Silly Sunday: My Living Will

Can't Stop Laughing!

My sister-in-law tells me she hardly ever goes on Facebook because she feels like it's junior high revisited. In some ways she's right, but at other times it makes me laugh hysterically. Maybe it's because I still have the maturity level of a middle schooler.  Today is one of those days as one funny events unfolded and a memory that made me laugh so hard my tummy hurt came back from something my sister posted.

Meet Kathy. She is one of my bloggy friends who hangs at The Giggling Trucker's Wife. She has a great sense of humor and writes interesting posts that always hold my attention. Truthfully with my ADD attention span, that's an accomplishment. Knowing Kathy through her site and our connections with GBE2, Writer's Post, and BBF, I've come to see her as a highly moral, respectable person. So I laughed hysterically when I visited her site to try to find her email address (which I still don't have, uh hm) and send her a private message. She's one of those people I haven't accepted as a Facebook friend because I've never actually met her, but oh, it gets harder and harder not to.

Anyway, when I didn't see her email, I clicked on her website. Wow, Kathy! I didn't know about your side business. From her porn site, she offers everything from... Oh, gosh, I can't even write the things she offers because it's too dang embarrassing. So, that's what you do when your husband's on his long trucking journeys out of town. See why I don't typically FB friend people I haven't met in person!

In Kathy's defense, she moved her blog and changed her blog's address; however, she failed to remove the domain change from her FB information page. I sure hope her mama, grandma, and dear Aunt Rosemary didn't visit her page! She'd have some explaining to do.

As for my sister, I don't know if you'd find this funny or not since it was one of those goofy kid private jokes that we probably haven't laughed about in over thirty years.

My sister posted that she's getting her first piano lesson tomorrow. Sounds innocent enough, right? I posted, "Next time I'm in Boca, I want a concert! You can play..." 

Now before I tell you what she can play, you need a little background information. In my odd but wonderful family, we had a unique word for a person's bottom. I never realized that the rest of the world did not call a butt a "tootsie." I even went to one of my favorite websites http://thesaurus.com to see if they recognized the word "tootsie" for buttocks. 

Main Entry:	buttocks [buht-uhk] /ˈbʌtək/ Show Spelled
Part of Speech:	noun
Definition:	rear
Synonyms:	back end, backside, behind, bottom, bum, butt, derriere, fanny, fundament, gluteus maximus, haunches, hindquarters, posterior, rear, rump, seat

Main Entry:	bottom
Part of Speech:	noun
Definition:	rear end
Synonyms:	backside, behind, breech, bum*, butt*, buttocks , derriere, fanny, fundament, posterior, rear, rump, seat, tail, tush

Next, I looked up "tootsie" in the Urban Dictionary. Nada! It means toes and some gross things, so I won't even supply you with a link.

So where the heck is "tootsie" in the dictionary? Doesn't anyone out their in bloggy world call a "bum" a "tootsie?" More curiously, why in the world did my family use that word for that term?


Anyhow, Barb was a flute player, and we (or I should say SHE) made up words to one of her concert pieces. It went Do do do do do do, my tootsie love you. My tootsie eats meat. And where in the world did we get meat from? I swear, we were totally innocent children singing this song and being silly. I figured you wouldn't find it funny, but thanks for sticking around anyway.

#Writer's Post: The End

Here is my response to Jenn's weekly Writer's Post topic: Endings. It's ironic how things seemed to have happened in sync with her challenge.

I just unfriended someone on Facebook. I'd say I lost a friend, but I never met the lady personally. As a rule, I don't Facebook friend people I've never met in person; however, she had once had a strong connection to an important person in my life, so I made an exception.

She had latched onto me with a tight friendship grip that felt a bit suffocating. Sending me private messages ending in "love ya" and wanting to meet us in Tunica. She even called one night. I didn't particularly want to meet up with her but would go along with it. I could have done it but could tell she isn't the sort of person I want to spend a lot of time with.

