The Friggin Loon Defines... WTF Wednesday

I'm sorry... I couldn't help myself... I just had to invite a guest writer (resort to plagiarism) for WTF Wednesday this week. When I opened up Friggin Loon's post on Tuesday, it just called out to be featured on WTF Wednesday. Here it is in Friggin Loon's original words. He gets all the credit for this... go visit him NOW!

WTF Wisconsin Tourism

OMG, the Wisconsin Tourist Federation now know why people have been snickering behind their backs for years. Hmm, seems the penny finally dropped for them after they featured on a blog highlighting unfortunate logos. Evidently no one told them WTF stands for WTF, which would explain the smirks and giggles. The non computer savvy federation were oblivious to the popular acronym and it’s meaning but now have changed their name to a less controversial Tourism Federation of Wisconsin.

Yep, rather unfortunate...

Thanks, Friggin Loon! I couldn't have said it better myself!

The Li'l People are Coming! The Li'l People are Coming!

I feel so overwhelmed with bloggy love today! I thought the day couldn't possibly get any better after Quirky gave me a Quombie... and then I learned I won Jules' Best Giveaway Ever!

If you've never met Jules, you should not pass go but go directly to this secret location:

Now, you're probably wondering what would constitute the Best Giveaway Ever. Here's a hint...

What do these things have in common?

An old hag, a cowboy, a dog, a fat kid, a train conductor, a comb over guy and Kanye West.

They're all Little People! And they come in a swell, pink evening bag with a blue plastic handle!

I'm already thinking up bloggy plans for them.

Thanks, Jules! (And thanks to Dingo for pulling my name out of the evening bag.)

The Quombies are Coming! The Quombies are Coming!

Look out! Quirky bestowed a Quombie on me for my elegantly penned Quirkster Zombie and Zomblet poems!

That meanz I canz now ztart eatingz brainz!

Yumz!

Just in case you haven't already discovered them, here are some other newly dubbed Quomblets to check out...

Reffie at Confessions of a Reforming Geek

Noname at Nonamedufus

CB Jones at Mindful Drivel

MikeWJ at Too Many Mornings

Marvin at The Old Silly

And while you're at it, don't forget the Quirkster!

Thanks, my pixilated Zombie Quombie Queen!

Quirky's Head is Full of Brainz!

Quirky over at Musings of a Quirkyloon challenged us to spend the weekend thinking up zombie poems in her honor. After intense thought and concentration, I came up with my contribution to the cause...

Quirky's head is full of brainz,
Full of brainz,
Full of brainz.
Quirky's head is full of brainz,
Quirkster Zombie.


Now the really cool thing about this poem is that it's not just a poem, it's a song!
(You may have noticed it can be sung to the tune of London Bridge.)

But wait... there's more!

It's also a game!

Here's how it goes...

Quirky gets all of her bestest bloggy friends together to drink mass quantities of alcohol and/or Dr. Pepper.

Then everyone proceeds to stagger around in a circle while the Quirkster and I hold our arms up to make a bridge for all the bloggy friends to walk under. (I volunteered because I'm always looking for ways to pay it forward) Are you following me so far?

While everyone's stumbling about, we sing the Quirky Zombie song together in one part harmony. When we get to the end of the song Quirky and I throw our arms around whoever is currently under the bridge and...

Quirky eatz their brainz!

Sound like fun? I thought you'd like it.

Of course, if you don't like that game, you can always go play Quirky's favorite...


So anyway, that's what I came up with for Quirky's Zombie Poem Contest. Yeah, it kinda sucks, but what do you expect? It's not like she gave us a whole week or anything to come up with an idea! Geesh!

P.S. I also made up a separate poem to include Quirky's Zomblets (Quirky Sons #1 & #2) so they won't feel left out and neglected:

There once was a Zombie named Quirky
Who subsisted on strips of loon jerky
She ate bloggers' brainz
Diet Pepper and cranes
So her Zomblets turned out awfully perky.

To Spank or Not to Spank...

Now I know why I'm not the brightest crayon in the box...  why I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal...  why the lights are on, but nobody's home. 

Yes, it's true... my parents spanked me!  I knew there was a reason!

In the news today was a report that kids who are spanked typically have IQ's that are 5 points lower than kids who weren't spanked.  

So that's what happened!

