Gregory’s Vacation Bible School: Paul Sails for Rome

Welcome Dear Readers to Gregory’s Vacation Bible School.  Today Gregory was throwing spit wads so the teacher made him get up in front of the class and tell the story of the time Paul sailed to Rome.

Let’s listen in shall we?

Paul Sails for Rome

Today, our story begins just after the Apostle Paul has been released from prison in the town of Caesarea (home of the Caesarea Salad) after a little misunderstanding between Paul and some Asian Jews or perhaps they were Jewish Asians (Some scholars believe that was the crux of the misunderstanding right there).

Anyway, Julius, a Roman Centurion, and possibly founder of  Orange Julius, was to guard Paul while they sailed to Rome where Paul was to stand trial.  Julius was kind to Paul and let him drink all the Orange Julius he wanted on their voyage.

But as biblical sailing luck would have it, there soon arose a terrible storm.  So in keeping with biblical navigational law, everyone agreed that this would be a perfect time to set sail out onto the open sea, while at the same time double-checking that all the lifeboats were left safely on shore.

Paul tried to talk them all out of it, but they failed to heed his advice — even though Paul’s info came from his special ability to accurately predict weather conditions due to his apostle status with “The Big Cheese and The Little Cheese who were one in the same Cheese.”

The next thing you know, an extraordinarily strong wind kicked up — known as the North-Easter Wind — which was much worse than it sounded.

It just kept blowing and blowing and blowing so that by the next day everybody starting throwing cargo and/or up overboard. Julius even had to dump his oranges.

Bible According to Gregory Apostle Paul

“No Paul!  Not my oranges!”
“Hey listen, I just threw an entire case of Cesearea Salad Dressing overboard, we all have to make sacrifices, Julius.”

But that didn’t help, so they decided to throw the ship’s cutting-edge, navigational devices overboard, which, in those days, consisted of an anchor, a sun-dial and a magical goat purported to know right from left.

Finally, they  gave up and lowered the sail and let the ship be carried off by the wind, and that’s when Paul decided it would be the perfect time to get up and make a speech starting with “I hate to say I told you so but . . . “

Before anyone could get close enough to wring Paul’s neck, he quickly explained that he had been visited by an angel of The Big Cheese who said they would lose the ship but not their lives.

After that, Paul insisted everyone have a nice meal together, which they did, except for Julius who was still pouting about his oranges.  Then they threw the rest of the wheat overboard just for kicks and giggles.

Shortly thereafter,  they spotted the shoreline of Malta, the ship broke apart, and everybody swam or kick floated to shore, and they all celebrated with the Maltan natives by partaking in a three-day fire, the biblical equivalent of a Luau.

While Paul was collecting firewood, a snake bit his hand and everyone took time out from the festivities to watch Paul die.  But not only did he not die, he felt so good he went ahead and healed everyone on the island of dysentery. (They even changed the name of the Island of Malta to the Island of Dysentery but changed it back when tourism started dropping off.)

Paul did make it a point, however,  not to drink any of the water after that.

And there you have it! This week’s edition of Gregory’s Vacation Bible School.  Be sure and check back next week for more biblical adventures.

Until next time . . . I love you

National Bleh Day

The Bored Family

Welcome, Dear Readers.  Do you ever wake up in “one of those moods”  where the whole world is just one big ball of bleh?  

Well, this blog is officially announcing a new holiday.

National Bleh Day!  

And in honor of National Bleh Day, let’s do something bleh by taking stupid pictures of the stuff on our desks.  Here, I’ll get us started:

desk 1

Bleh doesn’t really get any more Bleh than this. The centerpiece of this picture is the spoon I ate my cereal with. I don’t know what happened to the bowl. I think I might have accidentally eaten it. How does it fee to eat a bowl?  Frankly, I don’t even remember it.

Here's the Old Fogey cereal that was in the bowl I ate.  It's got fiber and 80 calories so I ate four (4) bowls which probably means I ate the same amount of calories and sugar as two maple bars.  Why didn't I just eat Maple Bars instead?  Because today is National Bleh day.  And what better way to Bleh Out!

Here’s the Old-Fogy cereal that was in the bowl I ate. It’s got fiber and 80 calories so I ate four (4) bowls which probably means I ate the same amount of calories and sugar as two maple bars. Why didn’t I just eat two Maple Bars instead? Because today is National Bleh Day which I am beginning to hate already.

