My Brain, Peanuts, Flips Through a Magazine

Hello Dear Readers!  And welcome to Friday, the apple of the week’s eye!  Today My brain, Peanuts and I thought it might be fun to take the day off from our usual silliness to just sit back and flip through magazines. 

Oh Lookee! Here’s a magazine that says San Francisco on it:

First of all, Peanuts notices that this is one of those expensive magazines wherein the cover doesn’t feel like it’s made out of old-fashion paper but, instead, it feels like it’s made out of some sort of super-strong, space-age material that was developed by NASA should a situation arise wherein NASA would need to, say, tow the moon to another solar system or whatever it is NASA is always developing super-strong, space-age material for.

(Peanuts is suddenly thirsty for Tang. Peanuts is going to go get some Tang.  Peanuts will wait if you want to go get some Tang too.)

Now where were we?  Oh yes Peanuts is trying to figure out what this magazine is going to be about.  But Peanuts is confused.

Is this magazine going to be about 7 x 7?  Is this magazine going to be about Art + Design?  Is this magazine going to have an arithmetic test at the end? (If so, Peanuts hopes it’s multiple choice.)

Peanuts wonders why  the girl on the cover so sad.  Is she sad because she’s got runs in her stockings?  Or is she sad because she’s got no pants and nothing to sit on? Maybe she’s so sad because she can’t find her balloon?  (Peanuts thinks she should check her hair.)

(Let’s take time out for a little Tang gulping shall we?  Mmmm . . . .)

Oh Good!  Here’s the Editor’s Letter.  Maybe the Editor’s letter can explain to Peanuts what this magazine is going to be about:

Peanuts reads that when the girl in the picture, Chloe, was six years old, she furrowed her brow at a ruined masterpiece she drew — but Chloe’s mother said Chloe could turn her ruined masterpiece into a redemptive ocean which made Chloe happy.  This says to Peanuts that Chloe was very smart for knowing when she was only six — 1) how to furrow her brow and 2) what a redemptive ocean was.

Peanuts is feeling a little bummed right now because Peanuts is ten times that old, and, while Peanuts’s brow is permanently furrowed,  Peanuts still doesn’t know what a redemptive ocean is and probably never will.  (Peanuts does like the way Chloe puts  that little x and that slash over the ‘e’ in her signature though.)

(Peanuts is adding more spoonfuls of Tang to Peanuts’s Tang right now.  Mmmm. . .  try it, it’s really good!)

Peanuts is getting tired of flipping through magazines now. Peanuts is just going to flip to one more page and then Peanuts is going to go outside and play:

Oh Great Caesar’s Ghost!  Peanuts knew there was going to be a test at the end!  Peanuts told you so!! Well, at least it’s multiple choice which makes not knowing what the magazine was about go down a little smoother.  Just like Tang!

(Peanuts says let’s just forget about flipping through magazines and just go eat some Tang right out of the jar!  Wanna?)

Until next time . . . my brain

  loves you

My Brain, Peanuts, Thinks Up Some Inventions

Hello Dear Readers!  Happy Friday to you all.  I thought today might be as good a time as any to take a look at some of the inventions, my brain, Peanuts dreamed up.

The Underwater Bicycle

My brain, Peanuts, woke up one morning with this idea.  Instead of scuba divers swimming everywhere; they could explore the ocean floor by riding around on their underwater bicycles. Of course, when I told everyone about this idea they got a good laugh,  but really why wouldn’t it work?

Scuba Diver Riding the proposed Underwater Bicycle

The Minty Breath-o-rizer

Here’s a fantastic idea that Peanuts came up with a couple years ago.  It’s simply a breath mint that one would attached to one’s front tooth. That way the breath mint doesn’t get in the way when talking to someone, but one can still rest assured that one’s breath is clean and fresh.

The Minty Breath-o-rizer

A Goldfish Fishing Pole

Let’s say you go to the pet shop and buy a cute little goldfish.  You get home and set his bowl up. It’s got water, little plastic plants, maybe it’s own little house and an anchor in its little front yard.  But after about two seconds, you start getting bored.  You start thinking, where’s the fun in this?  To which the answer is absolutely nowhere.

But Dear Readers. . . what if you had a little fishing pole upon which you could attached it’s food?  You could feed your new little goldfish by pretending like you’re fishing.  Now that’s fun! I really think this is a winner of an invention, don’t you?

