Tag: humor

TMI?

I have a gift when it comes to giving out too much information, a.k.a. TMI. My brain is hollering, “For the love of God, STOP!” while my mouth keeps spouting all the details of my life that are better left untouched, unknown, and uncovered.

 

In the good and/or bad old days if one gave out TMI it often wasn’t a big deal, unless one happened to be in front of a television audience. The TMI didn’t travel far or for any distance. However, today’s social media makes sharing TMI much too easy and in some ways dangerous. 

Take yesterday, for example. My 10-year-old grandaughter started a pet care service. She created a professional looking sign, made copies, and posted them all around her small town Illinois neighborhood. I immediately copied the photo and posted it on my Facebook page. Thank goodness my youngest brother pointed out that it might not be wise to post the phone number of a preteen girl on Facebook, and I promptly deleted it.

Usually, though, my tendency is to provide entirely too much information about myself. Case in point, I typed this post on my iPhone. In the john. Would someone fetch me some t.p.? TMI?

  
Peace, people!

Waiting for Mr. Cable Guy

Ah, Saturday afternoon! Post-golf, pre-dinner. Perfect for waiting on the cable guy or girl as the case may be.

 Who schedules a cable installation between 5 and 7 p.m. on a Saturday evening? Apparently Comcast does.  

So here Studly Doright and I sit on what is usually our night out waiting on a cable installer. I’ll be taking bets on arrival times. Closest guess wins a poem in his/her honor. Hey, I’ve got nothing better to do!

Peace, people!

Larry the Cable Guy

Making the Cut

I’m suffering from a bad hair week. My stylist and I couldn’t get our respective schedules to work out, so I’m at least seven days overdue for cut and color. It’s not a pretty situation. And it gets worse. She can’t get me in until the 14th of October. By that time I’ll look like Jeff Daniels’ character in Dumb and Dumber:

  
There’s not a lot I can do about my situation. My hair is too short to pull back in a ponytail, and it’s too long to style as usual. I look awful in hats. What’s a girl to do? 
Oh! I know! I’ll find photos of other people experiencing bad hair situations and post them here. 

I might know this chick.

  

Hair my cry!
  
Dude! Pink is NOT your color!

  

The dreaded double mustache.

 
Layered look redefined.

 
 
Just no!
   
I feel better already!

Peace, people!
 

A Rose by any Other Name

Fifty-nine years ago today I was born, and my mom named me Leslie D’Aun. She took my middle name from a friend’s daughter whose first name was D’Aun, but she needed a first name to go along with it. Apparently she didn’t want my name to be identical to that of her friend’s child–even though I never met the kid and I doubt it would have been a big deal.

My grandmother, Nannie Grace, discovered the name Leslie in a novel she was reading at the time. I guess that’s fitting since I’d rather read than anything, so little Leslie D’Aun came to be.

A couple of friends through the years have used my middle name for their own kids–more because they liked the name than that they were naming their child after me. I also have a granddaughter named McKayla D’Aun, but until last week I didn’t know anyone who’d specifically chosen the name Leslie because of me.

My incredibly competent and sweet housekeeper, Rosa, told me on Friday that her sister, who helps her clean from time to time, had given birth to a beautiful baby girl and named her Leslie Marisol. 

Rosa said, “My sister thinks you are so good and nice, so she named her daughter Leslie so maybe she will be like you.”

I might’ve cried. Ok, I cried.

might need to check this website….
 
Peace, people!

Rush Hour in a Small Town

small towns lack some perks
like traffic jams, long commutes,
and endless traffic.

  
rush hour lasts minutes
and might be easily missed
while enjoying wine.

 

Banff, Canada

 

   
    
 

Write Drunk

Ernest Hemingway is supposed to have uttered the phrase, 

  
I’ve been doing some research on the efficacy of Papa Hemingway’s wisdom. Well, to be honest I’ve just been following his advice. Research is time-consuming, and I’d much rather get right down to business.

So far I tend to agree with him, but then it’s difficult to think straight while inebriated. It’s a good thing I’m a cheap drunk. This experiment might become costly otherwise.

Now, normally I’d wait until sober to edit, but here’s where the research comes in. I’m going to publish this without a second reading. Pffffft! That was drunk me sticking my tongue out at my future sober me.

  
My apologies to Ernest. 

Peace, purple. 😉

Trapped!

I am not a stay at home anything, and when I’m forced to remain at home I begin to feel claustrophobic regardless of the size of my current abode.

Today I am confined to Doright Manor as I wait for various contractors to show up to perform their respective duties. Our covered porch project has been clipping along at a nice pace with little assistance from me until this beautiful fall day. I should be out walking, shopping, dining, etc., and here I sit watching Dr. Oz in hopes that at least someone will show up today to justify my confinement.

There was a knock on my door an hour ago. I’d fallen asleep in front of the television and it took me a couple of minutes to get my bearings and to wipe the drool from my cheek. Expecting the electrician I motioned the man through my front door where he smiled and asked if I’d accepted Jesus as my personal savior. 

I nodded and in turn asked him if he’d accepted electricity as a profession. He shook his head no and I pretty much pushed him out the door. Back to waiting.

 

Maybe I should look for obvious clues.
 
Peace, people!