Here's a notebook I've had in my desk drawer for probably 6 years.  Just judging from this note I made myself, you can kind of see why I'm always missing appointments and why I'm not a millionaire.  I start to doodling half-way through every note rendering every note I've ever made totally useless.  Frankly that's one of the reasons I've started National Bleh Day.  So I can finally get some use out of all this pointless stuff I have/

Here’s a notebook I’ve had in my desk drawer for probably 6 years. Just judging from this note I made myself, you can kind of see why I’m always missing appointments and why I’m not a millionaire. I start  doodling half-way through every note rendering it totally useless. Frankly, that’s one of the reasons I’ve started National Bleh Day. So I can finally get some use out of all this pointless stuff I have. ( I would have turned this vertically so you could read it better, but what with it being National Bleh Day, why bother?)

How much more uninspiring can this picture get?  The answer is none more inspiring

How much more  Bleh can this picture get? The answer is none more Bleh.  I probably went to too much work for this picture as it is.   Anyway, that pen is the pen I sometimes use when I need to write something with a pen.  The nail polish I have on right now (see below).  That’s my coffee in the background (it’s cold).  And that little green block is something I bought one time.  Why?  

Okay, here's what the nail polish looks like on my fingernails.  I know they kind of look like my toes, but their not.  My toes are shorter and fatter.  I kind of like clear nail polish because when it chips off, you don't really notice.  Who do I even bother with the clear?  Well, it's the kind of thing one contemplates on National Bleh Day.

Okay, here’s what the nail polish looks like on my fingernails. I know they kind of look like my toes, but they’re not.  My toes are shorter and fatter. I kind of like clear nail polish because when it chips off, you don’t really notice.
But then you have to ask yourself, if you can’t tell if it’s chipped, it probably doesn’t show enough to even bother with.
I don’t’ know whether to put a question mark after the above sentence because I can’t tell if it’s a question or not.
See this is the kind of stuff discussed on National Bleh Day.  Aren’t you glad I started National Bleh Day? No? Me neither. (Wait . . . did  I just agree or disagree with myself?)

Oh hey!  Here's an old piece of candy I found in my desk.  It looks old.  It looks like it would taste pretty Bleh.

Oh hey! Here’s a piece of candy I found in my desk. It looks old.  It looks like it would taste pretty Bleh.  Let’s find out shall we?

Yup I was right.  It does taste Bleh.  Probably because I think it's been in my desk drawer since 2012.  Of course, that doesn't stop me from eating the whole stale piece.  Why?  Because that's what people do on National Bleh Day.

Yup I was right. It does taste pretty Bleh. Probably because I think it’s been in my desk drawer since 2009. Of course, that won’t  stop me from eating the whole stale piece. Why? Because that’s what people do on National Bleh Day.

And there you have it, Dear Reader, our very first celebration of National Bleh Day.  I hope your day will be as bland, and mediocre and uneventful  as is humanly possible on, this, our very first National Bleh Day!

Until next time . . . I love you

Gregory’s Vacation Bible School: Jesus and the Pool at Bethesda

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s Edition of the Gregory’s Bible Stories! This week Gregory is still away a Vacation Bible School  learning about biblical swimming pools. 

Jesus and the Pool of Bethesda

It was time for the Annual Jews and Sabbath Potluck dinner and Jesus (who always got invited to everything) decided to attend.  Nobody knows what dish Jesus typically brought to these things, but chances are he just whipped up something Johnny on the spot.

Anyway, in order to get to the potluck, Jesus had to pass by the Jerusalem Sheep Gate behind which the sheep who were going to be sacrificed lived.

In biblical days people were cruel to sheep and kept them for the express purpose of killing and sacrificing them.  Unlike today, where people only keep sheep for the express purpose of killing and eating them.

While Jesus was walking past the Jerusalem Sheep Gate, he happened to look over and right next to the sheep gate was the Bethesda Memorial Healing Pool.  The pool had five porches upon which lay a lot of unhealthy people waiting to take a dip.

Some of the people were blind, some of the people were paralyzed and some of the people had a really bad case of eczema (sometimes called Leprosy).

This might be a good time to explain that the Bethesda Memorial Pool could cure disease if (and that’s a big if) you were lucky enough to be the first person to jump in the water after a heavenly angel would pop down and stir it with a Heavenly Egg Beater.

After that, the first person to jump in would get healed and everybody else was up the Bethesda Pool without a paddle until the angel with the Heavenly Egg Beater made another visit.

One man had been waiting in line to jump in the water for 38 years.  (It’s not as bad as it sounds because he was waiting in line while lying on his bed.)  Jesus saw him he asked, “Do you want to get well?”

