Halloween Horror Story?

A friend forwarded the following to me in an email. I thought it was hilarious until I realized my mammogram was scheduled on Halloween day. Now, I am thinking if this happens to me it would be a real life Halloween horror story. If you don’t hear back from me…check the news!

I actually kept my mammogram appointment. I was met with, ‘Hi! I’m Belinda!’
This perky clipboard carrier smiled from ear to ear, tilted her head to
one side and crooned, ‘All I need you to do is step into this room right
here, strip to the waist, then slip on this gown. Everything clear?’ I’m
thinking, ‘Belinda, try decaf. This ain’t rocket science.’ Belinda skipped
away to prepare the chamber of horrors. With the right side finished,
Belinda flipped me (literally) to the left and said, ‘Hmmmm. Can you stand
on your tippy toes and lean in a tad so we can get everything?’ ‘Fine’, I
answered. I was freezing, bruised, and out of air, so why not use the
remaining circulation in my legs and neck and finish me off? My body was
in a holding pattern that defied gravity (with my other breast wedged
between those two 4 inch pieces of square glass) when we heard, then felt
a zap! Complete darkness and the power went off! ‘Oh, maintenance is
working. Bet they hit a snag.’ Belinda headed for the door. ‘Excuse me!
You’re not leaving me in this vise alone are you?’ I shouted. Belinda kept
going and said, ‘Oh, you fussy puppy…the door’s wide open so you’ll have
the emergency hall lights. I’ll be right back.’ Before I could shout
‘NOOOO!’ she disappeared. And that’s exactly how Bubba and Earl,
maintenance men extraordinaire, found me, half-naked and part of me
dangling from the Jaws of Life, and the other part smashed between glass!
After exchanging polite ‘Hi, how’s it going’ type greetings, Bubba (or
possibly Earl) asked, to my utter disbelief, if I knew the power was off.
Trying to disguise my hysteria, I replied with as much calmness as
possible ‘Uh, yes, yes I did thanks.’ ‘You bet, take care’ Bubba replied
and waved good-bye as though I’d been standing in the line at the grocery
store. Two hours later, Belinda breezes in wearing a sheepish grin. Making
no attempt to suppress her amusement, she said, ‘Oh I am sooo sorry!’ The
power came back on and I totally forgot about you! And silly me, I went to
lunch. Are we upset?’ And that, Your Honor, is exactly how her head ended
up between the clamps…”

Trick Or Treat

1029090857Choco-ween, oops, I mean Halloween is upon us. And yes, I’ve already been hitting the candy. Again this year. The candy my husband hid from our family. (Yeah, everyone knows where it is and is helping themselves, including him!) The candy intended for those snotty nosed, oops, I mean adorable little pirates and princesses.

Last year, I even tried buying the candy I didn’t like. Finding candy I don’t like is almost impossible, kind of like finding a puppy that doesn’t steal my heart. I mean chocolate…hello…who doesn’t like chocolate? Non-chocolate…pure sugar, I can scarf that down just as easily.

There was the year (way back when I was a health conscious good mom), I gave out toothbrushes. And mind you, the toothbrushes were not the crappy ones…they were Oral B’s. Word got around fast, and the kids avoided my house like the plague. According to the kids, I sucked, but the parents loved me! I was stuck with almost a case of toothbrushes. Everyone got a toothbrush in their stocking that year. (And for the next two years!)

Usually, I buy two of those huge B.J.’s size bags and after about a hundred trick or treaters (and us!), there is only about a handful of candy left at the end of the night. Our stash was beginning to look a little wimpy so I went out and bought a third bag last night.

Yes, that’s a lot of candy, and a lot of trick or treaters. It is a tiring night. The person that doles it out well deserves a bit of candy at the end of the night. Yes, that would be me. Of course, I need it now in preparation for handing it out that night! And there are always the slick ones who try to skirt through several times. (I need candy to stay on top of my game!) And last year (and the year before) there was the kid with the two pillowcases, one for himself and one for the sick brother at home. I indulged his first two visits. The third visit…NOT!

