web analytics
Menu Close

Category: Odds and Ends

Snow: A Four-Letter Word

We’re expecting our first flakes in a few days, news that was met with much eye rolling and muttering about shovels and ice melt. Snow is a funny thing – as a child, you love it. You play for hours outside, making snow forts, snow men, hills to slide down…and snowball fights! You haven’t had a good childhood until you got hit square in the kisser. (And no crying…you sucked it up and got the SOB back.)

But when you’re an adult, you look at snow differently. You have to clear it from your car, drive in it…suddenly it’s not as much fun. And work. Short of blizzard conditions that close public transportation or highways, you’re expected to be there. You might arrive late or have to leave early, but you’re expected to show up. It’s the downside of being a productive citizen.

And what’s up with people who race to the store, and stock up on enough groceries for two weeks at the first mention of the white stuff? I mean, short of the blizzard of the century, where you’re stuck for the aforementioned two weeks, you’ll be out and about in two or three days max. So why are you buying 4 loaves of bread, 3 gallons of milk, 3 lbs of bacon, and enough Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for an army?

Then there’s the holidays. We all used to love a snowy Christmas. I mean, it’s pretty, but if you have to go to a brunch, then drive over to your family’s later for dinner, then drive to friend’s for a cocktail party, it’s pretty exhausting, especially when all you want to do is go home, climb into flannels, and watch the Yule Log and eat sugar cookies.

But, on certain days, when it’s snowing gently and all is quiet, you can appreciate the beauty of the frozen stuff. Everything looks clean and bright…even though you know dropped leaves and dead foliage are under it. It’s mesmerizing, standing by the window, watching it dance and swirl around, so beautiful… until you realize you’re out of coffee, cigarettes, and cat food, and have to go out.

Let me get my coat…and scarf, gloves, hat, and boots…

 

#Snow #Christmas #YuleLog

Dangly Bits

I am a man. I know this because I’ve looked.

My genitals and I have known each other for years. Oh! The stories we could tell! Grand, glorious songs that should be sung by choirs!

At first, our relationship was based on practicality; I needed the One-Eyed Wonderworm and his Two Magic Bags to perform certain functions necessary to my life and they needed me to carry them around (apparently, they need to travel…). Then, the meat-and-two-vegetables became aggressive and embarrassing; attacking me at inopportune moments like standing at the board trying to solve problems in math class, singing in church, or having to speak at a family funeral.

God, as is His wont, strove for perfection when he made Adam. I think God thought that Adam’s knees and elbows would be bigger, because he used that skin to get that Last-Chicken-In-The-Shop look of the General and Two Colonels. Artistically, He got it right when he made woman.

Men are purely functional: Eat. Sleep. Reproduce. Eat, Sleep, Reproduce (keep the high-heels-on…). Eliminate anyone who messes with The Schedule…

That’s what we think about. All of the time, 24/7.

Everything we do as men, red-blooded. spittin’ scratchin’ silly, pointless, farty, situationally brave and brilliant, the buildings we build and the sweat of our brow, is dedicated to The Schedule, and the biggest part of The Schedule is not ‘Eat’.

Men will gladly do without food for a few more minutes of sleep or the prospect of the fleeting moments wherein we let Russell The Love Muscle and The Nads out for some “Happy Naked Playtime” and…LO! AND BEHOLD! There is a FEMALE in the ROOM! YAY!

Our crippled, hairy hands and our self respect thank you, Ma’am!

My only suggestion, regarding men’s ‘Dangly Bits’?

I wish mine were retractable…

Show me the SADIST who said that BOY’S bikes have to have the middle bar and the girls bikes don’t! What kind of sick, twisted FREAKSHOW would think, deep in the darkest recesses of their diseased minds, that putting a BAR on a bike that young boys can FALL on accidentally in NUMEROUS ways was a good idea.

In a fight, I can take punches anywhere on my body and not give up, but not if you catch “The Boys”, I’m toast…

It is said that, barring extraordinary circumstance, childbirth is the most painful experience a human can go through. Of course, I had no say as to the delegation of duties as they relate to propagation of the species. I’m just trying to do my job, Honey…

All that said, I would like to nominate getting nicked in the knackers as the second most painful human experience.

That, and a tax audit.

And, at closing time, when you see that woman who looks like a princess, but will look like an orc in the morning, how handy would it be if a man could not only retract his dangly bits, but also have something that causes the male to be like a Ken doll until he sobers up!

Nothing there but a logo…

My 50th High School Reunion

I think I’ll go to my 50th high school reunion. I’m only about 35 years old inside of me. So…I’m a few years older on the outside, but….so what! I’m pretty sure everyone will recognize me. I’m still one of the tallest girls in our class. About 5’8”. The 3rd from the left in the back row of every class picture taken throughout our 12 years of school. I always looked like my chin was resting on the top of Barbara’s head. She was the girl in the row in front of me.

I’ve only shrunk 2” since then. One of my classmates and best friends is Joy, and she has shrunken 3 ½”. She was kind of short to begin with. I can now look down onto the top of her head. She has a big ole cowlick up there. As her hair has thinned, it’s more like a circle of sparse hair with a big bald spot in the center. I feel sorry for her. Don’t tell.

I have one, too. But I’m taller. Also, I know how to tease my hair over my cowlick and then spray the heck out of it with my volumizing spray. My mother had 4 girls. She didn’t have time to coddle us so we learned how to beautify ourselves. My friend’s parents hovered over her all 12 years of our primary education! Helicopter parents, I think they call them now. So Joy never had to do her own hair. My hair stays over my cowlick just fine. The only time I have trouble is in a stiff wind. I may end up where I didn’t intend to go.

I’ve never ridden in a helicopter. I’ve always wondered how short a person has to be to avoid getting their heads cut off in those whirling blades. I’ve also wondered why they even have the engines running and the blades whirling? Why don’t they wait ‘till they have the ‘copter loaded? I wonder about a lot of things. Especially now days. Being a child of the ‘50’s is a special treat but we don’t know quite everything.

I know someone who flew in a helicopter. My husband, Jack, who is now deceased, was 8 years old when he was beaten up by his next door neighbor, Johnny. Johnny, the bully. Every neighborhood has one or two. So, Jack ran home crying to his mother. The only problem was, his dad was home, too. (Let’s just say in those days, kids weren’t taken into a room with a miniature pony to play with to sooth their little psyches.) So his dad told Jack that if Jack would go back to Johnny’s and sock him a good one….his dad would take Jack to the airfield for a helicopter ride. Jack went next door, knocked on the door, Johnny’s mom let him in, and Jack went over to Johnny, who was watching TV, and gave him an impressive black eye, then ran home really fast. Jack got his helicopter ride. Trouble in the neighborhood.

Did you notice how old people can fit 6 or 7 topics into one conversation…just about without taking a breath. Old people can. Especially women. It’s like a smorgasbord.

Now, about the reunion. I’ve run out of time. I’ll have to tell you later. My son-in-law, who knows everything (he’s from Kentucky) saw a couple of bore holes in my new fence. I’m told I have to spray insect spray into the holes, let it dry, then fill them in with wood filler. I can do that! Those bees must be huge because the holes are nothing to sneeze at. Which reminds me, I pulled into the garage last night and a black spider the size of my fist ran across the garage floor. I let him run. But I’m going to have to try to find him eventually. I’ll put it off until tomorrow. (See, I told you we could put a bunch of topics into one conversation!)