Tag Archives: haha

Per request

14 Jul

It has been with some gentle urging and prodding that I hereby make a guest appearance on my own blog. I have had no shortage of material about which to drone on and on. Time, however, has prohibited me.

To begin, I would like to expound upon a pet peeve.

“Me” is not a dirty word. It is the objective form of the personal pronoun “I.” Simply put, if I am the object of the sentence, “I” becomes “me.” See what I did there? I used correct grammar. Correct grammar was used by me. That’s easy enough if I use “I” or “me” by their own lonely selves in a sentence.

But the disconnect seems to come about when introducing a second party to the sentence. When Matilda and I went to grammar school, they doled out highest honors to Matilda and me, NOT to Matilda and I. Just like they wouldn’t dole out such honors to I, they would not dole out honors to Matilda and I. Do you see where I’m going with this? I am afraid that people are so tired of being corrected by us Grammar Nazis for saying “me and Billy Bob went a-huntin’ for varmints” that they equate “me” with bad grammar. It’s sad. If you catch yourself saying a preposition before bringing a personal pronoun into the conversation, you should probably use “me” and not “I.”

Remember this: I do awesome things, and you give awesome gifts to me. You and I are best friends, and people point and laugh at you and me.

*steps off soapbox*

*slips on soap*

*splats*

*picks self up, looks around to make sure no one saw that*

Totally unrelated to the slip, trip, and fall that nobody saw, I have a heart-shaped bruise on my forearm.

Isn’t it awesome?! It’s like a temporary tattoo from playing volleyball on Thursday. Which, by the way, was the perfectest day for volleyball yet this season. It wasn’t too hot, nor too cold. It was overcast, but not raining. There was a beautiful sunset, yet the sun wasn’t in anyone’s eyes to prohibit awesome spikes. And best of all, there were enough people for two full teams plus one sub per team, so everyone could take a water break every six rotations, but not soooo many subs that anyone had to wait more than a couple minutes to get back onto the court!

In conclusion, I would like to share a couple anecdotes.

First, my hair has gotten so long these past few months! With the exception of the days where it is like 90+ degrees outside, I like to drive with my windows down. Unbeknownst to me, I have been shedding as well, so my long brunette hairs flew off my head and onto the carpeted/felty back part of my car that covers my trunk. (I will call this part of my car “the rear dash.”) However, when I was gassing up my car the other day, I noticed that there were long white hairs strewn all across my rear dash! I felt anger begin to rise within me. What AARPer has been taking my yellow car for joy rides while I was sleeping, and leaving their telltale white locks on MY rear dash?! Then it occurred to me….it was MY hair that the sun had bleached! There was also a dead wasp, who had finally baked after taunting me on many an early-morning ride to work.

Lastly, I was pulled over recently on one of those aforementioned early-morning rides to work. It was actually a morning that I’d left on time, and was hitting greens instead of reds, and there seemed to be less congestion on the highways, so I actually consciously chose to drive within the speed limit. Doing so allowed me to people-watch. Other drivers are sometimes really funny to watch! Sometimes they’re really infuriating to watch since the dumb fools think they can text and drive. I always honk at them. Always. Then I pray that they crash into an indestructible tree in such a way that they need all their fingers amputated so that they can never again text and drive and endanger the lives of thousands on the road.

But I digress. Back to my leisurely morning drive…. I was taking the on-ramp between one highway to the next, and I noticed a police car parked on the shoulder with his lights on. Out of respect and an innate sense of caution, I slowed down even more than my already-within-the-speed-limit speed. Merged onto next highway, continued the mile or so till my exit. The police car had turned his lights off and pulled out a few cars behind me. No biggie. I wasn’t speeding. I hadn’t cut anyone off. I used my turn signals for merging. I had my lights on even though it was only slightly overcast. I had current registration stickers, and my inspection still had about a month left. I had taken the body out of the trunk and scrubbed the blood dribbles off the bumper. Kidding. As I took my exit, I was thinking to myself about how glad I was that I’d decided not to speed that day. Aaaaand the police car was suddenly on my tail with his lights on.