I read something last night that said that you (I) could easily gain a half a pound a day from eating a small amount of Halloween treats. I can’t remember exactly how much, but I’m sure I fell within the category. Anyway, if I keep it up, between last week and this week, it is possible I could gain fourteen pounds. A new record. Those who know me, know I don’t like to do things half way. So, I figure with Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up, I am onto something. With the upcoming food and festivities, I could surely gain five pounds a week. So by New Years that’s forty pounds plus the fourteen Halloween pounds which could put my weight at an additional fifty-four pounds. (Don’t stress me, that’s about as good as my math skills get!) That would put me at just slightly ( and I mean ever so slightly) below the 200 pound mark. Maybe, I should consider a career change. A super-size model. Oh yeah, don’t remind me, I’d need to find a pretty face to go with the new bod. Well, I could eat the rest of the candy and go for Sumo wrestler. Or, I could just eat the rest of the candy and just go for a giant ball of blubber…an instant media sensation!

Ok, little boy with the sick brother at home. You’re only getting candy the first time this year. The rest of the candy is mine. All MINE! I mean, after all, I have a new career aspiration!



I’m A “Dr. Seussaholic”

I have a confession to make. I am a forty-six year old Dr. Seussaholic. Whew, I feel better now. They say admitting it is the hardest part. I grew up reading Dr. Seuss books. I read Dr. Seuss to my children. I’ve lived my entire life with Dr. Seuss. Who knows what I’d have turned into without his wit and guidance throughout my life!1027091211

My friend recently informed me that she does NOT like Dr. Seuss, did not like his books as a child, and hates to read them to her children. We can no longer be friends! I mean, how can anyone not like Dr. Seuss? It’s like un-American…like not liking apple pie. What? You don’t like apple pie. Get out of my house you freak of nature! I can accept most imperfections of my friends because we’re human after all. But not liking Dr. Seuss. I just can’t get past it.

When I was in first grade, my cousin had her very own My Book About Me , and I was so jealous. She got to pencil in all the information just about her. I wanted my own book to write the stuff all about me in. I was deprived and jealous. Not only that, but her mom signed her up for the Dr. Seuss book club. She had a book arrive in her mailbox every single month. I don’t know which of us was more excited when it came. She was nice enough to share with me. She let me look after she read it, then read it to me, and made me promise over and over not to tear, bend, or smudge the pages. She also had The Foot Book . We measured everything with her foot, my foot, and the ruler foot. Oh, good times with Dr. Seuss!

Also, in first grade, my friend got to play Cindy Loo Hoo in How The Grinch Stole Christmas. She was the shortest girl in the class (I was the second shortest) so she was chosen for the part. This was the only time ever that I wanted to be the shortest. I was so jealous! Do we see a pattern here? Did I mention I was also deprived?

Now, my friend who doesn’t like Dr. Seuss, I’d hate to end a wonderful friendship over reading material BUT……..read some more Dr. Seuss. “You do not like them. So you say. Try them! Try them! And you may. Try them and you may, I say.” I mean, come on, everyone loves Green Eggs And Ham. Please for the sake of our friendship, you’ve got to give Dr. Seuss another chance.

Toilet Talk

I spent Saturday with my son in the ER. (He injured his knee playing football!) Anyway, it was crowded, not many seats available in the waiting area.

A woman came in with her daughter. The daughter appeared to be about eleven or twelve years old. She seated her daughter in the chair next to me and she preceded to sit across form her.

Immediately this child started moaning. Not a I’m-in-pain kind of moaning, but a really strange almost subhuman moaning. Each breath she took was followed with a moan. It sounded like she was possibly holding back a volcanic eruption.

Each time one of these horrid sounds escaped her body, I could feel her body heat on my right side. I tried scooting to the left of my chair inching myself almost into my son’s lap.

I know, I’m really bad. This child was in pain ,but all I could see was that she was not wearing a mask like most of the other non-injury patients. I was envisioning her spewing H1N1 or some other equally hideous germs and caustic substances all over me!(I was actually picturing the green hurling incident in “The Exorcist”.)

