the utmost love and charity) kept slowing down, so I had to make a decision. I could slow down and maintain the distance or speed up and try to get ahead of him.

I opted for the latter.

But it didn't work.

Didn't that Old Biddy aka Walker Man (again, meant with the utmost love and charity) speed up just as I was right beside him! So I chose to slow down...and...he...DID...too!

What the bird?

This happened at least two more times and I'm screaming in my head, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WALKER MAN?"

It was like doing the sidewalk tango.

I did not appreciate it. Not one bit.

I finally stopped and he veered to the left going onto another sidewalk where he could torture another vibrant, young lady (cuz compared to these folks, I am!).

I finally reached my car, unloaded my bags, got in, rolled down my windows, cranked up my CD player and left that place with Aerosmith's "Pink" screaming out of my car.

Yep, I showed them birds!

Until next week.

Gah!

*caw, caw*

B.S. No Old Biddies, Blue Birds, or Walker Men were harmed during the production of this post. (Thank goodness, or I'd be blogging from a tent city jail right now, with pink-striped overalls, although "Pink" is my favorite color!)

Top Ten Quirks

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

I'm shocked at the injustice of it all.

Just shocked.

Recently, it has come to my attention that there are some serious Quirkyloon haters out there.

No need to dredge it all up, but I don't understand what people have against Quirkyloons. (I never realized there was more than one!)

Haters!

So I'm quirky. I own it. I'm proud of it.

Not everybody can be a smart, wise, well-read, witty, funny (Hey!), creative, politically savvy, well-written, hilarious blogger.

That's why as a Quirkyloon, I stand out.

Because I am quirky.

What's that?

Oh, you want me to tell you WHY, I am so quirky?

Well.

Fine.

Here ya go!

I give to you My Top Ten Quirks That Make Quirkyloon Quirky.

Music. I love music. I get so hooked on songs. When I hear a song I like or I hear a song I haven't heard in awhile, I will burn a CD and play it over and over and over again. Yes, it's been more than awhile since I was a teen, but I still do it. Right now, my song of choice? Aerosmith's "Livin' On The Edge." (You can help yourself from fallin'!) Previous song? Rush's "Spirit of the Radio." Geddy Lee rocks!
I talk to myself. All the time. Outloud. And yes, I do answer myself all the time. I don't care that I get strange looks. If I do say so myself, I'm quite an interesting self-conversationalist. You should hear me go on, and on, and on. I think it's quite charming.
Crushed red pepper. It is my spice of choice and I sprinkle it liberally on ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I eat (well, except sweets). There is nothing more satisfying than spice-induced tears and runny nose. Plus, I suspect it is the secret ingredient of Diet Dr. Pepper. And I love it with every fiber of my quirky being.
Crusty cheese. I absolutely loathe washing dried-up, crusty cheese from a dirty plate. When it gets wet from the dish soap water, it gets so gooey and nasty. *shudders* Unfortunately, my son's latest food fixation? Nachos. So. Much. Dried. Cheese. I love eating cheese, just hate washing it off of dirty plates.
Locking my house. Nine times out of ten, I will be reversing out of the driveway only to panic because I cannot remember whether or not I locked the front doors. And nine times out of ten, I have to stop, put the car in drive, drive forward and send my son (Ha!) to go and check. One time, it was not locked and I always think of that when I'm leaving the driveway. Yeeesh.
Barking. I like to bark at my dogs and see if they will answer me. It took many full moons, but one of our mutts (all female) has finally figured it out. She responds to me. I love it. Just call me a barking bitch. (Did I just cuss again on my blog? So UNlike me! What gives?) *arf, arf*
Black olives. The most disgusting fruit ever. They look like mini-slugs. I'm always looking for that clear goo that slugs ooze out when they are moving on any dish containing olives.
Movie theater seats. Okay. This is a hard one to admit and I'm not only going to sound quirky, but churlish too. I absolutely HATE it when a stranger has to sit next to me at a movie theater. This is particularly annoying when there are other seats available. It's called, Bubble Space, people. And please stay far enough away from mine.
Socks. I love wearing them, all the time. Even during the hot summer months of which lasts approximately EIGHT months here in Arizona. I don't like the soles of my feet getting black and crusty. I will even wear socks with flip-flops. Yes, I'm a sock fashionista.
Watches. I'm not sure how old I was when I first learned to tell time, but I've obviously lost the skill. My watch face must have all the numbers (no ambiguous dashes) in black and with a second hand. If it doesn't have the numbers in black (not pink or white or silver) when the watch reads a certain time, I am completely incapable of deciphering it. I just take a guess and figure it's a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. Is it TWO-forty or THREE-forty? Darn those ambiguous dashes!

Well there you have it.

Nothing there to inspire Quirkyloon hostility.

Stop the hatred.

Some of us are quirky, some of us are not.

Okay, okay, I am the ONLY quirky one.

But I like that.

Cuz, the cheese stands alone.

Or in this case, the Quirky stands alone.

*cue Beastie Boys music*

You gotta fight
For your right
To be Quiiirky!

B.S. No Quirkyloons were harmed during the production of this post. Well, there was that ONE Quirkyloon, but shh, don't tell this Quirkyloon. What she doesn't know, won't kill her... um, nevermind!

Stayin' Alive

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

To read the first part of this story click here!

The Old Silly and I put our cyber noggins together and what a Big Bang it turned out to be!

That Adam Atom, he really gets around!

And now for the exciting conclusion...

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

(pulsating disco beat)

Well you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man
No time to talk.

Adam Atom here and I am trapped in John Travolta's brain!

Surprisingly, there is not much going on in here except the refrain from the Bee Gees Song, Stayin' Alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive.
Stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha,
Stayin' alive.

Once in a while the verses stream through.

It won't stop!

Please, make it stop!

I've never been more terrified in my life!

I'm being bounced around from the frontal lobe to the parietal lobe with a couple of thrusts into the cerebellum and temporal lobes!

It's like a bad Twilight Zone episode, I'm trapped and I can't get out.

Whether you're a brother
Or whether you're a mother,
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin'
And ev'rybody shakin'
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

How on earth will I get out of this nightmare?

I had no idea his brain was so... zombified.

Surely, he could start thinking of other things?

Maybe if I start tapping on his brain stem.

*tap, tap, tap*

Uh oh. The song just got louder!

AH, HA, HA, HA,
STAYIN' ALIVE.
STAYIN' ALIVE.
AH, HA, HA, HA,
STAYIN' ALI-IIVE.

I'm not sure how much longer I can stand this. On the other hand, I don't have much of choice, do I?

(sudden spark of a synapse electrical flash)

Aha!

That synapse just gave me an idea.

I will use the energy from the pulsating beat to blast myself through the brain mass and into John's ear canal.

I can do this thing.

I must synchronize myself to be ready.

Ah, ha, ha, ha...

On the next "ha" I am out of here.

Ah, ha, ha, (This is it!) ha...
I'm stayin' aliiiiive.

Adam rides the pulsating synaptical wave and pushes through.

Yes!

I made it.

And now I am attached to nice bit of ear wax.

I am so relieved.

