I've mentioned that #1 Daughter is a jock, right? If you want to send her running down the street, screaming, just shake something pink & lacy at her....
So she calls tonight with a tale. Her friend, Joseph, is helping her move her stuff at school into storage for the summer. They're unloading. She comes around the side of the car. Joseph is frantically struggling with a storage tub. The lid has fallen off, he's trying mightly to keep the contents of the tub from spilling and grab the lid whilst clutching something in his hand. He sees her and starts to apologize and stutters, the lid...it fell off...I didn't mean...
#1 Daughter is like...whatever. Stuff happens. Then looks again. What does he have clenched in his hand? It's black, it's lacy...it is a Black. Lacy. Strapless. Bra...
The poor young man has this, deer in the headlights, look. Caught handling her delicates.
#1 Daughter takes a breath and gets things sorted out.
Heads back to her apartment and demands: "Okay, roomies...who does the strapless bra belong to?" And relates her little adventure.
Sophie hits the floor laughing.
Apparently a neighbor had given Sophies family some clothing which included the brassiere. Sophie, knowing #1 Daughter's allergy to all things lace, stuffed it into the tub. Hoping it would be good for a laugh. When she found it at some fortuitous time. In the distant future. While unpacking.
Having Joseph doing a rumba with it, now, in the middle of the night, instead?
Even better.
Much...much better.
-
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Don't Mess With My Delusions Man
Seriously - hope this is "legal." I've mentioned Pearl? You can go to her site http://www.pearl-whyyoulittle.blogspot.com/ and read this, which depending on how lazy you are, may or may not happen or stay here and read it. She's getting ready to publish and I think she'll do well. She has a knack for summing up life's experiences. Which is what seperates the real writers from the rest of us - that intangible ability to articulate what the rest of us feel but can't express.
I graduated from high school in 1975. The Farm Boy thinks That 70's Show is horrible. I think it's hilarious. We weren't all the brightest stars (back in the day) and in so many of the episodes, I or one of my friends could have been the writers...sad but true. The only excuse I've got is...we were so much younger then.
And yes, Ted Nugent was a part of our life and I so identify with the following piece from Pearl. In fact, in a semi-related tangent, I had already told all my kids that I want them to be sure and marry someone outside of our little community. Because really, no matter what good points one has, after rubbing along together for 30 years there is little you don't know about your neighbors and invariably it is more information than you need to know!!! I want some fresh blood! I want to look at the new in-laws and pretend that that pleasant, polite, politically correct face they present at the wedding is the real them. I've never wanted to know about their warts and certainly don't need to worry about what that might do to the gene pool. A true child of the 70's I know that reality is not all that it's cracked up to be.
So with no further ado - take it away Pearl....
How I Miss The Nuge
I’ll admit it. Back in the day, I was a huge Ted Nugent fan. Stranglehold? Free For All (baby)? Takes me back to the 70s, a friend’s basement, sitting in a circle passing a joint, laughing and digging the music. A simple, silly, and supremely friendly time.
That was then, of course; and this is now, and we are left with our memories and the (mostly) clandestine and mischievous knowledge of having a slightly misspent youth and an almost stereotypical experience of the 70s.
The music was a trip: six- and seven-minute songs to groove to, drum solos, guitar solos, expansive jams, opportunities for musicians to climb out on to a musical limb and bring you along.
Music moved on, of course, as the arts must: to disco, to dance music, to the electronic drummer and synthesizers, to punk.
OK. I can handle that. I own quite a bit of it, as a matter of fact. Things change. People grow up, get jobs, pay taxes, throw real dinner parties, serve decent liquor and form opinions based not on what their friends think but what they think.
Which brings us back to The Nuge. Ted Nugent.
He had a reality show not long ago – and who knows what it was called. I had to look it up. It was just that forgettable – morons competing for some reason for something. Who cares? It stunk. Nothing I found out about him was anything I wanted to know about Mr. Great White Buffalo. In fact, I found out that he was a patriarchal ass. I could’ve done without that.
As we said in the 70s: Burn!
What’s my point?
That I miss my illusion. All I ever needed to know about Ted Nugent was that he was/is an excellent and rockin’ guitar player. He was my childhood, my teenage years, my rock-and-roll fantasy.
My apologies to The Nuge, but I never wanted to know the real him.
I just wanted to be in the room while he played.
Posted by Pearl at 7:00 AM
I graduated from high school in 1975. The Farm Boy thinks That 70's Show is horrible. I think it's hilarious. We weren't all the brightest stars (back in the day) and in so many of the episodes, I or one of my friends could have been the writers...sad but true. The only excuse I've got is...we were so much younger then.