As I am deep in thought wondering how I will clean myself up if she throws up on me, this girl jumps up and shouts in a really loud, screechy voice, “Mom, I must call Emily. I have to call her now. She SAID that if anything major happens again and I don’t call, she is going to give me a LONG and THOROUGH talking to about the proper cleaning of toilets!”

What? Did I hear that correctly? Boy, was that a weird statement. Definitely not your average comment.

Obviously, the mother thought it was an odd comment, too. She yelled to her to be quiet and not say another word. She grabbed the girl by the shoulder of her grey sweat jacket and pulled her out of my vision and hearing range.

I was relieved that she was no longer in the proximity to be able to barf on me, but somewhat disappointed not to hear the rest of the conversation.

A long a thorough talking to about the proper cleaning of toilets. Hmmmmmm. I must say I was intrigued. How long (and deep) of a conversation could one possibly have about the proper cleaning of toilets? Proper cleaning…was there a preferred method? What kind of an eleven year old would admonish her BFF with that kind of a threat if left out of the latest drama?

I hope the child is better, and I hope she doesn’t have to endure a deep, lengthy conversation about cleaning toilets. I really hope she finds a new BFF.

Gosh, I am so glad I am not eleven!

Ruby Tells It Like It Is

Ruby (the monk parrot) and Wylie (the labradoodle-puppy) have an understanding.

Ruby understands that as long as the puppy doesn’t try to eat her, she won’t peck her too hard.

Wylie understands that as long as the bird doesn’t peck her too hard, she won’t eat her.

Ruby belongs to my MIL and she mimics things that she says, her voice, her laugh, and even her sneeze.

Ruby refuses to use Wylie’s name. She insists on calling her Raven. Raven was my black lab that died in February. Wylie is replacement puppy. (Not that another pet can replace the previous but you get my point!) Ruby hangs upside down from the flap of the cage, dangling over Wylie’s head (intermittingly pulling the dog’s hair) and saying, “Call Raven…woof woof.”

She also says, “Call Sally…woof woof” when she sees my SIL or her dog, Sally.

Sometimes, she’ll peck my MIL’s arm in which MIL will shout “Stop it!”. Ruby will reply, “What’s your problem?”

When the phone rings, Ruby shouts’ Hello”.

When someone enters or exit’s the room, Ruby questions “where you been” or “where you going”. She once asked me, “Where you gonna be going?”

When she hears tires spinning up the gravel driveway, she informs MIL that “somebody is coming to see us.” It recently changed to “OMG! Somebody is coming to see us!” MIL swears she doesn’t know where that came from. We think MIL was sitting around in her nightgown and replied that upon realizing she had a visitor.

I personally am not a bird person. Never have been. I don’t particularly trust Ruby, so I don’t get too close to her. She has been known to peck rather hard at times. However, I do find Ruby to be quite entertaining.

Other things Ruby says are: Ruby is a funny girl….ha, ha, ha! Time to go to bed. (She says this when it gets dark outside) Ruby is a sweet girl. Ruby is a good girl. Is Ruby want a peanut? (Yes, she says is instead of does!) Mama loves you. Give Mama a kiss. Let me rub your head. Give me your foot. Peek-a-boo! She has an expansive vocabulary…these are the only things I can recall off the top of my head.

Ruby often mumbles under her breath. Sometimes we can make out what she’s saying. We figure she’s fussing because we’ve invaded her territory. She is quite protective of MIL and MIL’s recliner. She once flew into my BIL’s head when he attempted to hug his mom. If someone sits in MIL’s chair, she squawks to the high heavens until they move.

Last winter, Ruby flew out of her cage. Dirt Man tried to direct her back in with a broom. Ruby flipped out and ran into the window knocking her self out for a mere second or two. She didn’t speak for several hours. I thought Ruby was a goner. I thought my husband was, too. If anything had happened to Ruby, MIL surely would have done him in!!!! I’m happy to report that the following day, Ruby was back to her normal chatty self.

Ruby can associate animal names with their owners and even spouses. She also even uses some phrases in the correct context. So therefore, the next time I get called a “bird brain”, I’ll take it as a compliment.

