You can’t be too careful.
I believe I’ll stick with the “Eat Bacon, Don’t Jog” diet.
It’s legit.
Peace, people!
Category: Commentary
Funny How This Works
A blogging friend shared this post today:
Nachos..
Posted on March 29, 2016 by A Not So Jaded Life
I called for a nacho night, awesome right? Except I ate almost all the cheese before it went on the corn chips… Why do I do these unforgivable things.
I can certainly identify with her dilemma. Nachos sans cheese are just chips. I imagine that when the ingredients met up in her stomach they probably recognized their respective soul mates and did a happy dance.
But her tale reminded me of one from my very early childhood. I commented:
When I was very little my mom made up a mixture of peanut butter and Karo syrup to put on toast. But while she was toasting the bread I devoured the mixture. She got so tickled because I thought the peanut butter and syrup was my breakfast. I remember that vividly and I was only three or four at the time. Your post brought that back to me. Thanks!
I can still picture the confusion on Mother’s face when she brought the toast to the table and found that the peanut butter and syrup bowl was empty–probably licked clean. It was my first taste of that lovely concoction and it was bowl licking good.
Then she began to laugh. And it was a wonderful laugh. We mixed up more of the good stuff and enjoyed it on our toast. And then I watched Captain Kangaroo.
This is why we share our lives through our blogs. The exciting and mundane, the shocking and the bland can provide meaningful connections. You never know when your post is going to trigger a lost memory.
Heres a link to my friend’s site. Check her out!
https://anotsojadedlife.wordpress.com/author/anotsojadedlife/
Peace, people.
Politics: The Lighter Side
I have to admit this political season in the United States is getting to me. One cannot turn on the TV without encountering a nasty story or stories about this candidate or the other.
On social media one might scroll through dozens of political memes before encountering even one cute kitten video, and weren’t cute kittens the reason social media was invented?
I’m guilty of posting the political stuff on my Facebook page. Even though there is absolutely no one on my friends’ list who doubts my political leanings I am compelled to seek out and share that one photo that just might make everyone, even obstructionists like senate majority leader Mitch McConnell, change their minds and see things my way.
Can you imagine? The phone rings,
“Hello?” I say.
“Ms. Noyes, this is senate majority leader Mitch McConnell.”
“No effing way!”
“Yes, it’s me. Surprise!”I can hear the smile and goodwill in his voice.
“Look,” he continues, “I want you to know that SCOTUS meme you posted…it really made me reexamine my position. Now, not only am I going to urge members of my party to visit with the President’s nominee, but I’m going to suggest they give him a down vote so Mr. Obama can nominate a true Liberal to the court.”
“Well, it’s about time you saw the error of your ways. Would you now please ask jackassinpoughkeepsie to stop trolling me online?”
“Sure! Sure! Anything for someone as politically astute as yourself.”
Something occurs to me, “Say Mitch, you know if you go this route with the Supreme Court nominee the National Rifle Association is going to pull its support so quickly that not only will your head spin, but the heads of your children and your children’s children will look like multi-colored tops orbiting the equator.”
“No worries! I’ve stockpiled the um, donations the NRA has made to my campaign for years, so I’m set for life. For several lives, actually.”
“Good to know, Mitch. So I’m pretty busy. I need to get back to scouring the web for cute cats. I hear there’s a great video showing them jumping out of boxes.”
“Okay! Hey, keep up the good work. You really made me see the light.”
“‘Bye Mitch.”
“Goodbye Ms. Noyes.”
My imaginary conversation with Mitch made me do some soul searching. What if, instead of posting serious political memes on my Facebook page I looked for the lighter side, the Pollyanna version of politics. So with that thought I give you the following. Both sides will get skewered:
My personal favorite:
But, honestly, wouldn’t we all rather see this?
https://www.facebook.com/AndMyCat/posts/1224833260861682
And as always, Peace, people!
My Next Tattoo?
I’ve always heard that once you get a tattoo you’ll soon be jonesing for another.
Of course this one’s been taken now. Cross it off my list.
Peace, people
In Praise of Eyeglasses
I petted a rug this morning. Bent down and stroked it before realizing it wasn’t my black cat.
Granted the lighting was dim, and I hadn’t had my first sip of coffee yet, but I talked to the rug in the voice I generally reserve for my black cat long before I got close enough to pet it.
I should’ve known something was up when she didn’t talk back.
Paying a Debt
It took me a second to understand this picture–why would anyone desecrate the headstone on Susan B. Anthony’s grave? But then I realized the stickers said, “I voted today” and I smiled.
Please use your right to vote. Become informed, and speak your mind come Election Day. Don’t ignore this gift that women like Susan B. Anthony fought to give us.
