We Just Wanted Pizza….
Posted on August 31, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, Tall Tales, adventure, yoiks
Back in the lean days, I used to room with my friend, Zelda. And I ain’t kidding, lean doesn’t begin to describe those days. It was the old living on beans and rice and Kraft Mac n Cheese. Know what I mean?
Anyway, we lived in this little ranch style that had seen better days. The inside had been made pretty livable but the yard was - well, let’s put it this way - to call it a vacant lot would be flattering it. Okay? Vast wasteland. So, we decided it would be a most excellent idea to start a garden. We were broke but not without imagination. We would grow our food. Yes indeed, we would return to the fruits of the Earth just as our ancestors had. And besides it was a whole lot easier than trying to seed a lawn.
We got a bunch of seeds from the bargain bin at the local home center and off we went. Sowing seeds, left and right - right and left. We dug, we raked, we hoed and we even ho-hoed. Then we got one of those cheap twirly style sprinklers and knew in our hearts, our garden would be bountiful.
Well stuff started to grow all right, but it was mostly weeds. Still we persisted and eventually we started to get a sort of lawn sprouting. One day, I saw something strange and exotic on the ‘lawn.’ It was beige-ish and sort of marbled. It scared me. Yes, I admit it was spooky.
I called out Zelda and pointed to the ‘thing’ and said, “What is that?” Well Zelda didn’t want to go near it either. We stood at the edge of the patio and contemplated. Finally, Zelda got a shovel edged near it and scooped it up with a bunch of dirt. She put it in a box and we examined (from a reasonable distance) it. I had a big light go on in my noggin and I realized, “It’s a snake egg!”
Our eyes got wide. Ooooohhh, a snake egg. What would we do with it? We didn’t know, so we left it on the back porch for a couple of days. When we came out again, we noticed another snake egg had been laid and was in the lawn waiting for us. Zelda grabbed the shovel again, scooped it up and gently placed it next to its sibling in the box.
We went inside and pondered what to do with the eggs. We didn’t want to destroy them but didn’t want to grow snakes either. Can you say eeeeooooowwww? So we called the Wild Life Station, reasoning they’d be happy to come out and take the snake eggs off our hands. Nope, they weren’t interested. Neither was the Human Society, nor the local pet store. And then the ‘aha’ moment came to us. We would call an exotic pet store to see if they wanted it. Somewhere along the line we decided that it must be the eggs of a mama boa constrictor or some other really big snake cuz those eggs were ginormous. Bingo! We called the only exotic pet shop we could find and the owner was very interested.
Oh how thrilled we were! We were going to sell some wild snake eggs to the exotic pet store owner and order pizza. Maybe we’d even have enough for a beer or two! Yipppeeee!
We waited and waited. He was an hour and half away and it took time. Finally he arrived. We let him in the house in absolute glee at the thought of a double cheese, pepperoni dinner. My mouth was watering as we took him to the back to the little home we’d made for our little baby snakes. He went straight to the box, picked it up, examined, put his face practically in it. We held our breath. How much would he pay for them? Could we get two pizzas? Our heads spun. Finally, he put down the box and looked at us.
We nodded to encourage him to speak.
He shook his head and smiled ever so slightly.
“Well, what do you think?” we asked.
“Ladies,” he said, “these are mushrooms.”
“What?” we cried in unison.
“These are mushrooms, ma’am.”
We were quite shocked and apologized profusely for having brought him out for mushrooms and off he went. I’m not sure, but I think he was doubled over his truck for quite a while before he left.
So much for being of the earth and its bounty. What sad excuses for farmers we were! We would not be growing food or even snakes any more. Drat! Drat! And double drat!!!!!
We were damned pissed! (actually we were laughing our asses off) We wanted that pizza. We really wanted that pizza!
WC
Cream Boogers
Posted on August 30, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, Rants/Opinions, adventure, bad hair day
Okay, so have you ever stumbled into your favorite coffee shop - no, I don’t mean Starbucks - I mean a real, honest-to-goodness coffee shop, diner, greasy spoon - and sat down at your favorite table yearning for your first cup of coffee? The waitress finally saunters over after flirting with the big tippers or the cook, whoever is cuter and says, “Coffee?”
“Yes,” you stammer and try not to sound too needy. She nods and does the bump-grind-sashay, bump-grind-sashay across the room (the coffee pot is always across the room, apparently it’s a rule) and grabs the pot. If you’re lucky, it’s the one that hasn’t been sitting on the burner for the last three hours and holds the remnants of the coffee syrup that has formed. Another regular walks in and she stops, flirts, kind of swaying the pot with her index finger. You watch, mesmerized as the coffee does a little splish-splash and you’re starting to feel a little sea-sick.