She would continually post long rambles about how awful her life is, but she's blessed to have God and who knows what else. It takes up a lot of space on a Facebook wall and is a real downer to read. I want Facebook friends who make me laugh. Sure, I'm there for a long term friend having problems, but this was too deep for someone I barely knew.

I decided I'd loosen the grip by responding to one of her Obama rants. You know what a strong Democrat I am, so I took the challenge as something fun that would maybe make her realize our differences and back off a bit. I was immediately attacked by her and her cronies. One even gave me the easy challenge of posting one link to show how Romney ever abused animals. I posted three!

Apparently I said something that she took personally. I don't get how she took my statements as a personal attack because I swear, it was never intended that way. Then again, I know mentally ill people like this. They take what you say and twist it into their own demented thoughts. Then they play victim with it. These people are caustic and I avoid them like Tea Party conventions! She went on to post messages thanking others for backing her up on how I was an awful person who'd attacked her.

So, I wrote her a private message about how I thought it best we part ways before I really said something that wasn't nice. I hate games, and she wasn't telling me how I'd attacked her personally or answering me directly anyway. She in response published my private message onto her wall, mentioned my name and my husband's name, and went into a rant about how insecure I am. We're all a bit insecure at times, but the bottom line: I just don't like dealing with this type of person.

I'd feel free if I knew I was truly rid of her but also a bit saddened knowing that in her mind I hurt her. I typically don't like to blog about anything personal (and I certainly wouldn't post how awful my life is on Facebook either), but this little emotional release is a nice leap from the usual and a perfect fit for Jenn's topic this week. Forgive the intrusion. I'll go back to being funny tomorrow.

Today, she sent me a copy of a vindictive message that she sent to my sister-in-law that repeated some things I had said and even something awful about my sister-in-law that I certainly did NOT say. She has also been sending e-mails to my husband who doesn't answer. I'm telling you, stay clear of people like this! She is trying to ruin my life, but hopefully everyone she contacts knows how crazy she is. I hate to do it, but with her out there, I am changing my settings to approval mode on comments. Ugh!

As a side note, I could post her name, photo, etc. etc. but I don't work that way. I blocked her from my Facebook account and hope she steers clear from my blog because if she doesn't, she's in for a rude awakening.

Wordless Wednesday: Potato Salad & Men with Plungers

(Wednesday comes earlier and earlier every week. Okay, I'll join your hops!)

I make a mean potato salad. 

After my last post declaring me as a foodie blog, here is a recipe from my cookbook.

I'm not kidding about the man with the plunger. I clog up the sink every darn time I make this dish. ☺

Sorry ladies, this man with a plunger is mine!

#GBE2: Strength

Strength, if only. How many times have I struggled with those darn pickle jars only to have my husband swoop in and open them with a single twist? I've eaten spinach for years, but I'm starting to wonder if some well meaning adult made up this strength bull just to get kids to eat healthy. The only folks I ever saw get strong from eating spinach are Pop Eye and Gilligan. Remember when he found the crate of radio active vegetable seeds? What a great show!

Since I'm a doubting Moses (Doubting Thomas comes from Christianity, so I can't claim him), I did a little spinach research. Back in the late nineteenth century, some doctor put a decimal point in the wrong spot when writing down the iron content of spinach. Everyone believed his bogus document thinking that spinach had ten times the iron content than what it actually had. Like, no one questioned it? 

Wee! Playing with decimals could be fun. 

Friend:   How fast were you going?

Moi:        750 MPH.

Friend:  How much weight have you lost?

Moi:       230 pounds.

Friend:  How old are you?

Moi:       Five.

The last one might be believable, but the one about spinach? I guess if the right person says it, folks will believe anything. Just look at what people swallow from politicians.

But back to spinach: 

I knows it! I knows it!

No one found the mistake until 1937! By then, it was too late. People bought into the myth about spinach making you strong.

It may not make you strong, but there are nutrients in spinach so it's not a bad thing to eat; however, forget that gross canned stuff that Pop Eye dumps down his throat. Give yourself a real treat with fresh (or frozen) spinach leaves, garlic, pepper, Parmesan and Mozzarella cheeses. Top with paprika and nuke in the microwave. 