And yes, Ted Nugent was a part of our life and I so identify with the following piece from Pearl. In fact, in a semi-related tangent, I had already told all my kids that I want them to be sure and marry someone outside of our little community. Because really, no matter what good points one has, after rubbing along together for 30 years there is little you don't know about your neighbors and invariably it is more information than you need to know!!! I want some fresh blood! I want to look at the new in-laws and pretend that that pleasant, polite, politically correct face they present at the wedding is the real them. I've never wanted to know about their warts and certainly don't need to worry about what that might do to the gene pool. A true child of the 70's I know that reality is not all that it's cracked up to be.
So with no further ado - take it away Pearl....
How I Miss The Nuge
I’ll admit it. Back in the day, I was a huge Ted Nugent fan. Stranglehold? Free For All (baby)? Takes me back to the 70s, a friend’s basement, sitting in a circle passing a joint, laughing and digging the music. A simple, silly, and supremely friendly time.
That was then, of course; and this is now, and we are left with our memories and the (mostly) clandestine and mischievous knowledge of having a slightly misspent youth and an almost stereotypical experience of the 70s.
The music was a trip: six- and seven-minute songs to groove to, drum solos, guitar solos, expansive jams, opportunities for musicians to climb out on to a musical limb and bring you along.
Music moved on, of course, as the arts must: to disco, to dance music, to the electronic drummer and synthesizers, to punk.
OK. I can handle that. I own quite a bit of it, as a matter of fact. Things change. People grow up, get jobs, pay taxes, throw real dinner parties, serve decent liquor and form opinions based not on what their friends think but what they think.
Which brings us back to The Nuge. Ted Nugent.
He had a reality show not long ago – and who knows what it was called. I had to look it up. It was just that forgettable – morons competing for some reason for something. Who cares? It stunk. Nothing I found out about him was anything I wanted to know about Mr. Great White Buffalo. In fact, I found out that he was a patriarchal ass. I could’ve done without that.
As we said in the 70s: Burn!
What’s my point?
That I miss my illusion. All I ever needed to know about Ted Nugent was that he was/is an excellent and rockin’ guitar player. He was my childhood, my teenage years, my rock-and-roll fantasy.
My apologies to The Nuge, but I never wanted to know the real him.
I just wanted to be in the room while he played.
Posted by Pearl at 7:00 AM
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Well Then
You know, people don't hang around for long if you're indulging in a pity party. If you have issues it's best to get over yourself and get on with it.
But.
Yeah... here it comes.
Goofing off. Joking around. Laughing.
A chance comment is made.
The response?
A loud and abrupt, "That's not happening Lady."
Oh.
Talk about a conversation stopper.
Nothing like finding out exactly what they think in some of the most unlikely circumstances.
I'd better start being nicer to those cats.
-
But.
Yeah... here it comes.
Goofing off. Joking around. Laughing.
A chance comment is made.
The response?
A loud and abrupt, "That's not happening Lady."
Oh.
Talk about a conversation stopper.
Nothing like finding out exactly what they think in some of the most unlikely circumstances.
I'd better start being nicer to those cats.
-
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
For the Love of All Creatures Great & Small
The following was found posted very low on a refrigerator door:
The dishes with the paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
The stairs/hallway were not designed by NASCAR and are not a racetrack. Racing me to the bottom/end is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I will not buy anything bigger than a queen sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not, however, think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other, stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out on the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.
For the last time, there is no secret exit from the bathroom! And if, by some miracle, I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge in an attempt to open the door. I must exit through the same door I entered. (Also, I have been using the bathroom for years - canine/feline attendance is not required.)
The proper order for kissing is this: Kiss me first, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough.
Finally, in fairness, dear pets, I have posted the following message on the front door:
TO ALL NON-PET OWNERS WHO VISIT AND LIKE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT OUR PETS:
(1) They live here. You don't.
(2) If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.That's why they call it 'fur'-niture.
(3) I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
(4) To you, they are animals. To me, they are adopted sons/daughters who are short, hairy, walk on all fours and don't speak clearly.
Remember, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
(1) eat less,
(2) don't ask for money all the time,
(3) are easier to train,
(4) normally come when called,
(5) never ask to drive the car,
(6) don't hang out with substance abusing/using people,
(7) don't smoke or drink,
(8) don't want to wear your clothes,
(9) don't have to buy the latest fashions,
(10) seldom bite the hand that feeds them,
(11) don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and
(12) if they get pregnant, you can sell their children.
