While taking a summer break from blogging, I picked up a few new followers, which tells me something, although I'd rather not think about it. Instead, I'll credit the talent of Lisa Allen for giving folks a tidbit or two to tune in for. Thanks Lisa!
In retribution, I mean thanks, to the new folks, I decided to force you to, er TREAT you to, some tidbits about moi. (As Miss Piggy, no relation, would say.) I decided to call them "Fascinating Facts" because "Facts That Put Us To Sleep" just doesn't have that mysterious quality that draws in new readers. So set your alarm and read on.
Fascinating facts:
1. I share a birthday with Abraham Lincoln. My kids think we’re twins. (Abe and Amy. It fits, right?) I told them our mother could only tell us apart because Abe parts his hat on the opposite side from me. And wears his beard is shorter.
2. I’m not good with crafts. My niece gave me a glue gun for Christmas and I glued the bag closed before I could get the gun out. Now I’m required by law to keep the ammunition in a separate location.
4. I like to drive red cars. It’s a mother of two’s way of telling the world there’s more to me than apple juice and gym socks.
5. I like to wear blue jeans everywhere. It’s the white trash version of The Little Black Dress. Reeboks are my pumps. I have a matching wrap. It’s made by Levi Strauss.
6. If my mother weren’t already gone, she would dig her own grave with a grapefruit spoon if she heard me say white trash.
7. I drink Mountain Dew for the taste. That’s like saying I read Playboy for the articles. It’s really all about the rush.
8. I wish I could play the piano. I’d like to hit the ivories at high speed with Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and leave steam rising from the keys once before I die.
9. I was inside a church that caught on fire. No one was hurt, but to this day, I can’t roast marshmallows without singing Nearer My God to Thee.
10. My kids think they know everything because they can program the TV, the computer, and the cell phone. But they don’t know that I named the dog the primary beneficiary on my life insurance policy or that he’s in charge of their trust fund.
11. My husband, the Captain of our Love Boat, secretly thinks that I’m bossy, that I like to do everything my own way, and that I’m adverse to change. I think adverse means the opposite of reverse and is one of the gifts and graces mentioned in the Bible.
12. I’ve been married twice. So far.
Laugh
Showing posts with label Lincoln. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lincoln. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Out the Window
The Captain strolled into the living room. I’m sure he has a targeting sensor that alerts him when I’m busy and don’t want to be disturbed. He wears it on his belt in a holster. Like his multipurpose tool, his phone, and his app-heavy iPod. Batman designed his utility belt after a chance meeting with my husband.
The Captain plunged his hands into his pockets and commented.
“What’s that?”
Figures. I’ve waited twenty years for him to start a conversation and he picks this moment for inspirational dialogue.
“It’s a list. I’m making your New Year’s resolutions.”
“Um, shouldn’t I be in charge of that?”
“You never put the right things.”
“I don’t put the right things on my own list?”
“No, you put things you can’t accomplish. Then you get discouraged. I’m making it easier for you.”
“So you’re helping me out by making my New Year’s resolutions?”
“Exactly.”
“You take that whole helpmate thing to heart, don’t you?”
“I’m glad you finally noticed.”
“So what are my resolutions?”
“Well, you know how you always want to get the windows washed? I’m putting that on your list.”
“My New Year’s Resolution is to wash windows?”
“Yep. And so it won’t be overwhelming, I’ve figured out an easy way. One window every day!”
“So, all I’m going to accomplish next year is washing windows?”
“Every day.”
“Right. I get to wash windows every day.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I can’t think why.”
“Very funny. This is a fool-proof plan. So to speak.”
“No so far.”
“Don’t you see. By breaking down the chore into small bits, it’s manageable.”
“So instead of getting them all done in one day, it will take me all year to do it.”
“Right.”
“So there’s no need to put anything else on my To Do list.”
“This isn’t your To Do list. It’s your resolutions. Your To Do list is on an Excel spreadsheet in the computer.”
“Why can’t I make my own resolutions?”
