Theme Thursday: Eyes

I know you think these smiling eyes belong to some great celebrity, and you may be right... but not yet. Mrsupole asks if one can smile with their eyes. I certainly believe it as proven in the above photo, but what do smiling eyes mean? Is the barer smiling because she is up to no good or perhaps she knows a secret that she dare not tell. Wouldn't it be great to be able to pop into anyone's head and know what they're thinking? Or perhaps the thoughts of others might not be so wonderful, especially when they're thinking how weird you are.

I've always been an eye girl. Some women like to stare at male six packs, booties, or beards, but not me. I'll take a pair of sexy peepers any day. As a result, my husband has great eyes. Round, dark pools of warmth snatched me early in our dating. I guess it was his eyes because he couldn't hold a tune even if it were hot glued to his hands. In fact, he sings so badly that his high school music teacher told him to shut up and lip sync. I guess that educator wasn't enticed by beautiful eyes. Neither was the wet fool next to the "malfunctioning" wave pool in the high school science lab. Tee hee.

Do you want to know why the eyes up top are smiling? Okay, I'll tell you. It's the result of repeatedly holding a camera phone to one's own eyes and snapping stupid picture after stupid picture. Glad no one was home to see that one!

Let's end this with a little celebrity eye game. Guess whose eyes and if I don't forget the answers by the time I tally up my responses, I'll tell you if you're right.

A.

B.

C.

#Wordless Wednesday: First Days

My daughter sent me this cartoon, and I could relate to it all too much. How about you?

#GBE2: Peace

In the midst of those noisy screaming matches, I always told my kids, "Parents don't want fair, they want peace." Apparently, we weren't the only ones wanting a little quiet now and then. After a visit to the Chinese restaurant, I found someone else out to get some peace. 

 

Now let's give this some thought, why would a cookie need sleep? They don't have eyes to see kids tugging over the same toy, ears to hear the "She looked at me cry," or even a sense of touch to feel the wrestling kids bump into it.

Cookies are never up late at night worrying about the kid who missed curfew or even bothered by dogs barking at the squirrels outside. Even a pesky fly wouldn't bother a fortune cookie. I'd say they're dead, but doesn't one need to live in order to die?

Throughout this stressful life, I have come to the conclusion that I will never truly be at peace until someone throws dirt over my dead body. If a dirt nap is the only way to truly be at peace, I guess I'll pass.

Watch the Pink Panther in his quest for peace.

Silly Sunday: Designated Drivers

 "Would you date a twenty-year-old?" she asked.

"Sure! That way I'd have a designated driver."

Her face turned crimson while her smile faded.

As if that wasn't enough of a controversy, he continued. "One day I'll get hitched, knock the girl up, and have nine months of a designated driver."

In comes the peanut gallery, "Of course if she nurses, you could have years."

Theme Thursday: Promises

On my honor,

I will try,

to do my duty,

to God and my country,

to help other people

at all times, 

and to obey the Girl Scout Laws.

We recited that promise before every meeting, yet I doubt if any of us truly knew the meaning of what we were saying. 

Honor means to fulfill an obligation when used in this context, but to a kid it means squat. Kids hear about "Honor Roll," that certificate one gets when achieving high grades, or calling a judge "your honor," but what is "on my honor" to a kid? Is that like sitting on a high bench like a judge or meaning you promise to make high grades. Reciting "On my honor" could have been the same as talking about cadavers–beyond kid vocabulary.

When saying I'd do my duty, I always got a chuckle because it sounded like going doo doo. I wonder if any other Girl Scouts giggled over that one. I never even knew what my duty was, so why promise it?

Doing doo doo to God sounds ominous, whereas Doo doo to my country sounds like I'm gonna fight a war. Yep! Little innocent children carried bombs to soldiers during Vietnam. I'm glad us green skirted girly girls weren't called upon to "do our duty." If we're not talking war time, how does a little girl "do duty to her country?"

"Helping other people" sounds like a keeper phrase, but at all times? What if the adult doesn't want help? What if the little girls just get in the way? Is it really necessary to help other people at all times?

Finally, we promised to obey the Girl Scout laws. What the heck were those laws? I don't think I ever knew.

Since this little promise is pointless, I'm going to present my own.

I promise

to try

to listen to the troop leaders

and not be a brat at meetings,

to help other people when they want my help,

and to learn the Girl Scout Laws. 

Then I'll find the lameness of them too and have more fun.

Wordless Wednesday fits GBE2's "Snapshots"

I'm back from my niece's fabulous wedding and here are some of my favorite pictures.

My sister in green.

I never knew New York was so beautiful.

Ahhh, the kiss.

I like the way they look at each other.

I was terrified when lifted in the chair on my wedding day. Not these two!

