Normally I’m the photographer for my numbered snapshot series, but in this case it was an anonymous camera at Disney’s Magic Kingdom that took the shot. I call this one, “Studly and I Protect the Universe!”
Tag: Studly Doright
Snapshot #162
I snapped this selfie in Disney’s Magic Kingdom park on Monday. It truly is, “The Happiest Place on Earth!”
Snapshot #161
I took this one of Studly Doright while we waited in line to ride the Dinosaur attraction at Disney’s Animal Kingdom park. I call this, “I Asked You to Look Scared, Not Constipated!”
Sing It, Sister
I recently made fun of Studly Doright’s misunderstanding of a song’s lyrics in this post: https://nananoyz5forme.com/2017/04/18/shes-a-what/
I have to confess, though, to also being a mangler of lyrics. Most recently, Studly and I were driving to Orlando on a Sunday morning for a rendezvous with his middle sister and her family at DisneyWorld.
We were flipping back and forth between the 60’s and 70’s stations on Sirius/XM satellite radio (perhaps the greatest invention of my lifetime) when one of my all-time favorite songs popped up: Lady Marmalade by Patti LaBelle.
Even though the song’s been covered a couple of times, Patti’s version is the best in my humble opinion.
I was singing along, “Coochie coochie ya ya,” and dancing in my seat when Studly asked if I had any idea what I was singing.
“Well, kind of. A lot of it’s in French. Or Cajun. Or something,” I said.
So I decided to Google the lyrics. Guess what, the words “coochie coochie” don’t appear even once. I’m shocked.
Interesting fact: The line, “voulez vouz coucher avec moi ce soir” which translates to “do you want to sleep with me tonight,” was deemed too scandalous for American ears and had to be changed to “do you want to dance with me tonight,” when performed on television in the U.S.
Lady Marmalade Lyrics
Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, go sister
Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, go sister
He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans
Struttin’ her stuff on the street
She said “hello,
Hey Joe, you wanna give it a go?” mmm, mmm
Itchi gitchi ya ya da da
Itchi gitchi ya ya here
Mocha-choca-lata ya ya
Creole lady Marmalade
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
He sat in her boudoir while she freshened up
The boy drank all her magnolia-wine
On the black satin sheets
oh I swear he started to freak
Itchi gitchi ya ya da da
Itchi gitchi ya ya here
Mocha-choca-lata ya ya
Creole lady Marmalade
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Hey, hey, hey
Touching her skin feelin’ silky smooth
The colour of cafe au lait
Made the savage beast inside
Roar until it cried, more, more, more
Now he’s back home doing nine to five
Living his grey flannel life
But when he turns off to sleep
Old memories creep, more, more, more
Itchi gitchi ya ya da da da
Itchi gitchi ya ya here
Mocha-choco-lata ya ya
Creole lady Marmalade
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Creole lady Marmalade
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Itchi gitchi ya ya da da
Itchi gitchi ya ya here
Mocha-choco-lata ya ya
Itchi gitchi ya ya here
(Writer/s: KENNY NOLAN, ROBERT CREWE
Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind)
Blow
Blow
By Leslie Noyes (with Studly’s assistance)
It was a riotous Friday night here at Doright Manor. I was sitting in my chair trying to come up with ideas for this blog, and Studly Doright was sitting next to me in his chair watching Storage Wars on the telly and occasionally reaching over to fondle my, um, upper arm.
No decent writing ideas were coming to me, so in desperation I turned to Studly and said, “Give me a word.”
Now, I cannot type what he said because sometimes his mother reads this blog.
“I can’t use that word,” I said. “It’s not that kind of blog.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you needed the word for your blog. That changes everything.”
So he gave me another, equally vulgar word.
“Last chance, smarty pants,” I said. “Just give me a decent word.”
See the title of this post? Yep, that was half of what he said. I don’t know why I bother.
A Little Memory
I love that Facebook posts a daily memory on my feed. Sometimes it’s a photo I shared last year, sometimes a silly meme from way back.
Today, it was a post from three years ago on this date. I wasn’t blogging back then and the name Studly Doright hadn’t yet occurred to me–he was still David. Likewise our home hadn’t yet been dubbed Doright Manor. How boring, right? Yet somehow we still existed. Here’s what was going on four years ago:
We had torrential rains all night Thursday and woke up to a steady drizzle yesterday. I had to work for a couple of hours on Friday morning, but coaxed David to take a drive to St. George Island in the afternoon.
