Skip the movie, “Her.” And forget about “Him” too. I’ve got something much better!

photo-214“HER,” the 2014 movie, was up for the Best Picture of the year during this past Oscar’s Awards.  “A man falls in love with the operating system on his computer” – –  An Academy Award winning premise, if I’ve ever heard one.  In fact, I was thinking I would write Part II,  but then decided that Hollywood can keep its futuristic, gimicky sequel starring whatever latest/greatest high-tech invention comes out next.  Prequels ARE where it’s at, Baby!  That’s right – –  I am writing the Prequel to HER.  Before there were computers, cell phones, ipads and Tivo.  I’m calling my movie, “THEM!”

Because why should YOU be monogamous with an inanimate object?

Any good screenplay starts off with great characters and some riveting plot points . . . so here we go!

PLOT

An ignored, unappreciated wife and mother, (Doris) finds the gratification she needs in her male household appliances.

CAST

The Dishwasher – an automatic, erotic, steamy sort of fellow with a very dry sense of humor. Our housewife is immediately smitten by the strength of his (stainless steel!) hard exterior and his commitment to energy saving efficiency.  His hidden Touchpad Controls only add to his mystery, not to mention he’s completely silent when he gets turned on. An added bonus – – he once told Doris that dishpan hands can be very sexy.  “You’re soaking in it~Palmolive” . . .  Mmmm, she could really come clean with him!

The Toaster Oven – – This space-saving appliance is far more convectional than that conventional, crusty old oven. Surely a relationship with him would heat-up consistently and evenly, plus he’d always remember her personal setting preferences. This could be the best thing since sliced bread.  Besides Doris knows which side her toast gets buttered on!

The Crock Pot – – So deliciously slow and steady – –  love could really simmer into a frenzied, bubbling boil with someone like this.  And he accomplishes so much while she sleeps or goes to the office.  My god, who could ever find another man like this?!  And his 2 qts are just as effective as other 8 qts, proving to Doris once and for all that size truly does not matter.  The only thing that’s kinda worrisome is how he once stewed in his own juices when she ignored him for a few nights.  Can he get over that and move on? She could always utilize his temperature probe to ask these probing questions later.  And if he can’t?  Well, Doris thinks that’s just a crock of… Sh#t!

See Doris' Purse.  But where's Doris?  Could be in (with) the bathtub?!!

See Doris’ Purse. But where’s Doris? Could she be in (with) the bathtub?!!

The Microwave – – A lover to turn Doris Inside-Out!  Such an explosive and fiery personality, but she must try to remember his pet-peeve about aluminum foil.  Talk about sparks flying!  And the things they share in common; oh my, it’s endless – – popcorn, pizza, baked potatoes; never eating frozen dinners alone again!  Yes, he knows every single one of her hot buttons and never hesitates to push them.

The Blender – – Ah, what a smooth-talking, masterful, machine man. But get him agitated, and he’ll cut you like a knife. There’s just no mincing words about the complexity of this guy’s features.  He makes quick work of their relationship, getting to the heart of the matter, (especially with artichokes) but he never truly peels the layers of her psyche slowly (like an onion) in that gentle way she craves.  Besides he so often mixes her up, crushing her hopes, and reducing her to an emotional puree – – she already knows she must let go of her whipping fantasies with him.

The vacuum cleaner – What can you say?  Theirs is a push/pull type of relationship.  As a lover, he totally sucks.  And she can’t stand what he does to her bare, hardwood floors. Yet Doris is completely drawn in by his proud, upright posture and some of his maneuvers in the bedroom just can’t be beat.  Oh dear, “beat” makes her yearn for that Blender again.  But just look at the shape of this guy’s can-ister!

The Freezer – – He’s completely off limits.  He once had the nerve to call her, “Frigid.”

The Ceiling Fan – –  A spinning, dizzying type of love.  Doris thinks he’s the best thing for occasional hot flashes.  But like the freezer, he sometimes chills her to the bone.  A cooling off period is probably best for both.

The Clock Radio – – Once upon a time, they made time stand still together.  Such a good time, tuning his stations, cranking up the volume of their love.  Time was of the essence and time flew when they were having fun. But suddenly time stopped.  And then time passed her by.  Because there’s no time like the present.  He no longer plays their song either; just jolts her awake in the mornings with his loud vibrational snores.  What a buzz kill.   Doris actually wants to kill time. But time would tell.  And then she would have too much time on her hands.  Could they save time by having a baby together?  Would that be in the Nick of time?  Could he be Father Time?  Maybe. Because everyone knows Time heals all wounds.

 The Hussy!
The Hussy!

THE PLOT THICKENS!

A very lovely, black baby grand piano comes into the home, showcasing her musical talents. No piano legs on this broad.  She seems to hold the key (all 88 of them!) to harmony for the entire house. Doris is insanely jealous because whenever she plays “Just Whistle while you work,” all the other appliances seem to hum along just fine without her.

That’s when Doris makes a very efficient decision. She quickly writes all the males in the house a note with the mechanical pencil she’d grown fond of.  The men find their “Dear John” letters sitting on the toilet.  The fireplace instantly goes up in smoke over his old flame’s absence, while the Smoke Detector is alarmed at the speed of her departure.  The Coffee Maker thinks it could be grounds for divorce. But it had to happen.  Even the Front Door knows this is an open and shut case, though he still feels a bit unhinged as she slams past him.

THE CLIMAX  

Doris drives off with her husband’s best Car.  He was her back-up plan all along because she knows he’ll steer her toward happiness, while revving both their motors.  They are both so driven towards success, that one big brake is all it takes to make the new movie, “THEM” a Mega Hit (and run).  Just ask Doris, she auto know!

FOOTNOTES:  No Kitchen equipment or devices will be harmed during rehearsals, as the director is a member of the “Appliance Compliance Alliance.”  Please also note that filming for this movie broke down when the Production Studio forgot to pay their Gas and Electric bills, thus necessitating all the actors to go on strike, except for the Piano.  We promise this movie will be repaired  coming soon – – so Look for it in a theater or drive-in near you!

The Write Way To Die.

I killed someone today.  And nobody will ever even know.  Well, just one person, but she won’t tell.  Let me see if I am brave enough to recount it for you.

Mean Girl:  You’re going to turn fifty in two weeks and you think NOW, all of a sudden out of the blue, you can try to make something of yourself with writing?

Me:  It’s not totally out of the blue.  I’ve tried my hand at writing before, you know.  But something always roadblocked me.

Mean Girl:  Something?  Typical.  Gotta have that scapegoat, doncha?

Me:   Well I know it seems like an excuse, but there were kids and divorces and deaths in the family and health issues – – mental health issues you know.  Can you keep that part to yourself, please?

Mean Girl: Hah!  Your children are so easy, it’s not even funny. What do you know of kiddy turmoil?  Good grades, no drinking, no drugs, nothing! And you were a stay-at-home mom, for God’s sake.

Me:  But there’s six.

Mean Girl:  Boo hoo – – try being a working mom AND raising kids.  Try being a widowed wife, working mom AND raising kids.  Try being a widowed wife, working mom, raising kids AND being diagnosed with breast cancer.  Try being…

Me:  I get it.  I see what you mean.  But don’t forget the mental health issues.  Those were hard.

Mean Girl:  Ohhh, right.  All that silly depression.  And your lovely, (most entertaining) thoughts of suicide.

Me:  There is such thing as a mid-life crisis, you know.  It’s legit.

Mean Girl:  You’re just fat, lazy, stupid, and dumb.

Me:  Stupid and dumb = same thing.

Mean Girl:   Google it, you idiot.  The fact that you don’t know the difference just proves how stupid you actually are.  Besides, that part needed emphasis.

Me:  You’re right.

Mean Girl:  Yep, reach for those chocolate chip cookies right about now.  Time to get even fatter.

Me:  I’m not.  I’m going to write instead.

Mean Girl:  Cough, cough.  Oh….My mistake.  I meant that jar of peanut butter.  And when you say “you’re going to write,” you’re using the term loosely.

Me:  That’s really unfair.  Certain people do enjoy my kind of writing.  My humor is . . .

Mean Girl:  So redundantly boring.  Insipid wordplay, cutsey-cheesy-corny titles, unrealistic, inane plots, ridiculous top-ten lists.  But it doesn’t even matter.  Who reads blogs anyhow?  It’s a totally moot point.

Me:  Well, I do have a few more followers these days.

Mean Girl:  Will wonders never cease?!  You know what? Just shove ten cookies in your mouth and call it a day.  Tomorrow you can start fresh.

Me:  Yeah, okay.  I bought some Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies – – they were for the kids.

Mean Girl:  LOL.  Seriously ?  And you’re fooling whom with that “it’s for the kids” crap?  I know.  They know.  We all know.  So eat them, already.

Me:  I could try taking a risk with my writing, blog about something different than my typical humor. Something meaningful to me in a more serious light?

Mean Girl:  I don’t think so, babe.  Even if you dared – – you’ve still got that old-age thing going on.  When are ya gonna do something about that?

Me:  What can I do about it?  Cosmetic surgery?

Mean Girl:  Nah, you’re way beyond that.  But here’s an idea that would kill two birds – – pun intended.  (I know how you love them puns.)  Kill yourself.  And then maybe, if you get lucky, some well-meaning friend or relative will talk up your writing and some of it will get more known, given higher regard. You know the whole “Unrecognized artists who only become famous after their tragic death” thing.  Google it.  It’s real, not an urban legend.

Me:  Yeah?

Mean Girl:  Yeah.  Sound good?  Or too chicken to even go that route?

Me:  Shut up.

Mean Girl:  Come again?  What’d you say?

Me:  Shut up.  Shut the hell up.

Mean Girl:  Oh, it’s getting interesting now.  A  big-talking loser.

Me:   You’re the loser.  What are you, like 15 years old?  Like the Mean Girl from middle school.

Mean Girl:  I WAS born in middle school.  Good job.

Me:  Born at age 15 – – thirty-five years is a long enough life for you.

Mean Girl:  Ya think?

Me:  Die.  Die, bitch.

Mean Girl:  You’re the one who feeds me.  You’ll have to starve me.

Me:  That’s too slow. I’ll put my hand over your stupid ass voice right now and squeeze the life outa you.

Mean Girl:  Yeah. Suffocation. Works every time.  If you have the guts.

Me:  Guts?  I hate your fucking guts. There’s no use for you around here anymore. You. Are. Dead.

Mean Girl:

Me:  There.  How was that?  That okay?

Therapist:  Well done,  Stephanie.  Well done.  It was self-defense.

Note:  This was an atypical posting for me.  My blog is humor based  (with an occasional anchoring of seriousness) so if you need a laugh after this, please see my most recent posting – – about the Academy Award nominated movie, “Her.”  Just click  HERE

7 Things Guys Don’t Notice, But Should. Now with some extra (older!) female input!

Disclaimer:  I simply could not resist co-blogging with this man! He probably doesn’t even know I exist, let alone that I impulsively joined forces with him, adding my own tongue-in-cheek commentary to his profound, serious advice.  I think we’re a good blog team, no? So here’s a very good-natured post from Mr. James Michael Sama, (a highly intuitive, renowned writer on dating, relationships, motivation and success) and here I am – – adding my (older)  female point-of-view.  Original post here.   If you don’t already do so, Please follow his blog.  His original text is in black  font below, while my older (see how wrinkled and exhausted my words are!?)  womanly input appears in red.

Take it away, Mr. Sama . . .

I know, man, you’re not really into the whole “prim and proper” thing. Your girlfriend enjoys fashion and dresses nicely but all you think the red bottoms on her shoes mean is that she walked through some wet paint.  Actually more like we walked through some wet blood, (yours?) after you inferred it was just some red paint on our $1500 Louboutin shoes!

Not every guy has an appreciation for style or fashion, but what they should have, is an appreciation for their woman, her interests, and the efforts she puts forth. No truer words! If you pay just a little more attention, it will show her that you care enough to notice the small things.  But what’s important is WHY you are paying us the attention.  If you have to be instructed to do it by some smart, hot hunk named James Micahel Sama, (who writes great blogs!) well – – we’re gonna wish that we could pay HIM some attention.  It always comes down to the motivation, guys.

Given that fashion and style are the primary topics of this article, here are 7 details to get you started. Image

Her makeup probably matches something. Her makeup matches her mood when she woke up that morning and put it on. Do you see the “I’m ready to take on the world,” mascara?  No? Neither do I.  How about the “It’s Too Damn Early for Rosy Cheeks” shade of blush?  There ya go!

