"Hey Mom, Do we have a gourd?"

Easing back into the blog routine after a crazy month of chaos.

Had to work a little in the yard this weekend after the police knocked on my door and said the neighbors had called in an anonymous Sasquatch sighting. 

They swore that a whole tribe of the hairy buggers were living in my hedge.

Calm down, busy bodies….maybe one or two but not a whole tribe!

Was thinking as I hacked my way through the underbrush that when my children were little this was the time of year you were apt to hear those three little words that strike fear into the heart of every parent.

Science Fair Project.

Nothing quite like that feeling of dread when the little tikes hand you the paper with the outline of the project and when it is due.

If it was my son it was always the next day.

And the paper was crumpled up into a ball the size of a nickel.

And it had been in his pocket for three months .

One time he called me at work on a Sunday night about 9:30 p.m. and told me that he needed a gourd.

“Do we have a gourd, Mom?”

“Cuz I need one tomorrow for school.”

Me:  “A GOURD???”  “Oh sure!’  “I have a ton of those lying around the house because I am an Amish Voodoo queen.”  "

I grow them in the yard for moments just like this!”

“And when you don’t need one for school, I make little rustic bird houses from them.”

My son: “Are you making that up?”

Me:  “If you know what’s good for you, you will just hang up the phone and go to bed.”

My son: “Are you going to stop at the store and buy me one?”

Me: “What do you think?”

My son: “I’m going to bed now.”

Me: “Smart move.”

The best thing about the science fair phenomenon is the parents who are the over achievers and make the entire project for their kid.

When my daughter was in 4^th grade, she went to a Montessori school and they had a science fair night for all the kids in her class.  The theme of the fair was the Earth and the Solar System and you were supposed to build a project that depicted some sort of natural Earth or heavenly occurrence.  The room was full of baking soda paper mache volcanos complete with bubbly lava. There were also a ton of shoe box solar systems with string suspended planets bouncing in the air. 

But the wildest project of all was a table that was supposed to simulate an earthquake in action.  This creation was approximately the size of a ping pong table and had a series of levers and chutes that when activated released a bajillion ping pong balls to replicate seismic activity.  It was HUGE and very impressive, and as the teacher reached the display she said, “This is quite amazing Mr. Smith, but are you sure Henry did this himself?” At that moment we all turned to look at 8 year old Henry who was sitting in the corner staring at his Velcro shoe closure like it was a Rubik’s cube and eating a handful of boogers that he had been saving in his pocket for later.  “Oh, absolutely Miss Johnson!”  I may have helped him with a few things, but he did most of it himself!”

“Oh, REALLY?” “Methinks you are a liar!”, “Mr. Pinocchio.”

(she didn’t say that, but I wanted to)

So through the years and over the course of producing three kidlets we have had our share of interesting science fair themes.

We did one with my daughter that required us family guinea pigs to take our blood sugar measurement in the morning after eating certain breakfast foods.

Take my word for it, don’t eat Captain Crunch before they do your glucose blood test.

No wonder that guy always yells and wears his hat sideways!

But by far the freakiest one my kids ever did was when my son decided him and his friend would compare groups of mice and their behavior when they were given different foods.

They bought two cages and into each one put the same amount of mice and gave each group a different diet.

One cage was given strictly mice food and water and the other cage was fed meat and cheese and other people type stuff.

They kept track of their behavior (like aggression and wheel running and such) and after two weeks switched the food for each cage. (this was not exactly ground breaking research)

Now it just so happened that when they made the switch the mice had been brought to our house to stay because my son and his friend were going on a school field trip which was going to last a couple of days and nights.

They put the cages in our basement and told me there was nothing I needed to do except “take good care of them” and then promptly left for their trip.

That night I was rudely awakened by a great deal of noise and thumping about downstairs which sounded like a mice party was in full swing.  As it was the middle of the night and I knew the mice could not escape, I decided I would just check on them in the morning.

What I found in those cages the next morning was unbelievable…….

Reader discretion from this point forward is advised…….

The mice who had previously been fed the grain were perfectly fine.

They now had meat and cheese and were happy little campers.