I didn't cook this, but it looks yum!

Hey look! Last week I had a political blog, now I've got a foodie blog! This will drive Reg nuts, if that boy ever comes back. Teehee.

If you cook my spinach, and eat it, you'll be getting iron and magnesium which is helpful for healthy muscle growth. Plus, it's good for your heart and doesn't make you fart. 

Sorry about the fart comment, but what did you expect from someone who is five.♡

Silly Sunday: Uranus

I got "wind" that Camp Sabra has discovered my blog. Well, kiddos, here's one just for you!

#BFF: Sunset

Although sunset usually refers to that glowing orange object slipping into the horizon, it can also mean a period of decline. Some people look at the economy and scream, "Sunset!" but I fear this is nothing compared to what we would have from a Romney presidency. 

This afternoon, I read a new article making it oh so clear that Mitt Romney, a sociopath by definition, truly has a strong ethics problem. I hope you are all familiar with the story of how he abused his dog Seamus by sticking him on the roof of the car for a twelve hour drive to Canada. When the dog had a kennel accident, no doubt due to stress, Mitt merely hosed him off and continued.

I also hope you are familiar with the story of how he led a posse to pin down a gay boy and cut his hair while he cried and screamed. All of the others involved in this high school incident feel great sorrow or remorse. One even sought out the man to apologize because he felt so guilty. Mitt Romney doesn't remember the incident? I would hope this is a lie because the truth of not remembering something as horrible as this speaks volumes about his character.

A few days ago, I heard the story about a paid driver who took Romney on a two hour ride. Mitt would not even speak to the man throughout the entire trip. He was also nasty to his staff members. At the end of the ride, he grumbled, "Give the guy $5." Now mind you, with a two hundred, forty something dollar fee, this is about a 2% tip from a guy with millions! His coldness is a definite message that he sees himself above the average person.

The latest I heard, Ann Romney sold a horse named Super Hit for $125,000 to perform dressage (horse ballet). The new owners discovered that the horse could not do dressage and had been given a staggering amount of pain killers! Besides being animal abuse, what sort of person would cheat someone in a sale of this sort?

If Romney is this unethical in his treatment of dogs, horses, and humans who he sees as lower than him, do you really think he gives a rat's patooey about you or I? Do you really think he will do anything in the best interest of the 99%?

I want the beautiful type of sunset found in pictures, not the sunset of people being blind enough to elect this sociopath as president.

Wake up, America! This guy is bad news.

Wordless Wednesday: TV Watcher

Honey Bear likes Air Bud.

If only they'd let me play football.

#GBE2: Memory

This week's writer's post is to write about two days ago. Heck! I can't remember two days ago or much of yesterday for that matter. I'm guessing I probably hung out on the couch in my post surgery laziness.

Now ask me about forty-seven years ago and I can give you vivid details. I had my first surgery right before my third birthday. The people in the scary blue outfits gave me something and told me to go to sleep, but I didn't. I lay awake on my stomach and watched blue people wash their hands. Whenever anyone ventured near me, I snapped my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep because I was scared I'd get in trouble for not minding them. Don't worry, I fell asleep before they took my tonsils out and removed my hemangioma.

I'd be in black and white!

I remember age four. I had to go to the bathroom and was so proud of the fact that I did it without telling my mom. I still remember sitting on that toilet seat thinking, I am so grown up. Then I made a conscious decision to remember this moment. And I do.

Sometimes one can actually force a memory on a child. My father died when my kids were five, three, and eight months. The year and a half before his death was an awful time of him lying in bed with pail skin and no legs. Yet at his low moment, he lifted his head and made a funny face at the baby. That was my wonderful Dad.

I wanted my kids to remember Dad, but not the illness part--the fun Dad who was a loving grandfather. My mother was in the hospital (a story for another post) and Dad wanted to show my kids something fun. Art students had made a wonderful, life sized, wooden bus. My kids, then three and one, relished in climbing all over it.