Finally, she remembers why she has the coffee pot and does the bump-grind-sashay, bump-grind-sashay back to your table. You hold out your cup greedily. She pours, splashing a little on your fingers but you hold back the wince. “Want anything else?” she asks though you know she doesn’t want to bring you anything else anyway.
“Not right now,” you say to her back as she goes away.
Now you have what you want - you’ve only to doctor it to the special sweetness and lightness and then you can whip out your notebook and pen and sip as you contemplate the world and all its woes. You like the raw sugar but your table doesn’t have any in the stupid little, square white container. You scan the other square containers on the other tables til you zero in on it. Ah hah! You snag the whole thing because you know there will be refills to consider. Next and most importantly, the creamer. Now, the reason you go to this diner in the first place is because they use the real stuff. Not that white junk they make out of coconut oil and chemicals - nope this is real half and half. Not fat-free something, or Cremora or low-fat milk or 2%. Not any of that garbage! The real thing. The stuff that comes out of the cow - nature’s coffee companion. Yes!
Naturally, your creamer is empty. Again the eye scan kicks in for full creamer within reach. Thank God, there is one at the next table. Got it! You take it by its dainty handle and tip it ever so nice. I like to hold it high above the cup and watch the white liquid flow and finish it with a little hand flourish (okay, I have too much invested in the Food Channel). Just as it begins to pour into your coffee you see it. The thing. That little globule poised ever so tenuously at the very tip of the spout. “Oh Christ, it’s a cream booger!” you cry but too late. It’s made the journey with the rest of the cream into your coffee cup.
Dilemma. Do you drink it and hope it slides down with the first gulp or do you fish it out with your spoon? Either way the idea of how long it took the cream booger to form, what bacterial varmits may be playing hopscotch inside it makes your mind churn. Are your antibodies at the ready? Can they kill the little bastard once it makes its journey through your small intestine? Is this where Avian Flu really comes from? Yet another trickle-down effect of Global Warming? I mean, cripes where is Al Gore when you need him? And is it me, or has Al been having a little too much half and half in his coffee lately?
You peer into your coffee and there it is, doing a lazy backstroke in your wake-up juice. You squint your eyes and could swear that it winks and waves and is singing some old Simon & Garfunkel song. Eh. You shrug. Put the cup to your lips and drink it down. “Ah, morning coffee! Nothing like it. Oh waitress….”
(This is the post that started the whole blogging thing rolling. )
Conversations With Myself (did I say that out loud?)
Posted on August 29, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, adventure, yoiks
I don’t know about you, but I find sometimes I have the most incredible conversations with myself. Not about any one thing in particular, just well, everything.
I sometimes think they are the most quality communication I have. Other times I wonder if I should start picking out a shopping cart and research meds.
Even as a little kid I used to talk to myself. I’d sit on the swingset and sing songs I made up. I tell stories. I’d make jokes. I would have a grand old time. My Ma always thought how cute it was that I had an imaginary friend and I couldn’t burst her bubble by telling her that I wasn’t talking to anyone but me.
The habit carried over to adult life. I have conversations that I’ve edited and rewritten. You know the ones? Where you got caught flat-footed in real life? Somebody got on you about something and you just stood there, mouth agape, little wheezing sounds or moans coming out but no words. Or you said something so lame that you had the inclination to grab a serving spoon and scoop them back into your mouth before anyone noticed? Yep, those are some of my favorite conversations. I am instantly transformed into the witty, intelligent, always-has-a-snappy-comeback girl I believe myself to be.
Then there are the political debates while listening to talk radio and driving to the bank. I don’t know why it’s always during the trip to the bank, it just works out that way. Hell, I mop up the floor with the Washington elite…in my mind.
I also have fights with my room mate, my friends and/or family without their being present. You know what I’m talking about here? They’ve done something or said something that’s just really pissed you off - but you hold your tongue. It simmers and boils and grates on you. Next thing you know you’re railing at them while driving your car to pick up the pizza. Never noticing the other drivers’ perplexed looks. Perhaps they are wondering if you are talking to them?
Of course, there are also the little pep talks I have to give myself. “Don’t worry, the company won’t shut down. If the car breaks you have money on your credit cards. You just need to keep working out and that fat ass will eventually have to go away. You really can write that damned synopsis. You just need to stop playing computer games and get to work. You look okay today. No, really you do.”
