On Many Subjects

Editing a Novel and Financial Aid

2010-03-11T05:52:00.001-08:00

I have been working on editing my novel to get it ready to go to a publisher. It is tedious work and I am ready to start writing a NEW novel, rather than concentrating on the old one.

Ah, well.

In other news:

At work, it is my job to help students (at a local culinary school) find the money to go to school through government grants, student loans, private loans, etc. If a student is under 24, they have to have their parent's information available to get the money from the government.

On the phone with a prospective new student:

Student: I'm not eleibigle for grants?
Me: No. Your parents made too much money.
S: But, I can get student loans?
Me: Yes, but they won't cover all your tuition.
S: So what do I need?
Me: You need your parents to sign for a parent's loan. Unless they have bad credit, then you may be eligible for additional student loan money.
S: I think my parents have great credit.
Me: Well, you will have to use them to get a parent's loan.
S: But, they don't want to take out a loan for me.
Me: You will have to see about getting a private loan, then. I have a couple of suggestions.
S: Can I use my sister instead of my parents? She has terrible credit?

If only that were possible...

Writing a Novel

2010-01-10T15:30:00.000-08:00

I have been away from my computer, as far as blogging goes, for a while now... I am not even certain how long.

I have been writing. A novel.

I don't want to blog about the how-tos of writing a novel, but what goes on behind the scenes, in the writer's head. Character development. Trying to get someone to read the bloody thing. All of the problems that go along with writing a novel.

The one in question is about 80,000 words so far and I am winding it up. Just a few more chapters. Then, editing.

I was out of work for a week and I erroneously thought I would get a lot written, but alas, that was not the case. I finshed two chapters when there have been days when I wrote a chapter a day. This novel is not a stand-alone creation, but at least a series of three books. So, I have a long way to go.

Good News for RA sufferers

2009-12-19T12:35:00.000-08:00

I have RA and will begin Embrel therapy next week. The thing about Embrel is that is trashes the immune system and makes you more suceptible to infections. I have been really worried about this, so I did some investigating about methods for keeping my home more germ free.

This Clorox® Home Flu Kit is a great idea because you get everything you need in one major disinfecting kit. The kit is not available in stores.

This Clorox® Home Flu Kit contains the only bundled set of disinfecting products registered by the EPA that kill influenza A viruses, including the 2009 H1N1 flu virus on hard, non-porous surfaces (use as directed) as well as Clorox® Hand Sanitizer which Kills 99.999% of germs*. Also included is a clearly laid-out 4-color guide and laminated wallet-size card describing most effective ways to use these products. These products for both home and on-the-go use have been packaged by Clorox® into one convenient carton for immediate shipping for just $24.99.

I'm an Article!

2009-04-19T09:02:00.000-07:00

I'm an article

Cause and Effect

2009-04-15T11:24:00.000-07:00

OK, so I started physical therapy because my I had a backache for something like two years and I was getting damned grouchy about it. I was even grouchier when the doctor told me it was from "normal wear and tear." NORMAL? Is he kidding me? Normal to scream in agony when you sit and normal to scream in agony again when you stand up? If it was normal, wouldn't everyone be doing it?

So, I started physical therapy and amazingly, my back feels better. I love going to the heated salt-water spa pool with the fuzzy jets in the water and doing nice, tame exercises. My arthritic body loves the state of weightlessness, so much so, I am thinking of moving to the International Space Station.

Meanwhile, back in the pool... I was going through my exercise routine and, as previously stated, my back feels really good, but my FREAKING knees have started hurting to beat the band. I mean hurting to the point I am screaming in agony when I stand up and screaming in agony when I sit down.

Somehow, I find it difficult to see how my situation has improved.

I went BACK to the doctor-Dr. Eye-Candy if you are interested because I firmly believe if one must visit a doctor, then visit a very pretty one and Dr. Eye-Candy is so very pretty. Dr. Candy tells me my knees hurting is because of normal wear and tear. WTF?

Me: You have got to be kidding me? It is not normal for someone to scream in agony when they sit and normal to scream in agony again when they stand up. I mean, I have been waiting to see you for nearly forty-five minutes and plenty of people stood up and sat down and there was barely any screaming at all
Dr. Eye-Candy:.....
Me: So, how is this normal?
Dr: It is normal for someone with RA (rhuematoid arthritis)
Me: So, what do we do?
Dr: Eventually, knee replacement, but not for a couple of years.
Me: So what do I do in the meantime? Scream in agony on a regular basis?
Dr: No. We can give you cortisone injections.
Me:.....
Dr: Really, it will make you feel better... we think.
Me:.....
Dr: All we have to do it stick a needle in your knee...
Me: Now wait just a cotton picking minute. How can sticking a needle in my knee make it feel better?
Dr: It just will.

OK. Maybe he isn't big on explanations, but he certainly is pretty to look at. And he was right. Sticking a needle in my knee does make it feel better as long as I don't think about being stuck in the knee with a need too closely.

What NOT to do when buying a house

2009-04-10T09:24:00.000-07:00

Check it out! I'm an article!

Real Estate - Reinvest in America

2009-04-05T11:12:00.000-07:00

The big question on everyone's mind is, when will property values appreciate, again? You are not the only person asking that question. Real Estate professionals all across the country are wondering the same thing because the real truth is, no one really knows. No one can predict the end of the crisis.

America and Americans need to change their perspective on real estate to bring about a real end to the real estate crisis. Think about this: Real estate today is as worthless as the dollar.

Think about times past, to your parents or your grandparents. In the 40s and 50s, couples lived with Mom and Dad while they were "courting." During this time, they both worked to save up their 20% down payment on their dream home. They were investing in America. Since that time, that investment in America has been devalued because of credit and the easy access to it.

Not only has real estate been devalued because of credit, but the dollar has suffered the same fate. We assess value on an item's ability to be bought and sold rather than what has been invested in that item.

To give you an example. Two years ago, a person could have bought a house that cost $800,000. The owner of the house would have less than 5% invested in his property. Where is that homeowner today? Had the homeowner put down 20%, he would own a valuable asset. The home has REAL value and the homeowner is much more careful about moving that asset around.

Putting only 5% down, the asset becomes disposable and so does the real estate market.

America needs to get back to solid buying and selling principals. This will strengthen home values and the dollar. The American Dream has become an American Nightmare and this country can only be rebuilt by hard working Americans, and not by Wall Street.

Karen Vertigan Pope writes for http://www.FindBuyers.com and http://www.FindHomeBuyers.com, a unique approach to buying and selling real estate in the Mid-Atlantic region. We match buyers and sellers, much like a dating site, using a 30 point matching system that assures you will find exactly the right home for your needs.

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Karen_Vertigan_Pope

Soul Train

2009-03-31T13:16:00.000-07:00

Upon walking into the corridor and seeing students lined up on both sides...

Me: This looks like a Soul Train line.
Student: It is.
Me: Then why isn't anyone singing or clapping hands to the beat?
Student: (singing) The Looooovvvvveeee Boat, soon will be making another run...

How Many Car Repair Guys Does it Take to Change a Lightbulb?

2009-03-12T05:22:00.000-07:00

Me: My car is making a funny noise.
Repairman: Then, turn the raido off.
Me: Oh, you're one of those funny car repairmen.
Rep: No, not really.
Me: I was making a joke
Rep: Wasn't very funny.
Me: Give me my keys. I am going to get this fixed somehwere else, you Stupid, no-sense-of-humor-having, butt-crack-showing, dirty-too-small-blue jeans-wearing, front-teeth-missing, jazz-music-hating asshole.

*Insipired by a comment I made on Bee's blog

Alien Invaders and Cigarettes

2009-03-11T04:22:00.001-07:00

A son-o-mine has recently quit smoking and is using a nicotine patch to counter the cravings for a smelly, smoldering weed.

This guy also protects his country by finding and disabling alien invaders. (No. Really!) Additionally, on his alien invader adventures, he frequently is beset with acute mal-de-mer and the military treats his problem with Dramamine patches. He is up to two at a time, now.

What does sissy cigarette patches and sissy Dramamine patches have in common.

With all the patches he has stuck all over his body, he looks like he lost the alien invaders game... more than once.

Insipid blog

2009-02-25T13:34:00.000-08:00

I read over some recent entries and I realized my blog used to be far funnier. But what happened was this: First one person then another got their knickers in a knot because they thought I was poking fun at them. Well, I was. So, someone gets their feelings hurt, then I stop blogging about them. A friend once (or more than once) accused me of being too nice and maybe he was right.

Me! The greatest proponent of free speech, the First Amendment, self expression, non-conformity and freedom in journalism, EVER. Me! The outspoken and irreverent Kay Four bowed to the wishes of all those people who think they are too precious to be mentioned in my blog, because, OMG! I may say something that makes them take a good long look in the mirror when they should be saying to themselves, "Yes, I do have a stick rammed up my arse," and smile at my harmless humor and by extension, themselves.

I am declaring war! I am no longer going to bend to the wishes of the masses beacause, hey! No one knows MY real name so they sure as rain will not know the real name of anyone in my blog because I. Do. Not. Use. Anybody's. Real. Name. No one can be implicated by my regaling, my ranting and my weird way of looking at the world. No one should get their feelings hurt. If by chance you see yourself in something I write, then maybe it is time for you to make a change or two instead of getting angry with me and telling me off.

Hey world! Unbend that intestinal rod and laugh at yourself once in a while. I promise you will feel a lot better.

Polka?

2009-02-25T13:29:00.000-08:00

Me: What is that on the radio?
CoWorker: It is Lily Allen singing Alfie
Me: It sounds like a polka.
CW: It does, a little. I'm not digging it.
Me: It is a polka. You only hear polkas at weddings... right after everyone does the chicken dance.
CW: My nephew announced that he learned the chicken dance and the Macarena.
Me: He was bragging about that?
CW: He is five. I told him he was all set when he gets married.
Me: Who ever decided that the chicken dance and the macarena were great wedding dances? Or the polka for that matter?
CW: I dunno.
Me: When we get married again, we should insist on no chicken dance.
CW: We get married?
Me: That wasn't a proposal. Besides you are still married to your husband.
CW: Well, the way you said it...
Me: ....
CW: You did say it like you and I were getting married.
Me: But, I didn't mean it that way.
CW: Maybe we should get married.
Me: Yeah, maybe we should. We are far less trouble than men.

What's a Girl to do?

2009-02-17T14:30:00.000-08:00

OK. I confess. I joined a dating site with the hope of finally (a long last) meeting the love of my life.

I have to admit. The bastards won.

I was in contact with a man who seemed to be very interested and exchanged several emails with me...he was educated, an art dealer, seemed classy from his emails. Then, he asked me to send him money. LOTS of money. We had not even reached the stage of talking on the phone when he asked me for money. I don't mean to get on a rant here and most people who read my blog know that I do not rant very often, but...

I am thoroughly cheesed off by this character for a number of reasons. First, how could someone actually attempt to take advantage of someone like this? Worse, how could he assume that I was stupid enough to fall for his crap? What does this say about our world that a person (presumably a man) could be so greedy they would try to scam someone. Obviously, if I had sent him the money he asked for, he would do one of two things... hang on to try to get more or I would never hear from him again, likely the latter.

Never hearing from him again is a foregone conclusion because I already blocked him so he cannot contact me, again and I reported him to the dating site. He will be banned from there. Right now, just the thought that I ever sent him even one email makes me cringe with embarassment. Still, I can't help but wonder how many others this cretin has tried this with. I can't help but wonder how many thousands of dollars he ripped off just by writing a few emails? I can't help wonder how many unsuspecting women fell for smooth writing style.

I know it won't make any difference to anyone, but to Mr. Cedric Pratt of London, England and Wixom, Michigan, SHAME ON YOU! SHAME ON YOU!

For my part, I am finished. Less than a month has passed on my six month contract (29 days to be precise) and I just canceled my account. What a waste of money! Still, I would rather be alone the rest of my life than have to deal with these predators for another second. The dating site doesn't care because they got their money and it is just my tough luck if I had a bad experience. They refuse to refund any of my money. In fact, they wanted to give me an extra month of service. I was like, "No way!"

The old question remains, however... where does a woman go to meet a nice man? I may never find out.

How to Effectively Argue

2009-02-13T10:08:00.000-08:00

This is the funniest thing I have read recently and it is extremely valuable information, as in, I wish I had known about this when I was a teenager. Or even better, I wish I had known this when my kids were teenagers.

How to argue effectively
By Dave Barry
And not by Stuart J. Williams, Attorney at Law
I argue very well. Ask any of my remaining friends. I can win an argument on any topic, against any opponent. People know this and steer clear of me at parties. Often, as a sign of their great respect, they don't even invite me. You too can win arguments. Simply follow these rules:

Drink liquor.
Suppose you are at a party and some hotshot intellectual is expounding on the economy of Peru, a subject you know nothing about. If you're drinking some health-fanatic drink like grapefruit juice, you'll hang back, afraid to display your ignorance, while the hotshot enthralls your date. But if you drink several large martinis, you'll discover you have STRONG VIEWS about the Peruvian economy. You'll be a WEALTH of information. You'll argue forcefully, offering searing insights and possibly upsetting furniture. People will be impressed. Some may leave the room.

Make things up.
Suppose, in the Peruvian economy argument, you are trying to prove that Peruvians are underpaid, a position you base solely on the fact that YOU are underpaid, and you'll be damned if you're going to let a bunch of Peruvians be better off. DON'T say: "I think Peruvians are underpaid." Say instead: "The average Peruvian's salary in 1981 dollars adjusted for the revised tax base is $1,452.81 per annum, which is $836.07 before the mean gross poverty level."

NOTE: Always make up exact figures.
If an opponent asks you where you got your information, make THAT up too. Say: "This information comes from Dr. Hovel T. Moon's study for the Buford Commission published on May 9, 1982. Didn't you read it?" Say this in the same tone of voice you would use to say, "You left your soiled underwear in my bathroom."

Use meaningless but weighty-sounding words and phrases.
Memorize this list:

Let me put it this way
In terms of
Vis-a-vis
Per se
As it were
Qua
Ipso facto
Ergo
So to speak

You should also memorize some Latin abbreviations such as "Q.E.D.", "e.g.", and "i.e." These are all short for "I speak Latin, and you don't." Here's how to use these words and phrases. Suppose you want to say, "Peruvians would like to order appetizers more often, but they don't have enough money."

You never win arguments talking like that. But you WILL win if you say, "Let me put it this way. In terms of appetizers vis-a-vis Peruvians qua Peruvians, they would like to order them more often, so to speak, but they do not have enough money per se, as it were. Ergo, ipso facto, case closed. Q.E.D."

Only a fool would challenge that statement.

Use snappy and irrelevant comebacks.
You need an arsenal of all-purpose irrelevant phrases to fire back at your opponents when they make valid points. The best are:

You're begging the question.
You're being defensive.
Don't compare apples to oranges.
What are your parameters?

This last one is especially valuable. Nobody (other than engineers and policy wonks) has the vaguest idea what "parameters" means.

Don't forget the classic: YOU'RE SO LINEAR.

Here's how to use your comebacks:

You say: As Abraham Lincoln said in 1873...
Your opponent says: Lincoln died in 1865.
You say: You're begging the question.
You say: Liberians, like most Asians...
Your opponent says: Liberia is in Africa.
You say: You're being defensive.
You say: Since the discovery of the incandescent light bulb...
Your opponent says: The light bulb is an invention.
You say: Well DUH!

Compare your opponent to Adolf Hitler.
This is your heavy artillery, for when your opponent is obviously right and you are spectacularly wrong. Bring Hitler up subtly. Say, "That sounds suspiciously like something Adolf Hitler might say," or "You certainly do remind me of Adolf Hitler."

I stole this from HERE

Special Note

2009-02-11T13:05:00.000-08:00

Special Note to the guy driving down Virginia Beach Blvd. in the white pick-up truck during lunch time rush hour:

Chicks will not think you're special if you continue to try to pop the zit on your forehead with your head hanging out of the window so you can see yourself in the side-view mirror while you are waiting at the stop light. The only way that whole scenario could be worse was if you were playing Oingo Boingo very loudly at the same.

Inspired blogging

2009-02-10T09:43:00.000-08:00

I have been having trouble decided what to blog about because so many subjects have become off limits as a result of first one thing then another. I am like, HEY, PEOPLE, THIS IS FREE JOURNALISM. This is the first amendment at work. Free speech! Why can't I write about what I want to write about?

OK. Two things are on my mind, right now.

I joined this dating club in hopes of meeting THE guy who will make my life complete... then, I discovered several things. Namely: The. Men. Actually. Want. To. Meet. Me.

