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This is a place to look at the humorous side of life and laugh at the everyday things we all go through and also just a view of my twisted impression on some things. Have fun and enjoy!

Friday, August 13, 2010

Is this food or pig latin?

I love to watch all those reality cooking competitions. I especially like the one where the chef screams like a raving, wild lunatic at the other would-be chefs. I don't know why I like it so much because the head chef is crazy mean. (He better watch it because the way he screams at all those chefs with sharp knives, he's really asking for it.) I think it's like when I was a kid and liked watching another kid get in trouble. There's a certain amount of pleasure in being so close to danger without actually being in danger yourself. It's exciting when it's not you.

I don't know what most of the food is and I've never even heard of it let alone eaten it. They always serve risotto which looks like mushy green rice to me so I don't feel like I'm missing out on much. They come up with these food descriptions and I can't even understand what they're saying let alone what is being served. "Pan seared tuna encrusted scallions with a delicate spray of artichoke and fennel braised in a sweet plum sauce." Huh? Is this a dish, a garden, or pig latin 101? The only tuna being served by me is an-cay opened-ay una-tay.

If I ordered seared foie gras with a minted caramel, I have no idea what I'd be getting. I know what mint and caramel is but I have no clue what foie gras is. By looking at the spelling I tend to think I'm getting some kind of grass with caramel poured over it. I think the word "foie" probably means "fool". It's fool's grass similar to fool's gold. It's just a trick to get you to pay the price of an ounce of gold for some grass they ran out back and picked. No need to ask who the fool is.

Another food that sounds interesting is toasted brioche. I'm sure it's something fancy-schmancy and maybe even good but in my neighborhood if you ask for "toasted brioche", it means you're threatening to kick the mean girl's ass. I'd never order it in a restaurant because the female chef may come out and pour boiling caramel over me.

And garnishes! Good Lord! Our house is garnish free. I don't feel the need to spend time decorating our plates before we eat. Isn't a garnish that piece of green stuff you push aside to get to the food? If it's a decorated plate you want, c'mon over to my house so I can serve you. Chef Boyardee and I will whip up a dish and plate it with pretzel sticks that make a big "J' - you know the way an artist signs her painting?

I also don't serve appetizers because I've never understood the point of them. I'll have to take it slow here because I'm still trying to get this concept. First, I'm hungry - I've got that. I'm still with you. Second, I order food to enjoy and to stop my hunger...still following along. Third, I order more food to eat before my other food comes and that food is called an appetizer - this is the part where you lose me.

If I just ordered food to eat, why am I ordering more food to eat before the other food gets to me? I don't know who this would make sense for except a split personality which some may argue I have.

Let's examine the word "appetizer". This could imply food which would stimulate your appetite for the second order of food you ordered but if I came into the restaurant hungry, my appetite is already well established and I don't think I should be messing with it.

Or, I'm just using common sense here to guess at how this appetizer situation works but maybe they think you are so starving that if they don't put something in front of you quickly, you many begin to chew on their table or eat their napkins. Could they be afraid of hungry people with knives in front of them? I know I'm crabby when I'm starving.

And besides, the appetizer usually takes as long as the food does to get there. So then there must be some kind of food race going on back in the kitchen. Maybe the main dish chef just needs a break so the appetizer chef goes first and then takes his break while main dish guy cooks. It's all so confusing to me because to my simpleton brain, if I eat food before I get my food, I won't want my food when it comes.

Maybe the point of an appetizer is like at the zoo when you try to stick pieces of bread between the bars without getting your fingers bitten off by an animal. Sometimes the servers do that - they come racing by your table and toss a basket of bread on it before you even get a chance to open your dried, sticky glue-like mouth to ask for a glass of water.

It doesn't really matter to me because the restaurants I go to don't even offer anything like any of these dishes because they probably can't afford to put them on the dollar menu. Can you imagine trying to repeat "Sundried tomato and pine nut stuffed beef tenderloin" to the drive-through person with headphones on? Even worse would be when he tried to read my order back to me through that speaker. That speaker would create some mighty angry customers. One day a disgruntled, starving person is going to shoot the living hell out of those speakers.

Maybe I don't understand all this because I don't like cooking. I don't want to spend hours doing something that's going to be gone in a half hour. When dinner time comes, I'm thinking of the quickest possible way to get it over with and be done with it. Should I throw on some chicken breasts, go do something fun and come back in a half hour or do I make grilled cheese and tomato soup again? Which one would be quicker and least messy?