 However, if the sun is about to set and she’s reapplied some makeup (gentlemen, don’t expect both this AND dinner too!) then all that goop will now match the emotions she’s hoping to elicit from you during your night together.  Is she looking sweet and innocent? (soft, muted pastel tones)  Probably not the night to try tying each other to the bedposts.  Stick to hugging, cuddling and baking cookies.  (Let her lick the bowl with those childlike eyes.  Well, give her a spoon, actually.)   Look closely (not too closely!) – – is there a bold lip-color or well-defined brow going on?  She means business and wants to be taken seriously.   Let her sell you some real estate or stocks and bonds.  Make-up smeared, with haphazard application of smoky shadows?  She wants you thinking about just HOW she got that disheveled look…tumbling luxuriously between the sheets like a vixen, no doubt. Or could it be thanklessly toiling over the toilets, scrubbing floors only to have them thoughtlessly re-footprinted by the people that make her life a living H$%*. . . oops, wrong blog!

If you guys are going out to dinner and she’s wearing, say, gold accessories – it’s likely that her eyeshadow or tint of her makeup will be some version of gold(ish) as well. Or this could be your very first tip-off that she’s a Gold Digger and you’re about to become her King Midas.  Careful with the “Golden” themed girls, Men. There will probably be some correlation between the color(s) she chooses and the rest of her outfit. Which will be especially interesting for you in public if she’s wearing polka dots, stripes or animal prints that particular night. 

Since she is clearly putting effort into this, it’s a nice thing to notice and compliment her on to let her know you’re paying attention. Actually most of her effort in putting on makeup is so you will NOT notice it at all. Especially the “older woman trying to age gracefully.”  Please don’t remark that she did an awesome job covering those crows feet and furrows. Or, “Ya know something? You don’t look nearly as haggard tonight. Send my regards to Maybelline!”  Only point out the sheer, radiant beauty of HER essence shining through.  I know, I know – – Could anything make less sense?  We women enjoy diligently putting something on our faces (and taking our sweet time doing it) so that it will disappear, like we aren’t wearing a stitch of makeup at all.  Just sayin’ – – complimenting her actual makeup could go over just as well as remarking, “Stunning Girdle you’re stuffed into tonight, Babe.”

Bonus: Her eye makeup is probably applied in order to bring out her eyes and make them pop. Notice.  Yes, try saying this to her  – – “Love how much your eyes pop tonight, Gorgeous.  Kinda makes me crave Rice Krispy cereal – – snap, crackle . . . POP!”  Utter these few words and she’ll be all over you in minutes.  Emphasis on “all over.”

She got a new purse (and it matches her shoes).

Her purse, or clutch, will always match her shoes. Sometimes her purse will match your wallet. This is a subtle, subliminal suggestion on her part that your finances should become “One.”  What’s yours is hers and what’s hers is also still hers.  Nifty, huh?  Now, match doesn’t always mean blue and blue, it could mean they correlate somehow or share a certain print, pattern, or the like. Use your visual memory and at least ask if something is new if you don’t think you’ve seen it before (make sure though, because if you have seen it, she’ll know you didn’t notice). Ah, ah, ah – – tread lightly here!  If you ask her if something is new and not only have you forgotten that you’ve seen it before, but you are also the one who picked it out for last year’s anniversary present – – you won’t stand a chance.  Another caution:  If we’re asked if something is new, our guard automatically goes up because we sense the next question will be, “How much did it cost?”  Therefore, everything we wear will be, (without fail) some old hand-me down rag from our sister.  Even if we don’t have a sister.

Keeping in mind that the purse will go with the shoes, it’s usually a safe bet for a compliment when she’s dressed up.  But watch for those tricky girls who carry a purse that’s shaped like a shoe.  They’re just waiting to “trip you up” in the compliment game.   You might try saying something like, “Wow – – looks you have three left feet tonight, doncha Honeybunch?” Put your own running shoes on right before you say that.

Image

She got a haircut. 

Sometimes a girl will just need an inch off the bottom or a trim to clean up her hair, it might not be too noticeable but usually it’s not too difficult to tell if a woman is fresh out of the salon.  Sobbing over how the stylist didn’t listen to her is usually a big tip-off.  I’d actually steer clear from this topic. Similar category as make-up.  Just tell her she is beautiful and be done with it.  Note the wording in that sentence.  She doesn’t “look” beautiful. She IS beautiful.  Keep stressing that it’s her inside loveliness you are drawn to.  You don’t have to be able to pinpoint the exact change, but asking if she changed her hair leads you into one of two situations:

1, no I didn’t. Your response: Oh, well, it looks really nice today/tonight.  Hopefully you can say, “it looks really nice this morning,” because you’ve been with her overnight?

2: yes I did. Your response: Mental victory dance.  Followed by, “And how much did THAT cost?” if she was foolish enough to admit to anything more than going to a Supercuts chain store.

Her mood is off.

Man, this one isn’t so small, is it?!   This one is sooooo NOT small that it probably should have been listed first.  Actually it should have been his title.  That’s it, men!  Write a post called, “Her Mood is Off” (Subtitle:  And Now MY World Has Gone to Hell in a Hand Basket!)  The majority of communication is not verbal, and while this goes for all aspects of life it’s especially true when you’re in a relationship. The adage “it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it” (or how she growls it) comes to mind, and guys should pay attention more to how a woman is acting rather than what she’s saying.  That is correct.  You must become highly proficient at the game known as “Charades.”  Although, chances are she won’t give you overt clues like holding her finger up for the 1st  word, (well maybe just one certain finger!) and announcing to you the # of syllables in her emotions.  Nor will she pantomime the universal sign for, “It’s a Movie Title, Stupid.”  But if it WERE a movie title, it would be, “It’s Complicated!”  You’re just supposed to automatically know that she was earlier insulted by a catty female coworker, her stocking has a run in it, and if you touch her anywhere near her mid-section after she thinks she ate too many mashed potatoes (don’t you see that yellow police Caution tape “Crime Scene:  Do Not Cross!” strategically placed above her knees and below her chin??) the entire night will be romantically shot and killed. And you, Kind Sir — YOU will be the alleged culprit.

Often times she’s not going to tell you something is wrong or that she wants to be comforted – but you should pay enough attention to be able to tell.  You can’t really ever go wrong with “comforting” her.  Study the many forms this can take!  Consider putting See’s Candy or Godiva Chocolates on autodial.  You never truly know a woman until you understand the things she’s not saying to you. Ah, the underlying theme, premise and moral of this entire post!  Presumably if you’re on this blog, you’re an avid reader?  Well just look upon your woman as a favorite and most cherished book – – (and hopefully a Best Seller) knowing that there’s much more to her than meets the eye, and you MUST learn to read between the lines in order to stay on the same page.

She got her nails did.  (Well now, that’s pretty darn cute what he just did there with the wordplay.  Females, (especially female writers) adore wordplay!  Try it out.  He pretty much just “nailed it” for me with that one right there. I could care less what he says about my polish now. But let’s just see, shall we? – –

This one is easy. Were her nails chipping last week but now they’re fresh, smooth, and a different color? Notice – and say something about it.  (Don’t search for matchiness here!  It’s really whatever the manicurist flaunted as the latest and the greatest. Women do their nails for other women’s entertainment. ) She spent time and money (and it wasn’t Your money.  It was Ours. Remember?) freshening herself up (I’m loving the “freshening up” verb here.  Be careful with it.  It implies she was quite stale prior.  Rotting, even.)   and it should be recognized and appreciated.  Recognition and appreciation runs both ways.  She should know this already.  If she doesn’t, don’t hesitate to get yourself another gal, no matter how well matched her accessories are – –  Her heart needs to match her brain.

Image

She’s wearing a different perfume.  (I am not sure how the above graphic depicts wearing a specific fragrance, but perhaps soon the internet will feature “Scratch n’ Smell” photos and you can take a real life whiff of the lovely female pictured above, clad in her achingly too short dress.  Still thinking of perfume, guys?  I doubt it.)

Studies show that smell is actually one of the most retained things in our memories.  This is true. It can probably go back to pre-birth, but rarely should you tell a woman she smells like amniotic fluid.  Anyone who catches a whiff of a certain scent and is instantly reminded of an ex boyfriend or girlfriend is aware of this. If you “sense” something is new, mention it to her.   Make sure she hasn’t just been cleaning or cooking. (we’re in a never-ending state of either activity – after all, right?  Of course right!) but if it’s the latter, you have just found your next gem of a compliment.  Actually, nevermind.  “Being this close to you and inhaling deeply, I just know the roast chicken with dumplings will be delicious,” is something that will flatter no woman, Ever.

She looks beautiful when she wakes up. If this is a new relationship, you would do best to feign sleep (soundly) for two extra hours, giving her the chance to hit the gym, shower, shampoo, (rinse and repeat) blow-dry, curl lashes, reapply negligee and climb seductively back between the sheets with that “just awakened” look; as you greet her with “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” of course. That’s the way to get “a little early morning somethin’-somethin’.”

Sometimes, early on in a relationship, a woman won’t even let a man see her without makeup for fear of (for lack of a better term) “ruining the illusion.” Written on your woman’s mirror  (in lipstick) is the proverb, “He who shatters the illusion, will pick up the pieces Forever!”  No it’s not, but wouldn’t that be a good fortune cookie from Confucious?  The truth is, women often look beautiful when they wake up, even when they don’t think so themselves.  Again, This is one GREAT guy writing this blog! There is a serene, angelic innocence to those first few moments of the day and the fact that she’s not wearing any makeup has nothing to do with it. Oy!  Just learn from this man, ok? He melts me.

Make sure the woman you wake up next to knows that rolling over and seeing her face, puts a smile on yours.  I have nothing to add to these genius words. 

The small things that you do and notice in a relationship are often the things that matter most, because they show you’re willing to put effort in and pay attention, just because. There is no expected reason or special occasion, but just because you care.   Who cares if this came from Hallmark originally? (but I’m sure it didn’t.)  Let this sink into your core.

And coming up – – the perfect way for him to end his blog.  I won’t mar it with any of my comments and/or playful sarcasm (or scarcasm!) afterwards.  I want James Michael Sama’s wise words to be the last we read.  But more than anything, I want to retain this profundity in my memory banks, forever.  After all, it’s vastly more important than how my perfume smells.

Notice the small things, because someday you will look back and realize that they were the big things. 

Real Solutions? First We Need the Real Problems!

This weekend I was putting about 8 lbs of unnecessary junk mail I regularly receive (not online, but in my real life mailbox) into the trash (I know I should recycle that stuff but I keep thinking, “what can they possibly remake out of 83 notices from my homeowner’s association saying that I do not recycle properly?”) when I noticed an interesting catalogue. I won’t say what it’s called so I can’t get sued, but it has the word “Solutions” in the name and then no other words. Their tag line is “Products that make life easier.”

The first thing I noticed about this catalogue is that my backyard/garden (basically the area where I kill baby cherry tomatoes) must be having a very difficult time of it. For instance, the suffering would be greatly reduced if I were to order, “A Glass Bird that Waters my Plants for Me.” What a thoughtful little critter! (as pictured below)

photo-204And speaking of birds, the hummingbirds in my neighborhood are being overflown and therefore utterly exhausted, so I really ought to be offering them a “Hummingbird Perch/Swing” (pictured below) to rest their weary wings.  Yes!  That’s why I need this perch, or (come to think of it) it could be because they need to be enticed back into the vicinity after taking one look at the “Glass Bird” (above) and squawking out a warning to one another, “Stay the f**k away from that woman’s yard.  Do you see what she does to us?  It’s like the Tin-Man of Hummingbirds.”

photo-205Once all the hummingbirds reflock to my grounds because of the ample seating (since I will now provide Flapaloungers – – hey, it’s only right,  Barcaloungers are for dogs, right?)  I must now purchase an “Ant Moat,” (pictured below) but one shaped like an umbrella. (Description:  As ants head for the hummingbirds’ food, they become trapped in the moat and never make it to the nectar in the hummingbird feeder!)  Wait, what is this?? The perches weren’t enough – I have to feed hummingbirds as well?photo-206
Meanwhile Fruit Flies (in YOUR garden, not mine as I have zero fruit) have gradually increased their intelligence so much so, that now we need to trick their pesky little brains into thinking a trap disguised as a mushroom won’t hurt them. When my daughter takes her SAT’s this spring, I am going to ask what some of her Fruit Fly friend’s scores were as a means of comparison.photo-207

There’s also a “Mosquito Manager” which is a blanket treated with a proprietary formula that repels those itchy blood suckers PLUS fleas and ticks as well. Oh!  And a “Runaway Rodent!” (not a sadistic sequel to the children’s book, “Runaway Bunny” I promise!) which plugs into any outdoor outlet and emits a soundwave that gives Rats the idea your yard would be undesirable. Fortunately it speaks nicely to hamsters and gerbils so they won’t be offended. Beware!  Batch 2027cx  is being recalled.  It seems some practical joker engineer (some DO have a sense of humor) wired the contraption so that after shooing the rodents from the yard, it invites them into the kitchen for a spot of tea.