-
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Vision Check
I have a co-worker who redefines creative absentee excuses. I'm usually ready to hear a really good story. Sometimes I'd almost pay to be a State Trooper for a day so I could catch some of the better "fish stories" for speeding. But this gal is so bad that we almost started a David Letterman Top 10 100 list of reasons why she couldn't come to work. She is beyond determined to utilize every single day of paid sick leave and personal leave that is available to her. I, on the other hand, work part time. No paid leave - for anything. If I'm not there when I said I would be, trust me, there is a valid reason.
I've always had a certain admiration for the folks who didn't bother offering silly excuses about absences. They're pretty frank about just not being in "the mood" to work. One of my favorites that I've heard is..."I won't be in today. I'm sick. Sick & tired of being sick and tired of this job." Which is why I got a chuckle from Pearl of http://www.pearl-whyyoulittle.blogspot.com/ this morning. She says her favorite call in line was..."I've got a little eye problem..." which meant that she couldn't see herself going into work that day.
If I were the boss and she didn't abuse the privilege I'd have to laugh and give her a pass for the day.
So... was talking to The Commander. He & the wife will be moving soon. He has short timer's syndrome and is a little tired of the current job. Told me he'd seriously debated calling in recently, but being a reliable sort, refrained from playing hooky. Still, even tho he made it to work his motivation level was a bit low. But when he walked into the men's room, however, and saw a plumber trying to unclog a plugged toilet...and watched as the brown swamp rose and overflowed onto the man's pant leg and down into his boot...
He noted, "MY job was suddenly looking a lot better."
-
I've always had a certain admiration for the folks who didn't bother offering silly excuses about absences. They're pretty frank about just not being in "the mood" to work. One of my favorites that I've heard is..."I won't be in today. I'm sick. Sick & tired of being sick and tired of this job." Which is why I got a chuckle from Pearl of http://www.pearl-whyyoulittle.blogspot.com/ this morning. She says her favorite call in line was..."I've got a little eye problem..." which meant that she couldn't see herself going into work that day.
If I were the boss and she didn't abuse the privilege I'd have to laugh and give her a pass for the day.
So... was talking to The Commander. He & the wife will be moving soon. He has short timer's syndrome and is a little tired of the current job. Told me he'd seriously debated calling in recently, but being a reliable sort, refrained from playing hooky. Still, even tho he made it to work his motivation level was a bit low. But when he walked into the men's room, however, and saw a plumber trying to unclog a plugged toilet...and watched as the brown swamp rose and overflowed onto the man's pant leg and down into his boot...
He noted, "MY job was suddenly looking a lot better."
-
Monday, April 12, 2010
As The Crow Flys
Let's be honest here. As life goes on I find that I have seriously ratcheted down my expectations. Had to - I'd found that trying to get everyone on board, up and at 'em! etc. etc. just ended up with me nagging all parties involved. I'd be frustrated that they wouldn't get out of bed and get going and they felt badgered, out of sorts and hang doggy because I was always nipping at their heels. Obviously my "step up to the plate" plan needed some fine tuning.
So I'm learning not to expect a lot. From anyone. And that's probably for the best but sometimes...
Needed new underwear. Those of you in the know, understand it's not as simple as walking into your local store. They have to be ordered. A little advance planning usually covers most situations. Unfortunately things were getting a bit frayed here at the homestead and I was delighted to note that the distribution center had popped that package onto the Federal Express truck early last week and I had anticipated them arriving this last Saturday.
Didn't happen.
I check the tracking number this morning... Delivery is a ways off.
Know where they went?
Los Angeles.
Apparently it was too much to expect anyone to notice that the address read - Burbank, WASHINGTON. (Had the correct zip code also.) But, silly me, the only Burbank is in California, right? Just outside of LA???
You know one of my favorite sayings used to be:
Best to aim high and miss, than aim low and hit.
High Expectations? Shoot. Anymore I get excited if they even get in the right state.
So I'm learning not to expect a lot. From anyone. And that's probably for the best but sometimes...
Needed new underwear. Those of you in the know, understand it's not as simple as walking into your local store. They have to be ordered. A little advance planning usually covers most situations. Unfortunately things were getting a bit frayed here at the homestead and I was delighted to note that the distribution center had popped that package onto the Federal Express truck early last week and I had anticipated them arriving this last Saturday.
Didn't happen.