Now, I realize that is the purpose of dating. Meeting new people. Seeing if you click. Seeing if there is chemistry. Finding out if love at first sight is real. On the other side of the coin, I am wondering... do I really want a guy mucking about in my life? I mean guys are a lot of trouble and I have been without a guy since my divorce 21 years ago.

Sidebar: My definition of a guy is a man who is married to me.

On the one hand, that is not a bad thing. I get to make my own decisions. I don't have to make dinner if I don't want to. I don't have to do laundry if I don't want to. I can wear my overly large sweat-shirt in the house without being embarassed. I can drink milk right out of the carton because I am not sharing my milk with anybody. I don't have to close the bathroom door every time I go in. I can fill my entire apartment with hundreds of Barbie dolls. What's not to enjoy?

The only thing I don't have is a regular date on Friday night. Someone to talk to on a regular basis that will talk back to me. (My adorable cats really don't have a lot to say unless they are hungry and then they get really chatty, indeed.) I love going to the movies, but I hate going alone. So, to solve that little problem, I am out there. Trying to meet Mr. Right. (Not Mr. Right Now, or Mr. Always Right).

On the other hand, who says I need a regular guy in my life? I would be happy with a pen pal. I would be happy with someone who read and adored my stories.

But, that isn't what I wanted to talk about, today.

There is a new rule at work: I have to take a lunch, every day. Each and every day. The problem with this is there is no break room or lunch room. The only place to eat lunch is at my desk, which means the phone rings or a student drops in with emergency Financial Aid questions. So, if I am interrupted, that is not a lunch break.

Because I am forced to take a lunch break, I decided to ignore the phone, and ignore any student who stops by my cubicle. I will instead eat my lunch and goof off by writing blog entries or killing time on Facebook.

And, even though I know that not one cares what a person eats for lunch, I am going to tell you anyway. Todays lunch consists of my two VERY favorite sandwiches, ever. Banana and peanut butter on whole wheat and meat loaf and catsup on whole wheat. I also have an orange for an afternoon snack. Doesn't get better than this!

The Sleep-over

2009-02-02T14:41:00.001-08:00

It was a first for me. The Divine Miss M and her mom had a sleep over at my apartment on Friday. We made pizza and spinach dip. We ate ice cream and cookies. We watched Aladdin. We put on our jammies and went to bed.

Miss M is a very precocious 2.5 years old and very talkative. For example, here are a few classic phrases:

"Grammie, I am very happy to be here!"
"I made some eggs for you."
"Be careful, Grammie! It's very hot!"
"I love painting at school."
"I have the best mommy, ever."

We three climbed into my bed that is full size. Mom was quickly asleep, as was Miss M. But, Miss M likes to take up a lot of room on the bed and spreads out. I had scooted as close to the edge as possible and even risked falling out of the bed and fracturing one or more bones when I hit the floor. Finally, unable to get comfy enough to sleep, I went downstairs and slept on the futon in the livingroom, giving Miss M all the room she needed to sleep soundly all night long.

Upon waking, she asked her mom, "Where'd Grammie go?"

So they came downstairs and woke me up.

Then Miss M discussed the Aladdin movie and how the mountain was very scary. She pointed to the scary mountain over and over again and explained it all to me. Maybe some of the Disney movies aren't appropriate for very little kids.

Still, I had a marvelous time and would love to repeat it over and over, again.

2009-01-29T13:11:00.000-08:00

Every now and then, an image comes along that explains everything.

Coincidence? I Think Not

2009-01-26T05:05:00.000-08:00

OK. so I listen to audio books when I drive under the hope that my brain will expand and the amount of trivial knowledge that I have will ever increase. Besides, it is a good time to engage in recreational reading (or actually recreational LISTENING.)

Yesterday, I was listening to Sahara, by Clive Cussler and imagining myself in the role of Eva Rojas and that Matthew McConaughey really IS Dirk Pitt. (Stop it! You do it, too!)

I was listening to the part that described a battle on the James River near the end of the Civil War, as a Confederate ironclad ship was trying to escape down the river with all the documents pertaining to the Confederacy and a very special passenger. The ship encountered resistance north of Newport News, and into Hampton Roads and then betwen Fort Wool and Fort Monroe.

So, what has that to do with anything, you may ask.

I was on Interstate 64 crossing the James River and taking the tunnel under the James between Fort Wool and Fort Monroe at the time I was listening to the account of the battle.

Coincidence? I think not.

A Fun Way to Kill a Few Minutes of Time

2009-01-23T09:55:00.001-08:00

I saw this on another person's blog and decided to post it after spending about five minutes of my precious time answering the questions. So, if any of these situations happen to me, I will already have a name picked out.

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet name and current street you live on)
Tippy Oceanview (that's kinda cool)

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (your grandmother/grandfather first name and your favorite candy)
Eleanor Mars (bar) (Also kinda cool)

3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your last name)
K-Pop (Coolness, again)

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
No way it is Pink Panther!

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (your middle name, your favorite city)
Carol St. Petersburg

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your first name, first three of your middle and last name)
KarVerPop (At least this is pronouncable)

7. Terrorist Name: (middle name spelled backwards, your grandmother's maiden name spelled backwards)
Loracnotnats (Not very terrifying)

8. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, favorite alcoholic drink)
The Pink Champagne (Not a very threatening superhero name)

I must point out that I changed a couple of the criteria I read in the original post when I realized that they were typical password hints, such as mom's maiden name and city where you were born.

Post YOUR results in my comments. Or not.

A wintery Tale and Michelle Obama's Clothes

2009-01-22T10:42:00.000-08:00

All right, winter, we GET IT.

All I can think about is contained in three words: I am cold.

No, wait, here are a few more: it is cold here. That's four words! And: I wish I had an extra sweater right now. 9 words! These are really adding up. How about this one: Who said winter was a good idea when my feet have turned to blocks of ice and my blood is running so sluggishly I can barely type and my big fuzzy brown coat has been morphed (by me) into a blanket and is still ineffectual. OK, that is 45 words.

I have had just about enough of January. Really, January. You made your point. "I can make you cold," you said, and it's not like any of us disagreed with you. But then you had to go and freeze everything just to prove that point. It I was January's mother, I would send it to its room. With no dessert.

My skin is cracking from the cold. Every time I absentmindedly scratch my shin, my fingers come back all bloody. It is a good thing I am not in therapy. Why is my leg bleeding, the therapist asks? No, I'm not cutting myself with an Exacto knife for fun, it's just that winter is trying to kill me. And NO, I am not paranoid. Why are you looking at me like that? What are you writing in your little notepad?

So, as long as I'm here I may as well blog about something... doo dee doo. Oh yes! Michelle Obama's fashion sense. Michelle, I applaud you!

Jill Rosen of the Baltimore Sun said this:

While President Barack Obama talked about hope in his inaugural address, first lady Michelle Obama wore it, quite literally, on her sleeve. Last night, she twirled from ball to ball in an ethereal white gown that seemed to float and glide behind her. The fashion world sighed in appreciation.

"She's not going to be a predictable play-it-safe first lady," Nicole Phelps, executive editor of Style.com, said approvingly.

At the swearing-in ceremony, Obama wore a golden yellow sheath dress and matching coat in an optimistic hue that seemed to catch and reflect the midday sunshine. With it, she made symbolism a fashion statement.

"I think the yellow symbolized hope and renewal," said Sasha Charnin Morrison, fashion director for Us Weekly. "This has been their message all along." Read it here

I have read that Michelle is going to be a fashion trendsetter, much like Jackie Kennedy was. So, the rest of the country will follow her in wearing hopeful clothing. Not a bad idea at all.

Profound Thought

2009-01-20T04:14:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, I listened to a podcast by Garrison Keillor, "The news from Lake Wobegone." It was his Thanksgiving podcast so I was a couple of months late in listening. He talked about the huge feast that the female members of his family prepared and how everyone ate at least three times what they would normally eat because not to may hurt someone's feelings.

Then, GK said that being thankful for a huge feast was not what the holiday was all about. He quoted "I was naked and you clothed me, I was hungry and you fed me," referring to words Jesus spoke in the Bible. Then, GK said that it didn't matter what church you attended, what organization you pledged your alliegence to, if you followed the rules or not set down my your congregation's tenets and dogma. What really mattered was how we treat our fellow man. Garrison Keillor felt that was going to be the deciding factor about who got a positive reward and those who did not.

To that I say, "Truer words were never spoken!"

To treat others badly, means you will be treated badly. It is a simple idea. It is the law of physics. It is Newtonian. It is truth. What goes around, comes around.

So, remember this little bit of wisdom and treat everyone nicely, help others when you can, do good work.

Not ANOTHER Spider Post!

2009-01-18T05:57:00.001-08:00

As cold as it is outside, I am surprised that not all the spiders have frozen to death. On the other hand, they have decided that my nice warm apartment may be a good place to wait out the cold spell.

It was BIG. It was HUGE. It was about the size of my shoe. I know that because I hurled the shoe across the room, ricocheted off the door and fell on top of the intruder.

My cats, thinking I was playing with them, ran over to the shoe, which missed the spider, by the way, and proceeded to treat it like a new kitty toy, happily chasing it and playing soccer with it.

Fortunately, the spider's mortal remains were in the middle of the kitchen floor when I went in to make coffee this morning and I was left to wonder why my carnivorous predators did not eat the darn thing. I say "fortunately" because the spider was dead, not because I had to clean up the carcass.

What is your REAL age?

2009-01-13T10:54:00.001-08:00

I was thinking about my age this morning, after discussing the horrors of Hot Flashes with a co-worker. According to V, one of her friends stayed over night with her in a kind of slumber party and the other women, who is younger than V, was bundled in a heavy robe, slippers, and a blanket while sweetly announcing, "It is a little bit chilly in your apartment."

Like me, V often goes to bed with long pajamas on, socks on her feet and totally armed against the cold nights with a blanket and a quilt. Some time around the magic hour of 2am, we are forced out of our blissful sleep by a hot flash. That means, the blankets are flung off the bed, the pajama bottoms and socks end up on the floor and the ceiling fan goes on high-speed. Only to be chilled to the point of pnuemonia a few minutes later. Sleep has become a real rollercoaster ride and something I have begun to have fantasies about.

Not only that, there are other distinct indicators that I, and my co-worker, are getting older. Are you ready for this?

Did you know there was a time when Banana Republic only sold safari-look clothes?

Did you know I actually used to believe that Charles Nelson Reilly and Paul Lynde were skirt-chasing bachelors?

How about this? The first time I saw Jumping Jack Flash and watched New-York-City-living Whoopie Goldberg instant message with a spy in Cold-War-Eastern-Europe, I thought it was a form of black magic that only the most hard-core computer geeks could accomplish.

And, my TV used to be made out of stone and it was powered by a stegosaurus... as was my dishwasher.

Small wonder I am now old enough to suffer-from hot flashes even though I am on the tail-end of the baby-boomer generation.

IS THIS THE WAY 2009 IS GOING TO BE?

2009-01-05T10:47:00.000-08:00

First, they tell us to work faster, then the database we work from is shut down, successfully preventing us from working at all.

Nightly Outings

2009-01-02T14:41:00.001-08:00

It is normal for me to go to bed about 9:00 pm to 9:30 pm. Then, right on cue, I wake up at 2:14. So, I get up and pee because I am awake anyway. So, I go back to sleep and then, I wake up at 6:00 and I have to pee ALOT. My sleep is always in two segments, but I cannot understand why I have to pee so much when I wake up at 6:00 am. I do not drink anything during my 2:14 sleep break. The only thing I can figure is that I am sleep-driving to the Seven-Eleven, buying a six pack of beer and sleep-chugging all six before returning to the cozy warmth of my bed. Could explain why I wake up with a headache every morning, too.

Cable Guy

2008-10-06T14:21:00.001-07:00

Okay, so I moved into my new apartment on Saturday and the Internet was supposed to be turned on by the time I got there. Guess what? No Internet. I called the Cable Company to tell them that I had no signal, which meant no Internet and no TV and they said they would send the guy over on Monday. I spent my lunch break with Cable Guy.

He shows up and I SWEAR his butt crack was showing as he bent over to investigate the problem to my cable. Every time he bent over, I saw more than I wanted to. But, he did fix the cable.

Sidebar: Showing one's butt crack is probably the least classy thing there is. Or so I thought.

Then, this:
Cable Guy: I am going to give you my card. Call me if you have any problems.
Me: I thought I had to call the cable company, first.
CG: No. You can call me for anything.
Me:.....
CG: I mean, if you need a man for anything, at all. I don;t have a girlfriend right now.
Me: What makes you think I need a man?
CG: I'm just saying.
Me: Thank you.
CG: I mean it. You can call me.
Me: If I need anything from you, I will call.
CG: I live about three miles from here.
Me: All right.
CG: Oh. You got cats.
Me: Yes, I do. Two of them.
CG: I used to have a cat, but I always forgot to feed her. She died.
Me:.....
CG: I don't have a cat, now.
Me: You just told me she starved to death, so I know.
CG: Oh, no! She didn't starve. She was hit by a car.
Me: Oh.
CG: So, you will call me?
Me: I don't think so.
CG: Call me.
Me:........

Bad Blogger

2008-09-25T04:14:00.001-07:00

I am so neglecting my blog. But, I had a new grandson, had to write a 40 page paper for school, and I am getting ready to move in two weeks. Give me a freaking break, will ya?

Spider Man

2008-09-07T16:34:00.000-07:00

CoWorker: OHMYGOD! THERE IS A HUGE SPIDER ON MY CHAIR.
Me: A WHAT?
CW: A spider. A HUGE spider.
Me: I am not coming into your office for any reason until you get rid of your cheesy visitor.
CW: I need to use your phone so I can call a man.
Me: Who would that be?
CW: Pete is closet.

She makes the call and summons the man.

Pete: What's up?
CW: A spider in my chair.
Pete: What? You hire a new employee?
CW: Very funny. Kill it.
Pete: He is hairy.
Me: It is confirmed. It IS my ex-husand.
Pete: So, do you mind if I kick his ass?
Me: Not at all.

A moment of silence, then:

CW: OHMYGOD! He squished it.
Pete: I thought that's what you wanted.
CW: But, I have spider guts on my chair.
Pete: Well, get a paper towel and clean it off.
CW: No way! I am not touching that.

Pete leaves and returns with a paper towel.

Pete: Ok. Your chair is clean.
CW: Thank you.
Me: My hero! They will make a comic book series based on you.
Pete: They already did. It is called Spider Man.

Tuesday Morning News: The News You WANT to read

2008-09-02T03:58:00.000-07:00

I know it is totally politically correct to be organic these days. Just go to the grocery store and you can find organic fruits and veggies and even organic milk produced by organic cows. No chemicals allowed.

Keepin gthat in mind, can some PLEASE explain to me what an organic dry cleaners is all about? I thought dry cleaning clothes was all about using chemicals, harsh harmful chemicals.

Speaking of veggies: (This from a phone conversation) What does Chuck Norris eat when he wants a salad? A vegetarian.

Sidebar to Mom: That is yet another silly senseless Chuck Norris joke that seems to be everywhere these days. They are specifically designed to portray Chuck Norris as a real man's man, bigger, stronger, faster. It is rumored that Superman wears Chuck Norris Underoos.

And in Fantasy Football, my league's draft was cancelled last night and rescheduled for today. So, I don't yet know who is on my fantasy football's famtasy dream-team. Already people are getting ugly about this. At work, I get emails stating that someone is going to kick my keister at least three times a day. But, it should prove to be fun, even though I know little about football (That is American Football and not soccer.) Coworker and I are one one team... the girl's team. All the other teams are comprised of men who feel confident that their masculinity will guarantee they will win this season. ( I suspect they, like Superman, wear Chuck Norris Underoos, just to get that warm and fuzzy feeling of confidence) The league is the Iron Chefs... what do you expect from a Culinary Institute. In fact, several of the teams ARE comprised of chefs. I'm not worried. Those guys COOK for a living. Chuck Norris would eat them for breakfast and then clean his teeth with their bones.

So, Coworker and I are the Financial Aid Team. Team colors: Hot pink and pale lavendar. Team nickname: The RahRahs. (Coworker was a cheerleader in school and I WANTED to be a cheerleader but could never do the cartwheel thing) The other GUY teams are all, "Wouldn't it be funny if they won? Hahahaha hehehehe hahahaha."