But as you may have noticed,  I’m not going to show you those silly products in photos because I am far too eager to show you the one product that will render all these other gizmos and gadgets completely useless, allowing you to gather them all up for your next garage sale.  Ready?photo-208I’ve made it a thumb-sized photo so I don’t disturb my Dear Readers with it’s girth, but as you can plainly see, it’s none other than “A Sasquach” lovingly crafted as a life-size garden sculpture!!  Guaranteed to scare any and all the wildlife (mentioned above) away forever.

Will even control the wild neighborhood children population; plus their parents will thank you for brand new, creative nightmares.  “Monsters under your bed was getting really trite, Susie.  But Big Foot in Stephanie’s (our menopausal neighbor’s) garden?  Now that’s something for me to blog about!”

I can’t end here on a scary, negative note, so let me introduce two adorable things that will also solve some yard issues for you.

“A Frilly Green Sleeve” for days when your hose feels like a Plane Jane photo-209(Far Right)

photo-210And “A Garden Notepad” (pictured at left) because this is the first place my children look when they come home from school for instructions from me.  Sometimes I tell them to grab a quick n’ easy snack of roses or dandelions; other times I ask them to please do their homework on the fallen plank of our fence.

Once in a blue moon, I will scribble a note for my lover to head around back to see how provocatively my hosed is dressed today.

But ultimately, you’re gonna have to swallow your pride and order this last item in the catalogue, because it only makes sense.  Wait for it – – photo-211“A Fake Ivy Fence!” With all the comings and goings, repellings and lurings, love notes and seductive hoses – –  any conscientious, good neighbor will want to conceal their Nature Scenic Soap Opera from other homeowners.  After all, getting a warning in the mail about improper recycling is nothing compared to being reported for “Lunatic Landscaping.”

So fess up (please?) in the comments section and tell me what the most inane gimmick was that you succumbed to.  Did you immediately regret it?

Be a Nice Blogger – – Don’t Spread Blumors!

Have you heard the latest Blossip?  There’s a certain Bleached Blonde Blogger who posts photo-200her black bleather blurbs shorter than mid-bligh and you can almost see her blotch!

In some ways, the blogging world is no different from the real one. There’s an “Online Grapevine,” where often in the blink of a blye, you can be blogsided by a big Bloggermouth;  your Blog blackened, blemished,  bloglisted or even blogcotted forever.

Exactly Like This . . .

Blanche:  Remember “Blaine, the Blunt Blogger Bloke?”

Blaire:  Yeah?  What about him?

Blanche:  Well Blumor has it that he blirted with “Blossom, the Blushing Bridal Blogger” after she got herself a bloob-job and then on their very first draft, she gave him a blog-job.

Blaire:  The Blussy!

Blanche:  They’ve since blended their blogs, trying hard to get blognant.  Finally the Bloctor prescribed blertility drugs and she got blocked-up with Bliplets.

Blaire:  No!

Blanche:  And Blythe, the Bluebonnet Blogstress who does fashion?

Blaire:  Yes?

Blanche:  Was seen blogging in a blazer blouse from Bloomingdales that made her look bloated!

Blaire:  Does she think her followers are blind?

Blanche:  It’s a blunder she doesn’t lose them all!

In order to prevent Blumors and Blossip from spreading, a Blogger must first be able to decipher what’s being said about himself or a Beloved Blogger Buddy/Brother.  Alas, rest easy my Dear Reader  – –  for I have taken it upon myself to become your very own personal Blogger Bleacher (Teacher) and will now offer a Translation to Today’s Blogging Blanguage.

Presenting:  The Totally Incomplete (check back as more will be added) Guide To Blogger Blingo!

Clogger Blogger– – A Dutch dancer who writes a blog.

Blogtose Intolerant – –  A person afflicted with this terrible probloglem gets cramps if they even come within 5 ft of  WordPress.com. Closely related to Irritable Blog Syndrome.

Hitnosis – – Going into a mesmerizing trance as you refresh your Stats page 85 times.

Blogdrop – – To keep mentioning a certain blog that has been numerously Freshly Pressed because it brings one clout.

Everlasting BlogStopper – – Willy Wonka’s new gumball sized candy that Mr. Blogworth tries to steal.

Boogie Woogie Bugle Blogger – – One who types to the rhythm of World War II music.photo-201

Sprog – – A blog that originates in the warmish season following Winter.

Blawkward – – That moment when you hype your blog to someone and you realize they could care less as they overtly Blawn (yawn) in your face.

You Ain’t Nothing But a HoundBlog – – Tune someone sings when a Blogger incessantly sends a “friend” a link to their latest post, after that friend has changed their email address. Twice.

Blaless – – A woman who runs a bare-breasted blog.

A Pot Roast/Post – – Bloggers gather at a banquet to poke fun (often good-naturedly) at both a man’s blog and his wife’s cooking.

A Bleeper Blooper Blanker Blogger – – One who blogs using profanity or frequently substitutes symbols &*%$ so the reader must constantly fill in the blanks.

Bloco – – Means “A crazy Blogger” in Mexico.  But in the U.S., you can order chicken at a fast food place called  “El Blollo Bloco.”

A Past Post Pest – – Someone who keeps “replaying” their older posts again and again, so that each new Follower will read them.

A Blogan – – An advertising bloy (ploy) to blure (lure)  someone to their blog.  Read more about Blogans (Blogs + Slogans) as well as blog-branding, when you click HERE. 

The Father, Son & the Holy Post – – When Daddy & Me time at the computer takes on a religious tone.

A Snotty-Blotty or a Blog-Snob – – One who is hoity-toity and disables their comments to the public, only letting their BBF’s (Best Blends Forever) (who’ve known them since childhood) leave seriously snooty remarks.

Bladder Blogging – – That gross act of multi-tasking when a blogger posts from his bathroom.

Blimp – – This happens to a man’s fingers when he tries to blog in front of a woman he’s just met.photo-203

I hope this Blargon helps you navigate through the Blumor Mill.  But just like in the real world, please use the information you read here for purposes of Good (to put an end to the Blossip)  If you plan on being Bleaky (Sneaky) and using this Blocab (vocab) for ill-will, then leave me a comment and I will make sure to pass it on that you are the “Biggest BusyBody Blogger” this side of the Blississippi.

Overheard Conversations With NON-Bloggers

photo-149Any of this sound familiar?

Neighbor:  I don’t read blogs.  Why don’t you just Turn Your Blog Into A Real Book or something?

Me:  What’s wrong with reading a blog?  It’s free.  It’s entertaining. It’s easy and it’s short and sweet.

Neighbor:  Oh you know.  Well, you know.  So what do you hope to get out of this little obsession of yours, anyhow?

Me:  It’s gratifying to express myself, the humor is cathartic for me.  Oh, and I’m bringing peace in the middle East.

Neighbor:  Why don’t you actually go out in the real world and do the things you waste your time blogging about?

Me:  Excuse me, can you turn down the volume of your “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” – – I couldn’t quite catch that last question.

Neighbor:  Right.  Well you know what they say – –  “Those that can – – do.  And those that can’t . . . Blog.”  To each his own.  But how can someone possibly make any money doing this Blah Blah Blah-gging stuff?

Me:  Several ways.  If you get enough people reading, then advertisers will want to be on your blog.  Also if you want to publish a book then…

Neighbor:  Fantastic.   So when are you gonna Co-Star on someone else’s website.  Like going on the Oprah or Ellen show!

Me:  You mean Guest Blog?

Neighbor: Oh, you’re probably not good enough for that.  I heard you could get sued or in big trouble with blogging if you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.  Or you put your foot in your mouth? Couldn’t you?

Me:  Yep,  “YOU”  sure could.

Mother Knows Best (About Blobs & Such)

Mother:  We sent you to college for THIS?

Me:  Got my B.B. degree (Bachelor’s in Blogging)

Mother:   Isn’t Blogging just a fad, like Hula Hoops, Mood Rings, and Sex?photo-197

Me:  Yeah, that’s right.  Just like that silly old Sex trend,  Ma.  Lots of Hits = Multiple Blogasms.

Mother:  (Blushing) Well last night I tried to read some of your recent Pillars and Poles – –  and I just didn’t get what they were about.

Me:  Pillars and Poles?  Oh my Posts.  Well, thank you for reading.  Maybe you could even leave a comment.

Mother:  Me?  Oh,  I wouldn’t have anything to say.  That’s Your thing, Dear.  Well, I guess I could leave a little remark about how you hardly spit-up, walked at 10 months,  and by 2 years old  had a vocabulary of 1,850 words.  We knew right then you’d grow up to be a great, big, successful Blabber.

Me:  Blogger, Ma. Blogger.  And you’re not filling out my Baby Book.  Just leave a simple comment that you like my writing.

Mother:  Oh….I see.  You want me to lie.

The Not So Sweet Sixteen

Daughter:  Who gave you the idea that you could have a humor blog?  You’re not ever funny around the house.  Well, only when you trip over things and that one time you shrunk the living room carpet down to a bath mat.

Me:  Yeah, that was hilarious. And now when anyone takes a shower, I have to tell them not to drip water on my good oriental rug.

Daughter:  Why don’t you blog about recipes or crafts like other normal mothers?

Me:  Because I can’t cook or glue things.

Daughter:  True.  But it’s major awkward that you blog about all the disrespectful stuff I say and the bad grades I get.

Me:  You could just be polite and study.

Daughter:  See?  You’re sooo not funny.  And I’m 16.  When are you going to teach me how to drive already?

Me:  The next time I get Writer’s Block and need some new material.

Daughter:  It’s always about you, isn’t it?   You’re like some kind of Attention Hogger Bragger Blogger.

Me:  You know something, young Lady?  I poured my whole life into you children and…

Daughter:  I know, I know – – there’s a law firm crying at this very moment over their grave loss in court because you gave birth instead.

Me:  So smug.  I COULD have become a lawyer.  But I wasn’t going to say that.  I was going to say that in order to be a better mother to all of you, I have to help myself be happy first.

Daughter:  You get so much mileage out of that “Airplane Oxygen Mask” thing, don’t you?

And The Male Non-Bloggers Are The Most Fun!

Husband:  So daily blogging is the one New Year’s resolution you’re finally able to keep?

Me:  Shhhh, can I just format this last paragraph and add a title and then I’ll listen to you.

Husband:  When can you stop typing and make dinner?

Me:  Don’t you have other thoughts besides food?

Husband:  When can you stop typing and make love?

Me:  Didn’t you hear that Sex went out with Pokemon?photo-198

Husband:  Can’t you at least blog about Victoria’s Secret and review lace push-up bras or something?

Me:  This blog is not about things of the flesh.  I have better things to write about than breasts.

Husband:  Right.  And you didn’t just recently dedicate a whole entire post to your own set of boobs.  ???

Me:  That was different.  But Aha!  So you have been reading my blog?

Husband:  Who do you think left the comment asking what the record for largest cup size is?

Me:  Okay, okay, I’ll come to bed if you let me blog about what’s about to take place there first.  You can check it for accuracy and errors, I promise.

Husbad:  I think I actually just found a typo.  To the left here, in the blue font – –  you accidentally spelled Husband  with the word “bad” on the end.  Unless that’s some sort of commentary on my bedroom skills?

Me:  Yeah, that was intentional.  But let’s have some more of your spell-checking, Honey.  Keep it up.  Let’s see how long you can go for.

Husbad:  Man, talk about  your “Proofreading Anxiety!  Never mind – – WordPress can have you for the night!! (looks down sheepishly)  I’ve already got “Correctile Dysfunction.”

Does anyone in your life really, truly “Get” your Blog??  Who is the least understanding of your blogging world?   Leave me your comments below.

Don’t Change That Channel-er !

photo-192I finally broke down and did it.  I made an appointment with a Chaneller.  Not someone who expands the variety of stations on your cable TV set,  but rather a psychic medium who tunes into “the Other Side.”  I don’t normally believe in this New Age, metaphysical, transcendental stuff, (and definitely don’t believe in ghosts) but my friend Tiffany, (one of these people obsessed with life after death)  thinks I need a new blogging topic (all my friends somehow think I’ve run dry) and took the liberty of arranging a session for free.

She further claims that this Channeler is completely legit and highly renowned in the industry – –  (btw, it’s not a very large industry, just a “Medium” one.  Yeah, I know….Sorry!  But haven’t you read that, “He who blogs after midnight is entitled to tell one bad joke.”)

