MERRY CHRISTMAS–yes I said it.

I said it and I refuse to apologize for it.  And what’s more I’m dad gummed tired of being made to feel like I have to be sorry for saying it.

I find it interesting that all those groups who have screamed for years about tolerance, understanding and inclusion have suddenly become so intolerant, narrow minded and exclusionary.

Lately, I’ve seen multiple news reports on people’s insistence that nativity sets not be shown, that Happy Holidays should be shouted as opposed to Merry Christmas, that Christmas is a myth – a fairy tale if you will.

While I understand the date may be off by some months – I simply.do.not.care.  I don’t know when some of my dogs were born either, but I gave them a birthday anyway.  The group of so-called deluded people who celebrate CHRISTmas are called CHRISTians.  Therefore, it stands to reason we choose to keep CHRIST both in our holiday and in our “club” name.

I don’t care what you call yourself, I don’t care what you do or don’t believe (that’s a lie – I do care and am praying for you), I don’t care if you celebrate kwanzaa (speaking of made up holidays), Hanukkah (great peace and blessings – my Jewish friends), the winter solstice, apple blossom time or the advent of your yearly dental exam.  Please allow me to do the same.

If the sight of a nativity offends you – don’t look.  If hearing Merry Christmas bugs you – turn off your hearing aids or better yet – stay home.  Your right to not be subjected to things that offend you DO NOT supersede my right to enjoy them.  YOU are not more important than me and I am not more important than YOU.

It is disheartening to me to know there are people who have so little to do they have time to be offended ALL THE TIME.  I wish my circle of acquaintances had less work to do and as much time to spend trying to protect and preserve OUR way of life as you have trying to tear it down.

However, I think I have devised a plan that should make everyone happy.  Anytime a group of people decides they are offended by something and wish to have a disclaimer banner posted along with the offensive sight – make them sign it.  Put some muscle behind your griping.  Go on record with your name, address and phone number.  Then have the other side of the situation do the same as supporters of the offending object.  You see as Christians we believe it is not only our right but our duty to proclaim our faith – we will happily go on record in support of our CHRISTmas.

Pretty sure the number of signatures on our banner will outnumber the ones on yours by a pretty astounding margin.  And if you choose to engage us in thoughtful and serious debate, we will welcome you with the love and tolerance our Christ demands of us.

I am only one person – but I am taking back my Christmas.  You will never see a Happy Holidays card from me, nor hear me utter those words.  This is Christmas – a time of joy and celebration for the birth of the light of the world, the Savior of man, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.  I will not be ashamed nor will I try to hide His light under a veil of non-offensive meaningless images and words.

Welcome Lord Jesus!

A Christmas Bargain

This is the cover for my children’s book Genevieve’s Window – this is a peaceful easy reading bedtime poem.  It is the first book I self published and is available at www.lulu.com

This is the cover for my interactive alphabet book The Alphabet From Amazing to Zany.  It is also published and available at www.lulu.com  This book offers many opportunities to teach your children and talk with them about the funny pictures depicting each letter of the alphabet.

Lulu is offering a 30% discount on my books right now and they are absorbing the cost of the discount which means my revenue from sales stays the same.  WIN!

These are good Christmas gifts and stocking stuffers and I would very much appreciate any support of my work.  Should you decide to purchase use this code WINTERSAVE305

Thanks my friends and MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The Real Thing

Suddenly there is all this confusion over this white can.  People claim to be able to tell the difference in Coke in red cans and Coke in white cans.   Some say they are so confused by the can because it looks like a Diet Coke can (ummmm….okay…except Diet Coke cans are silver and SAY..…….DIET. COKE.

People are Utubing, Tweeting, Texting, Smoke Signaling and using hand signals (some not so pretty) about the audacity of Coca Cola to change their packaging for the holidays.  So incensed are some members of John Q. Public that Coke is bending to the criticism and removing the white cans and replacing them with red.

I honestly thought you had to be in your 80’s or 90’s to fear change and be so cantakerous.  I realized I was getting close, but little did I know that MY generation, who used to be so hip and progressive in their thinking could turn out to be such a bunch of old fuddy duddies.

Here’s the thing…I don’t care if this stuff is in a bottle, a red can, a white can, a green can or a bean can…it is still the bomb.  Still my drink of choice, both mixed and unmixed.  You can shoot it out of a fountain head or put it in a plastic 2 liter bottle.  I simply don’t care.  All I care about is that IT IS.

I thought it was kind of cool they were doing something to call attention to endangered wildlife by featuring the polar bears, but what do I know?

And, you….yes, you lady….the one who can do the blind taste test and tell if the can is red or white….come to my kitchen kiddo and we will check you for accuracy.  I’m betting you can’t tell – I couldn’t and I’m pretty sure my bloodstream is running at about 98 proof for Coca Cola right now.

Its’ can might be white, but it is still the Real Thing.  Oh and by the way…..companies have the right to market their product as they see fit.  And I’m okay with that as long as they aren’t morally reprehensible.  I refuse to be offended by “white.”

It Depends

I seriously question the good sense of advertising people these days. I've already gone off on a tangent about toilet paper commercials. I've given the "respect the roll" ad my "slap the crap outta you" award because................really............by definition is toilet paper something we have EVER respected?

Then I got my knickers all in a knot over the lubricating products that are supposed to make everything in our life all fun, fireworks inspiring and multi-colored. I really think there are some things we can figure out on our own. And, I'm sorry...I really don't need roman candles in the bedroom, these days I'm all about the heated mattress cover.