But the mice who had been eating meat and cheese for two weeks and now just had mice food had staged a vermin version of “The Donner Party.”  Apparently they had gotten into a mini mice tussle and someone had obviously drawn first blood.  Then the King Kong sized mouse decided he missed the taste of ribeye and felt that any “mouse in the storm” would do, and opened up the “all you can eat line” in the mousie café.   So out of four mice there were now only two men standing.  One terrified mouse was hiding under the straw in the corner.  One mouse was lying there in the carnage with his face half gone.   One mouse was COMPLETELY missing. (I hope he made it out alive) And all that was left was one big giant fat mouse lying on his back, picking his teeth with a tiny toothpick and rubbing his belly like Henry the Eighth.

All in all it was just not pretty….

The text to my son went something like this.

I have some bad news. Stop 

The meat eaters staged a coup and ate the grain eaters. Stop

It’s like a scene from the Godfather. Stop 

Without the horse head.

Science fair project….fail

He was obviously upset and said that now they couldn’t report their findings because they had signed a waiver that said the mice would not be hurt in the experiment.

I said, “Hey, we didn’t eat them!”  “We can’t help it that “Fat Boy Mouse Eater” never signed the contract!”

“Plus I think it is a great case study.  Explains a lot of behaviors witnessed in the salad bar line at The Hometown Buffet.” (see previous blog post)

Bottom line was they had to doctor their paperwork and didn’t take the mice in to be observed by their teacher. (That would have involved screaming and chastisements all around)

So lets just say that for me, I do not miss the "Science Fair Crisis Center" in the Spring.

I am completely content to continue my quest in the Springtime sunshine for the Sasquatch family of four.

Hey, you never know. 

While I’m working I may come across that one lucky mouse escapee, counting his blessings and swearing he will never eat another Big Mac as long as he lives!

……I’m just sayin’

Goin' to the rodeo

Had the unexpected delight of attending the Lakeside Rodeo last weekend with my sister and her family.

It’s strange to think that I have lived in San Diego my entire life and have never been to this spectacle before.

A beautiful sunshiny Sunday afternoon with hordes of folks in cowboy hats, plaid shirts and “cowgirl bling.”

And I must say a plethora of handsome chiseled cowboys and sparkly rodeo queens with pearly white teeth.

My sister procured me a cowboy hat that used to belong to my Dad and with a chapstick in one pocket and a 5 dollar bill in the other, I figured I was all set.

The arena consisted of rows of metal bleachers set in an oval around a field of very pungent earth with tons of banners advertising cars, Bud Lite, Boot World and tractor companies.

Now I am no stranger to the idea and art of the rodeo.

Since my parents were born and raised in America’s heartland, I have cousins and kinfolk strewn all across Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico.

One of my cousins was a rodeo queen and her husband a rodeo bronco rider.

I remember that even as a youngster I thought he must have some sort of diaper rash or at least an unruly thong problem because he always walked kinda hunched over with his legs apart.

After watching the show at Lakeside, now I know why.

In case any of you are not hip to this sport, the rodeo consists of different events which spotlight the skills these cowboys and cowgirls possess in regard to riding, roping and barrel racing.

The first event was the bucking broncos.

Apparently a long time ago, a bunch of cowboys were bored, sitting around a campfire whittling and playing their harmonicas when one of them said, “Hey, I have an idea,  Let’s tie a piece of leather around the gonads of this horse and then try to ride him!”  “We KNOW he would HATE it and that would make him try to buck us off and stomp us to death with his huge hooves!”

 “It would be fun!” 

“We should do it!”

And then one of them said, “And I can time it and see who lasts the longest before he is thrown face first into horse poopie!”

“YEAH!!!  LETS DO IT!!!”

And thus rodeo was born….

Kind of an early version of JackAss.

So in the middle of the arena is a series of chutes where they load the horses for the ride.

The bronco rider climbs onto the back of the horse, settles himself in, and then they open the gate and start the timer.

As I said before, the reason these horses buck is because a large strap is tied across their family jewels and cinched up good and tight.  Obviously this tends to make them cranky and want to shake off the offending gonad squeezer.  This is done by leaping into the air as high as possible, kicking and spinning wildly until the strap is dislodged from their private parts. It seems perfectly logical to me that you would want to place yourself on the back of the horse during this process.  I mean a ton of horseflesh mad as a hornet and loaded for bear is not dangerous at all.......oooookaay.

One by one they challenged the mighty steeds. 

Arms in the air, chaps flying, struggling to keep in the saddle.