On the shoulder of the exit ramp, I pulled over with barely enough room for other cars to get by, put on my hazard lights, and rolled my window down before turning my car off. I’m a pro at getting pulled over. Upon the officer’s request, I produced my license, insurance, and registration. After a looooong silence, he told me why he’d pulled me over. I have an after-market amplifier on my muffler, and I could get cited for that. I asked him if he was citing me for it, and he said no, he was just letting me know that I could get cited. So I did what any good female would do, and asked the man for his advice on what I should do. I can’t remember exactly what he said, for he was an older gent, with really long nose hairs which danced disconcertingly and distractingly as he answered my question. I don’t think it helped that I was looking up into his nose from my perch in my drivers seat. In any case, I was not ticketed or warned or cited. Just politely informed that I could get cited, and to have a good day, ma’am.

Theory of Distraction

18 Jul

I am easily distracted. Some call it forgetfulness; others say I sidetrack with little effort. I have given it some thought and formed a theory. No, it is not a scientific theory, for if it involved science, it would still be a hypothesis….and even that is being generous.

I have taken several brain-activity tests to determine whether my left or right brain is dominant. Neither is. They affect my life and thinking habits equally.

My analytic left brain allows me to memorize number sequences, see patterns where there are no obvious/visible/existing patterns, use words proficiently, be a painstaking perfectionist in my fashion pattern making; my artsy right brain is what enables me to be creative in my pattern making, draw with exquisite detail, enjoy a vivid imagination and exotic sleeping dream world, be inspired by the simple things like ribbons, fabrics, buttons, shapes, colors, etc.

I frequently switch between analyzing and creating. Mid-nerdy-sentence, a creative thought will strike me and I must stop talking and chase that train of thought. To the onlooker, I was distracted. To me, it made perfect sense. It was a momentary switch from left brain to right.

For example: A guest approaches the front desk of my hotel with two questions. First, would I print out a bill for them and explain the intricacies of tax refunds and rate changes? Sure! My logical left brain starts thinking through the best way to explain our tax and rate policies.

As I begin pulling up their bill on the computer, their second question descends. They are afraid that their pet has carried fleas to the hotel room, would I be so kind to bring a flea spray to their room as soon as possible?

My right brain’s vivid imagination kicks in. This time it’s a Pixar-style animation of me in a Monsters Inc. orange exterminator suit walking in slow-motion to their room, armed with Home Defense spray. As I open the door, the background music grows louder and more sinister; their poor pooch cowers in the corner and the room is obviously infested with fleas hopping wildly. I hook up the hose to the Home Defense spray and push the spray release. Looks of terror cross the faces of the fleas as they die mid-hop and flop onto the floor, where miniature x’s replace their eyes as death settles in. Music becomes triumphant again as I turn to see all the guests from the hotel standing outside the room with rousing applause, a shower of roses, and blown kisses. I smile to myself as I imagine some of my guests with their disproportionate Pixar-style features. Of course, dear guest, I’ll bring some flea spray to your room.

And already I forgot why I was looking at their bill, so I exit it. The guest asks for their bill again, and they can’t believe it’s taking so long.

The problem is not a deficiency in my brain that causes me to forget or be distracted. Rather, my brain is so advanced that it switches so quickly from left to right brain and back again, that my brain does not have time to log information in its short term memory. It appears as though I have forgotten. The truth is that I have yet to be able to control my brain. It’s almost as if my own brain is too amazing for me to handle. Scary, huh? It’s still a theory I’m playing with. I haven’t even thought of a good way to word my theory, which makes it obviously very unscientific. Even so, I felt the need to inform my general public of the reasons behind my frequent distractions.

In other news, I’m still thinking about my amazing carnitas burrito from Chipotle several days ago. Life-changing.

Pop

27 Oct

The Tale of a Tragedy Turned Delicious

(Names, places, details, and facts have all been changed, twisted, messed up, made up, contorted, exaggerated, and possibly doused with butter, as I see fit. Thus protecting the innocent, leaving no trail to find the guilty, and keeping all involved parties from embarrassment.)

Way Up North where there’s ice and there’s snow, there was a college. ‘Twas a college with a dorm. ‘Twas a dorm of female inhabitants. And in this Way Up Northern establishment was a female inhabitant named Schizophranna. And said inhabitant is the only true character of importance in this story.