But now, Depends have crossed my tolerance line in the sand. Today, I saw a commercial which depicted a rather nice looking later aged man exiting a store. After dropping a flirtatious wink at an unseen girl (maybe?) - they let us all in on his secret. He's wearing an adult diaper. Suddenly, he isn't so cute or flirtatious or even good looking. The ewwww factor was huge. Now, before you get all up in my business on this one, please know, that I realize these products are necessary. But is it necessary to make them seem so appealing? What do they think we are going to do? Perhaps, because they are such "fun" items, we will all rush out to buy a dozen (after all, according to the next commercial - they come in peach color as well)? Really? If you have to wear one, are you really going to show it off at bridge club or on the golf course? Probably not.

I have now accepted my husband's observation that most of the items advertised on TV have to do with wetness of some form or other. Again, I saw ewwwww!

A Love Letter To My KitchenAid Mixer

This is not my mixer.

It is my mixer’s younger prettier cousin.

My KitchenAid mixer is almost as old as my daughter. Not.that.she.is.old, but you know what I’m saying.

My KitchenAid mixer has mixed up hundreds of cakes, pies, cookies, dog biscuits, bowls of whipped cream, mashed potatoes.  In short it has taken a lickin’ and kept on tickin’. 

This was some of the best $ I ever spent.  The only thing I have ever had to do to it was replace the whisk beater after I mistakenly let it eat a wooden spoon.

My fervent prayer is that my lovely old white KitchenAid with the chipped paint keeps on mixing things up in my kitchen for a long long time.  I’m not sure I could replace it either financially or in my affections.

Well Fluffenfeathers!

Have you ever noticed how some people just can’t leave well enough alone.  Why they always seem to take things just one step too far and wind up entering the “what were they thinking” zone.

Today, I read a local newspaper piece about a rather well known attorney who has discovered a doll that has a little bit of a potty problem.  Now, I confess that when I was a youngster I wore out 3 Tiny Tears dolls.  There was just a real fascination with putting that baby bottle in her mouth and watching her cry and wet her diaper that could not be equaled on earth.  Of course the constant introduction of water into Tiny’s body meant that soon her rubber figure began to deteriorate.  That made me sad, especially when they quit making the ones with painted on hair and began sewing that tacky stuff to their scalps.

Tiny had a potty problem – but at least it was the “right” kind.  These new dolls have a potty problem as well, but the problem they have is a “potty” mouth.  Apparently, they say unrepeatable things, or they seem to say them.  We all know what recordings can sound like when they decide to go awry.

Anyway, said attorney has written letters to the manufacturer as well as all the stores selling baby and demanded they ALL cease and desist.  This was probably relatively effective in insuring that most of our innocents didn’t have to be exposed to Baby Dirty Mouth. 

But, he didn’t stop there.  So concerned is he that our impressionable children will stumble upon these dolls, hear their profane speech and repeat it that he made a video demonstrating the ugly languaged little dearlings.  And what you may ask, did he do with said video?  Well, says I……………he uploaded the whole kit and caboodle to………wait for it……………….UTube.

I think this will be effective don’t you?  Now every child in America with access to the internet could possibly stumble upon Polly Profanity by simply doing a UTube search for babydolls.

So…….I ask you…………what in the helicopter was he thinking?

R.E.S.– P. E.C. T.

So according to one of our creative(?) toilet paper manufacturers and their always reaching for a new level of low advertising people – we are urged to

“RESPECT THE ROLL”

In other words – never, and I repeat NEVER are we to leave our “naked” toilet paper rolls sitting out in plain view.

Seriously, have we forgotten what toilet paper’s primary function is?  Is that respectful?  Perhaps the colorful and cutesy cover for our additional rolls is to prevent them  (the rolls) from seeing what will be their final mission.

What is next?  Perhaps some sort of lock box device where we must unlock our TP in order to use it.  That way it would be safe from the prying eyes of……………..other people who would perhaps use it as well.

I’ve been on tangent about TP makers in the past but this one…….almost…..leaves. me. speechless.

OH……and…..Furthermore….

This one is embarrassing and I am only now able to admit to it.  Was I the only human being in the entire state of Arkansas who had NO – FREAKING – IDEA what

WPS

stood for?

I have decided I don’t get out enough, or maybe I get out too much.  I know one thing – you’d better be danged careful who you ask questions of this nature.    Some people can and will make you feel pretty cow dumb.

In the meantime…

Wooooooooooo         Pigssssssssss    Sooooiiieee!

and my apologies.

AcroNYMPHS

Admittedly, I have some problems understanding some of our abbreviated vernacular.  The whole texting thing has me defeated – one, I can’t stand spelling errors – two, thumbs are for space bars, not regular letters and when cursed with trigger thumb you have a whole different set of challenges – three, my fingers embrace standard keyboards with affection – phone buttons, not so much and four, if you have to text the person sitting across from you in the restaurant, perhaps you shouldn’t be there together in the first place.

I’ve always known that TNT meant something is blowing up.  That ADHD is a real pain in the kiester for kids and their parents.  That IBS is NEVER a good thing and STHU meant I’d better go in the closet and tell my problems to my shoes.  I know that I, myself, possess a certain measure of OCD and AR behavior.  Somehow, saying I am AR is much less embarrassing than admitting to simply being anal retentive. 