The Medicine Man

My father is not a man who goes to the doctor often. Just doesn’t believe in them. Thinks most of them are quacks.

My father is his own medicine man. If something ails him, chances are that he has something in the house that he feels will most likely ease his symptoms. If all else fails, then he MIGHT go see his family physician.

My father eats gin soaked raisins on a daily basis for arthritis. He swears by it. I tried it, but my pain is not constant so I don’t know if it really worked or if it was coincidence. I admit I only did it for a few days. Some say it’s the sulphides used in the process of making golden raisins and some say it’s the juniper berries in the gin that brings relief to arthritis sufferers. (He used to wear a copper bracelet for arthritis, but gave it up after he started eating his raisins!) Various internet sites suggest that one eat nine gin soaked rains daily for relief. My father eats four tablespoons. We tease that due to the amount he consumes, he is unable to feel the pain!

Another remedy he swears by is tart cherry juice to relieve his gout. Apparently, cherries reduce the urate levels in the body. I don’t have gout, so I’ve never tried it. An old mountain man told my father about it, and he seems to get relief by drinking it.

Another on his list is honey and cinnamon. Many report that honey alone will help with allergies. Honey and cinnamon together are used by many holistic people for heart disease, arthritis, cholesterol, and cancer. I am not sure of his intended use, but he drinks the honey in his coffee, and eats his toast with honey and cinnamon. I tried it as a tea last winter. The flavor was good , but the cinnamon and honey kind of clot into a snot ball in the bottom of the cup. It took several times before I was able to swallow the “slime” without gagging. Did it help me? I don’t really know, but it did help warm me up on chilly days.

I think he is an occasional user of apple cider vinegar. It has been said to possibly help diabetes by lowering glucose levels. Does it work? I don’t know. People use it for a lot of other reasons as well, but I don’t think my father uses it for any other.P9110013

The main holistic medicine my father uses is colloidal silver. He swears by it, and so do I.

It is interesting to note that prior to the introduction of antibiotics, CS was used as a germicide, disinfectant, and was used to treat many infections and diseases. My father was diagnosed several years ago with renal cancer. He was told that chemotherapy and radiation would not help him and that his only solution was to have his kidney surgically removed. He absolutely refused. I was furious with him. I thought he was going to die. He refused medical treatment and put himself on a colloidal silver therapy. I don’t know exactly what his regime was, but I know that at his one year check up there was no change in his condition. At two years, there was a slight shrinkage. At three years, he had absolutely no trace of cancer. Was it the CS? Was it a miracle from God? I don’t know the answer. But he continues to take CS as a precaution and an immune booster. I have been taking CS on a daily basis for a year now. If I feel like I am catching a cold or my throat is getting sore, I increase my dosage. Last year, was the first year that I did not get sick even once. It was an amazing winter for me because I work with small children and tend to get sick at least six times over the course of the fall and winter seasons.

Do these home remedies or holistic solutions work or are they in the mind of the partaker? Does the answer even matter? If one is receiving relief, that is probably the only answer that person is looking for.

My father’s doctor told him that he likes that he doesn’t come in for every little sniffle, ache, or pain. He told him that he respects that he comes to him only when he’s exhausted all efforts. This doctor has a good bedside manner or at least he knows how to humor this self indulgent country medicine man. On thing’s for sure, my father swears by this doctor just like his colloidal silver.

Leave Me Alone

It is a perfectly dreary day.

I have a big pot of chili on to compliment the chill in the air.

I plan to remain in my pajamas for the duration of the day.

Sound blissful?

I thought so…until….

The RING RING RINGING of the phone.

Not just any rings, but the continuous ringing of the annoying political calls.

Leave me alone.

I will only hang up on your machine. If indeed, I am gracious enough to sit through your little spill, I will not be swayed by your opinion.

My mind is made up.

Nothing you say will make me change my stance.

If I were in need of political enlightenment, I would not depend on your biased opinion. I would do my own research and come to my own conclusions.