The Goldfish Fishing Pole

The Ponytail Headlight

Don’t you hate it when the electricity goes off after dark and there’s absolutely nothing to do except stare at the candle flame?    Well, stare no more, Dear Readers!  Now sitting in the dark can be fun with The Ponytail Headlight!

Simply put your hair in a high ponytail and viola!  Let there be light!  Instead of sitting in the dark, like a bump on a log, you can now use that time to clean out your closets or straighten up your bathroom drawers or whip up a batch of raw fudge.

The Ponytail Headlight

The Portable Fanny Pack Swing

Let’s say you’re taking your three-year-old grandson for a walk around the neighborhood when he suddenly gets bored and no longer wants to admire the various shrubbery, preferring instead to throw himself down on the sidewalk and kick and scream as a direct result of all that sugar you fed him earlier.  You try to pick him up but he simply squirms away. (The little fella’s quite an athlete!)

Anyway, that’s where the Portable Fanny Pack Swing comes in.  It’s lightweight and folds up small enough to fit into any AARP Fanny Pack.  You simply pull it out, set it up right there on the sidewalk and put your dear little fella in the swing and start pushing.  This will buy you time until you can get mommy or daddy on the phone to let them know that Fun with Grandma Time is officially over.

The Portable Fanny Pack Swing

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  A few inventions dreamed up by my brain, Peanuts.  You’ll have to excuse me now though as I think my brain, Peanuts, has some more inventions to dream up.  If you need me, I’ll be asleep on the couch . . .

Until next time . . . I love you

From My Brain Peanuts and The Gang!

My Brain Peanuts and The Gang Wish You A Very Very Very

Until next time . . . we love you!

My Brain Peanuts Thinks Up Some Common Sense Tips

Hello Dear Readers.  I thought it might be helpful to post a short list  of common sense tips that my brain, Peanuts, just thought of.

Don’t worry about your spleen.  Nobody ever said on their death-bed, “I wish I would have worried about my spleen.”

“Let’s see . . . 101 signs your spleen might be malfunctioning . . . oh I need to read these! “

If someone in your family is set on becoming a human cannonball, keep a mirror and a helmet handy so you can show them how stupid they will look to others.

Slit your car tires every night before you go to bed so that when you wake up in the morning there won’t be any flat tire surprises.

Did you remember to slit the tires?
No, it’s your turn, I did it last night!

Never allow anyone to act out the poem Lizzie Borden Took an Ax on family fun night unless you are absolutely certain the ax is inaccessible and there’s no liquor in the house.

Always test out your  “experimental arsenic cookies” on the hamster first, and be sure he’s actually dead before going to all the trouble of serving them to in-laws.

“Maury? . . . Maury? Can you hear me Maury?”

Always keep a copy of Robert Rules of Order on you at all times to avoid the embarrassment of walking up to take the witness stand in a crowded courtroom when it’s not your turn.

Never engage in a conversation with a chatty robot before you know the location of their off switch.  (The same holds true for husbands.)

“Yes. it. is. a. nice. day. There. have. been. 17823. days. very. similar. to. a. day. like. today. in. the. past. 1400. years. starting. with. a. Thursday. on. April. 17. 1035. and. then. on. . . “

Just make it a policy to never operate on friends. Period. End of story.

Listen Marge, it’s not that I don’t want to remove your spleen, it’s just that you’re a friend of mine and I have this policy . . . sorry but period end of story.

Until next time . . . I love you

Fish it from the Archives Friday: I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head

Hello Dear Readers and welcome to Friday!  I had a dream last night about the invention of shark bait that resembled little businessmen with feathers for hair.

Businessman Shark Bait that Peanuts Dreamed

I think that my brain, Peanuts, was trying to tell me that it’s time for Fish It from the Archives Friday!

And so I stuck my little businessman bait on a hook and lowered him into the old post bucket and wouldn’t you know he came came up with a post inspired by another line Peanuts dreamed which was:

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head”

“I was a cow in Chuck’s head,” is the line my brain, Peanuts, delivered to me this morning just as I was waking up.  Of course, there was no story attached to it.

It was simply a tagline drifting around the tar and driftwood that masquerades as my subconscious mind.