But now, I find, there are all kinds of shortened abilities and disabilities out there and half the time I’m afraid to use anything but full words for fear I will say something unforgiveable and let’s face it – from me, most probably offensive.

So…in my never ending search for knowledge and enlightenment…on a whim I Googled  “acronym for SOS”.  Now, I knew it stood for MAYDAY – which is code for “Holy Crap – we are in a boatload of trouble – save us soon”  which begs the question – why isn’t is SUS?  But, I digress (and you KNEW I would – now didn’t you?)  I was amazed to see a whole page of things that SOS can also stand for – some of my stand outs were:

          SINK OR SWIM (submitted by cruel swim instructors no doubt)

or………SHOOT ON SIGHT – (have these feelings regularly)

but my absolute fave was…………….STUCK. ON. STUPID – lovin’ this one!

I spent probably 3 years never understanding what the def between 2 tennis players names on the sports recap stood for.  I thought it was French.  Sorry – now you see why STUCK. ON. STUPID appeals to me.

I have to wonder though if maybe all these abbreviations and acronyms are simply our way of trying to not offend anyone.  Afterall, if I knew that F.A.T really stood for Fabulous and Talented – I would be thrilled.  Certainly being told that I was an OABUW would seem wickedly exotic as opposed to just being an old and butt ugly woman who was F.A.T in the bargain.

So…..in closing I would like to say – OMG I hope some part of this had you ROTFLYBO and that you will say TY at some point for always remembering to BRB to make you smile.

Zip It–Nip It

One of the hardest things in the world for me is holding my tongue.  I literally have had to hold it between 2 fingers before to keep it from wagging me into trouble.

It is said we have only 1 mouth and 2 ears for a reason.  We should listen twice as much as we talk. But what about situations where you know for certain no one is listening at.all.

Are you still duty bound to zip your lips and keep silent?  And what about the times you have patiently and kindly asked with a much love as you can muster for someone to either A: please do something or B: please stop doing something?  When it becomes obvious that they simply are not complying to your request out of just plain old pig headedness – can’t we let ‘er rip then?

One of my friends has recently said she has volume control issues and that she too finds the battle to gain dominance over her tongue is ongoing.  One thing I know for sure is that I am NOT an ultimatum type person.  I will try to the best of my ability to lovingly make you listen but when my attempts continue to fall on deaf ears – eventually…..I. GIVE.  UP.

You won’t like me when I’ve given up because at that point I don’t guild the lily at all.  And once I’ve given up – I don’t go back.  In the meantime – I will seriously give holding my tongue a real college try if you will try opening your ear canals a little more.  Also, it would help if you didn’t get offended by everything I do say.

Oh Yeah? Well, Just How Big An Ole Boy Are You?

                                                                          

Remember him?  Mr. Cooper Brown Beshears?  Light of my life, apple of my eye, sweetest little guy on the planet.

Well…….he has grown and is still a handsome lad of a whopping 12.8 pounds.  Probably 5 pounds of that is hair.  The rest is attitude.

                                                               Because

                  in reality he is this big

 

But in his teeny little brain HE IS THIS BIG!

Making Cooper the “poster child” for This Complex.

And what did we learn from being taking to “school” by our old friend Max?  He really is a big ole boy and he totally kicked your butt.  I’ll give you this…you never back down….remains to be determined if that is bravery or just good old fashioned dumb as a bag of hammers.  Lucky boy Cooper!  It could have been much much worse.

Has Anyone Here Seen My Good Friend Me?

I’m sure we all have moments when we feel invisible.  For some it primarily happens when they have enjoyed a bit too much beverage of the alcoholic persuasion.  Other people make a habit out of being invisible.  Standing on the fringes hoping no one notices them or makes mention of them.  They have the ability to “blend” into the scenery and when all is said and done – no one remembers they were there.

And then there are others who genuinely want to be a part of things and yet seem to be invisible in spite of their own desire.  People who want to feel like they have contributed and that their efforts were at the very least noteworthy.

I find it interesting that so many “humans” are motivated by something far less tangible than the all mighty $ sign.  How many of them want an “atta boy” every now and then.  They want their actions to matter.  In some ways we are a lot like our friend the dog.  They will stand on their hind legs, dance around like crazy, roll over and play dead, shake hands and speak for little more than a pat on the head and an occasional “good dog.”

As I get progressively older I find I need those strokes and pats far more than I used to.  I also find that I seem to be disappearing into the fabric of life with increasing frequency.  Perhaps this is why I write.  Perhaps, it is my own form of “atta boy”  - to leave something behind so tangible that when I am gone – someone might remember and know I was here.

And so I wonder…someday will you remember the sound of my laugh?  Will you remember that in spite of all my failings I genuinely tried to be a good person?  Will you remember that I had far more flaws than perfections, but that I worked on them every day?  Will you remember that while I aged, my mind and attitude remained young?  That the colors of my world were ever vibrant and happy?  That I loved with an intensity that scared me?  That I have many regrets but far more accomplishments that I am really proud of?  Will you remember if I cried?  Will you know for certain whether I cared for you or not?  Will you remember anything about me at all?  And now……do you even notice me today?  Do you notice ANYONE?  Do you really pay attention to the humanity swirling around you or are they all just bits and pieces of cellophane?  Things of some substance but transparent enough that you can look straight through and see what you really want to see.

