Tag Archives: humor

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Do you remember?

Misheard song lyrics. We all do it. My most embarrassing misheard lyric is a line in the song September by Earth, Wind and Fire. While I was singing “Do you remember when it was hot in September,” the actual line is “Do you remember the 21st night of September.” The embarrassing part isn’t so much that I sang the words wrong, but the number of decades that I sang the wrong words.

There are many commonly misunderstood lyrics. We all know that Elton John doesn’t actually say “Hold me closer, Tony Danza” even though it sounds that way. Jimi Hendrix did not “kiss this guy.” I spent most of the 70s thinking that Creedence Clearwater Revival was giving directions to a “bathroom on the right.” To this day, when I hear Caught Up In You by .38 Special, I sing “Aunt Bea it’s true, you’re the one.” You never know, maybe they’re just big fans of The Andy Griffith Show. And don’t get me started on Blinded By The Light.
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People who mishear lyrics are at least trying to listen. It’s the people who “love this song!” without having a clue what it says that make me laugh. And I’m not talking about vague, obscure lyrics and metaphors. I’m talking about literal, clear, non-disguised words. There are still people who have no idea that Lola (the Kinks’ Lola, not Barry Manilow’s) is a dude. Every Breath You Take (The Police) is about an obsessed stalker, yet many a newly married couple has made it their wedding song.

That’s not what he said!

A song called In The Living Years (Mike + The Mechanics) came on the radio at work one day. A coworker said that it reminded her of her dad. “Oh, you and your dad didn’t get along?” I asked her. She looked at me completely puzzled. She said, “He says he wishes he’d told his father that he loved him before he died.” Yeah, except that it doesn’t say that anywhere. I didn’t tell her, but this song is about a difficult relationship between father and son. Repeatedly throughout the song, it says “It’s too late when we die to admit we don’t see eye to eye.”

Sometimes we try to assign deep meaning to songs when in reality, it’s just nonsense lyrics set to a good beat. When the Kingsmen released Louie, Louie in 1963, they were investigated by the FBI for obscene lyrics. However, no obscenities were found. It was just another case of misheard lyrics.

I can’t understand anything Tom Petty or Bob Dylan sing, but that’s because neither of them move their mouths when they sing! Most of my misheard lyrics are Elton John’s (electric boobs and a mohawk too). I don’t know why I have so much trouble understanding him. You can name any Elton John song and there will be at least one line that I’ve had to look up.

Speaking of looking up lyrics… how great is that? Back in the olden days, we had to keep picking up that needle and moving it back to listen to the song over and over until we understood – or gave up and sang it wrong.

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What are some song lyrics that you’ve misunderstood?

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For Better Or Work

A few months ago, a friend quit her job without the benefit of a replacement job. She was the second friend to do so in less than a year. Most people would say that’s crazy, but it made me think… what if jobs were like relationships?

We can’t leave a bad job until we’ve found a better one. Conversely, when we leave a bad relationship, we’re encouraged not to jump right in to the next one. We should take some time to ourselves, heal, reflect, and “find” ourselves again before letting starting another relationship.

If jobs were like relationships, we would say to our unhappy friends… “You need to leave that job, It’s not good enough for you. It doesn’t appreciate you. You could do so much better than that job.” “That job is too demanding. It doesn’t care about you or what you need. It’s all about itself and how much you can do for it.” “I heard that your job is seeing other applicants. You need to get out now, on your own terms.” “You should take some time to yourself before getting involved in another job. You may find that you’re happier without one.
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They say that people don’t leave jobs, they leave bosses. I can understand why. I’ve had the bully, the liar, the crier, and the gossip. The paranoid one. The one with no emotions. The one who hated nurses. The one who fired me before my first day on the job. And the one who got fired on my birthday.

If jobs were like relationships, we’d give very different advice to our friends. A friend advised me to put up with a bad boss because the benefits of the job were exceptional. Would we tell a friend to stay with a husband who disrespected her, didn’t appreciate or value her just because he has good insurance? I was also told “if you quit, the boss will treat the next person even worse.” Isn’t that like telling a battered wife to stay in her abusive marriage so the next wife won’t get beaten up?

If work was something we did to fulfill ourselves and contribute to society, rather than a way to pay our bills, then having a job would feel less like work. Bosses would be far better people if their employees were there because they wanted to be, not because they had to.