Silly Sunday: Alladin in Real Life

Hello, Readers. Sorry I'm a bit late with my Silly Sunday post. I'm in New York for my niece's wedding. I'm having a great time visiting with relatives and gathering new silliness for future posts. Remind me to tell you about Anna and the frogs. Until then, here's a fun YouTube video that you're sure to enjoy. Then we're off to West Point. Maybe I can get my daughter to transfer there. Now that's funny!

Theme Thursday: Aromas

What's funny about aromas? Nothing, but head into a Bath and Body Works and you might find some humor in what they name their fragrances. I can only guess what these delicious flavors must smell like.

Autumn: This must be a collection of rotted pumpkins or Halloween candy. Put some behind your ears and hope the mosquitoes are gone for the season.

Caribbean Escape: A mixture of sea weed and dead fish with a floral base.

Dark Kiss: The smell of DEATH! Isn't that what Harry Potter's dementors did when they sucked all the joy out of their victims?

Green Grass: Allergy sufferers need to watch out for this one. Guaranteed to make your nose drip and eyes water.

Island Colada: This aroma is only for those of legal age.

Kitchen Lemon: Pucker up because this aroma makes one round those lips... and it's not to whistle.

Sage Cucumber: Really? I never thought to mix sage with cucumbers and then wear it!

and finally...

P.S. I Love You: What would love smell like? Probably the sweetest aroma of all!

Wordless Wednesday: Clowning Around

My daughter has been clowning around with her boyfriend.

 

#GBE2: Two Perspectives of My Mob Story

This week's challenge is to write two separate, but related pieces. I have chosen a scene from my unpublished young adult manuscript, BEING BOMPSY CARLETTA. For those who don't know, I started this blog because I am an aspiring author. I've written five novels but haven't published any of them. Time to send out some queries.

My first passage is from Fiso Carleffa’s point of view. Fiso is the mob boss father who had recently been united with his fifteen-year-old son after twelve years of believing the kid and his mother had died in a car wreck. The story was originally written in Ben Smith's, aka Bompsy Carleffa’s, first person point of view.

 

          Bompsy's eyes widened then a bewildered expression covered his face. What had his mom been feeding him all these years? Mac and cheese? He didn’t look malnourished, but he certainly wasn’t used to eating gourmet either. “Do you like the gazpacho?” I asked.

            He dropped his spoon and looked at me like I was feeding him poison.

            “Eat it. It’s good for you.” I twirled my spoon in a circular motion until he finally took another sip. That's when I realized my own son was afraid of me. I guess I'd screwed up when I ordered his beating, but what else could I have done after he cursed and punched me? I’m his own father and the kid didn’t even know me, nor at least respect me.

            Gil brought us our pallet cleansers and once again Bompsy scrunched his brows together while staring at the sherbet.

            “You look confused.” I pointed to Bompsy's plate. “That’s a palate cleanser.”

            He clearly didn’t understand.

             “Your mom sure didn’t show you the finer things in life.” How will I ever make this boy feel at home? Maybe I should apologize for the whipping.

             “Can I be excused?” he said.

            “Now? You haven’t had dinner.”

            “I’m not up to eating.” He stared at his hands. Poor kid had chewed his nails off completely. I wanted to spend more time with him, but he obviously couldn’t wait to get away from me.

            “Very well, but learn to call this home. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll even love me like I love you.” If that boy’s mom lives, it won’t be for long.

Brent Turner

This is how I picture my character Ben/Bompsy, so this young actor can play him if he doesn't have gray hair by the time my book gets published and becomes a movie. The next bit of text is the original wording from my novel. Please read the same scene told from Ben/Bompsy's point of view and hopefully you'll see the humor in it that Fiso didn't catch.

           When I sipped the soup, I was shocked. Cold soup? All this money, and these people couldn’t heat the soup.

            “Do you like the gazpacho?” Fiso asked.

            I dropped my spoon on the table. Why would he mention the Gestapo? What was he, a modern day Nazi? Sure, doesn’t everyone like murderers? Sick. This guy’s really sick!

            “Eat it. It’s good for you.” Fiso twirled his spoon in a circular motion.

            Not wanting another beating, I forced the soup down my throat. I was a spineless wimp doing whatever that Nazi demanded. The soup left a spicy, hot taste in my mouth so I drank more water. Gil put a small scoop of sherbet in front of me. I stared at the lime mound. Dinner must’ve been over since he’d already brought dessert.

            “You look confused.” Fiso pointed to my plate. “That’s a palate cleanser.”

            I didn’t get it.

           “Your mom sure didn’t show you the finer things in life.”

            How was this a finer thing? What was I supposed to do with the light green lump? I lifted a small sample to my tongue and choked the sweet, icy food down. My full mind didn’t want to feed my empty stomach. “Can I be excused?”