I don't look forward to cooking, I look forward to getting it over with. It makes such a big mess too and then you have to clean it all up. But apparently some people like this process so instead of doing it myself, I'll just keep watching the chefs on TV do it and be happy with my fancy ot-hay ogs-day and eans-bay.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Get the heck out of the way - I have pizza!

So I guess I have to admit I'm a Twilight fan. I'm not one of those crazy all consumed fans though - I'm really not even an average fan. I read the books to make sure they were appropriate for my teen to read and it ended up taking me so long that she passed me by and finished way ahead of me. So I asked her if they were appropriate for me to read. She just rolled her eyes at me which is her standard response to anything I say or do.

I've never been interested in vampires and if I was stranded on a deserted island with a well stocked library housed inside a well stocked mansion, a vampire book would be the very last book I would read while floating on a raft in the pool watching the big screen tv.

Vampire and werewolf type of stuff is not my cup of tea. With that said, I would rate myself as not your average fan but your below average fan of Twilight. The Twilight series is great - don't get me wrong - I love it but I'm a below average fan of vampire anything. I'm a vampire and werewolf bigot and believe me, I know the risk I'm taking by publicly admitting that but I'm an above average fan of garlic and I'm making a necklace out of it this minute.

We watched Twilight today for the 50 millionth time and watching the scene where Jasper first meets Bella was funny. The look in Jasper's eyes was so crazy I had to laugh. What you're supposed to think is that Bella's blood smells so good to Jasper the vampire that he has to restrain himself not to jump her and suck her blood out that very second.

The whole scene has always seemed silly to me when I see the wild look in Jasper's eyes but today I had an aha moment when I realized why Jasper looked so out of his mind when he saw and smelled Bella.

I thought of my dog and that famous poster of a bunch of dogs sitting around a table playing poker. So I picture doggy boy sitting there with all his friends playing poker and having a great time when in walks a hot, juicy steak on the arm of another male dog friend.

There is no poker game, there's no friends, there's no air in the room to breathe. All there is is that wonderful aroma that the dogs want to rip into.

To the dogs, the scent of the steak in the room is the same feeling I have when I'm starving and driving home from the pizza place with that hot pizza scent filling the car - I almost lose my mind. I always wonder how I make it home without getting a ticket.

I speed without even realizing it. I'll cut through gas stations, parking lots, Mardi Gras parades, the running of the bulls, street name it. If I had to go 100 miles an hour over a ramp and jump 5 side by side cars to get home and eat that pizza, I would do it. If I had to jump the Grand Canyon...okay, you get the point.

I'm not myself when I smell the aroma of pizza. I turn into some half crazed mythical unicorn dragon beast who was bred from Evel Kneivel and Mario Andretti. Really? Two men? Yes, really. We're talking ANYTHING is possible here folks. Yes, I will even fly home if need be. I don't know how but I know I have it in me.

If you're a bank robber and need to escape, get in my car with a hot pizza. I wonder if I should put an ad in the paper offering my services as a robbery driver so I can get free pizzas. I should have thought of that a long time ago. In my pizza crazed beast state, I'd probably do it.

So now I understand Jasper's crazed look at Bella and don't think it's so funny anymore because I've seen that look on myself when I pick up our pizza. Buckle up baby because we're taking those corners on two wheels so I can get home and rip into that pizza.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

What game show are you?

When I’m rich and famous and Barbara Walters knocks on my door wanting an interview, I’m ready. She’ll probably ask me if I was a game show, what game show I’d be because she asks questions like that.

I would answer, “What is Jeopardy?” That would be a lie of course but it’s my interview and if I want to be Jeopardy, I will be. I’m really more of a Wheel of Fortune girl but Jeopardy is much more impressive.

Wheel of Fortune is so easy - I could win thousands on there. At home, I solve approximately 98.2% of the puzzles. If I went on the actual show, I’d probably solve 1.8% of them. My brain doesn’t work when there’s a television camera in my face and the world is watching.

The puzzle could be - H_T D_GS - and I’d guess, “Hate Drugs? Hut Digs?, Hit Dogs?” Then I would tell Pat Sajack that his puzzle makers are mean because I don’t hit dogs and I don’t like people who do. Either that, or when the camera was on me I’d just stand there drooling and not be able to answer at all.

