Do You Suffer from Jam Side Down Syndrome?

The Scenario:    Shuffle to computer holding toast and jam.  Promptly drop toast and jam — jam side down — onto computer keyboard. 

Slather jam on second piece of toast and shuffle back to computer.  Promptly drop toast and jam — jam side down — onto computer keyboard.

Now most people would label this as the beginning of a very bad day — a Jam Side Down Day, if you will. But for me, it’s simply part of my normal, everyday, existence.

That’s because I suffer from a syndrome called  Jam-Side-Down Syndrome or JSDS.  You’ve probably never heard of it before due to the fact that I just now made it up.

Jam in happier times.

Now, even though I just this very moment made up Jam Side Down Syndrome, I’m sure there will be a pill for it coming out on the market any minute now.

Just because the pharmaceutical companies have never heard of JSDS, as yet, doesn’t mean they haven’t been busy busting their humps  developing a new, miracle drug that will lessen the incidence of dropping something jam side down — just in case.

Extremely rare photo of Jam Side Up. Experts cannot agree as to its authenticity.”

And the real kicker is that this new miracle drug will probably be no more addictive than your average heroin cigarette!

So no big whoop all the way around!  Wouldn’t you agree?

Now it seems the only thing left for me to do is think up a quiz that would indicate whether or not a person might be suffering from JSDS.  Well, that’s smple!

Do You Suffer from Jam Side Down Syndrome? The Quiz!

1) How many articles of clothing are hanging in your closet this very minute that have jam stains on them?

a) one

b) two

c) 17  perhaps?

2) How many times did you slip on some jam and fall down the stairs this morning?

a) one

b) two

c) 17 perhaps?

If a tree fell in the forest do you think it would land jam side down?

a) yes

b) no

c) 17 perhaps?

Suppose you were skydiving while eating toast and jam and your parachute failed to open. What odds would you give yourself of landing Jam Side Down?

A)  7 out of 23

B) 132 out of 6

C)  17 perhaps?

Suppose you were walking through a beautiful garden and were hit on the head by an asteroid with jam on it that was hurling to earth at a tremendous speed.  Would the undertaker have to charge extra for washing jam out of your hair?

A) yes

B) No

C) 17 perhaps?

So there you have it, Dear Reader.  If you answered yes, no, or 17 perhaps?  to any of the above questions, you are most definitely suffering from Jam Side Down Syndrome BIG TIME!

Quickly!! Put down that toast and jam and call your local pharmaceutical company immediately. . . there’s not a minute to lose . . .oh . .  and please, please try not to get jam all over the phone!

Until next time . . . I love you

 Memoirs of a Dilettante

Also today is the last day to pre-order Helena Hann Basquait’s book, Memoirs of a Dliettante so don’t forget to  pop on over to her site and click on Kickstart!  

Swearing Off My British Murder Addiction

Dear Readers!  I woke up this morning from a horrible nightmare in which I found a puppy the size of a humming-bird clinging to a branch at the bottom of a swimming pool.  

I managed to pry the puppy off the branch and attempted to get help for it by running with it in my arms over the Golden Gate bridge — which had washed out during the night and had to be replaced by a wobbly wooden bridge that didn’t quite meet the other side– even though they had gone to the trouble of painting it the actual color of the golden gate bridge.   (There was also a flood where people wearing soccer uniforms were rushing by.)  I woke up terrified!  I know it doesn’t sound all that scary — but it really was a terrifying nightmare!

This looks a lot like the puppy I was carrying.  It was absolutely terrifying!
This looks a lot like the puppy I was carrying.  It was beyond scary!

You see, Dear Readers, I’ve started having nightmares lately, and I’ve never been much of a nightmare person.  And so this morning, I was earnestly  trying to figure out the cause of these nightmares when it hit me what the culprit was:

Amazon Prime and the BBC

I signed up for Amazon Prime awhile back. I don’t remember why, I really think it might have been by accident.  Anyway, they have 40,000 movies and TV episodes to choose from.   So I started binge watching British detective TV shows in the evenings.

While my husband, 37, was happily watching the science channel, I would only be pretending to be awed about what will happen when the sun becomes a red dwarf — because all the while I was watching –with one eye and one earphone — murders galore!

Murders that were dark and bloody and creepy and murdery as all get out.

And I just realized this morning (about ten minutes ago) that watching all these murders night after night are giving me nightmares!

Oh sure, I know a nightmare about having to carry a puppy over the golden gate bridge doesn’t sound like much of a nightmare,  but you’ll have to take my word for it that it was not only a nightmare, it was my  nightmare wake-up call!

So Dear Readers, as of today, I’m swearing off my British murder addiction.

No more Amazon Prime for me.  I’ll go back to watching the science channel with 37.  I won’t even mind watching that girl scientist they have on sometimes with the weird bangs, because no matter how horrible her bangs are, they  won’t be murdering anybody now, will they?