Doesn't everyone get a fortune like this?

Doesn’t everyone get a fortune like this?

And get this – – the Channeler’s name is Paul Pulseman and his tagline is, “Mr. Pulseman has his Pulse on the Pulseless.”  How’s that for some good Medium Marketing?

Basically I’m supposed to focus on someone that I have unfinished business with because (Tiffany promises) I will supposedly get some much needed closure.  I’m giving some thought on whom this should be.

Meanwhile, Mr. Pulseman emails me to confirm my appointment and advises me to do the following:  Each day I should find a quiet space, close my eyes, and silently issue an invitation for the people that I want to make contact with to come into our upcoming session.  I must specify the date and the exact time – – like these Souls have calendars and booked-up social lives??

Hmmmm, Let’s see – – how many people should you put on the guest list when you’re throwing a Closure Party?  More importantly, what happens if someone has already been reincarnated? Do you get their voice-mail?

Still highly skeptical, I decide to go forward and make it my personal mission to speak to someone I never did have the chance to say goodbye to – – a husband who recently departed.  Oops, I just knew I would make a psychic mistake right off the bat.  The correct term is, “Crossed Over,” according to the terminology section on Mr. Pulseman’s website.  Anyhow, picking a husband will surely prove, once and for all to Tiffany that Paul Pulseman is a fraud, which is one of my main goals.

Today is the sitting and I’m worried how to dress.  Can a loved one who has “Crossed Over”  look back and see things thru a Channeler’s eyes?  (Maybe those who have Crossed Over prefer Cross Dressers?)  One thing’s for sure – -I had better not wear that low-cut purple blouse since women who “dress to kill” really disturbed this particular husband.

Next I get a terrific idea. . .  I’ll  bring my newly published novel, so I can show off to The Other Side, what I’ve been doing on This Side  – –  with just a little bit of oxygen and a computer!

This is absurd, I chide myself.  Nobody will be talking to me today.  Except maybe “the great” Mr. Paul Pulseman.

It turns out Mr. Pulseman is laden with tattoos and quite short in stature. As I stand on my three inch heels, I am almost as tall as he is. He also has wavy hair, nearly as long as mine. And when he speaks, it is barely above a whisper while he offers me a limp handshake. This is good because this hubby was a real macho character and liked to be taller than other men and to have the firmest grip in the room.  I note the tee-shirt Mr. Pulseman wears has printed on the front, “The sky is always bluer on THE OTHER SIDE.”photo-195

First he leads me through a meditation exercise with both our eyes closed.  Or he tries to.   I keep squinting through my lids to see if Mr. Pulseman is checking to see whether I’m peeking or not.  I don’t like to be stared at when I don’t know about it.  It takes us a good five minutes to establish enough trust in each other to know that we are both keeping our eyes tightly shut.  When he counts to ten and I am finally given permission to look,  Paul Pulseman has gone into an intense trance. Or at least he knows how to give a good impression of someone who has.  Suddenly his eyes snap open and he looks wildly off to my right side.

Pulseman:  There’s someone in the room who is very male. He’s an intimidating presence and just crushed my hand with a tremendous grip and called me an F-ing Midget.

Me:  (okay, I’ll take the bait)  Hi Honey.  Well, I guess this is it.  So Long, Farewell, Adios, Goodbye!  Rest in Peace!

Pulseman:  (bellowing) That shirt makes you look like a prostitute!

Me:  Gosh thanks, Dear.  But look, I finally published the novel.  I know you’re “just dying” to read it . . . (holding cover of book toward ceiling.)

Pulseman:  If you’re gonna be an author, dress like a damn author!

Me:  You should talk. With that hair and those tattoos – – You look like some sort of Hippy Clairvoyant. Oh, wait. That’s what you’re supposed to be.”

Mr. Pulseman gingerly points one slender finger toward the ceiling to remind me that it’s not really him who utters these words. Of course it’s him.

Me:  Tell him to say something that proves his identity.

Pulseman:  He says you never used to call him Honey or Dear.  And he doesn’t have to prove a damn thing to you and you should show some respect to your elders. Oh and also . . .  get your long hair out of your face so people can see your beautiful eyes.

Me:  Respect my elders?  Wait a minute.  Aha – – You Phony Baloney!  I’m two years OLDER than this husband.  Gotcha!

Pulseman:  You’re two years older than your own father?

Wait a sec!   Hold the phone!   My Dad??  I am stunned.  My father always did nag me to get my hair cut.  I guess old habits “die hard.”   I narrow my eyes and stare Pulseman in the face, willing him to back down from this charade.  But his pupils dart spastically off to my left side.

Pulseman: (high-pitched)  I’ll bet that novel you wrote has tons of run-on sentences and ill-placed commas.  Just like your eighth grade report on Hemingway did. The one that earned you a C-.”

Me:  Mama??  You aren’t invited here today. I already made my peace with you a year after you passed away.

Pulseman:  It’s “weren’t invited,” Missy.  Still mixing up your tenses, I see.   And it’s “Crossed Over,” not passed away.”

Me: (apologetically to Pulseman) Mama was an English teacher. And a stickler.

Pulseman:  (head jerking to the right again)  Lydia! You never told me our daughter got a C- on that thing! I should ground your butt for a month, Young Lady!  Your mother went too easy on you. Letting you date That Jerk instead of insisting you study.

Pulseman: (looking up just above my head) Hey, baby. It’s “The Jerk” here.  Wow, been a long time since I’ve been on top of you. You’re still looking pretty hot. Remember when we went to third base on my motorcycle the night before I crashed into that brick wall?

My first boyfriend?!  Geeze, I wonder if my parents have ears that they can cover?

Pulseman: (gravelly Brooklyn Jewish accent)  So?  You’re wearing my good pearl earrings? You knew they were supposed to stay in the safety deposit box until you became a big shot Best Selling Author.   Doesn’t anybody bother to listen to a Grandma anymore?

Me:  Look, take it easy everyone.

Pulseman:  Quite the family you have here.  In addition to having a degree in Paranormal Psychology,  I’m a certified psychotherapist.  Why don’t I conduct a family session right now to help with some of this dysfunction you have going on.

Me: (yelling) I am NOT dysfunctional.  This is ridiculous.

Pulseman:  Don’t raise your voice to me, Missy.  Or you’ll never get my special, “Heavenly” brisket recipe that’s being held in your trust fund.

Seriously?  How hard can it be to make this ??

Seriously? How hard can it be to make this ??

Amongst a bunch of clatter and family squabbling, Paul Pulseman discreetly leans over to inform me there are now several Aunts, Uncles and Cousins quietly sitting in the back of the room, their hands neatly folded in their laps, (wearing cowboy hats and bandanas) waiting patiently for their turn to speak.  This doesn’t sound like any kind of behavior exhibited in my extended family.

Me:  Listen guys, can we just agree to disagree here?  You didn’t leave me enough inheritance to keep coming back for more sessions.

Now Mr. Pulseman eagerly reports back to me in a hushed tone, confirming that the relatives in the back are actually here for his next client, a woman from Texas. They got the time wrong and arrived early. They hate to be late.  However, he continues,  they are quite impressed with my attitude and hope their own niece will be just as good-natured.

I shoot Mr. Pulseman a look that says, “You are one Whacked-Out Psycho Dude.”

Pulseman:  Sorry about all this.  Sometimes these things happen.  What’s the name of the individual you actually came hoping to talk with today?

Me: (if he’s so intuitive, why doesn’t he know?)   It was a husband.

Pulseman: (sobbing)  Oh No Jack, our darling girl has become a Widow!

Pulseman:   Now, now, Lydia.  It was all that bacon and ham. And that good for nothing gentile never got his lazy ass off that sofa I built for them.

Me:  Stop it everyone.

Pulseman:  Will someone tell a poor old grandmother just how the husband actually passed on?

Me:  Don’t you mean “Crossed Over?”  And I stabbed him.

DEAD SILENCE.

Pulseman:  Hear that??  I told you we weren’t strict enough with her, Lydia.  Now she’s a murderer.

Me:  Will you relax and chill out?  It was the husband in my novel.  I had to kill him off; he was raping other women characters who dressed too seductively.   I just came here today to test out this “Life After Death” mumbo jumbo and prove to my friend that it’s all just a big crock.  If any real husband HAD shown up, I would have known that you were a Fake.

The room is suddenly filled with tremendous whining and complaining.  Lots of upsetting accusations flying around bemoaning (or moaning?) the fact that I don’t care enough to base my fictional characters after each of them.

I put my hand over my ears and stand up,  preparing to take my leave – – but first I wave to the Polite Relatives who are just “killing time” in the back of the office and carefully mouth the words, “You are sooooo lucky!”

As I exit out  The Other Side of Mr. Pulseman’s door and into the peace and quiet of  This Side,  I am extraordinarily grateful to be back in the Land of the Living, where life is always predictable and sane.

During the drive home my cellphone rings and I’m surprised to hear Mr. Pulseman’s voice on The Other Side of the line.

Pulseman:  How did I do?

Me:  Huh?

Pulseman:  Tiffany traded the lowdown dirt on your family for discounted sessions with me.  And in exchange, you’re going to write about me in your blog because you’ve run out of interesting subject matter. Good advertising for me and a chance to get Freshly Pressed for you.  It’s a win/win for everyone.  Kills two birds with. . .

Me: I’m gonna strangle Tiffany.

Pulseman:  That’s nice.  Come back and see me next year and I’ll arrange a visit between you two.  By the way, Pulsemann is spelled with two n’s.

You can hate me here but please “like” me on Facebook! Just click HERE

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/ghost/

How to “Blogvertise” and Create a “Blogan!” (A Slogan for your Blog)

Two all Beef Bloggers, special sauce, lettuce, cheese....

Two all Beef Bloggers, special sauce, lettuce, cheese….

In order to become a less obscure author, I was told to start a blog.  Check.  Then I was told to “Brand Myself.”  Check. Even though that conjured up images of U-shaped hot irons and cattle ranches, I did my best.  I called myself, “Little Miss Menopause.”  I titled my blog, “Once Upon Your Prime” and originated the tagline, “Live Happily Ever Laughter.”

Then the old people started to come.  Probably because of this post, “How to be a New Blogger and Not Sound Like an Old Codger.”  Which was fine.  I love old.  I am old.  But I wanted a greater variety of readers.  I added a purple feather boa.  I thought purple feathers would bring out the fashionistas, the younger women who dance with purple feather boas, and the men who like the younger women who dance with purple feather boas. Or just fans of the movie, “The Color Purple.”   Or just fans of any movie!  But nope, still old people.

Having no experience in public relations, (and before I put up my new tagline, “Menopause.  It’s what’s for dinner!”)  I decided to consult a young, pretty, hip professional marketing exec who specialized in this branding stuff.

Let’s meet “Brandy, The Bragging, Brooding, Borderline Blog Brander,” and listen in on some Brainstorming.

Brandy:  So first of all, lose the Feathers and the Purple.  You’re attracting old ostriches and Barney the Dinosaur.  Second of all, you need a different photo of yourself.

Me:  But all my photos resemble me.

Brandy:  That’s gonna be a problem.  Okay, let’s take it from the top.  You must establish positive associations with your blog.  So can you change your name to “Miss Monopoly?”  It’s got many of the same letters as Menopause but people like “Old Board Games” much more than they like “Old Bored Dames.”

Me: (ignoring)  Listen, I used to work in real estate and when we wanted to elicit lots of interest in a home, we’d hold an open house.  Bake cookies, spray cinnamon fragrance, and tell the owners to put away all the old furniture and photographs so people could envision it as their own.

Brandy:  Perfect advice.  Hide your photo.  And cookies?  Not a bad idea.  You could do a Blog giveaway.  A prize for each person that signs up to Follow you.  What do you have of value to offer?

Me:  I’m a writer – – I could offer to name a character after every person that comments on my blog.  My next topic will be the “101 Dalmations” so if I could just get  101 New Readers who like polka dots, I could name each dog after. . .

Brandy:  That’s a bit spotty.  I’m not feeling it.

Me:  Alright.  Well, when I worked in the mall, we always had coupons and specials which brought in large crowds.  I could say,  “Read one Blog, Skim the Second One in Half the Time?”  Or I could hold a “Going Out of Blogosphere” sale.  Everything must Go!  How about, “Now with Double the white space and images,” plus  “Two Scoops of Pronouns in Every Paragraph!”

Brandy:  (big sigh)  Okaaaay, that’s just Blawkward!

