Quirkyloon

Peaches and Weed

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 09:05:00 +0000

It was a semi-quiet evening with the faint sounds of the Law & Order *dun, dun* playing in the background.

Quirky shuffled down the hallway and passed by her 8-year-old son's room. It was dark in there. It was bed time. Hence, Law & Order time. She tried to hurry to the calling boob tube, but as she walked by her son's room, she stopped when she heard his quiet soprano voice singing.

"So what we get drunk. So what we smoke weed. Living young and wild and free!" ***

WHAT?

Big Brother strikes again.

That hip-hop "music."

That's my 14-year-old's latest fad. (At least I hope and pray it's a fad.)

Ugh. Hip-hop. The bane of my existence.

At least in rock-n- roll you can't hear the bad lyrics... they're smothered with the sounds of guitar riffs and drums.

Unless you're singing Def Leppard's, Pour Some Sugar On Me.

Ah, but WE digress! (Wasn't it wicked fun?)

Sorry, about that.

I long for the days when my eldest son loved rock and roll.

This hip-hop crap is killing me.

My gently-corrected eight-year-old son said he understood now why he shouldn't be singing that song ever again.

Yes, I took a few precious moments away from Law & Order viewing to explain to him that he was NOT to sing that song. It has a bad message. Very bad.

In the meantime, my *duns duns* were getting fainter.

But later when I fell asleep, I dreamt of peaches. Lots of peaches.

And sugar cane "weed."

Lots of sugar.

Slurp!

Oh, excuse me!

That was supposed to be a private moment.

Ahem.

B.S. No members of Peaches and Herb were harmed during the production of this post.

*** UGH... Wiz Khalifa & Snoop Dogg – Young, Wild & Free

What? We be bad influencin'? Naaah!

I'm Special...

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 17:53:00 +0000

So very special.

Thank-you Radiohead for reminding me.

So from last September to December I had a joyful cough tickle thingy going on. If I tried to speak more than three words at a time? Coughing fit ensued.

Have you ever tried to have a conversation (aka discipline) a 14-year-old boy when you literally cannot speak?

Fun times!

I figured it was time. Time to bite the bullet and go and see the doctor. Again. That's pretty much all I do these days. I go to this doctor and that doctor.

Fun, fun times!

I decided to change my primary care physician because he always told me, "You'll need to see a specialist."

Really?

It was like this doctor could do NOTHING.

Too much pain?

See a pain management specialist.

Bone pain?

See an orthopedic specialist.

Trouble breathing?

See a pulmonologist.

Coughing much?

See an allergist.

Sooooooo.... what exactly is my primary care physician doing for ME?

Not much.

Besides taking my co-payment, over and over and over again.

Ahem.

So I switched my primary care physician-poo and lo and behold my new primary care physician actually DID something for me. He gave me a rescue inhaler, some antibiotics, ordered a chest x-ray and...

He referred to me to a specialist.

Ay, yi, flippin', yi!

Well in his defense he was just sending me back to my oncologist, a specialist, who I see all the time anyway. He wanted me to followup with my oncologist.

So I did.

Hi, Dr. Oncologist! It's me again.

We had a lovely visit.

And then my beloved oncologist?

He referred me to a specialist.

Dang!

I just can't get away from these specialists.

And this specialist, a pulmonologist, did treat the symptoms and I did enjoy a cough/tickle free life for about three weeks.

Until last week, when I caught a cold.

Whee.

*cough, cough*

*tickle, tickle*

*hack, hack*

*hairball!*

Good gravy! A hairball! I actually spit up a hairball! Wanna see?

No?

Well, okay then. Be that way.

So do I call the doctor?

Or I might as well just bite the bullet.

And go and see a hairball specialist.

So... anybody know a good phlegmologist?

*hack, hack*

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

I Graduated!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 16:56:00 +0000

I am 48 years young.

I've gone through a medically induced menopause.

I've kinda sort of beaten TWO freakin' cancers, well at least knocked it down to a doable level. So she's lazing about on a few areas of my bones. At least she's only lazing not kicking up a storm.

This is a good thing.

And now... I have one more accolade to celebrate!

I've entered into a new phase of my life.

I graduated! No, not another Bachelor's degree (I have a worthless one under my belt), not a master's degree, so that means it can't be a PHD either.

No, this one is special.

I, yours truly, am now the proud user of....drum roll please....

Poise.

As in pads.

Yes, I'm well on my way to regular Depends usage.

But must take baby steps.

And look at all the frou frou design!

Pads have come a long way baby.

An I'm all over that!

And now?

I got poise.

However, the plumbing?

Ain't what it used to be.

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

Utterly Cukeless!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 08:17:00 +0000

I'd like to say it's chemo brain.

But it's not.

I was dense long before the sweet poison was pumped into my veins.

And I live.

Sort of like Mike Myers.

Or Freddy Krueger.

Anyway, I'm here to 'fess up.

Once again.

Hence I give to you: Words Quirky Thought She Was Pronouncing Correctly.

The word banal.

I always, always, ALWAYS thought this rhymed with anal. I just recently heard the word on a Law & Order episode and laughed out loud. My husband asked, "What's so funny?" I replied, "Did you hear *snicker, snicker* how they said the word, banal? *snort, snort* It's supposed to rhyme with anal."