I think I also heard somewhere that spanking to0 often can make you go blind.  Or wait, maybe that was the other kind of spanking.*

Back in the 50's when I was a youngster, spanking was the norm... or at least my parents claimed it was.  It was the whole "spare the rod and spoil the child" idea, I guess.

As we got older, there was less spanking going on. (Perhaps they were worried we'd gotten big enough and brazen enough to strike back... fat chance.  Not this "nice" girl!)  However, that's when the dreaded "lectures" began. I'm not sure what's worse. I remember at times actually asking if I could just get hit and get it over with.

I found a guy over at Silver Age Comics who wrote about the Peter Panda cartoons a few years back....

"... In July-August 1953, DC launched Peter Panda, an oddball

series that seemed designed to appeal more to parents than to kids."

"Shame on you!"  Yeah, that's tellin' 'em, Peter Panda!  They're sure to behave, now!  (Hmmm... I wonder why parents liked these Peter Panda comics more than kids did?)

I could have learned a lot from Peter Panda!  Sadly, my parents wouldn't let us have comic books. My mom thought that comics would rot our brains. My cousins, on the other hand, had a whole room full of comics! We loved going to their house so we could turn our brains to mush with them.  My mom's glorious plan for developing intellectually superior children backfired, though... we all turned out pretty "normal", while my cousins became the brilliant ones... full scholarships at various small colleges such as Yale.  (One cousin even learned French from reading French comics.)

So, add this to a list of things I can whine about and blame my parents for...  too much spanking and too few comic books.**  A recipe for intellectual disaster!

*And if you were hoping for a post about the other kind of spanking, you're SOL.

**I never spanked Vlad and he read lots of comics... that's why he's so much smarter than I am.  (And he doesn't go to the therapist nearly as often as I do... I'm so proud!)

Congratulations, Nanodance, LMT! (Happy Hour Friday #3)

Nothing can make me happier at this hour on a Friday morning than the news that my BBFF Nanodance over at Callithump Thunderblog is now a Licensed Massage Therapist!  

Now I can become her palpation slave with impunity since she's all legal and everything.

To celebrate we went over to Cherie's house to raise a glass of wine in Nanodance's honor as we enjoyed soaking in the hot tub.

It was a clear night. The stars were shining.  The wine was flowing. It just doesn't get much better than that.

And see how happy it made her friend, Sondra Stinglash:

Congratulations, Nanodance!  

Nerds Gone Wild: Theme Thursday #1

I thought I'd chime in for Theme Thursday, because this is such a great theme!

So, personalizing it a bit... here's a reprise from a previous post of what this nerd does when she goes wild:

So... who wants to come to my nerdy holiday party this year?

WTF Wednesday #3: More on Home Security Measures

So, Moooooog over at Mental Poo just celebrated his two year blogoversary a few days ago. Congrats on that accomplishment! (Makes me wonder how big his FBI file is by now.)

There are many bloggers out there who inspire me, but the Midget Man of Steel was the one who introduced me to the Motivator. Talk about an inspirational moment. When I'm feeling fairly unmotivated (which is most of the time) I turn to the Motivator to entertain and amuse myself.

And WTF... while I'll never be as clever as Moooooog, I'm still enjoying destroying everything in my photo file by turning it into a motivational photo. Sure hope my mom likes the one I sent her for her 84th birthday on Monday:

(WTF! I'm not positive, but I think the Chip-n-Dale on the left has his ass on backwards.)

But, getting to the subject at hand... in scouring upstate New York the past several days, I just haven't been able to find that perfect samurai sword for my very own Home Security for BadAss Bloggers arsenal. WTF is up with that?

Then Jules over at Mean Girl Garage says that if you're a convicted felon they won't sell you a samurai sword. WTF? How do you suppose Jules knows that? Hmm.... Is there something she isn't telling us? WTF...Jules must be a bigger BadAss Blogger than I thought. It's her birthday on Friday, so I hope they let her out by then so she can go celebrate. However, I digress... this shouldn't be an issue for me since my record was expunged after successfully completing court class. But then again, you can never be too sure.

