Tag: humor

Confluence

Currently I’m reading Stephen King’s novel, The Outsider. I’m about 4/5 of the way through the book and had to stop and catch my breath. The man certainly knows how to build to a thrilling denouement. I’m sure nightmares are forthcoming.

Somewhere in the pages I’ve already read one of the main characters uses the word confluence. The details of a gruesome murder in one small Oklahoma town and those of a similar crime in Ohio led those investigating the first to discover the second due to a confluence of events.

I began to wonder if I’d ever used the word confluence in a conversation or in writing, and I can say with almost complete certainty that until this day I never had. It’s such a mellifluous word, and fairly rolls off the tongue. Sort of like mellifluous does, come to think about it. I wish I’d used it at some earlier time in my 61 years on this earth.

Yesterday Studly Doright and I went for breakfast at the Broken Egg in Tallahassee. As we waited for our orders to arrive the Neil Diamond song, Thank the Lord for the Night Time, played over the restaurant’s sound system. We’d just heard the same song on Sirius/XM’s channel 6 on our drive across town. So would that be a coincidence or a confluence of events? Or is it just sad that I had to listen to that song twice within a twenty minute period?

The photos above show the confluence of the turquoise blue Havasu Creek with the Colorado River. Neither has anything to do with Neil Diamond.

Peace, people!

A Golf Widow’s Lament

My husband, Studly Doright, is a Golfer. Note the capital “g.” Normally he plays golf every Saturday and Sunday with an occasional Wednesday evening thrown in unless the weather doesn’t permit. And in Florida, the weather permits roughly 98% of the time.

When I was a younger woman I detested the many hours his golf habit kept him from home. I felt like every couple in the world was out strolling with clasped hands at farmers’ markets while Studly and I were separated by a chasm comprised of eighteen holes. I complained a lot. He ignored me.

Then one day about a decade ago I began to enjoy those times when he was on the course. I took myself places he wouldn’t enjoy like public gardens and parks, tea rooms and chick flicks. I went to local nurseries and learned about butterfly gardens. I roamed the aforementioned farmers’ markets and attended art exhibits. In short, I happily cultivated my interests.

Then eight weeks ago Studly had surgery to repair an extrusion of his sciatic nerve. He was in excruciating pain prior to surgery, but managed to play golf right up to the day they cut into him. Golf allowed him to focus on something other than the pain.

The weeks after the surgery have been tough. While his pain has lessened, he has jumpy nerves and restless legs that keep him from sleeping well and reminding him that he’s still recuperating. Worst of all, he won’t be cleared to play golf until the second week of August. That’s about to drive Studly, and me, nuts.

Perhaps if he felt better we might enjoy a few couples’ activities like I used to dream of us doing. But nowadays I really prefer doing things by myself. He’s my favorite guy, but he isn’t a farmers’ market aficionado. Still, if he was up for some outings, I’d gladly include him in my plans

Last evening Studly said in his saddest voice, “I’ve missed at least 16 rounds of golf, but who’s counting?” Broke my heart.

Maybe I can cajole him into going out for breakfast this morning, and we can browse through a motorcycle shop. That’s about as close to a farmers’ market as he’s going to get. Never thought I’d say this, but I am so ready to be a golf widow once again.

Peace, people.

Snapshot #206

Our Scout is the weirdest cat. I’m calling this photo, “Cat on a Cold Ice Pack.” It’s kind of like “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” only much more chilling.

#SecondCivilWar

American propagandist and ranting radio host, Alex Jones is all about spewing lies. Somehow he still has followers, and some of them believe every word his vile mouth says. Last weekend Jones decreed that he had first hand knowledge that the Liberals (he calls us Libtards or Snowflakes) were plotting a second Civil War to begin on July 4th.

Well, Twitter had a heyday with Jones. The hashtag #SecondCivilWar went viral and won the day:

Above is just a meager sampling of the hilarity that ensued from Jones’s declaration. I didn’t enter the fray, but I thought I’d add my own take here:

June 4, 2018

Dearest Studly,

My darling, I know you were hesitant to let me take my place on the front lines, but I knew my role was here at Fort Chick-fil-A on N. Monroe. After many minor skirmishes we have the place surrounded.

The red army has been launching waffle fries laced with ketchup out of the drive-through window to make it appear as though we have sustained significant injuries. Two of my soldiers have received hot grease burns requiring the application of cold compresses.