Wouldn’t it be great if managers applied for you? You would interview them and choose the best applicant. If they were honest in their interviews, you might hear, “I’m going to delegate most of my duties to you, then take credit for all of your work.” Or “My biggest fear is that you’ll figure out that I have no clue what I’m doing.” If you’re lucky, an applicant would say, “I’m just here to make sure that you have everything you need to do your job efficiently. I will help you any way I can to succeed.” You might even find one who makes you feel valued and appreciated.

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Hitched Without a Hitch

There’s an old saying, “the wedding went off without a hitch” meaning everything went as planned. There’s another saying that when a couple gets married, they get “hitched.” In the case of my daughter and son-in-law, they got hitched without a hitch.

I’ve heard so many disaster stories of weddings gone wrong. I have a friend whose cake fell apart upon delivery. Another friend got a big hug from the flower girl (who was wearing makeup) right before the wedding, leaving a lot of her makeup on the dress. In each case, the bride took it very well. They both said, “It’s OK. I’m getting married today!” I don’t think I would have handled that so well.

So many things could have gone wrong. When there are kids in a wedding, there’s always a risk that they’ll go rogue. But the flower girls and ringbearers did their jobs perfectly. Nothing fell. No one fainted. No one said “I don’t.” It’s not enough to say that nothing went wrong. I wish I could list the thousand things that went right. The weather, the pre-wedding music, the dress, the hair, the make up, the vows, the bubbles and the horse drawn carriage. The perfection spilled over to the reception with fantastic food, family and friends dancing to great music.

The bride was so much the opposite of nervous that she wanted to go out to breakfast the morning of the wedding. How many brides feel like eating a full breakfast on the wedding day?  That’s how confident she was but this was the right groom, on the right day, at the right time. We ate at The Arcade, the oldest cafe in Memphis. Unfortunately we didn’t get to sit in the Elvis booth.

arcade, Memphis, restaurant

 

While everything involving the bride and groom went off without a hitch, it seems that no day can be completely perfect.  There were some snags for a few of our guests.

A cousin of the bride was on a sequestered jury. We knew all week that he might not make it to the wedding. As luck would have it the jury finished deliberating just in time for him to make it. Well, he would have made it if the trial had been in Memphis. By the time the trial ended in Nashville and they drove the jury back to Memphis, he arrived just in time to miss the whole thing. We really missed him being there. The good part was that the wedding venue was close to the jury drop off location. So his family didn’t have to go far to retrieve him.

My niece, another cousin of the bride, arrived at the wedding in plenty of time to make it. But she was detained due to a fender bender in the parking lot. No one was hurt and she made it inside for most of the wedding.

When we arrived at the reception my sister, the bride’s aunt, was complaining of quite a bit of pain. She’d been having some mild pain for a couple of days but it was now kicked into high gear. Enough of us in the family have had kidney stones to recognize the signs. So we sent her off to the emergency room. Guess who drove her to the ER? The niece who had the wreck. If it’s true that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, then she was the safest bet!

Since my sister was all dressed up for the wedding, she got a lot of compliments in the ER about being too pretty to feel so bad. My niece had to leave her briefly. When she came back she told the staff, “I’m looking for the lady in the pretty dress who’s dying in pain.”

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The lady in the pretty dress

It did turn out to be a kidney stone. A sizable one. She had it blasted a few days later and is recovering well at home as we speak… or as I write.

As far as I know, no members of the groom’s family were harmed in the making of this marriage.

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Hitched

 

This Workout Was Brought To You By Maidenform

My daughter is getting married in two weeks. Since I had the day to myself and was needed by no one anywhere, I went out to do some mother of the bride stuff. I’d already bought my MOTB dress a couple of months ago. One of my goals was to lose about 10 pounds before the wedding, as I thought the dress would look better with a little less of me in it. Ten pounds in two months didn’t seem too lofty a goal. However, I managed to gain 5 instead.

Since there will actually be a little more of me in my dress than planned, one of my errands today was to buy shapewear. In my mother’s day, they had girdles. In my great-grandmother’s day, there were corsets. No matter what you call it, shapewear is something women wear under their clothes to make us appear more like we used to without help. We should call it reversewear.

maidenform, ubdergarments
I don’t want to embrace them, I want to hide them!

First of all, the fabric that makes shapewear do what it does is an angry bitch. Lycra seems to have a serious grudge against me even though we barely know each other. She was determined to fight me the whole way. If I was going to get this tighter-than-skin suit on, I was going to have to kill it first.

