Tag Archives: Humor

What’s in Your Bag? (a guessing game!)

photo-244Some Ladies magazines do a column, “What’s inside a certain Celebrity’s designer bag?”  It usually features hints on what products to buy – –  so you too can look just like the actual movie star!  But we know better than to think that carrying a designer keychain like Jennifer Aniston will have us carrying her gorgeous figure too.   But today, in honor of Spring Cleaning (Whoever thought that concept up had far too much time on HIS hands)  I have decided to go through my own bag.  But why should I stop there??

 

Checking out my bag today, what the heck’s in my purse?

Wouldn’t it be all the more fun to describe it in verse?

There’s lipstick, mascara, & crumbly pink blush,

Chewing Gum, a Birthday Tiara to feel Royal in a rush.

Saltines and single serve apples, pummeled to mush,

And a stray tampon in packaging marked, “Please Do Not Flush.”

Where’s the gift cards, the American Express, the cold, hard cash?

Just a few coins, wrinkled tissues, and some creme for diaper rash.

That’s kinda funny, when my “baby” is old enough to curse.

But just when I think rummaging can’t get much worse . . .

From a funeral yesterday, I have a business card for a hearse?

Where's the beef??

Where’s the beef??

Moving on to my kitchen, what’s going down in my Fridge?

Aside from greenish Provalone (and hey that’s just a Smidge!)

Besides, I assert to my family, if the truth were to be told…

Where do you think cheese comes from, if not from a bit of mold?

On the Top Shelf, you can see “Top Chef” has obviously been fired,

Hardened Kraft macaroni (and more cheese!) leaves little to be desired.

Oh wait!  He wasn’t laid-off – – he tossed his white puffy hat and promptly retired.

After all, what’s left to prepare when the eggs and the butter have expired?

In the produce drawer, (like my purse!) exists apples, but I use the term loosely,

Let’s just say there’s no need for a blender to get fruit in this house juicely.

Tupperware = the Family Game, “Guess what lives in here for your dinner?”

Who needs Weight Watchers?  This is the most effective way to get thinner.

One last look at the freezer’s contents, and I turned and I smiled,

“We’re eating out tonight, kids – – next life you should be born to Julia Child.”

It's an Auto Buffet!

It’s an Auto Buffet!

But just when I thought it was safe for us to pile in behind the wheel,

Under the passenger’s side, I found part of a McDonald’s Happy Meal.

But a mother’s instinct sensed I should probably take another peek…

And lo and behold, out rolled a carton of yogurt and it was actually Greek!

But I ask you, what else would you expect from a mother this chic?!?

In the seat pockets, were napkins, cups and silverware galore,

Ketchup packs, soda cans and french fries littered the car floor.

In the glove compartment were remnants of steak cooked by flame,

I’ll tell you, this gourmet vehicle really put my refrigerator to shame.

So I cranked up the Bee Gees and flickered on and off the interior light.

“Welcome to Mom’s Disco” I said, “We’re eating in the Toyota tonight!”

Age is Just a Number – – Ha! Age is a Bunch of Numbers!

An actual card given to me this Saturday from some young Whippersnapper.

An actual card given to me this Saturday from some young Whippersnapper.

“AGE IS JUST A NUMBER!”  People like to quote that old bumper sticker adage when they’re in a relationship with one person who is significantly younger or older than they are.  (yet they want things to work)  Well, I cannot begin to tell you how much I wish that romantic topic is what I’ll be writing about today.

But alas, I turn 50 on Wednesday, so instead this is going to be about getting older, so I can submit it to the WordPress Prompt before I get too old to comprehend the entry rules.  Maybe it’s a contest or Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes I can win….Ed McMahon lurking?

Therefore the numbers I am going to focus on are all the numbers that younger people who like to say, “Age is Just a Number” don’t EVER have to worry about.   Are you ready to examine them?  Let’s go!