            “Now? You haven’t had dinner.”

            “I’m not up to eating.” I lowered my head and stared at my fingers. I wasn’t a nail biter, yet somehow had chewed my nails down to the pink on the way to St. Louis.

            “Very well, but learn to call this home. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll even love me like I love you.”

            Love? How could that monster talk about love? He had his brother kidnap me, Mom killed, and my back scarred, but I was supposed to love him?

 

If any agents or editors are visiting my blog, BEING BOMPSY CARLEFFA is available for publication, and I will send it to legitimate agencies upon request. I have also written a sequel to this novel and three other original works for children and/or teens, as well as a published story in AppleSeeds magazine. Furthermore, I am an active member of SCBWI and have completed course work at the Institute for Children's Literature.

Silly Sunday: Dear Dr. Laura

Here's a response to Dr. Laura Schlessinger that's been circulating the internet since circa May 2000. Unfortunately, the clever author is unknown.

On her radio show, Dr. Laura said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following response is an open letter to Dr. Schlesinger, written by a US man, and posted on the Internet.

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I'm confident you can help.

Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

P.S. (It would be a damn shame if we couldn't own a Canadian.)

Theme Thursday: Recollections of a Runner

As I watch the Olympic track stars, I recall my brief brush with victory in an elementary school field day foot race. We gathered at the start of the cross country course at Shaw Park while the gym teacher pointed to the various trees we were to pass. As an active listener, I took careful note of the course then quickly fell into my usual spot of DFL. (For those who are not runners, DFL stands for D%mn  F*cking  Last).

As the race progressed, I didn't understand why all the other kids were sprinting to the wrong tree. The PE teacher clearly showed us the course, but the girls weren't running it, so I hot footed it to the tree as instructed earlier.

Apparently, the adult at one tree didn't listen as well as I had. He told the lead runner to head to the wrong tree and all the athletes followed her... except for me. I found myself in the lead when the others had to backtrack to the tree they'd skipped. Unfortunately my lack of running skill didn't hold up on a steep hill right before the finish line. The former lead runner, a true athlete, passed me and took first. But hey, I received a second place red ribbon which is more than I'd ever gotten in my turtle-like existence.

In 1972, Dave Wottle was not the only runner to win after starting out in last place!

                                                                                                

Wordless Wednesday: Water Proof Raincoats

Wow! 

These raincoats are waterproof!

#GBE2: Hidden

He opened a box of Mott's Fruit roll ups only to find one Market Pantry pack hiding inside. How does one find a competing Target brand hidden in a sealed package? We didn't even buy the product at a Target store.

Here's my theory: Market Pantry, a Target brand, sells for a lot less than name brand items. Perhaps it's a shrewd marketing trick. Someone tiptoed into the Motts' plant and hid their employer's off brand product in the name brand box. If the consumer eats the Market Pantry brand and finds that it tastes the same or better than the name brand, next time, he or she will switch to the generic product.

I have to wonder how this spy got into the factory. Has this been done before? Ie., Dear Readers, How many of you have ever found an off brand addition hidden in a name brand box? Is this legal?

Or... Maybe it's just a kid playing a prank while visiting his parent's factory.

Silly Sunday: Looking Old

When a lady visits a new doctor, she recognizes his name as being the same as someone she'd gone to school with; however, this man looks much too old to be the fellow from her class. After much careful consideration, she says, "I think you were in my class."

To which the man replies, "Oh, really. What did you teach?"

Here's a funny clip about a prank on the young whipper snappers.

                                               

                                                                               

                                                                             

Theme Thursday: Confusing

Unplugged

Maybe I shouldn't admit my Beverly Hillbillies moment. After all, everyone occasionally hears odd beeps or settling in a home. Sometimes these noises can get downright annoying such as the weather radio, that I simply unplug when it buzzes nonstop. Okay, okay, I heard the beeping signaling a storm coming. Now shut up already! My husband gets aggravated at me for unplugging the thing, but at least I'm not running outside with my camera, like someone else I know.

Sometimes we hear a shuffling sound in the walls. It's those stupid squirrels who moved into our attic. They don't even pay rent! 

Anyone want to buy a squirrel?

                                                                           

The thing about weather radios and squirrels is they aren't confusing. After all, I know exactly what makes them disturb the peace. Confusing was that occasional beep coming somewhere from the kitchen. Every now and then, I'd hear it and wonder. Finally, I made a comment to my husband, "What is that?"                                                    

                                                                           

Mitchell laughed and laughed. It was my new phone. It meant I'd gotten a text message.           

                                                                          

Well gahlly! How is ah supposin' to know that? 

I tain't never had no smart gizmo befores.

                                                                            

It takes several episodes for Jed and company to figure out where "thet music is a-comin' from" whenever somebody rings their doorbell.