I started with what I consider to be my size. Then, I read the label and moved up to what Maidenform considers to be my size. These are one piece body shapers, by the way, much like a one-piece swimsuit or a dance leotard. I had the choice to step in or pull it over my head. I chose the pullover option. Once the angry, constrictive fabric tricked me into putting my arms in and pulling it over my head, it refused to move any further. At this point, it’s all wadded around my neck with my arms straight up in the air. I need my hands to pull down this inflexible fabric, but they’re stuck in the air at the end of my arms!

Somehow, I was able to force my arms down and started pulling this torture device down my body, one millimeter at a time. Once it covered everything it was supposed to cover, I took a look in the mirror. I was red all over from stuffing myself like a sausage into a casing. I was exhausted from the workout and starting to sweat. But that’s not the worst of it. Despite being only 5’2″, I have an oddly long torso. The body shaper has a built-in bra but it is so short on my long body that the bra is at my waist. UGH! That’s not gonna hold anything up!

I apologize for not having pictures to go along with this, but… NO! There will be no visuals of this acrobatic contortion act or the waist lifting bra.

Unfortunately, I went up one more size. A size that I have never worn, Ever. Last year, I lost SEVENTY pounds. At my highest weight, I didn’t wear the size that I bought today. At my previous weight, I imagine that my size in shapewear would have resembled the marquis at a dirty book store.
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Shopping for shapewear is not for sissies. It’s also not for those with low self-esteem or anyone who hangs her self worth on a clothing tag. If you’re going to visit the mean streets of the lingerie department, arm yourself with double-barrelled self confidence and a side arm of badass. Like I said, Lycra is a bitch.

I’m Not Having A Stroke!

Each of us has the occasional moment of forgetfulness. We walk into a room and can’t remember why. We call someone and leave a message to call back, but when they do, we don’t remember what we wanted to say. We refer to those times as “blonde moments” or “senior moments.” If these occasions are common enough to get a nickname, they’re probably nothing to worry about when it happens to us. However, I come from a long line of women who have had strokes, so if those “blonde, senior moments” happen too frequently, I get a little worried that I’m following in family footsteps.

I was experiencing more than an acceptable amount of forgetfulness one night last summer which led my daughter to ask me if I was having a stroke. She most likely did not think that I was, but she was a little concerned about my memory loss that evening.

It started when we decided to go out for a sandwich at a local sub shop. Though we’d been there countless times, I couldn’t seem to remember where it was. No sooner did the question regarding it’s location leave my lips, than I suddenly remembered. But it was too late. I had uttered the words and my daughter knew that I having a little old lady moment.

Okay, no big deal. Everyone has a mental lapse now and then. In my case, it’s caused by storing too much intelligence in my brain. There just not enough room in my head for directions to the sandwich shop around the corner. (wink)

I couldn’t finish my sandwich and I started wrapping it in a napkin, like some Depression era survivor. My daughter looked puzzled. As if it were not obvious that I was saving my sandwich for later because I don’t like to waste food. Duh! She asked if I was becoming a hobo and planning to hang my sandwich on the end of a stick. Then she reminded me that they have to-go boxes for such purposes. For just a millisecond, that was a brand new concept to me. A box in which to put my leftovers. Genius!

That’s when my daughter asked “are you having a stroke?” right there in the eatery. I’m not saying that she said it loudly, just aloud. I knew that she meant it jokingly, but if anyone else heard it, they might think she was asking a legitimate question.

While driving home, my husband called. He was leaving a meeting and wanted to know what to expect for dinner. I told him that we were just leaving the sub shop and he asked if I’d bring him a sandwich from there as well. I offered to go to any place to get him whatever he wanted, anywhere other than where I’d just left.

My reason for refusing to go back inside and get my husband the sandwich he requested was simple. I’d just eaten all that I could, wrapped up my leftovers and walked out. If I walked back in a few minutes later and ordered another meal, an astute employee might call 911 on my behalf. “I heard her daughter ask if she was having a stroke. She clearly is. She forgot that she just finished eating and now she’s back ordering more food! Poor thing.”

I didn’t want to end up in an ambulance explaining that I was fine… other than forgetting how to get somewhere I’ve been a hundred times and forgetting what a to-go box is.  I would not have been very convincing.

Anyway, I’m fine. No strokes so far. I’ve found my way to many destinations and used several to-go boxes since that night. Although, I have left most of those to-go boxes sitting on the table at the restaurant!
blondemoment

 

Road Trip

I’m taking a road trip today.

While getting there is half the fun, driving can be miserable. There are traffic jams, road rage, and the ever present speed trap. I’m not worried about today though. Firstly, because my daughter is doing the driving. Secondly, because I have a special relationship with law enforcement.