115/65 – – This is my blood-pressure.  That is, when I am not contemplating how much I’d like to teach a good, “strong” lesson to all the young troublemakers who chirp, “Age is just a number.”

210 – – This is my total cholesterol and I defy you to find two articles that agree this is a bad number without giving you some ratio formula that sends you back to 8th grade math class.  And then where would you be?  Passing, “Do you like me?” notes to cute Jeff W?  Or maybe to cute Susan M?  Because after all, “Gender is just a word.”

1,310 – – This is the number of Calories that “they” claim I can take in and still maintain my current weight, (a number by the way, that shall remain nameless numberless?)   Yeah, sure!  This is also the exact number of sit-ups & push-ups I’ll need to do, plus the # of times I must run around my block if I eat anywhere NEAR that number of calories!

148 – – The number of my friends over forty who can relate to what I’m talking about here.  At least I’m not alone. And yes, misery DOES love company.  Misery particularly loves when the company you keep makes you look far better in comparison. (Hey, everything is relative!)  You know, like surrounding yourself with older, uglier and duller – – so that suddenly you start to look pretty darn good?!  Keeping this theory in mind – – if you’re ever looking for me from this point on, you’ll find me happily posing on the sofa pictured below.

That's right! I'll look like a ravishing bride if I get married sitting on this left cushion.

That’s right! I’ll look like a ravishing bride if I get married sitting on this left cushion.

5 – – Average number of times in a week I lose my keys. We’re coming off a high-achieving week right now because it’s actually been 8 times.  But I finally got smart and made copies so I have two more sets left until I’m really desperate.  They called me from Target on Friday and urgently declared, “Miss Menopause?? We just found your car keys in our shopping cart!”  I magnanimously said, “That’s okay.  Give them to someone more needy than I.”  Then I leisurely strolled to retrieve my 9th set from my jewelry box.

16 – – Number of times I look at my hair in a mirror per day and say, “Gray is the new Brunette.”

.2 – – This is the amount of Testosterone that courses thru my veins.  1. Google the amount in the average woman.   2. Google what kind of things Testosterone influences in your body.  3. Agree with me that I will never get remarried if I cannot raise this number.

4 – – Number of hours I sleep in a night.  This is on a good night.  This is because of a) 26 hot-flashes  b) 22 thoughts of,  “I better not forget to do such ‘n such tomorrow. c) 6 night sweats (don’t tell me this is the same thing as a hot-flash.  It’s not!)   d)  3  reoccurring, terrifying nightmares that I got remarried on that couch pictured above.  Or remarried at all.  d)  16 funny noises (not “ha-ha” like a whoopie cushion) that I think I hear at 1:45 am, which subsequently require my walking thru the entire house with a baseball bat.  e) 2 realizations that I should probably make my sports-enthusiast son a baseball themed birthday party.  f)  80 –  the number of google searches at 4 am it takes me to find a local bakery that will make the perfect baseball diamond-shaped cake.

14 and 1/2 – – The number of times someone tells me in a day that I am “a little bit” obsessive/compulsive.  The 1/2 is from someone else who also has OCD and keeps changing their mind.

2650 – – Number of piano lessons I was “encouraged” to have between the ages of 8-16 years old because my mother told me I would be popular at parties. “After all, everyone loves a good sing-along,” she cajoled.

0 (zero) – – Number of times I have been dragged to a piano and requested to play Moonlight Sonata or a Polka by ANYONE at all during some wild musical bash in someone’s home.

4 – – Number of times my mother reads my blog in a week so I can say, “See?  I told you so.”

22 – – The average number of pills YOU Dear Reader will need to take every single day  (to keep all the above numbers in control!) as you age.  Note:  I however, will NOT be ingesting any of this junk because I’ve officially changed my mind about this whole entire thing.  I don’t need to win any writing contest about aging.  I withdraw my entry! Forget it! (What writing contest?  See it’s already forgotten!) I’m doing just fine as a young spring chicken, thank you very much.

