Signs Your Body Has Been Taken Over by an Alien

Well it’s re-run Friday again.  And I know if you’re anything like me, you don’t like to head into the weekend not knowing whether or not your body has been taken over by an alien.  So here are the signs:

You don’t get why you can’t order Panda at Panda Express.

You often sink into a depression over having just the one head.

Oh sure you’re a cat lover, but only because they drink their milk out of  s a u c e r s .

While everybody else is drinking Margaritas, you’re drinking Margarita.

“Wait . . where’s Margarita?”

When you introduce yourself to others, you feel compelled to add that you’re “just your typical human being.”

You can’t believe you went so long never realizing how superfluous pupils were.

When nobody’s looking you turn into a writhing platter of arroz con pollo.

“DEAR GOD! IT”S ALIVE!”

You’re worried about how much longer you’ll get away with passing off the suction cup on forehead as a high-definition tattoo.

You’ve got your own way of describing the face on Mars:  MOMMY!

And the number one way to tell if your body has been taken over by an alien?

Your blood sugar plummets if you go too long without eating a puppy.

“Mmmmmmm . . . .PUPPY!”
Until next time . . . I love you

Just a quick note to all my Wonderful Blogging Buddies:

I just want to say that I have met the most wonderful people since I started blogging and thanks to all of you, my life has been greatly enriched!  I love reading your blogs!

And:

I got tagged!  I got awarded! I got milk! (Ok, I didn’t get milk!) And I want to thank you all!  I am honored and touched (in the heart as well as in the head) that you have taken the time to nominate this blog.  Your support inspires me greatly!
So thank you so much:
Until next time . . . I love you

I Can’t Explain It . . . There’s Just Something About Uranus!

It’s nice to be mature or so I’m told. Now that I am nearly old enough to collect Social Security (so I can finally be more secure socially),  and now that I am a Grandmother, and now that  AARP is positively drooling every time I walk by, well I’m pretty much hot stuff in the fast-paced world of Aging Boomerism.

That is why, Dear Readers,  I am  delighted to be nominated for an award so infantile, so juvenile, so puerile, so River Nile, that I couldn’t be more pleased if God, himself, had instructed Moses to part the Red Sea and let me hunt for sea shells for a full five minutes!

"Hey lookee this one! It's not even broken at all!"

I am speaking of course of the most coveted and the most revered award to ever grace  the Blogosphere:

The Award to END All Awards

For this nomination, I thankfully thank Lizzie Cracked (but not broken) over at Running Naked with Scissors who writes a wise, funny and a humongously creative blog about life with Bi-Polar, six kids and one grandson among a host of other eclectic always entertaining topics. 

And now let us proceed to the Nomination Hoops through which one must jump when nominated  for the Glitter E. Yaynus Award!

Name five things that would make people want to kill me:

Lagging at every greenlight for miles trying to find my lip gloss.

 Eating the last  Girl Scout Cookie (OK, make that eating all of the Girl Scout Cookies).

 Meeting up with out-of-town guests, and forgetting my cell phone.

 Talking during the most important part of everything.

 Reading the time wrong on the airplane tickets.

Next: Name five things I would take to Uranus:

(OK, this isn’t the real version. In the real version, you are supposed to name five things you would stick up your ass, if forced. I’m  doing the watered-down, old-lady, granny version because I wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize my membership eligibility for AARP.) So here are the five things I would take to Uranus:

A copy of Pride and Prejudice because a little culture never hurt Uranus.

A herd of elephants because it’s rumored that Uranus is quite spacious.

Martha Stewart in case Uranus needs redecorating.

A pot of gold to place at the end of Uranus in case there’s no rainbows.

A fireworks factory because nothing spices up Uranus like firecrackers and sparklers!

Next: Run across a Freeway Blindfolded.  

Only if the freeway is blindfolded too, let’s make it fair!