Saturday. Today was the open house for the dorm since it had just reached absolute completion. Dozens and perhaps hundreds of people meandered through the halls of the new dorm in the morning and early afternoon hours. Through the kitchen meandered they. Into  the individual dorm rooms meandered they. And at long last, out the front door meandered the final guest. The open house closed, and the relieved dorm inhabitants resumed their posts.

With a sigh, Schizophranna closed the door behind said final guest and delved into the books. In her studies of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Schizophranna felt a pang of hunger deep in the recesses of her stomach. Such a pang must be remedied. Schizophranna leapt from her studying post in the dorm’s parlor. With a skip and a scurry, she made her way to the kitchen with a bag of popcorn in hand.

Whilst the microwave worked wonders on the bag of corn, Schizophranna left the unoccupied kitchen to ensure that her dorm room was intact. After all, there was no need for Way Up Northern scruff to have been rooting through her things.

Upon the gentle breeze brought by the dorm vents came wafting a swirly gray whiff.

Not one to panic too freakishly, Schizophranna schlepped into the kitchen. Here, dark clouds of fury emanated from the microwave. *emanate, emanate* Also not one to have a good head on one’s shoulders, Schizophranna schlepped away from the kitchen and encountered Mz. Liz.

At the moment of this encounter, an alarm sounded. It sounded like a small child wailing for another gumdrop, please, mom, pleeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEase?! You get the idea.

Every dorm inhabitant was ordered from the premises. Some were ordered by Mz. Liz. Others were ordered by their common sense which told them to get away from the wailing alarm and the billowing smoke.

And then the seemingly-unthinkable happened. A nearby building began smoking. Likewise the building beside that. Throughout the region of the Way Up North, buildings began pouring out smoke through their windows and under their doors until every building was affected.

By this time, fire trucks had arrived at the scene of Schizophranna’s college, summoned by the alarm whose wails had finally died down to pathetic whimpers due to suffocating batteries. Firefighters tumbled from their posts in the truck and circled the dorm which was now engulfed in smoke. Although Mz. Liz reassured them that all the dorm inhabitants had fled the immediate scene, Chief Firefighter Filemon had to see it for himself and he entered the same front door that the open-house guests had meandered through only a few hours before.

The remainder of the firefighters remained outside the dorm with Mz. Liz and Schizophranna. Such hullabaloo ensued with inquiry upon inquiry of the origin of the smoke!

And then….

…a deafening POP!

And then…

…deafening silence.

Not a single breath was breathed, nor was a single word uttered. Schizophranna pulled a Swiss Army knife from her handy-dandy apron pocket and sliced the thick air with it.

A breathy huff was heard from within the building, and Chief Firefighter Filemon emerged from the smoke. Time itself froze, and the orchestra on the front lawn of the dorm commenced playing “Enter the Heroes” from Monsters, Inc, with Monsieur Mink on the trumpet.

All necks craned and eyes strained to see what Chief Firefighter Filemon held so protectively in his hand. Was it the head of the dorm inhabitant who disobeyed orders? Was it the whimpering alarm? No! *trumpet blaring* It was Schizophranna’s bag of popcorn!

Chief Firefighter Filemon carefully placed his fingers on the top of the popcorn bag and successfully “pulled here.” *vivacious violining* With a skilled hand worthy of his chiefdom, he reached into the bag and pulled out a perfectly popped, perfectly buttered morsel of corn. Being the only kernel in the bag, it had grown to the size of a watermelon. With every soul on the college campus watching breathlessly, Chief Firefighter Filemon placed the popped corn between his horribly misshapen buck teeth. *cymbals clashing* As he bit off a morsel victoriously, the smoke unbillowed from the atmosphere and came under control, in this building and every other in the Way North.

A second bit of corn was gnawed off in like fashion. “Delectable! As was the first!” cried he. (c) Brian Regan

Schizophranna was lauded for her popcorn chef-ery, Mz. Liz was back-patted for her bravery, and Chief Firefighter Filemon shared the popcorn with his firefighting cohorts while Monsieur Mink messed up on the last note of his trumpet solo.

Slip, trip, and fall

5 Sep

“I tripped and I fell.”

“We do slip and fall.”

“Yeah, I tripped.”

“We do slips.”

