Beauty Tip of the Day

Do not use lotion on your hands prior to flossing your teeth.      

Think about it.

Speaking of Oxymorons

I have no tolerance for intolerant people.

 

Oxy Moron

Is an Oxy Moron just a stupid pimple?

Holy What?

When the Pope poops, 

is it considered 

Holy Crap?

Emily Post Missed This One

Many eons ago, back in high school, my friend Beth and I were driving somewhere.  During our uneventful journey, we passed a cemetery.  Beth pointed to it and said, "My grandmother is buried there."

How are you supposed to respond to that?  

"Oh, well she makes nice fertilizer, the lawn is lovely."

I'm thinking no, but maybe it's just me.

Who Says Romance Is Dead?

Hubby and I were driving somewhere the other day.   The car is a stick-shift, and I was the driver.  As we are humming along down the street, out of the corner of my eye I see him sliding his hand toward me. 

His hand landed softly atop mine and I thought to myself, "How sweet!  17 years of marriage and he still does romantic things like holding my hand while driving!"

But then, I realized he was lifting my hand up and moving it to the shifter.  He dropped my hand onto the shifter knob and said, "You're in the wrong gear."  

Pretty much let the air out of my balloon.

For any men who happen to be reading this, THIS is why women are forced to read romance novels!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Stay safe out there today!

Am I dreaming?

Have you ever been peeing and suddenly think, 

"Am I just dreaming that I am peeing but I am 

really still sleeping and am actually wetting my bed?"

Me either.

Have you ever been driving around and you see one of those signs posted to the light post or a telephone pole that says, 

"Queen Mattress $170  

Call 555-1212" 

I always wonder who these people are that are selling the mattresses.   Why are they advertising on street corners in that way?  I have to assume that it isn't Art Van or Sealy running around trying to sell their overstock.   It just doesn't seem legitimate. 

Queen Mattress Sale - Everything must go!

But then I also have to wonder about the consumers who are buying the mattresses from these people.  I wouldn't trust even calling the telephone number, let alone actually driving to a dark alley to climb into the back of the abandoned semi trailer to see their stock.   This isn't a fruit stand or those velvet paintings being sold out of the back of a van on a Sunday afternoon.  This is a mattress.  You have it for 10 years, it is as large as the car you intend to strap it to in order to get it home, weighs 400 pounds.  You know - a mattress.  Yet all they could use to advertise their product in order to get the buyer's attention was a yellow piece of plastic and a Sharpie marker?   

Buyer Beware!

What's Your GPA?

My husband and I were driving to the Detroit area last weekend.   I was bored so I passed the time reading all the billboards.   Several of the them were promoting an area university.  The advertising money was so well spent that I can’t even remember which college it was (Lansing Community, Michigan State, I don't know).   

Anyway, the ad showed a picture of a smiling high school graduate and their corresponding fantabulous grade point average that apparently helped get them into the mystery college.

 

What caught my attention was that several of these GPAs were over 4.00.   One of the ads said the girl graduated with a 4.75.  Not having a grade point that high, I didn’t realize they could go over 4.00.  I thought a 4.00 was like 100% or like bowling a perfect game. 

So to me, telling someone you graduated school with a 4.75 grade point average is like telling someone you bowled a game that scored 315 points.  

I don't know, maybe its just me.  

Things You Don't Hear Every Day

 I said to a friend yesterday, "I just found a can of crabmeat and a dead butterfly in the backseat of my car."

Then I thought to myself, Now there is something you don't hear every day.

No moulah

I was driving around the other day and noticed the construction of a new building.  As I passed the site, I read the sign that said the building was going to be The First National Something Or Other Bank."  

I thought to myself, "If no one has any money, why are we still building banks?"

I dunno.  Maybe it's just me.

  

Convenience at the Pump

I was at the gas station the other day.   I decided to just use my debit card and save the trip into the gas station building.   Why talk to someone if I don't have to, right?

So I slid my card into and out of the slot at lightening speed.  I do this because that little machine doesn't like me and we usually get into an argument every time I use it. 
"Can't read the card, dumbo."   So I slide it again. 
"Do it again, it wasn't fast enough."  So I do it again.  
"Now you did it too slow, dumb butt."  And so on. 
Going to the gas station is like going to the dentist.  You are paying someone to be mean to you.

But I digress.  I know that is unusual for me, but I also know you will forgive my transgression.  Whoops, I digressed again.

Um, oh yeah.  So I was standing at the pump, listening to my adjunct bank account click, click, clicking all my money into the tank.   Then I was done and turned my attention to fighting with getting the gas cap back on.   It is attached to the car by a short plastic cord thoughtfully placed there by the manufacturer for my convenience.  I inevitably manage to get this convenience tangled up every time.   It's the thought that counts, though, right? 

After cursing the thoughtful manufacturer, I finished fighting with the gas cap.  I looked at the display.  It said $35.62.  I like to stop at weird amounts just to bug my husband.  He is the type that stands next to the car, bracing his body against a horizontal-blowing snow so he can click--click his way to an even amount like $42, but then clicks 2 cents past and stands there swearing while he then tries to click his way to another even number.   

I seem to have digressed again.  So I was standing there with my debit card, my odd amount for gas and a successfully closed gas cap.   I looked at the display screen and it said, “Cashier has the receipt inside.”   The one thing I was trying to avoid.  

I thought, “Well that totally negates the convenience of Paying at the Pump, now doesn’t it?!”   

Caution: I have Krabs

I was talking about sushi fillings with my husband this evening.  He asked what I like in mine.  I said shrimp was always good.  

He asked if I would mind crab.  No, I don't mind it. I like crab just fine.