Me:  There’s always the old “Bait & Switch?”  That always worked in retail.  I’ll write a new post titled,  “I Came In With A Wrecking Ball,” but when readers click on it,  they’ll be automatically redirected to my real blog called, “I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up.”  That’s genius.

Brandy: That’s oblognoxious.

Me:  Oblognoxious?

Brandy:  You know.  Blogappalling.  Blogawful.  (yawn) But the Super Bowl was recently on television.  A clever commercial might just work for you.

Me:   Make my writing a product? You mean like, “Blog Cabin Syrup?”

Brandy:  Too sappy.

Me:  I’ve got it!  Maybe my blog can have familiar famous sound effects.  Like when you click on the home page, it “Snaps, crackles and pops!”  Or it fizzes and plops like Alka-Seltzer, or honks two times like Aamco.  Wait!  It could even giggle like the Pillsbury Dough Blog.

Brandy:  Girl, that really takes the Biscuit.

Me:  Okay, how about, “Just When you Thought it was safe to Read my Blog” or  “In Cyberspace, Nobody can Hear You Scream!”  Or my favorite, “If  You Blog It, They Will Read.”

Brandy:  You’re not a movie.  Keep it simple.  “Mmm, Mmm, Good,” or  “Have it Your Way.”

Me:  I’m not a bowl of soup or a burger either.  You’re not very supportive and you seem pretty useless for a Professional Brander from Brandeis University. ”

Brandy:  Well I’ve got news for you, Sistah – – you shoulda never left real estate or your salesgirl day job in the mall.  You’re Blogatrocious.

Me:  Listen, Brandy the Brander – – I don’t think you help people brand themselves at all.  I think you just sit around and coin new Blogadjectives.  I could do far better on my own, just by making a list of Slogans or Catch Phrases for people’s blogs.

photo-190

        Blogans For Your Blog!

1.  It Keeps Blogging…and Blogging….and Blogging….

2.  Got Blog??

3.  “Where’s the Blog??”  (need cranky, old woman mascot for this one!)

4.  We’ll Leave the Blog on For ya.

5.  Blog all that You Can Blog!

6.  Melts in Your Mind, Not on Your Screen

7. A Blog is a Terrible Thing To Waste!

8.  Home of the Blogger

9.  Oh, What a Blogging!

10.  Does she Blog or doesn’t she??

11.  A Little Blog’ll Do Ya!

12.  Takes a flogging but keeps on Blogging.

13.  You Deserve a Blog Today

14.  Make a Run for the Blogger

15.  My Blogna has a first name, it’s B-L-O-G.

16.  Like a Good Blogger, WordPress is there!

17.  Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Blogiful.

18.  I’d Like to Build the World a Blog…

19.  If you Don’t Blog all over the place, You’ll Just end up blogging on My Space.

20.  I Can’t Believe I Blogged the Whole Thing!

21.  The Blogfast of Champions!

As for a Blog Promotion — every time you read my blog, feel free to have a little Brandy.  The liqueur, not the Brandy Bimbo quoted above.

Seriously, If you leave me a comment or start to follow my blog, (just let me know if you’d like me to) and I’ll think up a new “Blogan” for your Blog too!

List of Sneaky Ways to Find Out If You Really Know Someone!

Which side of the "Black and White" cookie do they prefer?  Very telling about their Ethics!

Which side of the “Black and White” cookie do they prefer? Very telling about their Ethics!

Disclaimer:  This blog title does not specify just how many sneaky ways are on the list. (i.e  TEN Sneaky Ways…) This gives me leeway and freedom to add some more. Depending on how obsessive you are about knowing the whole story, you may need to keep checking back.

HOW IS THIS LIST DIFFERENT FROM OTHERS?

Sure, the internet is filled with lists of topics that you should discuss together prior to getting serious with someone.  We all know you should talk about how you both feel regarding:   a) Children  b) Pets  c) Finances  d) Household Chores  e) Frequency of Sex  f) Location of residence g) Dark chocolate    and so many other subjects, but still.  Really??  Is that supposed to give you an accurate and true litmus test of whether this person is right for you?  Aren’t we all still in the “Put my best foot forward” mode until the minute we walk down that aisle?  And what woman is going to admit that putting her best feet forward entails having a $1500 pair of Louboutin shoes on them?  Would you confess to someone (if you want them to continue seeing you in a good light) that the only reason you donate to a charity is to get those cute little personalized return address labels?

Every time I hear a couple’s relationship has fallen apart because “she isn’t the same person she was when we dated,” I nod my head knowingly.  She (or he) did NOT change.  They simply couldn’t keep the lovely sales presentation going forever.  It’s exhausting.  There must be a way to cut through the facade earlier!

When I date, I use my own unique version of a “Sincerity Test.”  It involves making up a joke that doesn’t have a real punchline.  When I tell it, I pause and then watch to see if they will do “that pretend laugh thing.”  Here’s the most recent joke.  “What do you call a woman who won’t do windows? An Adult Film star on ice-skates!”  Get it ??!   Some laugh uproariously.  A few will look quizzically and ask me to either tell the joke again or explain the bizarre ending.  Those are the ones I date again.  And then tell another joke. . .

So without any further ado, may I present….

SOME SNEAKY WAYS TO FIND OUT ABOUT THE REAL PERSON YOU THINK YOU ARE WITH!

1. Forget Monopoly (and whether or not they cheat by stealing money from the bank.)  Play Scrabble with them instead.  Form a seven letter nonsense word.  Do they insist on the Dictionary Challenge?  (Trust Issues.)

2. Text them from a cell number they don’t recognize and flirt with them anonymously. Do they flirt back? (tests paranoia)  While flirting, text them a joke WITHOUT a real punchline that you’ve already told them before.  (Tests Memory.)

3. Go to a Chinese restaurant together.  But forget how your partner treats the hired help.  They already know you’ll be watching for how much kindness they show the waitress.   Instead notice if they miss a tiny piece when picking the mushrooms out of the Shrimp Szechuan?  (Tests for Attention to Detail.  Also shows if they can tolerate a rubbery textured gross fungus. Eww!)  Do they hand you your own particular fortune cookie or let you choose it for yourself from the plate?  (Control Issues.)  Do they add on, “In bed” after reading their fortune aloud?  (Shows a propensity toward major Kink!)

4. Knock on their front door.  Immediately throw dirt on their carpet.  Gage reaction.  Anything less than a chuckle is bad news.  (No sense of humor.)  Everyone knows this is a funny bit from one of the greatest “I Love Lucy” episodes ever.

5. Ask them if they prefer Mary Ann or Ginger?  Mrs. Brady or Mrs. Partridge?  Kramer or Newman?  Starsky or Hutch?  Wilma or Betty?  Scarlett or Melanie?   (Tests gullibility and logic factors….do they really believe Mary Ann can bake coconut pies without any flour on the island?  The rest of the choices just tests for television addiction. Except the last one.  It’s a 4 hour feature length movie with the most handsome guy ever.  Tests their “Clark Gable Tolerance” level.)

6.  Snickerdoodle or Oatmeal?  Fudge or Peanut Brittle?  The black or white side of a Black and White Cookie?   This doesn’t tell you anything about their character whatsoever,  but you will have clarity about whether you should walk into a bakery with them.

7.  Ditch them in a large department store and then page them over the loudspeaker by your pet name, “Will Pookie, Snookie Cookie please come to cashier number 8 please?  Your Doodle, Noodle, Kitten Caboodle is waiting for you.”  (Shows tolerance for PDA.)

8.  Hold a garage sale with them.  Will they part with their kid’s old shoes?  (Sentimentality test)  Will they mark down those same junky shoes to a reasonable price? (Shows realistic expectations.)

9.  Do they say “Bless You” when a stranger sneezes?  (No?  Shows lack of goodwill toward mankind.  Yes?  May be a religious zealot.)

10. Tell them this Valentine’s Day there is a big surprise waiting for them in your bedroom. But you’ve hidden your front door key inside one of those pretend, “Hide-a-key” stones.  In your rock garden around the side of the house. (Tests perseverance)  Text them back and tell them you meant to say “under the door mat.” Remove the mat. (tests Patience)  Call and tell them to look in the mail.  Remember to place your doormat inside the mailbox first.  With a note attached that says, “Door has already mysteriously opened by itself.”  (Tests whether they’d be a good audience for a magician show.)

The following items on the list must only be implemented when you are not around.  You need to find out how they behave when they are alone.  You’ve heard it said to “Dance like nobody is watching!” Right? Well, I will soon be marketing a motorized “Fly on the Wall” with a camera and mic hidden discreetly inside, so YOU CAN be watching.

11.  Do they wash their hands in a public bathroom when they are the only ones in there?

12.  In a private dressing room inside Target, will they keep their underwear on when trying on a bathing suit?

13.  When they walk their dog on a dark street at night, do they still clean up after them?

14.  Do they tailgate people who drive super slowly in the fast lane on the freeway?  What happens when they realize they are old people and have already given them the finger?

15.  Will they stop at a lemonade stand run by little kids?  Will they overpay and lick their lips at the sugar water?  Or do they demand their change, telling the child there should really be a cookie to go with the lemonade at these prices.

16.  When watching Old Yeller, do they cry at the ending?

17.  Do they drink from the family milk carton in their refrigerator when they just want a little sip?

You should try at least five of these prior to Valentine’s Day before you send the flowers or the chocolate.  And remember # 4   is  a major deal-breaker.  EVERYONE  loves  Lucy.

Footnote:  If you are surprised by how sneaky I am, it means you have not read this ( SNEAKY BLOG  ) photo-129and probably should peruse it before you make the final decision of whether to follow my writings.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!

The Quests For Smaller Breasts

photo-185Disclaimer: Contains a lot of silly wordplay concerning breasts while I attempt to make light of a subject that has been truly anguishing.  To read a serious and profoundly potent post on the same subject, please go to this amazing writer’s blog right here.

“Well, HELLO DOLLY!” (You know the tune?)

When I was 15, a boy inquired about going to the junior prom, never once taking his eyes off my enormous bosoms.  I told him, “Oh yes, they’d be delighted to go.” His baby blues widened as I continued, “They’ll be ready by 7 pm, but you need to return them safely back home and attached firmly to my torso by midnight.”  His eyes grew bigger than any saucers my breasts could ever fit into. “Or else….” I hesitated for dramatic effect, “they’ll turn into pumpkins!” I couldn’t resist.  His eyes exploded.

After that incident, boys continued to never look into my eyes while speaking to me, (but rather preferred to fix their stare a good 10 inches below) which prompted me to think about gluing those craft store Googly Eyes onto my blouse in strategic spots.

Hey listen . . . . . . .

“Where’s your wheelbarrow?”

“Your cup runneth over!”

“Are melons in season?”

“Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder!”

There isn’t a boob joke or cat-call I haven’t heard before.  In the past few months, this humor blog has helped me lighten up with heavier issues than my breasts, so I’m going to give it a shot today – –  being that I’ve had a breasted vested interest in the subject matter.

When you’re just 13 years-old and already making Dolly Parton look inadequate, you quickly learn that intelligent people who say, “Your bra size doesn’t matter, only brain size matters,” are just plain . . .  Stupid.  First of all, if you’re big busted, you WILL be perceived as a bimbo, regardless of your IQ.  Don’t believe me?  Try these 10 easy steps:

1.  Fill two plastic bags with granulated sugar, each weighing 5.5 lbs and place them in your shirt  (Yes, that was EACH.  Check it out here .)

2.  Go out tonight.

3.  Oh, but first go bra shopping.

4.  Bypass all the sweet, delicate, lacy little bralettes you see in the front of the store.

5.  March up to a saleswoman and tell her you would like to (use the term “like to” loosely) try on a steel reinforced Chest of Armour in a size 38 Double . . . and then whisper the cup size.

6.  Watch other women in the store turn to “envy” you.  Slap forehead and say, “Darn!  I just knew I shoulda ordered them in a smaller size when I was in that uterus.”

7.  Then try explaining to these other women about a) backaches b) shoulder pain c) not being able to sleep comfortably d) or exercise, e) combating extreme male crudeness f) your fear that someone will set a vase of flowers on your boobs, mistaking them for a fireplace mantle shelf. And g) well, “G” is your cup size.

8.   Be prepared for these other women to shake their heads at your complete ungratefulness and proceed to bemoan the horrors of being a size A cup.

9.   Nod politely and agree that yes, the grass is always greener. Or the bras are always better, on the other chest.

10.  Go home and cry  – – while fantasizing about carving pumpkins.

During high school, while girls on the Itty Bitty Titty Committee (remember that?) were saving up to buy a new set of wheels or a graduation trip to Hawaii, (in an “itty bitty, teeny weeny, yellow polka dot” you know what)  I was squirreling away my allowance for breast reduction surgery.  But it wasn’t looking good.  My very protective father had already declared that, “No doctor was taking a scalpel to his small, little girl.”  Bless his heart with his choice of adjectives.

