#GBE2: Guilty Pleasures

It wasn't my birthday, Christmas, or any other reason to get a present; however, my dad took me to the store and told me to pick out a game. Dad paid four dollars for The Game of Life and helped me make a permanent memory of the joy of getting a present for no reason at all. 

We weren't poor. In fact, we were quite well off. I had everything I needed; I just didn't have everything I wanted. Is that so bad?

Most of today's kids don't understand the true thrill of getting a gift since they are constantly bombarded with the spoils of childhood. My parents never bought me a new bike yet ocassionally bought me new toys. Add that to the hand-me-downs from older siblings, and I had a terrific stash! 

My kids went to camp with a bunch of spoiled Dallas kids. Forgive me Texans, but these brats were ridiculous. They received care packages every single day of a month long session. One mother mailed her daughter bottled water because that from the tap was not good enough for her darling. Can you imagine how expensive it would be to mail water? Postage would probably cost more than the water itself. As the kids got these packages, they'd carelessly roll their eyes and poo poo the contents. 

"I have enough beach towels. Anyone want this one?"

No joke. My daughter would come home with all sorts of care package goodies, so why spend the money to send her one? Don't get me wrong. She'd get a care package or two over the course of a month. When they arrived, they were appreciated too.

My daughter's best friend in the cabin also received as many care packages as my kid. One night the counselors confessed, "You two are our favorite campers!" Gee, I wonder why?

So, when the group asks, "What's your guilty pleasure?" I'm not thinking of something fattening or expensive. My mind goes for something I don't need--such as candy. It has no nutritional value nor does candy fix hunger or thirst. I don't need it, and there is no point in spending even a measly two dollars on something like this. Therefore, here is my sugar free, low calorie, cheap, guilty pleasure. You're probably thinking, Is that all?

Yes. That's all. I've learned to be content with my lot, and furthermore, I don't buy things that truly make me feel guilty. It's not worth it. Ironically, candy was the 10¢ item my mother would often break down and buy me as we went through the grocery store check out. So, I guess in that way, I got what I wanted.

Wordless Wednesday: Time to Take the Keys

Last Friday, I took my daughter to the econo hour theater. Get this: a first run movie for $4.00 plus popcorn and soft drink for $1.00! On the way to the movie, we stopped by my husbands office. Suddenly, a deafening pop riddled the air and two frantic females ran circles while screaming, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

I thought for sure someone had been shot from the sound, yelping, and white smoke rising in the air. But no. An old man backed up.

Apparently, the two women pulled into a parking lot to switch cars. They got out and watched this man crash into their cars and one other. Time to take away the keys, before a person rather than just a car gets injured.

P.S. We loved The Lucky One starring Zach Effron.

Writer's Post: Stirring The Pot

This weeks Writer's Post topic is "Stirring the Pot." Here is my take on the matter.

Have you ever been cooking when suddenly you have to run to the bathroom? You tell your husband or kids to stir the pot, but do they? Noooo. By the time you're no longer indisposed, the soup has either boiled onto the stove or is crusted on the bottom. When this happens the results are two fold. If you're lucky, you're eating burnt food and scraping the bottom of the pan for an hour or so. But if you're unlucky, three firetrucks come tearing down the street with their sirens screaming and the neighbors peeking out their windows. 

So why is it people never listen to Mom and stir the pot? It's a national tragedy! In fact, I'll bet if you counted the number of times firetrucks–What? What's that you say? Figurative meaning, not literal meaning? 

B*tch!

Uncontainable Love - My Dog's Escapades

Swizzle Inn / Swazzle Out - Bermuda Fun

Twenty-six years ago this month, my husband and I honeymooned in Bermuda, where we ordered drinks and dinner at The Swizzle Inn. With the typical sunny skies, a fabulous island breeze, and mild temperatures, we sat outside under that green awning in the picture above. The 'Swizzle Inn' sign dangled from a chain straight ahead of me while I sipped a tasty golden-colored Bermuda rum swizzle.