So, in the unlikely event that I am unable to procure said samurai sword, I have taken alternative measures. My vicious canine, Hickory the Wonder Dog, is ready for action, thanks to my son Vlad who has outfitted him with the finest in WWII Soviet weaponry. When I first saw Hickory all decked out with his new rifle, I thought to myself, WTF? What was Vlad thinking? But then as I considered it a bit more carefully, it all made sense. Undoubtedly, at 130 pounds and armed to the teeth, Hickory will strike fear into the hearts of burglars everywhere:


You certainly wouldn't want to mess with that!

Now, if I could only teach him how to use the samurai sword when it arrives...

Home Security for BadAss Bloggers

Interesting news out of Baltimore this morning. Seems a suspected burglar was killed by a samurai sword wielding student. Damn! I forgot to add the Samurai Sword to my home security system.

Just think of all the advantages... 

~Unlike commercial home security systems, there are no monthly service fees... not to mention the fines for accidentally setting off the alarm.  

~Unlike pit bulls, there are no vet bills or food expenses... not to mention no shedding. 

 

~Unlike firearms, there are no pesky permits... not to mention the recent rise in ammunition costs.

But best of all... 

You can look like a real BadAss!

I'm gettin' me one of them there swords!

Fortune Cookie Friday #3 : Don't Mess With Me!

I had great intentions of posting some stuff for Fortune Cookie Friday this week. But then I went over to Nanodance's house to do some blogging with her and she got me distracted by her "comment bombing" mania. She really got out of control... she made me laugh so hard that I started coughing and couldn't stop. I hate when that happens. Then I complained that my computer was being slow, so Nanodance suggested I disable my cookies and she even showed me how to do it and then all of a sudden I started getting all these emails... 562 to be precise. So I spent the next hour going through my emails from the past 2 years, identifying and deleting all the ones that mysteriously got re-sent, which I resented.

Before you know it, we'd gone through a whole bottle of wine and then Vlad was calling me on my cell phone asking what was for dinner and could I stop and bring him something on the way home. I had to mainline a Dr. Pepper so I'd be fit to drive. What a night! Do we know how to have a good time on a Friday night, or what? ("Or what" is the appropriate answer here.) At least since I had such a good time, that can count for Happy Hour Friday!

Anyway, here it is Saturday and I'm now a day behind. No worries, though. As they say, better late than never.


So, one of the fortunes that popped up recently on my fortune cookie widget was:

"You are never bitter, deceptive or petty."

Could've fooled me! You have no idea. I look like a kind, generous, loving person on the outside. But on the inside? Funny thing about those of us who are door mats... while we're busy letting people walk all over us, we are actually building up a whole lot of anger and resentment on the inside. It's like magma churning below the surface of the earth until it finally starts bubbling up and creating pressure. Woe betide the person who gets near us when that all boils over. All of a sudden we explode, pulling the rug out from under all the people who've been walking all over us...

Bitch attack!

Not a pretty sight! Kinda like Detective Mittens when he keeps getting the wrong order from the take out restaurant. You just don't want to be around us when that happens! So, I'm warning you! STAY AWAY!

Stupid fortune cookie!

WTF Wednesday #2: Hooked on Fishing

When I posted those 10 secrets that were required for the Honest Scrap Award, one dealt with having skewered myself with a fish hook.  If that's not a reason to say WTF, I don't know what is.*

It started out simply enough... my brother Waldo and I decided to go fishing at the local park about three blocks from our house.  Not yet devotees of Izaak Walton, we had very simple equipment... a rod and reel, a bamboo pole, some fishing line, a couple of hooks and some worms we dug up in the backyard.

We figured we knew what we were doing.  Waldo even caught a few fish.  I wasn't having any luck... the fish just ate the worms off my hook.  WTF?

At one point during the outing, my bamboo pole was laying on the ground as I squeamishly impaled yet another worm onto the hook.  (I didn't like that part, but Waldo refused to do it for me.)  About the same time, Waldo decided to switch spots and walked around me on the path. Tripping over my bamboo pole, he went flying.  With no spinning reel to let out some slack, the line tightened, forcing the hook, worm and all, into my finger.

WTF is this fish hook doing in my finger?

WTF is it with this worm still wriggling around on the hook?

WTF... I think I'm dying!

Meanwhile, Waldo was yelling at me for leaving my pole around where it could trip him.  WTF? Here I am dying, and he's blaming me for tripping him?  WTF?