So I did what any typical female would do when something was “too large” on her body.  I dieted to reduce their size.  And I did lose weight, even though I didn’t really need to.  You can get quite disciplined when your only option of a swimsuit for the beach looks like something your grandmother would have worn.  Circa 1929.

Figure 38 H

Figure 38 H

You can see just how well Weight Watchers worked out for me (with addressing this issue) by referring to Figure 38 H to the left (yes, that’s “H” now!)  Only add more of a frowny face to this diagram.

Now it was time to try the opposite tact.  This time I ate a lot more food to attempt to camouflage them in excess weight.  But they only inflated.  While I was toying with the idea of trying a sharp pinprick,  (would I zoom crazily airborne around the house like a balloon? )  I happened to meet a nice boy.  By this time I was exhausted from trying to change mother nature, (but you know what they always say, “No breast for the weary”) and decided acceptance was my only answer.

Luckily, this boy was soft-spoken and at age 17, helped me cultivate somewhat of a sense of humor about them.  He called me his “Little Treasure Chest.”  Compared to the names I heard walking by a construction site, this was definitely a breast of fresh air!  One afternoon he leaned back comfortably against me, his head cradled between – – well you know – – singing along to that hit Police song, “Every breast you take….every move you make,”  when suddenly he announced that if he installed a couple of stereo speakers in them, he’d have himself a boob tube with Dolby Surround Sound headphones.  That was it.

“You know what?” I asked.  He waited with baited breast breath.  “Give it a breast  rest already!  You and I are done.”  What a jerk, thinking he could just lie back and breast on his laurels.  Ha – – he wasn’t the only one with good breast puns.

My version of a "Spaghetti Strap" dress!  But I couldn't have worn this pretty "Pasta Prom" dress either!  No Siree, Bob!  (ps.  His name wasn't Bob!)

My version of a “Spaghetti Strap” dress! But I couldn’t have worn this pretty “Pasta Prom” dress either! No Siree, Bob! (ps. His name wasn’t Bob!)

Besides, I couldn’t have gone with him to my Senior Prom even if I wanted to. Why?  Because Spaghetti Strap dresses were all the department stores sold.  Could I wear that style ??  Fat chance!  Not even with a dozen spaghetti strands. (as pictured at left!)

Fast forward to age 18 and it was time to implement Plan B (and B was the exact letter I was going for with reduction surgery, by the way!)  so I scheduled the operation. When the fateful morning arrived, I went to the hospital with just a bit of trepidation.   In the operating room, the young, handsome, curly haired Doctor came in and spoke to me, holding my hand while gazing deeply into my eyes, (a preview of what would be when I was finally smaller?)  as he explained the exact procedure.  I suppose he wanted to keep me abreast of everything that would occur.

He then exited out the door and I was alone with my itty bitty thoughts.  When the door opened next, a man walked in wearing surgical scrubs.  I grew suspicious as he opened the front of my hospital gown and took out a black Sharpie pen.

Me:  Wait a sec. Who are YOU?

Surgeon: (drawing circles on my skin)  I’m the same guy who was here before.  Only with a cap and mask. Why, who do you think I am?

Me:  Oh I don’t know.  I thought maybe they were selling tickets out there for strange men to come inside and doodle on my breasts with magic markers.

Surgeon:  Very funny.  Have you considered Nursing in the future?

Me:  Well, I get a little squeamish around blood.  Why?  Do you need an assistant?”

Surgeon:   Breastfeeding.  (pause) And you may not be able to. (brightly)  So how do you feel about C’s?

Me:  I pride myself on being a straight A student, but I’ll settle for a couple of  B’s.

Surgeon:  A or B?  But you’d be completely flat!?

Me:  That’s the idea.  I wanna give people a craving for blueberry Pancakes.

When I woke up on that recovery table, (even though I was in excruciating pain) – – the first thing I did was reach down to feel the results.  Straight through the bandages.  And in that moment,  I knew . . .  I would finally be able to say to my body,  “Breast in Peace.”  Forever.

Footnote:  Somehow I always thought as I approached menopause, the reverse of puberty would occur.  I would lose my cycles and of course my breasts would un-grow.  Okay! Now, would someone PLEASE hand over the “Change Of Life Manual??”  Because my body didn’t seem to get that memo.  “They’re Baaaaaaaaack!”  And no, that’s not a preview for the movie, Poltergeist.

Leave me a comment  – – maybe you have some big boob remark that I’ve never heard before.  But you can breast rest assured, I probably have!

Forget the Winter Olympics – – It’s The WRITER Olympics!

The Lord of the Olympic Rings!

The Lord of the Olympic Rings!

Why should athletes get all the glory?  I say change Winter to Writer (it’s just a few letters off after all) and let’s give ourselves some world-wide recognition!  You’ve already missed a little bit of the games, so read on and I’ll catch you up and “make sure we’re on the same page” with this concept….

The Opening Ceremonies of the Writer Olympics 2014 was a Best Seller Yeller, as the noisy crowd shouted for their favorites in “The Parade of the Publishers,” which now only slightly overshadows “The ebook Strut” and “The Librarian Stomp.”

The Author’s Oath (which was solemnly quoted, chapter and verse) by all Olympic Hopeful Indie Writers, went as follows:  “In the name of all the traditional house competitors, I promise that I shall take part in these Wordplay Games, respecting and abiding by the rules which govern them from the Library of Congress, committing myself to a profession without slander, plagiarism, thesaurus abuse, and Doritos – – and to always have an ISBN # in the true spirit of readership, for the glory of Hard Covers and the honor of my Acknowledgments Page.

In lieu of the traditional Lighting of the Torch, a few avid readers found an out-of-the-way, quiet, little Nook where they began to Kindle some firewood, their whoops and hollers heralding in the “Let the Book Burning Begin!” ancient festivities.  There were mainly “Fifty Shades of Grey” trilogy books in the heap and a few diehard fans stood by with whips, biting their lower lip, rolling their eyes, and smirking. It was easy to read between the lines however, and know they were all thinking, “Holy Crap, E.L. James!”

The official events that many anxiously look forward to include: **

    • The Writing is on the Wall-Climbing
    • “The Short Story 1,000 Word Dash”
    • “Synchronized Synonyms”
    • “Modifier Dangling
    • “Blogganing Tobogganing”
    • “Novellathalon
    • “Cross Country Cliches”
    • “The Writer’s Hack n Hurdle”
    • “Page-Turning Relay”
    • “Plot Thickening & Jumping”
    • “The Final Daft Draft”
    • “Pen-Vaulting”
    • “Freestyle Query Letters
    • “Multiple Submission Slalom
    • “Figure of Speech Skating” (On Thin Ice)
I gotta "get the lead out" and win this thing!

I gotta “get the lead out” and win this thing!

      But first we turn our attentions to the Gold Medal Winner of the Minimalist Writers Award for this (very) brief interview:

Reporter:   Congratulations, you must be honored to join the ranks of Hemingway and Carver?

Minimalist:  Y

Reporter:  Where will you display your gold medal?

Minimalist:  Fireplace

Reporter:  Would that be over, under or inside the fireplace?

Minimalist:  Y

Okaaaaay. Well now here comes the winners of the Children’s Rhyming Classic Genre.  Their claim to fame – – the rewriting of “Horton Hears a Who” – –  Let’s give a really warm welcome to stone cold Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, who look really great for a couple of dead comics.

Reporter:  Hi Guys, WHAT  was your motivation for revising  WHO  Horton actually  hears?

Abbott:  WHAT

Reporter:  No, WHAT was the inspiration?

Costello:   That’s right.  The inspiration for WHO.

Reporter:  That’s WHAT I’m asking. So HOW did you come up with a modern day  WHO?  HOW?

Abbott:  WHY?

Reporter:  Never mind.  When WHO speaks, Horton Hears What?

Abbot: Yes, WHAT.

Reporter:  Horton Hears WHAT?  Just tell me, dammit. WHO is the one that Horton hears?

Abbott:  WHEN?

Reporter: Tell me now.

Abbott:  Tomorrow.

Costello:  Third Page!!

Okay, I guess they’ll tell us tomorrow.  Moving right along, we now catch up to long-time Olympic Champion Author in the Contemporary Horror event, as well as Suspense and Science Fiction events – – Always a good sport, here’s . . . Stephen King.

Reporter:  CUJOs  err, Kudos to you on your 79 medals, Mr. King!

Stephen King:  Yes,  IT was THE SHINING moment.

Reporter:  I understand you were in a lot of MISERY when you finally crossed THE GREEN MILE?

Stephen King:   Man, I thought I was in THE DEAD ZONE for sure.

Reporter:  THE LONG WALK when you were UNDER THE DOME must’ve made you feel like a BAG OF BONES?

Stephen King:  Yeah.  For a minute I almost thought CARRIE or DELORES CLAIBORNE would take the lead.

Reporter:  Nah, they didn’t have  THE TALISMAN  that you have.  But thank you. You’re just an open book to interview.

Well, that’s all the time this  dog-eared, bookworm reporter has for now. I’ll see you next time at The Writer’s Olympics, where we’ll have our expert judges (who will be judging a book by it’s cover) announce the finalists for the Gold Medal ceremony.  However I hear the entire name “The Writer’s Olympics” will be revamped to “The Hunger Games.”  Sheesh, some authors can’t seem to stay in their own lane  genre.  Oh well….it was just a matter of time, I suppose, before we started this New Chapter in sports recognition.

** Note:  All Jousting events have been cancelled since it was determined that indeed, “The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword.”

What’s your favorite WRITER Olympic Event??  Tell me that (and more!) in the comments section.

The (Almost) Arrest of my Freshly Pressed Houseguest (In Jest)

photo-180At first I was highly intrigued and quite honored.  A Freshly Pressed Blogger personally contacting me.  ME ?!  It all started about a week after my blogging here began – – I noticed I had one view every single day coming in from a very faraway, exotic country.  Cool, I thought.  Then the View turned into a Follow.  Cooler! I noticed the award badge on their site (Coolest!) and so I read the piece that was Freshly Pressed and I became Freshly IMpressed!

Her first comment to me was extremely flattering, praising my humor and suggesting that with a little of her advice and a few tips, I too might follow in her footsteps.  “Lead the way,” I thought.

That was the beginning of constant interactive comments on both our blogs and she seemed very amused by my posts.  She loved my parody post about the  Movies  , as well as the one about opening a new kind of restaurant that had an “unusual” Menu.  Then came the message that stepped just a tad outside of the normal “Blogger Zone.”  Had I ever been to her country?  And guess what?  California was someplace she’d always dreamed of visiting some day! Hmmm, I wondered.

Is this blogger just a wee bit mixed-up and is now harboring the notion that WordPress morphed into HomeSwap.dotcom?

Nonetheless, I’d been working on trying to be more affable lately, (plus working on using the word “affable” in my blog) and it was true that I had an extra bedroom since my divorce. And I DID live in a city that boasted such tourist draws as SeaWorld,  Legoland, a world famous Zoo, plus beautiful beaches.  And was just a Mickey Mouse-sized hop, skip and a jump from Disneyland.  What the heck.

When I met her at the airport, she couldn’t wait to show me all the delicious apricots from her homeland. How did she get past security with all that fruit, I wondered?  The drive home witnessed her hanging her head out the passenger’s side like my Labradoodle , oohing and ahhing at every street corner.

And then abruptly she rolled the window up, her hair still lacquered into place, and turned to me in an expectant manner.

Houseguest:  So. . . Say something funny.

Me:  What do you mean?

Houseguest:  Make me laugh.

Me: (Laughing)

Houseguest:  No, you’re doing it wrong. You are not the audience. You’re supposed to be the comic.

Me:  Seriously?

Houseguest:  You’re not funny at all.   Can you even tell a joke?

Me:  I don’t think you are allowed to heckle a writer.  Are you?

Houseguest:  See?  Once again, not funny.

Me:  (Swallowing hard)

Houseguest:  You’re just a One Hit Blogger, aren’t you?

Me:  (Shoulder shrug)

Houseguest:  That’s right.  You wrote one crummy piece on how to not blog like an old Fogie and suddenly the world’s your stage.

Me:   Not an Old Fogie.  It was an Old Codger.

Houseguest:   Whatever.  Just drive.

The week was starting off splendidly.  Yep, you heard me. But how could I have made her stay here any shorter than that?  When you come from that far away, two whole days are basically devoted to travel.