Next: Pick a Prom Court:

Ok, what happened here? Things were progressing so logically until the last two questions.  I think the person who thought this up might have a touch of the ADD!  Nevertheless.  I will pick a prom court by passing the nomination on to the following bloggers who I think can really do this Prestigious Award justice and the nominees are:

Lauren’s Crazy Adventure (She’s got a new blog with a fresh perspective!)

Eldon  (A comedy alchemist who turns mascara into black streaks!)

Clipsnark (She’s a funny clip art clipper!)

A Gripping Life (She’s breaking out of her rut in a good way!)

Morristownmemos (She reads Dr. Suess, you’ll like her!)

And please Prom Court/Glitter E Yaynes Nominees,  please do not let the prestige of this award swell your ego  –it might go to Uranus!

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Guillotines are for Babies!

Imagining George Washington’s Sixth Birthday. 

Happy Birthday Hatchet Pie!

Our story opens when George Washington’s father comes outside and finds that the cherry tree has been chopped down:

What the?  George Washington come here right NOW!

Yes father?

Something tells me you cut down this cherry tree with the hatchet I got you for your birthday today!  I knew you were too young for a hatchet!  I knew I should have gone with your mother’s suggestion and gotten you a guillotine instead.

Father, please . . . I’m six!  All the other children in the township got hatchets when they turned three!  I mean, it’s downright embarrassing how long I had to wait to finally get a hatchet of my very own!  And, besides, everybody knows guillotines are for babies.

Well look what happens.  I finally get you a hatchet, and you haven’t even had it more than an hour and what’s the first thing you do? Cut down my prized cherry tree!

Well, I cannot tell a lie, Father.  It’s not exactly the first thing I cut down.

What?!?

Well now that you’ve brought it up, and since I cannot tell a lie, this might be as good a time as any to mention that first I cut down the apple tree, then I cut down the apricot tree and, lastly, I cut down the cherry tree — in addition to hacking up a couple of rose bushes.

That does it George, march yourself to the woodshed, I’m giving you a sound whipping’!

Father, as you know, I cannot tell a lie, so this might be as good a time as any to also mention that the woodshed isn’t as much of a woodshed as it used to be . . .

 On no!  Not another “I cannot tell a lie!”

In fact, it would be more accurate, Dear Father, if we were to start thinking of the woodshed in terms of a rather large pile of kindling rather than an  actual building in and of itself.

Nothing like the thrill of killing and eating fruit!

Oh for crying out loud!  Well, I hope you at least saved the fruit so that your mother can bake us some pies . . . George?  You did save the fruit from the trees didn’t you?

Oh that . . . well . . .  I can cannot tell a lie, Father, for I surely would if it would spare you the heartache of telling you that I but finished off the last of fruit only seconds ago.

Ha ha! Well,  you might be the naughtiest boy in the world but at least you’re honest George, my boy!   I have a feeling you are going to grow up to be the very first President of the United States of America!  Now off with you!  Oh . . . and for godsakes don’t forget to brush your teeth again!

Happy Birthday George Washington!  Wherever you are!

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Decides to Bake

Hey everybody!  Welcome to Digging-Up-Old-Posts-and-Rerunning-Them Friday! 

Your Total Presence is Required 

Just finished reading the Power of Now.  Now I’m reading Practicing the Power of Now.  And I really have been practicing too.  I’m working diligently at keeping my attention on what I’m doing.

It’s hard on Peanuts (my brain who insisted on being nicknamed Peanuts).  Peanuts has rules now.

Self-portrait drawn by my brain, Peanuts. (Peanuts not pictured.)

Peanuts doesn’t like rules.  Peanuts has to stay focused on the task at hand or go away. Peanuts hates this. Peanuts wants to do what Peanuts wants to do.

Turns out Peanuts is a big, fat, spoiled brat!

Take yesterday for instance.  After a long day of making Peanuts Ten Hut! to the task at hand and not letting Peanuts ruminate about the past or frolic in the future, Peanuts was exhausted.