Little do the guys know, Coworker and I INTEND to win. We did our homework. We got the stats from the NFL. We know who we want on our offense AND on our defense. We will not win this because we like the pretty red bird on some guy's uniform or because the guy is drop dead gorgeous... although that is the criteria we told the guys we are using. Hahahaha hehehehe hahahaha

The Great Experiment

2008-08-26T03:48:00.001-07:00

I have down-graded to basic cable on my TV, going from Hi-Def and 9 million channels to just 70 channels. When I had access to everything, I watched TV maybe 2-3 hours a week and it just seemed to be very expensive to continue to pay $80 bucks a month for that. So, I removed the DVR, and radically reduced the number of available channels.

Now, all I want to do is watch TV. There has to be something deep and psychological going on, but I probably don't want to know what it is.

A Different World

2008-08-25T15:08:00.001-07:00

Watching my granddaughter grow up is fascinating, to say the least. More than that, I am enjoying watching my child be a parent.

The rules are different now. Children are taught things now that were never taught when I was a child. Things I never taught my children. Children were not considered the center of my world. We didn't have play dates for the children because we assumed they would learn social skills in school. There were no entrance exams for kindergraten. We just enrolled the kids and they started. We assumed the teachers would teach them things like math and fair play. No one had ADD or ADHD.

I raised my children in the old way. That meant the men were out hunting or foraging while we women produced the children in a sterile environment. Child birth was neat and clean. The men saw the baby after the nurses had a go at it and cleaned it up, polished it and made it all neat and shiny. Most men thought babies were born with either a pink blanket or a blue one. That was how to tell if you had a boy or a girl. Once the men saw the child, they ignored them until they did something horrific, such as wrecking the family car. From the first glance at the tiny baby until the child had a driver's license, the men were too busy working to pay much attention. That was the old way. The mothers raised the children and the fathers went to work.

Men never said, "We are pregnant." It was always, "My wife is pregnant," as if they had nothing to do with the event in any way. The women endured pregnancy and child birth without the husband. That was the old way of doing it.

Back then, the children went to school, without a parent advocate. We knew if something happened, it was our fault. Not the teacher's. Not society's. We couldn't blame anybody if we got in trouble at school. The parents took the teacher's side and wouldn't even listen to what the children had to say about it... because it was all our fault. Children had no rights other than those granted by the parent and those were few and far between. The old way.

Now, things are different and parents are completely invovled in the lives of their children. Parents know what their children are doing, thinking, saying. Children have rights. They are watched every minute by the parents.

I was worried that this constant scrutiny would ruin imagination. You know, the imagination that can turn a large cardboard box into a palace, a space ship, a fort. The imagination that can allow a child to be cop one day and a robber the next. It allows a child to be Dracula, Batman, or Barbie.

I watched the Divine Miss M on Sunday pretend to cook some food in her Tyke's kitchen and then serve it to her dad, who then pretended to eat the food she brought to him. Already she understand the difference between real food and toys. She pretended to eat, too.

Now, I don't know what I was worried about.

Gold Rush

2008-08-18T03:30:00.000-07:00

Talking to one of my kids on the phone:

Me: You know there was a time when there was no kitty litter. Everyone had to use shredded up newspaper in a carboard box. No fancy plastic kitty litter boxes, either. Tin foil wrapped over a box. And shredded newspaper.
Kid: Wow. And I bet you had to walk to school in ten feet of snow. Uphill. Both ways.
Me: Actually, I grew up in Florida. Only five feet of snow... and hurricanes. I had to walk to school during hurricanes in ten feet of raging water.
Kid: Uphill?
Me: Yeah. Both ways. You should try that. Walking uphill when there is a torrent coming down the hill.
Kid: What's that got to do with kitty litter? I told you I needed to buy kitty litter and you start telling me about the good old days.
Me: It was the ultimate in recycling. People got rid of old newspapers at the same time as they filled their litter box. That was before kitty litter was invented.
Kid: I think kitty litter was discovered, not invented.
Me: So what? There were propsectors panning for kitty litter in California rivers?
Kid: That isn't what I meant.
Me: Kitty litter was invented. Back in 1948 by Ed Lowe. He is famous for it. I mean the only thing noteworthy the guy ever did was inventing kitty litter. He invented the name "Kitty Litter" and it has stuck. He was worth about a half billion dollars when he died.
Kid: How do you know this stuff?
Me: I must have read it somewhere.
Kid: Well, as I said earlier, I am hanging up so I can go to the store to buy some kitty litter.
Me: But, now you know more about kitty litter than anyone else.
Kid: Except for you. It was a question on Jeopardy, wasn't it?
Me: In the Category of Kitty Litter, Alex, for a thousand dollars...
Kid: No, that would be in the category of stuff only KayFour knows for a thousand dollars.
Me: You got me.
Kid: And to add insult to injury, you are going to blog about this.
Me: I hadn't thought of it... until NOW.
Kid: Just don't mention my name.

The Coolest Thing I Have Seen In A Long Time

2008-08-12T04:38:00.000-07:00

I found it here.

Special Invitation

2008-08-06T16:59:00.001-07:00

Today, I received a special iunvitation to attend a dinner some students were presenting. The Big Boss came to my office and asked if I wanted to go to lunch and I said yes, of course.

In the formal dining room, the students were showing off their cooking ability, their presentation ability, their ice sculpture ability and their table service ability. I was seated with another student named Chris and the Large Boss. We chatted amiably during the meal while we watched very nervous servers try to fill the water glass without spilling. The instructor was watching every move, of course.

After I returned to my office, my CoWorker asked me about the event.

CW: How was it?
Me: Very nice. I have a spring roll with a sweet chili sauce and beef with more spicy chili sauce.
CW: Sounds good. How did it taste?
Me: I don't know. After the first bite, my taste buds were permanently burned out of my mouth from the sweet chili sauce.

And Your Point Is?

2008-08-01T03:46:00.001-07:00

College Admission's Representative: You know it is a tragedy when a student drops. I mean that student is loosing out on the greatest opportunity of their life. They are loosing out on a chance to totally better themselves. So, a student drops and I get an email from you with an exclamation point on it. It is tragic when a student drops. It is not an exclamation point moment.
Me: OK. I understand, now.
AR: No more exclamation points on emails when a student drops. That is a new rule. Add a sad smiley or something. Just no more exclamation points.
Me: I told you, I understand. It is a sad, sad day when a student drops because you loose your commission.
AR: That's right. Like I said. It is not an exclamation point moment.

Giant Steps in Giant Shoes

2008-07-31T04:27:00.001-07:00

A big part of starting college is taking a giant step into adulthood. It is putting away childish ideas and notions and learning to fin for ones self. Students who are right out of high school find this process very daunting and they often bring their poarents with them to this first giant step, lest they falter and fall on their pouty little faces. This is not bad because most of the time, the parents have to sign for loans or make arrangements for other financing. Any student over 24 is considered independent and able to stand on their own two feet. Which brings me to my rant.

I had a guest yesterday who came to the office to make arrangments for his financial aid. He came by him self, which is a step in the right direction. He was too old to have his parents sign for anything anyway, meaning he was over twenty-four. So, the first thing he did was ask for a cup of coffee because, bad finanacial aid lady that I am, I MADE him get up early to come to the office to sign papers.

Sidebar: In my own defense, I chase after these students in an attempt to set up appointments, calling cell phones, calling home phones, calling friend's phones, I finally get them on the line or get them to return a call and then I give them the choice of days or times to come in to see us. The ten in the morning appointment was his own choice because, as he told me on the phone, "I don't want to screw with the finanacial aid stuff all day."

Mr. Smarty-pants didn't have any of the things done that have to be done before coming to the financial aid office. There are several things that must be done online and this process can take as long as an hour, which is why we prefer to have this done ahead of time. I allowed him to sit at my computer where he could do what he was supposed to have done at home but didn't because he was "playing Halo," to quote him. Alrighty, then.

While sitting at my computer, using my keyboard and mouse, he starts coughing and hacking and sneezing and sniffing. Then, calls me into the office and says, "Bring me a tissue." No please. No niceties at all.

Okay. Have you ever had one of those moments when you get the really sharp pain right between your shoulder blades and your eyes start to glaze over in a bloody shade of red and you feel like your head is going to burst open? If you have, then you know my reaction to this scenario.

Two things I need to point out: First, I have a box of tissues on my desk and Little Lord Fauntleroy simply had to reach over and grab one. Secondly, his majesty had to walk past the bathroom where there is a multitude of paper products that can be used to blow one's nose. Because I saw him leaving that particular room on his way to my office, I know he knows the location of the bathroom.

Then, he adds, "I need some cream for my coffee." That did it.

"Look, kid. I am your financial aid lady. Not your bitch. The cream for the coffee is right over there next to the coffee pot. There are tissues right there on the desk or you can walk to the bathroom and grab a handful of toilet paper. Then, you come back here and finish this stuff online that should have been done before you got here. So put on your Big Boy Boxers and deal with it. You have wasted enough of my time, already."

He did as I requested. Well, he got his own cream and his own tissue. As for the Big Boy Boxers, I doubt it. He was pouting way too much when he left.

A coworker brought a container of Clorox Disinfecting wipes to me so I could remove all the communicable diseases the boy was carrying and spreading across my desk and my computer. Once everything was clean and shining, I felt safe going back into my office. CW says, "Too bad they won't let us spank these kids because some of them sure need it."

The Big Boss has on office right outside mine and she says to us, "If you spank someone like that kid, I promise not to tell. In fact, I will swear in court that it never happened... right after I spank the parents for letting their kids act that way in the first place. I was glad you finally said something, Kay Four. He was getting on MY nerves. I can't imagine how much he was getting on you's."

Cool. I have permission to use corporal punishment. A dream come true.

I know, right?

2008-07-28T03:58:00.000-07:00

Filed under the category of "The Odder By-ways of the American English Language":

I know, right? has become the new catch-all phrase if someone agrees with something. A friend may say to you, "That dress you are wearing is the most hideously ugly thing on this planet," and it has become fashionable to respond with, "I know, right?" or "Zombies will eat your face," "I know, right?"

This phrase has moved into suprising circles. A college professor at the school where I work was caught (by mne) saying that very thing.

Professor 1: It is going to rain today.
Professor 2: I know, right?
Me: It is raining already.
Professors 1 & 2: I know, right?

These are the same people who taught their students that using a double negative in a sentence was wrong. "It is never not going to rain," means the same thing as "It is going to rain."

These are the same people who taught their students that using two positives in a sentence never means a negative.

To that I say, "Yeah, right."

Next Stop, Saint Tropez

2008-07-26T05:23:00.000-07:00

The Culinary Institute has a standard dress code. If the students are in the kitchen, they wear Chef's clothes: The black and white tweedy pants, the chef's jumper, a snood for their heads. (They get the chef's hat when they graduate.) They have inspections daily, checking for clean wrinkle-free uniforms, clean fingernails, clean black shoes. If they are in an acedemic class, the men wear black pants, white shirt and tie. The women wear black dress pants and a white blouse. It is a very neat school from a dress code point of view.

All that so I can tell you about a girl who came in to sign up for classes.

She had on a sundress that was VERY low cut and no bra and lots and lots of cleavage. I mean, she was practically naked from the waist up. I began helping her fill out her papers and was continally hit in the eye by this girl's rather well-endowed chest. Now, I don't normally go around looking at girl's boobs, but really. They were so out there. I would glance at her and think, "Oh crap, I looked at her boobs." Then, a second later, "Oh, crap, I did it again." Then, a second after that, "She probably thinks I am gay."

Worse, she came with her MOM and her DAD and I was embarassed because her Dad was sitting directly across from the girl and probably got an eyeful, too. I noted that he pointedly didn't look at the girl. "Wow, look at all those cook books on that shelf!" I am glad I had something for him to look at besides his daughter's chest.

The next day, the lady I work with was helping me with the girl's paperwork in that I am still in training. When we got to the girls papers:

CoWorker: Who is this girl?
Me: The one with the pink sundress.
CW: Who?
Me: The one who came in with her mom and dad.
CW: There were three girls here with their mom and dad. You need to be more specific.
Me: (sighing) The girl with the boobs.
CW: OHMYGOD! Did you see that?
ME: How could I help it?
CW: And in front of her father.
Me: I know!
CW: I couldn't look at anything else. I kept looking at her chest.
Me: How do think I feel? I was right there next to when she leaned over to sign papers.
CW: I would look then go, Oh, Crap! I looked.
Me: I did the same thing. Oh, Crap! I looked. She probably thought I am gay or something.
CW: I thought exactly the same thing.
Me: Well, at least when she starts to school here, she will have to keep that stuff covered up with her chef's jumper.
CW: For the first time in my life, I am really glad there are dress codes.

Have You Ever Thought About Working?

2008-07-23T04:30:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those days where an old flame calls you on the phone after you haven't heard anything from him in two years or more and he chats about this and that, inquiring about your job, your love life, your family? You know, "How's your mom and dad doing? Where are your kids? You still in school? How is your cat?"

Oh Hell, NO! he did not play the cat card. Asking about my cat is supposed to soften me up for the kill. Then, this happened:

Him: So, you have your own place?
Me: Yes. It is in Virginia, not Florida.
Him: Virginia is nice. I drove through there a last weekend.
Me: Going where?
Him: I was visiting DC. I would like to live near DC.
Me: I don't live near DC. It is like 4 hours or maybe 10 hours away.
Him: So, you have a pull-out sofa?
Me: No. I have a futon.
HIm: That's OK. Futons are nice to sleep on.
Me: Wait a cotton-pickin' minute. What are you asking?
Him: Well, I need a place to stay for a while.
Me: Why? What is wrong with your place?
Him: I am at my Mom's house. My wife and I seperated and now I have to pay $900 a month in child support and I need to finish school so I can make enough money to pay the child support, plus have my own place to live.
Me. Whoa! Wait a minute! I don't have room for a room mate. This apartment is too small for me and two cats.
Him: I really need a place to move. You and I have always been good friends.
Me: So, you lined everyone in your little black book up and started calling to find out who would let you move in?
Him: No. It's not like that at all. I LOOKED for you on the Internet. I tried really hard to find you. I have been looking for two weeks. I really need a place to stay.
Me: You really need a job.
Him: I'll get one. I'll help pay the rent. Oh, you have a computer, right? I have to leave this one with my mom, so you will let me use yours, right? And you have a TV? And cable? You have any movie channels?
Me: Wait just a minute, bucko. I did NOT say you can move in with me.
Him: I really need a place to stay.
Me: You have a place to stay... Your Mom's house.
Him: But, I don't like it here.
Me: You won't like it here, either.

The funny thing is, this is the second man this week who wanted to move in with me. Under normal circumstances, I would be totally flattered. But, neither one has a JOB. Both are living with their mothers and neither one likes it. I can understand that. But, when did I become a rescue mission for jobless men who still live with there moms... and these men are not right out of high school, either. One is over forty. One is over fifty. And they still live with their moms. And they are still unemployed.

There is something wrong with this. VERY wrong.

Why can't a guy with a great job, and a big house on the beach want to live with me? I am a great room mate, you know. Just getting all these offers should prove that.

Oh, wait! I forgot about the man who lives next door and who is getting evicted this week because he was laid off and cannot pay his rent and he has to move in with his mom. That makes three in the past ten days.

I must have something special. I must be the greatest person, ever. Everyone loves me! I am wonderful! Three men want to move in with me! I am the luckiest girl in the whole USA.

Ok. I am not lying to myself, here. The special thing I have is a steady job and enough income to buy pretty much what I want. And this homeless, jobless man epidemic will stop once the presidential election is over. Because if not, I will have to buy a boarding house for all my jobless, homeless male friends.

Who Says Culinary School Isn't Funny

2008-07-22T04:15:00.005-07:00

I get to strike out on my own, gently guiding over-eager youngsters into financial ruin. We use words like 35 THOUSAND DOLLARS and they reply with, "Like, how many iPods is that?" Then, we have to resuscitate the parents who have just fallen on the floor, eyes glazed over and salivating while mumbling to themselves, "My first house didn't cost that much." I call the school nurse, "We need oxygen in here."

Then, the threats start. Mom or Dad begin by saying to the new student, "If you make anything less than an A on everything, I will repossess your freaking braces... retroactively." Ouch! Well, you really don't need your teeth to cook, I supposed, but knocking the kid's teeth out will ruin their chances to star on Top Chef or the Next Food Channel Star, or something. That's what they all want: A chance to shove Rachel Ray off the pedestal.

So, they sign up for culinary school and discover that they have to work at it because this isn't just heating up Microwavable MacNCheese, which is their cooking experience to day. I hear students in the corridor, “They didn't tell me I had to wash dishes, man. Bogus!" I shout out of my office, “You have automatic dishwashers, you know!” Of course the inevitable reply is, “Not for the pans, we don’t.”

OK. You got me there.