One person who has it made on that show is Vanna. They don’t even need her to turn letters but they keep her anyway. All she has to do is fake turn them. She really doesn’t even have to turn the actual letter anymore, she just touches it and makes a bundle of money.

“We don’t want you to do anything but wear pretty dresses, high heels, and touch letters.” Really? How do I get a gig like that? Pretty soon they’ll tell her to just stand there in her pretty dress and wiggle her nose like Samantha on Bewitched and magically reveal the letters.

Next thing you know, she’ll be on a lounge chair in Tahiti with an umbrella drink and one of those pointing sticks teachers use just pointing at the letters on a tv screen. She won’t even have to sit up or go in to work, they’ll bring a film crew to her.

Here’s my idea. I say they have a game show that’s a competition for Vanna’s job. If Vanna wants it, she’s gonna have to fight for it with the rest of the crowd. Well good luck Vanna because I’ll be there. And you know who I’m getting my training from? Those ball grabbing guys at tennis matches. You ever notice how fast they move? They’re just a flash before your eyes.

So when it’s time to go up against Vanna to touch a letter, I’m gonna have tennis shoes on and spring at those letters like a grasshopper. I’ll even do a couple of back flips on my way there. They better reinforce the letters because I’ll be bouncing off them. If Vanna gets in my way, I’ll knock her down and stand on her back to get the higher letters if that’s what it takes. Vanna’s goin’ down. This would make Wheel of Fortune much more fun to watch.

I don’t do well in Jeopardy because it’s the adult version of Mother May I? (No it’s NOT because I don’t know the answers.) I have to answer in the form of a question and instead of that, I just blurt out the answer. Alex Trebek gets all high and mighty and enjoys the heck out of telling you you didn’t form your response as a question.

Really Alex? While you stand there acting so smart when they GAVE you all the answers. At least I’m out here screaming the answers in the wrong form which is more than I can say about you. By the way Alex, I have to go to the bathroom, Mother May I? Did I form my question properly?

I like the part where Alex lets each person tell a short little story or bit of information about themselves. These people who are smart enough to get on Jeopardy can’t ever tell an interesting incident about their lives.

Alex says, “And we have Mr. Einstein from Maine, it says here that you like to scuba dive, isn’t that right Albert?”

“That’s right Alex and I once went diving and found a piece of silver from a pirate ship.”

“My, my, that’s impressive Albert. I bet you have that safely stored in a safe deposit box.”

“No Alex, because it ended up being just a pop can tab so now I collect pop can tabs from around the world. Can I have yours?”

That’s kind of how their interesting little stories go. You end up scratching your head and asking, “Huh? Is that the best he/she had even with time to think of a best story?” That’s not even an interesting story, that’s a stupid thing you did and even dumber is the fact that you told it on national tv.

Maybe they can get more answers - excuuuuuuse me - questions right but I can tell way better stories and in life, what’s really more important anyway? Neither. Winning money is more important unless you have Vanna’s job.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

I've fallen for it and I can't get up

Do you ever feel like those prescription drug commercials are talking directly to you? They ask, “Are you sleepy, crabby, sneezy, dopey, etc? We think you really need this here new drug we made. If your doctor doesn‘t offer it to you, ask her for it. If she says no, stare at her in a weird way.”

As they name off the symptoms, I’m sitting there with my checklist marking them off. If they had an ‘all of the above’ button, I’d push it. I’d slam that clear plastic case down over that big red button and scream, “DEAL!”. By the time they’re done, I’m convinced I have whatever they want me to have. Either that, or I’m the reincarnation of Snow White.

The qualifying questions are so normal they‘re odd. “Do you get thirsty, tired or hungry at times? Do you ever feel a strong urge to sit? When you do sit, do you ever get tired of sitting? Do you want to get up but can’t? If you stay seated, do you feel guilty about just sitting on your ass instead of getting things done? Well then, we’re pretty darn sure you need this drug.“

My eyes are bulging with fear because I answered, “yes, yes, yes, yes, OMG YES!” as I stumble to my feet and then fall.

They get you coming or going. There’s really no way that you can’t have whatever illness they want you to have. Then when you start worrying about having this illness, another drug commercial comes on and asks you if you find yourself worrying excessively and you have to get out another checklist.

I’m a pretty happy person most of the time but I have some bad days now and again. Am I depressed? I didn’t think I was until I saw the drug commercials and now I seem to meet the qualifications. I don’t know though, some of the commercials are just a slight bit suspicious.