Age is a bunch of numbers (and a bunch of pills?) No Thank You!

Age is a bunch of numbers (and a bunch of pills?) No Thank You!

What “number” bothers you the most about aging?  Can you make light of it?  Leave me a comment below!

I Am Finally A “Cut Above The Rest!”

photo-232I am every husband’s dream.  I don’t go to salons.  I don’t get pedicures, facials, hand massages, or highlights.  The latter term, at least I know has to do with hair. But I thought Lowlights were desk lamps with dim bulbs.

However, for my upcoming 50th birthday, I recently ventured out to get my hair cut.  It wasn’t just “Snip, Snip, Snap, that’ll be $19 please.”  It was An Event.  That’s because I went to a salon (called “Pellegrino’s” with the little fancy French upside-down accent mark shaped like a hat over the “o”) which I could never afford to patronize, if I hadn’t won a gift-card in a raffle drawing.

Even though I had already Killed My Mean Girl (read here if you don’t know!) and gained new confidence, I was still feeling terribly nervous on the day of my appointment, so I dressed in my most trendy attire.   I even washed/styled my hair and painted my nails with my 11 year old’s polish. A frumpy, over-the-hill housewife would be laughed out the door, so that meant I couldn’t show up as myself.   Believe me when I tell you I went to the salon looking as if I just came from the salon!

(But I also always clean my house before the house-cleaner comes!)

A well-coiffed man with a nametag that read, “Culligan Perrier” opened the door for me.  “Right this way, Miss.” Holy cow, was this a Maitre de or the Water Boy??  “I’d like you to make the acquaintance of Mr. Pellegrino,” he announced.

There was an awkward pause and I felt the need to say it, so I did.  “You mean Thee Pellegrino?” I drawled, “As in Pellegrino’s hair salon with that cute little accent mark over the ‘o’   ?!!” I pointed excitedly to their sign.

A hushed silence followed, as heads nodded solemnly.  He must’ve stopped by the salon on the way to his own wedding, so grooms-like was his tuxedo.  I resisted the urge to ask where he was headed on his honeymoon and let him take me by my arm instead.

“Let me start by showing you our Manicurial Engineering Department in the front. And here we have the Colorist Technicians (oh pleeeease, they just dye hair!) and on your right, you’ll notice our own Custom line of quality hair products.  Make-up artists have their own studio back here.  Artists, Engineers and Technicians stay separate. They never fraternize.  On your left are the skin care analytic machines.  Ladies and Gentlemen facilities in the rear and our linens get laundered over there.”

What the hell?  Was I receiving a haircut or a new employee guided tour?

“Any questions?” Mr. Pellegrino asked.

“Just one.  Should I begin with sweeping the floors or answering the phones?” I watched his lips purse into a straight “you are so very humorless” line.  Some people are just so touchy.

“Let me take you over to Brita who will be handling all your hair needs today.”  Hmmm, Brita was my water filter system back home.  My hair didn’t need handling, it needed cutting.

Brita: (hair stare) Hello.  I didn’t realize it was so terribly windy out there today.  How dreadful.

Me: Huh?  Outside?  Oh, it’s as calm as my ten year old when I double dose him with Benadryl.

Brita: (harder hair stare) Like I said. . .  How dreadful.

Brita then placed me in a waiting chair while she finished blowing her client, (I swear she said this exact wording to me) but first she brought me some water.  Someone must have chopped salad fixings near the water pitcher, because my glass had several cucumbers in it.  She handed me a People Magazine.

This is what I saw.  I swear. Again.

photo-226

Then a girl who looked like she jumped off a modeling runway came around and offered me a facial while I waited.  Certainly a salon of this caliber didn’t use kitty litter. I looked around but didn’t see any eager Siamese cats (or Bengal Tigers!) waiting to pounce on my face to scratch wrinkles off.  Still, I wisely declined.  She talked me into a massage instead. As she kneaded, pushed and pulled my skin into a different shape, I realized it’d been forever since I baked bread.