“Because your only resolution is to end up stranded on The Island of Morally Bankrupt Actresses with Penelope Cruz who is wearing nothing but a grass skirt and a pair of coconuts, drinking rum like it was cherry Kool-Aid and singing “Shake Your Bad Thing” while shimmying like a loose shingle in a strong wind.”
“Would you put that on the list?”
“Sure. There’s a spot on November 31st right after you finish the attic windows.”
“November doesn’t have 31 days.”
“And we don’t have an attic.”
“Got it.”
“Nothing slow about you.”
“Could we go see the movie where she plays the pirate captain?”
“That’s not until May. Let’s see how you do with your resolutions.”
“I have a resolution.”
“Oh?”
“It involves Penelope Cruz doing windows.”
“I have a resolution, too.”
“What is it?”
“It involves driving you to the Emergency Room where they can pick safety glass out of the seat of your cargo pants with the Jaws of Life.”
“I’m not sure I like this list.”
“Don’t you see the beauty of it?”
“I think the beauty just went out the window.”
“Don’t worry. If the window is clean enough you can look through and see it waving from the other side.”
“Yeah, from over in the neighbor’s yard. Where the grass is greener.”
“Look at the bright side. At least you’re not Bill Gates.”
“Okay, I agree with that. But why?”
“Because halfway through the window, it would close by itself and there would be parts that were irrecoverable. The resulting crash would trash the supports, frighten the dogs, and result in you spending the rest of the day cleaning up the mess.
“So either way I’m doing windows.”
“Yes, but with my way you get to see the pirate movie.”
“Okay, but if Penelope blue-screens on me, I’m going in as technical support.”
I fired up the shredder and let it suck up the resolutions like a Lincoln Navigator drinking fossil fuel. He scratched his head.
“What about my resolutions?”
“That window of opportunity just slammed shut.”
The Captain plunged his hands into his pockets and commented.
“What’s that?”
Figures. I’ve waited twenty years for him to start a conversation and he picks this moment for inspirational dialogue.
“It’s a list. I’m making your New Year’s resolutions.”
“Um, shouldn’t I be in charge of that?”
“You never put the right things.”
“I don’t put the right things on my own list?”
“No, you put things you can’t accomplish. Then you get discouraged. I’m making it easier for you.”
“So you’re helping me out by making my New Year’s resolutions?”
“Exactly.”
“You take that whole helpmate thing to heart, don’t you?”
“I’m glad you finally noticed.”
“So what are my resolutions?”
“Well, you know how you always want to get the windows washed? I’m putting that on your list.”
“My New Year’s Resolution is to wash windows?”
“Yep. And so it won’t be overwhelming, I’ve figured out an easy way. One window every day!”
“So, all I’m going to accomplish next year is washing windows?”
“Every day.”
“Right. I get to wash windows every day.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I can’t think why.”
“Very funny. This is a fool-proof plan. So to speak.”
“No so far.”
“Don’t you see. By breaking down the chore into small bits, it’s manageable.”
“So instead of getting them all done in one day, it will take me all year to do it.”
“Right.”
“So there’s no need to put anything else on my To Do list.”
“This isn’t your To Do list. It’s your resolutions. Your To Do list is on an Excel spreadsheet in the computer.”
“Why can’t I make my own resolutions?”
“Because your only resolution is to end up stranded on The Island of Morally Bankrupt Actresses with Penelope Cruz who is wearing nothing but a grass skirt and a pair of coconuts, drinking rum like it was cherry Kool-Aid and singing “Shake Your Bad Thing” while shimmying like a loose shingle in a strong wind.”
“Would you put that on the list?”
“Sure. There’s a spot on November 31st right after you finish the attic windows.”
“November doesn’t have 31 days.”
“And we don’t have an attic.”
“Got it.”
“Nothing slow about you.”
“Could we go see the movie where she plays the pirate captain?”
“That’s not until May. Let’s see how you do with your resolutions.”
“I have a resolution.”
“Oh?”
“It involves Penelope Cruz doing windows.”