Please God help me to always see the Cellophane People around me and help me to acknowledge their existence, praise their performance, shoulder their tears and celebrate their happy days.  Help me to keep my hand off my own back and at the ready to pat someone else’s head and tell them I noticed.

Hoarders, Horkers & Hairspray

This is not my house, although it could be.  I have no idea what happened to me – unless compulsive cleaning skips a generation.  My mother was one of those people who could pass a “white glove” test.  Not me.  But in my defense my mother never had to live with my hubalump who does not prescribe to the theory “a place for all things.”  He believes everything should be in plain sight, therefore the chances of him finding something are greatly magnified.

I am currently obsessed with “watching” and I use the term loosely a little thing on Ustream called The Owl Box.  I keep it up on one of my computer monitors practically all the time.  I’m not sure why because I am learning that owls don’t particularly do anything in a hurry.  Mostly they stand around on one leg sleeping.  Hmmmm…..this also reminds me of someone I know.  There are others similarly intrigued by The Owl Box, however, they are hoping to see the owls “hork.”  Reallllllly?  I’m having a bit of a difficult time understanding why you want to see an owl lose the remains of its vermin dinner.  Even more confused that people like to dissect those “tosses.”  Thanks A LOT – GG for bringing me to this particular interest.  You know who you are……and something tells me you are enjoying my new found compulsion.

There was a time when I could use about a can of this stuff every day.  My granddaughters have even remarked on my high school years' photos “Wow, that is some TEXAS hair!”  Thankfully, I no longer use this particular product -  now I use something that costs about 5 times as much and is labeled with a name that is synonymous with revving your car engine.  You might be able to take the girl out of Texas but you will never take the TEXAS out of the girl OR her hair.

SHOCK AND PAW

Since I seem to have no filters (just ask my kids - they will verify it) I have so much material worthy of decades of columns.

I'm not so sure these things only happen to me or if I am the only person mentally deficient enough to share them. On the day I die, a lot of people are going to know me really really well - probably better than they might wish.

My affection (spell this A F F L I C T I O N please) for canines of all shapes, sizes, colors, breeds, temperaments and situations has been fodder for the mill on more than one occasion. My exploits with my "pack" have led to a little publication I call The Dog Chronicles. Every now and then I will publish a segment - few people have read them in their entirety. I'm not sure the masses are ready for them. Plus, I fear being judged "tetched" in the head and made a resident of a lovely rubber room somewhere with a peaceful harbor view.

This column is not so much an admission as it is a public service announcement. Surely, I cannot be the only person who has these random thoughts and the stupidity to follow up on them. But, just in case there is anyone out there who wonders about the effectiveness of items and decides to test them - please consider yourself warned.

The Shredder Sisters have been anything but lovely grateful dogs only wishing to please their master. They have pushed the envelope and challenged me from the beginning. Leaping over privacy fences, destroying treasured lawn furniture, hiding while I frantically searched, giving the garage door a work out - it has constantly been one thing after another.

They have acted like feral slum dogs in the presence of others, dug up every decent flower and bush I own and barked until I lost MY voice from screaming "SHUT UP". Well, there were actually more words that I screamed but I'll not bore you with unnecessary details.

Most of my big events happened while my husband was working in Kansas City. I guess I just had too much time on my hands.

So, my most embarrassing event took place one day when the barking had been particularly annoying. I really don't believe in cruelty in any form but I was guilty of purchasing one of those voice activated electronic dog collars. It actually worked pretty well, however, I had not had it on my dogs in a while but I decided today was the day.

When I took it out of the drawer, it seemed to have lost its' "fire power." So, I made a quick trip to Wally World and purchased a replacement battery. When I took the battery box apart and began to remove the old battery the box "beeped" at me.

This begged the question "was the battery really dead?" But, I went ahead and replaced it and put the whole thing back together. As I stood there with my newly refreshed collar I started to contemplate the humanity of the things. How did I know that it really worked? Did it hurt my dogs? Or did it merely just give them a fun little buzz?

The more I thought about it, the more I slid down the slippery slope into momentary insanity. I finally decided the only way I would ever know would be to "test drive" my electronic dog collar.

Pressing the contact points to my throat, I issued my best imitation of a deep and meaningful "woof."
I immediately experienced a seizing of my vocal cords - as a matter of fact my entire neck constricted and I'm pretty sure I lost feeling in my legs. Tears were streaming down my face, my ears were ringing along with blurred vision and a blinding headache within a few seconds. I am relatively sure I lost control of at least one vital body function as well.

After about 30 minutes I regained enough of my senses to call my husband and tell him what I had done. After patiently listening to me for a moment, he said, "Honey, I'm going to have to call you back in a few minutes" and disconnected the call. He did call back and was very solicitous and concerned about my well being. I was touched.

I remained touched until a co-worker of his called and asked if I was alright. When I inquired into their concern - they immediately started to laugh. Finally the whole ugly story was revealed, apparently the reason my darling husband needed to end our conversation was because he was having great difficulty maintaining his composure. It seems that as soon as he hung up the phone, he laughed hysterically for about 5 minutes before pulling himself together.

Cad. Barbarian. Unfeeling, uncaring and unremorseful bad, bad husband.

So, there you have it. My most embarrassing moment - well for that week at least. And just so you know, those danged things really do work. However, I'm not so sure that I will ever use one on a dog of mine again. But, it did make for some really entertaining holiday entertainment that year as no one was willing to believe me until they tried it themselves. See, I'm not the only stupid person in my family.