The score was always the same.

Horse: 1……Rider: a face full of meadow muffin.

Oh, and the riders vertebrae are compacted to the size of a mini Slinky.

Hence the diaper rash walk.

Next we had the calf roping competition.

This is where they release a calf from a gate and immediately chase him on horseback so they can throw a rope around his neck and yank him to the ground.  The rider then jumps from his horse and ties three of his legs together so he can’t move and lies flailing around on the ground until he is released.

Heifer humiliation.

Now this livestock is well taken care of because these animals are how these folks make their living and they need healthy ponies and cattle to put on the show. 

But I had this sudden mind flash of the stadium being filled with cattle and horses, sittin’ in the bleachers, drinking milk, watching humans play their rodeo parts.

A guy is released from the chute running like the wind with a cow on horseback close on his heels.  The cow throws a rope around his neck and jumps off the horse to tie both his arms and one leg behind his back.  As the air horn goes off the cow walks away muttering, “NOW lets see you try to take a swig of that Bud Lite with your hands tied behind your back, hotshot!”

But the most dangerous and fascinating event by far is the bull riding competition.

Basically you take the bronco riding event and multiply the danger factor by 1000.

Massive testosterone secreting mountains of flesh with humongous pointy horns and an attitude.

First of all they are put in pens to await their turn, which it’s a known fact that bulls hate to be kept waiting.

Second of all, they obviously had plans for this Sunday afternoon which did not include a cowboy sitting on their back AT ALL, more less for the enjoyment of a crowd.

They had big doins’ going on at the local bull bar, chatting up the local ladies and eating hay.

Now before I go any further let me just say that I am not four, (well sorta) and don’t usually joke about such things. But by far the most impressive things about these incredible creatures is the size of their huevos. 

Just picture two personal watermelons slung into Shaquille O’Neal sized fleshy tube socks and that just about covers it.

No wonder they have attitudes.

I noticed some of the bull riders have Indy 500 style helmets to protect their noggins but I was thinking that you need a hockey mask steel contraption to protect your face as well.

Cuz take my word for it. If these gigantic flesh bags accidentally come back and smack you under the chin it’s going to be “malts through a straw” for at least 6 months.

This competition featured 7 riders and last approximate 30 seconds.

All of the riders except for one were immediately rocketed skyward the second the gate opened.

I imagined the bulls inner dialogue with each rider.

“Take that, pretty boy.”

“Is this really what you wanted?”

”You’re done.”

“I told you I was having a bad day.”

“I see a rodeo clown over there with my name on it.”

“You just don’t get it do you?”

All in all it was a lovely afternoon with a peek at a sport which requires a great deal of skill, guts and a GIANT vat of muscle rub.

If you ever get a chance to see it for yourself you should definitely go!

…….I’m just sayin’

Good luck in prison, Geoffrey

I was wandering aimlessly through the store the other day picking up a few goodies and was shocked into consciousness by a blood curdling scream behind me.

I turned around just in time to see a scruffy little boy who looked to be about 3 or 4, begin to howl like a Rhesus monkey, hurl his scrawny Spongebob clad carcass in front of the squeaky rubber wheels of his mother’s  shopping cart and screech , 

“I WANT A TOY!!!!!!”

Now considering Mama has lived at least 3 years with this little dictator, as far as I am concerned she gets kudos for not running him over.

And then putting it into reverse for good measure.

“I WANT A TOY!!!”  (This time stomping his grubby Toy Story sneakers for emphasis)

To which Mama wearily replied, “No, you can’t have a toy.”

This response was answered by Beelzebub flinging himself skyward and bolting like a deer toward the housewares section.

Bear in mind that by this time, people were parting the aisles like Moses with the Red Sea to avoid this toddler train wreck.

Senior citizens abandoned their carts and headed for the exits simply because they had mistaken his primeval howling for a fire alarm.

Customer service reps walkie talkied into action and ran to see if they should step in and take charge.

“Check the manual Harold, can we ask her to leave just cuz we hate her kid?”

“Is there a section titled, exorcising demons from the dinnerware?”

“Can we legally taser someone under the age of 5?”

Meanwhile, Mama was chasing beastie boy hither and thither repeating in a sing song monotone, “Please come back, please come back, please come back.”

Like anyone would kidnap this kid.