One of them that’s trying to convince me that I’m depressed is kind of weird. At first I didn’t even think it was a commercial - I thought it was a Night of the Living Dead movie. The people in it are all dragging around the grocery store with blank looks in their eyes. It’s in black and white because color might convey some sort of cheer and clearly these zombies are severely depressed in their colorless world.

I got all excited when I first saw it and ran and grabbed a bowl of popcorn and a big glass of pop. I settled down into my movie watching position but the “movie” ended in 30 seconds. I was all set to watch the zombies eat each other and instead I find out I’m depressed.

When I was a kid, we didn’t have prescription drug commercials. We didn’t put in requests for drugs from the doc, we just took what he offered and figured he knew more about prescription drugs than we did. Now it’s like going to the deli.

“I’d like a half pound of ham sliced thin and 3 months of Prozac. Can you put a little less Zoloft in the potato salad? I‘ve been too happy lately.”

If you’re depressed, what are you shopping for anyway? If I’m so depressed that I don’t want to get out of my chair, how did I get motivated enough to drag around the grocery store? What do I care about food? I don’t care about anything. I’m depressed.

The only thing I can figure is that they’re all making their way to the deli for their antidepressants in that commercial. Sometimes I have to wait longer at the deli than I do at the doctor’s office so it does make sense.

So apparently I’ve fallen for their stupid commercial and I have diagnosed myself as depressed. Here I thought I just wanted a ham sandwich. One thing I do know is that they’re not ever going to convince me that I have erectile dysfunction.

Monday, May 3, 2010

I'm not drunk

I live in a small town and when you think of small towns, you think outdated and behind the times. Not true with us. We have a post office and have had it now for oh...three weeks or so. The Pony Express was still working well for us but the darn horses were drawing social security and said they wanted to retire to Florida and spend more time with the grandkids. They're so spoiled.

I love it here but if you want to go shopping, you're not going to find any exciting stores here. By exciting, I'm talking Target instead of just Walmart and Kmart. Do you know anyone else who gets excited to shop at Target? Now you do. As a result of our limited store options, I do most of my shopping online.

Which is fine with me because that way I get to stay in my pajamas and never leave the house. It's beginning to piss me off when I have to leave the house and put real clothes on. I don't walk around naked but I have a very nice collection of pj's and sweats that coordinate very well. Sometimes I find a pink, flowery pj bottom and the nearest clean top is an orange and lime green plaid one. See what I mean? Perfectly coordinating. It's not like I'm going to a high society ball or to Target - I'm going to the kitchen or living room.

Even if I'm not shopping on it, I'm on the computer too much. I email friends a lot. I waste hours and hours of my day checking and rechecking if anyone made a comment to me on Facebook. When I finally force myself to get off of it to do the dishes, I create some emergency excuse that leads me back to it.

Standing there with sudsy hands, I exclaim, "Omg! I totally forgot that I wanted to find out what year Seabiscuit ran!!" I abandon the dishes and dive for the computer. I feel like some sort of alien force is sucking me to it. Maybe I'm brainwashed. That might not be such a bad thing because like the dishes, my brain could use a good scrubbing.

What's been driving me crazy lately on the computer is when I try to buy something, log into something, or just try to get info on Seabiscuit, this series of wobbly, distorted letters and/or numbers comes up and wants me to type in what I see. What I see is what the label looked like on an almost empty bottle of Boon's Farm Tickled Pink wine when I was 17 and in the dark trunk of a car sneaking into the drive-in movie.

I put on my bifocals and twist my head sideways (like the dog does every time he hears a cheese slice being opened) in an effort to "see" what these letters are. Sometimes the letters are jammed up so close together that I must dissect and examine them like I'm a neurobiology scientist (if there is such a thing).

I print the page and put it under my microscope. I gather all my colleagues around and we come to a consensus on a possible theory. We then test the theory by plugging in the letters we think we see and it fails every time. I then continue to keep inserting these same exact numbers and letters 50 million times thinking that it will work the next time.

I'll try all caps. No, doesn't work. I swear at the screen thinking I will frighten it into accepting my letters. Sometimes the letters will change if you don't get it right the first time and it's really bad if that happens. The letters you just spent 3 hours on examining are now gone and you must now reexamine a new set of letters and numbers.

"Is that a 3 jammed up to an "I" or is it an 8? That's the question your brainwashed mind will ask itself because at this point your colleagues have abandonded you and your work for a sale at Target. They didn't ask you to go because you are dressed so ridiculous.

