Shehanne Moore encouraged me to republish some of my older stuff on WordPress. Well, it doesn’t get much older than this piece. I give you my second blog post on WP.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2014/07/11/a-thigh-slapping-good-time/
Tag: humor
Sipping Smithwick’s at Old Head
Another fine Irish brew, Smithwick’s, or “Smitticks,” as the locals say, was my pick on the fourth day of our trip. This pint was touted as being the finest in the land by the waiter who took my order. I impressed him with my spot on pronunciation, and told him that beer had become my second language.
Here’s to your health!
A fitting toast for today:
I drink to your health when I’m with you,
I drink to your health when I’m alone,
I drink to your health so often,
I’m starting to worry about my own!
Cheers, y’all!
When in Ireland…
When in Ireland, do as the Irish do!
I’m operating on three hours of sleep after a long flight, but managed to down a pint or two of Guinness at a highly recommended pub before our room was ready. Maybe I need to relocate to Ireland.
Here’s an Irish blessing that seemed appropriate for this momentous occasion:
“When we drink, we get drunk.
When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.
So, let’s all get drunk, and go to heaven!”
Travel Games You Cannot Play on an Airplane
One cannot play the alphabet game, the signs are too far below,
And the license plate game is likewise moot, no cars zip to and fro.
One could play the I Spy game, at least a round or two
Until it’s apparent that the objects in view are limited to just a few.
Name That Tune is out, ’cause other passengers aren’t amused,
When you sing an off key Yellow Submarine and they all feel abused.
So I’ll twiddle my thumbs and wiggle my ears the better to pass the time
Or maybe I’ll write silly poems, some may even rhyme.
When Things Change
We age, first in slow-motion, will we ever ride a bike, drive a car, kiss a guy, marry well, bear children?
Then in a blur of wrinkles and gray hair,
Burgeoning numbers of bad cholesterol
Measured in blood tests,
Weighed against stress tests, when we thought our testing days were done. The numbers now matter
More than did our percentages on history tests and English exams. We only thought those were matters of life and death.
Snapshot #187
I folded towels fresh from the dryer. After putting away towels for the master bathroom, I returned to find Scout Elizabeth had made herself comfortable. I call this one, “Peel Me a Grape.”
Tell Me Two Things
Studly and I have been discussing pop music as we drive the back roads around Doright Manor. Well, I’ve been discussing music while he pretends to listen, just occasionally asking, “What?”
I recently told him that I think the Beatles’ Eleanor Rigby has the finest lyrics of any pop song from the 60’s, perhaps the finest of all time.
“What?” Studly asks, then after I repeat myself, “Oh, yeah, it’s got a catchy tune.”
“Don’t you even listen to the lyrics?”
“Not really,” he said.
How have I managed to stay married to this man for 40+ years? Oh, I guess there is that crazy little thing called love.
So, readers, tell me two things:
1)Which pop song from the last five decades has the best lyrics?
2)Does your significant other understand what lyrics are?
Eleanor Rigby
The Beatles
Lyrics
Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Songwriters: John Lennon / John Winston Lennon / Paul Mccartney / Paul James Mccartney
Eleanor Rigby lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Learning to Sleep Again
I overthink everything, even managing to overthink my tendency to overthink. Lately I’ve been overthinking about my inability to sleep. Granted, I do sleep better now than I did a couple of years ago, but there are still many nights when my brain refuses to shut off, nights when I feel like I have twice as many arms as a normal human and none of them can find a comfortable position in relation to my head or torso or legs.
As I engaged in overthinking I realized that part of the problem stemmed from the acres of clothing I seem to wear to bed. My simple nightshirt magically turns into a parachute-sized garment around midnight, and no matter how I turn or twist or reorient my body, it bunches up beneath me. Plus, my pajama bottoms ratchet up to my knees causing my calves to rub together and causing all sorts of unpleasant irritations.
I liken my dilemma to that of the princess and the pea. No matter how small the annoyance, it becomes a boulder as I ache for sleep.
I tried sleeping in the nude, but none of my body parts like touching each other. They need their own space, little divas that they are. Ideally, I should be allowed to sleep like a starfish taking up the entire bed; however, Studly Doright wouldn’t have a spot, and since he pays the rent I can’t very well shoo him away.
And honestly, I’m a side sleeper. Fetal position works best, but again, those darned body parts come into play. What I need is a mummy wrap. But then I’d get too hot, or I’d have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I can picture me in the throes of a hot flash or doing the potty dance, trying to unwind my wrappings as quickly as possible, and ultimately failing.
So today I bought a sleep bra, and tonight I’m going to pair it with a pair of yoga pants. There’ll be no excess material to speak of, and just maybe I can prevent my arms from coming into contact with each other. I wonder how a straight jacket might work?
Anyway, wish me luck. Better yet, wish me sleep.
Peace, people.
Climbing El Capitan
I watched the news, the pictures of a man climbing El Capitan alone. A solo feat, no wires, no safety net,
Only chalk and hands, feet and guts. I struggle climbing stairs. I’ve fallen on level surfaces, tripping on my
Own shoelaces, or worse yet, over nothing at all. I’ll drink a toast to the man and his mountain, and ask for help getting to bed.
It’s a really long walk, and the tiles are slippery.
Snapshot #186
I haven’t posted a snapshot for several days, mostly because I’ve been a lazy slug, but today I was shopping for a robe to pack for Ireland and wandered into J.C. Penney in Tallahassee. Finding nothing in the lingerie department to suit me, I checked the swimsuit section because sometimes swimsuit cover-ups are the perfect light robes for travel.
Imagine my confusion when this sight greeted me in swimwear. I’m calling this one, “Not Your Daughter’s Bikini.”
Praying for Eyebrowz 