Any day now, a q-tip will save me.

I can't wait.

For now, I'm settling in for some nice quiet time.

(dull pulsating beat)

Well almost.

What a nightmare. That was worse than anything I've experienced before.

Well there was that one zombie experience I had.

Ugh.

I was attached to a maggot. Then I was scooped up into a taco shell and eaten as part of a maggot taco!

And did my quarks deceive me?

Was that John Travolta eating "my" taco?

Aaaaahhhh! Again?

What a horrific vicious cycle.

John Travolta was that zombie?

He was.

Yes, you heard it here first.

John Travolta: a zombie!

Who knew?

B.S. No maggots were harmed during the production of this post.

What the Atom?

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Where am I?

Something very strange is going on.

I think I am stuck in Adam Atom's world!

And I don't know how to get out!

Is Marvin, The Old Silly, around? I don't see him! But this "atomic" business is HIS blog trademark.

His, not mine. Definitely, NOT mine.

I deal with quirks, he deals with quarks.

I'm so confused!

Please click here and see if you can't give me any information that might help me escape. Yes, I have a strange feeling that all will be explained here. Do not delay! I am dire need of your assistance!

Wait, wait! I think I see something.

It's a light!

What is that light?

I want to go towards it.

Go into the light Quirkyloon! Go into the light!

I have the feeling that I must go.

It's imperative.

It's crucial.

That light!

Thank goodness for the light.

For it welcomed me.

And it was good.

B.S. No atoms were split during the production of this post.

'Twas the Day After Halloween

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 15:00:00 +0000

I found it! Blooger did not eat my post! Here it is in all it's poopy glory!

Ha!
--------------------------------------------------------------

'Twas the day after Halloween, when all through the house

Not a Quirky was stirring, not even her PC mouse;

Their stomachs were bloated with candy with care,

In hopes that no razor blades would be found in there;

The children were moaning all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-hurls danced in their heads;

And Quirky in her sweat pants, with a DDP in her hand,

Had just settled down for a long recuperating nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

She sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window she flew like a flash,

Tore open the front door and kicked the neighbor's cat.

The moon in the sky shone on callused bare toes,

And gave the appearance of corns on each digit, oh!

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But eight huge canines, and eight massive doo smears,

When a little old lady, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Beatrix.

More rapid than eagles her Hoveround it came,

And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, lil Stool! now, big Crap! now, Turd one so squishy!

On, Cow Pies! on Guano! on, on Poopies so pebbly!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now poo away! poo away! poo away all!"

As I wiped my eyes, and was turning around,

I heard Beatrix fart with a grunt oh so loud.

She was dressed all in fur, from her head to her tush,

And her clothes were all tarnished with urine and turds;

A bundle of t.p. rolls she had flung on her back,

And she looked like a peddler just opening her pack.

Her eyes -- how they twinkled! her dimples how merry!

Her butt cheeks so buxom, so smooth and so hairy!

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,

And filled up the baggies; then turned with a jerk,

And laying her finger aside of her nose,

And giving a nod, at the stench as it rose;

She sprang to her feet, to her team gave a whistle,

And boy howdy whiffy, those dogs now were fully cleaned out vessels!

But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,

"Thank goodness it's over, and please keep the candy out of sight!"

B.S. No poop scoopers were harmed during the production of this post.

Z Attack!

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 10:03:00 +0000

I need to blgjogo, oops I mean blog.

Soooooooooo tired.

Never want to seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzz another candyzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz again!

Ooops, too many z's.

Lost my draft and now too, too, too, too, too, too, too, (did I already type too yet?) tired to zink, oops, I mean think.

What happened to my draftzzz! I keep falling asleepzzzz on that letterzzzz!

Sorryzzz!

Oopszzzzz I'm stillzz doing it.

Blooger eatzzzzzzzz my brainz, oops, I meanz my draftzzzzz.

That's not very nice.

And now?

I must needzzz sleeeeeeepzzzzzz!

Attack! Attack!

The letter zzzzz is attacking meeeeeeezz!

"Danger, danger Quirkyloon Robinson!"

(Little voice in a spider web)

"Help zee, erm, I meanz me!"

"Help me!"

"Helpz! I needz somebodyz! Pleasie, pleasie, pleasie help me!"

BAM!
(Quirky's head hits zee, erm, I meanz the keyboard!)

zzzzz

B.Z.*snoring*

Interview With A Zombie-The End

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Today is the best day of the year: Halloween!

I love Halloween!

Today also marks the end of the Humor Bloggers Halloween Carnival 2009. I hope you have enjoyed the rides and the "writes" as much as I have.

Boo!

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

I left you yesterday with your breath bated.

I left you in a tizzy with the question: Did Quirky survive?

I left you in awe that not all zombies are raging lunatics.

I left you with a bag of marshmallows.

Marshmallows?

Oh, yeah.

Let's get back to the interview, shall we?

Z: You have made me lose my concentration and this makes me most upset.

Q: I'm sorry. Here let me cue you. (Quirky reads in monotone voice) Details, details, what about Zombastiltskin, what about green eggs, what about my father, what about my father biting and killing my mother, blah, blah, blah.

Z: Blah, blah, blah?

Q: Um, yes.

Z: I see. And now you shall hear how my sister Zoe and I became zombies. As I mentioned we fell asleep in the woods in our makeshift shelter. The night was quite cold and we had only our dresses and boots on. We had been sleeping for awhile when I rolled over and saw a looming shadow over me.

I screamed in terror, which I thought would awaken Zoe.

"Zoe, Zoe!" I pushed her shoulder several times. "Zoe, wake up! Zoe, we have to run!"

Strangely, the shadow and my sister did not move. I chanced a glance at my sister and began screaming even more.

Zoe had a huge bite taken out of her neck and she had flesh tendrils hanging out of her mouth!

Speechless, I stared at her. I touched my own neck and felt a warm, sticky substance. Slowly, I held out my hand in front of me to see it covered in my own blood!

The shadow moved.

It was my father! He had bitten Zoe and I in our sleep and now we were like him.

I fainted.

I awakened much later and found my sister and father standing next to each other staring at me with vacant eyes.

I felt different. I was cool to the touch and I felt a new hunger that did not feel familiar. Zoe held out her arm to me.

*Crunch*

Without any warning, I had bitten my sister!

And it tasted...wonderful.

I felt so good. So sated. So complete.

From that point on, the three of us lived together in the woods in our new state of being: newly made zombies. Over the next few days, a few humans died horrible deaths, but over time we found that the flesh of wild beasts was just as tasty.

We were able to hang onto some shreds of our former humanity and because of that we learned to control ourselves. We believe it was because we were family before and that that bond could not be completely broken despite our change. We shared this new found knowledge with others who we had "changed" before adopting to our new lifestyle. We even found Zombastiltskin and changed him. We proclaimed him to be the "Father of the Undead" and we called ourselves after him, zombies.

And that, my dear, is how we became zombies.

Q: Incredible story Zombieloon. Just incredible and horrifying.

Z: I aimz to please.

Q: Mmm, yes. I just have a few more questions and then we'll be done.

Z: Okayz.

