A Christmas Ditty

One of my co-workers told me the other day that she was upset because I had stopped posting on my blog....
I told her that I had not given up my blog, but that my brain had just been in solitary confinement for a few months and was just recently released for good behavior.
It's sad but true that sometimes we put things on the back burner that we really enjoy doing while lifes nonsense gets in the way.
As a result of that conversation, I thought I would tiptoe back into bloghood and post this little ditty to ponder before the madness of Christmas begins. (Too late, it started right after Halloween!)
So please enjoy and have a lovely holiday!

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town.
Everyones' smiles were all turned upside down!
"We still are not finished, the house is not ready!"
"The carpets are dirty,"
"My legs are still hairy!"
"How will we be able to have Christmas day?"
"When things are all messy and in disarray?"
"I still have at least fourteen presents to buy."
"Why I wait till the last minute, I just don't know why."
Then while making my list of the tasks for the day,
The mailman pulled up with my gifts from Ebay!
A call to dear Stanley who steam cleaned my rug,
I gave him some nut bread and big Christmas hug!
Then my children and puppies all woke up to say,
"Dear Mama, don't worry about Christmas Day!"
"The reason it's here is because of true love."
"From our families and friends and the dear Lord above."
"The joy we'll all feel can't be bought from a store."
"It's from having our loved ones come darken our door."
So put down your worries and stock up with cheer.
And give thanks that we're blessed and we've lived through this year.
Cuz time it is fleeting, so my wish to you,
Is not to get caught up in the hullabaloo.
So kiss all your peeps and be glad that you got 'em.
And if you can find one, go hug a big possum! (you knew he would be in here somewhere)
Cuz all of these folks are what make life worth living.
It's not what your getting or what you are giving!
So I'm sending a group hug that I hope will spiral.
I hope that it's catches on, maybe go viral.
For love, peace and joy and some holiday cheer.
To all of you that kept me smiling this year!
And as for the presents, if you hit rock bottom.
Just drop by my house, I will give you MY possum. (sorry, I couldn't resist!)
........I'm just sayin'

Hello Friday! We love you man......

How good is your memory?

I’ve had people tell me that they can remember things that they did in Kindergarten.

Or from when they were an infant.

I’m lucky to remember to flush the toilet when I leave the bathroom.

When my mother developed dementia after a brutal surgery on her leg at the age of 90, she began to drift in and out of the present day and would speak of her childhood and teenage years as if they were yesterday.

Where were those memories locked away?

What cryptic key opened the door to her past and let those ghosts from long ago come strolling on in?

I sometimes wish we had some sort of Ipod playlist of brain cells which we could dial up and take us back to relive certain moments in time.

I know we would appreciate the good times more than we did when we were living them.

It’s because as we age, we realize how precious and few some of those special times can be.

I also know we would avoid the painful memories which crushed our souls and brought us to our knees.

Even though those life jarring moments helped forge us into the people we are today.

You must take the bitter with the sweet.

It makes the sweet so much more appreciated.

So just remember that you are building memories every day that you are blessed enough to take another breath.

For yourself.

For your children.

And for the planet.

And some day you will look back and say,

“Remember that Friday morning when I woke up and didn’t want to go to work?”

And then I did it anyway just because it was the right thing to do?

And then fretted all day because I couldn’t remember if I flushed the toilet?

Yeah, but it was a good day anyway…..

Happy Friday Everybody!

………I’m just sayin’

Cinnamon and Nutmeg.....A Cautionary Tale of Cheese and Dodgeball

I love stories.

Any kind.

Fiction. Non-fiction. Humorous. Dramatic. Harry Potter. Dr.Suess.

Doesn't matter.

Books are a delight to me and I enjoy immersing my mind into a world that is not my own.

But as my Daddy used to say, "You can't make this stuff up!", and he was referring to true stories that occur in normal, everyday life.

This thought popped into my head the other day when I overheard a co-worker tell someone, "yes, he seems to be okay now."

Considering she has a little boy, I immediately thought the little tike might be the "he" in question, plus basically I am nosey and was buttin' into someone elses conversation....

My mother used to call people that do this, "Butt-in-ski's."

Guilty as charged.

So because I am a curious soul, I chimed in with "Who?"

Now let me just give you a little background info so you can fully appreciate this whimsical tale.

I work in an operating room at a prestigious hospital and am surrounded by amazingly skilled professional nurses.

