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My humorous thoughts about life.
"My Humorous and Helpful Thoughts About Teaching / Educational Resources for Your
Classroom / Music and Random Fun"
After blowing on the red soup, I cautiously sipped it off the spoon. It's cold? Next I knew, I gagged, coughed, and thumped my chest. All this money, and these people couldn’t even heat the food.
“You don't 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, everyone likes murderers. Sick. This guy’s really sick.
From the first time I strummed my Lil Tykes guitar,
I knew I wanted to be a rock star, and it didn't end there. Come elementary
school, the neighborhood kids and me formed our band in the front yard. We
banged pots, pans, and anything else to make our music. From there, we played high school gigs and dressed our way to fame.
Kids
love our hair dye job. Each one of us has a unique color and style that makes an
awesome rainbow when we get together. Ty's balloon shaped hair glows as red as Ronald the clown,
while Keifer goes for neon blue feathers. Suse shines yellow sunbeams, while I grow the green leafy
look. It came in handy today.
The
old saying, "Watch what you wish for" is
true. I wanted to be a star. Each night, I dreamed of being swooned over
by an audience. But, no one told me how nuts our fan base would be.
See, after we left
stage this morning, a group of loose screws chased our limo. The driver swerved, we
hit a wall, and the fans tore our doors off.
All I could do was run. I headed to a nearby farm
and ducked into this old
wheelbarrow. As I hide in here, everyone will think my
hair is a plant. I just hope those druggies don't pull out my locks and
try to smoke me.
Hey, Hey, I don't want to be a pop star!
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For this week's Silly Sunday at Rhonda's Laugh Quotes, I've searched the internet to bring you some funny works of... well you'll have to figure that out.
Jeannie Campbell is hosting a blog hop and contest about getting to know our characters. So please meet the main character of my Work in Progress. Then you may buzz over to her site and meet other fictional people. How To Connect With Your MC
Knob's formal name is William Donald Donellson, but he received the nick name of Knob after Slater announced that his shaved hair made his head look like a door knob. Knob is a respectable name for an amazing, tough soldier. Unfortunately as the butt of the fifth grade, Wimpy Will has never felt like a tough anything.
Thanks for the interview. I'll answer the questions as best I can because I always do.
Question 1:What is your greatest fear?
Gee, that's a tough one because I'm scared of everything. My brother died from falling off a bicycle and bleeding to death. I know, it sounds weird, but he had a disease called hemophilia and the doctors couldn't save him. Although I don't have the disease, you'd think I did by the way my mom hovers over me. I guess I'm scared of getting it. They say it's hereditary, so what happens if one day I catch hemophilia, start bleeding, and can't stop it?
Question 2:What is your biggest accomplishment?
I'm smart. Two years ago I won my age group in The Under the Arch Chess Tournament. I almost won again last year but a girl named Haley beat me. She's the only one who can beat me at chess, and I'm a little knock kneed at the thought of going up against her this year in the ten-year-old's category. Okay, I confess, I kinda like her, so scratch out my answer to question one. I'm most afraid of Haley--which is probably why I lost the tournament.
Question 3: What is your biggest regret?
I regret letting Randy bug me all the time in class. He always bullies me, but I've never stopped him because I'm kinda chicken. If I tell him to leave me alone, he might punch me, make me bleed, and do it in front of Haley. So on second thought, I guess I'm most afraid of Randy Butcher.
You didn't ask me what's been bugging me, but I'm going to tell you anyway. No one has gotten to meet me because my author has not gotten my story into query shape. It needs a lot of revisions. Here's the start of my story, MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS by Joyce Paull Lansky. If you like it, tell your agent or editor friend about her because I want to be famous. Err, maybe not. It might be scary.
Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts
Every Friday after school, Harrison Zimmerman invited popular boys—not me, over for a stupid end-of-the-week celebration. His mom, the best chef in St. Louis County and co-founder of Zimmerman’s bakery, would fry up homemade donuts dipped in thick chocolate sauce. My mouth watered as we drove down Aberdeen Avenue and I breathed in the scent of those gooey pieces on a bed of powdered sugar.