When police officers pull me over, they always say the nicest things that let me know that I’m unique, that I’m getting special treatment, and that I’m not just the average citizen. For instance, there was the time that the officer said to me, “I don’t USUALLY ticket nurses, but I’m going to make an exception in your case.”

Then there was the time, just recently, that my husband and I were driving in separate cars. He was behind me, travelling at the exact same speed. When a police officer noted that we were exceeding the speed limit, he flicked on the lights and siren and jumped on the highway in pursuit. Because of my good fortune, he went around my husband to pull me over. Just me. Eddie, my Jack Russell terrier, tried to talk the officer out of ticketing me, he even rolled down the window by himself to bark at him. The cop thought Eddie was hilarious, but he didn’t let that stop me from getting that special ticket. Maybe I should have told him to give it to someone else because I’ve had plenty. More than my fair share, really. I don’t want to deprive anyone.

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Commonly seen in my rearview mirror

I hate to brag, but the police give me preferential treatment.

In the State of Tennessee, they offer a points reward system for traffic tickets. Each ticket is assigned points based on the severity of the infraction. Once you reach a certain level, there’s a prize. In the year 2000, I very proudly exceeded the state’s expectation of point accumulation. I had a total of five speeding tickets. Each one was from a different county. That takes a lot of skill!

Of those five tickets, my favorite was issued to me by a female officer in Atoka, Tennessee. As luck would have it, she pulled me over directly in front of a sign that stated the speed limit was 60. My youngest daughter was with me and I told her that I didn’t know why we were being pulled over since I was going 10 miles under the speed limit. Perhaps there was something wrong with my car. The officer came to the window and told me what I already knew… I was travelling at 50 miles per hour. When I pointed to the sign and said “the speed limit is 60,” she replied, “Nope. It’s 40.” We went back and forth a few times, but she had the uniform, the badge and the gun. So I got a ticket.

It was a good learning opportunity for my young daughter to see law enforcement at it’s finest. Later when the state called me in to redeem my points and claim my prize (more on that later), that ticket for going 50 in a 60 was not anywhere on my record. I only had four. I was really disappointed that I would not get credit for that one, especially since it was my favorite.

As it turns out, the points are not what I thought. They actually want you to keep your points low. It’s more like golf than basketball. And it’s not a reward system, per se. They did call me in to redeem my prize, but the prize was going to driving classes to avoid losing my license. After that, I started using my cruise control to drive exactly the speed limit and not a mile over. I’ve never been so alone in my life! Other cars passed me by in a blur. No one ever travelled along with me at the lonely speed of 55.

After a few years, I got a little lax and started driving normally again. So, of course, I’ve had a couple more speeding tickets in the last few years. Recently, I received a letter from the Great State of Tennessee reminding me about the point system that I had long since forgotten. They congratulated me on the two tickets I’ve received in the last two years, pointing out that they have both expired. However, they are willing to make an exception in my case (AGAIN!).  If I get another ticket in the next year, they will pull these two tickets out of retirement and count them against me.

How lucky am I?!

If You’re Not Too Busy

I haven’t written a blog post in two weeks because I’ve been too busy. I’m not accustomed to this. I should clarify that… I’m always busy at work. But in real life, I avoid being burdened with more than I can or want to do. I’d like to say that I’m too busy to exercise, but the truth is I’m just too lazy.

When people talk about how busy they are, I don’t know if they’re complaining or bragging. Am I supposed to be impressed or feel sorry for them?  I feel especially bad for kids with busy lives. The ones who have a schedule for every waking moment. I understand parents wanting their kids to be well-rounded and to have activities that keep them out of trouble, but when do they have time to daydream, play, create and just be a kid?

Some people thrive on being busy, but I’m not a fan. When I have a busy weekend, even if it’s doing things I enjoy, I feel like I didn’t have a weekend at all. I believe that taking time to do nothing is just as important as trying to do everything.

I was crazy busy when I was single. I had to work two jobs to stay afloat. I owned a home, which is like having another job. Plus, I had two kids which is another full-time job – Just ask any stay-at-home mom! Now that I’m married, I only have to work one job and my husband does way more than I do around the house. This leaves a lot more time for the pursuit of happiness.

Recently though, I’ve been a busier than usual. This is temporary and will soon be back to normal. But, in the mean time, I’m not getting everything done that needs to be done. For instance, I normally pray every night. The week of Easter (also known as Holy Week), I found myself unusually busy. When I finally sat down to pray I realized that it had been a few days. I said to God, “This is your biggest week of the year and I’ve barely spoken to you!”