These are the kind of folks who are quite capable of whipping off their shoelaces and re-attaching your pointy head if you have an unfortunate chainsaw accident.

Good folks to take on a camping trip.

Or to a Lady Gaga concert.

One of these gals has two delightful kidlets, an 18 month old son and a nine year old daughter.

Since she is a wonderful mommy she decided to purchase two fuzzy hamsters by the names of Cinnamon and Nutmeg for them to cuddle and humiliate.

Nutmeg and Cinnamon not only have a cage, but a larger enclosure too, so the kids can play with them and allow them hamster prison yard time.

On one of these fur time furloughs, apparently her 18 month old decided it would be fun to play a rousing game of "Keep Away" with Nutmeg and promptly squished him into the linoleum.

"You're out!".

Or in this case, "you're dead!

As in, finito.

As in, he was a goner.

As in, rodent road kill.

So as he stands there peering into Nutmegs’ lifeless beady eyes, his sister realized what calamity had occurred and began to scream,

“AAAAHHHHH!"

“NUTMEG IS DEAD!!!”

“AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Meanwhile, the girly hamster, Cinnamon is over in the corner thinking, "I told him sports were dangerous!" "He just never listens!" "He knows that Guitar Hero is his best game!"

At this point in time, my friend bounds through the door with her husband in hot pursuit, scoops up the tiny creature, and did what any respectable OR nurse would do......

She started CPR.

On a hamster.....

The scene was something right out of an "I Love Lucy" episode!

Both children were wailing and jumping from one foot to the other trying to view the Mommy in action.

The husband began to scream, "You're breaking his ribs!" "Too hard!!! Too hard!!!".

Meanwhile she continued her one finger chest compressions and tiny breaths into the whiskery little snozola......

"Everybody be quiet! I don't know if he has a pulse!!!!!!"

Priceless....

And lo and behold, Nutmeg slowly opened his minuscule lids and fluttered back to consciousness!

I think they should rename him Lazarus....

Of course my friend was concerned about his pain level and gave him a couple of minute drops of Motrin for his post chest compression aches.

Thoughtful.

At this point, order had been restored, the children had stopped shrieking and all was well with the world.

For everybody but the hamster.

He was gently placed back into his cage where he crawled over into the corner and glared at all the participating parties.

He's thinking, "Here I am minding my own hamster business eating some hamster chow and they pluck me up and sacrifice me to the "Voit Crusher King" for his afternoons entertainment!"

"Then he proceeds to smash the livin' daylights out of me, and they have the nerve to REVIVE MY LIFELESS BODY???"

“REALLY??”

Obviously he was upset because he was a Buddhist hamster and thought he was going on to the next level where he was going to be something really cool.

Like a Puma.

Or Oprah Winfrey.

Now here he was, stuck back in his stupid cage, and doomed to live the rest of his life keeping one eye peeled for the "Dodgeball Destroyer."

Just what he wanted!!!!!

For the next couple of days he sulked around in his cedar shavings haven, shaking his hairy fist at Fate and devising a Shawshank Redemption-type escape plan.

His dream was to meet up with Morgan Freeman on “Babes” farm and drive a tractor all day....

Eventually he climbed back onto his hamster wheel so he could rebuild his post smashmouth body and to give him time to ponder his plan, because everyone knows that exercise helps you think.

Plus he was waiting for his tiny rock hammer to be delivered in the mail.

On day five he peeled back his Farrah Fawcett poster and exited stage right.

This involved making a run for the pantry where there was a sliver of a hole in the baseboards.  He quickly squeezed his body into the crack and found the best vantage point to keep his eye peeled for Junior the Impaler.

Soon my friend discovered the prison break and informed her husband, who created a hamster capture plan which involved cheese on a skewer and a lot of patience.

Because of our heat wave, he donned his best hamster hunter costume which consisted of a pair of his best boxer shorts and nothing else.

Then he hunkered down to smoke out the crafty Nutmeg.

I am told this took five hours……

FIVE HOURS!!!

Guess I am just lazy but in that amount of time I could have watched 10 episodes of “The Big Bang Theory.”

Or driven to Vegas.

By then I would have been thinkin’, “live and let hamster”.

Another funny side note is that in the middle of the great Nutmeg capture he turned around to discover “Baby Voit Crusher” had silently pulled out the skewer trap stick and was casually munching on the cheese cube bait….

Gotta love this kid.

He was wondering why he hadn’t been getting any nibbles.

So long story even longer.