Now let me just say as a mother of three, I’ve had my share of “pitching a fit” incidents in my time including an unfortunate Del Mar fair jumpy ball ride encounter with my 2 year old daughter.

This resulted in me strapping her down like a hog in her stroller while she bayed at the sky like a coyote.

This was so absurd and embarrassing that my 68 year old mother proceeded to pull down the stroller bonnet and mutter under her breath, “Just don’t look at her!”  “Don’t act like we know her!”

“Excellent idea , Mom but it’s obvious we are pushing the stroller.”

“I SAID, JUST DON’T LOOK AT HER!!”

Best kid fit story ever was told by my older sister whose 3 year old grandson took a shine to a cowboy holster set in Toys R Us one day.  He decided he wanted to be a cowboy and demanded a glittery pricey model which she told him she couldn’t afford and so therefore he could not have. He then proceeded into full brat mode and began to holler and stomp his feet in order to hopefully “blubber blackmail” her into holster acquisition.

When this plan failed and he refused to budge from the spot, she reached down and hoisted him up on her hip to hustle him to the car.

Immediately he began to bellow , “OUCH,YOU’RE HURTING ME!!” “YOU’RE BREAKING MY BONES!!”

“THIS IS NOT MY MOTHER, THIS IS NOT MY MOTHER!!”

“SOMEBODY HELP ME PLEASE!!”

“YOU’RE HURTING ME.” “YOU’RE BREAKING MY BONES!!”

By the way, when she originally told me this story I laughed so hard I wet my pants a little.

She said that she didn’t know what was worse.  How embarrassed she was about his behavior or the fact that nobody came over and checked to see if he truly belonged to her.

I told her, “NOBODY wanted to go there!”  “That would mean THEY would be in charge of him until the authorities arrived and they didn’t wanna apply for THAT job!”

True Dat….

So meanwhile in the store, the Target Mom went into chase gear and swerved through the store trying to coerce “Son of Satan” back into the shopping cart.  After snagging his spindly rear near the greeting cards she went down on one knee and did the thing that all parents do when others are watching.

She started to reason with him.

This is impossible.

We have all tried it and it always fails.

First of all, little kids have the attention span of a gnat.

Second of all, they only respond to two things.

Brute force and bribery.

Now when I talk about brute force I don’t mean beating little Johnny like a kettle drum.  I mean you letting him know that you are bigger than him and therefore can dictate what he gets to do and where he gets to go.

As far as bribery is concerned that is self-explanatory.

Usually candy or a toy is the norm.

Or shares of stock in Apple Corporation.

But you usually save that for good behavior.

Rewarding this kid for acting like a walking turd is just not a good idea.

Unless when he is 16 you want him leading you around by your hair with a homemade shiv to your throat muttering, “I said make me a Pop Tart pronto, wench!”

Not a Hallmark moment.

So the moment she begins her, “now be a good boy” speech, he hauls off and kicks her in the shin.

I audibly gasped and thought to myself, “You better be happy you didn’t do that to me, or I would be seeing how far I could drop kick your skinny butt down aisle three.”

So of course her response was, “now that wasn’t nice.”

And his answer was a kick to the other shin.

Right about this time, Grandma wheeled around the corner and said, “See what you’ve done Geoffrey, now we all have to go home!”

Seriously Granny?

You are going to park your cart full of things you have painstakingly picked out and leave this store cuz “Mister Triple Six” is acting like a fool???

If you let that happen you deserve to go home without your two pound bag of Reeses Peanut Butter cups.

And your three dollar bottle of wine.

The last I saw of the motley crew they were dragging Geoffrey toward the exit by his skinny arm and the final words I heard him scream from beneath the armpit of his battle worn Mama as they wrestled him toward the parking lot were,

“So, does this mean I’m not getting a toy?”

………I’m just sayin’

So What!!!

Hardly any posts the last two weeks due to tummy trouble and doggie surgeries.

Probably a few of you are saying, "So what!"

But hopefully a few have missed the insanity.

Plan on being back in full force later in the week with my nonsensical ramblings and craziness.

Have a few bones to pick and stories to relate including the bull at the Lakeside Rodeo and the kid who everyone loves to hate at Target.

See you guys in a few......

.....I'm just sayin'

And That's All I Need!

Had to drive back to LALAland last week after work due to unexpected car insanity.