Once he realized I had the barb firmly embedded in my finger, Waldo began to feel a little bit sorry for me.  He even had the wherewithal to detach the worm from the hook that was now permanently attached to my anatomy.  Meanwhile, I clung to my finger, cutting off all the circulation so that the worm germs didn't get into my bloodstream.  My life was passing before my eyes... all 9 years of it.  WTF?  To be brought down in my prime by blood poisoning!

I grew even more faint when we got to the doctor's office and learned that the only way to remove the hook was to push it the rest of the way through my finger, cut off the barb and then pull it back out the other way.  WTF?  Even with novocaine, I was convinced I felt everything.  A tetanus shot later and it was all over.

So the next time you're sitting there thinking, "WTF is that fish hook doing in my finger?", here are some instructions for what to do.  I personally like the last part of Step #9.  I mean, WTF... shouldn't a 9-year-old be given a shot of whiskey in that situation?  I think I deserved it!  

Hey!  They forgot to give me the shot of whiskey!  WTF?

How-to-Pull-a-Fish-Hook-from-Your-Finger

(blatantly stolen from http://www.wikihow.com)

Steps

1. Carefully push the hook through your finger, toe, etc. until it pushes through the other side, unless the barb is not in. It hurts, but it's better than ripping it out the way it came.

2. Take a pair of pliers with wire cutters on them, and cut the barb off the hook.

3. Pull what's left of the hook out. This should hurt a little more, but still way better than ripping the hook out.

4. If bleeding is severe, apply pressure to both sides of the wound until the bleeding slows down and apply a bandage.

5. Get a tetanus shot, just in case the hook is rusty.

6. There is an alternate method for removing a fish hook when it is stuck in deep tissue.

7. Take a foot long piece of fishing string and make a loop around the bend of the hook.

8. Hold string in one hand, and push down on the eye of the hook with the other hand.

9. Distract the patient, then yank the string. Pushing down on the eye of the hook keeps the barb from ripping a much larger hole on the way out.  Apply a band aid and a shot of whiskey if needed.

*(Although at the time it happened, I had no idea what the F word was, let alone WTF.  I'm just sayin'.) 

Getting My Day in Court Class

When last we met, I was regaling you with tales of my incarceration at the tender age of 16.

Yes, it was a miserable night, made even more miserable by the lecture I got from my mom as my dad stood by trying to look stern. At the time, all I wanted to do was to crawl into bed and forget about the whole thing. No such luck. Mom was not about to let me off so easy. There were the suspicious looks and disappointed sighs for some time afterward. However, things did improve eventually.

Our little band of misfits had to go to court the morning following the big bust, which was a little nerve wracking. During our appearance before the judge, we were sentenced to "Court Class" which, if completed successfully, would wipe our records clean.

Court Class was a reality check type of program, designed to deter alcohol consumption in teens. Basically, we had to get up and go to court at 8:00 on Saturday mornings for six weeks and watch them haul in the drunks from the night before. The idea was that we'd be so horrified by the ravages of alcoholism being paraded before us that we'd never drink again. This kind of backfired, though, because the judge was an old guy who cracked jokes the entire time. So rather than being horrifying, it was kinda like watching an episode of Night Court.

There were 15 of us that got arrested together, so we filled up an entire bench in court. We started calling it the "Group W" bench and we were all sittin' around, laughin' and havin' a good time talkin' about crime & mother stabbing & father raping and all kinds of groovy things. (Sorry... just a little Alice's Restaurant digression there.) Then afterward we'd go out for lunch at the Best Steak House. My parents even gave me money for lunch. I still remember they made the best Texas Toast there!

That was all great fun, I have to admit. But what made this whole Saturday morning routine particularly satisfying for me, was the fact that in the Larew household Saturday mornings were devoted to cleaning the house and doing laundry. No one was exempt from the Saturday chores... that was unheard of up until this point. And if you know me at all, you know how much I detest housework of any kind. But, since I was busy paying my debt to society I was excused from household drudgery for six glorious weeks.

And that's not all... There were lots of badass boys at my high school who prided themselves on going out drinking every weekend and spending time in jail... but none of them had ever been thrown in a paddywagon before! To them, being thrown in a paddywagon was the ultimate badass thing do do. They were really, really impressed and almost jealous. Go figure! We were the talk of the school for about a week.

So, I have to confess, overall the experience turned out to be quite positive. Not in a scared straight sort of way, but in a "Wow, I actually ended up having a great time and impressed some kids at school" kind of way.