Q: What is good about being a zombie?

Z: Oh, that iz easy. I eat and eat and never gain weight. I am never bored with my simple life. I can stand for hours on end and not tire. It is quite a resilient and tedious life, yet I find peace.

Q: Okay, what troubles do zombies have?

Z: Mainly the rotting flesh of my body. You see many stitches on me and that is what we must do to keep our flesh intact. And it slows down the decomposition. My sister became a world renowned zombie surgeon. She was always great with a needle. This became her calling in the zombie world. She now oversees the Zombie Medical School in Paris.

Q: (startled) There is a zombie medical school?

Z: Oh, yes Q. Ye humans have such finite minds ye cannot see beyond the realms of your own pathetic bubbles of reality. There is so much more to the world that ye choose not to see.

Q: Apparently. Would you indulge ye, erm, I mean me some silly questions?

Z: I'm here aren't I?

Q: (chuckles nervously) What is a zombies second favorite food? I know the first favorite would be brainz.

Z: Our second favorite food choice would be Soylent Green.

Q: But isn't that made of... people? Never mind. My next question: what is a zombie's favorite color?

Z: Nude or beige, anything flesh-colored.

Q: Yes, okay. What is your favorite movie?

Z: A few of my favorites include: Urban Cowboy, What About Bob, and Scarface.

Q: What eclectic taste in movies you have. What kind of music do you listen to?

Z: Rock and some Michael Jackson. For awhile we thought he was going to help introduce our existence into the human world, but it was another false hope. All he did was reinforce the ridiculous notion that zombies are to be hated and feared.

Q: Zombieloon, why do you call yourself that when your name is Zerena?

Z: After my father and Zombastiltskin died, they made me Queen of the Zombies and that is my official title as Queen.

Q: What a coincidence! I am Queen of the Zombies too!

Z: I do not appreciate your disrespect of my title.

Q: No offense intended Zombieloon.

Z: Almost none taken.

Q: One last question. Why do some zombie's eyes turn red?

Z: Red means the zombie is hungry.

Q: Really?

Z: Really, really.

Q: Well, then I guess we'd better end this interview right now, because your eyes are red!

Z: Really?

Q: Really, really!

Zombieloon gives Quirkyloon a sly grin. With narrowed eyes, she reaches into the folds of her gown and quickly pulls out...

A bag of marshmallows!

Z: Would you like a bite?

Q: Um, yes, I would. A bite of the marshmallow, right?

Z: (slyly) Of course!

Q: Did you say "of course or "a course" as in "I would be one course of your meal?"

Z: Bwahahahahahah, Q, you are delightful! I bet you taste as good as you look.

Q: Wha?

Z: Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Quirky grabs her notebook, pencil, and runs for her life.

Thank goodness Zombies (at least the European ones) are slow.

Whew!

B.S. Quirkyloon was ALMOST bitten by a zombie during the production of this post. Almost. Quit your booing!

B.S.S. Boo!

Interview With A Zombie

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

One more day!

Til Halloween!

Boo!

Welcome back to La Quirky's Day 5 contribution to the HBDC Halloween Humor Carnival 2009!

Psst! Just in case you've forgotten go read some other funny horror stories at HBDC Halloween Humor Carnival 2009.

But wait, wait, wait! Before you click, please read mine.

*bats eyelashes*

(Insert Vincent Price evil laugh here.)

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

Today I am bringing you an exclusive interview. (Eat your brainz out Jenn Thorson!)

Zombieloon is gracing our presence today and allowing me to interview her. I have all the important questions and she has some magnificent zombie answers for me.

And now?

I'm ready to share!

Q: Zombieloon, welcome to my blog. I'm so pleased that you agreed to this interview.

Z: Yez.

Q: Please tell us a little bit about yourself.

Z: I grew up in a farm just outside of Paris, France. My father was a farmer during the 1600's.

Q: The 1600's? How old does that make you?

Z: 409 years old.

Q: Wow! You've seen so much change over the centuries.

Z: Yes, I have Q.

Q: How is that you've managed to stay so hidden from the world. You are a zombie and zombies must eat. And from what I understand zombies love brains, particularly human brains.

Z: Oh, Q! I forget that you are American. I am a European Zombie and we are a sophisticated breed. Yes, some of you American Zombies are so primitive and brutal. Human brainz! Ha! But truly, attacking humans and eating their brainz is NOT the end all of what a zombie is all about.

Once a year, zombies all over the world convene in Death Valley. It's a relatively isolated place, very few humans. At our Zombie Conventions I have had the displeasure of meeting some American Zombies that reside in the Appalachian Mountains. They are quite spooky. And they are what your American film makers have based zombies on. They are so very wrong. But I understand why you all seem to have this misconception.

Q: Really? Well, please share with us. How exactly did you become a zombie?

Z: (throaty chuckle) Oh Q! You are so predictable. Sit back and freshen up your Diet Dr. Pepper (shudders) and relax while I tell you my story.

Z: As I mentioned previously, I grew up on a dairy farm. In addition to the cows, we had the usual variety of farm animals including hens. Our farm fed our family as well as provided us with the means to barter for other goods and services. We also grew corn.

Little did we know that in the nearby woods next to our farm lived a magical dwarf. His name was Zombastiltskin. Zombastiltskin was quite the little scientist, he had a passion for botany. He conducted many experiments in his hut in the woods. Most are too horrific for me to share with you. Suffice it to say that unbeknownst to us, Zombastiltskin had used one of our hens in one of his experiments. The hen was infected with a mutated virus.

Did I mention that my father is color blind?

This is important for it will explain what happened next.

It was one Saturday morning and my father was in quite a cheerful mood. It had been quite a successful week on the farm. He decided to cook his special omelets.

"Wake up sleepy heads, Papa is ready to cook!"

"What? Papa? (squeals of delight) Papa, are you going to fix us your special omelets?"

"Oui, ma cheries!"

(More squeals of delight.)

Papa grabbed the eggs and started cracking them open.

"I will take these brown eggs and make the best omelets ever!"

Little did he know that brown eggs were actually GREEN. Because of his color-blindness, he thought the eggs were brown and no suspicion or doubt entered his mind.

He whistled as cracked, whisked, poured and cooked. And we feasted upon the most scrumptious and savory omelets ever.

"Ooooh, Papa! These omelets were different and had the best taste!"

"Ah, ma cheries, it is all in the whisking!"

Later that day, my sister Zoe and I went berry picking. The air lightly brushed our faces turning our cheeks pink, as we pranced around filling our baskets to full.

We returned to our cottage and burst in through the front door, only to be met with a scene of horror.

Our father was biting and eating our mother!

Zoe and I screamed in terror.

Papa looked up, eyes glazed over, with blood and drool dripping from his mouth.

"Papa! What have you done? What are you doing to our Mama!?"

"Bleh, blah, blooh."

"Papa! Papa! Papa!!"

Our mother was dead.

Our father had killed her with a bite.

Backing away slowly, Zoe and I inched our way to the door. Our father just looked at us. Dragging his right leg, he slowly approached us.

(meekly)"Papa?"

"Bleeeeeeeeeeeh...."