The man answered something to the  effect that yes he did but he was too paralyzed to be the first one in the pool after the Heavenly Egg Beating.

So Jesus just cut to the chase and said to the man, “Get up, pick up your bed and walk.”

Jesus curing my by Bathesda Pool

“Get up, pick up your bed and walk.”
“Uh . . . are you sure, that’s not going to wreck my back? I’ve been laying down for 38 years.”

Now Jesus was telling the man to pick up his bed and walk, and this was a task that was considered work which was completely against the law on the Sabbath.

And sure enough, first thing Monday morning, the cured man was in deep trouble with the authorities for aimlessly wandering around carrying his bed on the Sabbath. (After 38 years laying by the pool, he couldn’t remember where he lived).

Authorities:  Who told you to carry your bed around on the Sabbath? You’re supposed to be resting.

Cured Man:  Sorry, I don’t remember his name . . . I’m terrible with names. I never forget a face though! 

Later that day while the cured man was praying in the temple (probably for directions back home), Jesus recognized him and said:

“Listen, you are well now, so stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.”

Jesus must have been wearing his monogrammed robe because the cured man ran right to the authorities and told them the guy who cured him was named Jesus.

So the authorities hightailed it over to Jesus and demanded that Jesus explain to them why He had worked a healing on the Sabbath.

Jesus answered by saying, “My father is always working and I too must work.”

This really made the authorities mad.  Aside from thinking that Jesus and His Dad were Sabbath workaholics; they were also completely put off by the fact that Jesus said his Dad was God.

Naturally this made the authorities want to persecute and  kill Jesus even more than they already did.

And the cured man who was wandering around carrying his bed on the Sabbath?   Rumor has it he put his back out from hauling his bed around everywhere and ended up right back at the Bethesda Pool.

Robert Bateman (1836 - 1889) (Artist,

“Hey wait a minute . . . did I grab the wrong egg beater again?”

And there you have it, Dear Readers, I hope you’ll come back next week for another installment of Gregory’s Bible Stories

Until next time . . . I love you

The Neck of Polly Petunia Penelope Peck

Polly Petunia Penelope Peck

 

Polly Petunia Penelope Peck

Had a heck of a time with her tubular neck

 

When through the town’s center she’d venture to walk

People whipped on their glasses in order to gawk

 

Her head bobbled and wobbled and tilted unsteady

(Which is par for the course when your neck’s like spaghetti)

 

And when desert winds blew from the south (Santa Anas)

Her neck!  It would bow like Chiquita Bananas!

 

Twas in such a state that she met her man, Nate

(He’s a sucker for woman whose necks oscillate)

 

And married got they — on the fourth of  July

Polly wore shorts and a turtleneck (high)

 

And happy they lived all their lives ever after

With Nate’s head in the clouds and hers in the rafter

* * * 

Until next time . . . I love you

Tarry Not Dear Gwendolyn

Horrible Art by Linda Vernon

Tary Not Dear Gwendolyn

Tary not Dear Gwendolyn

In TJ Max or Sears

Your bank account’s in shambles

And your bills are in arrears

 

 

Tary not Dear Gwendolyn

On stationery (lined)

That credit card you just ran through?

It’s sure to be declined.

 

Tary not Dear Gwendolyn

Over bobbles do not fuss

It would serve you well to keep in mind

You can’t afford the bus

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

Precious Pet Stories

Precious Pet Stories

Oh Snitz!

Our beloved and precious Snitz was a vivacious goldfish with volumes of get up and go and a heart as big as all get out. Her high-spirited antics and fuzzy little carbonated smile would keep us all aglow through many a hard time.

That is why when our cat, Fritz, knocked over Snitz’s water and played with Snitz until she was just a limp little reminder of better days, we rushed right out and bought another goldfish.

And even though we have another vivacious goldfish with volumes of get up and go and a heart as big as all get out, we did learn a good lesson.

You really can’t tell one goldfish from another.

Snitz was one (or possibly 450,000) in a million!

A Skunk by Any Other Name

I named my pet skunk Trouble because I could smell him a mile away.

At first I thought it would be cool to name him Maltese in memory of my pet falcon. But then I thought there really wasn’t much similarity between my pet falcon and my pet skunk except they both came running when I called “here kitty, kitty.”

I’ll never forget the day I found Trouble in the park. There was something in his air and manner of walking . . . I knew he had to be mine. I quickly snatched him up and ran down the path and into the street where I was hit by a bus.

Not the exact bus that hit me but one god awful like it.