Once settled into my home, she immediately made a break for my bedroom and logged onto my own computer!  I could hear the typing from my kitchen.  Hard, definitive, angry strokes.

I distracted myself with calling a friend….

Friend:  That’s unbelievable.  Tell me more.

Me:  When we got here, the first thing she did was roll around on my sofa, sniffing it intently.  Read the Red Text  on my About Page  if you are wondering why she did that.

What does this have to do with anything?  Click the

What does this perfume have to do with anything? Click the “About Page” link above.

Friend:  Oh I know why.  I remember you writing about that. Wow, what a piece of work.

Me:  Her or my About Page??

Friend:  LOL.  You’re sooooo funny!  What a hoot!

Me:  That’s another thing.  She says I’m unfunny.  She was expecting a cross between Tina Fey, Erma Bombeck and Lucille Ball.

Friend:  Nah, you’re more Carol Brady.

Me:  Thanks a lot. And she doesn’t even speak with an accent.  I am wondering if she really is from that country. Or was ever really Freshly Pressed?

Friend:  Freshly Pressed?  What’s that?

Me:  When your writing gets read by millions.  It’s something I’ve always….

Friend:  Gotta go!   The  kids are running stark naked down the street, handing out cookies to advertise our next garage sale.  We’re expecting a big crowd.

After our bath, we're gonna run down the street naked.

After our bath, we’re gonna run down the street naked.

When my houseguest from another country (?)  finally emerged from my bedroom, she wore my good black dress and casually sat down at the table, announcing she was starving.

Houseguest:  I checked on your computer.  You were never hacked like your blog  about hackers   claimed you were.

Me:  And your point is ?

Houseguest:  You’re a fraud.  Did you ever really have that incident happen in the dressing room when you went jean shopping??  Are you even the one writing all those blogs?

Me:  Of course I am.  Haven’t you ever seen a movie that’s based on true events?  They bend the truth a little  for drama.  I do it for humor.

Houseguest:  So what IS  true about you?

Me:  (blushing)  That’s kinda personal.

Houseguest:  You’re not even quite as old, fat, ugly, stupid or as disorganized as your blog makes you out to be.

Me:  Thanks??

Houseguest:  And are you even having an affair with your mailman??  Like it said in Paying It Forward Backfires?

Me:  Well  I  do know my mailman.  And I sometimes put on a clean shirt to fetch the mail.

Houseguest:  Haven’t you ever heard of Truth in Advertising?

Me:  But I’m not selling anything!

Houseguest: (looking me up and down, noticing empty ring finger)  Oh no?

Me:  Listen you, whoever you really are.  There’s not like a “Blogger’s Code of Ethics,” you know.  I can write whatever I want.  True or not.  I love blending fact into fiction to give my followers a laugh.

Houseguest:   You’re just scared your life is too boring to tell the truth.  You can’t handle the truth!

Me:  (looking around for Jack Nicholson)  So, what are you going to do?

Houseguest:  I’m going to blow the blog whistle on you.  Publish a long post announcing just how misleading you are.  You won’t have a follower left in hell by the time I’m done.

With that, she flounced off toward my bedroom and I heard the door slam and lock.  The ferocious typing resumed!  I’d seen the movie Pacific Heights.  How was I ever going to get this woman out of my bedroom, let alone my house?

Wow, I thought. “The truth IS stranger than fiction.”

Me: (thru the door)  Yoo Hoo.  What are you doing in there, Strange lady?

Houseguest:  Blowing your cover.  How’s this for a title?   “San Diego writer is  NOTHING  like her blog!”

Me:  Oh Please.  Please??   (the word sounds similar to….)  Police!  I’m calling the police.

Houseguest barricade?  Sounds high priority.

Houseguest barricade? Sounds high priority.

Houseguest:  Dream on.  Nothing you ever say or write is true.  What an imagination.  No cop is ever gonna come out here over this.

I watched as the officer’s brows raised incredulously when I gave my account of what happened. He made no move toward my bedroom to arrest her.  His partner simply said, “She sounds like a real character.”

“But…but…you have to handcuff her!  I can’t have her ruining my blogging career before it even starts.  And she eats more than all three of my teenage sons put together.

“Ah hah.  Maybe you don’t really have any teenage sons??”

“Never mind that,” I said, flushing (I swear it wasn’t a hot flash!)  “She can’t stay!!”

Both men tipped their hats and said in unison, “Sorry Ma’am.  But you’re the only one who is capable of getting rid of her.  You’ve always had the power all along.”

I looked down at my feet.  No glittering ruby shoes.  There was only one way to guarantee that everything turned out okay in the end.  To make this “houseguest” disappear and ensure that I wouldn’t come off as a liar in my own blog.  That’s it!  Certainly everyone has heard of this . . .

“Life Imitates Art!”

It just had to work!  I sat down at the kitchen table and without hesitation, logged into WordPress.  With the same amount of determination, exactness, and aplomb as my houseguest, I typed the ideal title:

         “The Quest For the Perfect, Freshly Pressed Houseguest!”

“Dear Readers:  Would anyone like to visit San Diego?  I have a spare bedroom in a really fun city.  Please come with a carefree attitude and know that not everything you read is true ….. blah, blah, blah.”

When I put the finishing touches on my post and added a few images, I walked to the back of the house and opened the bedroom door . . .

My houseguest had completely vanished.  All that remained were a few fresh apricots on the desk – –  definitely from the tree in my very own backyard.

The Twilight Crone

photo-175This week – – a rare glimpse into the Diary of a Mad, Maniacal, Menopausal Maiden, AKA . . . Me! Before you delve into today’s confidential entry, let me set the proper mood(swing) for you.

“You’re traveling to another dimension, a dimension not only of brain-fog and confusion, but also of mindless minutia and memory loss, a journey into a Midlife Meltdown whose boundaries exceed the imagination. At the signpost up ahead, your next stop – – ‘The Hormone Zone!’” (Cue irritating eerie music and Rod Serling’s voice getting on my last nerve!)

Dear Diary – – Today was averagely efficient. I loaded dirty laundry into the dishwasher, stepped on the gas-pedal thinking it was the brake while driving to McDonald’s where I paid at the cashier window, zoomed right on through the pick-up window without any food (much two my kid’s chagrin) then went home to find the Windex in the freezer where I was looking for some ice-cream, (as a consolation to my kids for their french-fryless existence) which was finally located in the refrigerator doing the perfect impression of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Soup!

But then Dear Diary, something miraculous occurred! I was given a sign from above that at age 49; I’m to become a mother again. On the kitchen table was a stick from one of those test kits with a little pink holy cross in the results window (somewhat odd for a Jewish girl) but some call this a “plus sign,” meaning a positive pregnancy test! photo-177Never mind not recalling ever taking this test – -it wouldn’t be the first time my memory fails me. But the point is . . . I am with child! I searched online for statistics of women my age who have buns in ovens, and instantly craved Cinnabon. That’s when our home phone rang.

“I’m busy gurgling something important on the Internet,” I informed my eldest daughter.

“It’s Googling, Mother,” she sighed.

“Right! Guess what? I’m pregnant. I found a stick I must’ve peed on and it’s positive.” Patient silence.

“Firstly, You did not pee on a stick. You spit in a tube. Last night, remember? Secondly, you’re not going to have a baby. You have high cholesterol.”

After my disappointment waned (not over losing diapers and breastfeeding; losing eggs and red-meat!) we had our usual conversation.

“Why won’t you save money and get rid of this landline that we’re talking on? After all, you do own a cellphone,” she reminded me.

“Because I need this home phone to call my cellphone. When I misplace it.”

She hung up exasperated.  I immediately called my cell phone.  Eight different times.

In my defense, the ringer was off, making it inaudible. On the ninth time, I found it in the kitchen garbage (more a commentary on my age than the quality of my Android!) but I was thrilled to see eight new voice-mails had come in!

My literary agent? Publisher’s Clearinghouse? My high school boyfriend saying his life has never been the same since dumping me? My kids planning me a surprise 50th?

But all eight recordings were from myself, saying the same thing, “Will you children be quiet while I call my cell? I’m trying to hear it vibrate!” Oh yes, there WAS a ninth caller – – my own mother, (whom I must’ve forgotten phoning earlier with my wondrous news) congratulating me on my pregnancy, but fervently refusing to babysit one more grandchild. Naturally.

Sigh, goodnight Diary.

Submitted for your approval: One Little Miss Menopause – – A very tired, confused, brain-fogged woman destined to keep wandering (for lost items) and wondering (is she pregnant?  Or? )  does she just have high cholesterol? But consider this for a moment in time – – Was there really a home test? Or a daughter? Or a cell phone? Or a McDonalds, a diary, or even a blog that you read at all? Maybe she’s just a mannequin in a store window?photo-176 Or a doll come to life?

We’ve got answers to all your pressing questions in tonight’s very small exercise in Menopausal Mania, whenever you dwell in the “”Once Upon Your Prime” Blog Zone!”

The Real Truth Behind “What Women Wish Men Knew!”

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Don’t you know when it’s time to stop “just listening to me” and start FIXING IT?!

We’ve all seen those lists, “10 Things Women Wish Men Knew.” Number one is always, “We don’t want guys to problem solve or find solutions – – we just want them to listen to us.” Yeah, right.

“Hey Handsome! The washing machine overflowed today. But Please don’t fix it, just let me ramble on while you show your compassion to the soon-to-be moldy carpet,” said No Woman Ever!

Actually I think my brother-in-law Norman, is the one responsible for thinking up that little gem; it got him out of doing my sister-in-law’s “Honey Do” list.

Someone has been giving men rotten advice lately, particularly about “Older” women. Now stay with me here – – it may be far-fetched, but I’m certain it’s actually a MALE writing all these articles about what women “our age” really want, what we wish for, and how to “help us” through these difficult years. This same man now writes for the show, “Cougar Town.” Let’s break down his latest list, shall we?

What Women Really Want!

by Randy

(Oh! See how clever he is? Randy can be a girl OR a guy’s name!)

My occasional comments on this list are bold. Like me.

1. When intercourse is painful, don’t give up on us….just be creative and add variety!  Yup. Because we soooo want to try a new position called, “Football Hiker’s Dream” while fixing you a BLT sandwich and arm-wrestling.

2.  When we get cranky, just keep your own spirits high.  Your happiness is our happiness.  Nothing’s worse than TWO irritable partners, so please continue to go on vacations and to parties alone. We need our rest after all. 

3.  Help us make that major mid-life decision by charting and graphing the pros/cons of keeping our ovaries.  Make a spreadsheet. Transfer it to Quicken. Convert it to a PDF and then to a binary file.   Bake at 350 until golden brown!

4.  Menopause is like a rebirth, so help us reinvent ourselves.  Take us hunting, fishing and golfing.  Why not teach us to homebrew beer, throw darts and sign us up for pole dancing lessons while you’re at it?

5.  We’re terribly lonely now that the kids have left.  Help us fill our time and feel needed again. Yes, it would be oh so helpful if you brought the gang over for weekly poker nights to let us practice our new pole-dancing moves. (see #4)

6.  Empathize with our symptoms.  Say, “I know exactly how you feel.”  Please do just that when we’re kicking off the blankets, drowning in our own sweat, and feeling like someone struck a match on our neck. Remind us about the time you had a fever of 99.4 and couldn’t leave bed for a week.

7.  Bring us gifts that emphasize our sexuality and our talents,  it will raise our self-esteem.  Yes, that skimpy, flimsy red Frederick’s of Hollywood nightie with the push-up bra is just what the doctor ordered to help with the above mentioned night sweats and to camouflage weight gain. Oh, and buy us an iron. Yes, it’s true! Menopausal women find the act of smoothing out wrinkled suit shirts quite soothing.

8.   Keep us positive.  Remind us of the silver linings and to always be grateful.  That’s right! We’re not going to get periods anymore so now we can swim with the sharks without being fish bait. Yay! Getting only three hours of sleep a night gives us more waking hours to accomplish laundry and housecleaning. When having a hot flash, we can simultaneously thaw the lamb chops for dinner. Goodie! (Bonus points if you tell us which body part to use.)

9.  Give us subtle Memory Cues to help with our forgetfulness, but allows us to save face.  If we forget our Social Security # or your cell phone number,  just tell us us it’s the same digits as our measurements pre-childbirth. If we forget our own name, remind us we’re now called, “VSD46B2” – – we’ll be thrilled to discover we also have a matching personalized license plate! (To see if your own recall is really as bad as all that, take my easy Memory Quiz right here

10.  Be a Fitness Buddy.   It’s very helpful when you help us track our weight, calories and exercise. Especially in public — a little term of endearment like, “You don’t really need that carrot cake tonight, do you, Piglet?” will go a long way.