I stayed in bed with my eyes shut pretending to be asleep for the longest time so that Peanuts would dictate the rest of the story to me, but I think Peanuts needs to take a writing class or something because there was nothing more forthcoming.

So it looks like once again, Dear Reader, my brain, Peanuts, has left me holding the bag when it comes to thinking up some sort of scenarios for this title so here goes:

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.”   The Modern Romance

Betty Matilda McFlirp stuck her head out of the plastic enclosure of the bus stop in the pouring rain and looked up the street with her beautiful, brown, bovine-ian eyes imploring the bus to come quickly with every fiber of her being.

For if it didn’t come soon, her white hair was going to frizz up something awful causing her to look more sheep-like than cow-like – which was bound to change her relationship with Chuck profoundly. Because Betty Matilda McFlirp was a cow in Chuck’s head.

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.” The Science Fiction Story

Chuck, a Chucktilian from the planet Chucky — located three-hundred light years to the left of  the Charles Constellation, just happened to land his  alien craft at the bus stop at which it just so happened Betty Matilda McFlirp was sticking her head out of at the time.

Their eyes met and it was love at first, second and third sight, what with Chuck having the three eyes and all.  Chuck’s mission was clear, he had to take Betty Matilda McFlirp back to planet Chucktilian or his passion for her would drive him mad.

A plan was quickly formed in which Chuck would first turn Betty into a cow and then convert her atoms into a thought form and store her in his head for the return trip.

And that’s how Betty Matilda McFlirp became a cow in Chuck’s head.

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.” The Pre-twentieth Century British Romance

Sir Chuck, the Earl of Salisburychuckroast, partitioned his father, the Duke of Noteggsandhamagain if he might marry his childhood sweetheart, Bessie and pointed into the pasture where Bessie, the cow, was busy chewing and digesting her cud in that adorable way she had.

As luck would have it, Lady Betty Matilda McFlirp just happened to be sticking her head out from beneath the thatched roof of the carriage stop by which Bessie was standing.

Thinking that Sir Chuck was pointing to Lady Betty, the Duke of Noteggsandhamagain was overjoyed that his son wanted to marry a girl instead of a cow (which is what all his previous girlfriends had been) and gave his permission for them to marry immediately.

Years later, Lady Betty Matilda Mcflirp would go on to pen her memoirs entitled: I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.

And there you have it Dear Readers.  Frankly, I think I have managed to come up with some plausible stories for Peanuts crazy babbling — at least this time anyway!

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Punches Up the News

Hello Dear Readers and welcome to Friday here at the blog! Today my brain, Peanuts,  got a bee in its bonnet. (I really wish Peanuts wouldn’t wear the bonnet, it’s so stupid looking.)

Anyway, Peanuts and I were looking at this genuine news article on the   internet™Al Gore   about ingredients that are bad for you and decided to change it up a bit  by filtering out most of the facts and adding in our own.  And so here is:

Food Ingredients You Do Not Want to Mess With

BHA

This preservative is used to prevent rancidity in foods that contain oils. Unfortunately, BHA (butylated hydroxyanisole) causes . . . guess what?

Yup you guessed it!  The black plague!  Fruity Pebbles has been known to cause the black plague in termites, tarantulas, geraniums and hamsters!  Stay away from this ingredient like the plague!  (Unless you enjoy getting the plague, in which case . . .eat away!)

Parabens

 These synthetic preservatives are used to inhibit mold and yeast in food. The problem is parabens may also disrupt your body’s hormonal balance causing you to have difficulty yodeling in front of crowds of 5,000 people or more.  If your livelihood depends on your yodeling abilities, the FDA suggests you forgo the parabens altogether.  If, however, your yodeling is just a hobby . . .don’t worry about it!

Partially Hydrogenated Oil

  Look for partially hydrogenated oil on the ingredient statement. If it’s anywhere on there, then you’re ingesting artery-clogging trans fat — a trans fat that can also clog up drains, toilets and the works.  In rare cases, trans fat has been known to cause confusion and disorientation around Greyhound buses.  If you happen to go to Long John Silvers and order the popcorn shrimp while driving a Greyhound bus, the FDA recommends you have a Long John Silver employee drive you home.

 Castoreum

 Castoreum is one of the many nebulous “natural ingredients” used to flavor food. Though it isn’t harmful, it is unsettling. Castoreum is a substance made from beavers’ castor sacs, or anal scent glands.  If you get nauseated easily the FDA suggests you might want to consider only eating ice cream that was made from great big gobs of green gushy gopher guts.