"Zoe, run!"

Into the woods we ran, until we could hear nothing but the sounds of our gasping breaths intermingled with sobs. We collapsed next to a tree. We cried and cried until there were tears no more. We decided to make a shelter in the woods. Slowly, we set about our task of collecting branches and leaves. In silence, we searched and worked.

Once the shelter was complete, we stretched out onto the leaves and just laid there in silence. We were still trying to process what we had witnessed.

We had collected enough twigs and branches to build a fire. The flames had just begun crackling when Zoe burst out in hysterical laughter.

"Look Zerena! I have marshmallows! Let us roast them."

We roasted and ate a whole bag of marshmallows. Afterwards, bellies full of the sweet, gooey goodness, we fell asleep and I began to dream that I was at a carnival...

*record scratches*

Ooops, wrong dream!

Q: Zombieloon? I hate to interrupt, but I have a question. Marshmallows? You had marshmallows in the 1600's in France?

Z: Yes, what is the problem?

Q: I thought marshmallows weren't invented until the late 19th century?

Z: Details, details! What about Zombastiltskin? What about the green eggs? What about my father? What about my father biting and killing my mother? And all you can think about is the marshmallows? Forget the marshmallows!

Q: But... you couldn't have had them yet...

Z: ENOUGH!

Q: Okay, okay, settle down. I don't want you to bite me.

Z: Are you sure?

Q: Quite sure!

(Part Two of Interview With A Zombie will be posted on my blog tomorrow!)

Folks, you won't want to miss the ending of this fascinating, funny, and frightful interview!

B.S. No humans were bit by zombies during the production of this interview post. Bleh, Blah, Bloo!

Nightmare on Q Street

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Hallooooo Halloween!

Oh, and a big Hallooooo to you too!

You're back!

I'm surprised and yet so very glad.

Welcome back to my part of the HBDC Halloween Humor Carnival 2009!

It's day 4 and I'm sure you all are wondering what Quirky has conjured up today. Don't forget to go to HBDC each day this week. There will be other posts honoring the dead and the UNdead (my particular favorite).

And now, I give to you: La Quirkyloon Fear Fest-Installment #4 aka Quirkyloon's contribution to HBDC Halloween Humor Carnival 2009.

(Insert Vincent Price evil laugh here....Finally! He's back!)

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

I had the most frightening nightmare last night.

Of course, I have to share it with all of you.

It was stranger than most of my dreams. I usually dream about swimming in a pool of Diet Dr. Pepper, or riding around on a Harley (sweet) on an endless mountain road, or visiting Barney the Dinosaur.

You know, typical dream stuffs.

But last night was beyond frightening.

It started out with me hopping around. I couldn't stop hopping.

Hop. Hop. Hop. Hippity. Hop.

Then I landed into... a carnival?

Whoa.

First, I was riding on a ferris wheel. But this ferris was not like any ferris wheel I've ever ridden on before. The operator of this ride was the very smart and witty blogger: Knucklehead! He was sporting quite an evil grin.

I was stuck in the gondola and every time it started moving, a clenched fist would appear in the air before me. Then this mean, tight, hardened, knuckle-clenched fist would punch me right in the kisser every time the gondola moved! I could hear a very faint "bwahahahaha" coming from below. I suspect Mr. Knucklehead.

Kapow! Ouch! That's not very nice.

I was starting to feel grateful when I finally left the Knuckle-Sandwich Ferris Wheel until I reached my second destination: the roller coaster. Again, this was no ordinary roller coaster. Each car was designed to look like brains! Now ordinarily this would thrill me, but this did not. I had a bad, bad feeling about this.

These brains looked familiar in a not so friendly way. Were those C.B. Jones' brains? The very brains that reside at Mindful Drivel? I think yes!

The brain-car started chug, chug, chugging its way to the top and then as we flew down the rail, everybody's head was sliced open and our brains spilled out! And I could hear C.B. Jones laughing hysterically at us all. It was crueler than cruel, not to mention very mind boggling.

I'm quite sure I screamed in my sleep.

But that scream was cut short by another dream transition bounce onto... Da Old Man's Zucchini Slide! What the zucchini? Yes, the entire slide looked like a giant zucchini. Boy howdy, that was one very large zuke. But the horrific part was when you reached the top of the stairs, they would give you a mat and a warning that the lane bumpers were actually sharpened razor blades! So you had to make doubly sure that you kept your arms held tightly to your sides. If you didn't, you could slice a thin strip of your biceps on the way down. (Hmm, I wonder if that would work for saddle-bags?)

Gulp.

Gratefully, I woke up for a potty break and while on the pot, I mused upon this nightmare. I started silently repeating in my head: "puppies and rainbows, puppies and rainbows." Anything to be completely done with this horrific nightmare.

After a gentle wipe, a thorough hand washing, I returned to my bed and placed my Quirky flat-head back onto my pillow and sank deeply into another sleep.

I'm afraid the "puppies and rainbows" refrain did NOT work.

I was quickly catapulted right back into the same nightmare.

Now I was on a carousel. This carousel, instead of having pretty and cute wooden horses and such, had wooden GNOMES! These gnomes looked just like the ones VE rules over at VE's Fantastical Nonsense. Each gnome had an evil grin and was holding an axe. The music started and then the wooden gnomes began going up and down, up and down. Only each time a gnome came back down, it took a whack with its' axe on the riders' head, splitting it wide open. I was shivering with fear and pure terror, because I was now one of those riders! Those gnomes had me petrified. I just know that I recognized at least one of them as a "VE" gnome.

Hateful gnomes!

I think I went into a state of shock, when suddenly my surroundings abruptly changed.

You know how dreams do that sometimes.

Now I was spinning around and around in a Tea Cup ride! My head was spinning and I kept spinning faster and faster and faster! Now, I like a good head rush once in awhile, but this was out of control. And to top off this nightmarish experience I had little minions flying around my head and singing to me:

"I'm a little teapot
Short and stout
This is my handle
This is my spout."

But the out of control spinning and the ditty were not the worst part of this nightmare.

The worst part was WHO was doing the singing.

Would you like to take a stab at it?

Have you guessed yet?

It was....

<=====HIM!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!

B.S. No Quirkyloons were harmed during the production of this post yet, but shh! Quirky is still sleeping... and nightmaring... on Q Street!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

It's Day 3 of a wickedly funny Quirky Halloween celebration!

I've laughed myself into a stupor reading all the hilarious Humor Bloggers participating in the Humor Bloggers Halloween Carnival 2009!

So don't YOU forget to go to HBDC each day. There ye shall find tasty treats and possibly a few tricks. You never know with Humor Bloggers. Beware of Mental Poo, he gets really gross...sometimes.

Back to me, me, ME! And my, my, MY blog!

Today's post is probably my scariest yet! It's all about... marriage!

Stop! Stop! Don't run away!

I hate it when that happens.

Please read now La Quirkyloon Fear Fest-Installment #3 as part of the Humor Bloggers Halloween Carnival 2009.

(Darn Vincent Price still isn't available today to contribute evil laughs. Who does he think he is? Yeesh.)

