Archive for the ‘worthy of mockery’ Category
I sent the following text message to a friend, not so much to console her, as to console myself:
Julian of Norwich said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”
She responded with the following:
“Julian of Norwich was hallucinating in her tiny cell and anorexic probably. But if that is what it takes to have a good attitude….”
This is why one must have friends. She knows what I need.
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.