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!



Well, it’s great news. My moles were nothing more than moles. Of course I’d already planned for the worst, written my own eulogy and scheduled my farewell tour. It seems a shame to waste the eulogy, so I won’t.


What can we say about a woman of her wit, her talent, her love for her fellow man? We could say that she never met a stranger. We could say that she had more time on her hands than was prudent. We could say that she was a hopeless romantic who always held out hope that Studly would one day surprise her with a romantic getaway to a Caribbean island retreat where she would have unlimited access to every spa service ever conceived.

We could say that she had a heart of pure gold, but that would be a total lie. She actually had a heart of flesh and blood, which could be broken by a harsh word or thoughtless deed even though she always claimed the opposite.

We could say that she loved her children, but that would be an understatement. She adored them. We could say that her grandchildren were important to her, but in truth they made her days worth living. They were her reason for being.

She didn’t want a long eulogy, so I’ll stop with one last thought. Nananoyz wanted people to be kind to one another. So, smile at one another as you leave this place. Hug your spouse. Embrace your children and grandchildren. Go forth and be kind.

And please, don’t let Studly take wife #2 to a Caribbean island.

(I’m resting in) Peace, People!

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.

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.


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.

Roller Skates and Sexual Innuendo

Melanie Safka recorded “I’ve Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates” back in 1971. As a teenager I loved the song and sang it often. This past week something triggered memories of the tune and it got stuck in my head. I found myself singing it all the time. What a fun, happy song!

Or is it? An acquaintance of roughly my age heard me singing it and commented, “I always liked that song, but my mom wouldn’t let me sing it.”

“Really?” I asked, intrigued. “Why?”

“Well, she thought it was too sexual.”

Ok. This came as a complete surprise to yours truly. What could possibly be sexual about a young girl celebrating her love of roller skating? I turned to Wikipedia, the defacto source of information for everything in the universe.

According to Wikipedia, “Many listeners detect sexual innuendo in the lyrics, with the key in its lock meant to symbolize sexual intercourse, or in phrases such as “I go pretty far” and “I’ve been all around the world.”

Miss Safka said that she wrote the tune in about 15 minutes, and that there was no deep expression behind the lyrics. She explained, “…people read things into it. They made up incredible stories as to what the lyrics said and what the song meant. In some places, it was even banned from the radio.”

She also acknowledges though, that locks and keys are pretty obvious Freudian symbols for sex, so one could certainly draw such conclusions about the song.

I can’t believe I’ve been so naive all these years! What other subliminal messages lurk in the songs from my youth? Next they’ll be telling me that “Ring Around the Rosie” is really a reference to the Black Death outbreak in the 14th century. I don’t even want to think about “Eensy, Weensy Spider.”

Can you imagine what the lyrics for “Roller Skates” might be if written in this century? The innuendo would be gone, and the key replaced with an anaconda.

Lyrics to “I’ve Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates

I rode my bicycle past your window last night
I roller skated to your door at daylight
It almost seems like you’re avoiding me
I’m OK alone but you’ve got something I need, well

I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates
You’ve got a brand new key
I think that we should get together and
Try them on to see
I been lookin’ around awhile
You got something for me
Oh, I got a brand new pair of roller skates
You got a brand new key

I ride my bike, I roller skate, don’t drive no car
Don’t go too fast, but I go pretty far
For somebody who don’t drive, I been all around the world
Some people say I done all right for a girl

I asked your mother if you were at home
She said yes, but you weren’t alone
Oh, sometimes I think that you’re avoiding me
I’m OK alone but you got something I need, well


I roller skate, I ride my bike, don’t drive no car
Don’t go too fast, but I go pretty far.
Sometimes I think that you’re avoiding me.
I’m okay alone but you got something I need.

Oh, I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates
You’ve got a brand new key.
I think that we should get together to try them out and see,
I’ve been looking around awhile
You’ve got something for me
Oh I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates
You’ve got a brand new key.

Peace, People!

October State of Mind

If “Playmonth” was a magazine and each month received a centerfold, October’s layout would be the best of all. I can see her now, flaming red hair against a backdrop of gold, green, and rust. Her arms flung wide in welcome. Her smile warm and generous. Oh, and her eyes! Her eyes would reflect the passion and promise of autumn. “Come enjoy me,” she’d seem to say in that come hither voice of hers. “I’m all yours.”

When the voting for “Playmonth of the Year” was tallied, the results wouldn’t even be close. October would prevail in a landslide. She’d be interviewed on “The View” by Whoopi Goldberg and Rosie O’Donnel.

Rosie: Hello October! You are looking good!

October: Mmm. Thank you so much. I’ve been working out.

Whoopi: Wait. Welcome, October? I don’t get it…October’s a month….Who booked a month as a guest on the show?

Rosie: I hear you have a big project in the works. Are you more than just another pretty month?

October: Yes, I hope so anyway. My project is to encourage all the coniferous trees into following the deciduous trees’ lead by turning colors during my time as Playmonth of the Year.

Rosie: That’s quite an undertaking.

Whoopie: I’m sorry, but I think that is scientifically impossible.

October: Oh I won’t let a little thing like science stop me. You see, my likes are happy thoughts and nonsense, and my hobbies are roasting marshmallows and hiking through crunchy leaves. I have no use for science.

Rosie: Spoken like a true Playmonth! Everyone, check out October’s layout in “Playmonth Magazine” and you’ll see why she’s Playmonth of the Year.

Whoopie: Why are we calling it that? It’s a calendar for Pete’s sake. October’s a month. Good grief. See what happens when Barbara Walters leaves the show?

Peace, People!

My Apologies to Lennon and McCartney

All my wrinkles seemed so far away.
Now it seems as though they’re here to stay,
Oh how I miss my yesterday.

Gray hair grows where none used to be.
Aging just seems so unfair to me,
Oh yesterday came suddenly.

My youth had to go,
Yes I know
It couldn’t stay.

I turned 58
It’s too late
For yesterday-ay-ay-ay.

Menopause was just a lark you say
These hot flashes keep me warm all day
Oh how I long for yesterday.

Note: I hope I didn’t plagiarize. The tune “Yesterday” kind of popped into my head yesterday afternoon, and the goofy lyrics followed. Surely no one else thinks up dumb things like this.

Peace, People!

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!

Defrost the Kangaroo

One night last week I had a dream that I can’t quite shake. I was in the home of a friend and we were cooking dinner. It must have been for a special occasion, like Thanksgiving or Christmas because there were a dozen or more people milling around. My friend asked me to take the goose out of the freezer so it could thaw. A simple enough request except that she had at least ten freezers spaced around the kitchen, and I couldn’t find the goose in any of them.

Finally I found a butcher paper wrapped item that looked to be the right size and shape. I decided to unwrap it so it would thaw more quickly. Imagine my surprise when a quite alive and lively kangaroo emerged from the paper. She hopped around a bit before fleeing the kitchen. No one seemed even a little bit surprised.

I never did find the goose, but by then the dream moved on, as dreams often do, to a scene in which I was sleeping outside under a blanket of stars. Ok, I’d love some interpretation.

Peace, People!