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

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-changes
Dont want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me (emphasis added)
But I can't trace time.

"Changes" by David Bowie

Could any lyrics better describe marriage?

I'm so disgusted.

No, not with my marriage.

I have a friend. (And yes, it really is a friend, not me.) This friend has been having some problems in her marriage. I feel badly about the situation, but I'm getting irritated with her.

They were so in love when they first married. It was sickeningly apparent with each "schnookums" and "babycakes".

Blech.

I'm not into the uber syrupy love monikers.

Recently, my friend "Helene" (not her real name) and her husband, "Andre" (not his real name) have had some serious marital issues.

Now I'm not talking about which way he pushes the toothpaste out of its tube. Or whether or not he leaves the toilet seat up or down.

There is absolutely no problem with their finances. He has a great job with great pay and benefits. He has advanced degrees, he is one smart Dude.

They have a beautiful son and he is doing well. No problems there.

They have a beautiful home together. They go on vacations all the time. They drive the nicest cars. They entertain a lot in their home with barbecues and all sorts of parties for their friends and family. They are generous to a fault.

They are truly blessed.

Except now she tells that one thing has changed recently.

Apparently, Andre has changed physically.

So what?

People change all the time.

I've always thought of Helene as a good and nice person. She's been a terrific friend to me. So I was shocked, just shocked when she confided this "problem" to me.

According to her, he has NOT gained weight, but she says he gives her the heebie-jeebies and she shudders at the thought of his touch. She says she can't stand the sight of his face. She says he is not the same man she married.

Oh, please.

*sigh*

So what is the problem? Let's face it, over time, everybody changes. And that's okay. I never thought Helene was capable of being so shallow.

In fact, I know Helene has changed some since she got married. A few more wrinkles, a few pounds gained and lost, some gray hair. It's a natural part of life: people change.

My husband and I have changed since we married, but we still love each other very much. That's what it's all about, you deal with the ups and downs and you stick with each other through thick and thin!

That's why I am so disgusted with Helene right now.

It's wrong, what she is doing. Just plain wrong.

I found an old picture of Andre and Helene gave me a more recent one.

Here they are:

THEN:
What a handsome beast, eh?

And NOW:
What? Why are you all running away screaming in terror?

Don't tell me you all are as shallow as Helene! Come on! Give me something to keep my faith in humanity.

So Andre has changed a little bit.

Just a little.

*buzz, buzz*

B.S. No flies were harmed during the production of this post. *swat* Ooops. Edited: one fly was killed during the production of this post.

Anti-Vampire Matters

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Welcome back to the Quirky Halloween celebration also known as the Humor Bloggers Halloween Carnival 2009!

The most wonderful week of the year continues today here at Q's blog.

And don't forget to go to HBDC each day this week. There ye shall find delectable delightful posts of horrific humor and fright. Go and check them out forthwith.

Because forthwith, I told you to!

And now, behold!

La Quirkyloon Fear Fest-Installment #2 aka Quirkyloon's contribution to HBDC Halloween Humor Carnival 2009

(Insert Vincent Price evil laugh here....*record scratches*.... Um, scratch that. Mr. Price was unavailable today to contribute evil laughs.)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
During this Halloween week of special posts that honor the horror, funny and freaky, one question keeps popping into my mind.

Why is everybody against.... vampires?

You thought I was going to write zombies, eh?

Now, I have Ms. Stephenie Meyer (author of Twilight series) to thank for teaching me so much about vampires and the complex dynamics and logistics of living as one in the mortal world. I also want to thank Mr. Bram Stoker for his Dracula story, very informative and educational.

Thanks Steph! And B-ram Dude, you rawk!

And you know something?

They paint the vampire life as a pretty darn good life, if you can get over the whole "must kill humans to suck their blood" thing.

I've come up with a list of six "pros" why becoming a vampire would be a good thing.

They are immortal. Who doesn't want to live forever? There have been many stories depicting man's exploration for the Fountain of Youth or the elixir of life. This means I could get a hog or two and be as reckless as I want and not die! Immortality? Oh yeah, baby. This is a good thing, a very good thing.
No sickness! Wow. I would take this in a heartbeat! Oh, wait, vampires don't have beating hearts. Oh well. I'd still take it in a heartbeat. Most of you know why. Ack, let's no go there today. Enough said. What? Oh, okay, you've twisted my arm. You see, unfortunately, I've had to deal with a certain disease.... the big "C." Yes, those darn calluses on my heels are painful! Yes, I would NOT like to have those big "C's" ever again!
Extra human strength. Jumping high and landing softly on your feet, running like the Six Million Dollar Man or Woman? Totally works for me. I thought I would enjoy the Hoveround life, but I was wrong. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to reverse in the Diet Dr. Pepper aisle, only to knock over the entire soda box display! Yes, they are getting used to cleaning up after me on aisle seven. And now? As soon as they see me ride in on my Hover? They stalk me! So for this reason and perhaps some other reasons, I want to leap, run, and jump like a vampire vixen!
Vampires are beyond gorgeous. I mean, don't get me wrong, I already know I'm beautiful. People tell me all the time, how beautiful I am on the inside. I'm still not sure how they can see my innards, but I guess I'll take their word for it. I mean not everybody can easily pass as Ugly Betty's twin ~~like I do~~. It's not easy being so beautiful, truly it has been a trial to look like me. So the whole vampire beauty aspect will not be a huge change for me. *yawn* I have grown tiresome discussing this non-issue.
Their skin is always cold. Oh my vampy-gawsh! Do you realize how incredibly wonderful this would be for me? No more hot flashes! No more sweaty embarrassing moments! And I guess this would mean no more deodorant. This would mean more money for toilet paper! And no more shiny face problem! Ah, yes it would be so refreshing feeling cold to the touch and always looking cool and composed. This is definitely a positive!
They avoid mirrors. So do I! Mirrors are just too revealing. When I look into a mirror, I see a crazy lady (and we all know that can't be right). And those darn mirrors add at least ten pounds. So unrealistic. I'm always surprised at how very "wise" I look ~~just like a wrinkled-up old hag~~. Somehow my inner beauty just does NOT shine through! It is such a conundrum! The bottom line? Mirrors lie! (At least in my mind they do!) And that is why I avoid them at all costs!

So far, I can't see anything wrong with becoming a vampire.

But wait.

Is that my eye-twitch starting up?

I guess I am feeling a little guilty. Not because I seem to have a hankering to become a vampire vixen, but because how could I turn my back on zombies so quickly?

When you compare a vampire to a zombie, vampires definitely have the upper edge.

And I always root for the underdogs.

So sorry vampires who were getting ready to seek me out to bite me.

I'm sticking with the Zombies.

Because I'm nothing, if not a loyal Loon.

Plus, zombies at least eat meat.

I like meat.

Mmmm, meat.

And I've always enjoyed my meat with some...

Mm-mm good, delicious, sweet, red, juicy...

Catsup!

B.S. No vampires or zombies were harmed during the production of this post. But, one cow was slaughtered, quartered, grilled to perfection, and then eaten with utter lip-smacking delight.