“I have a resolution, too.”
“What is it?”
“It involves driving you to the Emergency Room where they can pick safety glass out of the seat of your cargo pants with the Jaws of Life.”
“I’m not sure I like this list.”
“Don’t you see the beauty of it?”
“I think the beauty just went out the window.”
“Don’t worry. If the window is clean enough you can look through and see it waving from the other side.”
“Yeah, from over in the neighbor’s yard. Where the grass is greener.”
“Look at the bright side. At least you’re not Bill Gates.”
“Okay, I agree with that. But why?”
“Because halfway through the window, it would close by itself and there would be parts that were irrecoverable. The resulting crash would trash the supports, frighten the dogs, and result in you spending the rest of the day cleaning up the mess.
“So either way I’m doing windows.”
“Yes, but with my way you get to see the pirate movie.”
“Okay, but if Penelope blue-screens on me, I’m going in as technical support.”
I fired up the shredder and let it suck up the resolutions like a Lincoln Navigator drinking fossil fuel. He scratched his head.
“What about my resolutions?”
“That window of opportunity just slammed shut.”
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Fascinating? Believe It or Not!
It seems like I’m at the top of everybody’s list these days. I figure it’s either because my name starts with “A” (that scored me a lot of unwanted front row seats in school), or it’s everybody’s naughty list, and when it comes to People You Don’t Allow Your Children To Play With, I’m the first one that comes to mind. (Okay, so I consider ice cream an entree and sprinkles the vegetable of the day. It's all about choices.)
Either way, I’ve been given awards by two really neat, cool people. Each award requires the reader to endure fascinating facts about me, and while I don’t mind ensnaring readers under false pretenses as a general rule, I feel obliged to come up with some interesting reading here. So bear in mind that these facts may tend more to the fascinating side than to the fact side, and that I am not invoking the “Satisfaction or Your Money Back Guarantee” on this one. Sit back and prepare to be amazed.
The Superior Scribbler Award from Stacey:
* Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
*Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
*Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
*Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
*Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.
(Instead of passing the award torch, I invite you to read the blogs of any of the talented participants in the Army of Ermas blog. They're terrific and I feel like the new girl whose clothes don't match but ended up in the sorority only because of family ties. I do have that one popular sister. I hate her.)
The Beautiful Blogger Award from Becster. As a requirement for accepting the award I am to share seven things about myself that my readers might not know, and then I'm to pass on the award to ten other Beautiful Bloggers! Ten? I don't have ten friends/family members/pets who would give me their telephone number. Don't get your hopes up here.
Fascinating facts:
1. I share a birthday with Abraham Lincoln. My kids think we’re twins. (Abe and Amy. It fits, right?) I told them our mother could only tell us apart because Abe parts his hat on the opposite side from me. And wears his beard shorter.
2. I’m not good with crafts. My niece gave me a glue gun for Christmas and I glued the bag closed before I could get the gun out. Now I’m required by law to keep the ammunition in a separate location.
3. I like to drive red cars. It’s a mother of two’s way of telling the world there’s more to me than apple juice and gym socks.
4. I like to wear blue jeans everywhere. It’s the white trash version of The Little Black Dress. Reeboks are my pumps. I have a matching wrap. It’s made by Levi Strauss.
5. If my mother weren’t already gone, she would dig her own grave with a grapefruit spoon if she heard me say white trash.
6. I drink Mountain Dew for the taste. That’s like saying I read Playboy for the articles. It’s really all about the rush.
7. I wish I could play the piano. I’d like to hit the ivories at high speed with Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and leave steam rising from the keys once before I die.
8. Or I’d like to play the trumpet. Or the saxophone. Or the kazoo. Or name the letters for the notes of the staff without having to buy a vowel.
9. My kids think they know everything because they can program the TV, the computer, and the cell phone. But they don’t know that I named the dog the primary beneficiary on my life insurance policy or that he’s in charge of their trust fund.