For years after that, I said, "Remember when Grandpa took you to see the bus?" Alas, the twenty-two year old has no memory of the event; however, the twenty-four year old has a beautiful life time memory of fun with his grandfather!

A day late, but I'd like to wish my dad a Happy Father's Day. Oh how I wish I could.

Silly Sunday: Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter

I flipped through HBO's movies on demand and found a twelve minute preview of Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter that happened to be 11½ minutes too long. I mean really. Honest Abe doing fancy kickboxing while slicing blood suckers with his hatchet? What will they come up with next? 

*George Washington wrestling the Abominable snowman in the Florida Keys? 

*John Adams wearing a hula skirt and singing Bali Hai? 

*Maybe they can dye Thomas Jefferson's hair black to turn him Goth! 

Is there not any respect for our past presidents?

The writer obviously knew little about Lincoln because a true movie about him would surely be a comedy. I kid you not. Lincoln was funny! Here's my favorite anecdote about him. 

A visitor once asked Lincoln how many men the rebels had in the field. Lincoln replied seriously, “Twelve hundred thousand, according to the best authority.” 

The visitor turned pale and gasped, “Good Heavens!”

Lincoln continued: “Yes, sir; twelve hundred thousand. You see, all of our generals, when they get whipped, say the enemy outnumbers them three to one, and I must believe them. We have four hundred thousand men in the field, and three times four makes twelve. Twelve hundred thousand; no doubt about it.”

If you want to read more, click back to my post Lincoln Was Funny!

I confess! This little clip gave me better entertainment than the twelve minutes preview of Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter. Enjoy!

#Writer's Post: An Electrifying Journey in 250 Words

Long ago when we were sparkless neutrons, Volta, Franklin, and others experimented with my brothers, sisters, and me in their quest for understanding. Many, however, refused to relate to our story as they turned up their lethargic noses at our science. For youngsters take us for granted as their eyes gloss over when teachers discuss what defines our very existence.

My electrifying journey began with me swimming in a gigantic can of chemicals. What was even worse than drowning in sludge was not knowing if I’d have a positive or negative experience. I merely floated between the two terminals and basked in a strong negative energy. 

I wanted to sink to the bottom of the battery, but a magnetic pull wouldn't allow it. With a click from above, a wire appeared and forced me to float toward the positive side of the terminal. 

It connected me to my polar opposite and ZAP! I got sucked through the wire. Floating! Zinging! Charged with life! I performed exhilarating back flips as I flowed along a magnetic field. Reaching the end of the journey, I dove into the light--and we were one. Once electricity radiated through my aroused nucleus, I found my true purpose and tasted life as never before. 

I am the glow that attracts and zaps pesky insects. The gleam that keeps one from bumping knees as would have happened when walking through darkness. I am, I was, I'll always be electricity.

#Writer's Post: Summer

I may be a week overdue, but here goes a post about my favorite time of year, Summer. This go around, I'm spending summer recuperating from surgery behind books, those of others and the one I'm writing.

I've read five books so far this summer. One was a silly little kid read I'd somehow missed over the years. I'm talking about Frindle by Andrew Clements. This author has never been one of my favorites, but Frindle is pretty good. I admire the author's ability to create believable characters and challenge them to grow. Plus, who would of thunk of a kid causing a school revolution over what to call a pen. It's downright stupid of the teacher to play this challenge. As a teacher, I would've just gone along with the thing and call it small stuff.

Next, I read the dirty series that I mentioned a few posts back. Knowing the freakish  nature of Christian Grey, what would he do with a pen? Oh, I can't go there but am wiggling at the thought. And I finally made up my mind. I want him! Armie Hammer has got to take the role of this dark, sexy character. Yep! They'd be swooning in the theatre. He's almost as hot as my dear husband. I say almost.

My latest read was a salute to Ray Bradbury with his fireman story. This was a bit deep for a post surgery gal. I guess I read kid's books and trash because I can't wrap my head around literary works.