Uh nope.

He gently corrected me and asked if we had any q-tips.

Apparently, I was wrong. It is bun-owl, rhyming with canal. Or sometimes bu-nahl with the last syllable rhyming with "doll".

Really?

Really, really.

Gah.

Then...the next word.

Macabre.

You probably KNOW how I thought this word SHOULD be pronounced.

Maa-cuh-ber.

Nope.

It's maw-cawb.

What the flip?

There's clearly THREE syllables in the word.

I dunno.

I think MY pronunciation sounds better (rhymes with get her!).

I'm stumped.

And sort of stoopid.

But I guess that's why people think I'm cute. Erm, I mean a cuke (rhymes with kook).

Ahem.

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

Fans!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 02:42:00 +0000

I wants them!

Bad.

Real bad.

And not just for me.

But for you. And you. And even you over there! Yes, I see you peeking through the cyber veil.

Oh, wait.

Did you think I meant blog fans? As in more followers? Fans of this site? Fans of the loon? Fans of La Quirky? Fans to adore me? To praise me? To love me and shower me with gifts (preferably cash)?

Pshaw.

Those kind of "fans" are way overrated.

Well, that's what my pride tells me and I'm sticking to that story.

Ahem.

No, I mean bathroom fans.

Enough with youse people hearing my bidness!

Nor do I want to hear YOURS.

It's spooky.

And why on earth, do these general contractors believe that if there's a window, there is no need for a fan.

Quirkyloon's Number 1 Fan

Does a window mask the sounds?

Hardly.

Not even close.

I want LOUD fans in every single bathroom in the United States, Europe, and Costa Rica. I might consider the Middle East, if they would learn to play nice.

We need fans.

LOUD fans, very LOUD fans.

I'm always doing a lot of business in the loo and I'd rather you and you and yes, you over there NOT hear about it.

So I'm ready to issue a mass email asking for every body's help on this very important issue.

Which reminds me.

Tissue paper aka toilet paper or terlet paper if you speak in Bunkerisms (not to be confused with speaking in tongues).

You must keep an extra roll around! Or at least leave one under the counter. Come on now.

And what is this business of toilet paper carcasses? You know where one or two measly little squares are hanging on by a thread?

I think with the start of the new year we should unite and attack this serious issue.

At least until December 21st.

Then it won't matter anymore.

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

Rachael!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 06:13:00 +0000

I used to be delish.

What's the matter, honey?

Many moons ago, when you first began our lessons about E.V.O.O and all things "yummo" and "delish," you were excited, giggly, peppy, and perky.

But now?

You rarely smile.

You rarely utter a "mm-mm-mmmm."

What gives Rachel-loo?

Former rays of 30 minute delight.

You used to regale us with tales of "my mom taught me how to slice an onion because if I was gonna cry, she was gonna give me a good reason to!"

"Did I ever tell you that my mom bottle-fed us black olives mixed in with a tablespoon of Dijon mustard."

"Mom made us lick olive oil til we declared it delish. Yeah, she even made olive oil Popsicles!"

"Feta, mm-mm-mmmm! The cheese of Gods. And zombies too. Reminds them of brain matter."

"Mom taught me how to whack a clove of garlic: what a great stress reliever. I can see everyone of my fan's faces right there dab smack on the clove and then BAM! Sorry, Emeril! Hope you don't mind that I'm borrowing your word."

Uh oh, acine de pepes alert!

Eyeballin' doesn't seem to be workin' so great for you these days.

I remember the days when we would hear about John aka Mr. Rachael Ray and his band. (Did anything ever come of that band? He plays the grater?) and of course, we heard about the dogs and how much they complete you with some grated lemon zest.

Now?

Long pregnant pauses.

Rarely a grin, let alone a smile.

What? There are no tomatillos?

Me thinks your ray has gone to the dark side.

And now?

"Thirty minutes" have never been more depressing.

Thank goodness it doesn't take that long to guzzle a twelve-pack of icy cold Diet Dr. Pepper and an entire New York Style Cheesecake.

Now that, my friends, is yummo.

And delish.

And, yes, sicko.

However, it will guarantee you a dimple or two or three [hundred] gently and delicately splattered all over your [butt] cheeks.

Smile!

Before you hurl.

Then don't forget to dab the mouth corners.

Lip chunkage is not appealing or anything to smile about.

Trust me and Rachael on this one.

B.S. No zests or vests were harmed during the production of this post.

Lump of Coal!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 07:06:00 +0000

That's what I got for Christmas!

A huge lump o'it.

Why?

I emotionally tortured my 8-year-old son all day yesterday (which was Christmas Eve Day).

Oh, but it was so delicious.

Scrumptious.

I doled it out gleefully.

How?

(You'll be sorry you asked.)

I sang this to him.

Nonstop.

*evil grin*

Hey!

Stop throwing more lumps of coal my way!

That's not very nice.

Heh heh heh.

Merry Zombie Christmas My Little Loonatics!

May your brains stay delicious and bright.

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

No Excuse!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 17:08:00 +0000

Some of you might have noticed one thing about me.

I adore the telly.

I watch a lot of television.

Yep, I own it.

Don't mistake my tone of bravado as defensiveness.

I OWN it.

Oh, yes, now I'm hearing the collective "tsks tsks" and I'm hearing the notorious "couch potato" or even worse, "she needs to get a life."