Still, that didn’t stop Peanuts from deciding to bake a cake at 8:00 last night.  It’s sugarless, Peanuts kept throwing out there — so what’s the big deal?

Bake that cake, Peanuts implored.  “Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!” Well, OK fine, Peanuts, if it will shut you up!

So Peanuts and I decided to bake a cake, and I decided to let Peanuts take over the whole operation.  First of all, here’s the recipe:

  Linda’s Slightly Weird Orange Bundt Cake

One box of Pillsbury Yellow Cake Mix Sugar-free

One box instant vanilla pudding Sugar-free

Put both ingredients in a mixing bowl.

Add:

1 cup water

3 eggs (use fake eggs if you want to eat dough — never eat real eggs because they can carry salmonella)

1/2 cup of canned pumpkin

Juice from one orange and put in orange zest from peeling

(you just use a little grater and grate the skin -  you don’t need much) or you could use a lemon instead

Mix it all up, eat generous amount of dough, and pour remainder into bunt cake pan

Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 35 to 40 minutes.

So Peanuts gets the cake into the oven and goes back to reading The Power of Now.

When the timer goes off, Peanuts goes to remove the cake from the oven and accidentally bumps the pan on the top rack of the oven which causes the cake to flip out of the pan and land upside down on the over rack.

Then the cake starts to crumble and hits the oven elements and smoke starts pouring out.

Peanuts panics and tries to pick cake off the oven rack wearing a big fat oven mitt which causes cake to crumble more.  Peanuts takes oven mitt off and grabs bunt cake pan with bare hands burning four fingers.

Peanut’s screams can almost be heard over the blare of the smoke detector.

Peanuts finally manages to get some of the cake onto the  plate and scrapes the remains onto the floor — but instead of going on the floor they are actually go in the drawer below the oven.

Peanut’s version of Orange Bunt Cake

Through the whole experience Peanuts keeps reminding me to surrender to the present moment to which I respond by telling Peanuts to shut up already.

The cake was  good though.

Until next time . . . I love you

Pottery Barn Might Be People But They’re Not Like You and Me!

Browsing through the latest Pottery Barn catalog reminds me of the I Love Lucy episode where Fred, Ethel and Lucy are in Hollywood dining at the Brown Derby to spot movie stars:

Eating at the Brown Derby

Announcer:  Telephone call for Ava Gardner.

Fred: Where? Where?

Ethel:  Fred, remember,  she’s just people like you and me.

Fred:  She might be people but she’s not like you and me!

Well the same goes for Pottery Barn.

Pottery Barn might be People but they’re not like you and me!

Pottery Barn catalog page 54

For instance,  Pottery Barn tells us this is a “Family Home”.  How do we know this?  Because it says FAMILY HOME in great big letters.  Underneath that it says:

 ”A home is where a family lives together.” Pottery Barn Catalog,   (January 2012) Page: 54

The Pottery Barn Catalog goes on to platitude-ize, “For your family home makes every room a place to catch up and reconnect.”

And in that vein may I present:

The Pottery Barn People Pizza Fantasy:

I would imagine when the Pottery Barn People were creating this space, they were imagining the following family scenario:

Off camera we hear a daughter’s voice answering a cell phone call from her mom:

“Hello?  Oh hello, Mummy!  What’s that?  Oh yes, rest assured Dearest Mother that I have just this very moment removed the fresh-fig pizzas from the open flames of our very own Pizza Oven and tastefully set them upon the two-teared pizza serving platter.  What’s that?   Yes Mother! Of course it’s the platter that is crafted from sustainable wood with an exclusive Signature Whiskey Finish, I’m not an idiot!  What’s that Mummy?  Oh yes, I’d say  everything is ready, and it’s time to round up Father, Brother and Sister from within the walls of our home where our family lives together!  What’s that?  Yes, Mother!  I know we need to  reconnect with one another by gathering round our casual, yet  boldly-scaled table made entirely from reclaimed pine for which we paid $1,999  and dig in!   I am not an idiot!”