Food Fun: At the Office

2008-07-17T03:36:00.001-07:00

My new job is interesting, to say the least. Very interesting characters here.
Last Monday, upon seeing my iPod Shuffle earbuds in my ears as I walked into work, the Student Director, a very British Chef asks:

BC: Are you enjoying your rock music.
Me: It's not rock.
BC: Who then?
Me: Vivaldi
BC: Summer?
Me: Spring.

Tuesday:
BC: Vivaldi?
Me: Dvorak
BC: Slavonic Dances?
Me: Carnival Overture

Wednesday:
BC: Who?
Me: Prokofiev
BC: Peter and the Wolf?
Me: Romeo and Juliet

Thursday:
BC: More Romeo and Juliet?
Me: Copeland.
BC: Hoedown?
Me: Appalachian Spring

I didn't see him on Friday, however, this Monday:

BC: Who today?
Me: Back to Prokofiev
BC: More Romeo and Juliet
Me: Of course

Tuesday:
BC: Prokofiev?
Me: Saint Saens
BC: Oh dear, Danse Macabre?
Me: Organ Symphony

Wednesday:
BC: Prokofiev? Vivaldi?
Me: Queen
BC: Bohemian Rhapsody?
Me: Princes of the Universe
BC: I KNEW you liked rock music.
ME: But, it Classic Rock
BC: So it is. There is hope for you.

How to Get Rich Quick

2008-07-14T02:36:00.000-07:00

I don't sit around my apartment for hours on end trying to think up ways to make money, but every now and then an idea hits me that is absolutely brilliant.

To wit:

I am thinking of starting an escort service. NO! Not THAT kind of escort service, you know where you pay some drop dead gorgeous person of the opposite sex to hang out with you to impress others, like ex-spouses or ex-lovers or your current boss. I am talking about a service that accompanies your kids on their dates.

Let me clarify. You would, in essence, as a devoted parent, pay a person to watch/chaperone or otherwise spy on your kids while they are on their date.

RATES:
$20 an hour -- follow from a discreet distance
$25 an hour -- follow from a discreet distance and take pictures with a camera phone
$30 an hour -- act like a long lost relative, interupt the date during dinner and hang out with them for the rest of the eveing.
$35 an hour -- while acting like a relative, spill something awful on the girl's clothes so she has to go home early.
$40 an hour -- sit behind them or beside them in a movie and talk to one of them the entire time.
$45 an hour -- sit between them at the movie and talk the entire time
$50 an hour -- try to break the couple up

What do you think? Like I said, brilliant!

A Sure Sign of Armegeddon

2008-07-11T03:53:00.000-07:00

My mother, my ex-husband and me agree on the same thing at the same time.

The Latest News

2008-07-09T03:11:00.001-07:00

My new job is going well. It is so nice to be in a place where your employers really want you to be there. The service performed is invaluable to the school: Helping students arrange for financing so they can pursue their dreams of landing a job on the Food Network.

I am getting my own office this week. I have seen it. It is shiny and new and never been used. I am already breaking in a brand new, never before used computer. Also, my deskin my new office is right under a sky-light. It will be Friday before it is wired in so I can move there. (Jumping up and down and clapping my hands: Oh goody, goody, goody!)

The novel I have written is nearly ready to go to a publisher. Never give up! What a cool way to make money.

Working in a culinary institute will prove interesting because most of the instructors are CHEFS... oh, the possibilities.

Heard from a friend(?) who says that he doesn't want anyone to know that I know him, referring to his on-line presence on Facebook and MySpace. OK. Maybe not so friendly after all.

Finished the Divine Miss M's quilt and it is really pretty. I haven't heard from her Mom and Dad to find out any further details. I have been busy with my new job.

My neighbor stopped me in the parking lot:

Neighbor: How's it going?
Me: Really good. I got the new job at the Culinary Institute.
N: I thought so. You have been gone during the day.
Me: It is nice to have a regular job.
N: I am still laid off.
Me: Sorry to hear that. Any job prospects?
N: Yeah, I got one or two. Going for an interview tomorrow.
Me: I hope it goes well for you.
N: Hey, I wanted to ask, since you have a job and all. Can I borrow $10?
Me: I haven't gotten my first pay check yet.
N: Oh. OK. I just thought... you know... that since you were working and I am not that I could have some money.
Me: Are you trying to make me feel guilty?
N: Yeah, I am.
Me: Guilty for what? Because I have a job and you don't or because I have money and you don't?
N: Well, since you put it that way... Look, I am sorry.
Me: No problem
N: So, can I borrow $10?
Me:.....
N: Bad idea. Sorry.

Not the Cause of Death

2008-07-07T17:33:00.000-07:00

No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. My mother would make me remake the bed after I did it because there was wrinkle in the spread or the blanket was on crooked. I slept in an unmade last night and survived. I even slept well.

And No, I didn't start a blog just to make my mom cry.

But, some lessons don't go away. I made my bed this morning.

It's the Law

2008-07-04T05:19:00.000-07:00

The Virginia Pilot recently enacted some new laws and removed some old ones from the law books. There are still some on the books, that are, well, funny AND weird!

For example:

In many counties, no one may be a professional fortuneteller, and if one wishes to pursue the practice as an amateur, it must be practiced in a school or church. (I guess having faith isn't enough)

You may not engage in business on Sundays, with the exception of almost every industry. (Which ones are NOT included?)

If one is not married, it is illegal for one to have sexual relations. (That is valuable information.)

No animal may be hunted on Sundays with the exception of raccoons, which may be hunted until 2 a.m. (What have they got against racoons?)

I am just getting started, here:

No person may keep a skunk as a pet. (Good!)

It is illegal to cuss about another. (Not too many people on the interstate or in front of my apartment listen to that one.)

It is illegal to park a car on railroad tracks. (I glad they made that a law.)

No one may visit departed loved ones late at night. (Who wants to go into the cemetary at night, anyway?)

People may not drive their cars on sidewalks. (The pedestrians are very happy to hear that)

People may not throw rocks at the street. (What can we throw rocks at?)

No one may spit on the street. (That's right! Spit on the sidewalk instead.)

It's illegal to ride a bicycle in a swimming pool. (Well, darn. Now where will I ride my bike?)

Animals are banned from mating publicly within 1,500 feet of a tavern, school or place of worship. (I hope they all read the law or they will be in big trouble.)

It is illegal to rob a bank and then shoot at the teller with a water pistol. (Use a real gun instead)

It's illegal to fall asleep in a cheese factory. (How often did that happen? Must have been a lot if they had to make a law forbidding it.)

Virginia is not the only state with funny laws. How about these? You have been warned, so pay attention if you live in any of these places.

Alaska

It is illegal to push a live moose out of a moving airplane. (I am glad they cleared that up)

California

It is a misdemeanor to shoot at any kind of game from a moving vehicle, unless the target is a whale.

Illinois

It is illegal to speak English; American is the officially recognized language.

Iowa

Kisses may last for as much as, but no more than, five minutes.

Louisana

It is illegal to rob a bank and then shoot at the teller with a water pistol.

Massachusetts

1 percent of construction costs of prisons must be spent on art, up to a maximum of $100,000.

Texas

It is illegal to carry a concealed ice-cream cone.

Utah

It is a crime to curse on a bus.
Discriminating unfairly in the purchase of milk, cream or butterfat is a crime.
Prosecutors can seek death for anyone who kills an on-duty poultry inspector.
A drive-by shooting could get you five years in jail and a $5,000 fine, but you could spend 15 years in prison and pay $10,000 for altering the license plate stickers on your car.
You must yield to birds while driving on the highway.
Parents can give written permission to teachers to spank their children. Even though all 40 school districts prohibit corporal punishment by policy, legislators have declined to repeal the law.
First cousins may marry, but only if they are beyond child-bearing years.
It is slander - punishable by up to six months in jail and a $1,000 fine - to falsely accuse a female of being unchaste.
Raffles are defined in the law as illegal lotteries. But this particular form of gambling is routinely used by nonprofit organizations and charities to raise money.
Nightclubs may be licensed to serve alcoholic beverages only if they promise they are a real club or association, and not a business out to make a profit. Apparently, lying is not a crime.

Laws in U.S. cities, towns

Globe, Ariz.

It's illegal to play cards with an American Indian.

Tucson, Ariz.

It is illegal for women to wear pants.

California cities

In San Jose, one may not sleep in an outhouse without the owner's permission.
It is illegal in Los Angeles for anyone to send a complaint through the mail saying that a hotel has cockroaches.
A Tahoe City law prohibits horses from wearing cowbells.
Roosters are forbidden to crow within the city limits of Ontario.
In Carmel, women may not take baths in a business office.

New Britain, Conn.

Fire trucks must travel at a speed of 25 mph, even when going to a fire.

Tallahassee, Fla.

One may have sexual relations with a porcupine. (Oh, those crazy Floridians. The fun they must be having!)

Illinois cities

It's illegal to fish in your pajamas in Chicago.
In Cicero, you may not hum on public streets on Sundays.
In Joliet, you may be fined up to $5 for pronouncing the city's name "Jollyet."
In Zion, it is illegal for anyone to give lighted cigars to dogs, cats and other pets.

Gary, Ind.

People are prohibited from attending a movie house or other theater and from riding a public streetcar within four hours of eating garlic.

Clawson, Mich.

It is legal for a farmer to sleep with his pigs, cows, horses, goats and chickens.

St. Louis
It is illegal to sit on the curb of any city street and drink beer from a bucket.

Lehigh, Neb.

It is illegal to sell doughnut holes.

New York

You may not throw a ball at someone's head for fun. (I am really glad to hear that! If you throw a ball at someone's head, you must be serious and not enjoy it in the least)

Baltimore

It is illegal to take a lion to the theater.

Eugene, Ore.

No person shall park or tether a horse in a public way or street.
None of the listed animals - baby chicks, ducklings, goslings or rabbit - that have been dyed or otherwise colored artificially may be sold, raffled, displayed in a shop or given as a prize.
No person shall camp in or upon any sidewalk, street, alley, lane, public right of way or park, under a bridge or on any other publicly owned property.
No person shall carry or haul garbage on a street or sidewalk exposed so as to be offensive to pedestrians.

Job Search

2008-07-01T09:48:00.001-07:00

I have been grossly neglecting my blog because I have been on a massive job search. Having found the new job, I am ready to get back to the serious business of humor blogging. While looking for a new job--what an eye-opening experience that was, I discovered many things, such as what THEY say in their ads and what THEY are really looking for.

COMPETITIVE SALARY: We remain competitive by paying less than our competitors.

JOIN OUR FAST-PACED COMPANY: We have no time to train you.

CASUAL WORK ATMOSPHERE: We don't pay you enough to expect that you'll dress nicely.

MUST BE DEADLINE ORIENTED: You'll be six months behind schedule on your first day.

MUST BE FLEXIBLE: On many occasions, you'll be asked to bend over and grab your ankles.

WORK IN A YOUNG INDUSTRY: You'll be the oldest person there and your supervisor will be at about 16.

SOME OVERTIME REQUIRED: Some time each night and some time each weekend.

DUTIES WILL VARY: Anyone in the office can boss you around.

MUST HAVE AN EYE FOR DETAIL: We have no quality control.

CAREER-MINDED: Female employees must be childless (and remain that way).

APPLY IN PERSON: If you're old, fat or ugly you'll be told the position has been filled.

NO PHONE CALLS PLEASE: We've filled the job; our call for resumes is just a legal formality.

SEEKING CANDIDATES WITH A WIDE VARIETY OF EXPERIENCE: You'll need it to replace the three people who just left.

PROBLEM-SOLVING SKILLS A MUST: You're walking into a company in perpetual chaos.

REQUIRES TEAM LEADERSHIP SKILLS: You'll have the responsibilities of a manager, without the pay or respect.

GOOD COMMUNICATION SKILLS: Management communicates, you listen, figure out what they want and do

Teaching a Two Year Old

2008-06-22T07:10:00.000-07:00

Miss M (2 years old): Norman!
Norman: Don't call me Norman. I have a title. It's Daddy
Miss M: Daddy!
Norman: That's right. Daddy.
Miss M: Okay, fine, Daddy.

List of Things Every Woman Should Have and Know

2008-06-19T18:23:00.000-07:00

We all get older. I recently had a birthday and I took some time tio reflect on my life. I created a list that every woman should have by the time she is 35. This list applies if you are 22 or 75 or 54 (just like Oprah, John Travolta and me. Some of the things on this list were borrowed from Glamour magazine.

1 One old boyfriend who reminds you of how far you’ve come.
2 A decent piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in your family.
3 The knowledge of how to entertain unexpected guests and a house clean enough that you won't be embarassed when someone does drop by unexpectedly, but no so clean you make your guests uncomfortable.
4 A purse, a suitcase and an umbrella you’re not ashamed to be seen carrying.
5 A youth you’re content to move beyond.
6 A past juicy enough that you’re looking forward to retelling it in your old age.
7 The realization that you are actually going to have an old age—and some money set aside to help fund it.
8 An e-mail address, a voice mailbox and a bank account—all of which nobody has access to but you.
9 A résumé that is not even the slightest bit padded.
10 A set of good dishes.
11 A set of screwdrivers, a hammer and a black lace bra.
12 Something ridiculously expensive that you bought for yourself, just because you deserve it.
13 The belief that you deserve it.
14 A skin-care regimen, an exercise routine and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don’t get better after 30.
15 Something outrageous.
16 Time to read a trashy novel.

There are some things that every woman should know:

1 How to fall in love without losing yourself.
2 How to comfort someone who is in mourning.
3 How to quit a job, break up with a man and confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
4 How to find joy in the little things: A circus, a thank you card, a pretty sunset.
5 How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn’t like to happen next.
6 The names of: the secretary of state, your great-grandmother and the best dry cleaner in town.
7 How to live alone, even if you don’t like to.
8 Where to get a picture framed professionally, who to ask for advice, and what to wear to a cocktail party.
9 That you can’t change the size of your calves, the width of your hips or the nature of your parents.
10 That your childhood may not have been perfect, but it’s over.
11 What you would and wouldn’t do for money or love.
12 That nobody gets away with smoking, drinking, doing drugs or not flossing for very long.
13 Who you can trust, who you can’t and why you shouldn’t take it personally.
14 Not to apologize for something that isn’t your fault.
15 Why they say life begins at 50 is the new 40.
16 How to be comfortable when you are by yourself for an extended period of time.

The Funniest Thing I Have Seen In a Long Time

2008-06-16T03:16:00.001-07:00

I stole this photo from Don Lewis, a REAL Scientist. Here is proof that Global Warming exists and is not just a story we tell to scare the children into good behavior.

Linguistic Humor

2008-06-07T06:55:00.000-07:00

I am a writer and a wordsmith. I thoroughly enjoy the fun of language, with its play on words, double meanings and things like that. One of the best examples of linguistic humor is from Calvin and Hobbes. In fact, we don't even need the added fun of the characters with Calvin the six year old with the shoes that look like dinner-rolls and Hobbes, the not-very-ferocious (stuffed) tiger for this to be funny-

Calvin: I like to verb words.
Hobbes: What?
Calvin: I take nouns and adjectives and use them as verbs. Remember when "access" was a thing? Now, it's something you do. It got verbed. Verbing weirds language.
Hobbes: Maybe we can eventually make language a complete impediment to understanding.

Same thing happened to Google. Google was a thing, now we all Google. Calvin is right. Our language is getting weird. And I am responsible for verbing lots of words, myself. Like crayon, TV, and Calvin. To wit: I will crayon that picture. I am going home to TV for the rest of the evening, and (my favorite) I will Calvin my blog entry.

Funny

2008-06-03T16:05:00.001-07:00

Indiana Jones, Hero or Killer?

2008-05-29T14:56:00.000-07:00

Watch this one to the end. It is too funny!

How Can You Be Funny When...?

2008-05-25T11:15:00.000-07:00

How can anyone be funny when they are facing being laid off, eviction, breaking up with their boyfriend and ultimate starvation. Granted, the starvation part may take a little time simply because I have put on weight recently and now closely resemble a... hmmmm... I was going to say whale, but maybe walrus is a better term.

At any rate, I went to the beach (actually the shores of Chesapeake Bay) and overheard the following conversation between a Jamaican lady and her two children.

Oldest child (about age 8): Can I cover my brother with sand?
Mom: No.

So, the little 3 year old remained un-buried. I was happy about that on many levels.

136003372l.jpg (JPEG Image, 800x536 pixels)

2008-05-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

136003372l.jpg (JPEG Image, 800x536 pixels)

I Wish I Had Thought of That

2008-05-16T10:24:00.000-07:00

Jennifer’s wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her
excitement — not even her parent’s nasty divorce.

Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear and would be the best
dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!

A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father’s new
young wife had bought the exact same dress! Jennifer asked her to
exchange it, but she refused. ‘Absolutely not, I look like a million
bucks in this dress, and I’m wearing it,’ she replied.

Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, ‘Never mind sweetheart.
I’ll get another dress. After all, it’s your special day.’ A few days
later, they went shopping and did find another gorgeous dress. When they
stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, ‘Aren’t you going to return
the other dress? You really don’t have another occasion where you could
wear it..

Her mother just smiled and replied, ‘Of course I do, dear. I’m wearing
it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.’
NOW I ASK YOU - IS THERE A WOMAN OUT THERE, ANYWHERE,
WHO WOULDN’T ENJOY THIS STORY?

Only in America

2008-05-15T01:32:00.000-07:00

Him: At the Gloucester City Council meeting, last night a guy got up and said, "I don't know why anyone would want to live in New Jersey.
Me: Why did he say that?
Him: He was talking about crime, education, everything else. And do you know who he was?
Me: Tell me. I am breathless with anticipation.
Him: The Mayor.
Me: ROTFLMAO (Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off)
Him: I am serious. The Mayor said that.
Me: That is why it is funny.

Saving the Planet

2008-05-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

My visit to the office was two-fold. Of course, I had to pay the monthly vig to the apartment complex owners, but I also went there to complain about my window screens.

OK. To be more accurate, to complain because I have NO window screens on my windows. This is not a new problem. I have had no window screens since I moved in 'way back in July.

Me: I still don't have screens on my windows.
Apartment Complex Manager: I will fill out a work order.
Me: You have filled out a work order for window screens every month since July. That is the month I moved in, you know.
ACM: Well, this time we will get it fixed.
Me: You said that last month.
ACM: I really mean it, this time.
Me: Of course you do.
ACM: See? I am filling out the work order now.
Me: Which you will throw in the trash as soon as I walk out of the room.
ACM: We don't throw them away.
ME: Whatever. Listen, it is not for me that I want screens on my windows. It is for the environment.
ACM: Excuse me?
Me: I want to do my part to stop global warming.
ACM: I don't get it.
Me: If I have screens on my windows, then I can actually open my windows and let the beautiful spring weather into my apartment. Without the screens, I have to run the air conditioner, unnecessarily, I might add.
ACM: But...
Me: Wait! I'm not finished. When I run the air conditioner unnecessarily, then I use more electricity than I would if I simply opened the windows to take advantage of the glorious breezes that waft through the apartment, removing toxins in the air, and, I might add, saving my lungs from contamination.
ACM: But...
Me: So, if you don't REALLY get screens for my windows, you will single-handedly be responsible for raising the world-wide temperature by at least .03 degrees Celsius.
ACM:....
Me: Do I get my screens or not?
ACM:....
Me: Well?
ACM:....
Me: OK. I am moving, then.
ACM: When?
Me: Just don't expect me to renew my lease.
ACM: What if we put screens on your windows?
Me: Then, the time I have left in the complex will be much more pleasant and you will get a personal thank you card from Al Gore.
ACM:....

Now, what?

2008-05-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

Filed under the classification of sometimes-a-kid-just-has-to-talk-to-their-mommy:

I get a call from my #1 daughter.

#1: So, you are still in Virginia?
Me: Yep.
#1: When are you coming back to Florida?
Me: To visit?
#1: No, NOT to visit. To Live.
Me: I dunno... why?
#1: Then we could hang out together.
Me: Yes, we could.
#1: I miss that, you know.
Me: I miss hanging out with you, too.
#1: I want you to move back to Florida
Me: Why?
#1: I have a toothache
Me: And what am I supposed to do about it.
#1: Well, I don't know.
Me: Did you call a dentist?
#1: I went to see a dentist. He gave me a bunch of pain killers and told me my wisdom tooth is impacted and it has to come out.
Me: I can see why you tooth hurts, then...
#1: No. It doesn't really hurt, yet, but it will when the dentist pulls it and I have a great big hole in my mouth.
Me: So you called me because you anticipate a toothache?
#1: Yes.
Me: Whoever thought that parenting adult children would be easy.
#1: So, can you move to Florida before I go to the dentist.

Boring Blog Entry

2008-04-29T16:01:00.000-07:00

Something is wrong with my brain. I have been reading blogs for over an hour to find something funny to write about and nothing is out there that even made me crack a tiny smile. AND you may have notived a gross lack of new post lately. I have a lot on my mind...

Okay, I will just go with it. Right now, KayFour will write a boring blog about nothing in particular. And even if every on Opera chimes in and tells me my blog is boring, well that is Okay, too. I can handle the criticism.

Truth is, life got really big all of a sudden. I am like, "Why does this always happen to me?" There has to be something cosmic involved. Anyway, as I was saying, my life suddenly got much bigger. I am looking for another job, I am looking for another apartment, I am looking for... well a lot of things that will improve my life. I am looking to acquire a TV stand, a coffee table, real bookshelves, navy blue bedroom curtains, navy blue dust ruffle... okay maybe I will move and then buy navy blue curtains to match whichever window will be my next window. I know that navy blue bedroom curtains will not GREATLY improve my life like a new job will, but it is on my list, none the less.

See? I told you this was a boring blog.

Have you ever...?

2008-04-27T14:10:00.000-07:00

When something goes totally right in your life, do you ever pump your arm at the sunset and then freeze like Judd Nelson in the final scene of The Breakfast Club?

Me, neither.

The Ultimate Writing Productivity Resource

2008-04-25T11:27:00.001-07:00

Amazing tools that can help make writers more productive, organized, and creative.

read more | digg story

Reinventing the Language of Love

2008-04-22T02:28:00.000-07:00

It all began last week when Digitaljon and I had a disagreement, a bit of a row, a quarrel, or whatever term you choose to use to describe a suddenly escalating situation that got totally out of hand because of misunderstanding, feelings of abandonment, and the hole in the ozone layer.

We were FINISHED, I tell you. He was not coming home and I was totally shattered... for three days, which is apparently a universal limit of some kind becuase everything always seems better after three days.

Anyway, the gossip-mill was in full swing. I talked to my son about what happened and he gave me some pretty good and sound advice, which I appreciate. Then he mentioned it to someone, who mentioned it to someone else... and well you get the picture. Before the weekend was over, every member of my family was aware of the situation.

The funny thing is, Digitaljon and I talked about it and discussed it and essentially "made-up" and were happy as clams.

I got a phone call from #1 daughter yesterday, because she had not heard That last bit.

#1: I heard what happened.
Me: What happened?
#1: That you and DJ have broken up.
Me: I SWEAR that no one in this family can have a secret.
#1: So, you are broken up.
Me: We are not broken up.
#1: But, Dad said...
Me: Wait! I didn't tell your Dad, my EX-husband, ANYTHING. You know how he is. He is the ultimate gossip monger. He is the ring leader of the gossip gang. He is the one who has to be the first one to know everything and then see to it that everyone else knows he was the first one to know. I didn't say a word to him. He called me to tell me your brother's wife had her baby before your brother had a change to call me and then spent the next hour doing the butter-dance because he was the first one to call me.
#1: So you are broken up?
Me: No.
#1: You're not?
Me: Well, I was, for three days. But, we made-up.
#1: Oh, Ok. What happened?
Me: Well, I said some pretty stupid things and then everything got blown out of proportion and then I got an email telling me we were broken up... but then three, days later, we were on the phone and talking again. It was a quarrel. A disagreement. A spat.
#1: So, you survived your first fight.
Me: Yes.
#1: And it was because you said something that DJ took the wrong way.
Me: Yes.
#1: Well, it happens.
Me: What happens?
#1: Um... how can I put this delicately? Now don't get mad at me. Mom, you can be a tench bit brash.
Me:...
#1: Mom are you there?
Me: A Tench Bit Brash? Tench is not a word.
#1: It is now.
Me: Tench?
#1: As in teensy, tiny. Tench.
Me: Tench? Rhymes with bench, stench, Grinch. Tench.
#1: Funny, you didn't get upset with me calling you brash.
Me: I was just wondering if you can say that fast three times? Tench Bit Brash.
#1: I so miss these little conversations with you.
Me: Call your Dad and tell him he is behind on current events. It will drive him crazy.
#1: Oh, that's right. This will be fun.
Me: And if I can avoid being a tench bit brash, I will call you in a couple of days.
#1: I am going to hear about this for a long time. I can tell.

Too Funny to Pass it By

2008-04-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

I found this when I was Stumbling instead of working:

Let Your Fingers Do The Walking

2008-04-15T02:57:00.001-07:00

Something weird is happening at work. The phone rings, I pick it up with my normal cheerful speil designed to get people to respond and I heard nothing. So, I repeat myself.

Me: Good Morning! This is SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN COMPANY. How can I help you?
Caller:.....
Me: Good Morning! This is SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN COMPANY. How can I help you?
Caller:.....

Then, I hang up after listening to a protracted silence because nobody says anything.

I know the phones are working because get plenty of calls from people who actually say stuff, but this is ridiculous. At least 8 or 10 times every day I get a call from NOTHING.

Coworker #3: No one is on the phone. What's up with that?
Me: I dunno. I happens a lot.
C3: Maybe it is a wrong number.
Me: 10 times a day?
C3: Maybe they have a bad connection
Me: 10 times a day?
C3: Maybe it is aliens who are trying to make first contact.
Me: Oh, yeah, right. If I were an alien trying to make first contact with the human race, SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN COMPANY is the first place I would call AND I would keep on calling until some dumb human finally said the correct secret code to get me to respond.
C3:....
Me: I think you are calling me from your cell phone just to mess with me.

Me: (As Coworker #3 walks away) I'm right, aren't I? Answer me!

Then to the empty office: No one ever answers me. Maybe I am the alien. No one ever answers aliens.

Pants on Fire

2008-04-11T11:04:00.000-07:00

Me: I am not going to work today.
Digitaljon: Why not?
Me: I don't want to.
DJ: That's it?
Me: Yes. That's it. I am not going to work today.
DJ: Ok
Me: I really mean it.
DJ: Ok
ME: I am not kidding.
DJ: I didn't think you were.
Me: I am totally staying home, today.
DJ: You said that.
Me: I know I have said this before and went to work anyway, but I really mean it today.
DJ: I know you do.
Me: No. I REALLY REALLY mean it.
DJ: All right.
Me: I am very serious.
DJ: I would be surprised if you weren't
Me: I am not going and that is final!
DJ: Ok.
Me: Final! I am not going to work!
DJ: Where are you going now?
Me: I need to take a shower because I have to get ready for work.
DJ: You are making me crazy.

The Big Picture

2008-04-06T03:49:00.000-07:00

I have sooooo neglected my blog for the past week.

Anyway, here goes:

Things I feel I should be doing more actively after reading this month’s O Magazine.

*Figuring out what I’d do if I only had five years to live.
*Doing what comes naturally, reflexively, effortlessly
*Switching to Yves meatless taco stuffers
*Figuring out what I’d do if money weren’t an obstacle.
*Pretending that I am smart enough not to be distracted by the Grecian tragedy unfolding for the Spears family.
*Figuring out what my regrets would be if I died tomorrow.
*Designing my life to bring me joy.
*Meditating on compassion.
*Relaxing.

Stolen directly from MightyGirl

R1D1

2008-03-30T09:31:00.001-07:00

I have a new household gadget that is impossible to live without: an iRobot Roomba. It is a cute little machine that merrily cruises around, vacuuming the carpets, the floors and rugs. It is about twelve inches in diameter and is about 3 inches tall. Not very impressive in its size as a cleaner droid, but it IS very imnpressive in its abilities.

If it finds a spots it deems as particularly dirty, it will travel in a circle right over the spot until it is cleaned. Then, it sings a quiet little victory song.

It's cleaning pattern is seemingly random until you really watch the little guy to see what he is doing. He criss-crosses the room until every inch of carpet is cleaned. This process takes about 45 minutes.

When he begins to get low on energy, he will go back to his home base to recharge.

Nearly every day, Digitaljon turns the little bot loose to allow him to go into his routine of systematically removing the cat hair that seems to accumulate in huge piles over night.

Before I tell you my humorous story, I have to point out a couple of things (and thank you to everyone who has hung in there with me this long while I get to the point of the story): First, I didn't give R1D1 his name. Digitaljon named our latest pet. Second, I live in an apartment with CHEAP apartment carpet and by the time all the loose nap is vaccuumed away (a phenomenon of new carpets everywhere) there will be no carpet left... just the backing. What that means is, my adorable little R1D1 has to be emptied VERY regularly. He tends to go back home to rest when his collection facitlity is too full AND we have to clean the carpet nap out of the cleaning brushes on a regular basis, too. R1 IS just a cleaning droid and not an R2 unit or a protocol droid. Thirdly, R1 has to be turned on to clean the room and will not automatically clean on it's own... I don't think. (Must look into this.) If he gets stuck on/under an object, he will cry and then shuts himself down until he is rescued. Lastly, he cannot understand the concept of "dust ruffle." Limited cognitive abilities, obviously.

The Story:

Digitaljon deployed R1 on a routine cleaning mission, after moving the furniture so the little droid could work unobstructed.

When I came in from work, R1 was acting as if he had lost his mind. He would run into a chest leg, back up an inch and run into it again. Repeatedly. Like he was stuck or something.

DigitalJon had noticed the little droid's dilemma and was already seeking a solution via the fabulous world of technology when I walked into the door. He had the iRobot website open and was reading the troubleshooting section of the owner's manual.

Me: What's wrong with R1? I am worried about him.
DJ: I am looking that info up right now.
Me: He looks demented. I mean he was never the smartest droid the Jawas ever sold to us, but really, this is ridiculous.
DJ: I have emptied his debris collection chamber and thrown the contents into the trash compactor. I have cleaned the brushes, thinking something got caught in there. He is still sick.
Me: He looks pathetic. I can't watch this much longer. I am going to cry.
DJ: I have the answser!
Me: Well, tell me! You are reading and I am simply standing here watching R1 run into furniture...over and over and over.
DJ: Apparently, we have to spank it.
Me:...
DJ: Don't look at me that way. Read it for yourself.
Me: It doesn't say SPANK. It says to smack the obstacle sensor briskly several times because the sensor is stuck.
DJ: Like I said, spank it.
Me: But, he is so young! Will he even know why we are spanking him?
DJ: There is only one way to find out. (Reaching for the sick droid)
Me: OH NO! If anyone is going to spank it will be me! Men hit too hard.
DJ: OK

So, I pick up the little droid and slap his obstacle sensor several times.

DJ: CAREFUL! The instructions said to smack it briskly, not to beat the hell out of it.
Me:...
DJ: Don't give me that look.
Me: I can't believe you would think I would do anything to hurt our droid.
DJ: Stop cuddling it and see if it works.
Me: (to R1) It's OK, little one. Mommy didn't mean to hurt you.
DJ: Oh, brother!
Me: Droids have feelings, too.
DJ: I am never letting you watch Stars Wars, again.
Me: YOU are the one who named him R1.
DJ: Just see if smacking him around worked while I look up information about droid abuse online. There is probably a twelve step program to take care of that.
Me: I did NOT abuse our droid.

I put the little droid on the floor, pressed his buttom indicating the beginning to a mission, heard his happy little song and he merrily continued cleaning the floor as if he had never been spanked.

Somewhere in there is a lesson to be learned. I am just not certain what it is.

The Latest Tourist Technology

2008-03-26T04:43:00.000-07:00

The historic triangle in Virginia proved to be the stomping ground for my vacation travels with my Mom and Dad and Digitaljon, The Divine Miss M and her Mom and Dad.

The whole gang trudged up and down historic avenues, taking pictures, oooing and ahhhhing.

Yes, most of us owned digital cameras, but everyone invariably forgot to bring them. So, the tourist photography was done with camera phones.

I believe this is the wave of the future.

Me: Ok, everyone line up so I can get a picture.
Stranger: But that is a phone, not a camera.
Me: I know.
S: You can't get a decent tourist shot with a camera phone.
Me: But, it's all I have with me.
S: You look utterly ridiculous.
Me: Hey, would you mind taking a photo of all of us? You just point the camera phone and press that button.
S: Certainly!
Whole Gang: CHEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSE!
S: Dammit. I only took a photo of my thumb.
Me: That's the danger of owning a camera phone.
S: Let's all try this again.
Whole Gang: CHEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSE!
S: Dammit. It is a photo of my forefinger, but you can just make out the top of someone's head right there.
Me: Once more try? Please?
S: All right, but I make no promises. Ready! Aim! FIRE!
Whole Gang: CHEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSE!
Me: How did that one turn out?
S: Well, no appendages, but I moved the camera and only got a photo of the tree tops.
Me: OK. Don't anyone move. Stranger, you stand over there and I will take the shot.
Whole Gang: CHEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSE!
S: But, now you have a stranger in your photo.
Me: I am going to PhotoShop you out and put me in.
S: Tourist Technology is wonderful.