I'm here to tell you that THIS is my life.

And then I started to wonder why. (Okay, so my numerous health issues mandate the need to lay prostrate several hours a day...what ELSE am I gonna do?)

But no, more than my physical need, I wanted to figure out WHY television.

What is it that makes me want to watch it so?

And I KNOW I'm not the only one.

Just a bunch of deniers.

Yeah, you know who you are.

But...

I have a question.

What did they do back in the olden days?

There was no t.v. to be found, definitely no wi-fi or pads and tablets out there. What did they do?

Why they sat together and told stories.

It's all about stories and story telling.

I delight in stories.

And the telly offers a plethora.

Plethorical! (my word)

Stories describing fights. (The Housewives of .....)

Stories about love. (HLN. Well about love gone bad.)

Stories about betrayal. (Lifetime Channel and HLN. They feed off each other. Nice symbiotic relationship.)

Stories about nature. (Animal Planet, National Geographic Channel. I have nothing but respect for Mother Earth. However, I'm not too crazy about some of its critters. Roaches, mice, and The Jersey Shore Gang.)

Stories about Dick and Jane and how they ran. (HLN, CNN)

Stories about dogs. (ESPN. Look at all the training involved! And talk about rewards! Yowzah!)

Even stories about cats. (FEAR Network. *shudder*)

Stories about greed. (MSNBC. They adore telling us all about it.)

Stories about lust. (ABC FAMILY CHANNEL. Sex Life of the American Teenager? Gah!)

Stories about the Bible. (MTV, VH1. It's all about "knowing" each other.)

Stories about mysteries. (TNT, TBS. And they boast more viewings of all Law & Order eppies. *salivating*)

Stories about zombies. (AMC! "The Walking Dead" ROCKS!)

Stories about great leaders. (History Channel, Animal Planet. I have great respect for lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my!)

Stories about dictators. (CW formerly known as the WB. Beverly Hills 90210. Dang, they're vicious!)

Stories about vampires. (TNT who has been showing Twilight nonstop.)

Stories about chain saws.(Syfy, HGTV. That show about the brothers...renovating. Chainsaw delight.)

Stories about wars. (CW. More girl on girl beeyotch battles than anywhere!)

Stories about adventures. (Bravo. "Meet my millionaires!")

Stories about funny situations. (Syfy, "Snowmageddon?" bahahahahahahaha)

Stories about love. (Syfy, "Lycanthropes" Enough bled, erm, I mean said.)

Stories about horror. (CNN, FOX, HLN. Life = horror. *sigh*)

Stories about families. (HGTV. The only way to true family happiness: granite and stainless steel.)

Stories about possible futures. (History Channel. Because... well... it repeats itself.)

Stories about the past. (A&E. I.E., Hoarders. It took a long, long time to collect that much junk.)

Stories.

It's all about stories.

And the telly gives me tons of that.

And I'm grateful.

"Let me tell you a story about a man named Jed..."

Gotta go!

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

BADD

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 14:11:00 +0000

Do you suffer from BADD?

Blog Attention Deficit Disorder.

Yes, I do too.

What is it, you ask?

It's when you simply do not have the time or inclination to read a long blog. I mean what do these bloggers think? That I want to read their blogposts for more than a minute? Egads.

Most agonizing.

And excruciating.

What do I do to alleviate this annoying disorder?

I play Angry Birds, of course.

Why just yesterday, I devoted at least five hours to one single flippin' level of the game.

Wreck the Halls 1-14.

Wreck this!

Must get three stars. I honestly believe that there is hidden deep within the angry code an app that is set off once you've played a level at least 713 times and it allows you to win.

Because I know I catapulted the same birds at the same angles and yet this time... EVERYTHING fell and pigs exploded everywhere.

And then the heavenly choirs sang: three stars!

It was a beautiful thang.

Now, I don't mean to catapult the exact same way, yet somehow my synapses and mouse just like to stay in sync. It's almost eerie.

*snort, snort*

I loves me a good afternoon of pig killin'.

I mean what else is there to do...

Read blogs?

*yawn*

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

So Long!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 08:01:00 +0000

I broke up with my oncologist today.

And I'm not even getting half his assets.

I feel used.

And abused.

And betrayed.

Once a month, he cops a feel.

That should be worth something.

He says he's NOT being pushed out.

This is his choice.

What about MY choice?

I don't turn the other boob lightly.

Now?

I've got a hawt, young doctor who gets to cop a feel once a month.

Only me.

I'm sad.

And heartbroken.

But on the other hand my new doctor...

Well...

He is hawt.

And young.

Cougar much?

*rrrRRRRawrrr*

*slurp*

I'm going to have to start grooming more before seeing him. Or more importantly, before HE sees me.

What a drag.

I guess this means I'll have to pluck regularly...

My nipple.

Dang!

Yee-ouch!

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

Tis The Season...

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 10:00:00 +0000

To be scamming!

Fa la la la la. La la. La laaaaaaa!

So one "doctor" who shall not be named (Dr. Kimberly Rogers) wrote me a very special letter. The "doctor" who shall not be named (Dr. Kimberly Rogers) works for an "organization" which shall not be named (PASS -IT-ON Missionary Foundation).

The "organization" is currently on a mission to help people.