And finally, To Randy:  here’s a little tip from a genuine REAL “older woman.”  What do we actually want?   To watch men experience all that we go through for just one day!  

* Big Thanks to “Sir Sid” for helping me link another post far more smoothly.

Do You Have “Blog Blur?” Find Out With This Quick & Easy Quiz!

photo-173BLOG BLUR – The insidious blurring of the lines between your Blogging life and the real world.

*Choose the answer that best describes how you feel about the question.

1. When You talk about individuals named,  “Inspire The World 2Day” and “Morning Grouch” and “MenoMama3” and “WeaverGrace” and “The Underground Writer” and “Bitter Ben” or “BumblePuppies,” do your family and friends assume you are referring to:

a)  New Muppet Characters that are making a debut on Sesame Street  this week  to teach kids about Feelings

b)  Some very troubled individuals in the new Twelve Step Anonymous program you recently attended

c)  Very real (and talented) Bloggers that you often have communications with

2.  A member of your household just lost their job.  A good friend of yours has recently started a steamy love affair.  Your child just got a C- on a History exam.  A second cousin (who’s a painter) has named her newborn child, “Hunter Green.”   All of these people have the following immediate gut instinct:

a) To call you for support, encouragement, understanding or applause.

b) To hide this news from you because they don’t want to upset, burden, or distract you with their daily lives.

c) To advise you that this latest information is copyrighted, trademarked, or patented and under no circumstances are you to blog about it!

3.  When you complain about having trouble with a dashboard, your significant other:

a) Makes an appointment with the Toyota dealer to have the warning lights and the speedometer looked at.

b) Reminds you that if you slow down and stop dashing thru your day, things wouldn’t be so boring.

c) Immediately logs into WordPress.com and says, “Well, here’s our problem right here.  You’re blogging too damn much!”

4. The Daily Prompt is:

a) A clever scenario that triggers the desire to write a blog

b) My body’s signal that I need chocolate

c) A note I leave on the dishwasher for other household members that says, “Empty Me Now!”

5.  If someone inquires about Stats:

a) You smile, bat your lashes, and tell them yours are, “36-23-36, of course.

b) You rattle off the number of TD’s, Interceptions, Fumbles and Passes Complete for the Denver Broncos and loudly assert that they should have won the Super Bowl.

c) Whip out a computerized print-out, a yellow highlighter, and show the person how many Views your blog is currently receiving from Egypt.

6. Someone asks you to please stop following them so closely, you:

a) Apply the brakes and remember that in driver’s training you learned it’s one car length per every 10 mph.

b) Remind them that it’s a free country and if you want to wear skinny jeans with a paisley plaid flannel shirt and a backwards baseball cap, you will.  They don’t have a monopoly on fashion!

c)  Immediately click the “Unfollow” button on your blog.  You’ll show them!  They were lucky you even gave them the time of day in the first place.

7.  When someone asks if you are happy with the new Post, you:

a)  Nod and offer to give them the name of your contractor that built the entire side fence around your house.

b)  Tell them, “Absolutely not, the price of stamps these days is outrageous.”

c) Launch into a diatribe about how many drafts it took you and how nobody even left a single Like or a Comment.

8.  Freshly Pressed is:

a) The long lost art of placing roses and other lovely flowers in between the pages of a scrapbook

b) Something your dry cleaner tries to skimp on with your dress shirts.

c) The number one item on your bucket list!

9. After you Tag, you:

a) Shout, “You’re it!” and then run like hell.

b) Remind yourself that labels and stereotypes are  never useful in society because we are all individuals

c) Hope and pray that every search engine in the world brings up your blog first

10.  If a houseguest remarks, “I sure think your Background is fun,” you:

a) Tell them that it would be nice if only the Italian genes on your mother’s side weren’t so strong-willed.

b)  Assume they’re being sarcastic and offer to change the music playing in your home to something classical.

c) Thank them, but then ask if they think it clashes with your header?  Does it send the right message?  If you pay them would they custom design a different one for you???

* SCORING: Mostly A’s – You’re able to compartmentalize and keep both aspects of your life in order.  Mostly B’s – Your Worlds Are Colliding just like George Costanza in Seinfeld.  Mostly C’s – You have Blog Blur so bad, even Extra Strength Windex won’t clear up the confusion for those around you.  GET SOME SEPARATION RIGHT NOW!  (Right after you leave me a comment!)

How to be “Super” Popular at a Super Bowl Party (If you don’t know football!)

Do not attempt this. Too difficult (and carby) and you won't be seeing most of these people ever again anyhow.

Do not attempt this! Too difficult (and carby) and it’s not like you’ll be seeing these people any time soon to warrant putting this much effort into impressing.

THERE IS NEW HOPE.   NO MORE BEING LEFT OUT ON THE SIDELINES!

Disclaimer: Not all of these tips are foolproof. I will be testing some today and reporting back.

1. Make Guacamole. Just do this. Trust me.  Even if you don’t have any avocados. Use kiwis or better yet, unripened bananas.  A  typical Super Bowl guest won’t notice the substitution if he is inebriated. Or just Old and Yelling a lot. (Old Yeller was a sad movie but has nothing to do with football or guacamole, so I won’t mention that a nice dog gets shot with a rifle at the end when they certainly could’ve taken him to a vet.) The real point is these people will just keep dipping and dipping while making a big deal over the TV.   The Big Dippers.

2. Never say this  – –  “I don’t know why you people don’t just record this stuff and watch it later  so you can fast forward through all these silly commercials.” Never.  Ever.

3. Football fans are an exuberant bunch. But they know their terminology. Before you attempt to chime in during an actual live play of the game, experiment with a commercial. (see # 2 to grasp the importance of Advertising) Try the following options:   A) Clap uproariously at a Clydesdale.  B) Shout, “Hold ‘em! That’s the way!” to Kermit C) Throw a chip at the television and say, “Doritos?! They suck this year! My money’s on the Lays.”

4. Casually introduce conversation with, “How about that Joe Namath?” If this doesn’t get the reaction you are looking for, tell them you were a cheerleader for your brother in Pop Warner leagues. Note: This will only be effective if you produce a photo. Still nothing? Remind them you brought the guacamole.

5. Wait until intermission to pass out copies of your latest blog. In case you don’t recognize when that occurs, it will be called, “Half Time.” One whole game = four quarters or two halves or forty nickels.  I am still not sure if a Susan B. Anthony silver dollar might fit in with their formula or not.

6. If you are tired, don’t yawn. Simply look at the clock (lower right hand side of the television screen) and if it says (only!) three minutes are left to go (or anything under that) you will now have time to play an entire game of Monopoly.

7. Look around for other wives and girlfriends that have that “I’m so bored, I could throw-up” green pallor on their face. Look closely. This could just be the guacamole. Say to them, “Hey, I know what!!  Let’s go in the other room and compose a Match.com ad for ourselves.”

8. You will eventually need to choose a side and root for them.  Lemme help you.  If you don’t mind rainy weather, I’d go with the Seahawks. However, if you’ve never fallen off a horse in your life, the Broncos are your team!  Just don’t cheer for the men with the black and white vertical stripes, they usually just stand around a lot.

9. Right about now, you’re probably ready to toss out some authentic, sporty vocabulary during the actual game.  Wait until the room is in some sort of an uproar over a bad call, then holler, “A noose, a tree . . . let’s hang the referee!” It’s always safe to pick on a man who doesn’t weight 285 lbs, carries a whistle, and speaks in pantomime.

10. If none of this is working for you, continue nodding and being polite, offering nervous pacing men (and other guests who come in late) your spot on the sofa. Do this until every seat in the house is taken and you have to sit in the bathroom.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!

What Would the Hackers Say??

photo-169Yahoo recently issued a warning for all us users to change our passwords due to compromised email accounts by Hackers. There’s just one problem. I forgot my password three months ago and the answer to my security question as well.  (Too many people knew that my childhood dog was called Ginger (big Gilligan’s Island fan) so I decided to be tricky and pick one of my favorite authors instead of a canine name. But now I’ve got brain-fog (Menopausal symptom #11, google it) over which writer I picked way back then.  I’ve already tried Hemingway and Fitzgerald.

Turns out you cannot change your password to something new unless you know the old one.   So the good news is, all I need to do is 1) CounterHack into my own account when the hacker is looking the other way or going to the bathroom 2) get my old password back 3) Reset it to keep him out for good.  Viola!

As you can tell by this post so far, I’m a “Hack Writer” so I think it’s rather fitting that I be one of the first people getting Hacked. However, If I’m not successful at a “Hackback,” (which is kinda like a Pingback?)  it’s because I don’t drive a hatchback and I never had a knack for Hackeysack, which is clearly a drawback, so just cut me some slack.  Having said all that, (and not very easily, mind you!) perhaps I can persuade my Professional Hacker to answer a few questions about my emails instead?  So Mr. Hacker,  if you’re reading this – – I just need to satisfy my curiosity before you lock me out of my account forever.

C’mon just tell me this much – – while you were poking around inside my Inbox, did you happen to notice if my novel got an acceptance letter from an agent?  Or if my old boyfriend ever got back to me about meeting for coffee to see if we could rekindle something? Man, this dog/author name thing is gonna drive me crazy.  Was it John Grisham? Anne Rice?   Dr. Seuss?

To be honest, I’m feeling highly embarrassed (and violated) thinking of hackers inside my personal email.  (you can glimpse some of my email here   My mother always taught me to wear the proverbial nice underwear in case of a car accident (imagine my mortification when I went into Victoria’s Secret as an adult, asking to see something lacy in their “Paramedic Panty” Line) and I was also raised to keep my room tidy or goodness knows, what would the robbers  say?  And I always made sure my diary was grammatically correct in case it fell into the hands of a snoopy English teacher. So you can’t really fault me for being worried about what the hackers would say? Wow! It’s on the tip of my brain….Was it Danielle Steel? Tom Clancy?

I imagine hacking is lonely work so they must do it in pairs.  I’d like you to meet, “Mr and Mrs. Hacker.”  Let’s listen in, shall we?

Mr Hacker – – Will you get out of her Nordstrom’s account and her high school reunion emails already?  We have a job to do – –  let’s just get in, get out, and get on with the identity theft. (rubs hands together)

Mrs. Hacker – – Shame. She never did lose those last 5 pounds to fit into this killer red dress. I don’t think I want to take on her name if I have to use  her height and weight on my driver’s license too.

Mr. Hacker – – Focus Harriet, Focus.

Mrs. Hacker (pouting)- – We never go out anymore.  Day in and day out, it’s just hack, hack, hack.  Hacking my life away.  I shoulda listened to my mother and married the Virus Creator Guy.  At least then I could have put my romantic flair to good use writing that “I Love You” attachment that messed everyone’s hard drive up.

Mr. Hacker – – Stop giving me  flack over this hack and stay on track.

Mrs. Hacker – – Honey,  you know I always have your back.

Mr. Hacker – – Then don’t be such a yakker, put down that graham cracker, and get to work,  you Slacker Hacker!

A Hacker Snacker!

A Hacker Snacker!

Mrs. Hacker – – Oh look, her Visa bill shows weekly therapy and massages. That’s the life.

Mr. Hacker – –  Wow, Six kids?  What was she thinking? No wonder she needs therapy and massage.  And who has a childhood dog named Stephen King?

Mrs. Hacker – This is one bizarre chick. I just went to sabotage her Facebook account but all she does is post about the weather.

Mr. Hacker – – Yeah, and look at her WordPress blog.  I thought we might have a little fun messing up her settings and putting up some ugly headers, but she’s done a great job  of that all on her own. Look at that hideous purple feather thing.  Geeze.

Mrs. Hacker – – Look, she’s got 85 photos of the same parakeet, she’s planning her own surprise birthday party on Evite , even rsvp-ing to herself, and her bucket list has “Get Freshly Pressed” listed at the top of it.

Mr. Hacker –  A Dry Cleaning/Ironing  obsession?   Dang, these Yahoo Users get weirder every day.  Next thing you know, we’ll come across a rough draft for a story about a married Hacker couple.  From now on we stick with Google subscribers.  C’mon Harriet, let’s get the “hack” outa here.

Footnote:  I finally changed  passwords  on my “Mac.”  Had to “rack” my brain, but now I guard it safely in my “backpack.” I won’t divulge it, but let’s just say no “Quack” should be able to “Hack” me again.  I’m tired and gonna hit the “Sack.”  😉  But please scroll down to Comments and leave me your best “comeback!”

Never let a Big Mac Attack sidetrack a good Hack.

Never let a Big Mac Attack sidetrack a good Hack.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/02/daily-prompt-groupthink/