Why Guys like Girls

2008-03-11T10:14:00.000-07:00

Here’s a few reasons why guys like girls… I didn’t write this… just found it years ago and thought it was worth holding on to even though I am a girl. (DUH!)

1. They will always smell good even if its just shampoo
2. The way their heads always find the right spot on our shoulder
3. How cute they look when they sleep
4. The ease in which they fit into our arms
5. The way they kiss you and all of a sudden everything is right in the world
6. How cute they are when they eat
7. The way they take hours to get dressed but in the end makes it all worth while
8. Because they are always warm even when its minus 30 out side
9. The way they look good no matter what they wear
10. The way they fish for compliments even though you both know that you think she’s the most beautiful thing on this earth
11. How cute they are when they argue
12. The way her hand always finds yours
13. The way they smile
14. The way you feel when you see their name on the call ID after you just had a big fight
15. The way she says “lets not fight anymore” even though you know that an hour later you will be arguing about something
16. The way they kiss when you do something nice for them
17. The way they kiss you when you say “I love you’
18. Actually … just the way they kiss you…
19. The way they fall into your arms when they cry
20. Then the way they apologize for crying over something that silly
21. The way they hit you and expect it to hurt
22. Then the way they apologize when it does hurt . (even though we don’t admit it)!
23. The way they say “I miss you”
24. The way you miss them
25. The way their tears make you want to change the world so that it doesn’t hurt her anymore…..

Yet regardless if you love them, hate them, wish they would die or know that you would die without them … it matters not. Because once in your life, whatever they were to the world they become everything to you. When you look them in the eyes, traveling to the depths of their souls and you say a million things without trace of a sound, you know that your own life is inevitably consumed within the rhythmic beatings of her very heart. We love them for a million reasons, No paper would do it justice. It is a thing not of the mind but of the heart.

The Scarlet Letter

2008-03-05T09:37:00.000-08:00

I Stumbled(upon) across this today and I have to admit, it is one of the funniest things I have read, today, I don't know if it is true, but it certainly is humorous.

This is a letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph.

PC Magazine’s 2007 editors’ choice for best web mail-award-winning letter.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your ‘Always’ maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dry-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favourite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from the curse’? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call an inbred hillbilly with knife skills. Isn’t the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, Mr. Thatcher, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from ‘Aunt Flo’. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control, maniacal behaviour.

You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants…

Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: ‘Have a Happy Period.’

Are you fucking kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager male brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness - is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything ‘happy’ about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreen’s armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out of your ass, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like ‘Put down the Hammer’ or ‘ Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong’, or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep. Always.

Best, Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX

Sorry, Wrong Number

2008-03-01T04:15:00.000-08:00

I get really passionate about some things and then I have to spend a few minutes discussing it here in blog-ville.

I have a very important job where I work... I do Search Engine Optimization, which means I get to write articles and I get to blog at work. So very cool. Every now and then, in between blogging about steel building construction, and water fowl on the Outer Banks, I can slip in my own blog where I can have some FUN. Well, not this week because I was too busy for that sort of trivial nonsense.

But, I digress.

Also part of my job is answering the phone. I wasn't hired as a receptionist/gatekeeper. I feel into the job because of my charming personality, my ability to make GOOD coffee, (I think the guys at work screw it up on purpose so I will continue to make fabulous coffee. Did I mention I am the only girl there?) and the fact that I have a charming phone voice, and excellent social skills.

Being a SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN company that designs websites for the rich and famous, we have a number of printed publications that arrive via US Mail to the office and clutter up the analog inbox. I sort through this pile of dead trees, keep ones that I may want to read on my coffee break and toss the others out. I think Bossman signed up for every free publication on planet earth... and a few other planets as well.

Again, I am digressing. I WILL get to my rant! Trust me!

Anywho, the owners of these so called FREE publications periodically out-source the task of contacting every recipient to ask if their information is still correct. I got six (not kidding) calls this week from six (not kidding) companies wanting me to verify my information.

Now, I have nothing against out-sourcing, but please, for the love of all that's holy, can somebody, somewhere out-source to a person who can actually speak ENGLISH? Is that too much to ask?

Me: Good morning, this is the SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN company. How can I help you.
Caller: I wish to speak with Ro...Ro....Rog...Ron....Rob...Ros.. Ross WilL...Roswall... Rosenthal... Rosencrantz...Reynaldi (All with a THICK Indian accent)
Me: Who do you wish to speak to?
C: I am very sorry. I cannot pronounce the name.
Me: Or any other English word, apparently.
C: Are you a manager?
Me: Me? Naw, I just answer the phone.
C: Who makes the purchasing decisions?
Me: Now that depends on what's being purchased. I choose what toppings will come on the pizza for our Office Wide Monday Afternoon Pizza Soiree and Business Meeting. Does that count?
C: Very good. Are you also the person who makes decisions about magazines?
Me: You mean do I decide which ones go into the trash? Yes. That is me.
C: Very good. I would like to verify your address.
Me: Fine by me.
C: This be business called SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN?
Me: Yes.
C: Is the number 1234?
Me: Is what number 1234?
C: Is the Room number 1234?
Me: Room number?
C: Yes. The number of the room.
Me: OH, THAT number. Thank you for clarifying.
C: Is that the correct number?
Me: If I knew what the number was really for, I could tell you if it is correct.
C: It is the number of the room.
Me: Is that just like a room number?
C: Yes.
Me:.....
C: Is the number correct?
Me:.......
C:.......
Me:.....
C: Is that the correct room number?
Me: You know something? This is a business and I have work to do, not being a real recpetionist who does nothing all day but answer the phone and dilly-dally with nail polish.
C: Very good. Is the number correct?
Me: Apparently, you don't listen in English, either. I got a two-fer. A person on the phone who cannot speak OR understand English.
C: Very good. Is the number correct?
Me: See what I mean?
C: Very good. Is the number correct?
Me: Is there someone there who can hit you in the back of the head? You sound like a stuck record.
C: Very good. Is this the correct number?
Me: That is a good tactic. Rewording the sentence will make me understand you better.
C: Are you the person who makes purchasing decisions?
Me: You already asked me that. Oh, crap, you went back to the beginning of the script. You know what? I can't deal with you right now. Thank you for calling.

And I hung up on the person, not realizing that the owner of the SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN company was lurking just around the corner.

Bossman: If that was a customer, you are so fired.
Me: It wasn't my idea to put me on the phone.
B: What did they want?
Me: Verification of a room number.
B: What room number?
Me: See? That was my question.
B: What was your question?
Me: What room number?
B: We don't have a room number.
Me: I know that and you know that but apparently the Out-sourced, no-English-language-speaking, sari-wearing, on-the-phone-mumbling, room number verifier doesn't know that.
B: And that is why I want you to answer the phone. So I don't have to deal with those phone calls.
Me: I want a raise.

Odd Combinations

2008-02-26T03:22:00.000-08:00

Listening to Danse Macabre in G Minor, Op. 40 by Camille Saint-Saëns performed by the CSR Symphony Orchestra (Bratislava), Keith Clark, conducting while reading the morning COMICS.

We're Gonna Need A Bigger Actor

2008-02-22T02:10:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I missed this: Roy Scheider died last week.

Since he was on the top five five actors EVER list, I guess that means that all the other actors just moved up a notch.

Although I would not suggest waiting around for someone to die as a way to improve your acting skills.

Sleep Disorders

2008-02-21T02:00:00.000-08:00

One of the most embarassing moments of my life happened when my b/f told me that I fart in my sleep. He told me it pisses him off when I do it.

My first thought was, "Am I farting so loudly that I wake him up?" My second thought was, "It's a really good thing that he doesn't live with me." My third thought, "I will never ask him to stay over night again because I won't sleep worrying about whether or not I fart." My fourth thought, "Oh yeah, big boy? Well, You drool AND snore. You think I enjoy your slobber all over my shoulder when we aren't having sex? You think I enjoy the sound of a train rollling through my bedroom every time you take a breath? You think I enjoy having to pulll the drapes out of your nose every morning? What's a little fart compared to that?"

To which he answered, "Farts stink."

Me: So does drool AND snoring.
Him: You talk in your sleep.
Me: What do I say?
Him: It is not really clear. More like mumbling.
Me: I am a sleep mumbler?
Him: Yes. I am a sleep walker.
Me: Where do you go?
Him: Mostly to the bathroom.
Me: You are a sleep pee-er?
Him: At least I don't wet the bed.
Me: Just wait. You are still young.
Him: You are a sleep Democrat.
Me: Kill me now.

While Minding My Own Business and Surfing the NET...

2008-02-20T10:14:00.000-08:00

Every now and then I run across something that makes me laugh out loud.

An engineering student was walking across campus with a shiny new mountain bike when he was approached by a friend, also an engineering student. The friend said, "Hey, where'd you get the great looking bike?"

The first engineer replied, "Well, I was walking across campus the other day. This beautiful woman rode up to me on her bike, ripped off all her clothes, laid down on the ground and said 'Take ANYTHING you want!!!'"

The second engineer replied, "Good choice. Her clothes probably wouldn't have fit, anyway!"

I stole this from HERE.

Vowel Issues

2008-02-20T03:13:00.000-08:00

Overheard in Starbucks:

Starbucks Guy: What's your name?
Customer: Craig
SG: Greg?
C: Craig
SG: Jeff?
C: Craig. CRAIG! C-R-A-I-G
SG: Oh. One of those names with all the vowels.
C: I keep fogetting to use Jim
SG: You should. A name just for coffee.
C: A coffee name?
SG: Yes.
C: What happens if I forget my coffee name when you get my coffee ready?
SG: We will keep calling out your name until you answer.
C: But, it won't be my name.
SG: Yes, it will. It will be your coffee name.
C: Just give me my coffee.
SG: Ok. I put Jim on the cup.
C: But, my name is Craig.
SG: Not today.
Me (to customer behind me): What's he going to do when I tell him my name is Sheila
C: Your name is Sheila?
Me: No, but I am going to tell him it is.
C: Why?
Me: I want to know what my coffee name is and if I give him a name with a lot of vowels, he will tell me.
SG (to me): What can I get for you?
Me: Cafe Latte Grande
SG: OK. And your name?
Me: Sheila
SG: Oh no, not again.
Me: What's wrong?
SG: Vowels. Nothing but vowels.
Me: So, what does that mean?
SG: I am putting SAM on the cup.
Me: But Sam is a guy's name.
SG: It is now your coffee name.
Me: But, I don't want to be Sam.
C: Well, I don't want to be Jim.
Me: I just wanted a cup of coffee. Not a name change.

My Life Didn't Turn Out Like I Planned

2008-02-18T04:32:00.000-08:00

When I was much younger, say around 11, I had a distinct idea of what adulthood would be like. I had a whole list of things I would be able to do as an adult that were forbidden me as a child.

Ferinstance:

Drink Coffee: At some point in my tender young life, it occurred to me that adults drink coffee all the time. I never realized my parents refusing to allow me this decadent luxury was the result of them not wanting me to get hyper and bounce off the walls all day long. My paternal units preferred quiet serenity. Once I was allowed to drink coffee, which happened sometime around high school graduation, I was hopelessly addicted and a slave ever since. OK. The coffee thing DID turn out as I expected.

Become a Nurse: What better way to tie down a Doctor Meal Ticket?

Marry a Doctor: If you marry a doctor, you will never have to worry about money. You will be taken care of. I didn't marry a doctor because very early in my attempt to become a nurse, I realized that I lack the compassionate, nurturing nature required to care for others in times of illness. I am compassionate from a distance, but if I get close to someone who is bleeding and yucky, I get sick, too. Most people don't want their nurse to be barfing all over them.

Get Married in Paris: I imagined a glorious white dress with a train about a mile long as I strolled down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées in Paris, with a handsome prince on my arm, a full orchestra playing the Wedding March by Mendleson. Well, I got married, but it wasn't even close to Paris. Try Folkston, GA, where you can show up and, get hitched and leave all before lunch. It's like the Las Vegas of the South East.

Quit Smoking: I did that. But, I had to start smoking first. I did that. Not one of my better adult aspirations. But as a child, on those cold winter mornings when our breath would come out in white clouds, I used to pretend I was smoking. It is probably the healthiest way to do it.

Wear pantyhose: Why I ever thought THAT was a good idea is beyond me.

Have Cocktails at 5: I think I got the idea from a movie that all the chic people did this. Along with smoking, of course. Somehow, I escaped being an alcoholic who smokes three packs a day. (60 cigarettes)

Shave my legs: Why I ever thought that was a good idea is beyond me. The price of beauty. Fortunately, I am one of the most non-hairy people on the earth and I have a total of about 10 or 12 hairs on each leg that must be dealt with. Plucking is almost quicker than shaving. I rarely bother with either one, these days.

Dress up and wear a hat to go shopping: Now, there is an idea! Not a good one. Because living in Florida made the whole 'wearing a hat' thing ludicrous and no one dresses up in their best chic suit to go shopping. But, I imagined shopping in Macy's in Downtown New York, with a white tailored dress, black high heels, a shiny wide black belt, black clutch purse, and a black and white hat. It was oh-so-Audrey-Hepburn. Of course, when I became an adult, I didn't look or act anything like Audrey and few people dressed for shopping. Now, Macy's has popped up in every mall in the whole country. The thrill is gone.

Travel from Istanbul to Paris on the Orient Express: I haven't done that yet, but there is still time.

Play Bridge: My parents played Bridge all the time, but for Bridge, you have to have three other people. My first adult companion, my ex-hubby, didn't know who to play Bridge and had no interest in learning. Not only did I need a fourth for Bridge, I needed a second and third. I did learn how to play Bridge and I enjoyed it, by the way. But, I still need a fourth and a second and third.

Go to the Moon: I haven't done that, either, but there is still time for that, too.

Marry Charlton Heston: Other than the fact he was already happily married, it wouldn't have worked out. He is older than me. He is older than my Dad. And yes, winter/spring relationships do work, as I grew older, I realized that our ideas and political leanings are totally different. So many arguments over Gun Control. But, I am still a loyal fan and I still adore movies that star Charlton Heston. I have seen Ben-Hur about 47 times.

Live in a grand old Victorian Era house: A good idea until I realized how long it would take to CLEAN a grand old Victorian House.

The Worse Sound in the World

2008-02-14T05:58:00.000-08:00

The worse sound has to be the sound when two cars crunch together. I had an opportunity to experience that yesterday when I became a car sandwich. I know this is a terrible sound after being in a couple of minor wrecks years ago. Yesterday's wreck on Interstate 64 East Bound was the WORSE wreck I had ever been in.

The girl hit me from behind and pushed me into the car in front of me. A double whammy. She hit my car hard enough to push it 75 feet from a stopped position and into the next car. Needless to say, my new car is a total loss. Crap! Now I have to buy a new new car.

No one was injured, but I still have a wicked headache this morning and the insurance people to me to go to the doctor... and my knee hurts, probably from pushing on the brakes too hard.

As a testimonial to how well made my Honda was, after being smacked in the rear and then pushed into the car in front hard enough to break the battery, crack the radiator, damage the transmission, and bend the frame, the car was still running. It was ready to keep up with it's duties and take me to where I needed to be.

I tried to make this a funny post, but there really isn't much funny going on.

Strictly from a Cosmic point of view, maybe coming to Virginia was a BAD idea.

I can't Believe I Have to Explain This...

2008-02-13T02:14:00.000-08:00

It's a DOG, not an accessory.

Making the Queer Eye Guys Cry

2008-02-09T04:02:00.000-08:00

I am working on re-decorating my apartment, using the same old crap I have been lugging from place to place since 2001. So how do you turn an apartment into something aesthetically pleasing to ones self and to visitors who happen to drop in, either announced or unannouced, like the guy next door who knocks to periodically check to see if I have found all my electrical outlets. He is an electrician named Vincent. What, you say, in shocked incredulity. I know. I did, too. Electricians are named Hank, or Guy, or Jim, but never, oh, never Vincent.

I digress.

At least my apartment is looking far less college-dorm after the homecoming game kegger, and more homey with that fifties aesthetic flair. Hey! I have only been here for six months.

A decorator would tell me I have to update.