Quite admirable, no?

And this "doctor" who shall not be named (Dr. Kimberly Rogers) has received the special assignment of selecting "needy folks" who shall not be named (Quirkyloon) as one:

"among the really worthy ones whom we truly deserve to be helped."

Their words not mine.

However.

Uh oh.

You knew there was going to be a "however" didn't you?

However, the "organization" does not deal with PAYPAL.

Bummer.

What's this?

"Past experience with FRAUD with PAYPAL."

Double bummer!

So they deal with "real" paper checks.

Much more "reliable."

Ahem.

But thank goodness for this kindly reminder.

I may not be the only worthy person who is in need of help.

Really?

"So the check that will be issued to you will be in the amount of $3,500 dollars and we are willing to give you $1000 dollars to support you while you will just SIMPLY SEND THE REMAINING $2,500 dollars to ANOTHER person like you who needs help..."

Blah, blah, freakin' forward, blah.

Oh, and more words of wisdom. I'm so fortunate.

"Please get close to God, pray to Him. Please we like you to use the money coming to you for the purpose it is meant for and not some other unknown purpose.

I "like for me to use the money" for a nook or a tablet. Would that be the true purpose?

Please, God?

"We hope to hear back from you with your necessary information if you really want us to counsel or pray for you."

Necessary information?

*ding, ding, ding, ding, ding*

I hear bells.

Alarm bells.

Take care,

God Bless you,

Kimberly Rogers

Tel: (+44) 7024018909

Hmm.

Should I call?

Sounds like a screamin' deal!

All the way to the bank.

And then jail.

More importantly will it cause my phone to explode?

Probably not worth the risk.

Probably not.

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

B.B.S. Fa la la la la. La la. La laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

I'm Too Sexy For My...

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 06:34:00 +0000

Voice.

Nah.

I don't have a sexy voice.

Another gift I was NOT blessed with. *sigh*

However, I have noticed that I LIKE sexy voices on the other half. Meaning the male-half of society.

Sexy male voices...

Me likey!

Now... let me be clear. Just because a man has a sexy voice does not mean I think he is hawt or even close to babe-AH-licious. It does not mean that he is a good person or a bad person. It does not mean I think he is intelligent or stupid (probably though).

He just sounds good at whatever he is saying.

Very good.

So don't start with me, "How can you think this guy is sexy?"

It's the VOICE, not the body, or the brainz, I mean brains. Sorry, about that. My inner zombie slipped in! She's sneaky that way. Anyvoice, the person just happens to encompass a voice box which sounds... delicious...smooth... and freshly-shaven.

HA!

Quirky's Top List of Male Sexy Voices.

Pitbull (don't ask me why I even know this voice. Or if you have to ask, remember to be kind and pray for me. I miss my son's rock and roll days. *sigh*)

Jose Baez (I don't care WHO he defends. I just want to listen.)

Donald Sutherland (A little bit old, but dang... he's one got one great well-greased instrument. Nice voice! What? What did you think I meant. Naughty monkeys! Or naughty loonatics!)

Kiefer Sutherland (Got it from his old man. And, "DAMMIT" the voice is sexy and delish.)

Donny Osmond (I still have my Go Away Little Girl album!)

Krish Humpries (the ex-Mr. Kim Kardashian and I think he plays some professional sport.)

Sayid (aka from Lost... yeah, I knew you wouldn't know who I was talking about, so I used his character name instead. It mattereth not... his voice soothes my inner beast. Psst, it's Naveen Andrews.)

Quirky's Top List of Annoying Male Voices:

Jimmy Fallon (any higher he'd be a talking soprano. Tony does not approve.)

Stewie Griffin from The Family Guy (Mom, Mom, Mo-om, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!)

Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino from Jersey Shore (Forget GTL: Gym, Tan, Laundry, just shut-up!)

Sylvester Stallone (Nasonex anyone? And I'm so glad my name is NOT Adrienne.)

Fred of YouTube fame (click on the link at your own HIGH risk.)

Gilbert Gottfried (I'd hate to hear him when he's NOT happy.)

SpongeBob Squarepants (He's funny, cute, an LOL guy, but the voice? Whoo-wee!)

Pee Wee Herman (I can't think about this one. It's just too creepy.)

Keith Richards (when he's talking AND singing)

Ozzy Osborne (when he's talking, not singing)

Charlie Day (love him on It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, but dude! That voice! It's like he hit pitchy puberty and never evolved. Kind of like the characters in the show...that's what makes it so funny. Appeals to my inner and outer immature beast.)

Well apparently there are more annoying voices than sexy voices out there.

It figures.

It's time to buy some ear plugs.

Dre Beats anyone?

Anyone?

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

Heaven Help Me!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 18:46:00 +0000

I can't believe I am actually getting hooked on this song.

It's wrong.

So wrong.

That's what I get for having an 8-year-old boy who insists on listening to pop. And a 14-year-old boy who insists on listening to hip-pop. (That's right... not hip-hop, hip-pop.)

Gah.

Kill me now.

Please.

And if it doesn't work the first time?

Re-peet, peet, peet, peet, peet, peet!

B.S. No rock songs were harmed during the production of this post... yet.

Stubble Me

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 14:55:00 +0000

I am so dense.

I missed out on a huge opportunity.

Huge!