The Real People Pizza Reality:

“Hey Everybody!  Pizza’s here!   Grab your sodas and turn on Seinfeld!

Until next time . . . I love you

A Valentine Story or The Day I Gazed Deeply into Two of 37′s Eyes!

I don’t know why, but there was something funny about my husband, 37, from the very beginning.

We had scored high marks with each other on the small-talk portion of our first date, and as we sat down with our Cokes and popcorn to watch Jeremiah Johnson, it seemed the second part of the date would be a piece of cake.

I mean, how hard was it going to be for me to sit there and watch Robert Redford ride around on horseback without anything going wrong.

"Boo!"

 Ah . . . but pieces of cake can be deceiving and when a sudden on-screen gunshot parted Robert’s beautiful tresses, I jumped two feet out of my seat — spilling my Coke on the lady in front of me – causing 37 to laugh out loud!

After the movie, 37 took me home, and we promised to see each other soon.  “Soon” turned out to be three minutes later when 37′s car wouldn’t start, and he asked me to give him a ride home.

“Sure, no problem,” I said, and he followed me out to the street where I pushed my 1959 Studebaker Lark Deluxe – with no reverse – out of its parking space and fired it up.

In its day, the 1959 Studebaker Lark Deluxe was considered a compact car weighing in at a mere 17 thousand tons . . . give or take.

“Nice car,” 37 observed.  “Is there something wrong with the transmission or was reverse an optional feature?”

“You’d be surprised how little you have to use reverse if you just plan ahead,” I said.  And we rode for a while mesmerized by the romantic sputter of the moth-eaten muffler.

Suddenly 37 announced, “Turn right here!”

“Sure, ” I replied and began working the signal stick up and down in an effort to simulate a working blinker.

“Why are you doing that?” 37 questioned, but quickly forgot his question when I took the corner a tad bit too fast and 37′s door flew open.

“Whoa!”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to warn you that door doesn’t stay closed unless you lock it.”

I pushed the pedal to the metal to keep the motor running and the muffler purred like a thousand-pound kitten with defective voice box.

“I think your muffler just sprung another leak,” 37 laughed.

My  irrepressible Studebaker continued its comedy routine (it was on a roll so to speak) and by the time we reached his place, we were in stitches.

I’m not sure if that was the exact moment we fell in love, but as the more-than-likely light-of-my- life pushed my Studebaker Larke Deluxe – with no reverse – out of its parking space and waved goodbye, I knew in my heart I’d be seeing 37 again.

After all . . . his car was at my place!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I Got Tagged and You Might Be Next So Lookout!

Apparently there’s a little thing going around called tag.  And I just got tagged by Zendictive!   And when you get tagged you have to:

Describe yourself in seven words:

Quiet

(People often describe me as quiet which is weird because I feel so noisy in my head!)

Brave

(Except when it comes to snakes and changing lanes on a busy freeway or the scariest scenario of all:   snakes on a freeway.)

Honest

(Ok, I have been known to withhold the truth when it comes to certain things like maybe how much I didn’t need or want the Christmas presents that 37 gives me sometimes — or maybe I’ll fib to my kids that getting your wisdom teeth pulled is fun! But other than that I would describe myself as honest.  Honest!

Good Listener

(Well, sometimes I must admit I will check out temporarily when 37 is explaining something. But I’m always sure to check back in before he finishes so I can get the gist and comment appropriately. (Note to self:  Make sure 37 does not read this post!)

Clean,  Considerate and Clairvoyant

(I take two showers a day (not in succession though).  I also try to be pleasant and polite.  And I have had several dreams predicting the future.  Unfortunately the things I predict are of very little importance like I’m going to get a new doorknob or I’m going to rearrange my spices.)

The other thing you have to do when you get tagged is answer these questions: 

What keeps you up at night?