And the little scoldings. “I should never have eaten that cake. What was I thinking? My ass isn’t big enough? They’ll never let you on a plane with that ass, you’ll have to buy two seats.” Or “This time Dr. Mindell won’t scold me. My gums will look good. I’ve been flossing. I’ve been brushing. I’ve been good. He won’t look at me in that resigned, apathetic way this time.”
Now, maybe I should be worried. Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Because people are supposed to talk to other people, right? They shouldn’t prefer their own company to others, should they? They make meds for this, right?
But the funny thing is, I’m not worried. Nope, not at all. I actually think in a weird, writer sort of way, it’s healthy. I can vent to myself and nobody gets hurt. I can confide in myself and nobody gets embarrassed. I can have a fight, make up and nobody’s the wiser. Hey, it’s all good here.
Anybody else have conversations with themselves. Come on, you can tell me. I swear I won’t say a word. 
WC
Me, Wild-Heidi & Taylor Hicks
Posted on August 28, 2006 - Filed Under Just For Fun, adventure, american idol, fangirly, men, music
You may not be aware of the fact that I am a rabid Taylor Hicks fan. (Well, maybe not rabid since I wouldn’t bite anybody.) It all started when I happened to catch a couple of American Idol auditions last winter. This guy caught my eye. Stood out as something special. Not because of his grey hair or his rumpled cuteness but because it seemed to me he reached deep when he belted out those few words in the audition. I decided I would watch the show as long as he remained a contestant. Little did I know what a phenom he would turn out to be.
Long story short, I like (apparently) millions of other women became completely enamored of this grey-haired dude and my (our) life became all about Tay-Tay. Yep, it was all Taylor all the time. Soon, I was seeking out other Taylor fanatics online and actually ended up making a few friends. Most notably: Bobo, Wild-Heidi, Uni & Trish. It was cah-raze-ee! We spent endless hours on message boards, IMing about the latest, visiting sites like graycharles.com, swapping pics, videos, blah, blah, blah. Hey I finally got to be 16 and it was fricking great! Then…
Yay! He won.
It turned out that Wild-Heidi lived in California too, so we hooked up. The incessant Taylor-Talk continued. We were going to stalk him and find him and I don’t know - we never really talked about what we’d actually do if we met him. Anyway, at some point, we decided it would be too long before he put a solo concert together so we thought we’d better go see the Idol concert when it came to town. Intense conversation on the phone, tickets selected and bought online. Then all we had to do was wait…….
Yesterday, the day had finally arrived. We were going to see Taylor. We were both so hyped up that neither of us really slept. We left for Orange County (concert was in Anaheim) a mere 4 hours early. We had lunch. Then we zipped over to the stadium. Still an hour & a half to concert time, we hung by the tour busses in hopes of catching a glimpse of our obsession. No luck. We did see Kelli, Cat, Elliott & Paris. I was utterly amazed at how tiny they all were. They looked so much bigger on television. And btw, Kelli and Paris really are beautiful young women, startling so.
Wild-Heidi was disappointed that we didn’t catch site of “T” but I said, ‘hey, maybe he’ll dance down our aisle or something. could happen?’ We went in. The place was packed and though the a/c was jacked to the max I was sweating my brains out.
We found our seats and Wild-Heidi made friends with everybody in our quandrant of the stadium. There was picture swapping, binocular sharing, fangirly screams and dancing. Yep, we were having a grand old time. But oh, the wait. Not that the other kids weren’t great, they were. But, I paid $150 to see Taylor - that was all I was interested in. Wild-Heidi and I conserved our energy for him.
Just after intermission the lady sitting next to us whispered that she heard Taylor was in fact going to be dancing down our aisle. I told Wild-Heidi and worried she would need an oxygen tank if she didn’t start breathing soon.
The lights dimmed - we watched the stage and eyed the aisle alternately. Back and forth. Forth and back. Just when we thought he wasn’t really going to be dancing down the aisle, we heard him to our left. OMG! There he was! Yep, right there - 3 feet away from me. He was reaching out and touching people and I put out my hand and managed to graze his arm. I touched him. Yeoooowwwooooooohhooooooooooooooooo! Okay, that definitely made my night. Wild-Heidi got a little vaklemped because she was trying to manage the digital camera and the camera cell phone at once and got a ‘ghost’ of a pic.
Then we screamed our heads off, danced the Carltong, yelled, clapped, hopped and sang! It ended way too soon. Way too soon. But what great fun it was while it lasted.