This required me to ride the red eye Amtrak back home from Los Angeles Union Station.

I purchased my ticket and sat myself down in the lobby of the train station to observe the local wildlife.

People watching happens to be one of my favorite pastimes and I always find some reason to have a chuckle because after all, we are dealing with human beings

Because of its size and comfort factor, Union Station has an issue with the homeless coming inside and setting up camp amongst the train travelers.

Due to this problem, the security guard frequently sweeps the lobby asking people to see their tickets to make sure they are actually going on the train or just setting up shop in the fluffy leather chairs.

I plopped myself down and sitting next to me was a 20 something girl with approximately 10 various pieces of luggage strewn about her feet.

The security guard reached our section and politely said, “Excuse me folks, can I please see everyone’s ticket?”

To which “Miss Thang” replies, “Seriously?  Do you want me to look for it in all of this luggage?”  “I have been traveling for three months and everything that I own in the world is in these bags.”

She then turns to the guy next to her and starts her speech:

“Yes, I decided that I was going to go on my life journey and find out what the universe has in store for me.”  “So I just took the bare necessities and have been going everywhere my heart leads.”  Blah, blah, blah, blah, yammer, yammer, yammer, yammer……endless droning.

Talking head.

The entire time I was thinking.

Really Toots?  Nobody gives a flyin' flip about your mission to Mecca.

It’s the middle of the night and the man is just trying to do his job.

He just wants to see your ticket.

And by the way, the last time I looked, Buddha didn’t carry around 14 Gucci bags, a Blackberry and an IPad.

He had a knapsack full of dried fish.

And a loincloth.

So climb down off your high horse and find your ticket, “Miss Enlightenment”, before I bore a hole into your empty skull with my vicious stare.

This is the reason that I would last about 5 minutes if I was a mall cop.

There would be a whole lot of tasering going on.

The first time some pimply faced dumb bunny smarted off to me I would be wrestling them to the ground and screaming. “Call me a pig, will ya?”  “Well, oink, oink, THIS Junior Achievement!”

Then it would involve the authorities being called…..

Not pretty.

This is all an example of one of my pet peeves which is people who are rude to service personnel.

Listen up guys and gals, if you are ever out on a date and he or she is rude to the waiter or waitress or valet or anybody who happens to be doing anything NICE for them,

RUN LIKE THE WIND!!

This means they have no manners and were raised by wolves.

Actually wolves probably have some type of social rules, like don’t start to eat the dead deer without first saying your prayers.

If they are obnoxious to total strangers to try to impress you, then eventually they will find some reason to be rude to you and that will make you want to hit them with your shoe.

Preferably in front of a waiter or waitress.

Plus you never know how many times you will be consuming a spit wad in your entrée because of the loud mouth loser.

So as I watched the security guard patiently waiting for “The Golden Child” to dig out her ticket, I thought that this the exact reason we should all be allowed to carry around a Nerf bat.

Plastic handle.

Foam rubber on the end.

Anyone should be able to whip out one of those puppies and pummel rudeniks when the situation calls for it.

Just to knock a little sense into em' without the messy blood factor.

As I was imagining what the look on her face would be if I starting whacking her about the ears and neck, I started to laugh.

To which she turned to me and said, “Is something funny?”

To which I said, “No, not at all.” “I was just thinking that I have my ticket right here in my hand cuz all I am carrying with me is one purse.”

“You see I’ve been traveling for three months on my life journey to find out what the universe has in store for me and I just took the bare necessities with me.  Like a toothbrush and my credit card and my wallet.”  “Oh, and as a homage to Steve Martin, this ashtray.”

She never cracked a smile.

I didn’t care.

But that security guard sure was amused.

……I’m just sayin’

Got any spare change?

Only one entry this week and for me that is unusual.

Had an unfortunate duel with a cafeteria breakfast burrito and let’s just say the burrito triumphed.

This included an up close and personal relationship with many boxes of Imodium.

Nuff said.

Many years ago my Dad was in the hospital and my Mom claimed they tried to poison her with a cafeteria “Special of the Day” which was some sort of pork chop concoction.

She said they were probably tired of her constantly hanging out and thought they would throw her an intestinal curve ball.

Three strikes and you’re OUT!

Or IN, in this case.

Like IN the bathroom.

Or IN pain.

As we get older we tend to be more careful and aware of the things we eat.