I'm such a badass!

Fortune Cookie Friday #2

Funny that Otin should start Happy Hour Friday just when I get the idea to do Fortune Cookie Friday.  I guess great minds think alike.  So, what I might do is alternate between the two... or if I feel particularly inspired... and bored... I'll do both.  I make no promises to anyone!  Ever!  In fact, maybe I won't do either one some Fridays.  (Like if I ever get a real, paying job and don't have as much time to blog anymore.)  You'll just have to wait and see!

But this week I'm still unemployed and bored, so you get both.

My favorite fortune this week is...

A good rest is half the work.

I like that one so much, it's become my job hunting mantra.  Must rest and contemplate the nature of the universe so that I will instinctively know when the right time is to venture out into the working world.  Of course, with all the time I'm spending resting it leaves little time for job hunting.  

But that's my fortune... my karma... my path toward cosmic consciousness.  I must follow what the fortune cookie says!

Must be time for another nap.

Happy Hour Friday #2

It's Friday again... which means it's time for Happy Hour Friday!

Otin started Happy Hour Friday to help slide into the weekend on a high note by mentioning some things from the week that may have brought a smile to his face.  

Here are a few things that made me happy this week:

*Vlad is back at college, which makes him happy, which makes me happy!

*I got a very sweet prize from ettarose over at Sanity on the Edge this week!  Thanks, ettarose!  I love you!

*I had a blog party last night with Nanodance and Jewel!

Blogging with friends is awesome.  (I've been so jealous reading all about the BlogCamp fun everybody's been having over at Julochka's house.)  What I've really enjoyed about blogging is getting to know so many fun people.  For all I know, you could all be ax murderers, but at least you do it with passion and a sense of humor!

Now to go get happy hour started...

We Are Not Amused...

So, about that whole jail thing...

Growing up, I was one of those "good girls" who never did anything wrong.  I was always polite, on time and kind to others... the perfect preacher's kid.  As a result, I led a rather sheltered life. I'd never had a BFF, so when my brand new, first ever "best friend" invited me to spend the night with her and go to a party with her brother and some of his college friends, I was thrilled!  I was only a junior in high school, so I thought it was especially cool to be asked to hang out with college kids.

We even had "protection"... the protection of her mom and sister listening to the police radio (that they just happened to have.)  If they heard a dispatch go out for the location of the party, her mom was going to call us so we could get out before the police came. (Because she was such a responsible parent and everything.)  So, we went off to the party where I immediately felt totally out of place and uncomfortable and sat sipping a coke because I was too afraid of going crazy if I drank the demon rum.  

But even the best laid plans go awry.  My friend's mom heard the dispatch and tried to call us, but this was before the days of cell phones and the line was busy!  So, before you knew it, 15 minutes after our arrival and before we had imbibed any alcohol, we noticed flashing red lights outside.  Yikes! About the same time, her mom finally got through to us on the phone, but it was too late.

We did the only respectable thing possible... we hid in the closet.  Surely the police would not notice our legs in the shoes neatly lined up under the hanging clothes.  Guess they'd done this sort of thing before because they weren't fooled.  They also weren't impressed that we hadn't actually been drinking.  The long arm of the law snatched us up anyway.

We were all escorted into the paddywagon that waited outside:  

(Paddywagon circa 1909... compliments of wikipedia)

Hi ho, Hi ho, it's off to jail we go...

Now, when you're a naive, shy sixteen-year-old, going to jail is just a tad bit upsetting.  We 

were in luck, though.  Because my friend and I were under 18, we weren't fingerprinted and got put in the "juvenile cell." This meant we had one wall that was painted pink and got to have a toilet seat.  Oh joy, oh rapture.  That made me feel a lot better.  There wasn't enough toilet paper on the roll to stem my copious tears.  And it didn't help any when a rather inebriated elderly woman in the cell next to us kept running her metal cup over the bars and shouting, "Matron, Matron, I'm having a miscarriage!"  Fun times!

Worse, because my friend's mom already knew we were in jail, her dad arrived first to retrieve her and her brother.  I was left in the juvenile cell to rot all by myself!  But nothing there could compare to what I was imagining would happen to me once my parents got their hands on me.

By the time they came to get me to tell me my dad was there to pick me up, I was a total basket case.  And then I walked out to meet him....  dum, da dum, dum!