I just got clued into what was....

*drum roll please*

NO SHAVE NOVEMBER!

How could I have not known?

Oh, how glorious it would have been.

I love how my stubble evolves into pricks that stick through my clothes. That stiff stubble actually helps give some good shape to my stretchy pants!

AND...

Can you say improved air flow?

Yes, my stubble helps "tent" my pants out so....

No more not so fresh feeling days.

Ah yes!

Stubble.

A girl's best friend.

But alas!

I missed out.

Again.

There's always next November, no?

I really need to get a clue.

And a new razor.

Ouch!

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

My Requisite Thanksgiving Post

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 08:01:00 +0000

As you all know I pride myself in being a wee bit quirky.

Just a wee bit.

You never know what types of signals are floating through my synapses. Yes, my synapses float instead of travel at the speed of light. They meander here and there. Take a break. Then another break. Yeah, there's not much activity going on "up there."

Hence, I'm a dense loon.

I take pride in this too.

I'm just grateful there are some synapsi left in my addled brain.

*insert cheesy smile here*

So I'm always thinking about the infomercial I'm going to create someday.

Yes, I want to be the next Vince Shamwow.

Since his reputation took a dive with his scandals, I want to fill his shoes. And I'm hooker free! Not even an eensy weensy desire to hook or hook up.

Not an easy thing. Well, for Vince.

And I have what I think is a wonderful and grand idea of what the next big thing should be.

Trust me on this one.

It's a line of t-shirts all about...

Not zombies!

Shocking, I know.

No, it's a line of t-shirts all about...

Maggots!

Maggots Happen.

Maggots Rock!

Maggots: The Other White Worm.

Got Maggots?

Maggot Envy.

Save The Drama For Your Maggot.

Maggot This!

Maggots: It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore.

And last, but not least...

Just Maggot.

Thank you Nike for that inspiration from your Just Do It campaign.

Nice.

Oh, and one more I just thought of! (Lucky you.)

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Maggotful.

I can even "see" my new television persona moniker.

Quirky Maggotwow.

Kinda catchy, no?

Now pick up yer jaws. It's not pleasant looking at all that dentistry. And it looks like somebody and somebody hasn't been flossing. Tsk. Tsk.

Maggot Tees.

Could be killer.

Killer.

And yes, you will be able to say, "You knew me when... I lost my maggots, erm, I mean marbles."

Ahem.

Now aren't you thankful this ain't gonna happen?

You're welcome.

*gobble, gobble*

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

B.B.S. By the way, I highly recommend NOT Googling "cute maggot image."

B.B.B.S. GAG!!!!

Scallywag!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 04:24:00 +0000

He strikes again!

He's worse than a zombie.

He never quits.

His one goal is not brains... but curiosity.

If it doesn't kill him (or me).

I could barely hear the dogs barking. A door slammed shut. Something heavy shuffling across the floor. A clang of metal. Another faint bark. Then a rattling noise. A thud and the dogs came bounding into the bedroom.

Yes, the scallywag had struck again.

He was torturing the dogs by locking them out of the house.

Now let me explain something. Our doggie door used to have a slider to close it. A slider is a rectangular piece of plastic that slides into grooves and wah-lah! One closed doggie door.

But of course, Looney, the spawn of Satan, broke it.

Surprise! Surprise!

So now we improvise.

Hence the 30-year-old sewing machine that my Mother-in-Law gave me ten years ago acts as the new "slider."

Of sorts.

We just place it IN the doggie door blocking their way in.

But of course, spawn of Satan, has figured out if she bumps against it enough times. It folds. And she's IN!

So I knew what happened without having to see what went down.

I heard all the noises. And recognized clearly what was going on.

Two seconds after the dogs bounced in, along came one eight-year-old scallywag. He scolded the dogs.

Maisy!

Looney!

"Son, what are you doing?" Then with my "knowing" look. "Are you torturing the dogs?"

And without a nanosecond of hesitation he replied...

"Ye-es."

It was hard not to chuckle. I was not expecting such honesty! I was expecting a...

Lie.

Because scallywags are always trying to cover their tracks.

I told him, "Well stop torturing them now. And I appreciate your honesty."

To which he replied: "My teacher does too."

Uh-oh.

I'll be expecting a phone call soon.

B.S. No spawn of Satan was harmed during the production of this post. What? She's a tough old girl. One scallywag's terror tactics is NOTHING in her book. *woof*

There Will Be Cheesecake

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 19:28:00 +0000

Quirky sat back and enjoyed her cheesecake with a dollop of strawberries on top.

"Mmm," she thought. "So smooth and good, so tasty."

She glanced around at her friends and mentally chuckled. It was card game day! The best day of the week.

There was Melody who was complaining about her three boys. This was a usual thing. All the Moms commiserated about their children and their cluelessness on how to deal with them.

It felt good not to be alone.

Munch, munch. Another cheesecake bite. Delightful!

Melody was complaining how rude her boys were all the time. She told us how they constantly interrupt her and that all they care about is what they have to say. They never listen! She's been trying to instill some consideration into their uncaring personalities. She was tired that they thought the whole world revolved around them. Everything was about them.

"Uh-huh, " Quirky thought. "I see that."

Then Mandy piped up. "Uh oh, " Quirky was now worried. Mandy did not have a shy gene in her body. "I hope she doesn't upset Melody!"