And if you haven’t seen the film, Suffragette, detailing the hardships British women endured in order to be allowed to vote, I highly recommend it.
It’s Raining Benadryl!
Last night I had a dilemma. I could take the anti-inflammatory drug prescribed by my doctor to fight the pain in my lower back, or I could take a sinus/allergy pill in order to breathe.
Since the anti-inflammatory cautioned against taking anything with acetaminophen or ibuprofen I was forced to choose. Did I want to lie awake all night due to an excruciatingly painful back or due to a headache from the depths of hell? Decisions, decisions.
Then I remembered that Studly Doright had just bought an economy sized bottle of the antihistamine Benadryl. While it wouldn’t necessarily help with my congestion, it might just knock me out enough that I didn’t care about breathing.
Studly has his own medical stash separate from mine, a tradition started back when he once accidentally took the menstrual cramp reliever Midol and subsequently tried to puke them up lest he develop feminine attributes. Since then our drugs don’t occupy the same space. It’s a rule.
His nearly full bottle of Benadryl was front and center among his medicine collection. It took a couple of seconds to negotiate the child safety cap, but soon I had all those little pink pills at my disposal.
That’s when Studly chose to surreptitiously come up behind me and playfully demand, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I shrieked and lost control of the bottle, sending it on a vertical trajectory aimed for the bathroom skylight. Little pink pills went everywhere. Everywhere. I was still finding them behind perfume atomizers and cosmetic jars this morning.
And since my back wouldn’t let me bend over, poor Studly had to pick up all of the pills that landed on the floor. That’ll teach him to sneak up on me when I’m thieving.
Fortunately I salvaged a couple of pills last night ensuring a deep sleep. Of course I still have the same dilemma tonight, and Studly has declared his medicine cabinet off-limits. I wonder how many glasses of wine equal two Benadryl?
Peace, people.
Courting Studly
The title is deceptive. I have no intention of detailing my dating years with Studly Doright. Suffice it to say we made out a lot in parked cars, and at one point he asked, “So, you want to get married or what?”
To which I answered affirmatively, and the rest is history. Ancient and yet present history. No, this post is about Studly answering a summons to report for jury duty here in Gadsden County, Florida.
I get all excited when I’m selected for jury duty. I’ve gotten the summons many times, but was chosen to serve just once. I think maybe my bright pink Pick Me! Pick Me! banner is a bit off-putting to attorneys. I can’t imagine why.
Studly does not share my enthusiasm for performing his civic duty. In fact, his response to the summons included a string of colorful curse words, and he seldom swears.
After he calmed down I assured him it was unlikely he’d have to serve. “They call up tons of folks! What are the odds?” I offered to let him take my lucky pink sign.
Apparently he should’ve taken my sign or purchased lottery tickets this week because he came home from the jury selection on Monday with the grimmest expression I’ve seen outside of a Criminal Minds episode. Another string of imaginative swear words accompanied his telling of the story. I fed him dinner and patted his hand.
Curious, I asked him if they’d been given any idea as to what crime had been committed. He nodded, thoughtfully chewing an extra savory bite of roast that I’d lovingly prepared, but said he wasn’t able to tell me.
Now it was my turn to say something colorful. “Son of a biscuit eater!”
So I changed my tack. I cajoled and flirted. Flashed a sexy thigh. Seductively bent over the laundry basket and wiggled my backside. But he wouldn’t spill the beans.
This morning I sent him on his way with an admonition to be a good little juror, and a husky whisper promising all sorts of naughtiness if he’d just give me the scoop. But, still he refused.
There’s a reason I call him Studly Doright. Dammit!
Peace, people!
Settling
What’s the difference in getting what you want and in settling for what they’ve got?
Why do I always feel like a nag, a shrew when I search for days and weeks and months and nothing I find will do?
So I go along to get along and accept the next best thing, but I plump it up with pillows and color and try to give it zing.
But in the back of my mind I always think, next time I’ll hold out. Next time there’ll be no doubt.
That I got exactly what I wanted and not just what they offered. Maybe.
Limp About Town
Fifty-nine years and what do I know?
Apart from grey hair and wrinkles in tow
I’ve developed a limp and I’ve aches in my knees
That defy medication; I’m begging please
Just amputate everything south of my waist
I don’t need it anyhow so do it with haste
Before I have time to consider the loss
Of hips, thighs, legs, and those vaginal parts
I’ll still have my arms, my mouth, and brain
To write, rant, and think as I go slowly insane.
I’ve done something to my right hip which in turn is affecting my ankle. I’m walking as if I’m 102. It’s no fun. So, I turned it into this little ditty hoping it would make me feel better. So far, it hasn’t helped even a little bit.
Praying for Eyebrowz 