Deck the Brainz

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Welcome all ye who enter into a Halloween Quirky celebration also known as the Humor Bloggers Halloween Carnival 2009!

It's going to be the most wonderful week of the year.

It is a whole week of Halloween humorous terror for ye and ye and ye! All written and created with frightingly funny humor from me and other humor bloggees! Go and feast your eyes and brainz on their blogs (so conveniently located for you at HBDC) and check them out forthwith.

Forthwith if ye do not?

Who knoweth whatwith shall come upon ye and scare the heebie jeebies out of ye!

And now go forthwith and readeth and laugheth and please commenteth ofteneth.

Got-tith?

Ha!

And now, behold!

La Quirkyloon Fear Fest-Installment #1 aka Quirkyloon's contribution to HBDC Halloween Humor Carnival 2009

(insert Vincent Price evil laugh here)

I'm starting Halloween week with a song parody for your hollowed-out eyes and brainz! So sit back and don't relax! It's gonna be a rip-roarin' screaming time!

Are ye afraid yet?

Ye should be.

(insert Vincent Price evil laugh here)
--------------------------------------------------------------

"Deck the Brainz" a Song Parody by Quirkyloon

Deck the halls with brainz so yummy,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.
'Tis the season to be zombie,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Bite we now our gay undead,
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nom nom nom.
Rolled in spittle, some human chitlins,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

See the brainz mass here before us,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.
Strike the sporks and join the blood lust.
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Follow me in scary measure,
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nom nom nom.
While I snack on bludgeoned fingers,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Burped away the moldy earz gasses,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.
Hail the brainz of oozing masses,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Groans and moaning, all together,
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nom nom nom.
Tantalizing guts so bloody,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nooooooooooom!

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

Ah yes!

'Tis the season to be zombie and spooky!

(insert Vincent Price evil laugh here)

Had enough yet?

No?

Well, read, if you dare, my original version.

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

"Deck the Brainz " a Song Parody by Quirkyloon

Deck the halls with brainz from Reffie,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.
'Tis the season to be zombie,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Taste the gory gay unheaded,
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nom nom nom.
Rolled in spittle, a tasty Marvin,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

See the brainz of Nonamedufus,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.
Strike him down then bloody foodz stuffs.
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Follow me in scary measure,
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nom nom nom.
Lovely smells of coiled intestines,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Don't runz awayz, oh Cat Lady LaRew,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.
Hail her brainz, so meowingly blood-red,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom nom.

Groans and moaning, all together,
Nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nom nom nom.
Headcheese sends the MeMe screaming,
Nom nom nom nom nom, nom nom nom, nooooooooooom!

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

Slurp!

Eeek!

I just love Halloween!

It really gets my blood, erm, I mean brainz juices flowing!

(insert Vincent Price evil laugh here)

B.S. No humor bloggers were actually harmed during the production of this post... YET!

B.S.S. Zombies loves Brainz!

B.S.S.S. Come back tomorrow for some more ghastly and sick fun!

B.S.S.S.S. (insert Vincent Price evil laugh here)

Holy Flesh-eating Zombies!

That's a lot of B.S.!

A Bloved Quirkyloon

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

No, that is not a typo, because I NEVER make typos in ANY of my posts.

*bats eyelashes*

The misspelling is intentional.

You see, I've made up a new word for the blogosphere: bloved. What does it mean? To feel blog love!

And I feel especially bloved today.

Why?

Because a whimsical little snark by the name of Sarah at her I'm Not Judging, I'm Just Saying blog bestowed this award to me.

All together now:

Awwwww!

Are you tingling yet?

I am.

I told her that I love awards, because they make me feel so bloved, hence the tingling sensation.

Thank-you dear Sarah for the blog-love. It does a Quirky heart good.

And of course, there are a few teensy, weensy rules.

(collective moan)

Oh, ye haters! Try to look at the blog award rules as half-full and not half-empty, okay?

All you have to do is the following twenty things:

The rules for the Best Blog Award:

To accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his/her blog link.

Pass the award to 5 other blogs that you have recently discovered and think are great!

Send me all your money.

Give me your first born son and name him Damien.

Delete all your blog followers and paste them into my blog follower widget.

Praise me.

Buy me a Mac Book.

Three I-Phones please.

Send me a case of Diet Dr. Pepper.

Send me a case of two-ply toilet paper, all double-rolls.

Send me diamonds and gold and not necessarily in that order.

Send me maid service for the next twenty years.

Nominate me as the funniest blogger you've ever read.

Write a novel for me.

Get said novel published for me.

Buy me another Mac Book.

Give me an Extreme Makeover House.

Tell me all your secrets.

Pay for my much needed scalp enhancement surgery.

HOGS, two of them please.

You know me.

I never ask for much from my readers.

Uh oh!

What just happened?

Did that happen to anybody else?

My blog-follower widget just "emptied" itself!

All blog-followers are... GONE!

*sob*

I'm not feeling so bloved anymore.

*sob and a hiccup (for emphasis)*

Was it something I wrote?

Surely not.

I'm so wonderful, unassuming, and modest too.

Where have my bloved followers gone?

Well, at least Sarah still loves me.

Hello?

Sarah?

Are you out there?

Must be a bad connection.

Hmm.

B.S. No blog followers were harmed during the production of this post...yet. But once I get my new son, Damien? It might be a different story.

B.S.S. And don't forget...tomorrow starts the Quirkyloon Fear Fest here on her blog! You won't want to miss a single tantalizing, fearful, and funny moment. Because we all know...terror is hysterical!

Signature of a Scallywag

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

The scallywag of the Quirky family has struck again.

It just seemed like yesterday when Quirky Son #2 (the six-year-old) was dropping 33 q-tips down the bathroom drain and sticking rocks and twigs into the outside plumbing access pipe which necessitated a Rotor Rooter call.

Ah, sweet, sweet memories!

To read the rap sheet of this criminal-in-training read here.

But now Quirky Son #2 is older and has since left his deviant behavior behind. That was in the past. Now he is in kindergarten! And he is learning a lot of important problem solving life skills.

Apparently, this means moving up the "crime ladder," for now he is moving onto bigger and more serious crimes.

Forgery.

Yes, I'm the mother of a forgerer.

Every day a calendar comes home with my son from school. It is a monthly calendar and in each days' box, the teacher will grade my son's behavior for the day as N, S, or O.

You probably can figure it out, but if you're having a brain fart (like I often do) let me spell it out.

N = Needs improvement.

S = Satisfactory.

O = Outstanding.

At the end of each week, the parent or guardian (with the mish-mash of "families" these days, one can never assume there is a "parent" in a household) is supposed to sign in the Saturday box of the calendar for the previous week. This indicates that the grades have been seen.

Well, Quirky Son #2 forgot to have me sign it last week and yes it is HIS responsibility to remember. I know, I know. I'm the tough-love Mom (and proud of it).

If he forgets, he misses a recess on the following Monday.

Apparently, Quirky Son #2 found a solution to his "problem."

He wrote my signature for me.

I was looking at the calendar today (Friday) and I saw this weird scribbling in the previous Saturday box.

"Quirky Son#2 did you sign my signature for last week?"

