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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"
Here's another one that's been floating around awhile. Whatever works! For more fun, hop over to Rhonda's and join her Silly Sunday Hop.
A man in Phoenix calls his son in New York the day before Thanksgiving and says,"I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough.
"Pop, what are you talking about?" the son screams.
"We can't stand the sight of each other any longer," the father says. "We're sick of each other, and I'm sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her."
Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. "Like heck they're getting divorced," she shouts, "I'll take care of this."
She calls Phoenix immediately and screams at her father, "You are NOT getting divorced. Don't do a single thing until I get there. I'm calling my brother back, and we'll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don't do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?" and hangs up.
The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. "Okay," he says, "they're coming for Thanksgiving and paying their own way."
Pain or surgery When faced with back pain, I saw three docs in hopes one would say, "No surgery needed." Finally, I had the operation, but it was different with my mole. Dr. Dewane wanted it in a jar, so I sat on the surgeon's table. "It's harmless," the surgeon said. "Bye." I hopped off the table.
Red, golden, or dark brown When the price difference is $8 vs. $80, I'll color my own hair; but, it varies from bottle to bottle. Once the hair flamed bright red and matched my face. You get what you pay for. My mole is brown.
Ignorance or bliss The infamous they say, "Ignorance is bliss," but I'd rather be informed. The Occupy Wall Street message needs to be told. Corporations have avoided paying taxes by buying politicians to vote their passions; but this is a humor blog, and that isn't funny. The mole continues to occupy my leg.
Orange juice or something else I grew up drinking orange juice, but it's my least favorite type of juice. I love oranges but drinking its juice doesn't turn me on. I also grew up with a mole on my right calf. It's been there longer than many of my readers have been alive. Red or white I've never been much of a wine drinker but if given the choice, I'll always choose white--less chance of someone noticing it when I spill it on my shirt. Also, if I were to spill red wine on my mole, someone might mistake it for blood and make me remove it.
Ice cream or frozen yogurt I don't notice a difference. People insist that yogurt is better for you. I like it all the same and will eat whatever. I also like my mole, and I'm not letting some knife holder cut it out, even if he offered me a cold treat. Terror or comedy films If you've read my blog, you know the answer to this one. For anyone new here, feel free to look around. I dare you not to laugh! No my mole is NOT scary and most posts are not as lame as this one. Ick another I Have you ever noticed when writing acrostic poems, you always have two of the letter that stumps you? Is that Murphy's Law? I can't even think of an I for the mole because it's not icky.
Elves or dwarfs I've never been into fantasy, although I confess, I enjoyed Tolkien's The Hobbit. I got hooked in chapter five when I read, "What has it got in its pocketes?" Usually mine contain a dirty Kleenex; but, it's not dirty from the mole. It's NEVER leaked fluid! Shot or the flu If you'd have asked me thirty years ago, I would've chosen the flu. Now, I've grown up and take shots like a big girl. I once tore out of a doctor's office to avoid a shot. I was only wearing underwear while multiple nurses chased me.What did they expect from a little seventeen-year-old girl? ☺ Of course when they tried to remove my mole, I ran too.
Funny that this week's topic should be about surprises because my husband is planning my surprise birthday party right now. We've been invited to Vic's Dirty Santa party on December second (close to my big 50). Although my husband claims this is Vic's annual party, we've never been invited to it.
He said, "Oh, sure. He's invited us before. I just never wanted to go."
Yeah, right.
Mitchell threw me a surprise birthday party when I turned 30 and 40, so I figure it's time again. Of course, I'm a stink pot when it comes to these things, so he might not want to plan one for 60 (or this year). Ten years ago at the last minute, I told him I was sick of the restaurant we were headed to and wanted to go somewhere else. My bad. I don't deserve him.
I of course, threw surprises for him on his 30th, 40th, and 50th too. The most recent was quite fun. My mother-in-law bought airline tickets to bring our two older kids to town. Without telling my husband, I took the afternoon off and picked up the kids. Later––when I'd normally be home, I called him at work and told him he had to come home because the upstairs toilet was over flowing and I didn't know what to do. When he said he was in the middle of something, I faked anger in my frantic state and told him he HAD to get home now.