Mr. Boxer Shorts was eventually triumphant in his mission. Nutmeg was hauled out from under the baseboards and placed in solitary confinement.

As he was being returned to the slammer, Cinnamon was overheard saying, “What?  You fell for the old Cheese on a Skewer trick?!”

Bottom line is, if you are a pet who belongs to a nurse, you need to consider what would happen if you bite the big one when they are around.

If you plan on moving on to a higher plane when you leave this place, you better take the time to sign a “Do Not Resuscitate”order or they will plug your mangy hiney into a ventilator in two shakes of a lambs’ tail.

Cuz it doesn't matter whether you are a cat, dog, or possum.
Have hairy nostrils, slobbery lips or little prickly whiskers, they WILL give you CPR.

And a couple drops of Motrin for good measure.....

………I’m just sayin’

The Sad Tale of the Laura Carnivore......

As a species we tend to be collectors.

This is not the case with other mammals.

It’s unlikely that you find a gorilla toting around his Star Wars action figure collection from when he was just a little scruff swinging through the jungle.

And never mind a dog.

As George Carlin always said, “Dogs don’t have stuff!”

But us humans?

Boy howdy, do we ever!

You name it and somebody, somewhere collects it.

Usually this is not a horrible problem.  Unless you go overboard and then you end up on “Hoarders”.

I went to the Del Mar Fair one Summer and there was a display in the hobby show where a woman had collected and categorized all of the parasites that she had removed over the years from her CHILDREN!

(I am not making this up)

There were little beakers of fleas and lice and even pin worms….

I have no words.

The visual image of chasing little Johnny around with a pair of tweezers to capture his fleshy insect remoras is permanently etched into my brain.

If you do this, please stop immediately and call the local mental health clinic.

NEWSFLASH!

THIS IS NOT NORMAL!!

As for me, I have a few things that are a little off kilter but not too bad.

But sadly this past week something happened that made we rethink some of the things that I DO have.

I had a box of my daughters possessions from when she was a little tike (she is now 23), and amongst the archaic goodies was a Little House on the Prairie stuffed doll.

Now for any of you who do not know, they made these cheap knock off dolls to placate all of us working stiffs who could not afford the “Marie Osmond” collection on QVC.

About 12 inches long.

Pioneer dresses and bonnets.

Little pantaloons.

Cute.

Probably purchased at “Pic N’ Save”.  (now known as Big Lots)
 (I liked Pic N’ Save better)

But unbeknownst to me, apparently these little gems were stuffed with this old fashioned nuclear cotton that can explode the bowels of a dog in seconds flat.

Scary, considering that your little human rug rat could possibly have gnawed one of them open with his newly sprouted incisors.

Now for any of you that have not read my blog before, I happen to own two pesky hound dog puppies.

Dex is a “killer” male Min-Pin who weighs in at 4.5 pounds, reminds me of Bambi and Leeloo is a Chihuhua/Boston Terrier mix female mutt who is a muscular 8 pound perpetual ball of energy.

Exhibit One:  The perpetrators......

Their sole purpose in life is to drive me crazy, leave their poopy calling cards all over this land and to devour everything in my house, piece by slobbery piece.

So I made the mistake of thinking I could slip into the shower for a few minutes and the dynamic duo took this opportunity to chew through the side of a bankers box, yank out “Laura Ingalls Wilder” and gobble down her frontal lobe.

And the top of her bonnet.

And the front edge of her apron.

Exhibit Two. The victim......

Note the gray brain matter sprouting from her tiny skull.

And we all thought Nellie was her only enemy!

When I arrived on the crime scene, little Dex was clasping her body in his tiny jaws and looking sheepish.

Or "Dexish" as the case may be.

I thought he was the perpetrator.

I was wrong.

He was framed.

I know this for a fact because the next day, little Laura was reincarnated into a different form, allllll around Leeloo’s kennel.

The likes of which you must wipe off your shoe if you are not careful strolling at the park.

What transpired over the course of the next few days was something I wouldn’t wish on anybody.

I now truly understand the expression, “sick as a dog.”

A trip to the vet.

“Ma’am, WHAT did you say she ate?’

Two different medicines.

And a whole lot of hosing things down.

Good times.

But the funniest thing that happened during this debacle was when I tried to feed Leeloo some turkey and vegetable baby food during her rehab phase and she looked at me like I was offering her a bucket of swill.

Seriously?