A Poppin’ Good Time

Today in my “what were they thinking?” category are the balloon wedding dresses.  This does not refer to a type or style……it means the dresses are actually constructed from balloons.

So, what happens when one sits down in these dresses.  How attractive to have your wedding or reception accompanied by the equivalent of the bridal party each having a sheet of bubble wrap.  I’ve always found bubble wrap to be a great stress reliever and maybe this is the reason behind these dresses.

What happens if there is a sudden shift in pressure or temperature?  Could the bride conceivably be left in her “scanties”?  Are the balloons filled with just good old fashioned air or are they helium filled.  Imagine the hysteria as the bride squeaks out her vows like a member of the Lollipop Guild in the Wizard of Oz.

I can see some interesting fun for the groom during honeymoon time.  Painstakingly popping each little balloon to get to the prize beneath.  It lends a whole new meaning to the song “Anticipation.”

I guess there will always be someone looking for a new way to invent the wheel.  However, I’m thinking there is a certain amount of discrimination at work here.  What about us girls of the “hefty” variety?  I’m thinking a dress for me would need to be made from the Hot Air Balloon material in order to withstand the stress of the structure it encompasses. 

Somehow I don’t see the possibility of ever remaking these dresses into First Communion outfits for the bride’s daughters.  And what about the impact on our environment from an increase in rubber entering our landfills.

Thoughts?  Comments?  Discuss among yourselves.

The Egg And I

Today I pay homage to a recent love, love, love affair of mine.  There was a time when I did not appreciate the perfection of the humble egg.  I have come to see the error of my ways.

Perhaps it is the diminishing of disposable cash that has brought about my devotion to that which Humpty Dumpty made famous by tumbling off a wall.  **My theory here is old HD was slightly in his cups or he wouldn’t have broken his noggin**

There are few things as versatile.  As nourishing.  As artistic.  Heck just in general as much fun as what my dad used to refer to as “cackle fruit.”  There are good eggs and bad eggs.  Bad eggs are particularly heinous, but it takes a lot for them to become that way.  Sort of like some people who have to deal with major stressors for too long – they start to be a bit “off.”

Hard boiled, deviled, scramble, fried, poached, basted….pickled – did I forget anything?  A lot like people.  I personally can ascribe an actual human being in my acquaintance that could be the depiction of each state of egg.

They are canvasses of color at Easter.  Toys during certain eclipses.  Objects of retaliation and revenge by teenagers.  And the delight of all my dogs’ hearts on Sunday mornings.

They also challenged me to learn to make a perfect omelet – something I am very pleased to report I have mastered.  I appreciate the fact that as long as I have eggs I will never starve – my cholesterol may be sky high, but by gosh I will eat.

The only thing I regret about eggs is their inability to bounce.  But even that was turned into a positive when I dropped a dozen on my super heated driveway where they promptly cooked to the consistency of a rubber ball.  My dogs loved them, however, and saved me from having to hose off the concrete.  Good thing too ‘cause truly – “all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put those Humptys back together again.”

My Daddy Was a Pistol–I’m a Son of a Gun…..

In the “you have got to be freaking kidding me” department this morning is a news story I heard.  Seems that people are still trying to re- invent the wheel as it were.

Have you been wondering what to do with your earthly remains?  Kicking around the whole traditional burying/cremation/cryogenically frozen dilemma?  Well, you will be happy to know there is a brand new alternative out there for us all.

Now you can do a combo farewell.  It seems that you can have your ashes sent to a company who will make your dust into bullets.  And what is this company called you ask?  Why, “Holy Smokes” – I answer.

I’m sorry,  but this really sends my mind whirling off in so many inappropriate directions that I won’t even offer you insight into most of them.

The big question for me here is this…….after living your life as an ordinary person,  you wish to become an instrument of death?  And, if you are used to kill someone, can your heirs be sued as accessories to murder?  That’s a nice legacy to leave behind don’t you think.

Or, let’s say – some hunter bags a trophy buck with you – does your name appear on the plaque along with the date of this momentous event.  Or perhaps they can hang your photograph next to the disembodied head hanging in the den.

I told you that my mind goes to strange and bizarre countries with this – you were warned.  So, if you have trouble dealing…..let me give you a bullet to bite on.

Well Isn’t That Just Charming!

Do you know any of these people?  People who never think of anyone else, but judge people based on what they do for THEM?  People who continually fly in the face of convention, mindfully doing the WRONG thing and never suffering the consequences of their actions?  People who are so self involved and self centered they CANNOT open their eyes to the suffering of someone else?  I guess we all know these people.  And if you are like me – you are always asking yourself….WHY?  All my life, I’ve heard these types described as “silver spooners” – or living a charmed life – or my favorite….being born under a lucky star.  I’d kind of like to know which star it is – I’d plan a party and we could all go sit under it.

Why do these people never seem to have to face the music as it were? 

And then, there are those people who honestly try to do good, do right and still suffer.  People who in spite of all their good intentions cannot live up to the expectations of others.  Or worse, those who have to learn their value to other people is only as deep and lasting as the dollar signs in their checkbook.  It must be a terrible feeling to know that just because a person is financially unable to do what they once could – they no longer matter.  I see it everyday – no one steps forward to ask “can I do something for you?” “Could I help you with that?”

Why does the music seem to play for them endlessly?

