Category Archives: Fun

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!!

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 Real Truth Behind “What Women Wish Men Knew!”

photo-15

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.

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/