Mandy continued, "Oh yeah, well my oldest boy is always sooooo angry."

"Uh-huh, "Quirky mused. "I see that, too."

Another memory piped into her brain. Mandy was quite the cynic when it came to all things life. She questioned a lot and didn't have any problem speaking her mind. "I don't understand how parents can do stuff like that! I don't understand why the school would do that! I don't understand how people at church can do that!"

Yes, Mandy didn't mind expressing her disgust. Not at all.

Right then Mandy's eldest son walked in, "Mom, you are NOT going to believe what happened at school today. Blah, blah, blah, dee, blah. And I can't understand why the teachers do that!

Quirky got concerned. She was getting a tingly feeling. But she didn't like it. It was making her feel uncomfortable. Something is going on here, but no need to linger on that thought.

Mandy's boy left for his part-time job and then I was ready to give my two-miserable cents.

"Oh my gawsh, ya'll, you don't even have it bad. I cannot believe how emotional and sensitive my 14-year-old boy is... it's unbelievable. It's like he was born with too much estrogen. He's all boy, but if I say anything with the slightest amount of firmness, he gets sooo upset. I have to say everything perfectly and...."

Melody interrupted Quirky. Two minutes later Quirky's mind wandered as Melody continued yapping. "That was rude. Why did she do that? She shut me up! Why can't I have my time? Was I talking too much? Is she mad at me? Maybe she doesn't really like me."

And then Quirky slapped herself.

Melody and Mandy stopped. They shared a questioning look.

"I'm sorry," Quirky said. "I just had an epiphany."

"Oh," said Melody and continued talking.

"Well!" Quirky thought. "That's not very nice...."

Uh oh, she was doing it again.

And then she realized.

Her own son.

Herself.

Get a mirror.

And a clue.

What a blow.

A whopping blow.

Our sons are just like us.

Gulp.

Quirky got up from her chair and went to serve herself another humongous slice of cheesecake. She had had enough of listening, pondering, musing, and...

Epiphanizing.

It blew!

Chunks.

But at least she had cheesecake.

The answer to all of life's little (and big) problems.

Unfortunately, it also added chunks.

To her thighs.

B.S. No sons were harmed during the production of this post. But one cheesecake was demolished.

Men Do It Better

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 04:33:00 +0000

Aging.

I hate to admit it but they do.

Men age better.

Take a gander or two (or goose).

Might I utter a heavenly sigh?

Heaven help me! Another heavenly sigh.

Heavenly sigh SQUARED!

I'm going to hell sigh. Simply delish.

I hope Will Smith is in heaven.

And cheesecake.

Uh. Problem. Huge problem.

Sufferin' succotash!!

Uh, Stevie-poo?

I still have the hots for you.

Sort of?

Don't worry baby,

Pink is still my favorite color.

So men don't always do it better.

What a relief!

B.S. No choppers, fangs, teeth, or tusks were harmed during the production of this post.

Quirky's Secrets

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 08:01:00 +0000

I had the strangest dream last night.

I dreamed that I had Sister Wives!

Eeek!

I'm no plyg.

(That's short for polygamist.)

And I definitely do not harbor any hots for Kody Brown, husband and horn dog star of TLC's show, Sister Wives.

I'd rock Quirky's world!

But I did dream that it would fun to be a sister wife to this group of ladies. I fit right in!

Robyn, Meri, Jenelle, and Christine say: We'll rock Quirky's world!

And we had so much fun (in my dream).

We shopped together. Actually, I just added some items to THE list (Diet Dr. Pepper) and stayed home and watched Law & Order.

We cleaned together. Actually, I wasn't feeling well during this part of the dream, so I supervised. "Hey Robyn! You missed a dust bunny!"

We cooked together. Well I didn't... they did the cooking, but I did do my part of the eating. Hey, I'm no opportunist. And Christine makes a mean cheesecake.

We played cards together. I actually played lots of card games and enjoyed it immensely. I didn't even have to cheat! It was so awesome.

And I actually RELISHED having a huge bed all to myself. I even perfected a fake deep sleep on my assigned conjugal nights. Kody didn't seem to mind. I think he's tuckered out. Poor [horn] dog.

But then my dream took a very strange and horrifying twist. As dreams often do.

And all of a sudden I was surrounded by this crop of Sister Wives.

Come hither Quirky....

Gulp.

I woke up screaming.

And my flannels were soaked.

And now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I'm NOT plyg material.

Not even close.

Gulp. Gulp.

Still shuddering.

B.S. No Victoria Secrets models were harmed during the production of this post.

The Loonanator

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 08:11:00 +0000

One sooty antenna stretched out twitching and seeking, its twin followed suit.

Twitch, twitch.

Ah! I sensed something.

Scuttling past a dust bunnie, I was tempted to stop. The stench was so stale, dry, and inviting. But my antennae jogged my memory. Twitch, twitch. There was something better. Twitch, twitch. Something tantalizing. Over there.

My antennae stubbornly spurred me forward.

Bam! Another pause when a hill of cracker crumbs choked my path. Oh, how I wanted to stay and enjoy my new found treasure! Twitch, twitch. Remember? Over there? Twitch, twitch.

My assiduous antennae intervened again clearing my senses to move forward.