Our dinner conversation bubbled with the excitement of the golden retriever puppy we'd be meeting as soon as we returned home to Memphis. But most of all, we puzzled over what to name him. It took a flash of inspiration to glance at the sign and know that Swizzle would soon become our first born son.

Puppy Love

We first met Swizzle at our mayor's son's home after answering an ad in the newspaper. We hopped into the red Jeep and drove the short distance to have the ultimate dog picking experience. Experienced dog owners know to choose the precious fur ball who's asleep in the corner. However, while in our young twenties, we never got that memo. The dog owners led us outside to where the litter had been kept. In fact, they stayed outside so much, that going to the bathroom in the grass was all they knew. Instantly house broken! Of course with smart dogs like golden retrievers, the house breaking routine is never too difficult.


As the litter of golden delights romped through the yard with enough energy to power a house if we could only learn to harness it, we checked them out.

Swizzle & Me - 1986

Each fluffy baby radiated with young life and breathed tuna fish scented breath as they darted by. With so much cuteness in one yard, it was tough knowing which puppy to choose. As a result, I did what any young crazy person would do. I plopped onto the ground and waited a nano second to see who'd stop by to meet me. Big mistake! Within moments, I was covered in wet kisses and muddy paw prints all down my red-collared shirt. Never had I felt so loved as I did sitting Indian style on the patio of the dog owners back yard.

Swizzle & Erica

Although all the babies were cute–what golden pup isn't?–Swizzle was the energetic little guy who consistently made it to the center of my lap and close to my heart. He'd hop over all his brothers and sisters to make sure I noticed his presence and make him our very own.

We took the pup home, nurtured him with plenty of love, and watched him grow into a handsome stud dog.

Memories of Swizzle

After twelve years of joy, we lost our beloved Swizzle, but his memory lives on forever. We've even nailed his dog charm to his favorite spot by the stairwell.

Swizzle's photograph was hung in The Swizzle Inn in Bermuda along with many other photographs from fans of the restaurant. Hopefully, it's still there.

This post written in partnership with Dog Fence DIY and their team of dog containment system specialists. The DIY team seeks to engage dog owners and promote positive and safe dog safety practices. Please visit our sponsor at http://www.dogfencediy.com

Wordless Wednesday: Blink

Ruby

Only my dog has constant issues with blinking while pictures are being taken. ~Daniel 

#GBE2 : Parody

This week's GBE2 topic is "Parody," which is hard since my favorite movies are those that make fun of serious ones. So I figure I'll have to take a serious topic in my life and get a laugh out of it. Why should this post be different than any others?

My gynecologist and I are working to make fun summer plans. See I've got this growth in my uh-hm that's the size of a red, ripe, juicy strawberry--although it's shaped more like Charlie Brown's head than Stewie Griffin's.

Charlie Brown

Stewie Griffin

This little bugger bear not only makes my stomach protrude like a pregnant woman's, but it has also caused a bloody bad time along with tummy aches. However, my hormones indicate I'm still well within my baby making years.

"NOOOO!" I don't wanna go birthin' no babies. So, I've decided to kiss my female parts goodbye and undergo a hysterectomy.

Now if they take away my female parts, am I still a female? I don't anticipate growing chest hair and swinging on vines, since the male parts won't be there either. Maybe I should change my name to Pat. 

As an adrogynous person, I wouldn't have to wear dresses or paint my toe nails--not that I do anyway. I wouldn't have to style my hair nor wear make up. But most importantly, I'll surely lose ten pounds when they take this organ out? See I carried three babies in it, with the heaviest kid being over eight pounds, plus the placenta. A flimsy little organ could never carry that much baby weight, could it? Maybe getting rid of these used auto parts isn't such a bad idea after all. However, why is it called a HYSterectomy? Shouldn't it be a HERsterectomy?