Then he wrinkled his nose and said, "Or, do you think Krab would be okay?"   He included the little quotey gesture with his fingers when he said Krab.

I said, "you mean crab with a K?"  

Yes, that is what he meant.    It was my turn to wrinkle my nose.  I said, "Is it just me or is genetically engineered cod dyed and altered to be marketed as crab highly disturbing?"

He said, "Who cares, it's cheap!"

Survivor Show

When the concept of this television show was first introduced, I seemed to miss the part about the people getting voted off.    I honestly thought they were going to stick 14 people on an island and fly back six months later to see who was left. 

After all the stupidity, arrogance, preening and showing off on that ridiculous show, I am actually disappointed that my original misunderstanding was wrong.  

How can they call it a Survivor show when these people are surrounded by a camera crew, food and water, medical personnel and the like? 

All they are surviving is a vote.  Big deal.   They get voted off.  Where is the sport in that?  All they are doing is playing to the camera and the audience.   What if someone actually fell down and broke their leg?   In true survivorship, that person would limp for the next four months or expect his/her fellow show members to craft a makeshift cast out of bamboo leaves and tree gum until it heals.  

This show should be like Lord of the Flies.  Exist for the sake of existing, not because Americans have nothing better to do than sit around giving these people the attention they crave but do not deserve.  "Hey, look at me, I can tie a bandanna around my head, sweat a lot, swear at other people and be all big and scary.   I can cut down a tree and overtake a coconut.  I can fish with my bear hands wear sandals on the beach.   And then I can turn and smile at the camera.  Because that is why I am here."

Surviving isn't a popularity contest, who can manipulate who, sit around a camp fire and talk trash about each other, then let’s all raise our hands in proper democratic fashion and vote off the person who pisses us off the most.   

B-O-R-I-N-G

When they fly the people to an island, leave them there without the camera crew, the food and medical personnel, then maybe I’ll start watching. 

Ask our soldiers in Iraq what surviving is about.  They'll tell you.  And they ain't gettin' $1 million for their horrific experiences, you can count on that.  Where our soldiers are, people are fighting for their lives, not a silly vote.   Where our soldiers are, people do die.   This television show in comparison is an insult to them and all they go through overseas.   Makes me sick. 

Tomato – Tam-ah-to

I heard the word HUSKY the other day.   To most people, it will immediately bring an image of the beautiful blue eyed dog that originated in Siberia.   Right?

Not for me.  When I heard the word HUSKY, I immediately flashed back to being an overweight nine year old shopping for school clothes.  

  

Therapist on line 1, Michele, your therapist is on line 1.   

I'm This Many Years Old

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday dear me-ee

Happy birthday to me!

If you haven’t guessed by now, today is my birthday!    I have never really been fond of them.   Birthdays are reminders that we are getting older, but on the other hand birthdays are also a reminder that we are getting older. 

You think I’ve already lost my mind in my advanced age?  No, no.  What I mean is that birthdays are a way of reminding us that we are lucky enough to complain that we are getting older because it means we are still alive!  

And just how many years have I got to complain about?   I am proud to say it is my milestone birthday of 480 months!

Yes, I gave it to you in months.  Why?  Because I like to be annoying.   Just like all those new mothers that do the same thing.   They bug the hell out of me.   I am trying to be nice and coo over their child (whom I will likely never see again)  and I politely ask how old is the dear diapered devil.  

I am then rewarded with a math problem as an answer.    “Little Herman is 14 months old.”   So then I am forced to take my shoes off and count to see how many years that is.   14 months, 16 months, 21 months.  

My favorite is 17 and a half months old.    Now I have to whip out my calculator and compute the square root of idiotic divided by the number of times the moon orbits the earth multiplied by how many times I regret asking the “how old is he” question, all the while pretending not to be completely annoyed with one of Dr. Spock’s clan members.

So here I am, the big 4-8-0.   Wish me well, as I wish you well back – without saddling unto you a math problem!

And if you want to send me birthday gifts, I like diamonds, emeralds and Arnie’s Dutch Chocolate Torte!

P.S. – A shout out to my oldest nephew, Spenser.  He just hit the milestone age of 252 months!   You da man!

You cook with WHAT??

 

I'm not eating at THIS restaurant!

Black Birds of Death

Is it just me or are the black birds getting larger? 

Not the Saffron-cowled blackbird (Xanthopsar flavus), nor the Scarlet-headed blackbird (Amblyramphus holosericeus).  And not even the oft-discussed and snuggly Yellow-hooded blackbird (Chrysomus icterocephalus).  No, none of those commoners. 

I am talking about the true original American blackbird – the North American Roadkill Blackbird (ieatdisgustingdeadthingsacus).

I was driving along the freeway last week, minding my own business trying to get an SUV off my bumper when suddenly one of these birds swooped down out of the sky and took down a cow!   Scout’s honor, it’s the truth!

Okay, so I wasn’t a Scout, which means I am free to tell tales like that one.  But seriously, have you noticed how big these things are getting?    On the side of the road, picking away at nature’s forgotten auto accident critter-victims?  These birds dwarf turkeys for crying out loud.  

I am always afraid that one of them is going to go kamikaze and suddenly fly in front of me as I am driving by.   Because you know what?    I’d be calling a tow truck and the bird would causally fly off looking for its next meal.   There should be a separate collision limit on our auto insurance policies for having a run in with one of those things.

I just wonder if the scientists are noticing this phenomenon.   Are they studying the ever increasing girth of Roadkillicus?   Or is this going to turn into one of those horror movies where I am the only one who notices the phenomenon and gets killed off by the creatures in the first act before anyone fully understands that there is a problem. 

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.