Right after the concert, we rushed to the tour busses, where they fenced us back like we were in fan-zoo’s and we waited. People pushed and leaned and poked and nuggled but me and Wild-Heidi held our own. We stayed up front. We were ready, we had our CD’s, ticket stubs for signing (actually I wore a white shirt for signing- I know, crazy, huh?). But, it was not meant to be. Taylor was whisked away to another engagement after we barely caught a glimpse - and we had waited over an hour just for that. Happily, I did get my shirt signed by Mandisa, Paris and Kelli. All beautiful, all very sweet young women.
We topped the evening off by going to a gas station mini-mart, buying a couple of warm diet cokes and making the long drive home. Wild-Heidi is still a little miffed at Tay for not stopping and saying hi to us, but she’ll cheer up once we plan our next Taylor caper. Hehee, oh yes she will.
By the way ladies, Taylor is unbelievably handsome in real life. Knocks you flat on your arse. I promise, no lie.
WC
BvB - Shameless Promotion
Posted on August 28, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, adventure, my opinions, yoiks
My buddy Fuzz asked me to write a post for Beauty versus the Beast, a blog that looks at various topics from both the female and male perspectives.
The topic was polygamy; big love or too much of a good thing?
I co-posted with my chum MichaelM.
Stop by and check it out HERE and leave us a comment.
Oh, and Happy Monday!
WC
My Favorite Things
Posted on August 27, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life
Yes, Julie Andrews isn’t the only one who has favorite things. I certainly have mine. Like…
Anytime, any team beats the Yankees. Okay New Yorkers, sorry but I just get a thrill when some underdog team cleans their clock. Must be that David and Goliath syndrome.
When my room mate has had too much wine to practice Cross Roads for the 1,114th time. Even better if he decides to hit the sack rather than watch the Lord of the Rings Trilogy for the 512th time at full-tilt, stereophonic warp speed.
Driving down the road when all the other drivers on the road apparently passed their drivers’ tests.
Buying shoes. Okay, it’s a girl thing. And it doesn’t even matter if I have anything to go with them. Just gimme more shoes, that’s all I ask.
Diet coke, no matter how many rats it affects adversely.
Watching a whole movie with nobody making editorial comments or discussing sports scores, cars or the best way to roll a cigarette.
Pants that make my ass look good. Believe me, this is a miracle from God when it happens.
Seeing the handsomest guy in the place go after the smart chick.
My dog chasing her tail just cuz she’s happy. And barking at phantom squirrels, possums and intruders.
Babies who laugh when you cross your eyes at them.
Men who are afraid to cry. I mean really, we hear them spit, grunt, belch and snore - must we hear them cry too?
Good books. Stupid jokes. Steak dinners. Corn on the cob. Cold watermelon.
Men who aren’t prettier than me, don’t have better hygiene than me and don’t carry a purse or anything that could be mistaken for same.
More than 3 comments on a post. A great idea for a post. Getting the great idea for the post on paper before I forget it.
And of course, chocolate. Preferrably served by a handsome, naked man who is desperately in love with me.
Well, these are a few of my favorite things….what are yours?
I See Dead People…
Posted on August 26, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, yoiks
No…I really do. In fact, I see them everywhere. They are in the grocery store, pushing carts into yours. If they hit your cart, they roll back and try again and like the energizer bunny they just keep going and going.
Driving cars. The ones gripping the steering wheel so hard the white of their knuckles serve as reflector strips on a dark street. They hook a sharp angle into your lane. Can’t hear the horn, can’t hear the brakes screeching, can’t hear your threats and cussing. I mean, what more proof do you need?
In fact, I’m beginning to believe that there are more dead people around than live ones. The kid on the skate board riding smack-dab middle down the street doesn’t seem to notice your 2,000 lb car hurtling toward them. The teen-aged mothers dragging screaming toddlers across the street as the mini vans zoom by. The 7-11 clerk who takes your debit card, swipes it and thrusts it back at a person, apparently seen only by their zombie eyes, standing to the right or left of you. Questions on your part are met with a vacant stare. Responses can only be illicited by uttering phrases like, ‘$10 on number 2′ - ‘pack of Marlboros’ - ‘two chili dogs.’
Need more proof? Go to the DMV, call the phone company or ask a gas station attendant for directions. Or just for fun, ask a traffic cop why he stopped you? Like the terminator, his vacant eyes drift over you, around you, behind you but never at you. I mean, what are they looking for? Other dead people they can maybe date? Yep, dead, every one of them.
It’s a fricking Twilight Zone out there folks. One could even ponder if dead people are blogging. How hard would it be. Pound on the keys and hit publish. We’d never know….would we?