10. My husband, the Captain of our Love Boat, secretly thinks that I’m bossy, that I like to do everything my own way, and that I’m adverse to change. I think adverse means the opposite of reverse and is one of the gifts and graces mentioned in the Bible.
11. I’ve been married twice. So far.
12. I live in a duplex with a husband, two grown boys, three dogs, and three cats. One of the dogs thinks she’s a cat, but that really doesn’t help the numbers any.
13. On Friday nights my kitchen hosts an assembly of trolls, thieves, and warriors. I don’t mind their games as much as the fact that a troll goes through groceries like Brer Rabbit through the briar patch.
14. I was inside a church that caught on fire. No one was hurt, but to this day, I can’t roast marshmallows without singing Nearer My God to Thee.
15. I don’t follow directions well.
Either way, I’ve been given awards by two really neat, cool people. Each award requires the reader to endure fascinating facts about me, and while I don’t mind ensnaring readers under false pretenses as a general rule, I feel obliged to come up with some interesting reading here. So bear in mind that these facts may tend more to the fascinating side than to the fact side, and that I am not invoking the “Satisfaction or Your Money Back Guarantee” on this one. Sit back and prepare to be amazed.
The Superior Scribbler Award from Stacey:
* Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
*Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
*Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
*Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
*Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.
(Instead of passing the award torch, I invite you to read the blogs of any of the talented participants in the Army of Ermas blog. They're terrific and I feel like the new girl whose clothes don't match but ended up in the sorority only because of family ties. I do have that one popular sister. I hate her.)
The Beautiful Blogger Award from Becster. As a requirement for accepting the award I am to share seven things about myself that my readers might not know, and then I'm to pass on the award to ten other Beautiful Bloggers! Ten? I don't have ten friends/family members/pets who would give me their telephone number. Don't get your hopes up here.
Fascinating facts:
1. I share a birthday with Abraham Lincoln. My kids think we’re twins. (Abe and Amy. It fits, right?) I told them our mother could only tell us apart because Abe parts his hat on the opposite side from me. And wears his beard shorter.
2. I’m not good with crafts. My niece gave me a glue gun for Christmas and I glued the bag closed before I could get the gun out. Now I’m required by law to keep the ammunition in a separate location.
3. I like to drive red cars. It’s a mother of two’s way of telling the world there’s more to me than apple juice and gym socks.
4. I like to wear blue jeans everywhere. It’s the white trash version of The Little Black Dress. Reeboks are my pumps. I have a matching wrap. It’s made by Levi Strauss.
5. If my mother weren’t already gone, she would dig her own grave with a grapefruit spoon if she heard me say white trash.
6. I drink Mountain Dew for the taste. That’s like saying I read Playboy for the articles. It’s really all about the rush.
7. I wish I could play the piano. I’d like to hit the ivories at high speed with Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and leave steam rising from the keys once before I die.
8. Or I’d like to play the trumpet. Or the saxophone. Or the kazoo. Or name the letters for the notes of the staff without having to buy a vowel.
9. My kids think they know everything because they can program the TV, the computer, and the cell phone. But they don’t know that I named the dog the primary beneficiary on my life insurance policy or that he’s in charge of their trust fund.
10. My husband, the Captain of our Love Boat, secretly thinks that I’m bossy, that I like to do everything my own way, and that I’m adverse to change. I think adverse means the opposite of reverse and is one of the gifts and graces mentioned in the Bible.
11. I’ve been married twice. So far.
12. I live in a duplex with a husband, two grown boys, three dogs, and three cats. One of the dogs thinks she’s a cat, but that really doesn’t help the numbers any.
13. On Friday nights my kitchen hosts an assembly of trolls, thieves, and warriors. I don’t mind their games as much as the fact that a troll goes through groceries like Brer Rabbit through the briar patch.
14. I was inside a church that caught on fire. No one was hurt, but to this day, I can’t roast marshmallows without singing Nearer My God to Thee.
15. I don’t follow directions well.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Christmas Claws
I figure it’s time to take down the Christmas tree when the lights haven’t worked for two weeks, there’s a mysterious lump under the tree skirt that resembles petrified reindeer poop, and local landscapers offer to buy the pile of mulch in the corner of my living room.