Of course he grumbled about the rain, but I promised to take him to an outstanding burger place if he’d just take me to the beach. I might’ve made other promises, but I’m not telling those.
We took the scenic route and soon enough were rewarded by the sight of waves crashing against the shore and the “stork” houses as I call them, raised on pillars to allow the water to flow around and through with minimal consequence. Even the ugliest, plainest of these homes on stilts fascinates me. I think I need one.
We found Bayside Burgers at Eastpoint just in time for a late lunch, then took the bridge over to the island. I could visit every day. Tide was high when we got there, but it wasn’t raining; although, we could see areas of precipitation all along the beach.
The clouds were so low that the differences between heaven, earth, and the gulf were difficult to discern. Who could imagine the beauty in the different shades of grey?
Note: Bayside Burgers is no longer in business! I was so disappointed on my last visit to discover it had been torn down and a Mexican food restaurant put up in its place.
The picture below is not one I took, but I found it on Pinterest when I searched “Eastpoint.” Likewise, the featured image of the bridge is from Pinterest. Eastpoint and St. George Island are must see places on Florida’s Forgotten Coast.
She’s a What?
Studly Doright and I were cruising around Tallahassee on Saturday afternoon in his now almost un-smelly car. Out of the blue Studly had a hankering for Kentucky Fried Chicken, so we drove through the drive up and then sat in their parking lot while he nibbled on a breast and a wing. I’m dieting, so I just watched. Willpower is my middle name. Ok, maybe it’s “Biscuit with Honey” since I had a bite of his.
We were listening to the 60’s channel on Sirius/XM when the song Must to Avoid by Herman’s Hermits started playing. Studly put down his chicken and sang, “She’s a muscular boy.”
I snorted. “That’s not how it goes! It’s “she’s a must to avoid,” and pointed to the radio’s dashboard display where the correct title was clearly spelled out.
“Oh,” he shrugged. “I always thought it was a strange song.”
And now? Now I can’t help but sing it his way.
https://youtu.be/icEUzyyL88A
Peace, people.
Snapshot #143
I went out to check on the fairy houses this afternoon. Lo and behold there was a new guy taking a nap on the porch of the fairy house built by our granddaughters, McKayla and Harper (with a little help from Studly Doright) a couple of weeks ago. Let’s call this one, “Fairyzzzzz.”
Smelly Car
Studly Doright likes to trade cars. When he’s had the same vehicle for the span of a year I can feel him getting antsy to find the next great deal, so it came as no surprise when he sheepishly showed me a photo of a little Cadillac sports sedan and told me he’d bought it on eBay.
“It’ll be my golf vehicle,” he said.
“I thought the Dodge pickup was your golf vehicle,” I countered.
“Well, it was, but I’ll sell it.”
“What about the little Nissan convertible? Wasn’t it also your golf vehicle?”
“You know it gets lousy gas mileage. I’ll sell it, too.”
As long as I have a decent car to drive I really don’t care what Studly drives, but I had to give him a hard time. When the car didn’t arrive on time I began needling him.
“Are you sure you’re dealing with reputable people?” I asked. “What if they never deliver your Cadillac?”
“It’ll be here. It’s in Detroit and they had a huge blizzard last week.”
Two days later, still no Cadillac. I again questioned the prudence of buying a car sight unseen. Finally, though, the transport driver called to say he’d be in Tallahassee on Sunday afternoon, so when he sent an address I drove Studly into town to meet the truck.
The car was badass: Silver, with black leather seats, and every bell and every whistle one could ask for. It also came with one unexpected bonus–the nastiest smell I’ve ever encountered outside of a garbage dump.
The smell wasn’t organic. Nothing had died in the car. It was a chemical type smell, as if someone had used it as a vat for tanning animal hides. Gag!
Studly was in denial.
“It’s not so bad,” he protested, when I refused to ride in the car.
“Three Mile Island was less toxic than this car,” I said.
“Maybe it just needs a coconut scented air freshener,” he didn’t actually say, but I knew he was thinking it.
“Let me deal with it,” I sighed.
So for the past week while Studly has been at work I’ve coaxed the nasty smell out of his Caddy. Long drives down country roads with every window rolled down and the moon roof fully open have made a huge improvement in the car’s smell. It’s not yet quite to the pleasant stage, but I have a reasonable expectation that it soon will smell almost like a new vehicle. And it’s such fun to drive.
Maybe Studly has learned a lesson about buying cars on eBay. Or not. Regardless, life with him is never boring.
Phoebe Buffay knew a little about smelly things:
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!
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 