Trouble flew out of my arms and landed 5,280 feet away and that’s when I noticed that even though all my arms and legs were broken, I could still smell Trouble. So I guess my choice of names was right on!

Oh Danny Boy

I know it has been said that a hamster by any other name would be a rodent and there was a time when I would have agreed with that. That is until Danny saved my life. I was hiking in the Rockies at the time. Of course, I took Danny along because he was a hunting hamster with papers.

I had just sat down to catch my breath when I saw a coiled rattler only inches from Danny and me.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it was just the rattler and me. It seems a hawk had swooped down and got poor Danny. As I watched him dangle from the hawk’s powerful talons, I stood up to give Danny a farewell salute.

Just then the rattler bit me. And that’s when Danny . . . wait a minute . . . well, never mind about the part where I said Danny saved my life.

Thanks for nothin’ Danny.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Remembers: Childhood Illnesses

Welcome, Dear Readers, to another edition of My Brain, Peanuts, remembers.  

Today topic:  Childhood Illnesses

Back in the 50′s, life was a lot more dangerous than it is now, we just didn’t know it. Luckily, none of us realized that it was just dumb luck that we survived at all.

Because back in the 50′s, the only people who wore seat belts were test pilots.  The only people who didn’t smoke and drink like Chimney Fish were nuns.   And the only people who didn’t eat lard morning, noon and night were, of course, test-pilot nuns.

We fifties babies were issued one vaccine in the hospital for small pox, and then we were sent home to not die of smallpox. But for everything else, we babies were on our own.

We had to take our chances out there in the cold, cruel, lard-infested world with nary a helmet, a shin pad or a government-approved baby car seat to protect us. (To be fair, my baby brother did have a car seat.  It hooked to the middle of the front seat and had a steering wheel.)

Come to think of it, just making it home from the hospital alive was a miracle.  Since there were no car seats,  I suppose some babies might have bought the farm by rolling off the back seat when Dad slammed on his brakes.

But whenever that happened I think they just flipped a uey and went right back to the hospital and grabbed another baby.  After all, this was the 50′s, and there were plenty more where that came from.

Fun Fact:  Whenever anyone ordered a round for the bar back in the 50′s, they were talking about a round of babies. 

Anyway, once we made it home alive, the first thing we did was get sick with one of the following childhood illnesses:

Measles:  

Measles were little red spots that would suddenly appear all over your body. One minute you’d be pulling the string on your Chatty Cathy and then next minute,  Ping!  Ping! Ping!  You’ve got the measles! They didn’t hurt or itch or anything.  You just had to go around looking stupid.

There were two  types of measles:  The Three-day Measles and the dreaded . . .  gulp . . . Red Measles!   Everybody said you could die from the Red Measles, so you got to eat more ice cream with the Red Measles than with the Three-Day Measles because that bowl of vanilla ice cream you were enjoying just might be your last.

When I had  the Red Measles, my mother wouldn’t let me watch television because they thought that watching TV when you had the Red Measles could cause blindness. Honestly!  So I listened to soap operas on the radio. It’s the only time I ever listened to soap operas broadcast over the radio.  And on a scale of one to ten enjoyment-wise, I’d give radio soap operas a measly one, frankly.

Mumps: 

Okay, mumps were the weirdest thing ever.  First of all,  there’s the name Mumps. To me it always sounded like something you’d call the grandpa you didn’t like very well.  “Oh great here comes Grandpa Mumps!  Quick hide the pie!”

But also, if you thought you looked stupid when you had the measles,  it was nothing and I mean nothing compared to the stupid you looked when you had the Mumps.

Warning:  I’m going to stick a picture in here of someone who has the Mumps.  If you’re eating, you might want to leave the room:

Girl with Mumps

Okay, I googled mumps and this came up.  I have no idea what is going on here, but whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be going well.

I have a feeling Grandpa Mumps is behind this!

 

Tonsillitis:

Back in the 50′s,  9 out of 10 kids, chose tonsillitis as their “go to” stay home from school illness.  I know I did.  And so did my brother, Peter.   Peter,  however, pulled it one too many times and suffered a fate worse than staying home everyday getting to eat ice cream.  “He had to have his tonsils pulled.”  Mind you, he could have had “a procedure to have his tonsils removed”  but they didn’t sugar coat things back in the fifties — except for every morsel of food you put in your mouth.

Having your tonsils out was a little bit better than having the Red Measles though. For one thing, you got to watch TV without the worry of  going blind(unless you had a really bad surgeon) and you got to bang on a pan with a spoon if you need more ice cream because it hurt to yell “Can I have more ice cream!”