I hate to take down the Christmas tree because as long as it is in the room, that corner is as close to decorated as it is any time during the year. I have teenage boys in the house. Once the tree is gone, that spot will automatically give way to a pile of cast off T shirts, sixteen pairs of old tennis shoes, and a large tabby cat. Actually, the cat may be lost somewhere in the maze of branches. I haven’t seen him since before the lights stopped working, but every now and then I can hear the angel on top purr. I think she's had a little too much catnip.
When the breeze of the ceiling fan caused a pile of pine needles the size of a sand dune to settle on the floor, the man who promised to love, honor, and teach the teenagers to drive crossed his arms and regarded the Christmas tree with raised eyebrows.
“It's gotta go.”
I came up beside him, licking the sprinkles off the last holiday cupcake. “It could be a Presidents Day tree. You could hang little pictures of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln on it.”
“The kind of pictures you find on small bills? What if I make it easy and just slip you a twenty?”
“What if I go to the mall and take out my New Year's anxieties on the clearance racks?”
“I don’t have enough presidents for that sort of stimulus package.”
“Well, how long does it take for wood to petrify?” I mused.
“Why do you ask?”
“Maybe we could leave it in the corner all year and pass it off as a sculpture.”
“If dead plants make great sculptures, we have an entire art museum around here.”
The man had a valid point. I’ve killed enough vegetation to decorate a dozen zombie weddings.
I reached for a drooping branch. "According to tradition, all of the decorations should be put away before the New Year starts.
A paw shot out of the center of the tree, snatched the marshmallow snowman off of my cupcake with one claw and disappeared without a sound. A pool of dry needles puddled on the carpet at my feet.
We stepped back a safe distance from the tree. "Let's leave it," I said handing him the tattered remains of the cupcake. "I think the ghost of Christmas past lives in there and he means business."
I hate to take down the Christmas tree because as long as it is in the room, that corner is as close to decorated as it is any time during the year. I have teenage boys in the house. Once the tree is gone, that spot will automatically give way to a pile of cast off T shirts, sixteen pairs of old tennis shoes, and a large tabby cat. Actually, the cat may be lost somewhere in the maze of branches. I haven’t seen him since before the lights stopped working, but every now and then I can hear the angel on top purr. I think she's had a little too much catnip.
When the breeze of the ceiling fan caused a pile of pine needles the size of a sand dune to settle on the floor, the man who promised to love, honor, and teach the teenagers to drive crossed his arms and regarded the Christmas tree with raised eyebrows.
“It's gotta go.”
I came up beside him, licking the sprinkles off the last holiday cupcake. “It could be a Presidents Day tree. You could hang little pictures of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln on it.”
“The kind of pictures you find on small bills? What if I make it easy and just slip you a twenty?”
“What if I go to the mall and take out my New Year's anxieties on the clearance racks?”
“I don’t have enough presidents for that sort of stimulus package.”
“Well, how long does it take for wood to petrify?” I mused.
“Why do you ask?”
“Maybe we could leave it in the corner all year and pass it off as a sculpture.”
“If dead plants make great sculptures, we have an entire art museum around here.”
The man had a valid point. I’ve killed enough vegetation to decorate a dozen zombie weddings.
I reached for a drooping branch. "According to tradition, all of the decorations should be put away before the New Year starts.
A paw shot out of the center of the tree, snatched the marshmallow snowman off of my cupcake with one claw and disappeared without a sound. A pool of dry needles puddled on the carpet at my feet.
We stepped back a safe distance from the tree. "Let's leave it," I said handing him the tattered remains of the cupcake. "I think the ghost of Christmas past lives in there and he means business."
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Scenic Route
I don’t want to say I’m a city girl, but I compute the distance between two places by how many shopping malls I’ll pass on the way. Contrary to popular urban myths, in the south we don’t compute the miles by how many hills across the holler the neighbor lives or how far down the Appalachian Trail we have to wander to make it to South America. As a matter of fact, if Michael Jackson thought Never Land was a fantasy world, he should see the governor’s mansion here in South Carolina these days.