Well, maybe it is because God knows the “spooners”  are basically weak and therefore unable to stand in the withering heat of challenges, disappointments and failures.  And maybe God knows that the valueless people here on earth are the ones that will reap his richest benefits in their ultimate reward.

One of the greatest gifts a human being can possess is the gift of discernment.  Being able to see a need and set aside a pre-conceived notion of why that need is there or what the person did to “deserve” their lot in life – and step up with a giving spirit and a generous heart and HELP!

I know some people like this – unfortunately I also know some of the other kind.  You can sit in church every Sunday till the trump sounds and if you have not “gotten” this basic principle of loving your fellow man – I fear you might be wasting your time.

Look around you.  People are hurting, people are in need, people are scared, sick – dying.  And one small gesture from you could make all the difference in the world.  You might not be able to stop the pain, end the need, kick the boogie man to the curb or heal their sickness – but you can gladden their heart.  You can show them they matter…they still have a value.  Don’t wait for them to wrestle themselves into a position where they can reach out to you – you go first.  Stick out your hand, open your eyes, soften your heart and give of yourself.  You may find the payback is enormous.

One of the biggest problems in the world today, in my little humble and non-important opinion is that no one wants to make the first move.  We are all sitting around in our “state of being wronged” waiting for the other person to say “I’m sorry.”  I ask you….who is the bigger person?  The person who sits on his I’M RIGHT AND THEY ARE WRONG pillow or the person who probably was right all along who is willing to say…I’m sorry – I was wrong for hurting you.

BTW……I’m sorry and I was wrong.

Are You a Middle Man?

I drive a stretch of city street on my way to work every morning.  This street is at least 3 lanes wide and one could probably squeeze 4 out of it if needed.  However, the powers that be, have not yet seen fit to put lines down the middle of the road – so it is basically just wide open spaces.

It amazes me how many people drive this vast area smack dab in the middle.  Seriously people, do we really need those yellow dotted lines to show us where it is appropriate to drive?

I’ve come to realize that some people just freaking like the middle of everything.  You can have a nice straight edge on your baked goods which leaves one edge to dry out and some schmuck will come along and notch out into the middle area.  Now you have 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 edges to suffer from the ravages of air.  Big time pet peeve of mine – I do not like people to ravage my cake or corn bread.

As weird, off the wall and non – conforming as I am I still like to follow the rules to a large degree.  I drive on my side usually pretty close to the boundary on the passenger side.  And those people driving in the middle scare the helicopter out of me.  You cannot predict what they are going to do, or where they are going to go.

So…..while sleeping in the middle on a cold night can be cozy…the middle is not necessarily the best place to be or piece to have.  Just ask any middle child and they will give you all the reasons why the middle sucks.

I Wonder.... Woman!

Having achieved that stage of life when I am no longer considered a “hottie” by anyone still possessing their eyesight, I try to at least not scare small children.  I am usually pretty mindful of my appearance when I have to appear in public, and I usually feel like I’ve achieved a certain amount of discretion and decorum.  Granted, there have been times when I’ve had to run to the store for a quick item and just haven’t felt the need to get all gussied up.  Those times used to bother me.  NOT ANY MORE.

The reason I’m not going to concern myself is that obviously some people make a conscience decision to appear as bizarre as possible.  I recently encountered one at the grocery store.  This was an attractive gal – tall, legs that went on for days, cute pixie-ish face – all the necessary components to be a stunner.  And she was.

Sashaying through Harps in her teeny tiny white booty biter shorts, her red bustier top with the heart shaped neckline enhancing her probably not so natural attributes she was a vision.  She had completed her attire with 4 inch red and white stilettos.  Her platinum hair had some fetching hot pink highlights and the parts of her body that were exposed (and there were lots of parts exposed) were a veritable canvas of creativity.

The most eye popping tattoo was a large one of Wonder Woman on one side of her chest….would that be right?…..chest – yes, I’m sticking with chest for my final answer, Bob.

I truly felt inclined to flip her up on the produce rack and read her like a newspaper.  I tried not to stare, I swear I did.  Part of the reason I didn’t want to really get into it was that she was obviously enjoying the stir she was causing in the canned vegetable aisle.  One poor gentleman totally lost his ability to focus on the charms of creamed corn versus whole kernel.

It is none of my business how people  present themselves when in public, but I’m telling you I’m not going to be so concerned myself anymore either.  I could have been wearing a fruit bowl on my head with Big Smith overalls and no one would have known I was alive.

And This Is Progress?

Today’s challenge and needless run around town.  I needed to take my notary commission to be sworn in and filed.  Carefully, I read the letter which came to me from the Secretary of State (Arkansas).  It clearly says “Take all three copies to the circuit clerk in your county of residence.”  Simple enough.  I passed by the house, collected hubs and dogs because I certainly didn’t want to run out of gas all alone & drove down town to the courthouse.  I even dashed up the perilous steps into our center of law and order (the same steps that not so long ago – I plummeted down, leaving myself a virtual cripple in an ugly boot for quite some time.)  As I entered the hallowed halls I spy with my little ole’ eye a sign telling me the circuit clerks office has been moved – and bless their bones – there are ample directions. 