All in all, having your tonsils out wasn’t such a bad thing.  Except you never got to use it as an excuse to stay home from school again so it definitely had it’s down-side.

Unless you were lucky enough to come down with an appendicitis — but back in the 50′s we were still using our appendix as a second stomach.  We still needed our second stomachs.

After all, we had a lot of lard to digest.

And there you have it, Dear Readers.  Do you have any childhood illnesses you’d like to remember . . . or perhaps forget?

Until next time . . . I love you

The Bible According to Gregory: Noah Rethinks His Carpentry Skills

“Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory.

Every week, Gregory goes to Sunday school. Every week his imagination runs wild during the lessons, and every week he comes home with his own version of the story.

Let’s listen in and see what the lesson was about this week, shall we? 

 LInda Vernon humoous bible storiesNoah Rethinks His Carpentry Skills

When last we left Noah, God was explaining to Noah about how wicked everyone on earth was and how evil their thoughts were and that He was sorry He had ever made them.

Noah:  Don’t be discouraged about how mankind turned out, Lord.  You’ve got to remember it was your first try at making large amounts of people.

God:  I’m full of regret, Noah.  Everyone on earth is thinking evil thoughts all the time.

Noah:  Well maybe if you didn’t listen in on their thoughts so much.  Maybe you just need a vacation from everybody’s thoughts.

God:  See that’s what I like about you Noah, you’re upbeat!  You don’t have any faults!  You’re the only good man of your time.

Noah:  Ah shucks, God, you’re embarrassing me.

God:  No, I mean that.  Out of all of mankind, I only like you.  You’re my best friend!  Mankind is like a way, way distant second compared to you, Noah. You’re the only good man I ever created.  In fact, come here, I want to give you a big hug.

Noah:  Awkward.

God:  Come on! I won’t bite!  I may wipe you out in a flood, but I won’t bite!

Noah:  God you made a joke!

God:  I did?  Well you bring out the best in me, Noah.  Say, you wouldn’t happen to have anymore of that pomegranate wine cooler on hand would you?

Noah:  Sure do you want one?

God:  Does a bear sit in the woods?

Noah:  Ah ha ha! You made another joke, Lord!

God:  I don’t get it.  What’s the joke?

Noah:  Well, you know, because a bear doesn’t sit in the woods it— uh . . . hey,   you want that wine cooler in a glass, God, or do you want to drink it right out of the pottery vessel?

God:   Just give me the vessel.  Anyway,  like I was saying, Noah.  I have decided to put an end to all of mankind.  I will destroy them completely because the world is full of their violent deeds.  Mm . . .great wine cooler  Do you have any  Pringles?

Noah:  Yes but they’re a little stale.  The expiration date was 500 years ago. I borrowed them from Grandpa Methusula.

God:  Is he still alive?  Awesome!

Noah:  He’s 969, but could pass for a 700, I kid you not!

God:  Super!  Anyway, getting back to the flood I’m sending to wipe out every living thing on earth except for you and your family; I took the liberty of drawing up some plans so you can build a boat.

Noah:  But Lord!  I can’t even figure out how to put  together  a bookshelf.

God:  Oy pshaw Noah!  All you have to do is make a boat with  some rooms in it, cover it with tar inside and out, make it 450 feet long, 75 feet wide and 45 feet high, make a roof with a space of 18 inches between the roof and the sides.  Then simply construct three decks and slap a door on the side.  It’s just you’re basic biblical boat.  No big whoop.  Don’t over-think it.

noah

“My boat building skills are kind of iffy, Lord.  On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about rafts?

Noah:  But Lord, when it comes to carpentry I’m all thumbs.

God:  You’re kidding me.  Where were you when I was passing out  fingers?

Noah:  I was . . . no Lord.  It’s just an expression.

God:    Listen, Noah, why don’t you get your three sons to help you out with building the boat.  What are their names again?  Moe, Curly and Shemp?

Noah:  But Lord the oldest one is only a hundred.  He can’t even walk yet.

God:  Oh well I’m a little worried then.  Maybe I’ll have to wipe you–

Noah:  No no no no no no no!  Lord!  I was just kidding!  I can build a boat. Absolutely! Positively!  Not a problem at all.  I’ll  get ‘er done!

God:  I’m so relieved to hear you say that Noah.  Because building that boat?

Noah:  Yeah.

God:  Well that’s the easy part.  Wait til you hear what I’ve got in mind for step two . . .