I’ve grown accustomed to city amenities such as vertical parking places instead of parallel ones, restaurants with drive through windows, and random Elvis sightings in poorly lit taverns, but I don’t live in a place where the yards are marked off by the lines in the concrete or where neon replaces methane as the gross natural gas of choice. As a general rule we grow grass rather than unroll it and are more likely to shoot doves for dinner instead of pop them on top of a wedding cake. Nothing unusual for small town America.
Except for the buffalo.
Riding along even major thoroughfares in our area, you’re never surprised by the random goat standing in a feed trough to the right or a large Labrador guarding a shady spot under a tree on the left. It’s unusual, but not unheard of, to see live chickens instead of lawn ornaments in occasional front yards on the way to the city dump. It did strike me as odd, though, when a coworker encountered a buffalo ambling down the road one summer evening.
I’m not sure which of the Department of Motor Vehicles’ strict principles of road travel apply to your standard buffalo encounter, but I know what my friend did. He gave him the right of way.
I felt the need to test the buffalo theory before I reported the adventure to friends. The people I know are repeat offenders when it comes to embellishing stories and often unfairly suspect me of the same behavior.
“How did you know it was a buffalo?”
He thought a minute. “It had a beard.”
Great. So it was either a buffalo or Abraham Lincoln’s ghost has taken to patrolling the passing lane of South Carolina highways.
“That wouldn’t get you very far with a police sketch artist. All you have is a Beard of Interest?”
“It was bigger than a cow.”
Bearded and bigger than a cow. Insert mother-in-law joke of your choice here. I needed more concrete evidence or that story was going to stay a secret until General Sherman replaced Smokey the Bear in the Stop Forest Fires campaign.
“It walked right down the middle of the road. And it looked hungry.”
Now we’re getting hot. A bearded road hog bigger than a cow wandering down a road in the twilight searching for a snack.
Another Elvis sighting. And he’s in disguise.
I’ve grown accustomed to city amenities such as vertical parking places instead of parallel ones, restaurants with drive through windows, and random Elvis sightings in poorly lit taverns, but I don’t live in a place where the yards are marked off by the lines in the concrete or where neon replaces methane as the gross natural gas of choice. As a general rule we grow grass rather than unroll it and are more likely to shoot doves for dinner instead of pop them on top of a wedding cake. Nothing unusual for small town America.
Except for the buffalo.
Riding along even major thoroughfares in our area, you’re never surprised by the random goat standing in a feed trough to the right or a large Labrador guarding a shady spot under a tree on the left. It’s unusual, but not unheard of, to see live chickens instead of lawn ornaments in occasional front yards on the way to the city dump. It did strike me as odd, though, when a coworker encountered a buffalo ambling down the road one summer evening.
I’m not sure which of the Department of Motor Vehicles’ strict principles of road travel apply to your standard buffalo encounter, but I know what my friend did. He gave him the right of way.
I felt the need to test the buffalo theory before I reported the adventure to friends. The people I know are repeat offenders when it comes to embellishing stories and often unfairly suspect me of the same behavior.
“How did you know it was a buffalo?”
He thought a minute. “It had a beard.”
Great. So it was either a buffalo or Abraham Lincoln’s ghost has taken to patrolling the passing lane of South Carolina highways.
“That wouldn’t get you very far with a police sketch artist. All you have is a Beard of Interest?”
“It was bigger than a cow.”
Bearded and bigger than a cow. Insert mother-in-law joke of your choice here. I needed more concrete evidence or that story was going to stay a secret until General Sherman replaced Smokey the Bear in the Stop Forest Fires campaign.
“It walked right down the middle of the road. And it looked hungry.”
Now we’re getting hot. A bearded road hog bigger than a cow wandering down a road in the twilight searching for a snack.
Another Elvis sighting. And he’s in disguise.
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