Scurry, scurry.

I was almost there. The luscious essence drawing me closer.

Nearer still.

Got Butt Funk?

Whomp!

A blast of fetid fecal fetor, then oblivion.

What's this?

Pant, pant, pant.

One fifty pound, mangy, funky hairy butt had obliterated my existence.

The funky butt sprang forward to investigate a noise.

I floated upwards. I could see my crusty, cracked, flattened, black body. My cottage cheese innards seeping onto the floor.

Whoosh!

Like an asteroid I was diving, diving, diving... into a new egg-case. With a soft thump I was in! So warm and cozy surrounded by new egg-brothers and egg-sisters.

I snuggled in for a rest.

A new life. A new day.

I live.

Again.

Woof, woof!

Uh oh.

I Killed A Roach And I Liked It

B.S. No mangy mutts were harmed during the production of this post. In fact, she was praised and rewarded greatly.

B.B.S. The rogue roach came from my husband's compost heap. *sigh* It was only one and it better stay that way.

B.B.B.S. The Loonanator (aka Looney aka evil spawn of Beelzebub) services are available for a nominal fee if you can stand the butt funk.

Zombies!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 05:55:00 +0000

You knew this post was coming.

I consider myself a zombie aficionado.

Of sorts.

Okay, I guess I'm not an aficionado.

Just a fan.

A HUGE fan.

So imagine my zombie delight when I saw The History Channel validating the concerns of a possible Zombie Apocalypse.

(The History Channel rocks!)

Last night it aired a show, Zombies: A Living History.

Don't worry I won't summarize the entire show for you (although I should). But it was awesome how they rolled out expert after expert with their wise words of what to do to prepare and survive a zombie apocalypse.

And I'll give you ONE quote that encapsulated the whole show.

"If you're prepared for a zombie apocalypse, then a tornado isn't that big of a deal."

Hmm.

The gist was more on preparedness is important whether it's for a tornado, hurricane, or yes, even a zombie apocalypse.

I prefer the zombie apocalypse.

Much more exciting.

And profitable.

(Did I tell you I'm saving paper clips? Yes, I'll be rich with my horde of paper clips!)

Think about it.

In addition to taking that aspirin once a day to stave off a heart attack?

We can now add Pro-Z pills to our daily prescription regimen.

It offers immunity against becoming a zombie.

And as cute and exciting as zombies are, I don't think we want to become zombies. And imagine if the people all around you became zombies? Do you really want a herd of zombies milling around in your neighborhood?

Yeah, I thought so.

Not to mention the non-stop moaning.

Annoying!

But then you know me. I read the small print of the ProZ pill and became quite alarmed.

As if the possibility of becoming a zombie is not alarming enough.

Important Safety Information
and Possible Side Effects

What is the most important safety information about ProZ?

Some people have had changes in behavior, hostility, agitation, depressed mood, suicidal thoughts or biting actions while using ProZ to help them avoid becoming a zombie.

Some people had these symptoms when they began taking ProZ, and others developed them after several weeks of treatment or after stopping ProZ.

If you, your family, or caregiver notice agitation, hostility, depression, or changes in behavior, thinking, or mood that are not typical for you, or you develop suicidal thoughts or actions, anxiety, panic, aggression, anger, mania, abnormal sensations, hallucinations, paranoia, or confusion, stop taking ProZ and call your doctor right away. Also tell your doctor about any history of depression or other mental health problems before taking ProZ, as these symptoms may worsen while taking ProZ.

Hmm.

The side effects MAY include: agitation, hostility, anger, the need to bite?

Hmm.

Maybe becoming a zombie is just inevitable.

So I guess we should all....

Just sit back and let it happen, baby!

*nom nom nom nom*

Got Brains?

B.S. No prescription pills i.e., Chantix were harmed during the production of this post.

A Cheese Tale

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 15:19:00 +0000

"What do you MEAN there is no cheese in the house?"

I gulped in fear.

I stared at the monstrosity filling the doorway of my bedroom. The snarl of his lips. The steam meandering from his flaring nostrils. The clenched fists. Clench. Release. Clench. Release.

Another gulp.

How could I have let this happen? I remember walking down the dairy aisle, I remember looking at the bags and blocks of cheese. I remember wondering can I afford to be lazy and buy the shredded cheese or should I save .1254888 cents and buy the block cheese wherein I would have to shred the cheese myself and inevitably and accidentally shave my finger tips into the shredded cheese mixture.

Decisions, decisions.

But there is a constant demand for cheese in my household.

Cheese on sandwiches, cheese on chips, cheese on tortillas, cheese in tacos, cheese in burritos, cheese on macaroni shells, cheese for topping casseroles making them oh, so cheesy delicious.

I shared in my husband's disgust that there was no cheese in the house.

I shared his angst.

How could I have let this happen? How could I overlook such an important and daily consumption product? How could I have allowed a lapse in cheese products?

I asked him, "Are you sure? Did you look...."

I stopped at his disgusting and knowing glare.

"Yes. I. Did."

Gulp.

I reached far into the cobwebs of my brain and finally came up with an answer. An answer that I hoped would appease his cheese-shaven soul. But before I could utter my response, he interrupted my slow chugging synapse process.

"Didn't we have like four or five bags of cheese just YESTERDAY?"

Did we?

Gulp.