Friday, April 30, 2010

I Can't Pull Off A Pin

I'm not a pin person and nobody in my circle wears fancy, decorative pins. I always wonder how the pin people stay in business. Who is buying decorative pins these days? Sometimes I see a pin somewhere and I think, "That pin is gorgeous!" I never buy it though because I already fell for that once.

I have a very pretty pin that I bought years ago. It's sitting in my kitchen cupboard near my antique plates and teacup sets. Why is it there? That's where the pretty stuff that I don't use is. Actually, the pin part broke so it can't even be pinned on. I take it out now and then and look at it and try to figure out something I can glue it to or some way I can decorate something with this beautiful pin.

I wonder how it would look glued to a lamp shade. No, that's stupid. Maybe I can sew it onto a purse. What if I glue a magnet on it and use it as a fridge magnet? I could hook it to a chain and wear it as a necklace. I walk around the house looking for something I can glue it to. I eye the cat and her pin-less collar but I, the pin is almost as big as her head. I never come up with the right idea so I put it back in the cupboard until the next time I (stupidly) think I'm going to find some use for this beautiful, broken pin.

The only ladies I ever see actually wearing decorative pins are ladies in skirt or pant suits. Think Barbara Walters. She can pull off a pin. How about Queen Elizabeth? Ladies in politics can wear pins. I just am not a pin wearing lady and thinking of these other ladies, I have to wonder if I'm really cut out for wearing pins or if I even want to be a member of the fancy-schmancy pin wearing club. I'm more of the little flashing pumpkins at Halloween type of club. I also have a little ice skating snowman pin that my daughter gave me years ago that is worth about a million dollars to me.

I'm a t-shirt and jeans lady. I never look at my outfit and wonder what pin will complete my look. I look at my outfit and wonder if anyone can really see that mustard spot from lunch which is pretty stupid if you think about it.

Why would any person look in the mirror, see a spot on her t-shirt and wonder if other people can see the spot? Do their eyes not work as good as mine? I wear glasses so my eyes don't even work good. If I can see a spot on my shirt without my glasses on, then I'm pretty darn sure the rest of the world can too. It's kind of like asking yourself if your shirt is really wrinkly or not. Another stupid question.

If you ask yourself that question, your shirt is definitely wrinkly and your silly tricks to make it unwrinkly don't work. One of my special tricks is to lightly run my hand through water and then "wipe" the wrinkles out. Really? Do I think that works? I must because I keep trying it. The only way to really get the wrinkles out is to throw it in the dryer but I don't want to wait forever - 5 minutes or so. In the old days, my grandma used this thing called an iron. I don't know if they even make them anymore.

I think what it is, is that I have to at least feel like I've made some kind of effort to leave the house not looking like I sleep in the streets. I blotted the mustard spot so now it's even more noticable because it's in the middle of a huge wet spot. Usually I grab a small bit of toilet paper to rub it so now there's little bits of toilet paper on the wet, mustard-spotted, wrinkled t-shirt. "Lookin' good!", I think. If my pretty pin wasn't broke, I could have just put it over the mustard spot. Next time you see Barbara Walters on tv, put your glasses on and examine her pin to see if you can spot the mustard behind it.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Hot Potato

I was on the phone trying to solve a problem yesterday which is a good thing to have to do now and again because it makes you appreciate the days you're alive and not on the phone trying to solve a problem. Because of my experience yesterday, today the sun is brilliant, the flowers are bursting forth with luscious color, and the scent of my freshly mowed lawn is enough to appreciate living in the moment - any moment I'm not on the phone trying to solve a problem is a great moment to be alive!

Now I have to admit that I've been told that I am a hugely, gigantic, enormous, tremendous exaggerator so keep that in mind. Also keep in mind that I don't believe it and you don't have to either. You could ask how I can experience colorful flowers, brilliant sun, and the scent of fresh cut grass in the dead of winter when it's freezing and the ground is covered with snow but I would answer, "Who died and made you boss?" Now then, let's return to the day in question - yesterday.

It started out like any other day - picture Snow White dancing and singing in the forest with all the creatures happily helping her get dressed (or is that Cinderella dressing for the ball? whatever) and pretty birdies chirping on a brilliant, sunny day. I (Snow White/Cinderella) danced through the forest to music that somehow came out of speakers in the sky and I talked and smiled to the animals and oh, it's a wonderful life! This is the movie version of my life. In fact, the character of Snow White was based on my life.