Back in the waiting chair, People Magazine was shoved in my hands again.  I saw this subject title. photo-225

It dawned on me that all this time I thought celebrity women wanted for nothing.  Certainly not for lavish meals at big events. Imagine my surprise when I read these quotes and realized the abuse going on here.

photo-224photo-223

These poor dear women are being deprived of food.  And in this next case, deprived of oxygen too.

photo-222Or perhaps Busy Phillips was too darn Busy to breathe.  In any case, I made a mental note to start a charity and call it,  “Let’s get our celebrity female role models FED!”

Since it was such a long wait, I figured I would quickly pop into the ladies room and make sure my hair didn’t look like it was in too much need of “handling.” Wow, what a shiny bathroom! However I didn’t realize the sinks were motion activated, but I was able to rescue my purse when it was only half-way submerged.  I glanced at the soggy tampons and drenched makeup brush – – Oh well, this was a “water” themed salon so my purse would fit right in.  Besides, what else would a “fish out of water” carry on her arm?

At long last, the young, flawless Brita came over and purred, “I’m ready for you now.”  Then she stared at my purse so I said, “Oh!  Am I the first one you’ve seen with the new wet patent leather look?”

I walked over to her station with a graceful flourish, noting with satisfaction that I was garnering a lot of attention. No doubt some real “Lock Envy” going on as the other women got a gander at my “strategically windblown, Rat’s Nest, 80’s hairstyle, which looked not quite as classy as the photo below.  Almost, but not quite.

All the women in the salon are thinking, "Who does HER hair? And wow, why is she even here?!"

All the women in the salon are thinking, “Who does HER hair? And Wow, why is she even here?!”

Brita draped a long, black cloth over my clothes and I could sense she was very sorry to have to obscure my Flashdance glittered, one-shouldered sweatshirt.  We exchanged tips on haircare and Brita seemed fascinated that I used a proprietary product from the Dollar Store simply named, “Hair Shampoo.” I think the elegance of its minimalism impressed her.  That kinda thing is really so very in these days, you know.  I was excited to see her reaction when I told her I was also chic enough to use a little special something called, “Hair Conditioner” before leaving the laundry room sink.

They played lots of modern music while Brita “handled” my hair.  I didn’t recognize any of the songs, but as soon as “Staying Alive” from Saturday Night Fever came on, the receptionist went to change the station.  Probably because she didn’t know how to do the finger pointing hand movement to the disco dance that traditionally accompanied it.  So I showed her.

Next, I happened to overhear the woman sitting in the chair next to me, (whispering to her own stylist named Evian?) if this was still an exclusive salon?

I must say that the entire employee staff was extraordinarily considerate about my busy schedule.  (See “Busy Stephanie” is just as frazzled as Busy Phillips above!) When I first made my appointment, I mentioned to the receptionist that I needed to pick up my son from school directly afterwards.  During my haircut, no less than six people approached me with a reminder, “Shouldn’t you be going now?”  So thoughtful.

On my way out, they handed me a referral card for my next haircut. But it was all written in French.  I waved, smiling shyly to my new dance partner friend and her assistant (maybe named Sparkletts and Aquafina?) behind the counter,  who suddenly both also only spoke French.  Strange.  “Au revoir!  Au revoir!” they happily repeated.

I drove home singing “Frère Jacques,” but quickly realized I had left my Swatch Watch and Leg-Warmers back in the salon when I had my massage.  I called them up from my cell phone,  but upon hearing my name, the gentleman told me in perfect English that Pellegrino’s had moved and left no forwarding address.  Well, that’s okay.  Brita would be thrilled to keep those items since I had forgotten to tip her.