Decorator: This place is so negatively eclectic 50s. Dear, you really must drag yourself, albeit kicking and screaming, into the 21st century.
Me: You don't like my current decor?
Decorator: Decor? No one EVER had this for their decor. This would embarass Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.
Me: But, maybe we can just go with it. You know an eclectic positive 50s experience. A 50s Chic Thing.
Decorator: Like what? You wearing a string of pearls while you Hoover the carpets?
Me: Ok. Point taken. What about a 60s positive eclectic? Could we do that?
Decorator: Oh god! You mean Jimi Hendricks posters and black lights? Only if you plan to stay stoned for the rest of your life.
Me: Crap. Ok. So what do I have to do to update?
Decorator: Well, first of all, get rid of... of... of... everything.
Me: I think I will buy a Wurlitzer and play sock hop music, instead.
Decorator:...
Me:...
Decorator:...
Me: That was a joke.
Decorator: A very bad joke. Now, if you insist on keeping your eclectic mess of things, we need to... we need to... we need to... I'm sorry, I can't do this. Take my advice. Pack up the dolls and the toys and get something more contemporary like a bar height table and an eclectic chic ocean blue futon cover. And that flowered mess you call a comforter has to go.
Me: That's easy. I only have to turn it over and it is blue plaid on the other side.
Decorator:...
Me:...
Decorator:...
Me: I was serious about that.
Decorator: I was afraid of that. Martha Stewart, you will burn in hell for this.

One Towncar Away From Being A Winter Florida Resident

2008-02-08T02:10:00.001-08:00

I am in Virginia. Virginia is for lovers... well, uh, maybe. The jury is still out on that one. Carry me back to old Virginnie... OK. That one is possible because Virginia just celebrated it's 400th year of being a permanent British settlement. Also, everytime someone asks me for my Driver's Lilcense and I show them the one from Florida, I get the same question: Why did you move HERE from FLORIDA, ferpetessake? No good answers to that question. (Read Above) The one that is most prominent in my mind about my move to Virginia is... Well, it's certainly not for the weather. Winter is freaking cold.

I have been bundled up since around the end of October and I don't see this ending in the near future. It is so cold, I don't have to dis-robe when I have a hot flash while shopping at mall.

Shopping! That's what I wanted to talk about.

I have been shopping for winter clothes and all the new stuff had to find a home in my closet. So, I started moving out the really cool summer stuff I brought up here from Florida. And I found a blouse I forgot I had. It was totally cool and a lot like Christmas. Even more like Christmas than when I was opening the packagaes that contained the winter clothes I had ordered from a variety of locations and I knew what was in them. It was like getting something you really really like for FREE.

I had a sudden vision of myself in this favorite blouse that was covered in Hawaiian flowers, a pair of matching gold shiny capris, a pair of gold sling back heels, and big hat, so much make up that I looked like Lainie Kazan's fashionable younger sister and a cigarette in a long cigarette holder. Did I mention the huge diamond rings on the fingers of my ancient withered hands that had bright red nail polish on claw-like nails? Did I mention the straw purse slung over my shoulder that is large enough to carry all the stuff I would need on a two-week vacation to Europe? Did I mention the short, balding husband who trailed behind looking embarassed? Did I mention the rough, gravelly voice that is guaranteed to shatter glass?

OK. Maybe finding a forgotten peice of clothing in the bottom of the closet isn't all that great... but at least in my vision, I was back in Florida.

Article On Many Subjects

2008-02-05T02:51:00.000-08:00

I write a lot. I get paid to write. Here is a recently published article I wrote. Check it out!

Employees Benefit from Seated Chair Massage

My Personal Seinfield Moment

2008-02-03T06:17:00.000-08:00

While on the phone with my friend:

Me: I hear someone's car alarm going off.
Him: That's annoying.
Me: In this neighborhood, probably someone is stealing a car. (looking out of the window) Wait! Where's my car?

2001-A Goldfish Odyssey

2008-02-01T03:02:00.001-08:00

I bought a bag of GoldFish crackers... those cute little golden colored crackers that are so tasty and when I opened the bag, I was in for a shock. Some has been screwing around with my goldfish crackers, that I might add, I gave to my granddaughter The Divine Miss M and they became and INSTANT FAVORITE.

"OH my GOD! It's full of STARS!"

iPod Crime is on the Rise

2008-01-31T02:48:00.001-08:00

I heard a news report on the radio as I drove into work yesterday about how iPod users are being mugged more and more often. Not only do the muggers take money from the person, they take the iPod as well. Evidently, the iPod is a new status symbol of wealth and/or prosperity and the average mugger takes that as a sign that the iPod user has more money than the average person. Personally, if I were a mugger, I would think the iPod user probably just bought an iPod instead of paying the rent.

I could be wrong, but I would never take that as an outward sign of wealth. For my part, I would be looking for Pierre Cardin Driving Boots.

I realize it is incredibly easy to mug an iPod user as they obliviously stroll along the street. All one has to do is to stick their foot out and DOWN the iPod user goes. (Please understand, I am not trying to give any would-be muggers any ideas, here.) Once the iPod user is on the sidewalk, then the assailant can proceed with the theft.

As a theft deterrent on a car, there is a sticker that says something on the order of "Protected by an Anti-Theft Device." That would be enough to discourage me, should I decide to start boosting cars for a living, mostly because I would be totally uncertain what the anti-theft device would do to me... chop off my hands at the wrist? Spray something disgusting
on my clothes?

Anywho...

So, why not have a warning label on the iPod to protect it from would-be muggers. Something like, "Warning: Contains more than one track by New Kids on the Block."

Shotgun Rules

2008-01-30T10:27:00.000-08:00

When my children were younger, there was always an argument as to who go to sit in the front passenger seat of the car if we were going someplace. I never found a workable solution until today. I wish I had these rules about twenty-five years ago, but I will post them now for anyone with children, gradnchildren, friends, and a car.

THE SHOTGUN RULES
version 1.1

The rules listed below apply to the calling of Shotgun (the passenger seat) in an automobile. These rules are definitive and binding.

Section I
The Basic Rules
1. In order to call Shotgun, the caller must pronounce the word "Shotgun" in a clear voice. This call must be heard and acknowledged by the driver. The other occupants of the vehicle need not hear the call as long as the driver verifies the call.

2. Shotgun may only be called if all occupants of the vehicle are outside and on the way to said vehicle.

3. Early calls are strictly prohibited. Shotgun may only be called while walking toward the vehicle and only applies to the drive immediately forthcoming. Shotgun can never be called while inside a vehicle or still technically on the way to the first location. For example, one can not get out of a vehicle and call Shotgun for the return journey.

4. The driver has final say in all ties and disputes. The driver has the right to suspend or remove all shotgun privileges from one or more persons.

Section II
Special Cases
These special exceptions to the rules above should be considered in the order presented; the case listed first will take precedence over any of the cases beneath it, when applicable.

1. In the instance that the normal driver of a vehicle is drunk or otherwise unable to perform their duties as driver, then he/she is automatically given Shotgun.

2. If the instance that the person who actually owns the vehicle is not driving, then he/she is automatically given Shotgun, unless they decline.

3. In the instance the the driver's spouse, lover, partner, or date for the evening is going to accompany the group, he/she is automatically given Shotgun, unless they decline.

4. In the instance that one of the passengers may become so ill during the course of the journey that the other occupants feel he/she will toss their cookies, then the ill person should be given Shotgun to make appropriate use of the window.

5. In the instance that only one person knows how to get to a given location and this person is not the driver, then as the designated navigator for the group they automatically get Shotgun, unless they decline.

6. In the instance that one of the occupants is too wide or tall to fit comfortably in the back seat, then the driver may show mercy and award Shotgun to the genetic misfit. Alternatively, the driver and other passengers may continually taunt the poor fellow as they make a three hour trip with him crammed in the back.

Section III
The Survival of the Fittest Rule
1. If the driver so wishes, he/she may institute the Survival of the Fittest Rule on the process of calling Shotgun. In this case all rules, excepting I-4, are suspended and the passenger seat is occupied by whoever can take it by force.

2. The driver must announce the institution of the Survival of the Fittest Rule with reasonable warning to all passengers. This clause reduces the amount of blood lost by passengers and the damage done to the vehicle.

Please follow the above rules to the best of your ability. If there are any arguments or exceptions not covered in these rules, please refer to rule I-4.

Read the Article HERE.

Waxing Poetic

2008-01-25T14:16:00.000-08:00

The first time it happened, I was pretty okay with it. What? you are wondering about now. OK. Let me back up. There are some girly things I do for myself just because I enjoy them. One is getting a manicure about once every two weeks and the other is getting my eyebrows waxed. The manicure removes/hides the ridges on my fingernails and I love the way nail polish looks when I watch my fingers while typing on the keyboard. Yes, I KNOW you aren't supposed to look at the keys when you are typing, but, Hey! It happens.

Getting my eyebrows waxed is a necessity or I begin to look like Brooke Shields and Groucho Marx's love child. And I only have one eyebrow and the uni-brow look is so Neanderthal. So, I get my eyebrows waxed at the same place I get my manicure.

While getting my eyebrows done a couple of days ago, a Korean lady shouts to me in a voice loud enough to attract the attention of the little deaf lady who lives at least a mile away, "YOU WANT YOU LIP WAXED, TOO?"

What? My lip?

Everyone in the room turns to look at my upper lip. No, look is too soft a word. They STARE at my upper lip, not a soul breathing while they wait to hear my answer.

The first time it happened was about five years ago when I was getting my eyebrows waxed at a salon in Ocala, Florida and Gayle asked me if I wanted my lip waxed at the same time. Uh, Not!

Then, I went home and questioned #1 (my daughter):

Me: Is my lip hairy? Gayle said I needed my lip waxed. Is it hairy enough for waxing?
#1: I don't know the right answer.
Me: There is no right answer. It is an opinion quesiton. In your opinion, is my lip hairy?
#1: Well, you ARE a mammal and mammals have hair on their bodies.
Me: (In a panicked tone) Answer the question!
#1: No, you don't have a hairy enough lip to consider waxing.
Me: Are you sure?
#1: Your lip is less hairy than mine, and I don't get mine waxed.
Me: OK. If you are SURE.
#1: Are you going to keep up this paranoid behavior for very long?

The hairy-lip panic died down and I didn't think much about it for nearly five years. Then, the Korean lady yells at me that I need my lip waxed in front of several perfect strangers. It is an abject fear of having hot wax put on my upper lip and then ripped away as I scream in agony. The eyebrows hurt enough. The lip would be extraordinarily painful. I think. Because I didn't accept the Korean Lady's offer to wax my lip, I don't know for certain.

I raced home with my cold weather scarf wrapped around my face to hide my highly visible moustache. Then, I spot my neighbor, Lionel and I interrogate him. "My lip. Look at it."

Li: Oh God, do I have to?
Me: Is it hairy?
Li: Well, you are a mammal and mammals have hair on their bodies.
Me: (grabbing his shirt collar) Does THIS mammal have an astronomical amount of hair on her upper lip?
Li: I don't know the right answer.
Me: Fat lot of help you are. Never mind.

I go inside and look in the bathroom mirror. Yes, there is hair on my lip, the same amount that I have had for years. Still...

I pick up the phone and call #1.

Me: Do I have a hairy lip?
#1: Not this, again.
Me: I sent you a picture of my lip that I took with my camera phone.
#1: That was your upper lip? I thought it was your right knee or maybe a mixing bowl.
Me: Very funny.
#1: No, really.
Me: Does it have hair on it?
#1: Well, you are a mammal...
Me: Don't start. This is a crisis.
#1: You have some serious issues.
Me: I know. I have a hairy lip.
#1: The lady was trying to sell you her services. She appealed to your vanity.
Me: Vain? Me?
#1: Yes. Now, I have to get ready for a date. Don't worry about your lip. There is NO hair on your lip.
Me: You are partonizing me, aren't you?
#1: I'm hanging up, now.
Me: Okay. I am going to send the picture of my lip to everyone I know.
#1: Make sure you tell them it is your upper lip and not your knee.
Me: You must be one of those funny daughters.
#1: Not really. You are a lousy photographer.

So, I still don't know if I have a hairy lip or not.

This is the stuff of nightmares.

Another Blog List

2008-01-21T15:47:00.001-08:00

Lists are supposed to be popular on blogs. I read somewhere that if you can't think of anything to write and nothing funny is going on in your life, to make a list and everyone on Earth and a couple of planets in a galaxy far, far away will read your stuff.

So, here is my list of stuff I know about men.

1. They are very knowledgeable about porn and sports equipment.
2. I know this because they helped me shop for some... sports equipment, that is. When I was younger and into more sporty things than I am now and was trying to get the really hot sporty jock kind of guy to notice me.
3. The jocks never talk to nerdy chicks
4. Or ask them out on dates, regardless of how much sports equipment nerdy chicks ask advice on.
5. They can't cook.
6. I know this because I did all the cooking.
7. They're very smart.
8. I know this because I did all the cooking.
9. And the cleaning.

Ever Had One of Those Days?

2008-01-14T07:08:00.000-08:00

Imagine that you are quietly going about your business and you suddenly take a tumble that leaves your ankle AND your elbow sprained requiring that you take drugs and/or copious amounts of alcohol to dull the shooting pains in your left ankle and your left elbow. Now, imagine you call your loving children to report the issue to them and they ask you if you broke your hip and you have to remind them that although you were born back in the olden days, you bones are not yet that brittle. Now, imagine that you did this at work, which serves to totally embarrass you adding insult to injury and then you have to take a day off from work to recover because your office is on the second floor of the office building and there is no elevator in the building so you have to climb stairs. Imagine, you are trying to recover from your horrible injuries while you are at home and then your computer totally and completely crashes for no apparent reason and you cannot get it to boot up, so you are stranded, alone, without a lifeline to the outside world, so you spend the entire weekend just watching TV and NOT doing your school work which would have to be done online. Imagine that your identity was stolen and the bank, in an effort to thwart the perpetrator, canceled your debit card so you couldn't buy a new computer online, even if you wanted to and imagine you found a computer on eBay that you thought you may want and the money won't be transferred to your paypal account for three to four days and you need a computer immediately.

If you can imagine all of that, then you know how my weekend was.

Sal the Bulgarian Painter

2008-01-05T05:00:00.000-08:00

I haven't written much about the place where I work, but today I decided it warrants a mention. It is a high tech agency that designs websites-the websites that have hundreds of pages for companies who sell hundreds of products. Yep, someone designs those sites. The company's speciality is travel sites, or visitor and convention bureaus, or the Official Website for the City of [insert city name] or the County of [insert county name.]

One of the owners decided it was time to upgrade the office, so there has been a lot of re-decorating going on. He has put in new furniture, a big screen TV, and some hanging lamps that are, I am very sorry to report, orange and don't really match. But, he didn't ask for my decorating advice, so I have kept that to myself.

My boss hired Sal the Bulgarian to paint the office walls. The walls range in color from pale gray to three different shades of aqua-blue to a color that can only be described as, well, um... let me put it this way: If I were writing a novel about vampires, I would describe the color as being the same as dried blood. It is a maroony-browny-icky color. And there are no less than three walls in this maze that have been festooned with this disgusting color.

I have to admit, however, that the three shades of blue are very nice and they match the carpet.

Anywho....

Sal, the painter who told me he was from Bulgaria, worked diligently for two days.

Aside: I had to look up Bulgaria to see if it even still existed and I discovered that it does and it is a state in Southeastern Europe, that borders five other countries; Romania to the north (mostly along the Danube), Serbia and the Republic of Macedonia to the west, and Greece and Turkey to the south. The Black Sea defines the extent of the country to the east.

He was cleaning up his mess and set a paint can on the floor without the lid being hammered down tightly. My boss was hanging pictures on the walls in the same general vicinity and kicked over the bucket of paint. From my desk, I didn't see the actual event, but I heard my boss wail, "OHMYGOD! It's a DISASTER!" I stepped around the corner and, sure enough, there was a huge spreading stain of paint. Which color you may ask? The blood colored one, of course.

Sal steps into action and begins the clean-up process with my boss assisting. They got up most of the liquid paint and was left with a huge blood colored stain that made the office look like an episode of CSI. Then, Sal tells Boss, "You just need to put lots of water on and then clean it up, over and over until the stain is gone." Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

This process worked. The more water they put on the stain, the more paint come up out of the carpet. Boss got the brilliant idea of using the vacuum cleaner to pull more water out of the carpet faster.

Now, dear readers, this would have been a brilliant solution had the vacuum been a shopvac instead of an upright Kirby. And because we live on a planet where gravity works-a discovery I make every morning as soon as I try to get out of bed-and applying the principle of what goes up must come down... well, long story short, the blood-colored paint began running out of the vacuum cleaner, making it look like it suffered a fatal wound. And the consequence is, there was ANOTHER CSI stain to clean up.

