Archive for the ‘worthy of mockery’ Category
I haven’t quite figured out what to do about this bumper crop of bell peppers.
Currently, my plan of action is to eat my way through it. Kind of what I did with the berries until it got so out of hand I actually tried my hand at canning.
Not sure that’s what I want to do with peppers.
I’m open to any suggestions.
In the meantime, as a Facebook friend suggested:
You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, saute it. Dey’s uh, pepper-kabobs, pepper creole, pepper gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There’s pineapple pepper , lemon pepper ,coconut pepper, pepper soup, pepper stew, pepper salad, pepper and potatoes, pepper burger, pepper sandwich. That- that’s about it.
Yep. That’s about it.
Pass the Tums.
Toothpaste has really gotten under my skin lately. I mean, I’ve actually had a little bit of aggression as I face down my morning ablutions with this uncooperative and sinister part of my personal hygiene routine.
I’m used to this old-school aluminum tube that you squeeze from the bottom up. Okay, let me take that back. I squeeze it from the middle until it becomes a kind of lumpy uneven mess. Then I wake up in an OCD mood and decide that is the day I must squeeze from the bottom and get every last drop of Crest or Colgate or Superman bubble-gum flavored atrocity (I have little nephews).
That works for a while, and then, I get to what I think is the end of the toothpaste and that last inch seems to last for three years! Well, perhaps I may have a little problem with hyperbole…but it lasts for a really really long time.
So I switched to a different approach and bought this nifty little contraption which I believed would be the solution:
It wasn’t. Oh sure, it has a nice neat appearance, and sits up straight all important-like. But I can’t tell how much toothpaste is in there. I guess air squeezes out the toothpaste, so there’s no collapsing of the container. After a week, it weighs the same. Every time I brush my teeth I have this anxious moment where I wonder if this could be the last time. If next time I won’t have any toothpaste left because this insidious design is obviously a master plan to get me to purchase multiple bottles and keep them stored away. No! I will not be manipulated like that.
And anyway, those squirreled away tubes of toothpaste are in case of the zombie apocalypse and I won’t break into that stash.
So it finally happened and my worst case scenario became a reality. This morning I squeezed out the last bit of toothpaste in a rather unceremonious burp that splattered the paste onto my toothbrush and my shirt. Good riddance weird and unfriendly toothpaste container thingie.
Hello stash of half-used toothpaste left behind by college kids, visiting nieces and nephews, and numerous trips requiring travel-size tubes.
Pray for me.
Yes. Yes it is.
I make no apologies.
I have these reports that are due tomorrow, and I’ve been plodding along to finish. It’s a weird kind of writing. Let’s call it, validating something that’s already written. It’s a tedious job to rewrite stuff, but that’s not even the point of this post.
I don’t feel well…I have a migraine that is giving me some great disco lights in my peripheral vision and the disco beat behind my eyes…and I have a weenie cough that I thought was just a weenie cough, only, now, it’s gucky. Gross, and TMI. Sorry.
So that brings me to my snack. I was making coffee, hoping the caffeine might help to a) wake me up, and b) tame the headache, when I saw there was one lonely little graham cracker on the counter. I picked it up and studied it, and lamented it’s naked state, when I announced, “I could spread some fluff on it and squeeze chocolate syrup on it! I can make a pseudo smore!”
My kid looked at me sadly and said, “What is that? A poor man’s smore?”
Yes. Yes it is. Nom nom nom.
I am lumbering around the house looking like a wounded Varactyl.
You must be wondering what that is. Here ya go:
I know, a little overly dramatic. My other choice would be to cover my lower back in Ben Gay. I tried that yesterday. It was not a good choice for a number of reasons I will not go into publicly. Thus, I am back to lumbering around and whining loudly.
And begging for your prayers.
Look, I promise the following conversation happened, I just can’t give any details about where it occurred:
I arrived at my destination hankering to tweet something…and got distracted by the conversation that followed. You see, I was driving through a little town outside metropolitan Atlanta when I encountered a pedestrian walking what seemed to be a little nervous dog. I was still a ways away, so I figured it was a nutty little Boston Terrier (I’ve recently befriended one, and found the breed to be delightfully nutty) or a wild little Jack Russell, like my daughter’s little puppy.
I was wrong.
This proud citizen was walking a chicken. On. A. Leash.
Who can believe this?
So I get where I’m going, and I’m trying to tweet, only I’m laughing myself into a silly state of ineptitude with the phone…and share what I’m laughing about, and that’s when I get the second surprise of the evening.
It turns out that walking a chicken on a leash is not only not weird, it’s commonplace around here!
Here’s a snippet of the conversation:
Woman #1: Y’all need to go down to the flea market on Moreland. They all bring their pet chickens on leashes. And they’re dressed up, too!
Woman #2: The chickens are dressed up? In clothes? What kind of clothes does a chicken wear?
Woman #1: Same as you’d put on a gerbil.
[okay, I need to stop here and ponder this a bit. What would one put on a gerbil? The astounding thing about all of this is how naturally accepting these folks were of all the components of this weirdness]
Woman #2, incredulous, to her credit: Gerbil clothes?! What kind of clothes do you put on a gerbil?
Woman #1: Well, I’ve seen them in dresses.
Woman #2: The gerbils? Or the chickens?
Me, now disappointed: I think my chicken must have been naked.
Man: I dress my chickens. Then I eat ‘em. Fried.
I know I must bore you with poems, so here’s something that will provide you with endless hours of timesuck, because we all need more distractions in our lives, right? Check out Cleverbot.com
Here’s my conversation:
User: How are you?
Cleverbot: Good, how are you?
User: Fantastic! Just chillin’ with my macbook and a glass of wine.
Cleverbot: Kinda sad.
Cleverbot: I forgot to celebrate Ostara.
User: Wow, did you ask for forgiveness?
Cleverbot: Yes, are you American?
User: I am American, why do you ask?
Cleverbot: You’re not smart.
User: Seriously? Did you intend to insult me?
Cleverbot: No no.
User: Then what did you mean?
Cleverbot: I am dying.
User: Dying is no excuse for being rude.