I do, I really do…I see dead people…
WC
You Might be a Worry-Wart if…
Posted on August 25, 2006 - Filed Under Humor, Just For Fun, Life, yoiks
We all worry in our lives about the big stuff and the small stuff. But some of us worry a whole lot more than the rest of us. Those people are the worry-warts among us. If you see yourself in any of the following, contact wwa (worry-warts-anonymous) post haste.
You might be a worry-wart if…
You have to go back in the house three times to make sure you turned off the coffee machine and the iron (even though you haven’t ironed anything in a decade).
You have to kill a spider just because he is crawling up the wall.
You can’t rest until you determine what the source of that smell is and where exactly is it coming from.
Your car makes a funny sound and you pull over to call Triple A.
Every morning you walk into work and think “Today, they are going to fire me.”
You buy health insurance just in case.
Wonder why the guy across the Denny’s dining room is looking at you like that.
You become convinced that one of your boobs is getting smaller because only one of the cups of your bra is saggy.
You spend an hour examining your gums in a magnified mirror.
On a blind date you have more attention on how fat your ass looks in the outfit you chose, than the fancy restaurant you’re in.
You’re afraid to look at your mail because you might have forgotten to pay a tax bill.
You wonder what dentures feel like.
You follow a skateboarder home to tell his mother he was playing in the street.
You go to the emergency room when you have gas.
You practice your reasons for leaving your last position before a job interview.
You think the guy tailgating you is really an undercover cop.
A fire engine roars by and you wonder if it has anything to do with the cigarette you just threw out the window.
You pull into the 7-11 when there is a cop behind you, even though you don’t want to buy anything.
You consider deleting your blog any time you get less than 3 comments on a post.
You’re concerned that Pluto will retaliate for having been kicked out of the solar system.
Feel free to add to the list.
WC
World War IV?
Posted on August 23, 2006 - Filed Under Current Events, Deep thoughts, Inspirational Words, Life, Terrorism, philosophy & politics
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse.
John Stuart Mill
Norman Podhoretz wrote a compelling article a couple of years back, which I would like to share. It is, in my opinion an incredible analysis of the War on Terror and I found it very informative.
It is a pretty long piece, so get your coffee or iced tea before you start. Enjoy.
Don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll write something funny, silly or stupid.
WC
Writers, Bloggers and Reality TV?
Posted on August 22, 2006 - Filed Under Blogging, Humor, Just For Fun, Life, adventure, writing
I’m not one for reality tv generally - though I admit I did get caught up in American Idol this year and So You Think You Can Dance (I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid.)
I watched the finale for Dance this past Wednesday and Benji turned out to be America’s Favorite Dancer. Good for him and btw, I was pulling for him.
But it got me thinking that out of all the bagillions of reality television shows on the air, they have none for writers or bloggers. Not one. I mean what’s up with that? Is there an anti-reading movement swelling in this country that I’m unaware of? Considering that educational scores are dwindling (at least in the States) it would seem that reading may be losing its popularity. But then if that’s the case, why are there so many books published every year? Why are so many blogs popping up daily? I mean, somebody must be reading them, right?
So why not have a reality show based on writers? Or bloggers? I mean if America is really hot to watch people eat worms, jump out of airplanes, make rafts out of coconut shells, lose 100 lbs in 30 days, get nose jobs and learn how to navigate a runway - why wouldn’t they be interested in the writing process?
Think about it, not only could it be interesting, why it could be educational. Kids could actually see people think and then put those thoughts on paper (or computers). We could create some drama by throwing in a couple of hacks and editors-in-writer’s-clothing types. We could have cat fights over thesaurus and dictionary thefts, title lifting, picture pinching. Behind the scenes, deep, philsophical discussions on tense, point of view, spellcheckers and the contribution of comic books to the literary paradigm could add depth and dimension. Yep, we could have viewers chatting up a storm about what Martha thinks about viewpoint.
They could have little mini-competitions or write-offs. Who can write the most cohesive paragraph in 90 seconds? Who can pitch a screenplay in 3 minutes without breaking into a sweat? Who can write a post with the most common tags in it? What does html mean?
Judges wouldn’t be hard to come by because really everybody is a critic. But just to take the high road they could be sure to throw in a real publisher or agent.
And here are some possible names: American Writer or America’s Got Writers or Got Blog? or Blogorama Reality or So, You Think you Can Write? or So, You Think You’re a Blogger…
Voting could be conducted online and for the finale, William Shatner could read the winner’s final manuscript. Good idea, huh?
Okay, who wants to call Simon Cowell?
WC