Little kids do not have this innate fear of consuming weird junk.

Neither do puppies.

My eldest daughter loved to eat coins.

Any denomination would do.

I preferred she swallow dimes myself.

Less likely to cause that pesky choking reaction.

Plus, it increased her chances of giving you change later on in the day.

I had a friend who told me that her son, unbeknownst to her, once ate a nickel which stuck vertically in his throat.

He was having some trouble swallowing and they took him to the ER to find out what the dealio was.

When the X-ray technician had him on the table he said to her,

“We need you to remove any jewelry that he has on before we continue.”

Her reply was, “He doesn’t have any jewelry on.”

“Well, he has a crucifix around his next doesn’t he?”

“No”

So he takes her around the screen to look at the computer and glowing there in black and white is the nickel, neatly wedged in Johnny’s little windpipe like a perfect metal cross.

Bet even honest Abe was grinning about that!

To which she mutters under her  breath, “I’m going to kill him, if he doesn’t choke to death first!”

X-Ray Tech: “What did you say, Ma’am?”

“I said, it’s lucky it didn’t kill him and that he didn’t choke to death!”

I don’t recall their nickel retrieving method or if they just "waited it out", so to speak.

But lets just say, I bet Johnny remembered to keep his luscious lips off the change jar after that.

Sort of an “Enlightenment by Enema”.

Bottom line is don’t chomp on change or consume breakfast burritos that you don’t know personally.

Cuz take my word for it, your bathroom is not a “Sandals” resort retreat!

You DO NOT want to spend a week there.

…….I’m just sayin’

Bunny Mini

Walking to my car on Saturday morning after work and saw this license plate rim on a mini coop.

“This mini brakes for bunnies”

Alrighty then.

Because it was the day before Easter were the rabbits feeling overworked and unappreciated and decide to begin a “Occupy the Freeway” campaign I didn't know about?

So if we are suddenly surrounded by a herd of bunnies I can pretty much be certain this person will stop for them?

I’m so disappointed.
I thought our goal was to plow through them like a bowling ball, scattering those four legged fuzzies in our wake.

I mean after all, they are such vicious creatures.

Did this person think that this was information the general public was sooo interested in that they decided to have a license plate placard made to warn us of their non-bunny slaughtering preference?

Apparently so!

And pardon me for being so obtuse, but what is up with the “Baby on Board” window clings?

“Dag nab it!  I was planning on T-boning that car but now I see there is a BABY in there!”

“That changes everything!!!!”

“Now I need to find another one with just OLD people on board and then I can ram away to my homicidal hearts content without any guilt whatsoever”

“After all, it’s just old people!”

 “Who needs ‘em!”

I am always baffled and amused at the bizarre things people declare to the world on their cars in the forms of vanity license plates, license plate rims and bumper stickers.

Any bumper sticker that tells me to honk for anything immediately tells me this person is a crappy driver.

They just got tired of being honked at and decided to make it a personal campaign.

Honk if you’re horny.

Honk if you love Jesus.

(Hopefully those are not on the same car)

Honk at me cuz I am half blind and just tried to merge my 2 ton car into your drivers side. (See! They could never put that on there)

I also love the signs on the back of commercial vehicles that say, “How’s my driving?”

This is followed up with some phone number to call if this particular Sparkletts truck just tried to flatten you with his crystal clear mountain goodness.

I bet if you called those numbers the phone would be answered by some tired disgruntled janitor back at the plant who says, “Yeah, we know he’s a bad driver and frankly we don’t care.” “We just put that on the back of the truck to make you THINK we care!”

“I will certainly put another tick on the piece of paper where we keep track of this important statistic.”

“It’s in the trash can.”…….

“On a piece of toilet paper.”………

“Thanks for calling!”

But my favorite thing of all is the folks who order a personalized vanity license plate and the message resembles a  J. K Rowlings riddle.

You spend a ton of dough to express your individuality and nobody can understand what the heck you are talking about!

Plus I sit behind you at a light sounding out the letters like a Wheel Of Fortune contestant trying to decipher the puzzle!

I…..M……STEWPID.

OooooH, I GET IT!!

I went to a site called “Vanity Plates: Creepiness in 8 characters or less.”, and found some real artistic gems.

Such as this one.

Obviously they are acquainted with my puppy.

Or this one.