Just all bad

The FDA isn’t saying eating Funyuns will kill you.  It is however issuing a warning that the ingesting of Funyuns  is directly related to the condition of Robotism or Frankenstienism.  Therefore  FDA is issuing an official  heads up about the fact that Al Gore is a giant Funyuns fan!

The FDA’s just sayin’.
Until next time . . . Peanuts and I love you

The Story of You and Your Sediment

As you may or may not remember (depending on the severity of your last concussion) earlier this week, my brain, Peanuts, wrote a well thought out and balanced essay weighing in on the pros and cons of death.  If you missed it,  Peanuts is happy to summarize it for you as follows:

The pros and cons of death are that death sucks and there aren’t any pros. 

So today, in keeping with our “death theme”, my brain, Peanuts would like to take a few minutes of your time (or a few hours depending on how fast you read since the concussion) to discuss how growing older changes the actual “sediment” in your aging body.

 Time out for Science

But first, let’s step back a little and explain what my brain, Peanuts, means by a “sediment” in scientific terms.  Wait a minute . . . what’s that Peanuts?  Oh, sorry, Dear Reader, Peanuts doesn’t want to do that.  Ok, fine.

The Unscientific Explanation of Sediment

When you are born, your body is like a pristine glass of water with nothing in it but a teeny-weeny bit of cute, adorable sediment.

“Congratulations! It’s a glass of water!”

Another name for sediment is star stuff  which is what we are all actually made of (as the Science Channel just loves to tell us).  And since the universe has to store all this star stuff somewhere, it stores it in our bodies as sediment.

So because we are made of star stuff, naturally our newborn vessels are going to have a little bit of sediment in them.  But just a scosche . . . I’m holding up my index finger and thumb right now for emphasis — and if you could just see how close together they were, you’d say “oh Pshaw! Who cares?”

Now Let’s Fast Forward to Age 60.

OK, by now the average body has collected so much sediment, that if you were to look closely at your eyes, you’d be able to detect a very faint line about half way up your eyeball that is your Sediment Indicator Light.

At 60, your  Sediment Indicator will read “full”.  This means you are now completely full of it, when it comes to sediment and/or star stuff.

“Yup, I’m full of it alright!”

 Which means that even if you were to miraculously get down to what you weighed in high school, none of your jeans would fit like they used to– which means you wouldn’t look your hip in those new jeans, you would simply look like a scrawny 60-year-old lady or man who robbed some jeans from their granddaughter’s or grandson’s closet.  And there is absolutely nothing either you or the Science Channel can do about it.

And that, Dear Reader, is the bitter pill that needs to be swallowed on a regular basis from here on out!
Until next time  . . . .I love you anyway

P.S.  If you have any problems with any of the above, please take it up with the Science Channel.

Death on Deck

I’ve noticed lately that a lot of my writing seems to have taken on a death theme.  I don’t know whether to blame myself or my brain, Peanuts.

Maybe it’s just that Peanuts and I are getting older; and when you get to be our age, the future isn’t as wide open and expansive as it used to be.

Peanuts and I have reached the crest of the hill of life, whereupon it’s all downhill from here on out.  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying the ride down that hill (in a car without any brakes) to one’s final destination (a drop off to the unknown) isn’t fun, as such.

I’m just saying that once you’re hurtling down that hill in the Death Car of Life, the scenery is going by way too fast.  Which is ironic because when you get older, you tend to want to go slower and dwell on the little details of life, like shrubbery, or the quality of the current garbage service or whether or not they overcharged you for that ham.

“Will you hurry up! You’re going to die in an hour and a half!”
“I know, but look at these shrubs!”

When you get to be Peanuts and my age, you’re Christopher Columbus looking through the para-scope and spotting West Indies only instead of spotting the West Indies you’re spotting death.

Oh sure, you’re not there yet, but Death (and/or the West Indies) is looming on the horizon as big as life!

Gulp!

What Peanuts and I usually do when we find ourselves thinking about death is try not to think about death.  And amazingly, this tactic actually works. The thought process goes something like this:

Someday I’m going to die, which means I won’t exist anymore, which means I’ll be dead which means everything I have ever done in my life and everyone and everything I have ever loved in my life will be kaput and I shall never, EVER pass this way again . . . OK, well I guess I’ll go vacuum now.