So what's next? Hmm. I have a stack of books on my nitestand. (No, I didn't misspell this word. My dad was in the furniture business and that's what the tags always said). I've always wanted to read Bud, Not Buddy yet Stanford Wong has been waiting for a year. Vicky's book Cleopatra's Moon is another possibility as is Uprising. I love Margaret Peterson Haddix, so maybe I should grab her novel. 

I've got a plan. I'm going to read the first page of each of these. The one that won't let me go wins. Done. Oooo. Bud, Not Buddy was so tempting and I even went two pages in, but alas, Depression Era. I don't know after just reading the dark, depressing novel Fahrenheit 451. I need something light and uplifting, so I'm going with Lisa Yee's story about a goofball kid flunking English. 

Hello Mindless Summer!

Wordless Wednesday: Surgery

On June 7, I had a hysterectomy and hospital stay.

I was in that bathroom every 1-2 hours thanks to a drippy IV.

The nurses kept a board with medical notes. When they wrote morning blood test, I threatened to erase the red pen.


To keep from getting pneumonia, I had to do regular breathing exercises. Keep the blue ball bobbing. I messed up by leaving the torture device at the hospital--feeling raspy.

 I received beautiful flowers.

I'm home, but our power had been off for a full day. We just got it back.

#GBE2: If I had my life to live over...

This topic is supposed to be filled with the age old wisdom of one who's tasted the ups and downs of life and has now matured to a quiet understanding. Yeah, right!

If I had my life to live over, there are a few things I might do differently:

(1) I would not have cried softly in Kindergarten after not getting to pet the snake but rather stood up boldly and announced, "Hey! You missed me!"

(2) Everyday in second grade, a classmate asked me to lend her a dime. Being timid, I gave it to her while knowing she'd never give it back. I probably gave her at least $2 - $3, with the interest rate from the sixties and adjustment for inflation... Hmm. I need to send her a bill or at least link this post to her Facebook page to prove I'm no longer that wimp.

(3) In a do over, I would have pitched a fit and refused to wear that polyester, light blue gym uniform because my mom didn't want to spend $7 to buy me a new one. In my childhood, a parent's "No" meant no without an argument, but that was important enough that in hindsight, I should have fought it or paid for a red one myself. That embarrassing uniform with my sister's initials scarred me for life! This morning, I searched the internet for a uniform as ugly as that one. I couldn't find anything THAT bad.

(4) I didn't need to date him or be intimate, but I wish I would have gotten to know him as he stood in the corner with his fraternity buddies and radiated his handsomeness. It might have been enriching to have become his good friend and vicariously enjoyed his rise to fame and fortune. He missed his chance. Brad Pitt and I went our separate ways.

I should have said, "Hello" as she sunbathed in front of her sorority house across the street, but Sheryl Crow also missed the chance to know me. We were all just kids not knowing which one of us was going places. If I would have listened to my professor and majored in education like he told me to do, I probably would have known her well. Ironically, I'm a teacher and she is not.

I know Yakov Smirnoff, and he's more fun than Brad Pitt and Sheryl Crow put together.

(5) When my husband gave me a compound sentence, "Will you marry me and live in Memphis?" maybe I should have negotiated the Memphis thing. Yes, I love him, but back when, I didn't quite get the full picture of what he was asking for. This red state of Tennessee can be a bit much. At least as of last Thursday, I no longer have a uterus for them to mess with.

Oh, Beth meant big stuff like career decisions, etc? I'm sure I never interpret her challenges the way she intends us to. Honestly, I don't have a clue about that. It's far too deep for me.

Silly Sunday: It's All Relative

#BFF: Food

When I was a wee little girl, I ate two things: hot dogs and jello. The hot dogs had to be peeled of skin and cut into little round pieces while the jello was usually red.

My frantic mother rushed me to the doctor and asked, "What do I do?"

"Feed her hot dogs and jello," the doctor said.

(Reminds me of the old joke, "Doc, it hurts when I do this!"

"Don't do this.")