"Yes, Mom I did. And Mom? Your name is really hard to write like that."

(Trying hard NOT to laugh.)

"Yeah, well it is hard, because it's in cursive and you haven't learned how to write cursive yet, but what's more important is that you are not supposed to sign my name."

*crickets*

"Did you hear me? You're not supposed to sign Mommy's name to anything, okay?"

*crickets*

He still has no clue that he did anything wrong.

He saw a problem, assessed the situation, found a solution and followed through.

He needed a signature, so he signed away.

Problem solved.

What a problem solver scallywag!

My kindergartner!

He's learning so fast!

I'm such a proud Mom.

B.S. No signatures were forged during the production of this post.

B.S.S. AND... next week is Halloween Week here at the Q's blog! Get ready for some spooky, crazy, and funny stuff. *wags eyebrows*

Close Encounters of the Dude Kind

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

I know I like to give you all the impression that I lay around in bed all day. Or when I'm not in bed "resting" I'm on the computer playing Plants vs. Zombies or Bejeweled Blitz all day long.

But contrary to this very popular and wide held belief, I have been known on occasion to do "Momly" stuff.

Why just the other day, I actually volunteered at my six-year-old's classroom. I do this on a regular basis.

That is when I'm not having another brain fart and the teacher has to lovingly call me at home to remind me that I'm already fifteen minutes late.

Ahem.

I don't mind checking their homework, stamping papers, stapling papers, collating papers and that kind of tedious stuff.

I do tedious well.

What I dread about the Mother-Helper volunteer program is The Groups.

The teacher will have "stations" in the classroom and each row of students will rotate to each station.

"All-right, children, the first row will go over with Mrs. Quirky, the Mother-Helper over there." (She then points to my assigned spot in hell. Oops! Did I just curse on my blog? Nah! It's the truth. That spot is hell.)

That fateful day, I trudged over to "my" spot and the teacher quickly showed me what to do.

My station group exercise was to introduce them to the concept of measuring things. They had a worksheet with different sized worms on it all laid out neatly in rows. They were to take some plastic blocks and line them up beneath the picture and figure out how many blocks long the worm was. Then they had to write the number to the right side of the sheet.

Pretty simple, eh?

Hardly!

Not with five and six-year-olds.

I began by asking them all to look at me, so I could show them what to do.

And of course NOT, they looked at everything but me.

I explained to them what they needed to do.

Kids speaking all at once and me shooshing in between it all.

"Teacher, what am I supposed to do? (Shh, listen, I'm trying to show you.) But I want the green blocks! (No, remember you get what you get and you don't get upset.) How do I do this? (Sh, sh, sh!) Look at the worms! I like worms. (Boys and girls, please listen, this is what you need to do.) I found this one in my yard. (Sh, let's focus on the work.) Teacher, how do I do this? (Okay, look again at the worms and the blocks.) Lisa (not the child's real name) changed her blocks! And I wanted the brown ones. (Lisa, please do not switch your blocks. Now everybody watch how I do this. Line up the blocks below the picture and then count them all up.) Teacher, what do I do now? I'm finished. (There's more on the back.) Oh, there's a backside! Teacher, how do I do this? (You take the block and....) Teacher, I'm done. (Good for you, don't forget to write your name at the top.) Teacher, Lisa is done and I still don't know what to do. (Okay, watch me and I'll show you.) Teacher, I don't understand! Can I color this? Teacher, how do I write an 'L'"

Then every six or eight minutes we rotate and I get to do it all again!

Wheeeeeeee!

When the third group arrived, my eye-twitch was in full-gear. I went through the same rigmarole with this group that I had with the previous two groups and I could look forward to one more group.

But during this third group something quirky happened. (Ha! Of course!)

I let my professional Mother-Helper persona slip.

I called a little boy, "Dude."

I said, "No Dude, let me show you."

He looked at me and promptly said, "I'm not your Dude."

What the dude?

He had a problem with me calling him, "Dude?"

What kid has ever had a problem with being called, "Dude?"

Perhaps an extra-terrestrial kid?

Doesn't he know it's a label of coolness?

Dude.

Or if you're female.

Dudette.

It's cool! It rocks!

Anyhoo, it was time.

Time for me and my eye-twitch to leave.

But I had to survive "groups" for one more joyful round.

Then, it really was time to leave.

Thank heavens.

Yes, I'll leave all those dudes and dudettes under watchful care of one (Saint) Kindergarten teacher.

Until the next volunteer encounter.

I can't wait.

B.S. No dudes or dudettes were harmed in the production of this post. Unfortunately, Quirky's eye-twitch has still not gone away. And while many Diet Dr Peppers were consumed during the production of this post, nobody understands how the hole in the wall appeared. Quirky has no comment.

The Princess and the...

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Pee!

I admit I'm a bit of a Queen these days although when I was younger I was never a Princess.

But oh, how I wanted to be treated like one.

Still do.

*smile*

Don't all women want that?

There is a test to figure out whether or not you are a princess (men included, because I know quite a few men who are.... "princessy").

The real test is based on how you sleep.

If you can sleep the whole night without having to wake up to.... pee, then you are NOT a prince or princess.

Now me? I get up at least five times a night.

Is it any wonder why I'm so tired all the time?

Hence, is it any wonder why I expect to be catered to during the daytime, as any Princess or Queen should very well expect?

"Please bring me some more bon bons."

"Please turn on the fan."

"Please bring me a blanket, I'm a little chilled now. And no, I don't want the fan turned off."

"Quirky Son, please go get me a cup of ice and the 2-liter bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper."

"Quirky Son, the house needs vacuuming!"

"Quirky Husband, I noticed we have a ton of laundry (hint, hint?) I would do it but I'm sooooo very tired... and sooooo very weak.."

"Quirky Little Son, go get Mommy another bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper and don't TELL Daddy, k?"

"Quirky Son, aren't you old enough to drive yet? I wanted to send you to the store for some ice, because it wearies me so to go forth and drive."

"Oh good Hon, you're finally home in time to cook us some dinner. What? Why are you looking at me that way? I'm frightened."

"Could somebody bring me a roll of toilet paper, right now!"

None of the above would be happening if I weren't such a Pee Princess or in my case since I'm a little bit older, a Pee Queen.

I suppose I should be glad that I have truly earned this title, otherwise how else could I get my family to treat me with the kind of respect and dignity that I so duly deserve?

(suckers!)

Did you hear something?

But for now, I'm grateful that the synapses work in the middle of the night to receive the bladder messages.

Because once they stop. Uh oh.

It will be the Princess and the Depeends!

Yeah, I joke now.

But wait!

(Huge evil grin appears.)

My synapses just got a jump start!

This could be a very good thing: going Depends.

It could very well end up that my family will willingly and happily serve me in the manner which I want to be accustomed to when I go Depends.

How? I'll just threaten to sleep in their bed and....

Woops.

"Mommy made a pee pee in the bed!"

Yes, they will be able to "depend" on this!

Because surely they would not allow me to stew in my own...

Pee?

Peegads, erm, I mean egads!

And now?

I have to go.

Really, I do.

Some privacy please!