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Isn’t that how it is with being busy? We’re getting so much done and yet getting nothing done. We put the important stuff on the back burner to get all this busy-ness done. Whether it’s a blog, God, home, family or friends, something gets neglected when we get busy. Worst of all, we neglect ourselves. We put ourselves on whatever is behind the back burner. When things finally slow down, we find ourselves shoved in the back of a cabinet somewhere and say “Hey, I remember you.”

When you read this, I hope you’ll remember to take some time for yourself. Pencil yourself in. Pull yourself out of that dark cabinet, dust yourself off and take yourself out for ice cream. Lie on a hammock. Look for shapes in the clouds. Take time to appreciate the flower bed that you’ve worked so hard on. Do nothing. As long as it’s something just for you that you would really appreciate you doing for you!

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When Cruise Came To Town

I’m from Memphis. I’ve lived here my entire life. I was born here, my parents were born here. Memphis is known for a lot of things… It’s the birthplace of rock-n-roll, thanks to Elvis. We’re known for our barbecue, blues, Beale Street, FedEx, Elvis, and Justin Timberlake. Yes we have crime, but the good outweighs the bad. And did I mention, Elvis and Justin Timberlake?

We love our Memphis Grizzlies basketball, University of Memphis Tigers, St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, Peabody Ducks, the Mississippi River, our zoo, our local food (namely barbecue), our music, nightlife, Jerry’s Sno Cones and our pyramid that recently became a Bass Pro Shop.

 

There have been many tv shows and movies filmed in Memphis, but none as eventful as the time that The Firm was filmed here. In case you live under a rock, The Firm was a John Grisham novel set in Memphis. In the early 90s, it was made into a movie, also set in Memphis, and starred Tom Cruise.

 

Ok, I want you to put aside your personal feelings about Tom Cruise just for a moment. This was over 20 years ago, long before you didn’t like him. He was 30 years old then. Unlike now, when he’s actually 53 but still looks 30!

There were plenty of other celebrities in the movie, including Holly Hunter, Gene Hackman, Gary Busey and Wilford Brimley (the old guy with diahbetus). But our local media only had eyes for Tom. Every morning, local radio stations announced where he’d be filming. More importantly, they’d tell us where he’d been and what he’d done the night before. We knew where he ate, what he ate and who’s tab was “anonymously” paid by Tom Cruise. He was a gracious and generous visitor to our city. Eventually they wrapped up filming and moved on to film on location in the Cayman Islands.

Then, something curious happened. I don’t know if it was an additional scene or a reshoot, but Tom came back to film one last scene. If you’ve seen the movie, it’s the part where he jumps out of a window and lands on a cotton truck in the alley below.

 

As luck would have it, my aunt Liz worked in a dry cleaner on the corner of Monroe Avenue and that very alley. She had a front row seat to the whole thing. She decided to call her sister (my mother) to see if she wanted to come down and watch with her. Of course she wanted to!

Mama quickly showed up to the dry cleaner to watch, along with her sister, as Tom Cruise shot one last scene of The Firm. Eventually a news crew, as well as a small crowd of fans, showed up to do the same. Well, obviously not from the dry cleaner, but from the same general area. My mother stepped out onto the curb as Tom walked toward the news crew to grant them one last interview. He waved at the crowd and Mama said something like… “Tom, can we get an autograph?” He waved them on over and my mother led the group of fans toward the movie star.

Now, let’s review who I am. In my blog post called Let’s Make Up, I revealed my personal issues with make up and that I don’t leave home without it. I’m quite sure that if I thought there’d be a chance encounter with a celebrity, I’d put a little extra effort in to my makeup. My mother does not share my hang ups about cosmetics. That being said…

Throughout this entire interview, which aired repeatedly on the noon, 5:00, 10:00 and any other time news comes on; there’s my mother with not a stitch of makeup on, hasn’t seen her hairbrush, wearing a shirt that each one of her daughters had politely asked her to stop wearing… shoved all up in Tom Cruise’s personal space by the crowd behind her. He politely answered all of the reporter’s questions while practically cheek-to-cheek with my mother. And, of course, he was wearing make up.

Much to my dismay, I don’t have a picture of this to share with you. Technology wasn’t nearly as advanced as it is now and we thought our VHS tape of the event would last forever. I called the news station to see if they could help, but I wasn’t important enough to get that kind of service. So let me just leave you with this really cool shot of Tom Cruise and Hal Holbrook on the roof of our beloved Peabody Hotel.