Mitchell rushed to the rescue and proceeded to inspect the perfect toilet. "I don't see anything wrong with it," he grumbled.
"Me neither," our son said from behind him. The look on Mitchell's face was priceless, but the picture didn't come out well. :(
I'll let you know how my surprise birthday party goes--or maybe I'll be surprised when it doesn't happen. NAH! By the odd chance that it's not on the second, I'll just figure it's going to be late since the kids can't make it to town until after Christmas.
Here's a funny YouTube clip about a surprise birthday party.
This week's Writer's Post topic is Vacation; however, don't you have to take one to write about it? Thanks to our wonderful Veteran's, I'm home today, but it's not a vacation. I'm on staycation. That means I spend my day off blogging.
Bermuda Honeymoon - 1986
Way back before sending kids to college or soccer tournaments, we used to take great vacations. Mitchell and I honeymooned in Bermuda. Nothing like riding a motor bike among the flowers.
After Bermuda, our vacations took a different feel when we added kids to the trip. The favorite game was "Let's Make Dad Mad." You pack the car and kids for a long drive, then listen to squabbling from the back seat until Dad stops the car–before we get off the driveway! We'd sit outside the house with my husband muttering, "We're not going. We're not going." Eventually the tears flooded the backseat and off we went.
We had some notable vacations, such as the time two kids threw up on the baby in the backseat of the van. At least kids can take baths and the car was a rental. Or the one where the daughter got lost in the museum and sent us into panic mode.
It could always be worse. Knock on wood, we never came home with broken bones like my first family did after French Lick, Indiana. I was soooo mad at my brother and sister for cutting our vacation short because they rode a bicycle built for two on the horse trail!
So sad!
Now our vacations come down to visiting the kids, which is awful since they chose boring places to live in. Our poor son lives in a city with nothing to do and horrible weather. He had to buy a boat to sail in the Charleston Harbor. Poor kid! Why would anyone want to live in a place with beautiful people, weather, and those awful palmetto trees all over the place?
At least she gets to play in snow.
Then there's our middle daughter who lives outside a culturally backwards small town. What's she supposed to do on the week-ends? Take a smelly subway to DC and visit museums? Such a boring place for a history major. (In case you didn't know, DC's subways are spotless)
Erica meets interesting people.
I feel sorriest for my baby who chose to go to school in Orlando. Poor kid is forced to ride those scary roller coasters at Universal Studios because the beach is too far of a drive. And the weather, yuck! She never gets to wear a coat or play in the snow.
How can we take vacations when our kids are living them?
The question, "Which is more important Nature or Nurture?," is up there with,"Which came first the chicken or the egg?" Both answers are hard to crack. When given this GBE 2 topic, I thought of Trading Places, a movie in which the Duke brothers bet $1 to see which mattered most: nature or nurture. Nurture won out, but the movie is fiction.
Goofy kids in bubble bath, circa 1995
Our three children have three distinct personalities. Just look at the photo and how each wore the bubbles in a different way. These babies born into the same environment were different from the start and still are... but maybe the environment wasn't truly the same? After all, we were calmer, more relaxed parents with the third born.
I've also heard that kids teach their parents how they should be treated by their nature. For example, a parent will interact differently with a wild child than a quiet one. So maybe nature beats nurture?
If nature wins, I still don't buy into crap about an inferior race. As a teacher, I've seen kids of all races, creeds, and colors in my intellectually gifted classes. I once taught an African American eight year old, who would read the Wall Street Journal when finished with his work. If you, the adult, didn't understand what he read, he'd explain it to you.
No race is inferior to another, although I can't say the same about parents. One of the hottest current videos on YouTube is that of a Texas judge whipping and cussing at his sixteen year old daughter for downloading music from the Internet. Really, moron? With a beating like that, one would think she made an assassination attempt on the president.