I check the tracking number this morning... Delivery is a ways off.
Know where they went?
Los Angeles.
Apparently it was too much to expect anyone to notice that the address read - Burbank, WASHINGTON. (Had the correct zip code also.) But, silly me, the only Burbank is in California, right? Just outside of LA???
You know one of my favorite sayings used to be:
Best to aim high and miss, than aim low and hit.
High Expectations? Shoot. Anymore I get excited if they even get in the right state.
-
Sunday, April 11, 2010
It's Just Not Done!
In Robert A. Heinlein 's book Friday he discusses the marks of a sick culture. He notes, in a conversation between Friday and her Boss, that ....
Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as ... (violence, muggings, sniping, arson, bombing, terrorism of any sort. Riots of course - but I suspect that little incidents of violence, pecking away at people day after day, damage a culture even more than riots that flare up and then die down...Oh, conscription and slavery and arbitrary compulsion of all sorts and imprisonment without bail and without speedy trial - those things are obvious; all the histories list them.) BUT a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot. This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength.
Okay, we've established that I blog, in part, to vent about my issues. Ya leave the house and people do some pretty outrageous things. If they're right in my face, I'm may occasionally say "no...to all of that," (I'm not a very good door mat) but usually I back off, go around, under etc. Yes, we all know I mumble about it here but basically I usually take care of whatever needs to be taken care of and go on my way. While I fall short of the ideal charitable, gracious person - at the back of my mind is always....Grandma Emtman.
Born in 1892 in Germany, she came to America in 1927. Married shortly after that and had four girls. My mother was the second oldest. Grandma spent quite a bit of time with us, or should I say we spent quite a bit of time with her. There are many interesting stories but at the end of the day her legacy was...."IT'S JUST NOT DONE!" Regardless of what we were doing, if we were slothful, misbehaving, or ill kept she was quick to lower the boom and let us know that whatever we were doing, that was inappropriate, needed to cease and desist. Immediately.
I'd be lying if I told you that Grandma Emtman was an easy woman to be around. But occasionally I look at the world around me and mourn the demise of her value system. We seem to be in desperate need of it. Good manners are not a waste of time. They are the "lubricant" that make us able to interact with one another gently and coexist peacefully. Just because someone does something differently than us should not be an occasion to hoist a stiff middle finger or pollute the airwaves with foul language. Hopefully, most of us would agree that a little self control in interpersonal relationships is a good thing.
Grandma's, "It's just not done!" (along with that particular, clipped, German accent) could surely be useful in a little behavior modification in today's world and go a long towards getting our society off the dead and dying list.
-
Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as ... (violence, muggings, sniping, arson, bombing, terrorism of any sort. Riots of course - but I suspect that little incidents of violence, pecking away at people day after day, damage a culture even more than riots that flare up and then die down...Oh, conscription and slavery and arbitrary compulsion of all sorts and imprisonment without bail and without speedy trial - those things are obvious; all the histories list them.) BUT a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot. This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength.
Okay, we've established that I blog, in part, to vent about my issues. Ya leave the house and people do some pretty outrageous things. If they're right in my face, I'm may occasionally say "no...to all of that," (I'm not a very good door mat) but usually I back off, go around, under etc. Yes, we all know I mumble about it here but basically I usually take care of whatever needs to be taken care of and go on my way. While I fall short of the ideal charitable, gracious person - at the back of my mind is always....Grandma Emtman.
Born in 1892 in Germany, she came to America in 1927. Married shortly after that and had four girls. My mother was the second oldest. Grandma spent quite a bit of time with us, or should I say we spent quite a bit of time with her. There are many interesting stories but at the end of the day her legacy was...."IT'S JUST NOT DONE!" Regardless of what we were doing, if we were slothful, misbehaving, or ill kept she was quick to lower the boom and let us know that whatever we were doing, that was inappropriate, needed to cease and desist. Immediately.
I'd be lying if I told you that Grandma Emtman was an easy woman to be around. But occasionally I look at the world around me and mourn the demise of her value system. We seem to be in desperate need of it. Good manners are not a waste of time. They are the "lubricant" that make us able to interact with one another gently and coexist peacefully. Just because someone does something differently than us should not be an occasion to hoist a stiff middle finger or pollute the airwaves with foul language. Hopefully, most of us would agree that a little self control in interpersonal relationships is a good thing.
Grandma's, "It's just not done!" (along with that particular, clipped, German accent) could surely be useful in a little behavior modification in today's world and go a long towards getting our society off the dead and dying list.
-
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