Tag: humor

I Lost My Marble

A few months ago I posted a whimsical piece about the thoughts I entertained while picking up a marble with my toes. (Link below, if you’re interested.) The exercise eventually helped reform my wayward middle metatarsal, and I dispensed with the activity.

Recently, though, my metatarsal began behaving badly again. When I went to find my marble it was gone. I truly had lost my marble. I looked high and low, mumbling to myself like some sort of mad woman. The cats, who I suspect of having had something to do with my marble’s disappearance watched me warily as I dove into drawers, cast shoes about the closet, and peered into dark corners and between chair cushions. Alas, no marble.

So when I spied a jar of marbles at a shop in Apalachicola with the sign, “Marbles: 30 for $1.00,” I grabbed a couple of greenies and took them to the checkout counter. 

“Only two?” The proprietor asked.

“Yes sir, you see I lost my marble and I’m looking for a replacement. The second one’s insurance.”

“In that case, no charge,” he said. “Never let it be said that I deprived a woman of her marbles.”

Call me crazy, but I think he just wanted me out of his store.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2016/10/13/thoughts-while-picking-up-a-marble-with-my-toes/

Snapshot #139

I’m trying to finish a project (alright, a nap), when Patches inserted herself into the scenario, insisting that I rise from my comfortable spot and get her a treat. I call this one, “Can You Hear Me Meow?”

I Hate it When That Happens

On Sunday evening, Doright Manor took a direct lightning strike, frying both of our television sets, along with our washing machine, and Studly Doright’s elliptical exercise machine. The blinding flash of lightning and the simultaneous explosion of a deafening clap of thunder didn’t do much for my blood pressure, either. 

We’d been in bed for only a few minutes when the strike came. Of course Studly was already snoring in that annoying way he has of dropping off to sleep the second his head hits the pillow, and true to form, I was reading. Our eldest cat, Scout, who is generally unperturbed by storms began meowing frantically just before the KABOOM! I should’ve known something big was about to happen.

Oddly enough we never lost electricity, but we are without television and Internet until service providers can make the trip out here. And if I want to do laundry before next Wednesday I’ll have to head to a laundromat. Strike that. I’ll GET to go to a laundromat. I’m awfully fond of them, you know. Best people watching in the world happens at laundromats.


Oh, about Studly’s elliptical machine…I’m lobbying to just chuck it. I kept thinking I’d write a post about the way its hulking presence in our den/kitchen area has marred the feng shui of my otherwise peaceful existence. Now it appears there was karmic redemption. Bwahaha!

https://youtu.be/RasBza2FL84

Peace, people.

Hip to be Square

Aging sucks, but as I’m frequently reminded it beats the hell out of the alternative. This past October I celebrated my 60th birthday. Six decades on this earth have taken a toll on my body. I’m no longer the svelte, lithesome broad I once was. And everything hurts.

My ankles hurt, my thighs hurt, and my hips seem to be stuck in neutral. I’m okay as long as I move forward, just don’t ask me to pivot or cha cha. Damn, I miss cha cha-ing. 

A Facebook pop up advertisement (amazing how they pick up on my personal needs) prompted me to check on exercises designed to ease those frozen hips. Apparently, if I could stretch my hip flexors, I might achieve full range of motion. I could once again cha cha.

I turned to Google, and this stretch was the first thing to appear under “hip flexor stretches.”


Honestly. I can’t cha cha and they expect me to do this? I tried. Lord knows I tried. Studly Doright walked in during my attempt and laughed so hard I would have slapped him if I could’ve gotten up off the floor.

I’ll be in the whirlpool tub if anyone needs me.

https://g.co/kgs/oXQ3m7
Peace, people.

Breath Mints and Poop Emojis

Wednesday mid-morning I was bumming around the house. Boredom set in. I knew that if I didn’t get out of the house as soon as possible I’d be reduced to watching crappy morning tv shows and snacking, neither of which are healthy hobbies.

So, I threw on a pair of denim capris and my favorite blue tshirt and headed to my go to boredom beating destination: Walmart. The best thing about Walmart is that you can have a good time even if you don’t spend a dime. That should be their slogan. Walmart: Have a Good Time Without Spending a Dime! Ok, I guess advertising isn’t my thing. 