And there you have it,  Dear Readers.  This week’s edition of what Gregory surmised in Sunday School this morning.  Please check back next week to learn about Step two of God’s plan for Noah.

Noah and God

Until next time  . . . I love you

Checking out a K-Wal-Tar-Mart

Checking out at K-Wal-Tar-Mart

“Did you find everything you were looking for, ma’am?

Actually, no.  I couldn’t find the  aluminum foil.  Do you know where it is?

Did you check on the shelves?

I didn’t see it.

If it’s not on the shelves, then we’re probably out of it or we don’t carry it.

Could you ask somebody if you carry it and where it would be?

They’re at lunch, ma’am. Your total comes to $44.12.  Debit or credit?

But I only bought  a sweater and a package of gum and the sign said the sweater was 50% off.

Let me see, no, ma’am.   No, this sweater’s only 50% off when you buy  four.  If you just buy one it’s $29.99.

But that total still seems high.

No cause by the time you add in the gum and the tax and whatnot . . . debit or credit?

Debit.

Slide your card and push the green button.  The green button, ma’am? The green button. Push the green button, ma’am.  The green button!

I am pushing the gre–

Cash back?

No.

Push the green button again, ma’am.  The green button!  No, the green button, ma’am!

I am but nothing’s happening.

Slide your card again and push the green button.  The green button, ma’am.  The green button.  Are you a rewards card member?

No.

Would you like to become a rewards card member? All you have to do is fill out this application with all  of your  personal information, and  it entitles you to take an extra 1% off  purchases over $15,000?

No thank you.

Would you like to make a donation to March of Dimes, then?

No thank you.

St Jude’s?

No thank you.

American Cancer Society?

No thank you.

Muscular Dystrophy?

No thank you.

It’s only a dollar, ma’am.

No thank you.

How would you like your receipt, ma’am?  Printed out or e-mailed.

Printed out.

Do you want a bag, ma’am?

Yes.

Do you want your receipt in the bag?

Yes.

And what’s your e-mail address?

Why?

So we can  e-mail your receipt to you.

But I want my receipt in the bag.

No, for next time, ma’am.

I don’t want to give you may e-mail address.  NO!

Okay, ma’am, calm down.  What’s  your zip code then?

What no!  You don’t need my zip code!  Why do you need my zip code?

Okay Ma’am.  I’m just asking you a simple question.  It’s part of my job.  I need your zip code for our data base.  If you don’t want to give me your zip code, that’s fine.

Good.

What’s your phone number then?

What?  You don’t need my phone number! That’s ridiculous.  I’m just buying a sweater and a pack of gum for heavens sakes! Let me talk to a supervisor.

They’re at lunch, ma’am.   If you don’t want to give me your phone number, that’s okay.  Just one more thing.

What?

What are the last four digits of your social security number?   . . . . Ma’am? . . .   Ma’am?  Okay fine don’t answer me then. Thank you for shopping at K-Wal-Tar-Mart anyways, ma’am.

Shopping at K-Wal-Tar-Mart

True Confession Saturday: Christmas IS about the presents!

7989920_s

For a number of years , I went through a stage when I really didn’t like Christmas very much.   In fact, there was a time when Christmas was so overwhelming to me that conversion to Judaism seemed the easier route.

This wasn’t always true.  I actually used to be a Christmas Snob.  I’d completely overdo Christmas.

My mental list of Christmas duties would start accumulating the day after Thanksgiving and wouldn’t actually let up until the sun went down on Christmas day.

Home movies of me after Christmases when my kids were little  reveal a thin, pale woman sitting on the couch, robotically drinking coffee in a semi-comatose state while everyone else is running around playing and laughing.

Gratuitous Cuteness
Okay, this isn’t me, unfortunately I’m not nearly this cute.

Anyway, my fanatical inner Christmas perfectionism would zap all the joy and energy that was to be had out of the season.  I had no one to blame but myself.

Chasing this Perfect Snow White Christmas took such a toll on me that January became my favorite month of the year because it was the furthest away from Christmas.

And yet, when another Christmas would roll around, I could never tone it down.  I was stuck on a hamster wheel  in search of Christmas Perfect.

But now that I’m older, wiser (and much, much lazier),   I  don’t make  lists to see if everyone has the same amount of presents to open.  I don’t bake my fingers to the bone or  shop til I drop.

I wrap the presents and put them under the tree.  Then I sit back and watch and  enjoy everyone around me because I’ve finally learned the Big Christmas Lesson:

Christmas is our opportunity to jump off the hamster wheel of life for a while and just be deliberately  present with the people we love.

