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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"
I'm ready to tell you my secret... I see glowing green butterflies.
I just saw a commercial for Lunesta, a drug to help one sleep. Its first nineteen seconds tells the consumer what the drug does, while most of the remaining airtime lists the multiple side effects that could occur.
For those who have not seen it, here it is:
"Walking, eating, driving or engaging in other activities while asleep without remembering it the next day have been reported."
Sounds like the movie Werewolves of London when the dude went out for nightly kills without remembering a thing the next morning. "I'm innocent by reason of Lunesta, Occifer."
"Abnormal behaviors may include aggressiveness, agitation, hallucinations, or confusion."
Yeah! You might imagine you see a green butterfly floating over your head; or if you take the drug, aggressiveness could cause you to fight and have someone knock you out. Voila, you're asleep... or maybe you just thought it happened?
"In depressed patients, worsening of depression along with risks of suicide may occur."
Suicide, huh? That's a sure way to get some sleep. "Allergic reaction such as tongue or throat swelling occur rarely and may be fatal." Another sleep enhancer with an added benefit. If your tongue swells large enough, it could stop you from snoring and help your husband, wife, or roommate sleep too.
"Side effects may include unpleasant taste, headaches, dizziness, and morning drowsiness."
Bad taste? Well, forget that drug!
I don't know about you, but if I have a head ache or feel dizzy, I'm going back to bed. And if one is drowsy in the morning, what's the point of taking a drug to help you sleep?
"Ask your doctor if Lunesta is right for you."
And before he answers, pray he likes you.
"Sleep well on the wings of Lunesta."
Yeah, right! It has so many side effects, I'd be awake all night worrying about them.
This January 29th reminds me of my youngest child who not only turns nineteen today but is also the silliest person I can think of this Sunday.
Erica, aka Bear or Erca, loves to snap goofy pictures of herself and post them on my cell phone. She also enjoys playing with my computer's photo shop, or at least she did years ago. One of my favorite shots is when she barged in on my parents' honey moon.
Wherever we go, she's great fun to have around, especially when she teams up with her brother to do the college strut. The two of them headed down the sidewalk as if they owned the place. Judy, my middle child, respectfully pretended not to know them as strangers stared. Erica said, "They're looking because they're jealous."
She also once called her brother's cell phone and said, "I'd like a cheese pizza and an order of chicken wings."
He said, "Erca! This is your brother."
Without missing a beat, my baby replied, "Da-nel. When you start working at Papa Johns?"
In case you missed it the first time, here's Erca and Wilberfoss giving a news report.
Don't you wish you could be silly too... or just turning nineteen? Happy Birthday, Erica!
This week's Writer's Post topic, The Blues, reminds me of the Jazz, Blues, and Folk Committee at the University of Missouri. Back in the days, I had fun meeting artists and working the stage for great ones like BB King, Chick Corea, Pat Metheny, and the one and only Leon Redbone. Of course, I have no actually memory of meeting Mr. Redbone; he performed the night after the 24-hour Dance Marathon. FML. Lack of sleep could definitely give one the blues. If you want to hear pathetic blues, listen to Leon Redbone sing I Ain't Got Nobody.
Sounds sad, but what's sadder are the stories you can read at http://www.fmylife.com/. Here are samples of real blues from that site.
Some twenty-five years ago, at a time when I didn't know anything about brand names, someone gave me a Rolex watch. As an anti-fur, don't be ostentatious type gal, I had no idea of the cost or prestige of such a gift. My sister even poked fun–simple me wearing a showy piece of jewelry–as if I knew I had something of value.
Being that it is pretty, I wore it for over twenty years without ever servicing it or buying other watches. I justified it by thinking how in the long run, its cost might be equal to the purchase of multiple watches that break every few years.
The watch has never kept great time–always five minutes slow. Someone told me to buy some gizmo that will spin it twenty-four / seven since it's wound through perpetual motion. I never have.
Last August, about the time this school year began, it stopped. Not having the time to get to my jeweler, who's a good drive from home and closes early, I paid $11 for a slap-on watch that kept better time than my Rolex; but, it eventually rolled off its band and disappeared. I figured I'd use my Fall Break to visit the jeweler and get my Rolex back.