When you really think about it, death is what motivates the human race to accomplish things because when we’re really busy getting a lot stuff done, it’s a lot easier to pretend we are never going to die.

I only hope that when it’s Peanuts and my turn to be sucked through that tunnel towards the light, that everything on the other side will have lived up to the term “to die for”.

Until next time  . . . I love you

Roast in a Nutshell: The Darker Side of My Brain Peanuts Returns

Sometimes, when life hands you lemonade, you have to take that lemonade and you have to turn it back into lemons again because you’re just in that kind of a mood.  Which means, Dear Reader, that it is once again time for:

Roast in a Nutshell, the Darker Side of My Brain Peanuts

(A title that was the brainstorm of my cyberdaughter, Lizzie, at runningnakedwithscissors)

Today’s topic:  Dealing with people who think Peanuts is old.

Things Darkside Peanuts Should be Allowed to Do Without Any Consequences When It comes to dealing with people who think Peanuts is old.

Darkside Peanuts  should be allowed to trip clerks in the electronics department of Frys who explain something to Peanuts like Peanuts is senile and then wrap up their sales pitch by adding “this is what all our elderly customers prefer.”

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to send sneezing powder (aka anthrax) in the return envelope of all AARP offers that are offering Peanuts one last chance to get insurance before Peanuts shrivels up and dies.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to pinch a tad too hard, the cheeks of teenage baggers at the grocery store who remark, while bagging Peanuts groceries, that their grandma — or even their great grandma — likes the same product Peanuts does.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to scribble lipstick all over the faces of dismissive twenty-something cosmetic-counter girls who imply that Peanuts looks so old there’s really nothing that can be done about it.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to pull the transaction box off its stand and throw it at clerks who automatically assume Peanuts is too old and too far gone with the Alzheimer’s to know to slide the card and push the green button without being told (for the millionth time . . . sigh) to do so.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to mess up the hairdo of clerks who take a good look at Peanuts and then suggest that Peanuts take advantage of their 55-years-and-older senior discount even though Peanuts is 55-years-and-older.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to yank the trendy ponytails of the girls who work at Starbucks whose words are saying, “may I help you” but whose tone is saying  Oh great! Another old lady who refuses to speak Starbucks.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to put Peanuts’ car in reverse and bash into the kid who is driving the car behind Peanuts who is honking at Peanuts to take a free right turn at a red light because they think Peanuts is too old and too cowardly to do so –even though Peanuts IS too old and too cowardly to do so.

Phew!  Darkside Peanuts feels much better having gotten all that off Darkside Peanuts’ shell.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Thinks Up Some Dubious WordPress Blog Ideas

Why hello Dear Reader and welcome to Monday morning here at the blog! 

This might be a good time to warn you that my brain, Peanuts, has been thinking again — the act of which has produced the following ideas for some dubious WordPress blogs:

My Favorite Government Documents! .com

Bureaucrats estimate that government documents now out number stars in the universe by a ratio of three to one!  And Peanuts thinks choosing my favorites among them (the most adorable) would make for a good blog.

Ah! Have you ever seen such an adorable government document?  Don’t you just want to squeeze it?

What about Lard? .com

My brain, Peanuts has high hopes for this blog!  It will encompass anything and everything about lard and lard-related products.  Readers will be invited to experience the world through the eyes of lard which should prove to be an exhilarating — if not somewhat disgusting– experience!

Soups Most People Never Tasted .com

There must be literally hundreds maybe even thousands of them! My brain, Peanuts turns to mush just thinking about all the soup out there that most people have never tasted!

Oh sure, you’ve never tasted it, but are you sure it’s never tasted you?

Your Friend, Cement! .com

Peanuts wants us to stop and think a minute about where we would all be without our dearest friend, cement . . . well, probably right in the exact same place we currently are . . . but still!

“Hey Cement, wanna get coffee later?”

“Uh . . . no.”

On a scale of one to ten, how Chapped Are Your Lips? .com

Finally a way to tell just exactly how chapped those lips of yours really are. Send pictures and Peanuts and I will post the best and the worst! Chapped lips will be judged on a sliding scale of one to ten, ten being the worst and one being the best or maybe vice versa.  Either way we are predicting success that smacks of success.