Christmas is about being present.

How ironic that it turns out Christmas is about the presents after all!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Ineffectual Ghost of Christmas Past

Welcome, Dear Readers!  It’s day two of Blogdramedy’s Blog Festivus 2013 Christmas story week. Which means each day this week there will be a Christmas story based on Charles Dicken’s Christmas Carol.

Here’s today’s story:

The Ineffectual Ghost of Christmas Past

Ghost of Christmas Past:  Boo!  I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past! Boo!

Ebenezer:  Uh . . . I’m trying to eat, do you mind?

GOCP:  But I’m haunting you! Boo!

Ebenezer:  You, sir, are no Amityville Horror, but continue if you must.

GOCP:   Okay, Boo!  What’re you eating?

Ebenezer:  My Christmas Pie . . . I stick in my thumb and pull out a plumb and say what a good boy am I.

GOCP:  Wait!  Didn’t Tiny Tim used to have that job?

Ebenezer:  Yes, until I fired him and hired myself.  Plum?

GOCP:  Boo on you, Ebenezer Scrooge. Boo!

Ebenezer:  That’s it?  Boo?  Boo’s the best you’ve got?

GOCP:  No.  I also say  . . . .

Ebenezer:  What?

GOCP:  Hold on . . . googling . . . Oh! I also say, “Bwahaha!”

Ebenezer: Still not scary.  Sorry.

GOCP:  But the Ghost Hunter guys go nuts when they hear that.

Ebenezer:  And do they look like geniuses to you?

GOCP:  Screw you Scrooge!  Someday you’ll choke on one of those plums and no one will step forward to give you the Heimlich maneuver!

Ebenezer:  Uh huh.  Listen, I’m going to go watch Ghost Hunters International now.  You coming?

GOCP:  Yeah.

Charles Dicken's the Ghost of Christmas Past by Linda Vernon Humor

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

 

 

 

A Very ‘OMG!! Shut the Hell Up, Girlfriend!’ Christmas!

Merry Christmas Dear Readers and welcome to the very first day of the five days of Blog Festivus 2013.  For Blog Festivus 2013,  I’ll be posting a 200-word Christmas story every day this week based on Charles Dickens Christmas Carol.   For more details, pop over to Blogdramedy and  read all about it!

A Very ‘OMG!! Shut the Hell Up, Girlfriend!‘ Christmas!

OMG!! Shut the hell up, girlfriend!  Did I hear you correctly?  You’re telling me my boyfriend, Ebenezer Scrooge, is getting me a Christmas gift this year? The original Mr. Cheapskate? What’s that?  You have it on good authority!  Why that adorable, darling, wonderful Neezy! Who knew he was such a sweetheart?  OMG!! I just thought of something, girlfriend!  OMG!! It’s an engagement ring, isn’t it, girlfriend?  OMG!! What’s that?  You can’t tell me?  Shut the hell up, girlfriend, of course you can!  OMG!! I promise I won’t spill the beans.  Ebenezer’s not home now anyways.   He’s over at some relative’s house duct taping somebody’s crutch back together.  Who’s crutch? Oh, I don’t know, someone named Tiny Tim, I think.  Ebenezer broke it trying to fish a penny out of a storm drain!  They wanted him to pay for it?  Can you imagine my Neezy paying for anything? What’s that?  No.  I don’t know why they call him Tiny Tim.  Maybe he’s a midget or something. Who cares?  I’m getting engaged!  OMG!! What’s that?  Yes, I know you didn’t say it was an engagement ring.  But shut the hell up, girlfriend!  It’s an engagement ring!! OMG!!

"What?  An engagement right for Moi?  Shut the hell up, girlfriend!"

“What? An engagement right for moi? Shut the hell up, girlfriend!”

Until next time . . . I love you

Take the Very First Linda Vernon Humor Poll

Here’s something this blog’s never done before.  A poll!  I’m not sure how to do it, Dear Readers, but I’m willing to give it the ol’ half-hearted, Linda Vernon college drop out try!!

Okay I’m looking around my desk for something to take a poll about.  Oh here’s something:

This man is . . . 

Linda Vernon Humor Quiz

Hey that was fun.  Let’s do another one, wanna?

This man is . . . .

Cheesey ad for flab

And these men are . . . 

Two men doing marshal arts

And, finally, this man is . . . 

man with perfect confidence

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  I hope you had fun taking this blog’s very first poll! Now to celebrate!  Let’s all go find that banana and eat it shall we?