Come vacation, I drove down Poplar to the shop where I found a sign on the door, "On vacation. Be back--yep, you guessed it, the day my vacation ended.
After another month, we finally got the watch to the jeweler who sent it across the country for ridiculously expensive services. I wore my watch almost a month, and then, the band broke. Back to where I started. Will I ever find the time to fix my time keeper? Maybe someone like me is not meant to wear a Rolex.
A man who just died is delivered to a local mortuary wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit.
The female blonde mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed. She points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing.
The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the blonde mortician a blank check and she says, "I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing."
The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly.
She says to the mortician, "Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?" To her astonishment, the blonde mortician presents her
with the blank check.
"There's no charge," she says.
"No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!" she says.
"Honestly, ma'am," the blonde says, "it cost nothing. You see a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice."
In a previous post, I mentioned that I didn't want folks telling me what religion to follow. Along the same vein, don't tell me what books to read, what music to listen to, nor what shows to watch. Part of being an American is having the freedom not to have someone else censor my life.
But what's really wrong with censorship is the fact that your mind might fill in the blanks with a whole new meaning. Watch this censored version of The Count.
Or look at part of this speech that I've shortened and censored just for you.
You have been reading about a bad *%^ I got. I have been in *#% and have received #$* from @*&. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his life just to #$@ with *%^ for even one #$@?
Ooooo wouldn't you love to #$@ with #$@? Just ask Lou Gehrig.
When it comes to "Pet Peeves," there are two types: a few that matter and most that don't. Which reminds me of a speaker at a gifted teachers' conference years ago. She spoke about little quirks present in our smart students, how we probably share these, and finally it's not an accident that we ended up teaching these perfectionist kids.
If you want to drive a gifted kid nuts, it's easy. All you have to do is hang one poster at an angle instead of straight. You do this, and I guarantee most intellectually gifted kids will be focused on that crooked poster because this is THEIR pet peeve. Of course, I could never perform this monstrous task because it would drive me mad too.
Although my house is far from spotless–perfectionism gone too far–when folding towels or bedsheets, those corners better match up. Peanut butter must spread across every square inch of bread, and toilet paper drops from the top. Annoyance at seeing a sloppy job is a silly pet peeve of mine. Furthermore, I can't stand to have the light switches positioned the wrong way. After all, up is for "on" and down is for "off." I will tread across a dark room at the risk of breaking bones rather than flip the switch in the wrong direction. As you read this, half of you are thinking, she's nuts, while the other half is nodding in agreement. Either way, my gifted class is just like me, so maybe there's something to this?
And here's another one... see pants drop.
I also have multiple pet peeves when it comes to drivers, but I've already written about this: Idiot Drivers
Now on to a pet peeve that matters a little more.
Religion.
I know many feel like they are doing G-d's work or saving my soul when they try to push me to believe what they believe, but I find it nauseating. I don't tell you who or what you should worship, so how dare you try to push your beliefs on me! Missionaries who venture into some Arab countries have found themselves in fear for their lives. While I don't condone putting missionaries to death, I certainly understand the anger. People who have been practicing their beliefs their entire lives don't appreciate some no nothing telling them they are wrong. Just like you value your religion, I value mine and others value theirs. I don't tell you that your life learnings are incorrect nor do I tell you you're going to H*ll if you don't believe what I believe. So, this is my true pet peeve... leave me alone.
At the same time, I can appreciate those missionaries who have made a difference in the lives of starving people in third world countries. It's all a matter of who they approach and how. Along this line, I have friends who have told me that they pray for me. While I appreciate their concerns and know they do it out of love, if they are praying for me to change my religion, they're wasting their time. I love my faith.
My intelligent and learned brother has seen the end of missionaries trying to convert him. The last poor guy to walk across his threshold found his beliefs thrown back at him in such a way that he had no choice: he could admit that what he preached was messed up or give away his pants. The missionary left in his underwear.☺