By the age of ten most guys had wolfed down seven-dozen pastries or more, but I’d never even tasted Mrs. Zimmerman’s donuts. I convinced myself that it was because my mom would’ve fallen into a tantrum at the thought of me swallowing anything slightly junky. She usually made a fuss over eating healthy as if my gut would explode if the tiniest bit of sugar or grease tickled my insides. But the real reason I’d never eaten the donuts—the fact that bothered me even more than Mom’s obsession over food, cleanliness, and safety—was that Harrison had never asked me to come to his stupid party. Actually, no one had ever invited me to go anywhere; but things were about to change.
That's what's been bugging me, but it's okay. Slater moved to town,
and he's going to help me be cool. See ya later. ❧ Knob
I've been challenged to write about this chair. Well, okay. I've written about sea shells, dragons, and dandruff, so surely I can come up with a word or two about a chair--from the chair's point of view. Why not?
What are you looking at? Oh, yeah. I forgot that I have gorgeous scenery out my window. Not that I ever get to look at it. Behind is my magic word. The sea is behind me. You think I ever get to hear the movement of the water or feel the wind against my velvet. All I get is a smelly behind on top of me, and these people aren't lightweights either. In fact, my velvet used to be yellow but I became so flustered from the fat gal, that I turned as orange as an Oompa Loompa. Yet I'm supposed to look pretty and pretend that I don't have the worst job in the house.
Flush! Err, uh, correction--the second worst job in the house.
Click on this icon to see the Grandma Goulash's picture challenge and hop onto other pages.
I just finished the A-Z April Blogging challenge, and now I've signed up for the Z-A in May. What am I nuts? I guess I just need a little direction on what to write about . . . and zowwy, maybe a little time to figure out my posts. Stick with me, and I'll figure this out along the way. Even though May is the longest month of the year--just ask any teacher--I'm going to stay awake and make this blog challenge happen with zest!
Here We Go Again!
I thoroughly enjoyed the A-Z Challenge. During the month of April, I picked up a lot of new followers, but unfortunately, I'm not sure how many. Maybe between 75-100. I surprised myself in how I was able to keep up with it and come up with original topics for each letter. I enjoyed the challenge so much that here we go again. I signed up for this new Z-A Challenge at:
No. My son's name is not really Wilberfoss. At least that's not the name we gave him at birth.
Not his Birth Name/ Not his Actual Photo
It all started when Facebook circulated a "Rate Your Parents" app that was good for a few laughs. By clicking the allow button, Facebook would analyze your name, tally how many folks from the year you were born were given the same name, and give your parents a score (A-F) on how creative they were in the naming process. So Daniel, the child with the eighth most popular name from the year he was born, decided to rate his parents, AKA us.
Next I knew, he participated then sent me a Facebook message, "Mama! You got an F."
I replied, "Studies show that kids with more common names are better accepted in society."
"Studies show you got an F."
Fine. Daniel wants a creative name, I'd find him one. I searched name sites to see what I could discover. Then I added my own unique twist to the name "Wilbur." Viola, Wilberfoss!
"You want a creative name. Okay, son. From now on your name is Wilberfoss."
Daniel, err Wilberfoss, changed his Facebook name and we received an A+! All would be great except Facebook refused to allow him to change his name back to Daniel. So, almost two years later, my son is still named Wilberfoss. Even some of his friends have started to call him by that A+ name.
That should teach him to complain.
Tune in tomorrow for the letter X. Now what am I supposed to do with the letter X?
I have a quintessential husband. For those who aren't familiar with the word:
quintessential |ˌkwintəˈsen ch əl|
adjective
representing the most perfect or typical example of a quality or class
That's Mitchell! I married him almost a Quarter of a century ago and along with the man, I've acquired a magic sink. I put dirty dishes in it, and they come out clean. I've found this same magical quality sometimes happens in the laundry room too. The dogs get fed and the trash cans emptied. Not only is this amazing, but it's also making me a lazy wife.
Quintessential
Not only does he do these mundane chores, but he also pays our bills, taxes, and keeps us all organized about what needs to be accomplished and when. He's better than a date book and an alarm clock! When I need to get up, he sets the alarm and is sure to nudge me if I'm not moving. I'm not even sure how to operate any gadgets around the house or my life, for that matter.