Currently our resistance fighters are dressed as chickens while clucking strenuously and carrying signs that read “Eat Mor Beef! Eat Mor Beef!” as the enemy sobs.

It pains us so to use poor spelling, but it seems the only way to reach the poor ignorant bastards.

I’ve been awarded a field promotion, and hope to be home soon. War is hell.

Love always,

Lieutenant Nana

People for the American Way

I listened today to a Neil Degrasse-Tyson interview with famed writer/producer Norman Lear, who gave us the groundbreaking television shows, “All in the Family” and “Maude” among many others. At the time of the interview, Mr. Lear was 92, so the interview is three years old.

Norman Lear, then and now:

In the interview Mr. Lear mentioned a public service ad that his People for the American Way Foundation produced in the 80’s. It sounded pertinent to today’s issues, so I went in search of the ad. Thanks to google, it was a snap to find. Well, once I remembered the actual name of the foundation, it was a snap. I approve this message.

https://youtu.be/xEyIrGM0K6g

Peace, people!

Have a Laugh

When I don’t have anything to say, I let others do it for me. Some of these I found on Facebook, others on Pinterest. I figured we could all use a giggle. Note that I’ve grouped them for your consideration.

Diagnostic jokes:

Acupuncture, anyone?

Something to make you think:

A couple of unicorn jokes:

A bit of humor for the aging:

And one that made me snort:

Finally, Studly Doright and I laughed ourselves silly over this YouTube video. I really wish you all could hear his laugh. It’s really why I stay married to the man. 😉😉https://youtu.be/HFFgCTKy2c4 Peace, people!

Coming Attractions

This next week is going to be spent preparing for fun. I’m leaving on a road trip to spend some time with a good friend in Kingsport, Tennessee, on the 9th, and that kind of fun requires some serious forethought.

My car needs an oil change and a good cleaning. My nails need to be manicured and pedicured. I have to think about what needs to be packed. My hair needs to grow an inch. Okay, the last one’s unlikely to happen unless a miracle occurs, but I can wish, right?

Of course Wednesday is the 4th of July. I’m not feeling particularly patriotic this year, but Studly Doright will have the day off. We’ll most likely cook burgers on the grill and maybe catch a matinee. Oh, and we’ll probably spend the night being annoyed by firecrackers. When did I get old?

On Thursday I have my annual physical. Whoopee. There’s nothing like being poked and prodded and having to pay for the privilege. And when one is in her sixties, as I am, there’s no telling what one will learn. Cholesterol too high? Blood pressure out of whack? I can’t wait to see what’s wrong with me this year. Again I ask, when did I get old?

On the less depressing side, my husband, Studly Doright, is doing better on his road to recovering from minor back surgery. He’s been able to sleep, and he’s gotten his appetite back, so he’s not nearly as justifiably grouchy as he’s been since the procedure. Life is pretty good, even for a couple of old folks.

Peace, people.

Umbrella Geography

As I drove through a pop up thunderstorm on my way into Tallahassee yesterday I glanced over to make sure my umbrella was tucked into its appropriate spot in the catch-all pocket of the passenger seat door. Sure enough, there it was just waiting to provide an invaluable service. And if it hadn’t been there I knew there was another umbrella in the pocket behind my seat.

Studly Doright and I keep two umbrellas in each of our vehicles, plus spares in the house for visitors and one in his shop. We are a proud, multi-umbrella household.

For most of my life I didn’t even own such a device. I thought they were pretty when characters on tv and in movies unfurled their umbrellas to stroll through a gentle rainfall. In theory I knew they could be useful, but I grew up in the dusty Texas panhandle where most days it was too dry to whistle.

Unless one is an umbrella fetishist there is absolutely no use for an umbrella in places that might get rain three times a year. And when it does rain in Floydada, or Claude, Texas, the howling winds generally render an umbrella useless.

When our daughter was small she desperately wanted a colorful raincoat with matching galoshes and umbrella. We were barely living paycheck to paycheck back then, so something the child might get to use once in her life wasn’t high on my list of priorities. But she’d have been adorable in matching rain gear. Damned poverty.

How many umbrellas do you own? Is the number directly related to where you live? I considered making the claim that I could tell where respondents reside by the number of umbrellas they owned, but decided I’d just be guessing. I’m no umbrella soothsayer, after all.

Peace, people.