I hang up on machines. The machine then triggers a real live annoying person to call me back immediately.

I try reporting that I am on the DO NOT CALL REGISTRY. Apparently, political calls (as well as charitable) are exempt.

I am not above hanging up on a real live person.

Staying in pajamas all day does not guarantee me an annoyance-free day of rest.

Do not call me. I won’t answer next time.

A Jell-O Pudding Sweet Tooth

What is America’s fascination with jello and whip cream desserts?

Is is an American fascination? Or is it just mine?

The combo is delightful…that is why I love it! And simple to boot. I’ve said before that it doesn’t take much in life to make me happy.

Forget the dessert. I’d probably be just as happy with a bowl of jello (any flavor) pudding, a tub o whip cream, and a large spoon. My very own little taste of heaven.

I was perusing Barnes and Noble the other day and found a cookbook devoted entirely to jello and whip cream desserts. Did I mention that I love both jello and whip cream? Do you think I bought that cookbook? You betcha, I did! I was ecstatic!

I took it home and drooled over the pictures and read the recipes. To may dismay, I’d already made most of them. (Except for an easy keylime pie with a pretzel crust that I’m dying to try.)

Instead of preparing one of those recipes, I decided to make up my own. And I must say it turned out delish!

I will share. I call it Mocha Pie. 

 You need 1 graham cracker pie crust, 1 8 oz container(thawed) cool whip, 1 8oz pkg. cream cheese, 1 lrg pkg vanilla instant pudding, 1 pkg (i serving size) Godiva hot chocolate mix, 3 T instant coffee granules (I don’t do instant so I had to borrow from my neighbor!), and 1 cup of milk

Beat the cream cheese with mixer until softened. Seperately mix the pudding, hot chocolate, and coffee with the milk. It will make a thick paste. Beat into the cream cheese. Then, blend in the cool whip. Pour into crust and let set in fridge for a couple of hours.


Exercise Sucks

The Gazelle is not my friend. I don’t like him.

Yes, I really think he must be a guy. Who else would get such pleasure from making you sweat, pant, and groan?

Tony Little likes the Gazelle. Tony Little says it’s “fun, fun, fun, fun”. I beg to differ.

Tony Little promises “results, results, results, results”. I am waiting on that, too.

Oh…you actually have to use it to get results!

I do NOT have the firm butt that the infomercials sport, but again, I guess I’d actually have to use it!

So why did I buy the Gazelle you ask. Well, I didn’t. My friend gave it to me because she was using it as a coat rack. Great minds think alike!1015090825

I’m thinking maybe I should give the Gazelle another try. Maybe we should get better acquainted.

Maybe I should give him a name. Problem is I can only come up with one. Jerkwad. Any suggestions?

Meanwhile the Gazelle does make a fabulous coat rack..

This Is A Horse!

1014091455Red Envelope. Must have been a warning. I MEAN A REAL HORSE. My parents should have known better than to open it.

Inside was a picture of a horse drawn on a cardboard pantyhose insert. “This is a horse”, I wrote. Good thing I explained that because it sure as heck looked more like an malnourished dog with an eared snake shooting out of it’s shoulders.1014091457

“I want a horse”, I added. Appears that I was more in need of art lessons. (I didn’t get either one!)

“I don’t if it cost too much.” Oh, what a sensitive and sensible child!

My mother found this when she decided to get rid of the clutter around the house.

I asked her when I made it.

“Probably when you were about four.”

“Mom, I couldn’t write when I was four.”

“Oh, maybe six then, in first grade,” she corrected herself.

“Mom, I couldn’t even write in cursive until second grade.”

“O.k. Second grade. I can’t remember,” my exasperated mother admitted.

Actually, it must have been more like fourth grade. All of the girls in my class wanted horses. That was when I belonged to Karal’s horse club. She even wrote a play (our characters were horses) for us to put on for the rest of our class. Apparently, it was a bust because of me. I read it and told her that I was not going to be in it because it was dumb. Then the others dropped out. I don’t remember saying it, but Karal remembers.

Sorry, I wasn’t so sensitive and sensible after all.