He's cute too. Mitchell gets up early every morning and runs, bikes, swims, or something to maintain his quintessential physique. Plus, he gives a great back rub! I really don't deserve him.
My friend Rhonda at http://www.laugh-quotes.com asked me to participate in the A to Z Blogging Challenge where we will post a blog every day (but Sunday) in April. Each post will progress through the letters of the alphabet. It'll be tough, but I'm willing to try, so be on the look out for my interview with Mr. Harold Lyon Baer, a super, awesome literary agent!
Everyone's heard the saying that March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, but in the south we take it a bit further. If March enters like a lamb (it did), it goes out like a lion (yep). So how can that be? It seems to go in and out in opposite ways. Off course if you get a lot of rain in March like we're getting now, it should help the grass grow.
This healthy grass theory might work, except my husband planted grass seed on only half of our lawn. So the left grows luscious green blades while the other side bares brown stubble. He claims it was a good move because we lost the lake in the backyard; however, it looks goofy.
Just think how great life would be if we did a half job with everything. Shaving's a pain, so I think I'll shave one leg from now on. Okay, it's late. I'll go tweeze my right eyebrow then climb in bed.
Oops, what if I missed and plucked the eye instead? . ⠅⠅⠄⠎⠂⠒⠁⠉⠌⠌⠅ I'd be in trouble because reading Braille doesn't work for computer screens--dang it! Oh, wait. I'd only be blind in one eye. No problem.☺
On March 27, 2002, I accompanied my son to Italy for a soccer tournament. In the middle of the night, an odd alarm that we hadn't set woke us up with a single beep. I call it a good bye because early the next morning, our phone rang to tell us that my mother had unexpectedly died late that past night. Although she'd been sick, she was getting better, and no one expected a heart attack to steal my beautiful and witty mother away from this world after only 75 years of life. So, in memory of my mother, I dedicate today's post to her because her sense of humor helped to make me who I am today.
During my grade school years, my mother would often become frazzled by her "friend" Five by Five, as Mom called her. Mrs. Five by Five, five feet tall and five feet wide, had a homely daughter who she swore looked just like me. My mother's mama claws would flare as she'd spit out how I was so much prettier than the daughter of five by five.
Mama Claws
I must not have been too terribly ugly because a few years after that a carload of boys stopped next to us and cat called from my passenger side window. At least I think they were hooting at me, but maybe not. For my mother hoisted her left hand into the air and yelled, "I'm married!"
"Darn it!" The boys promptly said.
Florence Paull
Mom didn't lose her humor with age, nor did she lose her ability to spit out anyone's birthday after hearing it once. In her wheelchair, she sat in the middle of the dance floor at my daughter's Bat Mitzvah party. Goofy neon necklaces covered her head and neck but she didn't bother to remove them like most elderly people would have done. Yeah, that was Mom. She was also the lady who taught my kids how to shoot straws out of paper so they could misbehave in restaurants.
I miss you, Mom, even though I sometimes sense you telling me to be careful not to trip over broken sidewalks or other messages straight from you. Are you still here or was that one bleep of the alarm your final salute? None the less, today is the anniversary of your death, so here's to you. Did you know my mom? If so, what do you remember about her?
When I first joined the world of Twitter and blogging, I was hesitant to follow anyone's blog because I didn't understand what being a follower meant. Thinking my inbox would be jammed with spam, I avoided following blogs. But now that I've clicked many "join" buttons and have a follow button of my own, I know the truth: Following a blog means basically nothing. By clicking that little button, you've told the blogger, and anyone else to visit, that you like the blog . . . or maybe you want to win something they are giving away. That's it. No e-mails or spam. If anyone should bother you, click unfollow. It's easy.
So why do I care if you follow my blog? Here's why: I hope to join the ranks of published author one day. As someone with novel writing as an aspiration, I sometimes send queries out to agents and editors who are known to search the internet to find out about potential clients. If one should happen to come across my blog, it looks good to have a lot of followers, frequent posts, and even some comments related to the posts. That's it. No spam, and I promise not to bother you; so please, won't you click the follow button? I'm at twenty-four followers and want to grow.