“I remember I slipped at first. I remember thinking, ‘Hey, I am predominantly slipping!’ “

“And then you tripped?”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t do that.”

–Brian Regan

Sorry, but this was the only quotable quote I could think of about fall. Some call it autumn. For me, it’s the transition stage between flip flops and fuzzy socks, between tee shirts and layers of hoodies, between pink & orange sprinkles and red & green sprinkles to sweep up at work.

Fall is finally here, which means that all the projects that I was going to do before fall….should now be done. Remarkably, they aren’t. Some approach the state of completion. But some have not even procured a second thought from me.

School started two weeks ago-ish. I’ve attended one class twice and my second class hasn’t started yet. Most of biology is going right over my head. But the little that does penetrate only serves to concrete in my mind the veracity of Intelligent Design and the obvious fallacy of evolution.

I recently agreed to do some graphic design work for a man from another church who will be teaching a Bible course and needs a handout made. And I also designed little clothing price tags for the volleyball culottes I am almost done with. All this work on the computer remind me of the small amount of enjoyment I found in the two computer classes last spring semester. I still prefer fashion, but I haven’t crossed graphic design off my list of possibilities.

(sneak peek of aforementioned tag:     )

On a totally different topic, we have an inhabitant under our porch. I’ve never seen it, but I’ve been informed that there is a groundhog under there. Therefore, a trap has been set, with offerings of corn, lettuce, and acorns. I wonder if an eviction notification would be effective.

Happy falling! If perchance you happen upon a shard of mitochondria or a herd of amino acids, you can be thankful you’re not examining them under a microscope like I am.

Dissertation on emoticons

7 Aug

(**Update: WordPress changes my common emoticons from their punctuation form to an animated form. Unappreciated, WordPress. There’s probably a setting to change that, but I couldn’t find it. Hence the “spaced-out-smile” look. You know what I mean. Carry on…)

(**Update #2: Rachel has enlightened me as far as how to turn off the automatic animated emoticons.Yes!! Thanks, Rach! For the rest of you, ignore my previous update. It remains there purely for memory’s sake. And as a tribute to Rachel’s genius.)

Everybody has that one favorite emoticon they use and overuse in emails, texts, twitters, facebook statuses, etc. Or maybe more than just one. But everyone has a specific way that they emoticonnote, that is to say write emoticons.

Some people use the = as the eyes. Such as =) or =D . These display a certain amount of excitement. Constantly. I know several people who use = consistently and I love it. It shows a zeal for life and total wide-eyed excitement. Love it. This is probably my favorite way of emoticonnoting ever. However, I can’t usually pull that off because I tend to be more blah in my emotional swings.

Some people use noseless emoticons. When the eyes are big, as they are in the above example, going noseless is acceptable. Otherwise it’s just lazy. :( See? Sorry to disappoint. It really takes little effort to fill out the face with a nose of sorts. Could be like :-) or :o) or :~) or :+) or :<) . Noseless emoticons rank on my list of pet peeves. One more mark of punctuation, that’s all that’s needed.

Mine always have noses. Always. Whether the nose be a “-” or an “o”, the nose is there. To those noseless emoticons, I attribute the name “lazy smiley.” I refuse to use them. My emoticons deserve a nose.

The :-) kind of nose is what I usually use. It’s basic enough that no one reads into my smile and think I’m too anxious, too sarcastic, not genuine enough, not happy enough. It’s complete, hardly deserving a second thought.

The :o) kind of nose is cute. For some reason I equate it with eating, cute kids, or hidden frustration. Like when I use it, I’m usually thinking, “I should probably put a smile there, but I’m not really happy and I don’t feel like smiling.” This is as close as I’ve come to smiling sarcastically.

The :~) kind of nose screams “broken.” I wince when I see it and have been known to audibly whimper upon such seeings. Do not abuse your emoticons! They may come back to haunt you and break your nose in your sleep!

The :+) nose says, “My emoticonnotor broke my nose, but then had the decency to put a bandaid on it. Thank you, dear emoticonnotor.”

The :<) nose is obviously Italian. Or Roman. Or swollen Swedish. Wait, isn’t Rome in Italy?

Lately, tragedy has struck. As mentioned before, my keys stick occasionally (both on my phone and on my laptop). Thus sometimes when I press a key once or twice or thrice, there is still no resulting character.