Sticks that were responsible for poking people’s eyes out!  .com

Just between you and me and Peanuts and WordPress and everybody else in the world, this idea is a little iffy, taste-wise.  Of course, there is the potential for eye patch advertisements and perhaps a lucrative manacle endorsement deal so the tastelessness might well be worth it.

Watching old parades from the 70′s on YouTube! .com

Peanuts asks:  Who doesn’t like watching parades that took place 40 years ago?

Peanuts answers:  No one!  That’s who!

“By golly, yes siree!  That IS Florence Henderson! Well, poke me with a fork!”            “Okay if you insist!”

Body parts I have yet to stub — The Forum  .com

Sure we’ve all stubbed our toe, but what body parts haven‘t we stubbed.  Are you stumped?  Good!  That means you’ll go check out the forum!

Baby Talk Book Reviews! .com

Peanuts wuvs dis idea!

“Me wead Wah and Peas.”"

Wah and Pease vewy bo-wing!

Until next time . . . I love you

Fish it From the Archives Friday: Confessions of a Vacuuming Fool

Hasn’t it been a fun week here in WordPress! We’ve all been writing, reading, (and some of us even rithmaticing) our little hearts out. Time to take a day off I’d say. And so here’s this week’s Fished from the Archives offering:

Confessions of a Vacuuming Fool

A sense of accomplishment this weekend!  Something came over me yesterday (might have been pollen, still deciding).  I went to Big Lots (my new favorite haunt) and bought me a vacuum cleaner.  I was in housewife heaven!

It’s starting to become apparent to me that Peanuts (my brain) likes to vacuum.  I think Peanuts may hold the world’s record for owning the most vacuum cleaners ever.

Peanuts can go to the store, buy a new vacuum cleaner, bring it home, unpack it and put it together (almost correctly, why dwell on it?) in the time it takes most people to drink a cup of coffee.  Assuming, of course, they are drinking from a 64 oz. coffee cup and just had a tonsillectomy — but that goes without saying.

Yesterday, however, it was 37 who  put together the new vacuum cleaner. 37 is my husband who is a mechanical engineer and who can put together a vacuum cleaner in nothing flat with his hands closed and one eye tied behind his back.

It’s quite impressive really, until he starts giving Peanuts vacuuming tips. That’s when Peanuts tunes him out because in the 37 years 37 and I have been married, 37 has vacuumed somewhere between 4 and 7 times.  And in Peanut’s book, this does not a vacuuming expert make.

Yesterday after 37 assembled said cleaner, 37 was imploring Peanuts to wrap the cord around the new vacuum by using a twisting motion every third wind around the cord holder so the cord won’t get all tangled and curly (and therefore ruined by 37′s standards).

Peanuts refused to do this.  Peanuts does not like 37 telling Peanuts, The Vacuuming Queen, what to do when it comes to sucking devices and does not take orders from a Vacuuming Has-Been, or more precisely, a Vacuuming Ne’er Do Well!

Besides, proper cord wrapping is the kind of thing that will no doubt cause mass exaltation in Engineering Heaven, so why desensitize him to it now? It would make for a rather boring eternity if you ask Peanuts.

This particular vacuum came with a yellow duster that is housed on the vacuum itself.  This is why Peanuts bought the vacuum.  Oh sure, Peanuts has a duster like that already – but not one that is attached to the vacuum itself!  This is the kind of bait that will sucker Peanuts into a deal every time.

For instance, Peanuts saw on TV the other night that there’s some new car is offering an Ipad instead as the Owners Manual.  Peanut’s thought, that’s a good deal and if I were buying a new car I’d get that one.

Anyway, Peanuts was a vacuuming, dusting fool yesterday and now the house is a pleasure to behold.  Not a single spec of dust or dirt.  Just stuff as far as the eye can see that’s dust-free, dirt-free and lint-free.

In fact, I might even have time to give 37 a few vacuuming lessons.

37 . . . 37?   Hey, where’d he go?

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Breaks Glasses Causing Immediate Nerd Transformation!

I broke my glasses because my brain, Peanuts, placed them directly underneath where my foot was supposed to go.

Peanuts and I have been wearing glasses now for 20 years due to adult onset blurriness, and you’d think my brain, Peanuts, would have figured out a way to not step on them.