What a tabloid would say about the way my day started was that I overslept and had a headache when I woke up. They would show a picture of me that looks like Nick Nolte's mug shot. Nobody believes what they read in tabloids though. I won't tell which is the real version of my morning because I like to retain an air of mystery which accounts for my popularity.

I had to make a phone call to try to resolve an issue I'm having in my life right now. So I get on the phone (with the birds still happily chirping to the nice music) and I wait 48 hours for a human being to answer it. Finally someone answers and her name is Kathy! I explain my issue to Kathy which is quite a complicated and involved issue so it takes me 20 minutes to explain it in a way that would be perfectly clear to Kathy.

Kathy listens intently while she plays solitaire on her computer and when she's had enough card playing time, she finally tells me I need to talk to Frederica who now handles my issue instead of Marjorie because Marjorie just had knee surgery and Julie couldn't do it because she has bunions and can't be on her feet long.

Kathy explains that she will now transfer me to Frederica. I thank Kathy who then hangs up on me. I call back and try Frederica who is away from her desk or on another call every single minute of every single day. I call and leave 27 more messages for her in a span of about 2 minutes and no Frederica return call - nada.

So I call back to the main number and ask if there's anyone else I can talk to other than Frederica. Nancy answers and asks me what my issue is. I launch into my long detailed description once again while Nancy texts a message to her daughter Alicia asking if she remembered to turn in her permission trip for her field trip. Alicia asks her what's for dinner and tells her how there was a fight at school that day and describes the whole drama. When Nancy is done texting with Alicia, she has nothing better to do so she decides to speak to me.

Nancy tells me I don't need Frederica at all and asks me who I spoke to who told me so. There's a jumble of names swirling around in my head (Nancy, Kathy, Frederica, Snow White, Marjorie, Julie, Ginger, Cinderella...) and I remember in college when it was rumored that if you didn't know anything whatsoever about the pop quiz/test they sprung on you to just pick B or C for EVERY single answer and you will pass the quiz/test. I remembered this in my time of need and realized it did me no good whatsoever in this situation so I just picked any name I could think of.

"Maryanne" I tell her. "Maryanne told me I need Frederica". Nancy tells me there is no Maryanne who works there. So I tell her it was the professor who told me. Nancy says "what?" "Was it the Skipper or Gilligan?", I ask. "NO!" Nancy's getting mad and so am I. I turn off Gilligan's Island and I ask Nancy to just name off the people who work there and I will pick one off the list.

I mean did I commit some kind of crime here? Am I trying to document my alibi? Am I supposed to be logging every detail about my life because I'm not. Phone people are always asking me who I talked to and really, I think that's just some kind of unspoken phone people code for turning the whole conversation around and into an "issue" about my memory.

I end up in tears yelling, "She's badgering the witness Your Honor!" What the hell difference does it make who told me what? Who even cares? And how did we change the subject from my issue to somebody's name? Phone people are very sly. They're so slick they can have you in tears before you even realize you can just hang up.

Here's my theory about why phone people always ask you who you talked to: they want to blame that person at the next meeting. When Kathy is about to get fired for playing solitaire instead of helping people, she wants to blame her mistakes on someone else so she needs a name. She knows this may save her job because they record every phone call - just like they do with real suspects in a crime. All Kathy has to do is document every single phone call and she can then give my name and play the recording of me pinning the crime on Frederica. I get a subpoena and testify because I'm terrified of Kathy (and all of them) and Kathy goes free. Off the hook just like that!

While I'm being badgered by Nancy and just taking it like a wimp, I get another call and caller ID shows Frederica's number. I don't even want to talk to Frederica anymore but I take her call just to get Nancy off my ass. The only way out is to turn them against each other.

"Do you know that Nancy is after your job?" I ask Frederica. Frederica says she suspected this because someone else told her the same thing. I ask her who she spoke with and VOILA! - this is karma in all its glory because SHE CAN'T REMEMBER!

At this point I can't remember anything either. I don't even remember why I called, what my own name is or what my issue is let alone who I talked to. I just want to get out of this alive. My head is spinning with names, I'm nauseated from being tossed around like a hot potato and the chirping birds are giving me such a headache that I wish Elmer Fudd would come into my world and go bird hunting. Not only am I no longer smiling or singing but I'm huddled in a ball in the corner and whimpering. I think I've lost my mind. That's the effect phone people have on me.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Punxsutawney Phil

Punxsutawney Phil was just on the news and the groundhog saw his shadow so that means another six weeks of winter. Really? It's a good thing we have this scientific evidence/groundhog about how long winter will be because if not, we would all be wandering around in our winter jackets on nice spring days.