And I trimmed my fingernails the other day and chopped my left thumbnail entirely too short, thus hampering my texting speed.

Furthermore, through an amazing display of ballet unlearnedness, last night at work I broke not only my second and last unbroken thumbnail, but also the lid and the cup with which I was twirling around behind the counter.

Thus, those who may have texted me within the past week (or month for that matter) may be confused at my dislike of noseless emoticons. Because I’ve used them. Inadvertantly. And it pains me. But sometimes I hit the punctuation key five times, hoping for a smile complete with a nose, and I get merely a noseless smile. So frustrating. Half the time I don’t notice it until it’s already been sent. The other half of the time, I notice it and continue hitting the punctuation key until my poor broken thumbnail is screaming for a break. Relief is given, and the text is sent with a noseless emoticon.

Now I have a confession. The noseless emoticons have grown on me recently. I even labeled one as cute the other day. I was shocked at myself. It is highly unlikely that I am no longer peeved by this long time pet peeve. However, perhaps I have become more tolerant? More importantly, is it totally weird that I have such qualms and unusual things to say about emoticons? Am I please not the only one who reads into them so deeply and attributes such inane characteristics to them?

*sneeze*

3 Aug

Sneezing sounds superintend space.

Since Sigfried sneezed,
Salmonella spread.

Samson sneezed secondarily,
So sea sickness spread.

Seymour sniffled, started sneezing.

Someone’s sister shouted,
“Silence!
Stop sneezing!”

Seymour stopped semi-sniffle.

Samson stopped sneezing;
Sea sickness stopped spreading.

Sigfried stopped sneezing;
Salmonella stopped spreading.

Such silence sans sneezing!
Such sublime, supremely satisfying silence!
Such silence should stay!
Said silent spell superimposed sneezing’s spacial supremacy.

Suddenly someone sneezed.
Spell shattered.

“Sigfried!”

Powered by Plinky

The Slaughter of the Steer

28 Jul

As alluded to in the previous post, I had some experience in Tennessee as a “cattle capturer.” Most accurate would be to say that I was a spectator at a cattle capturing, but I had a part nonetheless. Here is the story of how the events of that memorable morning transpired. (Names changed, or at least humorously skewed with, to protect the innocent.)

Monday (the part after we slept and woke up) started with excitement. Mr. Reallycoolfamily called the house and told us four oldest girls to ready ourselves and get down to the sorghum mill. They needed our help to catch their steer. So we leapt (more sleepily than leapily) out of bed and into the Dodge pickup, with me and Cynthia Jane Farlow in the back. A short bit down the road (a mile or two, or maybe three) we caught up with the suburban and trailer that once carted the steer. And in yon muddy field was the steer.

The story of happenings went something like this: Mr. and Mrs. Reallycoolfamily and their son, Jehoshaphat, had gotten the steer into the trailer to take to the butcher to slaughter (pause and remember the Brian Regan thing about manslaughter…… “I slaughtered a man!” So violent. But we’re talking about a cow, ok?). Somehow the Reallycoolfamily’s neighbors, the Guggenheims, became involved, the details still fuzzy to me. One of the Guggenheim boys had accidentally unlatched the trailer door, probably thinking he was latching it.

As the trailer bumped along down the road, the door became totally undone and the steer fell out *ka-thump* upon his butt roast. This falling out happened near the sorghum mill, so that is the pen in which the steer found himself corralled into.

And here come four girls, fresh out of bed, still a bit tired from an all-nighter attempt, shod in flip-flops, and cameras poised. Oh wait, were we supposed to help? Get the cow? Out of the muddy pen?! Into the trailer?!!

Nah, we took pictures. Tarantulanna manned the camera, while Elizardanna, Cynthia Jane Farlow, and I exclaimed about the cuteness of Mr. Sorghummillowner’s calf.

The butcher was called and summoned to the location, and we were excited at the prospect of watching a cow-slaughter before our very eyes. Alas, the butcher brought some help with him and they were able to round the steer up and get him back in the trailer, thus depriving us the privilege of spectating at a butchering. We were only able to spectate at a cow capturing.

Our work here was done. Back in the truck got we and back to the Reallycoolfamily’s abode found we ourselves.