But no, every once in a while Peanuts has to test me to see if I’m still paying attention (and I never am).

I don’t get it because there’s nothing Peanuts and I hate doing more than having to get new glasses.  What was Peanuts thinking?

So I got my husband, 37, to tape them back together for me, because he’s an engineer so he knows about things like that.

Except that I didn’t trust his taping judgment once he was done and added more tape myself.

So now I’m officially a nerd.

I’d take a picture to show you but I think it might be too early in the morning for that. Oh what the heck, let’s live dangerously shall we?

Me in my new nerdy glasses:

Well, wait a minute . . . let me see if I can take the picture from a better angle:

Oh that’s better.  I like this of me in my nerdy glasses a little better because you can’t really see the tape all that much.

Anyway, what were we talking about?  Oh yeah, the careless behavior of my brain, Peanuts.

So now Peanuts and I will have to stumble down to the glasses store and get those nasty drops put in.  Then once we are legally blind, we will be guided out front to pick out frames from the two or three thousand styles displayed right in front of our eyes somewhere.

The conversation with the professional four-eyes care specialist will go something like this:

Me:  How do these look on me?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Me:  Really?  Well how about these?

Her:  Oh!!! Those look good on you!

Me.  Really?  What about these?

Her:  Oh those!!! Look good on you.

Me:  How about these?

Her:  Oh those, look!!!  Good on you!!

Me:  And these?

Her:  Oh those look good!!! On you!!

Me:   Oh but what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on!!!  You!!!!!

Me:  Oh, yeah, what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Of course, we all know how this story ends.  Peanuts and I will finally decide on frames, then go back to pick them up three weeks later because their motto is ready in about an hour give or take three weeks.

Me:  Are you sure these are my glasses because they look horrible and I can’t see a thing.

Her:  OH!!! THOSE!!! LOOK!!! GOOD!!! ON!!! YOU!!!

Then Peanuts and I will go home and while I’m crying my eyes out, Peanuts will be eating a 1000 grams of sugar.

Until next time . . . I love you

Fished From the Archives Friday: “5″ The Perfect Answer to All Your Problems

Last night I dreamed my kids were little again,and  I was driving them to school.  Naturally, I was driving backwards, and when I tried to stop to drop the kids off, my brakes wouldn’t work and we just kept on going right past the school backwards.

You’d think panic would have been in order.  But no, instead, I thought, gee, our house is a lot closer to the school when you drive backwards.  It’s much farther when you drive frontwards (if a word).  How much farther?  My brain, Peanuts, didn’t specify.  You see, my brain, Peanuts, is not very good with numbers and either am I.

Oh, I know how to add, subtract, multiply and divide just fine unless you’re one of those perfectionists who expect the right answer every time — exactly.  I say what’s wrong with eventually?

It’s not that I don’t like numbers.  Individually they’re fine.  In first grade, I remember enjoying the process of learning how to write numbers.  My teacher said when you write a 5, you make the bottom part first and then add the flag on top.

So number 5 had a flag, eh?   I rubbed my first grade hands together; finally, we were getting a glimpse into the personal lives of numbers!

On a scale of 1 to 10, the number 5 quickly became my number 1 number.  And the confusion didn’t end there.

“I have a life!”

Soon we were having numbers interact, but not in a fun way.  Maybe because you can never please numbers.  They are very set in their ways.  Everything has to be just so.  It was all just a little too cut and dried for my tastes.

Later, they tried to trick us into liking numbers by making up story problems.

Megan’s school is 4 blocks away.  Megan’s Mother is driving Megan to school backwards.  Her brakes are out.  How long will it take Megan to eat the 5 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in her lunch box and how much will she weigh when  her mother comes to pick her up driving  frontwards (god willing) when school is out at 5:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.

Anyway, by the time I got to ninth grade algebra at Fisher Junior High School, I was officially the dumbest student in the class.  Mr. Van Curen tried to teach me algebra, but I was a hopeless case.

He’d say A = 12 and I’d say why don’t you just leave out the A altogether and just say 12?  To which Mr. Van Curen would furrow his dandruff sprinkled brow and say again, Yes, but  A = 12.

I hate you Mr. Van Curen.