Until next time . . . I love you, are you kidding?  Don’t make me laugh!

A Conversation with My Husband, 37

I’m not afraid of much, Dear Readers.

Spiders don’t scare me.  Clowns don’t scare me. Medical procedures don’t scare me.  (Heck, I’ve even been known to get  major surgery while totally sound asleep!)

I am, however, afraid of needles.  Not the kind that give you shots.  No. I’m afraid of the needles at the end of sewing machines.

Boy oh boy does my sewing suck!

You see, I’m a horrible sewer.  (No, no not the kind of sewer than needs Roto-Rooter, I mean the kind of sewer who sews — but I’d probably be a horrible sewer too now that I think about it.)

Oh how I wish I could sew!   If I could sew, I would sew myself a killer wardrobe where everything I made would make me appear 15 pounds thinner, 20 years younger and upwards of  50  I. Q. points smarter.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to sew

Once, when my daughter was seven, she had a little friend over while I was sewing myself a pair of pants.  I had just finished sewing in the elastic waistband and was feeling rather proud of myself when my daughter’s seven-year-0ld friend glanced over from across the room and innocently asked me why I was sewing a waistband in the bottom of one pant leg.

I quickly pulled the pants out from under the needle, held them up and sure enough the little brat was right.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete idiot just an unfinished one.

I suspect my sewing problem stems from my inability to be able to correctly distinguish  right from left.  Oh sure,  I can tell right from left — trouble is I’m only correct 50 percent of the time.

Frankly, I don’t understand people who can differentiate between right from left easily.  And it seems like these Left-from- Right Geniuses like to flaunt their god-given talent  in the face of those poor souls, such as myself, who consider themselves rather intelligent, overall, if you don’t count a major dumb streak punctuated by pockets of stupidity here and there.

My engineer-husband, 37, takes great delight in vexing me about my dyslexic tendencies:

37:  Honey, can you hand me my pocket protector? It’s in the right-hand desk drawer.

Me:  Okay, sure.  Wait . . .  it’s not in here.

37:  Yes it is.

Me:  No it’s not.

37:  That’s because you need to look on the right desk drawer instead of the left desk drawer.

Me:  But I am looking in the left drawer and it’s not in here!

37:  No, I didn’t mean YOUR right, I meant MY right which would make it YOUR left. So YOUR left is actually MY right so you need to look in the other drawer than the one you’re looking in.

Me:  Oh get your own *#@!# pocket protector!

Or  let’s say 37  is giving me directions to someone’s house over the phone:

Me:  What side of the street is their house on?

37:  Well that depends.  Are you going east or west?

Me:  East or west?  How would I know? Just tell me what side of the street it’s on!

37:   It’s on the RIGHT side of the street.

Me:  Ok, great, thanks.

37:  If . . . .

Me:  If what?

37:  If you’re heading east, that is.

Me:  I don’t know what direction I’m heading.

37:  Well that’s easy to tell.  If your going East, the shopping center will be on your left.

Me:  It’s not on my left.

37:  Not YOUR left! MY left!

It’s times like this when I want to get out my sewing machine and sew an elastic waistband into 37′s shirt collar.  Then slowly tighten it to MY left HIS right MY East and HIS West.

You’ll have to excuse me now, Dear Readers, I have some sewing to do.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Signs You Overdid Thanksgiving!

Welcome Dear Readers!! First I want to thank you all for  the lovely comments you’ve been kind enough to leave on my blog this past week.  I haven’t had a chance to respond to them as yet as I  have two new grand babies staying over Thanksgiving, and I have to get my adorable fix in while the gettin’s good! 

Now for today’s post:

Ten Signs You Overdid Thanksgiving

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen any of your pets.

The only thing you own that fits comfortably now is your trampoline.

You’ve worn your teeth down to such a degree that now they can only be described as “implied.”

You’re experiencing eater’s remorse over not taking the pies out of the pans before scarfing them down.

It’s official!  As of this morning, you are now storing the leftovers for every refrigerator within walking distance in your very own stomach.

You have to use sign language when you want to communicate because your tongue collapsed from exhaustion.

You cried yourself to sleep last night because you fear there may never again be room for Jello.

You have decided to replace the lion in your family crest with the more appropriate symbolism of the fatest person on earth.

You can now go through the rest of your life secure in the knowledge that nothing is too big for you to swallow.

And the Number One sign you ate too much at Thanksgiving Dinner:

Instead of crying tears of joy, you are now crying gravy of joy.

 

Until next time . . . I love you