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The Hard Way

Lessons I’ve learned through experience:

Potatoes have to be cooked before you can mash them.

Sometimes one margarita is one too many.

Good things don’t always come in small packages. (e.g. Bacon flavored gum)

Hot motorcycle pipes and bare legs are a painful combination.

Tissues make terrible bra stuffers.

Nothing tastes as good coming back up as it did going down.

Easter eggs begin to stink when hidden under a bed for a year.

Don’t expect to sleep well after a Walking Dead marathon.

Not everyone gets my sense of humor.

People get feisty over politics.

A smile won’t win over all your critics.

Time isn’t always on one’s side.

Riding a motorcycle while hungover is akin to having a raucous drum cadence played inside one’s head.

Just because one works better under pressure doesn’t mean one should leave projects to the last minute.

Peace, People!

You Are My Density

The meat in my sandwich
The cold in my ice
The onions in my taco
The dots on my dice.

The biscuit ‘neath my gravy
The tootsie in my roll
The water in my ocean
The statistics in my poll.

The sand in my bucket
The flowers in my vase
The chocolate in my chip
The smile on my face.

Love you, Studly.

Peace, People!

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Blogging Junkie

Psssst. Hey, you, yea you.
You got any good ideas?
C’mon man, I just need one.
That’s all I need.
Just a little hit and then I’ll give it up for good.

Oh?
I told you that yesterday?
My bad.
But, I picked up two more followers, man,
and they’re gonna want the good stuff.

I’m jonesin’ dude.
Yeah, I can stop writing anytime I want,
but you know, this ain’t the right time.
I’ll just write one more post.
I promise.

What’s that?
I should write about wine?
No dude.
I already did that like three times already.
Maybe I should find a new supplier.
You keep peddling that same old sh*t.

Pssssst. Hey you.

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Calamity Pain

Ways I’ve injured myself over the years:

Almost cut my pinkie toe off playing in the back of a friend ‘s dad’s work truck.

Fell into the middle of a Tilt-a-Whirl at a carnival and knocked myself goofy.

I slid off the back of Studly’s motorcycle and broke my tailbone after he landed on top of me.

My socks slipped and I slid down a flight of stairs on my butt. Twice.

At a Linton, ND, basketball game I fell down an entire set of bleachers.

I stepped out of a bus at the University of Mary in Bismarck, ND, and fell flat on my butt.

My first trip into Manhattan I slid on a slippery street and landed in the middle of Times Square. My hand landed squarely on a heart shaped charm on my bracelet and for two months I had a perfect heart shaped imprint on my palm.

I once got my feet tangled in my purse straps and fell face down in front of a group of coworkers, bruising a knee in the process.

The very next day I slipped on a patch of ice and bruised my other knee.

Numerous times I have bonked my head on cabinet doors and open drawers.

I have a Ph.D in toe stubbing. My thesis was “Why Toes Are a Necessary Evil in a World of Coffee Tables and Desks.” I’m still searching for a publisher.

October 20, 2014

This made me laugh out loud!

pablo's avatarWhite Outs

10-20-14 horse course-1

…of horse, of horse. Although I’m sure real golfers would not agree.

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So You Think You Can Sing

Singing. I sure wish I had that talent. Watching “The Voice,” I fantasize that I could do what these kids are doing. I want to move people with my voice. I mean, inspire them, not make them run for the exit.

If I had three minutes on stage what would I sing? “Without You” by Harry Nilsson? Dolly Parton’s “Jolene?” I’ve been practicing with my keyboard. Maybe I should play and sing the one song I know–“Jingle Bells.” Oh, the possibilities! Which judges would turn their chairs around? Could I allow Adam Levine to be my coach without falling in love with him? Would he be able to resist my charms? Perhaps I should play it safe and go with Gwen Stefani; although, she’s pretty hot.

I’d need a fresh outfit to cement my street cred. Something that says, “I’m happening in an ageless way.” Maybe I should start lifting weights to tone up my guns. That means ‘arms’ to all the cool cats. I’m definitely cool. As a cucumber. Iceberg lettuce cool.

And I’d need some instruction in stage presence. Should I practice holding the microphone like a diva? Do I stand still crooning into my mic or should I pace around the stage like a caged cougar?

Argh! So many things to consider. Maybe I’ll take up dancing instead. Now, if I only had the talent. Who knows how to apply to, “So You Think You Can Dance?”

Turn down for this, People!

Howard Stern, Neil Young, and Inspiration

I have an hour between testing sessions at schools, so I’m sitting outside in my car listening to Howard Stern’s interview with the great Neil Young.

The two spent a great deal of time discussing Neil’s songwriting legacy and what inspires him. Neil spoke about the ideas that come to him as a gift. When he gets an idea, no matter where he is or what he is doing he stops and takes care of the idea right then. His ideas, he said, come to him out of the ether.

Howard chose that time to play one of Neil’s greatest hits, “Ohio,” the lyric story of the murders at Kent State so many years ago. The inspiration came from the Time magazine cover that captured the horror of that day, an image that drove Neil into the woods where he sat on a rock until he had captured the song. It didn’t take him long–many of his songs came to him quickly.