Until next time . . . I love you – unless you’re Mr. Van Curen

Roast in a Nutshell . . . The Darker Side of Peanuts

I think this might be a good time to confess that it isn’t all fun and games over here on Linda Vernon Humor.  No indeed not.  There’s a darkside that sometimes has to rear its ugly head.

And for that, I would like to extend my gratitude to my wonderful Cyber Daughter Lizzie Cracked But Not Broken over at Runningnakedwithscissors for coming up with the perfect name for my mean streak:

Roast in a Nutshell . . . The Darker Side of Peanuts!

Today’s Darkside Topic is:

Things Darkside Peanuts Should Be Allowed To Do Without Any Consequences

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to bring a yappy dog to the grocery store to bite at the heels of people who are blocking the isles Peanuts needs to go down.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to make a citizen’s arrest on fast food clerks who fill sodas so full they spill all over the place when the straw is inserted.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to give wedgies to people who pretend they don’t see Peanuts and cut in front of Peanuts in line.

 Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to yank the trendy ponytails of superior acting girls who work at Starbucks for any reason whatsoever.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to put a flaming bag of poo on the doorstep of dismissive customer service representatives.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to put duct tape over the mouths of self-involved people who don’t seem to understand the phrase “Hi, how are you?” is rhetorical.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to grab the face of people who look around the room while Peanuts is talking and point it back at Peanuts.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to thumb Peanut’s nose at snooty clerks that don’t bother to ask Peanuts if Peanuts needs help when Peanuts is looking around swanky, expensive home décor stores even though they were right to assume Peanuts doesn’t need any help.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to slap the face of Sean Penn for any reason whatsoever.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to hang up on people who call Peanuts and talk to Peanuts about themselves for 45 minutes but when Peanuts starts talking they have to go.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to pinch fakey people who Peanuts has only known for five minutes but insist on getting a hug from Peanuts before they go.

And finally,

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to punch people who are out walking their dog and answer in the voice of their dog when Peanuts asks them a question about their dog.

Phew!  Ah!   Peanuts feels much better now that Peanuts has gotten that off Peanut’s shell!

Until next time  . . . I love you

Poetry Barn: An Ode to My Annoying Brain, Peanuts

Well my brain, Peanuts, was really annoying this morning. (Peanuts being the nickname my brain insisted on giving itself.)  Peanuts sometimes runs amok and when that happens, all I can do is stand by and watch helplessly.

This morning Peanuts was writing fast and furiously!  Peanuts was so pleased about what was materializing on the computer screen that Peanuts was feeling confident to the point of being cocky.  This is a dangerous state of mind.  Last time Peanuts got like this it cost me and Peanuts $300.

That’s because Peanuts said we could  go 59 when the speed limit was 35.  Peanuts rationalized this decision by explaining that Peanuts didn’t see no cops so there ain’t no cops. Sometimes Peanuts insists on talking with a cheesey, fakey made up dialect. (I always have to roll my eyes.)

Anyway, sure enough  Peanuts spent all morning typing up a post that Peanuts had to stop and laugh at every five minutes.  It was really kind of nauseating how cute Peanuts thought it was being.

So it really served Peanuts right when Peanuts went to hit SAVE DRAFT and the little donut started spinning and spinning and spinning and then the Wordpress screen disappeared altogether!  Peanuts panicked and flailed around clicking buttons and icons like a regular banshee but to no avail.  The post was gone entirely.

I took it rather well, but Peanuts threw a big, huge, hissy fit by pounding fists on  the desk, and shouting the F word, then shouting the S word and then went back to shouting the F word.

Of course, this display of immaturity didn’t do Peanuts one bit of good.  I told Peanuts that in so many words, but Peanuts wasn’t listening.

So instead of posting the hilarious post that Peanuts lost us thanks to cockiness, Peanuts and I will rerun this poem entitled Ode to Peanuts.  It’s really called Ode to the Brain, but Peanuts thinks it’s about Peanuts so we’ll just let Peanuts keep on thinking that:

ODE TO My Brain Peanuts

Oh little brain

We love you so

For thinking up

The things we know

From your hemispheres

To your thalamuses

You know the times of all the buses

Your skull cap’s skewed so jauntily

You’ve hit a spinal chord with me!

And furthermore, let’s be quite placid

Because of your amino acid,

You do not sail this synapse sea

As hairy as a chimpanzee

That ought to shut Peanuts up for a while!

Until next time . . . I love you