“You will munch down the innards of a 20 year old doll brain and not bat an eye, but refuse this Gerber delight?”

It was kinda funky.

Smelled like the inside of her kennel on day two.

No wonder that Gerber baby has that goofy look on her face.

So I guess I need to rethink the stuff I am saving in all of these boxes.

But I will definitely keep that box of baby teeth that the “Tooth Fairy” gave me which came from under my children’s pillows.

I just might want to enter them next year in the hobby show at the Del Mar Fair.

……..I’m just sayin’

"Are You Okay?"

Got an email from my “Left Coast” cousin the other day asking if I was okay.

You see I’ve been in the middle of some homestead renovation for the past couple of weeks and he realized that I had not been on the Internet in a while.

I was touched that he noticed.

And it also got me to thinking about the idea of Facebook as a monitoring tool to keep track of the health and well-being of our loved ones.

“Yes officer, I did notice a funny smell coming from her apartment, but that didn’t alarm me as much as the fact that her Facebook status hadn’t changed in OVER A WEEK!” 

“Plus she didn’t “comment” on the pictures of me in my bikini in Vegas!”

“And I looked good in those!”

“She would have at least “liked” them!”

“Even if I didn’t invite her to go!”

I love Facebook.

I fought joining Facebook for a long time until my sister talked me into trying it.

Now it’s my computer “crack”.

If I need to get ANYTHING done at all, I CANNOT go to the feed and take even one peek.

Its time sucking spell pulls me into its vortex and pretty soon it’s four hours later and I am still in my smelly pajamas, hair askew and no eyebrows.

But I AM up to date on all of my friends fabulous adventures.

And I get to see all of the fun stuff that I am NOT doing.

Like flying to Negril.

Or eating filet mignon at some fancy restaurant.

Or dodging crabs at a swamp in Florida.

Or peering at the Grand Canyon for the first time with my grandchildren. (If I had any)

Or visiting ANYPLACE but my lumpy living room sofa.

But my favorite thing about Facebook is the pictures.

Friends and family, out-laws and in-laws, classmates and workmates.

They upload their lives in living color for all of us to enjoy and experience.

“It’s a beautiful thing", as my Daddy used to say.

There has never been a time in history when we could so effortlessly peruse the images of so many people and share in their milestones of life.

I remember the day that my mother passed away.

I was obviously devastated and overcome with this helpless feeling of loss.

Because no matter how old you are, when you lose a parent you revert back to being  a four year old child again.

But submerged in my daunting grief, I sat down at my computer and began to compile a pictorial tribute to her life.

I walked my sorrowful heart, as well as those of my friends and family down memory lane.

Narrating the photographs and images of long ago.

And as the tears fell, just the act of sharing her life with others made her passing less painful.

A catharsis of Kodak moments.

So when people complain that Facebook is “Big Brother” and monitors our every move.

Or they grumble about new features and grouse over any format changes.

I just smile and say, “It’s free, it’s fun and you can delete it any time you want to.”

Plus if I don’t post anything new for awhile, my Left Coast Cousin can alert the fuzz to bust down my door and check for my smelly carcass.

……..I’m just sayin’

DYHAM ALERT!!

Fourth of July today and basically it’s just an excuse for most people to BBQ some weenies and drink a lot of mind-numbing beverages.

Planning on going out to Ocean Beach, catching a few rays, watching a lot of butt cracks, and oohing and aahing  at the fireworks.

Of course this plan of attack involves revealing my winterized gams, and as mentioned in previous posts that means unwrapping months of hair carpet from around my ankles and knees.

Next step would be pulling out the boom chucker weedwacker of my brother-in-laws to finish up the final deforestation process….(hope he brought me enough heavy duty twine for the job)

THEN and ONLY then, will I allow my legs to see the light of day.

There are certain things that are inevitable with this type of beach outing.

One of these inevitable situations will be that I will be gazing upon many human body parts that should not be made visible to the human eye.

EVER……

Whenever I go out “amongst ‘em” as my Dad used to say, I am always puzzled by the fact that most people apparently do not own a mirror.

We call them “DYHAM” encounters.

As in “DO YOU HAVE A MIRROR???”

We use this term to alert each other to anything that may disturb our psyche or wake us up later in a cold sweat.

Among the worst offenders are butt cracks, bras that are four sizes too small and tragic muffin tops.

Not to mention the 20 year old cut-off jeans that “still fit me” after all these years.

Here’s a clue toots! 