"Stop!  I can't take it any more!"

Honestly, I don’t know why it took me so long to put 2 and 2 together about my nightmares.

I guess as much as I love British TV detectives, I’d make a lousy one.  First of all, I have trouble following plots, so I’d have to have a sidekick explaining things to me everywhere I went, and, of course,  I’d only be able to solve murders that didn’t involve any freeway driving to get to the crime scene (especially on that wrong side of the road the British are so fond of ).

And as much as I like faking an English accent, I’m horrible at it — so I guess it’s best for all involved I’m not a British TV detective.

I’ll keep you posted on how it’s going with swearing off my British murdering, Dear Readers.  I only hope I can do it on my own and won’t have to join a murderer’s anonymous support group.

Wish me luck!

Until next time . . . I love you

Spill the Beans Friday: 26 Confessions

Spill the Beans

Welcome, Dear Readers, to Spill the Beans Friday where I confess personal things about myself that you may have suspected but you were much too polite to mention.

 

#1)  I can’t type, I can’t proofread and if my life depended on spelling, I’d be dead by noone nune 2 p.m.

#2)  I  sugar coat my sweets addiction.

#3)  I don’t just hate algebra, I want it whacked.

#4)  My frontal lobes are abnormally small.

#5)  Practically everyday I think  it’s the day before the day it actually is. 

#6)  Both input and imput sound right to me. 

#7)  I am horrible at video games.  It once took me 40 minutes to successfully complete one lap in  Mario Kart and why do they need so much grass anyway?

#8)  I always hang back when it comes to being the bowling scorekeeper or the flag folder as I have no idea how to do either.

#9)  I’ve never tried green enchilada sauce and I’m never going to unless it’s fed to me through a tube while I’m in a coma.

#10) I’ve never been in a coma.

#11)  I always suspect I’m not going to have anything in common  with people who give their age by saying “years young.”

#12) I’m super excited about the first two pictures I see in an Art Museum then I’m over it.

#13)  I only spelled museum right in #12 because of  spelcheck  spellcehck, right click.

#14) If someone tells me a really long story they’ve told me before, I can never think of a polite way to say, “Yeah you already told me that” so I just listen to the whole story again.

#15) I think my horse knows more than he’s letting on.

#16)  I’m a total idiot about Bulgaria.

#17)  I love I Love Lucy.

#18) I’m a food kick person — if I make chili or soup, I eat it for every meal everyday until it’s gone.

#19) I’ve tried twice but I just can’t get into “Breaking Bad.”

#20) I’ve been kissed by Bill Murray.

#21) One time someone cut in front of me in line at the grocery store so I picked up a magazine and pretended to be reading it and pushed my cart into the back of them.

#22) I once got a flat tire while taking my daughter to school and had to walk 6 blocks  home in my stocking feet.

#23) I think Portlandia is equal parts hilarious and unhilarious.

#24)  The only newspaper I read everyday is the wonderfully skanky Daily Mail Online.  

#25) I had to watched The Talented Mr. Ripley four times before I understood what was going on.

#26) I once stood right behind a guy in line with tattoos all over his body while waiting to rent The Illustrated Man.

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  Drop by next week for another installment of  Spill the Beans Friday!  And if you have anything you’d like to spill the beans about, I’m all comment boxes!

Until next time . . . I love you

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

Weird! My Back and Computer Are Both Out!

Welcome Dear Readers!  I have good news and bad news.

First the Bad News

I was flabbergasted to turn on my computer this morning and find absolutely everything on it wiped away.  All my pictures, my documents, my bookmarks –well just everything (even the restore settings).  I’d be really upset about it, but frankly. . .

The Good News

I’m kinda glad.

True Confession Time 

I am a computer slob.  Day after day, as I write my posts, I’ll scan in stuff from the thrift store, or fool around with pictures in Publisher or fiddle with Word documents only to leave everything lying around on the floor of my desktop.  When things finally get unmanageable, I shove everything in a folder and label it miscellaneous.

My Husband, 37, Isn’t Speaking to Me at the Moment

Naturally when I first turned on my computer this morning and found everything eerily “clean”  and an old computer screen greeting me that I haven’t seen since 2009, I knew something was terribly wrong.  Then I remembered 37 turned off my computer last night!  Which meant I had someone to blame!  Wonderful!

I just called 37 at the office a minute ago and the conversation when like this:

37:  Hello

Me:  Did you turn off the computer last night?

37:  Yes why?

Me:  How did you turn it off, using the mouse or using the button?  (37  knew what I was talking about because we often use cutting-edge computer terms such as this.)

37:  Using the mouse.

Me.  Everything is gone.

37:  What?

Me:  Everything is gone. (I had a lot of fun being dramatic about it, btw.)

37:  You got a virus! We’ll have to take the hard drive in! (In where he didn’t say.)