"Did we USE that much cheese in just ONE DAY?''

Double gulp.

I looked at him with a hint of a NON-cheesy smile and squeaked out a "did we?"

Another glare.

He stormed off.

He left me to muse upon this dilemma. What on earth had I been thinking. Again, I reflected and reviewed my shopping steps. I had to find out WHY I had forgotten to buy more cheese.

Then I snapped my fingers.

I remembered.

I had been distracted by...

wait for it...

wait for it...

wait for it...

The butter.

Yes, the butter made me do it!

B.S. No sons who DID EAT ALL THE CHEESE were harmed during the production of this post.

FINALLY!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 18:29:00 +0000

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

It's finally here.

It has arrived!

I'm salivating.

I'm soooooo excited.

And eggzcited too.

My life is actually worth living again.

I'm chomping at the [human] bit!

Kidding!

I'm not a zombie... yet.

I just want to be a zombie.

*sniff, sniff*

Man-flesh!

Or maybe it's an uruk-hai that I'm aiming for.

Nah.

Zombies are better than orcs.

Any day.

Plus Rick Grimes is way hotter than Frodo Baggins.

*rrrRAWRrrr*

*slurp*

Sorry, it's getting kind of messy in here.

Must be the "man in uniform" versus the "man-child in the cape" thing.

It's no contest for me.

THE WALKING DEAD Season Two, baby!

It's back!

Zombies always make my day.

Humans, the other white meat. *slurp*

A good zombie is NOT hard to find.

Tonight peeps.

9pm on AMC.

nom nom nom nom nom nom

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

Pants On The Ground!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 08:11:00 +0000

And no I am NOT referring to the annoying ditty from American Idol Season Whatever.

After placing the last grocery bag into the car, Quirky straightened up and enjoyed a moment of hesitation. It always felt good to get the shopping done. She scanned the parking lot for the nearest cart return. That's when she felt a strange sliding sensation. Looking downward she realized she was living her worst nightmare ever.

No, not that one.

Yes, that one.

Her pants were on the ground.

At that very moment there was a car just turning into her aisle, hence the four occupants had prime viewing of Quirky clad in underpants with her pants on the ground. It was perfect timing for them as they slid into the parking spot next to the jeanless Quirky. Thank goodness it was on the other side of the car.

Yes, her piece of crap Chevy Malibu spared her any more than necessary embarrassment. And thank goodness for the piece crap of Ford Taurus that "had her back."

Cuz there Quirky stood stunned and horrified.

She quickly pulled her jeans and her jaw back up.

Looking like a fool with her pants on the ground.

Indeed!

I'm traumatized.

Only me.

B.S. One Quirkyloon was harmed emotionally and mentally during the production of this post, because unfortunately this story is oh, so true. And I wish more than anything it wasn't.

Hush, Little Loonies!

noreply@blogger.com (Quirkyloon) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 18:55:00 +0000

Hush, my little loonies!

Hush!

Ahhh! A special season 'tis upon us and it involves NOT turkeys or old men dressed in red suits allegedly shooting up and down through chimneys.

Oh, no.

Tis better. Much better.

And glorious. And dare I say it? Gore-ious.

*slurp*

Yes, the season of horror is finally here!

And I, for one, am so very glad.

And delighted.

So in honor of this hallowed and horrific season I have tuned up a poem for ye.

Sit back.

Close yer eyes.

Think of darkness.

And shadows.

That fright.

Shiver me zombies!

Behold, if you dare.

Hush, Little Loonies (based on Hush, Little Baby)

Hush, little loonies, don't say a word, Quirky's gonna buy you a strong hook shank.

And if that strong hook shank don't hold, Quirky's gonna buy you some bloody roe.

And if some bloody roe drops back, Quirky's gonna buy you a slimed yolk sac.

And if that slimed yolk sac gets poked, Quirky's gonna buy you a gold garrote.

And if that gold garrote don't pull, Quirky's gonna buy you some embryos.

And if those embryos turn over, Quirky's gonna buy you a dog named Howler.

And if that dog named Howler won't bark. Quirky's gonna to buy you an old angler.

And when that old angler falls down, Well you'll still be the sweetest little loonie in town.

Spooky, no?

And kinda fishy.

*sniff, sniff*

B.S. No little fishies were harmed during the production of this fishy post.

B.B.S. Get a hook, I mean a clue, fishing terms were provided by the Fishing and Angling Dictionary. Thanks Blokes!

B.B.B.S. Oh yeah, poem based on the delightful frightening Hush, Little Baby. *yawn* Oh, yeah. I already linked that. Italicized words are MINE. All mine.

Quirkyloon

Peaches and Weed

I'm Special...

I Graduated!

Utterly Cukeless!

Fans!

Rachael!

Lump of Coal!

No Excuse!

BADD

So Long!

Tis The Season...

I'm Too Sexy For My...

Heaven Help Me!

Stubble Me

My Requisite Thanksgiving Post

Scallywag!

There Will Be Cheesecake

Men Do It Better

Quirky's Secrets

The Loonanator

Zombies!

Important Safety Information and Possible Side Effects

What is the most important safety information about ProZ?

Hmm.

A Cheese Tale

FINALLY!

Pants On The Ground!

Hush, Little Loonies!

Important Safety Information
and Possible Side Effects