When summer came, instead of wearing bathing suits and going swimming, we'd be wearing our spring jackets and complaining about the soggy, muddy snow. In the fall, we'd be raking and burning leaves in our bathing suits and complaining about the heat.

On and on it would go until we were totally screwed up and wearing summer white in the dead of winter. On the upside, we may eventually get the right seasons matched up to what they are carrying in the stores. It's February 2nd so the bathing suits should be out at the latest by next week. Do I need a bathing suit right now? That's irrelevent. You better get one while they're there because if you think you're going to get one in the summer, you're out of your mind. In the summer they will have insulated flannel hoodies.

I don't think anybody realizes the importance of the groundhog. If it were up to me, I would give the groundhog it's own day because this shadow thing is critical to our survival. I would have a big, lavish ceremony for the groundhog and invite hoards of people to come and all the media. Oh, I know that's just a silly idea that would never work but dumber things have happened.

There would be people pushing to get in the first row and they would need to hire security to control the crowd. There would be numerous fights and you would see young ladies with tears streaming down their faces just wanting to touch Phil. The groundhog would come out in the Pope-mobile all protected with bulletproof glass and a look of "wtf?" on his face.

Now, to tell you the truth, I don't understand the groundhog show myself. First of all, is there sun out when the groundhog comes out? Let's establish that first because with no sun, there is no shadow. Has anybody actually documented this event or is it all done secretively because if it's done secretively, there is a chance that they might be pulling our leg (or pulling the groundhog's leg to get him out of his hole).

When I watched it this morning, they did not show the actual "coming out" of the groundhog. Hmmm. There was no sun either. Hmmm. Did they have bright Hollywood lights on the groundhog hole? Could that be how he saw his shadow? These are all questions that remain unanswered and will be answered on an upcoming episode of Unsolved Mysteries to be followed by a Heraldo Rivera special revealing what he found in the groundhog's hole.

Speaking of questions, how is the groundhog communicating with people? In other words, how do we know if he saw his shadow or didn't see his shadow? I didn't even know groundhogs could talk and I don't know when they became able to talk. Maybe that should be episode 2 on Unsolved Mysteries; How the groundhog went from being a little rodent animal thing to being able to talk.

When I'm a grandma I'm going to tell my grandkids how lucky they are to have talking groundhogs because when I was a kid, our groundhogs never talked. They won't believe me of course but that's because kids these days have it so easy what with talking groundhogs and all. What I can tell you for sure is that I would never put my poor little ear up to the mouth of a groundhog to listen unless I wanted to rip a hole where my ear used to be.

What about all the other rodents/animals? Are they jealous of the groundhog and all the attention it gets? What about the chipmunk? Oh, that's right, they have Chip and Dale. What about the raccoon? Raccoons look cool - they have the whole mask thing going on. Their names are even cool - raccoon. That feels good to say. Say it. It feels better than "groundhog" doesn't it? The ground and a hog put together (how about dirtpig?) - it's not even really an imaginative name for an animal/rodent thing. "Raccoon" is very imaginative.

So are the squirrels, skunks, moles, porcupines, dingos, alligators, etc. - are they all jealous? Do they try to beat up the groundhog? Could that be why the groundhog never leaves his hole? Maybe he's scared to death of getting his ass kicked by all the other vicious rodent/animals. Maybe even the birds dive bomb the poor thing.

Another question I wonder about is - how do we even know the groundhog isn't blind? He wouldn't be seeing his shadow then. He doesn't even have to be blind, he could just be blindfolded. (Like they did to the raccoon who had to cut eye holes in his blindfold.) He could be nearsighted, farsighted, have glaucoma, have a sty in his eye, or just be too darn sleepy to open his eyes - like me every morning.

I will do anything I can to avoid opening my eyes. If I knew I'd be left alone and put back in my warm bed to sleep for the rest of winter, not only would I tell everyone I saw my shadow but I'd tell them I saw Elvis waving from a spaceship surrounded by flying pigs if I knew that's what they wanted to hear. I'd yell, "STOP PULLING MY LEG AND LET ME SLEEP BEFORE I BITE YOUR EAR OFF!"