If your body resembles a Farmer John sausage casing,

THEY DON’T FIT YOU ANY MORE!

Do the world a favor and DONATE THEM TO THE GOODWILL!

Or better yet, pitch them into a bonfire…..

Or fashion them into a clever handbag….

Just DO NOT hoist them over your gelatinous thighs and prance around in front of everyone like a Beyonce’ video.

It’s just not pretty.

Hey, I’m not judgin’.

I am no small fry myself.

But I would never DREAM of sporting some of these get-ups out in public.

My puppies would be giving me a mighty thumbs down before I even got out of the door….

As Kevin Meaney used to say, “We’re not small pants people!”

We believe in the Muu-Muu and body acreage concealment.

It’s just healthier for everyone involved.

Plus you can smuggle more snacks into places without someone knowing you have a private stash of Snicker bars under your flowing frock.

And you won’t be the humiliated victim of someone walking behind you screaming,

“WATCH OUT PEOPLE, WE HAVE ANOTHER “DYHAM” HERE!” 

“CLEAR THE SIDEWALK!!”

“HIDE YOUR POTATO CHIPS!”

So have a lovely Fourth of July everyone!

Enjoy the day.

Don’t drink and drive.

And for the love of everything that’s holy,

Check the derriere rear view before stepping out the door……

…….I’m just sayin’

Dear Cialis......

Dear Cialis manufacturer,

Just a quick note to tell you how much I enjoy your fantasy commercials for erectile dysfunction

I myself have been privy to thousands of stories of couples who were overcome by passion while fondling melons and bananas in the produce section of their favorite stores.

Not to mention the adorable couple who are caught up in the throes of romance while washing their dishes and cleaning their grungy kitchen.

That happens ALL the time……(wink, wink)

But my question to you is this.

Who decided that immediately after they get the idea for a little private time, these folks are magically transported into two old fashioned claw foot bathtubs in the great outdoors?

Now I may be a little slow, but wouldn't they need just one tub?

Man: "Yes, doctor I injured myself trying to get jiggy with my wife while we were lying in two bathtubs." "

"Three feet apart."

Doctor: "Sir, that is impossible."

"Unless you are a porn star."

"Or an elephant."

Then we watch as hand in hand they gaze fondly into each others eyes and then back out into the ocean or lake or some other ethereal body of water.

Now logistically, I am wondering how this is all going to work?

First of all, have you ever tried to pick up claw-foot tub? Not to mention two of them!

Considering these folks are on the downside of 50, they would never be able to handle this chore.

Sciatica city.

And If they could mysteriously manage that unlikely task without throwing out their backs, what happens then?

Do they dash from their car all nakey and wrinkled through the woods to the tub destination?

And what time of year is this scenario plausible?

If it is Summer you have the obvious mosquito issue which would give new meaning to the term “slap and tickle.”

Of course Winter has the intense cold problem which would immediately annihilate all the benefits of your product.

Autumn presents the crunchy leaves and branches sticking to the feet situation.

And slithery snakes hiding under the cushy flora and fauna.

So that only leaves us with Spring, which of course, means the awakening of bears.

And believe me they don’t want to wake up to that sort of nonsense after a long Winters hibernation!

You think your biggest problem would be placing an embarrassing phone call to the doctor regarding a four hour erection?

Try dialing up a circus trainer to wrangle a starving grizzly who is staring at an amorous centerfold duo for AARP magazine!

Me thinks you better keep a speed dial to Ranger Bob at the ready in case Mr. Kodiak decides your jiggly backside resembles a pair of hairless Cryptomundos doing the Mamba.

Might be just the appetizer he’s looking for after a long Winters nap!

Cellulite sliders!

So do us all a favor and give us a break.

Show us some folks who are a little more believable in a situation that we can all relate to.

A cooing couple perched in their comfy King size bed with clean sheets.

Bowl of popcorn on their tummies.

Big flat screen glowing at their feet.

Empty Filippi’s pizza box on the floor.

With radiant smiles on their faces cuz “Dancing with the Stars” is about to start.

Now that is romantic!

And probably won’t require a trip to the Emergency Room.

And best thing of all, not a bear or a claw foot bathtub in sight……

…….I’m just sayin’

Left Coast Cousins......The True Story

Recently I posted a story that was written by my cousin in Oklahoma regarding a visit he made to San Diego many moons ago.

I indulged this non-fictional fantasy because he is like a bison.