Currently practically nothing.  Now that the kids are grown and living far enough away so I have no idea what they are up to; I pretty much sleep like a baby!

Who would you like to be?

Lois Lane

What are you wearing right now?

Jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, no shoes and a hat with an arrow through it. (ok, the hat part is just wishful thinking.)

What scares you?

Hands down it’s snakes.  I could scream bloody murder right now just thinking about them!

The best and worst of blogging.

The best thing about blogging is getting to do what I love (write) and hang out with  bloggers who are wise, witty and fun as all get out! The worst is falling behind in my reading thus missing something wonderful that everybody is talking about and I’m like, huh?

The last website I visited.

Running Naked with Scissors

What is the one thing you would change about yourself? 

I’d like to remove all limited thinking.

Slankets yes or no?

No slankets, sounds like a type of snake!

Tell us something about the person who tagged you.

What do I know about the man behind the Zendictive blog?  His name is Art, and he’s a martial artist who is also a correctional officer.  He is a tireless warrior when it comes to lighting up his corner of the world with inspiring stories that not only make you think, but that you find yourself telling your family and friends about.  Art is the pebble in the pond that spreads beautiful ripples far and wide!  He is a treasure!

HA!  While you guys were busy reading above guess what?  I TAGGED YOU!

YOU’RE IT! Nanny Nanny Nanny!

Running Naked with Scissors

The Mainland

Tricia Linden

Teal and Tulle

The Poet’s Crafts/The Olding Poet

Have Fun!

Until next time . . . I love you

Slightly Strange Romantic Clip Art Caption Contest: The Results are in!

Drum roll please . . . and the winners of the very first Slightly Strange Romantic Clip Art Caption Contest  . . . . .

The Tie for First Place Goes to:   

Diane at Orangespicedrop

The last remaining woman of the Donner Party really should have known better than to give him that “Come hither,” look.

Congratulations Diane!  As this week’s winner, you have been awarded your very own personalized:

Slightly Strange Cyber Sweater!

Which was cyber knitted especially for you by my very own cyber fingers!

And the other First Place goes to: 

  El Guapo at Guapola

Teddy:  The canal will start here, Eleanor.   Now let me show you where it will end . . . “

Congratulations El Guapo, you too have been awarded your very own personalized:

Wear it with Cyber Pride, El Guapo!

And thank you so much everybody for your hilarious takes on this week’s Slightly Strange Romantic Clip Art Caption Contest!   They all made us laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh . . . somebody slap us! 

But unfortunately only two people could  win.  Well, actually everybody could win  -  but then it wouldn’t be much a contest.

And it just so happens,  I’ve got an entire cyber-warehouse full of Slighly Strange Cyber Sweaters among other slightly strange cyber things —  just waiting for your name!

Which means of course that . . .

We’re Going to Do It Again!

So get to work, my fellow funsters, and think up a caption for this little gem, leave it in the comments.  Enter as many as you want.  The more the merrier!

An Intimate Conversation with My Husband,37

Sometimes when you’ve been married to someone for 37 years, conversations get a little out of whack.

Here’s what happened last night for instance.

The Scene:   37 is relaxing in his recliner eating soup and a sandwich and watching the golf channel, and I am cleaning out the bookshelf.  My comments are in green, and 37′s are in red.

There!  I have it all arranged according to topic!  And I found this whole stack of books I completely forgot about!

How nice!

I know!

Phil Mickelson got inducted into the PGA Hall of Fame!

Oh I thought you were talking about the way I rearranged the books.

Mmmm. . . turned out really really good.

Thank you, I’ve always been good at organizing!

Did you make it from scratch or buy it at the store?

Oh what?  You mean the soup?

Oh Jeez!  I don’t believe it!

What?  Did you find a bone or something?

I cannot believe Dustin Johnson missed that putt!

Oh, I thought you meant the soup.

Hey wait a minute something’s different.

Yeah, hello? I just cleaned out the book shelf, that’s what’s different.

