Die with a t

As I looked over the list of desirable foods for my new diet, it read like a who’s who of edibles that cause emissions better blamed on the dog. I’ve taken to feeding Colt leftover beans to help validate my claims. On the plus side, I can eat all the parsnips that I want. Unfortunately, I’m not even sure what a parsnip is. Continue reading

Spamalot

Today is 1/11/11, which is binary for 3,156,216, carry the 2. Nostradamus warned that this would be the year of the spammer. SEO engines the world over are churning out messages in ancient Mesopotamian to confound innocent bloggers who are just trying to make a living by posting ineffectual ads on their websites. I currently have a 3¢ credit with Google Adsense. Continue reading

It won’t be pretty

First, congratulations to Joan Oliver Emmer, winner of the great cookie giveaway. Joan was chosen at random from the website’s subscribers to receive two dozen homemade cookies of her choice. I’ll be baking the cookies tonight, just in time to eat the broken pieces before my first Weight Watchers meeting tomorrow. Hurray, Joan!

A friend of mine once told me that anything worth doing, is worth doing half-assed. I’ve taken that to heart. That’s how I found myself slumped down in a beat-up Plymouth Sundance, an Ikea bookshelf wedged in and sticking out over my head, with my daughter crumpled up on the back floor in the only available space. Halfway home I heard her announce, “I feel so ghetto.” Obviously, I didn’t think that one through. Continue reading

Where the Buffalo roam

What genius in the 20’s decided that Lysol was the ideal douche? I can’t imagine who would line up to test that particular use for a household cleaner. Even in this day and age, there may be products out there that are touted as being the best fungicide, hemorrhoid cream, laxative, or processed cheese food without the benefit of proper research by focus groups. By the way, any cheese that needs the word “food” in the title is immediately suspect. Since I’m an empty-nester with a four footed baby, I was concerned mainly with canine candy. Continue reading

Humorpress.com Award

Yippee, skippy news! I just won third place in the National Humorpress.com Contest! This entitles me to $35 and bragging rights. I’m sure that all my writery friends are feeling jealous happy for me. Thanks to all my friends for your encouragement, and to all my readers for your overabundance of free time continued support. You can view my winning article by clicking on the link humorpress.com.

The one with the most toys wins

In a daring attempt to economize on words, I’m going to try to combine the sweet afterglow of Christmas and welcoming the New Year in one brilliant blog. Barring that, there will at least be lots of pictures.

Not content to let my Christmas toys sit on the shelf, I’m incorporating them into my 2011 New Year’s resolutions.

For 2011, I resolve to:

Stay within my budget. Will work for recipes involving beef sticks;

We won't go hungry.

Figure out my favorite stations on my new satellite dish network. Now all I need is a crystal ball and a lucky rabbit’s foot;

I just want to watch The Deadliest Catch

Learn the finer points of using my new camera. This is the best picture I’ve taken so far;

Dirt

Develop a cheap hobby—one that does not include robbing convenience stores;

Nobody breathe!

Quit smoking. Shock collar sold separately;

Shut up, it's bad for you. (Weeping)

Finish my book. Sixteen more how-to books, then I can start writing.

I hope there's not a quiz later.

Sadly, my husband didn’t get his padded toilet seat (sob). Fill in the appropriate resolution here:

Do your worst, 2011. I’m ready for anything you can dish out, as long as it doesn’t involve clowns, spiders, brussel sprouts, bleached underwear, or a Rolling Stones comeback tour.

All the best in the New Year to my virtual friends, family, and neighbors. I love you all (as always, in a strictly platonic and not creepy way).

P.S. Go Dawgs! (for my fellow UW fans)

Cold turkey

Imagine that a clown car rolls up, but instead of (icky) clowns pouring out, you’re greeted by a bunch of beards and broad brimmed hats. At a rest stop in Pennsylvania, I saw just that today: an Amish clown car. While I missed their exit from the car, I got the full act when I stood in the wrong spot as they swarmed out of the men’s room. I was swept up, a lone sweatshirt emblazoned with the words “If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong!” surrounded by a sea of plain.

I paused outside the door to light a cigarette and was horrified to see every man around me doing the same. THE AMISH SMOKE?! I’m a Harrison Ford fan, so I’ve watched The Witness about twenty times, and never saw the men taking a smoke break while raising a barn.

The only old geezer in my adopted tour group didn’t even bother to put out his cigarette while he went into the men’s room (according to my husband). I honestly think the Amish make up rules as they go. You can have electricity going to your barn but not to your house. You can ride around Pennsylvania in a mini-van, as long as you have an un-Amish driver.

I know that when an Amish youngster comes of age he takes a year off from his community, going on Rumspringa to participate in evil debauchery like Jäger, heroin, and bull riding … but smoking?

Even their cigarettes were not plain. You would expect hand rolled smokes, but they had filter tips, which means that the Amish go to convenience stores! Will the disillusionment never end?

Women my age will remember the Marlboro Man. Rugged, outdoorsy, and handsome, he puffed his way into our wet dreams. These men were also ruggedly handsome, but I’ve never had a wet dream involving suspenders, beards, and cigarettes. Of course, I haven’t gone to bed yet, so I make no promises for future nocturnal fantasies.

After finishing their cigarettes, my newfound posse queued up in an orderly line to repack themselves into the clown car, presumably on their way to the strip club. I only hope the establishment has a smoking section.

Best foot forward

I clung to the door, but it was swinging wildly in and out, as car doors are prone to do. Meanwhile, I was reclining on a snowbank, up to my thighs in Jeep undercarriage. The only thing stopping me from an up close inspection of the exhaust system was multiple generous butt cheeks. Although I’ve suffered several highly comical pratfalls over the last few days, I’ve managed to avoid getting a concussion and ending up on the injured reserve list, barely. Continue reading