Rare, extremely hairy and could crush me with his mighty hooves on a moments notice.

I promised then to reveal the TRUE story of what happened and let the chips fall where they may.

Plus he lives pretty far away and would have to travel really far to harm me.

History lesson….history lesson.

My parents were born and raised in the beautiful state of Oklahoma and because of this, many of my cousins, in-laws and outlaws still live there.

Now all of you have a relative who is renowned within the family clan to be a little off kilter.

You know.

One taco short of a combo plate…….

Not the brightest candle on the cake……

Not the sharpest knife in the drawer…….

You get the idea….

My cousin is that relative.

Certifiable and yet loveable all at the same time.

He may be crazy, but he is OUR crazy!

Many moons ago when I was a youngster, my mother told us that the doctors recommended he be released from the home for a few weeks and shipped off to “Cal-Eye-For-Knee-A” for a little rest and relaxation.

Her admonition to us was, “Just be nice to him and make sure all the knives are locked up.”

Now because we are polite folks and have always enjoyed human oddities, we waited with baited breath to welcome “Mr. Looney” to our fair city.

The day he arrived we were all so excited! 

Not only was the famous “Crazy Cousin” here but we actually got to talk to him and see if he really did wear his clothes inside out.

Because he lived in the great state of Oklahoma, which for all of you folks that are geographically impaired is in the middle of the United States, he told us that he had never seen an ocean before and was incredibly excited to witness the majesty of the pounding waves.

So we donned our demure 60’s beach garb and drove on down to the shore to give the guy a peek.

For any of you who have ever watched the movie, “Blast From the Past”, there is one scene where Brendan Fraser sees the ocean for the very first time.   He is wearing a pair of roller blades, skating on a sidewalk near the beach when he catches his first glimpse of the water. 

He is overcome with awe and excitement, proceeds to throw off his skates and bolts to the waters edge screaming with joy and wonder.  He then flings himself into the surf, laughing, leaping into the air and howling with delight!

Adorable in the movie.

Kind of embarrassing to witness it firsthand.

People gathered around to watch the Oklahoma maniac as he ran into the surf screeching, “Look, it’s all wet and foamy!!!!”

My sister and I hid in the bushes lest someone realize we were related.

After 20 minutes or so, and with the aid of a few concerned sunbathers, as well as the harbor police, he calmed down and plopped himself down on the sand.

At this point he spied the jetty which was jutting out into the salty sea and insisted on exploring its wonder.  Because our Mom had warned us to be nice to her nephew, we indulged his curiosity and led him over to explore the black and slippery rocks.

While we were walking down the perilous outcropping, he noticed it was the home for many beautiful starfish.

In the manner of the “little boy at heart” that he was, he said, “Those are amazing, I must possess some of my own!”

We told him, “Cousin, these are fantastic creatures of the sea and must remain in their rocky home lest we destroy the ecosystem!”

He said, “I don’t care. They are prettiful and I want to take some home in my suitcase and show my Okie friends and family!”

To which we replied, “Whatever.”

Meanwhile during this brilliant conversation as we were perched on the slippery rocks, we noticed a monstrous , thundering  wave headed directly toward his unsuspecting carcass.

 So of course we did what any red-blooded cousin would do.

We said nothing.

It wasn’t pretty…

Us; “Hey, you need to watch out for those waves!”

“We realize you don’t have them in the cement pond you have back home.”

“They crash onto the rocks every minute or so and will crush your body with their mighty power.”

Him:  “Ouch.”

So after prying a few magnificent starfish from their watery domain, as well as a few crabs off of his bloody derrière, he proceeded to haul the starfish to the parking lot where he placed them on the hood of the car to sizzle torturously in the blistering sunshine.

This is the same person that probably enjoyed frying ants with a magnifying glass when he was a tot.

When we got home he called an aquarium to ask about the process of preserving these unusual echinoderms for posterity and his future enjoyment.

Apparently the instructions were lost in translation.

Bottom line of the story.

 He packed them meticulously into his suitcase only to open it upon his arrival at home to the worst stench imaginable.

Second only to his swim trunks after that long day at the seashore.

It was rumored that my Aunt ran gagging to the bathroom screaming, “Just close it, just close it!”

And for once, she was not referring to his mouth.

Every since that fateful day, for the last bojillion years, my cousin has done every thing in his power to silence me forever regarding this taxidermy tragedy.

This includes strapping me to the back of his motorcycle, face to the asphalt for a “sightseeing tour” of the Oklahoma back roads near his home.