Sheesh!

Ye peeverts!

B.S. No beds were accidentally peed upon during the production of this post.

Have You Hugged Your Zombie Today?

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Now I know most of you don't want to hug a zombie.

Haters!

Really now, zombies are so misunderstood.

We should all be willing to reach out to our UNdead Brothers and Sisters and do our best to build bridges of communication and understanding.

Once you understand what zombies really want and need, you will be amazed at how much we share in common with our UNdead. For example, a zombie likes little acts of kindness and thoughtfulness, but it is not necessary to bring a zombie a dozen roses or chocolates (unless they're chocolate covered brainz, of course).

What does a zombie want?

Fresh meat.

Bring a dozen rare steaks, or a chub of ground beef.

And then you'll see how lovely and delightful the undead can be.

Try it!

You'll be glad you did.

There are "things" that humans need to know about zombies that will facilitate better relationships between humans and the UNdead. And because we are on the horizon of the Zombie Apocalypse, it's imperative that we learn... now.

So, I've decided I'm going to create my own zombie game.

Pfft to the Plants vs. Zombies game.

Been there, beat that (three times!).

I'm talking about your very own Pet Zombie.

Imagine being able to feed your own virtual zombie! You could take it for virtual staggering walks, wash its clothes in the cruddiest, moist garbage, give it hugz!

You'll learn all you need learn about zombies and then some. You'll learn about their needs, wants, and desires. There really is more to a zombie than just its never ending search for brainz.

In addition to learning about zombies, with my game you could make your zombie do tricks for you, defend you in battles against other zombies, dance like Michael Jackson in his Thriller video.

The zombie world is the limit!

I really think this could finally be the ticket for me.

What's that?

They've already made a Pet Zombie game?

Nooooooooooo!

Once again, I'm a day late and a zombie short of a great money-making idea.

*sigh*

*sob*

*weeping*

*wailing*

*gnashing of dentures*

Well, actually I don't have dentures... YET!

But I probably will!

Cause, cause, cause, *sobbing* I lose everything!

*more wailing*

*more weeping*

*more gnashing of teeth (real for the time being)*

And what's worse?

No, not the inevitable Zombie Apocalypse.

Bejeweled Blitz, that's what's worse! Why? Cuz that darn Nanny Goats with her Panties and that darn Hussy Housewife and that darn Unfinished Rambler and that darn JunkDrawer Kathy, and... and... and... that NikkiCrumpett:

THEY. WON'T. LET. ME. WIN.

*wah!*

*wah!*

*wah!*

(Sweet voice is heard.) There, there now Quirky. Let's give you a hug. I think you need one right now.

I... *hiccup*... I'll take... *hiccup*... that hug *hiccup, hiccup, hiccup* ... right now, please. Excuse me.

(Quirky lets out one last good rip-roarin' wail).

Oh, (Quirky looks into the kind, warm, understanding eyes of a Sweetie-Pie.) *blubber, blubber, blubber* I really try, you know? But nobody, NOBODY understands me! That's why and how I get the zombies, you know?

Quirky, shh, shh, shh. It'll be okay.

(Quirky gets hugged.)

Aw, thanks Sweetie!

Wow. I do feel better now.

I knew I could count on you.

Aw, that Sweetie-Pie, Ettarose gave me a hug at her Sanity on Edge blog.

I never needed it more than I do right now.

Thanks *hiccup* Ettarose! You're the best.

She really is, ya know?

And now I've got some goop hanging out of my nose.

Can somebody wipe me?

Please?

*hiccup*

B.S. No zombies were harmed during the production of this post, but many slimy boogers were excavated from Quirky's nostrils, thanks Reffie! I knew my BBFF would come through for me. She wiped me nose off. Good.

*hiccup*

I'm A Little Bit Evil, I'm A Little Bit Loonatick

quirkyloon@gmail.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 10:03:00 +0000

(Enter if you dare into the loony mind of one Quirky.)

I love going to Sam's Club.

So many things to look at and covet.

Wow, check it out. There are some really great deals on meat!

Mmm. Meat.

Oh, and looky there a huge box of raisins! Must buy.

Oh my gawsh...what kind of delicacy is that? That cake looks sooooo delicious. Cranberry Orange Brunch Cake? I can taste it already. Yum, yum, yum! (Or in zombie-language: nomnomnomnomnom!)

Chicken-pot, chicken-pot, chicken-pot pie!

Look! Look! Look at all that bread!

(Quirky starts to salivate.)

I really should've had some breakfast before coming here.

I want to buy everything.

But where would I store it all?

On my hips, of course.

Uh, oh. Thank goodness Quirky Son #1 (12-year-old) is NOT with me. Look at the IPODs! Yeah, guess who wants an IPOD Touch for Christmas?

Sure hope that synchronized swimming job comes soon.

But, but, but (pun intended, read on, you'll see)! Wait!

Oh my gawsh, I have died and gone to heaven (no, no motorcycles in the building).

Toilet paper!

Rolls and rolls and rolls of it.

Suh-weet!

One can never have too much toilet paper.

I thank heaven each and every day for this modern convenience.

Okay, get me out of here, before I spend one more dime.

Ack, who am I kidding nobody ever spends just a dime in a Sam's Club.

(Quirky approaches cashiers.)

Nice, no waiting.

(Cashier starts scanning items after she looks at my identification card. She looks at me again and at the card again. Then she does it again? What the card?)

Quirky thinks: "What gives, wench? Why do you keep looking at my card and then back at me? It MUST be my astounding beauty. I know, I know. It's not easy being me."

"Mrs. Quirky?"

"Yes?"

"Did you find everything you needed today?"

Quirky nods yes and thinks to herself: "I found too much today. And is that what she was looking for? My name? Well...pfft to her!"

(The cashier starts scanning my items.)

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

"Will that be all Mrs. Quirky?"

"Um, yes, it will, thank-you."

Quirky thinks to herself: "Oh, I need a box."

Quirky grabs a box, checks its sturdiness and is satisfied.

Quirky pushes her cart out to her car to unload. "Dang, too bad QS#1 isn't here, he usually does all my loading and unloading."

Quirky picks up the 32-can case of Diet Dr. Pepper and puts it in the trunk of her car.

Oh, didn't I mention that I "saw" that too?

Oh, we-ell.

Quirky gets into her car and drives home. She stops the car, pops the trunk lid open and hauls in the DDP case. She goes back for the other box and as she lifts it, she gasps.

She almost drops the box.

And then she starts laughing.

She hauls the box into her kitchen and takes another look at the box.

And this is what she sees:

Ha!

Well there goes that plan.

You see, I was planning on reusing the box.

How?

It is the perfect size to haul a meal from my car into a person's house. And I've been known to do that from time to time. You know, cook for others.

And they lived!

Somehow, I'm thinking that I won't be using this box.

On the other hand, maybe I will.

Yes, I'm evile that way.

And I love to freak others out as often as I can get away with it.

So if you go bulk buying at a Costco or Sam's Club, don't be in such a hurry that you scurry away with a jumbo tampon box!

Unless, like me, you like being evile too.

Bwahahahahahaha!