Hey, mind your own business!

As for me, my license plate is not personalized and contains the letters Y ME.

Which is exactly what I am thinking when I am stuck behind someone who is braking for the invisible bunny herds in their mini coop the morning before Easter.

.......I'm just sayin'

Happy Easter!

No post today as I must have hit the snooze button 48 times and hit the floor running!

On my way to LALAland tomorrow to visit the kidlets for bunny day.

So I won’t be posting over the weekend cuz I will be dyeing eggs and eating the ears off chocolate bunnies.

As well as letting them treat me to as many lunches and dinners as possible.

Pay back for 20+ years of Easter baskets.

So have a great weekend everyone and be safe out there!

And remember.

Stay away from the Peeps, Stay away from the Peeps!

......I'm just sayin'

The Gopher Hunter

As any of you who have been following my blog know, I have had many meaningful, yet bizarre relationships with various forms of wildlife.

I have a resident possum in my garage, I have applied the principle of the Samurai to a snake in my basement and I raised an iguana to a gargantuan length so he could thwack obnoxious visitors.

And I found three little mice in my pool skimmer the other day.

Waaait for it.......

They must have been blind.

So I can totally relate and empathize with my friend who has been in a month long battle with a particularly wily gopher who is eating his yard literally out from under his feet.

His yard looks like a Miracle Grow version of a landmine field in Iraq.

This vegetarian vermin thinks of my friends’ luscious lawn as his own personal Hometown Buffet, and delights in tunneling his way to obesity right under his nose, as well as the nose of his trusty dog Dallas.

Dallas spends much of his time in a stone still stance staring for the slightest movement of a blade of grass to signal the spot he should dig furiously to unearth this unwelcome visitor.

His initial idea was to poke a garden hose down one of the holes and turn the water on full blast to drown him out.

After running the water for over 2 hours, the only thing that happened was that his neighbors yard was completely flooded.

Plan A…failed.

He “Googled” the gopher dilemma and the results were wide and varied. These included diagrams on the master plans of gopher tunnel construction. (these guys designed Hogwarts Castle), as well as the fact that windmills constructed of Clorox bottles drive them crazy and cause them to pack up and leave.

Now my friend has become a regular in Home Depot, picking the brains of the insecticide experts to choose the product that will hopefully exterminate this pesky fellow.

His wife suggested he throw moth balls down the holes.

He found them neatly placed on the top of the lawn the next day like tiny round white Easter eggs.

I can just picture this gopher methodically plopping them out of his den one by one.

‘Whew, these babies gotta go!  They flat out stink!” “What do humans use these for?”

He tried miniature gopher gas tubes which he inserted into the tunnels to “nerve gas” the sucker.

I guess the gopher had access to Hazmat masks.

He bought metal traps which he placed in the ground with supposedly inescapable trap doors.

The next day when he hauled them to the surface like a scene from “The Deadliest Catch” he was rewarded with nothing more than a cupful of dirt and a tiny note that said, “Nice try Tarzan!” (not really, I made that part up)

So yesterday when I asked him about his lastest gopher extermination technique, he said he went to Walmart and bought a pellet gun.

“Oh, really?” I said.

“Are you a good shot?”

“Not really,” He said.

“But I have been practicing.”

“Although yesterday I went out in my backyard and was having target practice with an old tennis shoe.”

“And when I shot the gun the pellet hit the rubber insole and it flew back at me and whizzed by my ear!”

“Oh, that’s excellent news!” I said

“You can probably see fine with just one eye.” 
“I mean after all, you have two of them.”

Now he says the gopher has grown so bold he now will climb from his hole and sit on the lawn to taunt Dallas the dog.  

Shades of Caddyshack and Bill Murray.

This includes making the universal antlers sign with thumbs stuck in his ears sing songing, “Naana, nana, nana, you caaan’t catch me!”

Or shaking his furry fanny in his face singing, “You can’t touch this!”

My friend then tells me that his wife has now forbidden him to have the dog outside when he is shooting at the gopher. (She probably was a witness to the unfortunate insole incident)

But he said that the only time the gopher will come all the way out of the ground is when Dallas is sitting on the lawn looking at him. (canine gopher bait)

So he plans on using his trusty dog Dallas to lure the creature from his den so he can pop him with his pellet gun.

It all sounds good on paper.

Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out like Plan A.