He had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face I'd ever seen.  WTF?!?  

I dodged that bullet, but I knew the real danger lay at home... with my mom. And let's just say, I'm lucky to be here today.  Like Queen Victoria, she was not amused.

To be continued...

WTF Wednesday: #1

So, Hit 40 started a "WTF Wednesday" game over at Sane Without Drugs. I thought it would be fun to play along. After all, how many times a week do I think to myself, WTF? Those three little letters work so well for a prudish 50-something CatLady who still feels squeamish about actually saying the F-bomb out loud.

Anyway, I recently found myself among the millions of people battling to find gainful employment in the midst of a recession. I actually have some pretty awesome skills, but jumping through all the hoops to get to the point where I can actually tell somebody about my awesomeness is making me say WTF!?!

WTF is that all about, when you have to get fingerprinted and pass all these tests before they will issue you a teaching certificate in New York, but then once you have the certificate, they still want you to prove you've been fingerprinted and have taken the tests. I mean WTF?!!? Shouldn't the fact that I'm permanently certified (not to mention certifiable) prove that I've met those requirements?

WTF makes them think I actually put my fingerprint clearance and test scores in an easily retrievable place and committed that obscure place to memory after I got the coveted permanent certification? They never said I'd actually have to be able to produce them again!

WTF was I thinking when I said "no thank you" to a position for which I am not certified? Now I can't collect unemployment because I "turned down" a position.

Guess I'm feeling a little discouraged today. But not to worry....

I'm just going to go read some more awesome blogs... that always cheers me up! And it's time for all the caption contests! Life if worth living again! But WTF is with that crazy baby head picture on ettarose's craption contest today? Freaks me out! And makes me laugh! Thanks, ettarose! I needed that!

(To play along with ettarose's Caption Contest Wednesday, simply click on the scary baby head!)

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to Get More Coffee...

Speaking of funny things... Lynn over at Funny Girl Goes Blog sent me a little present this week.

Seems I tickle her funny bone every once in while... either that or she just wants to get some good dirt on me. You see, she divulged some really good dirt about herself and now she wants me to do the same.

If I share my honest, innermost secrets with all of you, I get to have the Honest Scrap Award that Chrissy over at I Shoulda Been a Stripper passed on to Lynn.

But wait! Maybe "Honest Scrap" refers to all the scrap crap I have laying around the house. Maybe Funny Girl is really coveting some of my Connoisseur's Crap and wants me to share some of that! I could probably come up with more of that to share than I could secret dirt.

What do you think? Here are the rules for the award:

1. “The Honest Scrap” award is not one to hold all to your self but it must be shared!

(I can do that... I'm good at sharing.)

2. The recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.

(Do they really have to be true? It would be much more interesting if I made something up.)

3. The recipient has to pass along this prestigious award to 10 more bloggers.

(Oh, yeah! I love giving presents!)

4. Those 10 bloggers all have to be notified they have been given this award.

(If they're still speaking to me after I share my 10 secrets, I guess they'll find out.)

5. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.

(Which means MY responsibility is to link back to Funny Girl... done and done.)

If I do all those things, I get to have this....


So, now for the honest crap/truth about me.... (Please be sure to read to the end... they start out kinda slow, but I build to a great finish, if I do say so myself.)

1. I broke my first bone when I was 42... playing on the playground at school... klutz!

2. I'm totally uncoordinated. (Hence #1.) I'm not sure that counts as a secret, though.

3. Speaking of uncoordinated, I once got a fishhook stuck in my finger, which had to be pushed all the way through! Ouch! Gross! The worst part was that I did it while I was putting a worm on the hook, so both the worm and I were impaled together. (Seriously #2)

4. I know how to walk on stilts... my dad made us some when we were kids and we used to walk all over the neighborhood on them. (Despite #2.)

5. I have a scar under my nose that makes me look like my nose is running... constantly. (Thanks, mom & dad, for not asking for a plastic surgeon.) The result of falling face first into a gravel road while I was learning how to ride a bike... (Again, refer to #2.)

6. My early years were spent in rural Iowa, where my dad was a minister... my siblings and I played "baby Jesus" with the manger and shepherd's crooks that were stored in our barn. (Which could have been the precursor to developing a somewhat irreverent attitude toward formal religion later in life... sorry if that offends anyone's delicate sensibilities... I know, I'm definitely going to hell.)