Oh yeah – – so here’s the new hairstyle with some heart-shaped Designer sunglasses the Dollar Store just got in! But do you think I’ll be able to incorporate a Jane Fonda type headband into this new look next time I wanna impress a group of women?photo-231

NOTE:  Only two more days left to win one of two prizes by entering the VERY easy contest inside this post! Click here.  Deadline Friday!

The Blogcademy Awards (The Bloscars!) – Will You Win?

Image Credit to the Skyscanner.com who for some reason uses this word (which I thought I made up) to run a contest for Travel Bloggers. They appear to be an airline?

Image Credit to the Skyscanner.com who for some reason uses this word (which I thought I made up!) to run a contest for Travel Bloggers. They appear to be an Airline.

C’mon, admit it.  You just knew you’d find me with this Blog title today, right?  With my love of inventing Blogger Vocabularly (read here) and how I honored the Winter Olympics with “The Writer Olympics” (read here) and Super Bowl Sunday (read here) then it follows there must be an event called “The Bloscars.”

Now let’s walk the Red-Carpet and enter the actual Post to see the grandeur that awaits, shall we?  Beware of the Blogarazzi with their blinding camera flashes, whoops and hollers.  Smile nicely, with that odd, “look over your shoulder at who-the-hell-knows what” type of pose.  Maybe all bloggers should keep looking over their shoulder for the next odd thing to happen to them?photo-217

THE PRE-CEREMONY TIME WASTERS & A PRIZE!

Welcome! First of all – – instead of Ellen Degeneres and pizza, you’re stuck with me serving Blogdogs on Buns. Children Bloggers get CornBlogs.  Sorry.  I won’t pass a hat around for $ contributions, but please don’t blog one single word about how I didn’t take into account alternative meal options for Blegetarians and Blegans.  We like our blogs meaty here!  i.e. – – “Where’s the Beef  Blog ??”

photo-216Insert your Favorite Opening Dance Sequence Here to the left.  Idina Menzel (pronounce it however you like, but give John Travolta a break- – he’s barely “Staying Alive” since his Saturday Night Fever stint) can also sing “Let It Go” from the animated film, Frozen, which is what happens to Bloggers who refresh their Stats page too much.  Their computer freezes.

And yes, there will be a Selfie Photo Contest, so let’s take down Twitter…Wordpress!  No WordPressure, but please take a photo of the front page of your Blog the way that it looks on your laptop/computer with you (the proud Blog creator!)  in the photo as well.  Shy, retiring, inhibited, insecure, and/or paranoid Bloggers (that would be me) feel free to just portray your blog alone, without any human in the pic.   Put the photo or a link to the photo (since I don’t know if it’s even possible to post a photo here?  Some of the higher-tech Bloggers will tell me, no doubt) in the comments section and the winner (based on the most eye-catching, creative photo) will receive two movie passes. (or the equivalent of such, on an Amazon Gift Card)  Deadline will be this Friday, the 7th of March to post Selfie photos and a winner will be picked and prize awarded on my birthday, March 12th.  Since I will have nothing better to do on that day, other than to sob about turning 50.

And Now . . . The Blotion Picture Blogcademy Proudly Presents . . . THE BLOSCARS! (think of orchestras rising here)

During the silence that follows each category,  please imagine who would deserve this particular award in your own real life world or Online world that you call your Blogosphere.  I would never be so presumptuous as to start naming Names here!  The idea is to get YOU thinking about the kinds of people (bloggers and non-bloggers alike) that you consciously surround yourself with each and every day.  It CAN make a difference.

And the Featured Categories Are ????

Best Supportive Commenter:  Who regularly leaves you lots of love?

Best Editor:  Which individual do you count on to give your posts a onceover, so you don’t get blatant errors like “onceover” when published?

Best Original Score UnderScore: (Note: Strikeovers would also fall in this category)

Best Blog Header:  Your eye was drawn immediately!

Best Blog Background:  It compliments, rather than detracts.