I navigate scary stairs again, jump into my waiting chariot and speed off to the circuit clerk’s office.  I enter this building where there are armed guards with X-Ray machines.  Guards instruct me to put my packet of papers in their little plastic tub and proceed through the magic booth.  **BEEEEEEP**

How embarrassing – obviously I have an iron kidney.  No, it is my ID badge from work that Mr. X-Ray takes offense to.  No problem – they pass me on through after instructing me that I must leave their little plastic tub behind.  I merrily proceed up 2 flights of stairs, enter the office, state my purpose only to hear “we don’t do that – you have to go to the county clerk’s office in the COURTHOUSE!!  Ummm, ‘scuse me but that is NOT what my letter from my honorable Secretary of State says……RIGHT HERE!  “Oh, we know, but our county is one of 2 counties in Arkansas that has to have this done by the county clerk.”

Back to the car, the hubs, the dogs AND the courthouse.  Back up wicked bad scary stairs to county clerks office.  Explaining my plight, they all have a good chuckle and proceed to take care of business.  “That will be a $20.00 filing fee.”  No problem as I whip out the trusty debit card.  Faces fall, “we don’t take debit cards….we’ll take a check.”  Hello….I kind of thought that was what a debit card was….a plastic check.  Back down stairs that are growing teeth and are starting to remember the fun of watching my round little self plunge to the bottom not so long ago.  Luckily I had a check book in my purse.

The trip up the treacherous stairs is slower this time as I could swear they are starting to teeter and tilt like those found in the carnival fun house.  I pays my money, I swears my little oath (and then some), I sign my little name and flee.  My last trip down was accomplished by clinging to the handrail like my life depended on it.  I’m pretty sure it did. 

P.S.  Dear Secretary of the State of Arkansas – if I ever meet you in public, I’m probably going to leave an imprint of my newly made notary seal on your honorable butt.

But I’m now official……..can I notarize that for you?

………….and how was YOUR danged day?  I would really like to know.

Hello Sweet Face!

Recently, I learned something about myself and where I am from. And I have to admit that what I learned actually pleased me.

My new job as a receptionist for an Arkansas company has actually put me in pretty close touch with my roots. A couple of remote locations in THE GREAT STATE OF TEXAS have provided me opportunities to talk with more than a few Texans.

A co-worker asked me "has so and so in Texas called you Sweetheart yet?" Sadly, I realized that no, he had not - but I'm pretty sure I've called him that. I told her I guess it is just sort of a Texas "thang" -because I do it too.

It dawned on me that those little "tender" names are as ingrained in my being as my DNA. I started to notice how often I refer to people as "honey", "sweetie", "sweet face", or "sugar." Oddly enough, no one seems to mind.

It also occurs to me how much I enjoy those little terms of endearment (rare though they may be these days.) Honestly, I have never been offended by some big strapping Texan (or Kansan, or Oklahoman or even Arkansan) calling me ma'am or sweetheart.

Maybe I am just too simple minded to be offended or think that I am being talked down to or harassed in some inappropriate manner. To me, it is the epitome of courtesy, respect and gentlemanly behavior. Especially when you KNOW that is the intention behind the sentiment.

Now....on the other hand....let me get some little twit of a customer service rep on the phone who decides to say something like "now, sweetie....you don't understand.........." and that's an egg of a different chicken. Nothing will send my blood pressure sky rocketing as fast as someone treating me as if I must obviously be stupid because I don't understand the load of bull they are trying to push in my wagon.

So....if you are not one of those people who enjoy being called "sweetie" you might want to let me know, but be prepared to wear a nametag. Sometimes, I have to call you "honey" or "darlin'" or "sweetface" because I simply CANNOT remember your name.

Now…..about that Sweet Face in the picture.  That is my oldest granddaughter, Kaitlyn who will be a junior in high school this year.  She still has one of the sweetest faces on the planet.

Shaving Her Legs For Jesus

So….it is not going to come as any great shock to most of you that I have a bizarre and twisted sense of humor.  Sometimes things are said or done that just tickle my funny bone and I can’t help it.

Maybe being overly tired contributes to it….perhaps I am just “tetched” in the head as my granny used to say.

Random conversations take interesting trips along my imagination highway and this week provided a particularly “ticklish” comment.

I won’t mention names……….you know who you are.  And, you shouldn’t be surprised because I warned you in advance that you would show up here eventually.  **This should serve as my disclaimer**

This week the whole conversation came up about shaving one’s legs.  Strangely enough there were more than females contributing to this conversation.  I will say that most of the testosterone set were vehemently advocating the necessity of doing said act frequently.

Into the thread came a sweet little person I have come to really really like making the statement that she used to always shave her legs on Sunday.

Well, that was all it took.  Ms. Ain’t I Quick As a Bunny With My Wit (namely me) remarked…….”Awww, you shave your legs for Jesus.”

It really isn’t that funny, but it still makes me laugh.  And personally, I think Jesus would be pleased to know that his child wanted to give him the best she had when she entered into his presence.

Clandestine Shopping

In my teenage years, my Dad pretty much gave up going to the big city shopping.  He made that my cross to bear while he stayed home and watched sports on TV.

Shopping with my mom was quite the experience.  She attacked shopping in much the same way an army invades a small country.  Even in my youth I could not keep up with her – she literally shopped my socks off practically every Saturday.  Maybe this is the reason my husband is blessed with one of the few women on earth who HATE shopping. I really do hate Wal-Mart and loathe going to the mall. Hmmmm, now I'm understanding why I have few women friends.

I would have loved to stay home and get ready for a Saturday night date, but NO!  Mom had a purpose for me.