Cuz you know if something goes wrong and Dallas ends up with a hiney full of pellets, that his life is basically over.

He would never hear the end of it.

And his wife would take his gun away.

And then she would be angry, armed and dangerous.

I can just imagine that phone call.

“Hi honey I have good news and bad news.  First of all the gopher is gone.  Second of all, unfortunately, the dog is at the Vet hospital.”

As any husband in his right mind will tell you,  right about then he better hope he has a gopher tunnel big enough for him to hide in.

………I’m just sayin’

Have You Been There?

My crazy windmill riding cousin sent me this via email and as I was running late today and didn't get a chance to write an entry, I thought I would pass it along to all of you.

Don't know who wrote it, but if I did I would certainly give them kudos cuz it is very clever and gave me a chuckle.

Enjoy!

Have You Been There?

I have been in many places, but I've never been in Cahoots.
Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone.

I've also never been in Cognito.
I hear no one recognizes you there.

I have, however, been in Sane.
They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several
trips there, thanks to my friends, family and work.

I would like to go to Conclusions,
but you have to jump, and I'm not too much on physical activity anymore.

I have also been in Doubt.
That is a sad place to go, and I try not to visit there too often.

I've been in Flexible,
but only when it was very important to stand firm.

Sometimes I'm in Capable,
and I go there more often as I'm getting older.

One of my favorite places to be is in Suspense!
It really gets the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart!
At my age I need all the stimuli I can get!

I may have been in Continent,
and I don't remember what country I was in.
It's an age thing.

.......I'm just sayin'

Wake up lingerie

Going to work at 5:00 A.M. today.

I am wimpy.

I used to go to work at 3:00 A.M. everyday.

I was 20 years old then.

Nuff’ said.

Nowadays this early wake up call means I need to set my alarm for 4:00 A.M and then hit the snooze button 47 times.

The final result is leaping from my bed at 4:45, throwing my clothes on and racing to work.

Unsettling....

The best plan is to make sure you set your clothes out the night before and then you just have to just grab 'em and go.

Considering it is really dark at 4:00 A.M., this is a really good idea.

When I used to work at the grocery store, my three o’ clock check in time coincided with many other departments who had to get there and stock their prospective sections before the store opened at 8:00 A.M.

Butchers, produce guys, frozen food flingers, the grocery night crew and the bakery wizards all performed their magic in the middle of the night to insure we were ready to go when the doors were opened for business.

On our crew we had a fellow who was what used to be referred to as “macho”. 

Full of bravado, always acting tough and giving you a hard time for everything. 

Even though he was married, he was the first one to give the single guys advice on the ladies and hassling them when they did something he thought was weak-willed or “sissified”.

One particular night we all were gathered around taking our first break and “Dr. Phil” was in his usual preachy advice-giving stance in front of the group.

So In the middle of his “lesson”, he begins to overheat and decides to shed his lumberjack type plaid jacket. 

After placing it on the counter and returning to his podium, he slowly turns and…..

Right in the center of his back, stuck to his white polyester polo shirt, was his wife’s hot pink, floral nylon thong with the words,“Little Devil” emblazoned on the front.

Apparently in his haste to get to work he had yanked the shirt from the dryer unaware of the pink silky passenger clinging between his shoulder blades.

Now considering his consistent masculine demeanor, this fanny faux pas had the potential to be incredibly embarrassing.

So we all did what any reasonable adults would do.

We said nothing.

You cannot imagine the restraint and self control it took for us not to reveal his sensual secret!

There was so much winking and nudging going on, it looked like break time at a Tourettes Convention.

We figured that a few hours of “Victoria Secret” modeling might take him down a peg or two, so we did not hip him to his panty problem

It was mean.

And hysterical.

Sadly, our fun was cut short when the boss arrived a few hours later and while passing by panty boy said, “Hey, do you know you have a pair of your wifes’ chonies on your back?”

Which of course led him to say, “Hey, didn’t’ you guys notice that?”

“What??”

“What??”

“Us??”

“No!”

“No, we didn’t!”

Biggest pack of lying blind people ever.

But sooo worth it!

Guess I better go check my work clothes for the morning.

Would hate to show up sporting a pair of my Granny Panties on my back.

Although considering the size of those babies, people just might think they were some kind of new fangled tube top.

…….I’m just sayin’