Best Song: (Oh!  I feel another contest coming on!)  In the comments section below, please leave the one best song (with either a Title or the well known chorus lyrics) that would best suit your blog.  In other words, you would most want to have this song blasting when someone clicks open your blog.  Give a brief explanation as to why you chose this song. One winner will be announced (same dates given for the Selfie Photo contest above) and awarded a $20 itune Gift Card.  Looking again for Creativity here and some Wordplay. (See InspireTheWorld2Day (who happens to be the first entry) in the comments section below for a clear example.)

Best Tagger:  Who gets the best traffic from tags?

Best Motivator:  Who inspires your ideas?  Which individual do you most find yourself telling to “hold that thought” for a second while you jot something down in your “Blog Notebook”  You do have one of those, right?!?

Best Brusher-Off-er:  Who changes the subject the fastest when you bring up your Blog?

Best and Worse Dressed List

Clothing is a huge deal.  I know.  Just not here. And breasts are not going to be mentioned here at all.  If you want to know why, go here.   So alternatively,  there will be no hiring Mr. Blackwell  Blogwell to ogle (blogle) and rave or conversely rant/diss any certain Blogger’s Pajamas Attire – – but the following categories will rhyme with the word “Dressed” instead.  You should nod your head right about now and see this as a perfectly suitable solution.

Best Jest:  Favorite Non-Serious Blog

Best Guest:  Who regularly has the most interesting Blogger Guests writing for them?

Best Blessed:  Whose Blog seems to have the most Gratitude or Grace?

Best Addressed:  Who takes a Controversial Subject and Nails it?

Best Confessed:  Who takes the opportunity of blogging to bare their soul, show their authentic truth?

Best Assessed:  Who is the Best Reviewer you know.  Books, Movies, Food, etc. Their opinion matters to you!

Best Compressed:  Who can blog in the fewest words you know and still make it work?  Really distill down their ideas so you just get the concentrated bottom line from them?

Best Distressed & Stressed:  Who is always having an issue?  Yes, this could be a Drama Blog, but maybe not?

Best Obsessed:  Who focuses on just one topic every single solitary time, but you love them anyway?

Best Cardiac Arrest:  Who shocks you the most with their outrageousness?

Best Nest:  Which Parent Blogger gets the most “oohs and ahs” because their love of family shines through?

Best Quest:  Who seems to have the loftiest goal or purpose in Blogging?

Best Teenage Blogger who is wise beyond their years:  Hey that doesn’t rhyme?  That’s right, just seeing if you are paying attention.

Best Contest:  Who regularly has Blog Giveaways that excite you?

Best Pest:  Who is that Blogger you wish you could secretly Unfollow?

Best Rest:  Their Blog is where you hang out when you want to unwind and relax.

Best Pressed:  They haven’t been Freshly Pressed, but you think that’s just a matter of time. Either that or they make really good freshly squeezed orange juice.

Best Detest:  Okay, you hate their blog.  You don’t follow it at all, but you’re aware of its presence and you want them to clean up their act.

Best Intelligence Test:  Wow, are they just off the chart smart or what??  Do you even belong there as a reader?  Yep, you do!

Best Request:  They’re the Blog-Pleasers.  They will do what you ask because they want crowd approval.  But do you really know what they’re about?

Best Impressed: They are the equivalent of the  Name   Blog-Dropper who wants you to admire their Blog for the Flash, not the substance.

Best Protest:  They are never going to be happy unless they can keep blogging about how unhappy the world makes them.

Best Mae West:  “Why don’t you come up and see me sometime?”  That’s right, I finally ran out of rhymes that had any connection to blogging! And besides we needed a real movie star right about now.

Along with leaving a comment, Please don’t forget to enter one or both contests above (Selfie & Song) and we’ll see you next year at the BLOSCARS! Also signing up to follow my blog will guarantee you won’t miss the next time I get zany enough to decide to bizarrely tie a Giveaway Contest with a Posting Topic.

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!

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?

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.

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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 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!”