Boss: OHMYGOD! It's a DISASTER!

Boss runs with the vacuum and places it outside of the front door (can you put your eye out doing that, as in no running with scissors?) where it continued to bleed all over the concrete walkway. Boss and Sal pour more water on the new stain and sop it up with paper towels... of which we have about twenty rolls stashed in the storage room... or we did before the DIASTER.

Who says, there is no excitement in the work place?

Anyway, Sal the Bulgarian was so upset by the paint DISASTER that he left without taking his check with him. So, I am sure we will see Sal the Bulgarian, again.

I will, of course, update you as to the condition of the carpet when I get to work. If the red stain is still availalble, I may be tempted to put an outline of a body on the carpet.

At any rate, you may ask, what was my role in all of this? Mostly standing in the corner and trying not to laugh out loud.

Boss: Kay Four? Were you sniggering?
Me: Me? No! Never!
Boss: I think I heard you giggling, at the very least.
Me: Giggling during a DISASTER? That would be cruel. Kind of like laughing at a car wreck.
Boss: Exactly. I heard you.
Me: (giggling behind my hand) No, you didn't.
Boss: Yes, I did. You have tears running down your face you are laughing so hard.
Me: It's allergies. I swear.

Update (the next morning):

Today, the red paint is only just visible on the carpet, however, outside where boss put the bleeding vacuum cleaner is a huge red spot right by the front door. And it really does look like blood on the concrete. Can you say eeeewwwww? And there was a CSI team of investigators out there when I arrived for work.

Investigator 1 (played by David Caruso): It looks like blood.
Investigator 2 (played by Khandi Alexander): We'll have to take it to the lab to be certain.
David: Do you know anything about this?
Me: Yes, I do.
David: You'll have to come to the station so we can talk to you.
Me: We can talk right here. It was a vacuum cleaner death.
David: You mean the vic was killed with a vacuum cleaner?
Me: No. I mean the vic was a vacuum cleaner. You can find the mortal remains in the dumpster by the back stairs.
Investigator 3 (played by Adam Rodriguez): I'll go take a look.
David: Young lady, vacuum cleaners don't bleed. We are not idiots.
Me: I know that. It isn't really blood, you know.
Khandi: We'll determine what it is when we get this sample back to the lab.
Me: I can tell you what it is. It is watered down paint.
David: Really. How did watered down paint get into the vacuum cleaner?
Me: Well, you see, there was this guy from Bulgaria named Sal...
David: Is he the vic?
Me: Oh, brother.
David: This Bulgarian is your brother?
Me: It's going to be a long morning, I can tell.

I Finally Understand Politics

2007-12-28T11:38:00.000-08:00

FEUDALISM: You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.

PURE SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all of the cows. The government gives you as much milk as you need.

BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and put them in a barn with everyone else's cows. They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs as the regulations say you need.

FASCISM: You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them and sells you the milk.

PURE COMMUNISM: You have two cows. Your neighbors help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.

RUSSIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.

CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. The government takes both of them and shoots you.

DICTATORSHIP: You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.

PURE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.

REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.

BUREAUCRACY: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.

PURE ANARCHY: You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.

LIBERTARIAN/ANARCHO-CAPITALISM: You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.

SURREALISM: You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.

From HERE

Grandmotherly Advice

2007-12-20T12:32:00.000-08:00

My oldest son has experienced the birth of his daughter, the Divine Miss M. My neighbor, Lionel, has a pregnant wife, who is having a boy, so the whole-girls-never-wearing-pink-issue is no longer an issue. There is someone looking out for that little unborn guy!

For some reason, these two men seem to think I am the child birth guru and can answer any of their questions regarding pregnancy and child birth. This is a compilation of questions and answers that have occurred over the past two years.

#2: We are thinking about a sibling for Miss M. Should my wife have a baby after 30?
Me: No, 30 children is enough.

Li: Jean is two months pregnant now. When will my baby move?
Me: With any luck, right after he finishes college.

Li: What is the most reliable method to determine a baby's sex?
Me: Childbirth.

Li: My wife is five months pregnant and so moody that sometimes she's borderline irrational.
Me: So what's your question?

#2: Our childbirth instructor says it's not pain my wife will feel during labor, but pressure. Is she right?
Me: Yes, in the same way that a tornado might be called an air current.

#2: When is the best time to get an epidural?
Me: Right after you find out you're pregnant.

Li: Is there any reason I have to be in the delivery room while my wife is in labor?
Me: Not at all... especially if the word "alimony" means nothing to you.

Li: Is there anything Jean should avoid while recovering from childbirth?
Me: Yes, pregnancy.

#2: Our baby was born last week. When will my wife begin to feel and act normal again?
Me: When the baby is in college.

It must be the gray hair that is cleverly hidden by red hair dye that makes me so wise. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Daily News on the Refrigerator Door

2007-12-18T05:17:00.000-08:00

I have actually discussed refrigerator magnets before. Read about it here. The latest tally on my fridgie magnets that hold up scraps of paper with my version of the Daily News has risen considerably.

Currently, I have grocery lists--"Buy Milk" and the scrap of paper towel that has scribbled on it, "Buy paper towels" and the note pad that sticks to the fridge that says (at the moment) Coffee filters, Garbage Bags and Shampoo. I have pizza coupons and a Christmas card from my Mom and Dad--Great picture this year! I love it! I have a business card from a travel agent, directions to the library, a picture of St. Petersburg, FL, a Calvin and Hobbes comic, a photo of Jon, and a 20% off coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Pretty standard refrigerator fare.

I have a new addition to my list of fridgies and that is those little flat magnets with words on them that can be combined into sentences to express thoughts for the day. The overall theme of the word magnets I have is confidence in yourself as a woman. In the past, I have created sentences that say things like "Your body is beautiful." "Brains are pretty." "I love myself and my life" and "Fun is having funny hair."

Over the weekend, #2 son came to my apartment, with the Divine Miss M, I might add, so he could help me repair my computer whose power supply went down the river. At some point, he combined my little word magnets to say, "I want good body love."

Well, OK. I decided to leave it. I even added, "Right now," to his sentence.

And that, folks, is the latest Daily News from Kay Four's Kitchen.

No Wonder I Am So Tired When I Wake Up In The Morning

2007-12-14T06:23:00.000-08:00

OK. I am not into commercials that much, so when I watch TV, I watch what was on yesterday so I can fast forward through all the crap they try to sell me, thereby avoiding most commericals on TV. (Shall we all take a moment and give thanks to the patron saint of DVRs?)

For whatever reason, last evening, I found myself watching a commercial for Lunesta. This is a sleep aid that is supposed to work miracles and cure even the hardiest of insomniacs. But, at the end of the commercial, you have that guy who has the really deep voice and gives you a list of disclaimers. You know, that guy who can talk at auctioneer speed and get in 45 paragraphs of scary stuff in ten seconds or less. Anyway, something caught my ear and I rewound my DVR just to make sure I heard it correctly.

"This product may cause drowsiness." Ya think? I would hope my sleep aid caused drowisness, other wise I am wasting my money and a trip to the doctor, which is not a cheap activity in the US, I am sorry to report.

Anywho, the voice-over guy also says "Instances of sleepwalking and driving while asleep and later having no memory of these activities has been reported." WOW! "If this occurs, contact your doctor immediately." Do I contact him while I am asleep? Hmmmm... Driving while I am asleep is a very serious side effect. I mean, I could drive all the way down I-64W from Newport News to Virginia Beach, which includes a trip through the tunnel where I would hope I don't forget to NOT change lanes... wait. I do that every morning, anyway. I get up at 4:00 - 4:30 so I can make breakfast, coffee, a mess of my hair, and a nuisance of myself while I play my music too loud, then I get into the car and drive. About 8:30, after I have been at work for an hour, I finally open my eyes and wonder how in the world I got there. Bad example.

The voice-over guy goes on to say, "Call your doctor right away if after taking Lunesta you walk, drive, eat or engage in other activities while asleep." Eat? While I am sleeping? Is that why I can't loose weight and there are always mysterious Taco Bell Meximelt wrappers on the front seat of my car? Have I been unjustly accusing my neighbors of picking the lock on my car, tossing in their trash, relocking the door and walking away with no one the wiser without bothering to steal my car's CD player while they were at it?

Maybe I not only drive in my sleep to Taco Bell, I eat there, too. Contact my doctor right away? Maybe I can show up at his house at 1 am with a sackful of crunchy tacos, in my Minnie Mouse nighty. (God, what an image.) "Doc, there seems to be a problem."

It says, engage in other activites? What would that be? Vacuuming the carpets? A beach volley ball game? Bleaching the shower? Maybe after repotting the geranium, I drive to Taco Bell... The possibilities are endless.

I can just imagine that morning call...

Me: Dr. Smith? I think I have a problem.
Doc: Yes? What is it?
Me: Well... um... I am not sure, but I think I painted a mural on my living room wall of Luna Moths landing on the shoulders of sleeping people, while I was asleep, I might add.
Doc: That is serious! We have to get you off of Lunesta right away!
Me: Can it wait one more night? I have to finish the mural and Taco Bell is having a buy one Meximelt, get one free sale.

China Doesn't Want to Help Clean Up the Mess

2007-12-09T04:55:00.001-08:00

I read a lot of news stories during the course of the week, often trying to find interesting or upbeat things to blog about at work... Have I mentioned that I get PAID to blog? How cool is that?... Every now and then, I encounter a news story that makes me laugh out loud.

Have you heard the one where China says the West should bear the burden of cleaning up the atomosphere because the US has been doing it longer. Although China has 20 of the 30 most polluted cities in the world as a result of using out-dated curde oil and coal methods of energy, they don't think they should take responsibility in any way for global warming. After all, they are a developing nation and have only been polluting a few decades.

This is at the latest conference to attempt to get the world to cooperate in cleaning up the atomosphere... The Kyoto Accords didn't work because the US refused to sign any measure that didn't require China, India and a couple of other countries to help.

So, it worked once for China and they are hoping it will work again.

I don't often offer strong opinions very often, but I think China is so wrong in their stance. Everyone of us has to live on this planet because, as of this morning, we don't have anywhere else to go. Everyone needs to treat this seriously and not just us wealthy, decadent, wasteful climate sinners who live in the US.

China, you help up clean up this mess or you can go to your room and no dessert after dinner!

The Christmas Season is Upon Us

2007-12-04T02:04:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again! I admit. I LOVE Christmas. I LOVE Christmas decorations. I took a hiatus from Christmas for several years and, amazingly enough, I still had money in January. So that is a plus. But, even though I didn't go through the trappings of the holiday, I watched It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas on TV. Over and over. Last year, I broke with that No-Christmas tradition and put up a tree.

I loved Christmas as a child, except then, I thought Santa Claus MUST be the patron saint of janitors because he wasn't allowed to visit our house unless it was totally cleaned from cellar to dome. (We lived in an American Ranch style home, in Florida, so there was no cellar or dome.) Be that as it may, every nook and cranny, every speck of dust, every tiny mark that announced the home was less than perfectly clean had to be removed or NO SANTA! What a pain for a kid to endure. "Gee, Mom, couldn't Santa come here just ONCE without us having to bleach the bathtub. I mean, I don't think Santa even goes to the bathroom while he's here." There was always the possibility that Santa might have to take a leak and our house, having the reputation of being the cleanest one on his route, would be the home of choice. So, we bleached the tile in the bathroom, cleaned the dust off the tops of the door frames, and removed and cleaned the heater vents. A house that was so clean, Santa would not be embarrassed... and he had better leave those reindeer outside because my mother would have NEVER tolerated them marking up her nice clean floors. (And NO, Mom, I didn't get the Internet just to make you cry.)

But, finally, the house sparkled with cleanliness and the tree was put up and the manger scene was pulled out of the box and the three wise men adorned the coffee table. Christmas was getting closer and Santa would visit after all.

When my Mom and Dad moved into the retirement community, they entrusted me with the family's Christmas decorations, which I promptly lost in one move or other, so now, I have to replace all those wonderful trappings of the Holiday.

And here is my dilemma. I have recently started a new job and am I, in a word, broke. Busted. By the time I got the job, I owed everybody and his dog money, plus most of my extra cash has been going into the CAR FROM HELL that regularly leaves me stranded. So, I want to buy new Christmas decorations for my apartment, but I don't want all these people I owe money to saying, "She can afford to put tacky Christmas lights in her window, but she can't send me any money."

So, maybe the solution is to put the Christmas decorations INSIDE and leave the lights out of the windows so no one will know that I spent money on tacky Christmas decorations instead of paying off a bill or two.

T'is the season to be jolly, afterall.

Evelyn and the Ghetto Cat

2007-12-03T14:45:00.000-08:00

I have mentioned my pretty cat Evelyn more than once in this blog. If fact, I should put her on the like of friends and family in the sticky post at the top of the page.

I felt sorry for Evelyn, being home alone all day, so I got her a friend Tiki. Tiki is a pretty girl Seal Point Siamese Cat. Now, since I brought Tiki home, she has hung out in my bedroom without the slightest inclination to leave. Eveyln has staked out the living room as her territory.

Tiki, like most Siamese cats, is very chatty and talks to me all the time. When Evelyn decides to join in the conversation, the Tiki begins to hiss and spit and go totally Ghetto on us. I mean she gets a terrible attitude and won't let Evelyn join in the fun. But, Evelyn is patient.

Yesterday, Evelyn returned to the bedroom and my bed,a place where she normally sleeps, which means I have Tiki on one side of me on the bed and Evelyn on the other. It could be a cozy arrangement except Tiki turns into Ghetto Cat at the drop of a hat and begins hissing and spitting and growling at Evelyn. This, of course, wakes me up.

Evelyn is such a cool cat she just looks at Tiki as if to ask, "What is your problem, girl friend?" I think this pisses Tiki off even more.

This morning Tiki came into the kitchen at feeding time and Evelyn wandered in, too. Tiki goes through her noise and runs out of the kitchen after treating Evelyn and I like we are intruders in her house. What? No way! Evelyn and I were here FIRST, Ghetto Cat!

I need a Cat Whisperer. Or I need kitty downers. Maybe I should slip some Benedryl into her food bowl. Or Valium. Yes! That is a great idea! (The Valium is for me, of course.)

But that isn't what I wanted to talk about.

I have been having a steady bad-hair-day since I moved to Virginia because I don't think there is a good hair dresser in Newport News or in Virginia Beach. I mean, my hair looks like crap. It is uneven and looks like I cut it myself in the bathroom mirror with a hack-saw or a butter knife. Anyway, even though DigitalJon asked me to grow it longer because I look better according to him, I am like "I can't take this horrible uneven MESS on my head one more second." I went to a new lady yesterday evening after I got off of work and...yes, you guessed it. She gave me a horrible hair cut. Now, not only is it horrible, it is short and horrible. Maybe I should just suck it up and accept the fact that I will have ugly hair for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately the next hair cut I get means shaving my head, to get it short enough to be even, so maybe I will just go with what I have.

I will NEVER, EVER use another hair dresser in Virginia again for the rest of my life. Enough is enough. Now, I have to get ready for work... fortunately it won't take very long to fuss with my hair this morning.

Carving a Turkey

2007-11-20T02:22:00.000-08:00

I just read an article about turkey carving that was pretty cute. (Find it here)

For years, the question of who will carve the turkey has arisen every year about this time. It is tradition in these parts for the man of the house to do it.

It wasn't that way in my house, when I was married. You see, the man of the house had no clue how to carve a turkey and because he (apparently) wasn't born with that knowledge, had no desire to learn. Even when I offered to buy him an electric knife to play with, he refused all offers to carve the turkey on Thanksgiving that he ALWAYS insisted I make... for better or for worse.

So, I made the turkey, it was beautiful and golden and perfect and presented it to the guest we had over for the Thanksgiving meal that year, although because this was thirty something years ago, I don't remember the precise circumstances. There were so many similair moments aft4er that.

Again, I digress... So, with knife and fork poised, I was ready to have a go when I suddenly heard a horrific scream.

No, it wasn't the turkey screaming, it was my ex-husband and his brand of sick humor. He laughed because it startled me so badly that I dropped either the knife or the fork, or possibly both. He really enjoyed embarassing me and I was so easily embarassed when I was younger.

The next year, and all subsequent years, I carved the turkey in the kitchen. Alone. No screaming involved. It was served, all hacked to bits on a platter and I still cringe when I start to carve a turkey because I expect to hear a blood curdling scream that would make the stuanchest Wes Craven movie Fan proud.