Since I didn’t have anything in particular to shop for I wandered around in circles for awhile, picking up a new water dish for my cats, a couple of really cheap picture frames ($1.59 folks!), and some breath mints. Bitches never have enough breath mints. (I’ve been dying to type that phrase. I have no idea why.)

As usual Walmart had its amusing moments. Did you know that bean bag chairs in the shape of the 💩 (poop) emoji exist? Me neither! But look:


As bean bag chairs go, it was small. Child-sized. What kind of parent buys a poop emoji bean bag chair for their child? An awesome one, for sure.

As luck would have it I saw this hanging out beside the checkout line, right next to the small packages of Cheet-Os and Doritos. This made me giggle out loud.


Can’t you just picture Trump skulking around the White House in the middle of the night? He’s wielding a baseball bat as Ivanka cowers in fear behind him. 

“Are you sure you heard a noise,” he asks his beloved daughter/acting First Lady.

“Yes, father, it sounded like it was coming from the press room.”

The two peer into the murky space and what do they see? Big Bird and Elmo busily texting Putin. Yes, that’s why Trump really wants to defund NPR and PBS! Damned muppet spies! 

The fearless leader whacks both of them with the bat and Ivanka assists in removing all traces of their bloody deaths. Russian spies gone for good.

See, I told you Walmart is a great boredom beater! Now, go have an awesome day.

Peace, people!

Titles Without a Tale

Every now and then I have a flash of an idea that turns into a title for a poem or story or expository piece for this blog. Sometimes these ideas pop fully blown into my head leaving me to type as fast as my fingers will allow. Sometimes I have to coax them along to fruition. Sadly, often these ideas go no further than the title stage.

I’m still suffering from some mental lag brought on by a combination of travel stress and daylight savings time. Nothing other than the desire to nap, snack, and repeat has manifested itself into my brain in the past two days. So I went to the place where titles go to percolate or expire–the dreaded “draft” folder. 

Here’s one. What was I thinking? Wine must’ve been involved. And maybe paddles. Wink, wink.


Well, I guess this next one might’ve gotten a bit sticky….


And the age old question didn’t awaken my muse.


Here are a couple of ideas that so far have gone nowhere.


And maybe I could combine these next two.


Fellow bloggers, do you do this? Keep a file of “might work” titles? 


Some of these need to go in the trash file. But not today. Today I’m feeling desperate. 

Peace, people!

Pardon the Interruption 

I am way behind in writing fresh material for this blog. Normally there are two or three pieces queued up and ready to go, but I’ve spent the past four days driving to and from the Texas hill country. I don’t know about you, but I find it difficult to drive and write simultaneously. 

Briefly I toyed with dictating posts into my iPhone, but apparently I do not speak distinctly. Eliza Doolittle in her pre-transformation period might’ve fared better than I. The “Rain in Spain” refrain should become part of my daily repertoire. Or not. 

Not only have I fallen behind on writing, but my inbox is chock full of unread emails from bloggers I follow and also from Nigerian princes who wish me good health and promise great financial rewards for just a moment of my time. Hopefully I’ll get to catch up on all the opportunities now that I’m home.

I look forward to getting back into my groove, but for now, I’m just going to rest. 

Peace, people!

https://g.co/kgs/JxaWdo

Plump

My thighs are plump,
As is my rump
My tummy, too
Has a fluffy bump
And if all that
Weren’t bad enough
My face is fat,
My cheeks look stuft.
The only parts
That still look thin
Are my narrow lips
And pointy chin.
Don’t look for me
In this year’s issue
Of Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Edition.

There’s a Pattern Here

I have a slight addiction to Pinterest. It’s the site I turn to when I need a clever illustration for my blog or a decorating idea. Lately I’ve been searching Pinterest for vintage sewing patterns.

Don’t ask me why. I can’t sew, and I don’t own a sewing machine. The one outfit I made in Mrs. Craig’s high school home economics class fell apart shortly after I modeled it in the class fashion show, and I haven’t made another attempt in over forty years. Yet, there’s something about these patterns that calls to me.

Apparently, I’m not the only one. Patterns similar to these sell for as much as $60 on EBay. 



Am I too old at 60 to learn how to sew? Maybe I could figure out how to use a 3D printer to create these styles. That’s equally plausible.

What’s your guilty pleasure? Is there something you google or search Pinterest or eBay for that you’ll probably never follow through on? 

Peace, people!