A friend on Facebook posted a fun activity a few days ago as a way to break from politics. I earnestly searched for her post, but couldn’t find it, so I’ll have to wing the content.
Basically she asked everyone to post something that would be considered unthinkable to most folks, and it could have nothing to do with politics.
Her example was that she hated The Walking Dead. I was aghast! Who hates The Walking Dead? I mean, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane between Star Wars films. Of course someone then posted they’d never seen a Star Wars film. I almost had an apoplexy.
I then posted, to the horror of some and the delight of others, that I’d never watched an episode of Downton Abbey.
You’d have thought that I’d typed my disdain for cute kitten videos. Folks were aghast.
So what’s your non-political controversial topic? And don’t you dare tell me you don’t like Indiana Jones!
Since first experiencing the Millennium Falcon’s jump to hyper space back in 1977, I’ve been a huge Star Wars fan. That’s why I purchased my ticket a couple of weeks ago and still arose way too early on my day off to see the latest film in the epic space opera.
I hear great things from the friends who were fortunate enough to see Rogue One last night. Now it’s my turn. Studly Doright didn’t think it was an important enough even to warrant taking a day off. His priorities are so skewed, but that means I’ll get to see it at least one more time.
Why is it that when I try to channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw…
Me trying to emulate Carrie Bradshaw (aka Sarah Jessica Parker) is akin to a mealworm trying to emulate a butterfly.
…my outer Phyllis Diller shows up?
I loved Phyllis Diller. Apparently my style reflects that.
I honestly thought I’d finally lost my mind on Sunday afternoon. My day was dedicated to wrapping gifts for our five exceptionally gifted and amazingly beautiful grandchildren with whom we get to spend Christmas in just a couple of weeks. Eeee!! I’m so excited. But I digress.
The unwrapped gifts were all in a jumble in the Texas bedroom, piled willy nilly, still in shopping bags from local merchants and boxes from Amazon. I carefully sorted and counted them, making sure each child was getting something from each of the four major categories:
Something they want
Something they need
Something to wear
Something to read
I have a love/hate relationship with this newest tradition. On the one hand it keeps me focused as I shop. On the other hand it becomes mentally exhausting, and I’m blaming it for my moment of temporary insanity.
As I separated the gifts into piles for each child I came across something I had no memory of purchasing. Not only that, it wasn’t a gift suitable for a child or even a young teenager. Where had it come from, I wondered. Who is it for? I came to the only possible logical conclusion: I’d been shoplifting while in a fugue state.
When Studly Doright came in from playing golf I sat him down and told him the awful truth.
“You’re going to have to have me institutionalized.”
“Well, okay. Let me change shoes first.”
“Dammit, Studly, I’m serious. I have this gift that I didn’t purchase. I have no idea where it came from, and I must’ve stolen it.”
“Right. I’ll probably need to put on some long pants, too.”
He was lying, though, because he went out to work in his shop for the rest day of the afternoon leaving me to ponder the state of my mind.
I was too upset to continue wrapping gifts, so I sat and flipped through channels for a bit. Here a commercial, there a commercial, everywhere a–wait! A Victoria’s Secret commercial!
It hit me then that earlier in the year I’d purchased two brassieres from VS while they’d had a promotion going on. My mystery gift had been a promotional item! Apparently I’d shoved it in a drawer and forgotten all about it.
Thank goodness. I don’t have to check into a facility for the feeble minded. At least not this week.
Honestly, could I have given this to a 14-year-old?
Peace, people.
A couple of days ago I wrote about being addicted to sappy, family-friendly Hallmark Channel movies. On Saturday, though, I realized there was a Walking Dead marathon on AMC in preparation for the mid-season finale scheduled for Sunday night. So without hesitation I changed channels, and now my brain is having a heyday as evidenced by last night’s dream:
A beautiful young television reporter is caught on a live mic saying she hates Christmas–immediately following a segment on ways to spread holiday cheer. Her public reacts negatively, and in order to boost the show’s ratings the station manager sends her and her handsome producer to North Dakota where they’ll shoot a week of programs from a little town that bills itself, “The Christmas Capital of the U.S.”
Unfortunately, the duo arrives in North Dakota to find that the zombie apocalypse is in full swing. No one in the rest of the country knew about it because, well, it was North Dakota after all. Undaunted, although a bit confused, the couple gamely make their way to “The Christmas Capital of the U.S.” where they take refuge in an old hotel with a handful of other survivors.
They film their segments about Christmas while gamely shooting zombies and subsisting on canned foods they’ve scavenged from abandoned homes. The beautiful young reporter learns to love Christmas and falls in love with her handsome producer. Unfortunately, they’re both attacked by zombies and become walking dead themselves.
Now that’s a dream one could sink their teeth into. Am I right?
Praying for Eyebrowz 