Until next time,

Pat

Silly Sunday: History Lesson

The History of the Middle Finger 

English Archers

  Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured English soldiers. Without the middle finger it would be impossible to draw the renowned English longbow and therefore they would be incapable of fighting in the future. This famous English longbow was made of the native English Yew tree, and the act of drawing the longbow was known as 'plucking the yew' (or 'pluck yew'). 

 
Much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French, saying, See, we can still pluck yew!  Since 'pluck yew' is rather difficult to say, the difficult consonant cluster at the beginning has gradually changed to a labiodentals fricative F', and thus the words often used in conjunction with the one-finger-salute!  It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows used with the longbow that the symbolic gesture is known as 'giving the bird.' 

And yew thought yew knew every plucking thing!

Here are some interesting tweets on the topic. I'll behave myself and not correct the grammar or spelling.

  The Omg Funny King ‏ @OmgComedy

When i was 5, sticking my tongue out was like giving someone the middle finger.

SensualQuotes♥ ‏ @SensualQuotes

When i'm mad at you, I text you with my middle finger.

  Bam ol' Lady❤ ‏ @RedCake_

My middle finger has too much energy, its been up allllllll day !

Will Ferrel Parody ‏ @FillWerrell

Keep your head up high & your middle finger higher.

  Very Rude Tweets™ ‏ @VeryRudeTweets

My wife came in complaining that I never lift a finger around the house. So I did. The middle one.

Dirty Ape ‏ @IngloriousMovz

My middle finger is my power point presentation.

 

  Tootjuh A.K.A Louie ‏ @Tootjuh

Sometimes I gotta let my middle finger do the talking for me!!!"

#GBE2: Stranger

From Bush 41
 parachuting?

This week's GBE2 topic Stranger made me think of our local newspaper.  

The Commercial Appeal posts many strange stories, like the  article about Bush Senior parachuting out of an airplane on his eightieth birthday. Next to the article was a photo similar to the one above with the headline: The Aftermath! Apparently that wasn't stranger than other photos because Jay Leno never used it for headline news. So, in order to find something stranger, I searched the internet for bizarre news stories. Are they any "stranger" than what I found in the Commercial Appeal?

Man robs a Dollar General and post pictures on Facebook with his loot. Or maybe the story about a hiker who was attacked by a lion and was then saved by a bear that loosened its grip. I read another story about a man who lived with a bullet in his head for ninety-five years. Hmm. All these weird stories involve the male gender.

So tell me, did I successfully cover the GBE2 topic of "Stranger?" Oh, stranger. You meant someone I don't know! 

:p

Wordless Wednesday: Why?

Why do women have two hands?

Why do men have two hands?

Any questions?

#AtoZ : Young Life

A sparrow built her nest in our garage and flew back and forth, even though our door remained closed throughout the day. We figured it was just a vacation home and didn't mind her mild, rent-free intrusion. However, we soon found five or so babies flying around dropping white poo balls on our cars, floor, and throughout our garage. I decided it was time for them to go, so I made loud noises, waved signs at them and shooed them away before closing the garage. This wouldn't have been so bad had a huge bird of prey not snatched a baby in its clutches. *Gulp*

No helmet–No ride

My husband and I decided to let the little poopers stay until they were big enough to protect themselves. Too late. We haven't seen feathers or poop for days. :(

Have you heard of Where's Waldo. Look below for a game of Where's the Birdie? It's in the photo.

#AtoZ : X - Stolen Innocence

B and I were in sixth grade and headed to the playground. On the way down the sidewalk, a man sitting on a stump asked for directions to Wilson School. Harmless enough.

Hot dogs

Next, the man mentioned how it was hot outside and wanted to know if we'd ever seen a man "do this" before. He unzipped his pants and pulled out something that looked like the end of a thick, uncooked hot dog without the ketchup, mustard, or even a bun.

While my friend stood gaping, I took off running. So, if a man ever asks me that question again, I will say, "Yes."

I bet you'll never look at hot dogs the same way again.