He made me think a lot about inspiration. Some days the ideas flow like a wide open faucet and I’ll end up with five or six posts without breaking a sweat. That doesn’t mean they’re all great, but that’s not the point. Someone else, says Mr. Young can decide if what one writes is good or not. The world has plenty of critics.

Other days no ideas come. It’s like I’m knocking on a door, but nobody answers. On those days I just start typing. Sometimes what happens is surprisingly good, but usually it gets the delete treatment. I try to capture my ideas as soon as they hit me, but many float in and out of my head before I even recognize them as ideas. What I’d really like is for Neil Young’s creative genius to be magically implanted in my brain.

Fun fact: Did you know that Neil Young and Rick James once roomed together and played in a band called the Mynah Birds? They weren’t yet out if their teens.

Studly’s Addiction

My husband is a man of moderation. He doesn’t drink to excess. He doesn’t smoke. The strongest drug he takes is Advil. But he does have a problem: Bad TV.

“Cops,” “American Jail,” “Gas Monkey Garage,” “Tosh.0,” “Ridiculousness,” etc. Our evenings are filled with this stuff and nonsense. He roots for the tasering of suspects and the face plants of skateboarders. Our remote control firmly within his grasp, he flips between horrible programming with a gleam in his eye. It could be worse, I suppose. I have a friend whose husband is into Court TV.

Is it any wonder that I drink? I read, as well, but the drinking is the most beneficial. Wine allows me to sit with Studly and tolerate these programs with a vacant smile on my face. We hold hands. I pretend we are watching something with substance like “Criminal Minds” or “The Walking Dead.” Hey, I didn’t say I was perfect.

Peace, People!

Vampires and Zombies and Werewolves, OH My!

A blogger whose posts I follow posed the question yesterday, “What is the difference between vampires and zombies? I jumped on the question immediately, because while I don’t know much about anything of importance I know a great deal about supernatural creatures.

My response to my friend was that zombies are dead, while vampires are undead. In my scholarly opinion, zombies, while deadly, are not inherently evil, while vampires are. They are both quite dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula is the guidebook for all things undead. Anyone claiming to be knowledgeable about vampires who has not read Stoker’s tome is a mere pretender. While I can appreciate the sparkliness of Twilight’s Cullen clan, they are not true vampires. They are some aberration and should be treated as such. Cute and cuddly, but hardly worth guarding against with garlic and holy water.

Zombies, by all accounts, are simply reanimated dead people driven by a desire to eat human flesh, preferably brains. Some accounts attribute the zombie condition to an infected brain stem which remains functional despite the death and decay of its host body. The virus is the only living thing inside of said zombie. And they do decay, unlike vampires.

Werewolves are an entirely different matter. They are very much alive, perhaps too much so. One must survive a werewolf bite or flesh rending attack in order to become a werewolf. Perhaps that explains why they are so few in number. For the better part of each month werewolves live quite normal lives, attending PTA meetings and congressional hearings; however, during the full moon they transform fully into bloodthirsty beasts and terrorize all within their hunting range.

I hope this small treatise clears up any confusion about the nature of these denizens of the dark. If you have any questions of a scholarly nature I’ll be glad to entertain them at 1-888-Vampire. (Not really. I made that part up.)

The Walking Dead

series starts tonight if you’d like more zombie input.

Peace, People!

Check out: https://ksfinblog.wordpress.com/

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Whack A Mole

Several weeks back I spotted a suspicious mole on my left forearm. It came to my attention as Studly and I were out rowing in our kayak. Of course I freaked a little and called the doctor the next day. I really expected him to chuckle, pat me on the head and send me away, but to my chagrin he wanted a dermatologist to look at it.

His office referred me to a reputable clinic, and as I write this I’m sitting on the exam table awaiting the arrival of the doctor. Of course the spot has now faded to a mere freckle, so I feel like a complete imposter, but since I’m here I thought he could do a complete body check. Heaven knows I’ve got plenty of body to check. We could be here awhile.

(Pause for exam)

Okay, the doctor has come and done his thorough exam. He’s concerned about the freckle spot and wants to do a biopsy. There’s another spot on my shin he wants biopsied as well. This is getting to be quite an ordeal. Right now, his nurse is preparing to numb my two troublesome areas with a rather long syringe.

(Pause for gasps of pain)

Damn, the one on my shin hurt like a sonofabitch. Remind me to forgo any offers to tattoo that particular area of my body. Now, I just have to wait until someone comes to perform the actual biopsy.

(Pause to hum the Jeopardy theme song)

The biopsyists (?) just entered, a young man and young woman (they both look 12) wielding sharp objects. I wonder why they’ve sent in two people, then, I realize they’re tag teaming me. He goes for my shin.

(Pause for sharply indrawn breath–totally unnecessary given the aforementioned numbing)

She goes for my forearm. He bandages my shin. She bandages my forearm. Simultaneously they pat my hands and rush out the door as quickly as they blew in, telling me I can get dressed. I feel like the Doublemint twins have left the room.

(Pause to get dressed)

(Pause to wait)

Waiting sucks. Please send good vibes my way if you’re so inclined.

Peace, People.