The latest attempt at squelching my ability to tell this sordid tale, was a visit to an antique shop in a tiny town on the outskirts of Owasso.

This place had a backroom that resembled a medieval torture chamber and as we walked toward its cavernous door he kept murmuring, “Just a little farther, just a little farther.”

Luckily, there was a little bitty bird sitting on the dusty floor who whispered, “Watch out lady, there is a guy behind you with a samurai sword.”

I got out just in the knick of time.

He then took me out for breakfast where they served me an old fashioned, “down home cookin" meal of 7 eggs, a mixing bowl of gravy, 2 pounds of hash browns and 6 sausage links.

Guess he figures death by heart attack is better than nothing at all.

Ah, my cousin……

Starfish scavenger, windmill jockey, antique hunter and motorcycle maniac.

As I said before, he may be crazy, but he’s OUR crazy!

……I’m just sayin’

"Hello, can you hear me now?"

Thinking about what would happen if my cell phone was disconnected and I canceled my Internet and cable?
Would that necessarily be a bad thing? 
Back to the days of a landline, some face to face interaction and a VCR.
This thought always surfaces when I see four people at a restaurant not talking to each other but texting four other people who are not even there! 
Social networking gone awry.
The disconnect of the intellect.
Twitter, Facebook, Google searches.
Obviously we cannot go back to the time of solely handwritten communication and the Pony Express, but sometimes it just seems like it was a simpler way to live. 
Would it kill us just to take it easy every now and then?
I think the idea of instant everything, be it download times or coffee makes us crazy.
We feel as though we are standing on the shoreline watching the river rushing towards us, desperate to pull another high tech victim into it's swirling chaos. 
Please don't misunderstand me.
I love technology and progress.
The idea that my children won't ever have to worry about polio or dying from something as simple as measles is a blessing.
The ability to Skype a friend halfway across the world from a tiny laptop on my desk is nothing short of a miracle. 
And the idea that I can post my babbling opinion for others to see with the click of a mouse is honestly astonishing to me.
But let us not lose sight of the present looking for something in the future.
The face to face.
A hug when someone is sad.
A phone call, not a text or an email, just to hear someones' voice.
Our life possibilities are endless, our abilities limitless.
We just need to slow down and enjoy them.....
But first I need to go check my Facebook feed. 
My "living vicariously through others" tank  is running critically low!
......I'm just sayin'

I'm a "NONE"

Been working non-stop at a computer the last two weeks at my job and all I can say is “No Bueno!”

The brain turns to mush and my posture is permanently Quasimodo-ish.

The only time I want to be on a computer is by choice, at home, in my jammies, eating a Hostess Snowball and sipping my Lipton Tea.

With my puppy chewing on my big toe.

Then to add insult to injury, every day when I drag myself home to the bell tower, I am buried under a two pound avalanche of voting minutiae in my mailbox.

Seriously?

How many beautiful trees have been wasted providing paper for this pile of useless doody?

Literally pounds and pounds of nasty rhetoric and accusations with most of it being insulting to my intelligence.

A picture of a nun sporting jazz hands, making a scary face with the caption, “I’m a “NONE”, What’s your political party preference?”

Really??

 My latest voting strategy is, if you fill my mailbox with useless voting ads, you are off my list.

Or clutter our street corners with your tacky signs.

Geez! I can’t even see the Statue of Liberty sign spinner tax guy with all of that junk in the way!

Epic ridiculousness.

And bottom line is, half the stuff is pro one issue and the other half is con for the same issue.

Obviously someone is lying.

I know, I know, everyone  has to get their message out….blah…blah…blah.

I don’t care……

All I know is bodies of mailmen and mailwomen are littering the streets and the sale of back braces for these poor souls is off the charts.

Enough already!!

I think we should go back to the good old days where the knights jousted to establish superiority and the winner just loped off the other guys head.

Much cleaner and to the point.

Or we should round up all the mail workers and they should be able to vote thumbs up or thumbs down in an Olympian style arena on which candidates get to be munched by a lion from the Wild Animal Park.

The more ads they had to deliver, the greater chances of being a big “Frisky” lion treat.

As it is, my regular mail is being held hostage somewhere in a post office latrine because there is no room for it in my mailbox.

So I for one can’t wait until the election is over.

Cuz my “Puppy Potty Training for Dummies” monthly magazine is over two weeks late!

…………I’m just sayin’