This tuna doesn’t taste like normal.

You mean it tastes funny?

That’s what I’m talkin’ about!  YES!

Well maybe that’s why it was on sale.

Tiger Woods just made that 37-foot putt . . . YES!

You know what?  You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying!

Yes I have! 

Ok, what have I been talking about?

Before I answer that, answer me this . . . why are all these books scattered everywhere?

 

Until next time . . . I love you

I Got a Kiss from Bill Murray!

I thought I’d rerun this post since this week is the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro-Am Golf Tournament and one year when I went, I somehow ended up getting a kiss from Bill Murray himself!

I’m not usually a lucky person. The slot machines I play are sure to be clinkety-clank-less, the numbers on my raffle tickets go unannounced, and, truth be told, I’ve never even had an opportunity to shout the word “Bingo” . . . unless, of course, it was his name-o.

“Bingo. Yeah, that’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

So when I got kissed by Bill Murray at the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-am Golf Tournament, they had to call the fire department to get me down from Cloud 9.

“No, you idiot, that’s Cloud 8!”

Of course, the whole thing would have never happened had I not stepped on the toes of a good-natured, somewhat tipsy Englishman while trying to get a glimpse of Clint Eastwood at the fifth hole at Spyglass -; breaking the ice between the Englishman and I, while simultaneously breaking most of his toes.

Clint proceeded to hit a ball that landed squarely on the green. Now, for secretive, humorous reasons known only to the British, this sent my new Broken Toed Buddy into a fit of laughter and ear-splitting wise-crack-ery; the likes of which can only be achieved after enjoying a hearty three-martini breakfast.

Take a Mulligan, Clint!” The English One advised and began to chant. “Mulli! Mulli! Mulli!” Finally, Clint turned to him and assuming his famous Dirty Harry persona (at least that’s what I assumed he was assuming) replied,

Dirty Harry Cleaned Up

“Yeah, OK,” a comment to which the gallery responded with an explosion of laughter so uproarious, I was left to conclude that everybody there was British.

But then . . . suddenly . . . like a Cinderella story out of nowhere – weaving his way through the throngs to the tee — appeared The Great and Powerfully Funny, Bill Murray, himself.

Bill Murray signing autographs at the AT&T Pro Am Pebble Golf Tournment

A hush fell over the crowd

“Look! It’s Bill Murray!” I observed with all the subtlety of Lucy Ricardo spotting William Holden at the Brown Derby.

My English Buddy didn’t miss a beat. “Hey Bill!” He screamed over the crowd. “This lady would like a kiss!”

Bill Murray responded by slowly turning around like he was Moe Fine hearing the dreaded phrase “Niagara Falls!” As he headed my way, the crowd was giddy with anticipation.

Now, I know it’s weird, and maybe I’ve been watching too much I Love Lucy, but what was running through my head at that exact moment was, “Wait until Ethel hears about this!”

Then, Bill Murray positioned himself in front of me and politely waited for the crowd to get their cameras ready and when the time was right . . .

Getting a kiss from Bill MurrayBingo!

. . . suddenly the AT&T golf tournament faded away, and it was just me and my lips and Bill Murray kissing me . . . with his lips.

I don’t know how long we kissed. It could have been an instant or it could have been an hour or possibly four or five hours (but I doubt it) that I was surreally suspended in the bliss of Bill Murray’s kiss.

On the drive home, I suddenly realized it was February 2nd which meant – that’s right – I got kissed by Bill Murray on Groundhog’s day!

And in the immortal the words of Carl the Greens keeper — after he was granted total consciousness on his deathbed by the Dali Lama –I thought:

So I got that going for me . . . which is nice.”

Bill Murray as Carl the Greens Keeper

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And thank you everyone for your entries for the Slightly Strange Romantic Clip Art Caption Contest!  Winners will be announced on Friday and Cyber Prizes will be awarded so be sure to check back.   Here’s the picture — leave a caption if you haven’t already!

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