Me:  Oh no!  We’re getting a new computer!

37:  Oh no we’re not!

Me:  Oh yes we are!

37:  Oh yes we are!

Me:  Oh no we’re not!

37:  I’m hanging up now.

Me:  Oh yes you are!

Maybe I’ll try calling 37 back right now.

Only we won’t tell him that I am writing everything down he says in this post! Want to? Okay here goes:

37:  Hello (hey he’s still speaking to me!)

Me:  I want a new computer.

37:  Why are you laughing?

Me:  No reason.  Why can’t we get a new computer?

37:  There’s nothing wrong with the computer we have! We’ll just have to back everything up.

Me:  We have Carbonite and everything is backed up.  Besides there’s nothing left on the computer to back up. (I got all dramatic again, Dear Reader –just for your benefit.)

37:  You better go check.

Me:  Check what?

37:  I don’t know.  I have to work all week-end by the way.

Okay, well, that wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be.  Anyway, let’s scan a picture now and see if the scanner still works, ready?

Let's use this one.  Let's call her Computer Virus Girl.  Let's make up a poem about her.
Hey it worked! Let’s call her Computer Virus Girl. Let’s make up a poem about her.

There once was a computer virus Lady

She’s always game to be pretty shady . . . ouch!! ow!! ouch!!

I’m sorry Dear Readers, you’ll have to excuse me but in the middle of this poem I got up to go get a banana, and I am not kidding you.  I put my back out!!  (Just as well.  The poem wasn’t going very well anyway.)

Now, I’ll have to make an appointment at urgent care!  I’d wonder if they’d mind taking a look at my computer too . . .

Anyway, wish me luck!

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Brain Peanuts Remembers: My Mother Janey

Hello Dear Readers and welcome to my brain, Peanuts remembers. Today’s topic is my mother, Janey.

Janey - Copy
My Mom Janey

Janey was a Fainter

When my mother was  little, my grandparents had a record they would play of a bird singing.  Every time, my mother heard it, she would  pass out by  falling over backwards.

You’d think after the initial discovery, my grandparents wouldn’t have played that record anymore, but people just thought things like that were funny in those days.

Janey and her parents
Here’s my mom with her parents, who apparently weren’t playing the bird song at the moment, anyway, since my mom is upright

Janey also fainted in movie theaters and department stores.  Once when I was in the 8th grade, we were shopping in the Crescent Department Store in downtown Spokane looking at sweaters.  I hadn’t seen my mother for awhile so I thought she was trying on clothes.  Well, it turns out she had fainted and woken up in the manager’s office.

Funny, it never occurred to me until just now that when Janey fainted, the clerks must have drug her into the manager’s office — like in the movies when somebody gets murdered!  (If my mother was alive today, I’d call her up right now with this new revelation!)

Janey had a delicate appetite

One of my mother’s main themes in life was that her appetite was easily ruined.   Any number of things could occur in which Janey could lose her appetite, not the least of which being unpleasant conversational topics at the dinner table, as well as having to observe someone (such as one of her kids) not using good  table manners.

One never knew  exactly what would set off  Janey’s “loss of appetite” but looking back on it now,  she never seemed to equate it with the case of Nestle Crunches she always kept on the top shelf of the cupboard and that she was always nibbling on — as being a factor in her  “loss of appetite.”

The only thing standing between my mother and starvation!
The only thing standing between my mother and starvation!

The time Janey was a trooper

Janey was never big on water sports, but one summer Janey bucked up and decided to try her hand at water skiing behind my dad’s new fishing boat.

His boat  had a weak outboard motor that was about as powerful as a sick kitten.  It barely managed to pull a child up out of the water on skis, let alone an adult.

But for some reason, Janey, who had never been much into water sports decided to try water skiing.  We were all a little shocked when she suggested it, as we had never see her swim without keeping her hair from getting wet, but try she did.

Stand back! Janey’s going in!

She slipped right into the water, oblivious to the fact that she could ruin her hairdo  as well as  smudge her fire-engine red lipstick.  My brother, Peter,  helped her position herself in the water with her skis.  When she was finally ready,  Peter gave the signal and my dad gunned it as it were.

But instead of popping Janey up  out of the water, the boat pulled her  along underneath the water.

I’ll never forget the image of Janey’s fire-engine red lipstick shimmering from beneath that green wake of water  that was pouring over the top of her head.

But still,  she  hung on for dear life.  And she hung on and she hung on until finally a miracle occurred!  She suddenly popped up from beneath the water, and proceeded to water ski in a big circle around Williams Lake — albeit in a squatting position, but still!  

Janey was water skiing! Hurray!

I hope it’s true what they say about your whole life flashing before you eyes when you die.  Because I do so want to see that part again, Dear Readers!

Until next time . . . I love you

Janey
Janey? Is that you?