Blog Shorts

Some thoughts don’t warrant an entire blog post. Here are a few of those…

If you’re going to rant on social media about the stupidity of others, make sure you don’t out yourself. Posting “Your a idiot” tends to expose the secret that you’re the idiot.

People say marry for love the first time, money the second. I say marry for money the first time. Then you’ll have half of his money when you marry the one you love in the second round.

If the redhead on Gilligan’s Island had been named Gertrude, instead of Ginger, would we refer to redheads as Gerties? or Trudies?

Will someone please write a new article about how to look thin in pictures? I’m so tired of the lean-on-back-leg, bend-front-leg, hand-on-hip pose in every photo that has been taken the last two years. It’s doubly annoying when there are two in the photo. I call it “chicken wings,” a friend calls it “tea cups.”

Schadenfreude is a German word to describe that happy feeling you get when something bad happens to someone else. Germans are known for their lack of emotions. If a stoic bunch like the Germans have a word solely dedicated to this emotion, then it must be normal. Don’t feel guilty about it.

I’m so glad to know that my conditioner is gluten free. I hope it’s also cholesterol free.

 

Has anyone else noticed that fast food service has worsened dramatically since the debate began over a $15 minimum wage? It seems that saying “no cheese” is now a guarantee that I’ll be scraping a melted, processed, orange square off of an otherwise perfectly good burger. Ordering unsweet tea assures I’ll be getting sweet tea (what if I was diabetic?) And asking them to hold the sour cream means I’m getting a taco double dipped in a sour cream coating.

And speaking of food service… why is it legal for restaurants to pay their employees less than half of the minimum wage and expect customers to make up the rest? What if every career field worked this way? “Thanks for putting out my house fire. How much do I owe you?” What would you tip your surgeon after a life-saving surgery? What’s 20% of that? And why do we tip on the price of the food instead of the time spent? The server’s workload is the same whether I order steak or mac and cheese.
Ok, maybe this one does need a full blog post! And yes, I do tip.

The first time I saw bottled water, I thought it was the craziest thing I’d ever seen (still do). Never dreamed it would catch on. Recently, I bought a few plastic bottles (the safe kind) and made some homemade water bottles. This was not well received. People want their water with a brand name on the label served in a flimsy, disposable bottle.

My favorite toilet paper added ridges. Yes ridges, like Ruffles potato chips! They advertise it as if they’re proud of it. Stop bragging about your bad decisions and give me back my soft, ridge-free TP!

 

Introverts have become quite trendy lately. I’ve read several articles about introversion but I don’t understand why they can’t explain it without insulting extroverts. They make us sound like Jack Russell Terriers with ADHD.

They’ve cured erectile dysfunction but not breast cancer or ovarian cancer. If they don’t cure cancers that affect women and their lady parts, what are they going to do with all of those erections?

Can’t post of picture of erectile dysfunction!

 

Menopause: The Adventure

 

If you haven’t visited the amusement park known as Menopause, let me fill you in. I’ve had a season pass for years.

These are a few of the attractions:

The Scrambler. This ride scrambles your brain to the point you that you can’t remember anything. Or find anything. Even if you just had it in your hand seconds ago. You’ll have to keep to-do lists. Your friends and family will text instead of calling. Not because they don’t want to talk to you, but if you have it in writing, you’ll stop complaining that “no one ever tells me anything,” even though they’ve told you at least twice.

Hormones and Hot Flashes. This ride is basically a giant microwave that bakes you from the inside out and doubles your core temperature. You’ll radiate so much heat that no one will sit next to you. Not that you want them to, because right now, you can’t stand them.

The Insomnia Express. This train only runs at night. The dining car features an endless supply of both sweet and salty snacks to indulge in while you watch tv, read, sew, blog, anything but sleep!

Mood Swings. The name pretty much says it all but I think the chairs should be broomsticks.

There’s a bathroom every 100 yards. A ride called Wiry Gray Hair. And a pub called The Irritable Wench.

The scariest ride in the whole park is The Emotional Rollercoaster. You’ll laugh, cry and scream uncontrollably. You’ll be angry for no reason. Watch out for that sharp turn – you might fly off the handle. There’s a long, dark tunnel called Tears and Fears. While the other rides exit through a gift shop, the only way off the Emotional Rollercoaster is through medical intervention. If you refuse, you’re doomed to stay on the rollercoaster indefinitely.

Lastly… what was I saying? Damn, it’s hot in here. Where did I put my phone?