Unfortunately, physically and/or emotionally abusive parents are not the only inferior ones out there. Some well meaning adults hover over their darlings to the point of crippling their ability to think for themselves. So although nature has a strong hand in who we become, we can't ignore nurture.
Amazingly, many kids from horrid homes rise above abuse, neglect, and over-protectiveness to excel; while a kid from a great environment, swallowed mushrooms and drove his car through a house… then miraculously walked away unscathed.
To work a prestigious job, one must earn a college degree; however, the most important occupation in the world–parenting–requires no education at all. Why is that?
I leave you with the trailer from Trading Places, just in case you've never seen this wonderful movie.
♥desire♥ |dəˈzÄ«(É™)r| - noun a strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen
Well, ye-ah! I want it so badly I started this blog. I'm talking about that editor induced book contract.
Hello Mrs. Lansky. As your agent, I called to tell you that five houses loved your manuscript. One woman said, "It made her giggle like a little girl."
Another stated, "Lansky is a genius, and I must acquire her work." In fact, they are fighting for your manuscript at auction.
Mark Twain -AF Bradley's photo
I wish! I mean seriously. Besides a tomb stone, what do these guys got that I ain't got?
When to get published?That is the question.
I have five children's novels available for publication; and they are all funny! Four have that much desired boy protagonist.
Take your pick:
THE FRIENDSHIP PUZZLE - girl trauma at it's worst. Okay. As my first book, it probably sucks, but surely I could raise it to a higher standard.
DON'T EAT CHIPMUNKS - My thirteen-year-old narrator yearns for his summer adventure in the Colorado Rockies with his Jewish camp group. He soon finds himself struggling for survival, when he gets lost in the mountains with his favorite counselor and two worst enemies. I admit, Remi's a jerk at first, but he learns how to get along with others by the end. Isn't character growth important?
BEING BOMPSY CARLEFFA and THE KILLER WHO LOVED ME - Fifteen-year-old Ben lives with his mother in a crappy apartment and believes a lie about a father who died twelve years earlier. Life is sweet until a sleazy mobster kidnaps him, shows him that his entire life has been bullsh*t, and screws up his world—forever.
Of course it wouldn't be my book if Ben didn't have a sense of humor. One rejection letter said, "He's too funny for such a serious situation." Too bad professionals are turned off when one writes about one's friend who couldn't go to sleep because she was unable to put down the manuscript. --Yep, it's true, but I can't say that in a query letter. :(
MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS - the coming of age story of ten year old Knob and his goofy friend. I recently blogged about it.
These stories have voice too. I know because folks tell me so in every rejection letter. Hellooooo. Agent, where are you? You are desired!
When it comes to popularity, I win hands down… with my dogs. People are not so easy. 'How to be popular?' has been the age old question: What makes some people disgustingly popular while others aren't?
My daughter on Halloween as Regina George
One could say people are popular because they are nice, but let's face it. Everyone knows a viciously mean person who is or was ultra popular.
I believe popularity comes from self-confidence and starts at a young age. On a field trip to the fire station, a fireman told the Kindergarten class to sit on the ground. While most kids lined up in a row, one little guy sat by himself several feet behind his classmates. Slowly little bodies slid back until the lone boy was surrounded by kids. --Okay, I confess: he was mine and has remained popular to this day.
I was never my son. It takes a lot of courage to sit by yourself as a young child and not worry whether or not folks will join you. I always wanted to be a part of the crowd in elementary school, but didn't have the confidence to be my own person.
Later in Junior High School when popularity meant following the crowd, I wore shoes that looked like they belonged to a bowler. Kids made fun of me for my shoes, but I liked them! I enjoyed rebelling against my peers while everyone else wanted to tackle teachers and parents. Not me! Interesting enough, no one joined me in my pride in being different.
A lot of us writer types may have been weird kids; but, if we were the exceptionally popular folks, we'd have nothing to write about, would we?
I leave you now with a clip from one of my favorite movies: Mean Girls.