So Mom left me alone and with little fanfare, my food jag slipped away. Today there are very few foods I don't like. Don't get me wrong, there are many things I won't eat, but it's due to diet, health, or religious issues, not from stamping my feet like a two year old.

I still love hot dogs (even after the events from my A-Z hot dog post). Here is a picture of my lunch. Yes. That's a hot dog hiding behind asparagus, mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes. I count carbs, so you're not seeing a slice of bread, but I did eat a delicious 13 carb fiber brownie for dessert.  The vegetables are about 5 carbs per serving, and I probably have at least four servings on the plate, so I think I'm good. If not, I will instantly balloon out and have to throw out the few things that didn't shrink in my hot closet, but that's okay too because my kids have directions via Rita Rudner.

They've grown up hearing, "If I'm ever on life support, don't pull the plug until I'm a size six."

"Yes, Mother." They roll their eyes and never find me even slightly funny.

Back to the carbs. I started counting carbs in April and since then I've shed about twenty pounds. I don't eat much in the way of sugar, but that's nothing new. The thought of a glazed donut makes me want to gag, which is ironic because my WIP is a story called MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS and involves a little boy who's deprived of these and other delectables from his over protective mother.

I don't eat pork as a poor attempt to follow at least one kosher law. If I were truly a good Jew, I'd give up my favorite traif, shrimp, but it ain't happening. At least not outside the home.

I like wine, but every time I drink a glass, my blood sugar spikes. I'm not a Diabetic but the disease runs heavily in my family and that's the main reason I'm carb counting. I have a pre-Diabetic diagnosis and don't want to take it any further than that, so I figure I have a choice: Eat healthy and lose weight or get the disease and lose the weight of a leg or two. I choose the former. Yay! Blood sugar was 93 this morning.

As for foods I don't like, I hate liver, olives, sweet pickles and relish. I'm not a big fan of okra, but it has more to due with the slimy texture than the taste. It looks like snot and doesn't score too well on my appetizing meter.

Now that you know my food issues, I leave you with a musical number on the topic. Signing off from the Methodist Germantown Hospital. Surgery was a success, and I'm going home today. I hope the dogs don't attack me when I head through the door.

Beware of Dogs

Enjoy one of my favorite songs about a yummy food that I won't be eating for awhile.

Wordless Wednesday Meets BFF: Silly Me

Why couldn't we have fun like this when I was a kid?

#GBE2: "High" School

You know there's trouble when a school has an open lunch policy, a park next door, and a school full of spoiled rich kids with enough money to buy whatever they want. That was my 1970s high school.

Although I never partook in the afternoon escapes of my high school, I have vivid memories of the aftermath. Each day after lunch, I'd sit in English class and stare at the boy across the room. His handsome face was marred by bloodshot eyes and a faraway expression. He never spoke nor seemed to be a part of the class. Did the teacher not notice his drugged out appearance or did she just not care? It was scary to think someone could be that high in a high school class. It was even scarier to think of a good looking kid being so screwed up.

I know this is a humor blog, and I'm sure there is plenty to make fun of when it comes to high kids. I've included funny pictures because it's better than crying, but it just isn't funny to have recently attended TWO funerals for young men who over dosed. 

I attended "high" school without even a buzz. I survived, as did my stoned classmates, without any red ribbon weeks or "Just Say No" assemblies, so why are today's kids dying? Are the drugs containing dangerous fillers that my classmates didn't encounter? Is it a social class thing? Maybe my classmates bought purer drugs with their abundance of money. 

I know today's schools have a lot more control on kids than my school did. No open lunch policies and no smoking lounge for kids nor teachers. Is that the problem? Has too much restriction caused a youth rebellion? I don't know the answer to this. 

I'd say it's all about good parenting, but the parents mourning their kids are top notch! Seriously. These are wonderful parents who were there for the kids throughout.

I know this is not the direction Beth expected when she wrote "High School," but in lieu of what's been going on in my community it's what on my mind.

I can certainly tell the kids to "Just Say No," but I already did that. They didn't listen. So what now?