7. I've been in jail... twice! (If you want more details on these youthful indiscretions, you'll have to become a CatLady follower.) Shocked? You should be!

8. Despite having been in jail, I've never had a traffic ticket in 40 years of driving... not even a parking ticket. (Which means I've probably just jinxed myself by telling you that and will now get several tickets in the next week.)

9. Chrissy will be interested to know that I really was a stripper (of sorts) in high school. My stage name was Boom-Boom Larew and I performed with my future (now ex) sister-in-law, Patti-Poo-Foo. We were pom pom girls together and during halftime at football games, the band would play "The Stripper" and Miss Poo-Foo and I would dance to the music, tossing out our pom poms, hats, gloves and vests to the crowd. (Hey, Phillipia... want me to perform at one of the G-man's games?)

10. I used to make regular stops at the morgue following Sunday dinner. (Again, if you want to find out more, you'll just have to become a follower! Aren't you intrigued?)

Were those secret enough?

Now, on to people I really need to get some dirt on:

1. Miss Stinglash... it's no secret she's responsible for the birth of my blog, so I share every scrap of crap I own with her.

2. IndigoWrath... because he's a man of mystery and probably has lots of good secrets.

3. Jewel at The Raconteur's Apprentice... because I want to compare what I think I know about her with what's really true.

4. Eolist Petite... because there's no way she's a pompous, windy bore.

5. Mr. London Street... because he's surely picked up a lot of good dirt while street walking.

6. Maelstrom... because he shops at Wegman's and I think there really is something to see there.

7. That chick who's Happy to Be From Iowa... because she's my newest fellow expat friend.

8. Summer... because her life's a real circus, so she must have some good dirt to share.

9. Madame DeFarge... again, because I'm just nosy and want to learn more about her.

10. Flubtastic Doofalo... beacuse I'm afraid if I don't share with him he might send somebody to sneak up behind me with a scary needle.


So.... That should give you all some interesting new bloggers to check out and satisfy the requirements for the Honest Scrap Award.

Thanks, Funny Girl!

And happy reading!

Fortune Cookie Friday + Happy Hour Friday = Perfection!

Wouldn't you know, I wrote the post below and then went over to Otin's blog and noticed he was doing Happy Hour Friday, which coincided perfectly with what I had written... so I decided to link the two, which makes me happy!


Okay, so it's Friday and I clicked on my fortune cookie widget, which provided me the following words of "wisdom":

Remember, being happy is not always being perfect.

Hell, if that's true, I should be ecstatic. I should be gleefully floating on air. I should be dancing on happy feet. I should be cavorting in the meadow with Hickory the Wonder Dog.

Because I'm never perfect! I mean never! Really, I'm serious! I know you must find that hard to believe. But, the good news is... that means there's hope for happiness at the CatLady's house.

In a perfect world I would stay happy forever, but now I'm worried that the truth is exactly as the fortune says. If everything was perfect, would I know that I was happy? Would happiness be diluted if I was never UN-happy? Oh, no! WTF? This is beginning to sound like an exercise in Zen philosophy... ack!

My problem right now is that I actually am very happy. I'm happy not going to work. I'm happy reading blogs all day long. I'm happy drinking gallons of coffee in the morning and mainlining Dr. Pepper in the afternoon. I'm happy watching Dexter and other mindless drivel on DVD. I'm happy playing Apples to Apples and other games. I'm happy hanging out and drinking wine with Nanodance and my other friends. I'm happy having pajama day every day.

Sooner or later, though, I'm going to have to go out and seek gainful employment, which means there will be hassles and stupid people to deal with and long hours and waking up at night worrying about some project that's gone wrong. And then I won't be happy anymore. I can't help myself. Because I'm so disorganized, I have to over-compensate by being uber organized at work, which means I have to keep up the facade of being a competent person, which is so very exhausting.

Plus, I really hate perfect people. I hate people who have perfect hair and perfect children and perfect spouses and perfect houses and perfect pets and perfect jobs. They're just so annoying! It's like Lance & Melanie. We used to get Christmas letters from these distant relatives, whose kids were always perfect. They used up two pages of paper, telling us all about the awards and good grades and perfect teeth and perfectly polite manners of these perfect children. It got to be that at our house the names Lance & Melanie were synonymous with obnoxious prigs. (And since Lance & Melanie are so perfect, they would never condescend to read a blog like this, so I think I'm relatively safe from slander suits.)

So, why do we spend so much time and energy trying to pretend we're perfect, when perfect people are such obnoxious prigs? Happily, the answer is, I don't try to be perfect anymore. And none of my friends do either. Which is why I like my friends so much. And why I like my cyber-bloggy-friends so much. Because we're rude and irreverent and obnoxious and fun! That makes me happy... and happily less than perfect. Which means I'm probably going to hell, but that's okay. I'll have lots of friends there.

Cluttered Times

So, I was over at Steamy's blog this morning and noticed some interesting newspaper articles. Imagine my surprise when I began reading this particular article, which sounded strangely familiar.  

It was only last week that I was contemplating having a garage sale with a friend to raise cash for food, what with being unemployed and all.  Perhaps I should rethink that.  Not that I shouldn't sell some of my crap... I should just be a little more thoughtful about it.  Although, I do hear that you can get a pretty good price on the black market for certain items in my Connoisseur's Collection of Crap. 

I just won't invite the neighborhood kids over to play on Garage Sale Day.

Ax Man... for the "Connoisseur of Crap"

One of the hallmarks of cat ladies is their propensity to have rather cluttered homes. Most people wonder how one person can amass so much crap. I always use the excuse that it's because my parents grew up during The Depression, when people saved everything. Nothing went to waste, whether it be food, clothing, string, tin foil or other weird shit. As a child, I was constantly admonished to "clean up my plate" because of the poor, starving children in other obscure parts of the world and because I didn't appreciate what it was like to grow up in The Depression when food was scarce. Like all self respecting children, I offered to box up the lima beans and liver and send them off to those poor, starving children (because I'm generous like that.) And like all children who offer that suggestion, I sat at the table until the lima beans and liver were finally choked down. (To this day, food that enters my home is not discarded until long after it's utility as a science experiment has been thoroughly exhausted.)

Little, if anything, was ever thrown out around our house... for example, clothes that were too small were handed down to the younger siblings, regardless of gender. (I think my brother looked very fetching in the dresses we gave him.) So I learned to save everything. My house is packed to the rafters with clothes I will never wear again and furniture I might need "someday". Vlad's baby clothes will certainly still be in style when (and if) he ever has children and he'll need the old towels and linens for his first apartment.

And then I became a teacher... where there are always dioramas to be made, submarines and spaceships to fashion out of cardboard and holiday gifts to make for parents. Plus, there's the equipment for assorted science experiments as well as costumes and props for plays. Which, of course, necessitate a variety of weird "stuff".

Now, anyone can accumulate a variety of weird "stuff" through daily living. But if you want to become a "connoisseur of crap" like me, you must go to Ax Man.


My sister introduced us to Ax Man when we visited her in Minneapolis. Talk about a place to "discover the useful and unique!" This is it! It's chock full of all sorts of "stuff". Need a gas mask? A weather balloon? An iron lung? A haz-mat suit? They've got it. (Although, they say the iron lung is not actually for sale, which is very disappointing as it would have made a great "time out" space for recalcitrant children.) They even have stylish displays of creative ways to use the "stuff". But you have to look in all the nooks and crannies to find the real treasures...

(Actual picture of the interior of Ax Man.)

Trips to Ax Man became a requirement of all future visits to the Twin Cities. Half of my dinnerware came from Ax Man... leftover plastic dishes and trays from the days when airlines still served food. (I know... ancient history.)


And how about this gem...

It's not everyone who can pull the glass from stop lights out of her attic. As they say... you never know when a stop light might come in handy... like in pretend space ships.

Then there are the kazillion film canisters... great for alka-seltzer rockets.

Terrarium globes... perfect for the portholes in cardboard submarines.

Assorted colored wires, casters, the balls from inside a computer mouse, bright yellow haz-mat-banana-hats, caution tape, body parts from mannequins, wooden bowling pins, disembodied doll heads, wooden shoe lasts.... the list goes on and on.

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? I have to keep all this stuff. It's just far too cool to throw out. Although, I confess, with all the crap in my attic and basement it does become a bit tricky to locate a particular item at any given moment. But that's beside the point. The important thing is to keep everything! Because....

"You never know when you might need it."

And hence, a cat lady is born.