After she had laid waste to the retail opportunities afforded by the town of Borger, TX., she would pile all her purchases in the back seat of the car and instruct me to assume the position.

It was my job to take a small pair of nail scissors and carefully cut off all price tags.  After the incriminating evidence had been removed – I would fold, roll, bend, staple and mutilate each item and place them in the smallest possible shopping bag.  It was important for said bag to not look as if it were bulging at the seams.

All tags, receipts, sales tickets, etc. were placed in an envelope that she tucked away in her handbag.

Arriving home, she would breeze through the door with her miniscule bag, sigh and exclaim “I spent all day in Borger and couldn’t find anything that I really couldn’t live without.”  Dad…..hypnotized by the television would murmur his acceptance of this blatant falsehood without batting an eyelash.

As soon as he left the house, we would have a ritualistic burning of tags and receipts and all items would be laundered, ironed and hung in the closet.  Over the course of several weeks, those new items would appear and Dad (ever observant) would say “is that new, I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

And there it would be ……..the opportunity to come clean – purge her conscience and mine, own up to the truth and face the music.  And with the same ease of spirit my sweet mother would say “Oh, Vernie….this old thing?  Why I’ve had this forever.”

My lot was cast, my fate sealed….I was forever a guilty accomplice in the act of clandestine shopping.  Not to mention….bald faced lying!

I miss you mom, I would cut off a million tags to have you to go shopping with again.

Rapturous, Frabjous, Joyous Day!

Okay, so maybe the “rapture” will happen today…..or maybe it won’t.  Right now most of the people I know subscribe to the theory that no one CAN or WILL know God’s timetable for planet earth.

But it might be nice if we could all dust off our very best behavior, put on clean suit of kindness clothes, take a couple of forgiveness vitamins and set forth in the world today as joyous, rapturous children of a loving God.

That old expression “live everyday as if it could be your last” rings pretty darned true today.  There will never be a better day to say I’m sorry to someone you’ve wronged, never be a better time to forgive someone who has wronged you.  It is a perfect time to start living the life you’ve been planning to for a while and just never took the time to start.

It’s also a great time to lay down your worries and your problems and do something fun.  Even if it means simply rolling around in the yard with your dog.  Find your pure, unadulterated FUN button and press it till your finger is sore.

As for me – I refuse to be overwhelmed by fear, regret and negativity.  A few weeks ago, I embarked on a new mind set and I find I am becoming a much happier person.    I am responsible for my own happiness and well being.  Others may contribute to the positive energy but I refuse to entertain any more negativity.  It is counterproductive to what I have to accomplish.

So have a Frabjous, Joyous Happy Day everybody!!!  Even though the “rapture” may not happen you can still be a Rapturous human being!!

Can You Hummus A Few Bars

Okay – it is official – I have slid over to the dark side.  It all began with my love of Birkenstock sandals I’m sure of it.

Hopefully, someone will stage an intervention before I quit wearing supportive undergarments and shaving my legs.

But, they cannot stop my new found love for Hummus.  Seriously, where has this stuff been all my life?  This could very well be my newest addiction which means banana fudgesicles will have to languish in the freezer unnoticed and untouched.

I’ve tried three kinds of this stuff and I haven’t met a Hummus I didn’t like.  So, if you hear me going “ahumina, humina, humina” you should immediately hand me a hummus laden crispy cracker.  I’ll be your new best friend!  BTW – thanks Luke P for starting me down this road of no return.

Trapped…….Like Rats!

Thursday night’s torrential rain storm brought about a few challenges.  I live in a horseshoe shaped housing addition which yields 2 exit points.  There is also a twisty, curvy back outlet that is only advantageous if you are going a certain direction.

Big winds snapped off highline poles like toothpicks along the road that leads into our addition.  The electric company is out there at work (bless their souls) on a Saturday righting the situation and improving the poles with metal instead of wood.

However, they have now sealed off all but one avenue of escape from my house.  The only direction I can go is south!  Sometimes I don’t want to go south, sometimes I would prefer to go north.  Particularly since I am currently boycotting the grocery store south of me for selling me rancid fish.

Now, what used to be a 10 minute jaunt to the Dollar Store for a needed supply involves at least 45 minutes of backtracking, circling and finding alternative routes.

I’ve finally found a reason why I should have a GPS in my car – I can no longer find my way to the Dollar Store on my own.

How Much is Toooo Healthy?

So..the big news in my life is last Friday I consulted with a nutritionist.  I know……why on earth would I do such a thing?  Perhaps being the oldest person at my new job pushed me in this direction.  Perhaps it was because it was free and I feel like it is a mortal sin to turn down anything free.

Whatever the reason – I did it and WOW!  What a sobering experience.  I won’t sicken you with the details but suffice it to say that if I were dropped in the ocean I would float perfectly well until consumed by sharks with a highly developed palette for FAT!

You know me, I try to find the humor in everything – so on my folder given to me with much chastising from Ms. Healthy I wrote MY FAT GIRL FOLDER.

I’m kind of upset that I have been very good for 3 days and am not yet a size 10.  What’s up with that?  I don’t have a lot of patience – I need to see fairly instantaneous results.

We will see what happens Friday when I go for my first weigh in and re-measurement.  If there is not some good report I’m going to need a Cheeseburger STAT!

Take Me Out To The Ballgame!

My husband says even a bad day at the ballpark beats a pretty good day anywhere else.  For those who think that I have changed him let me assure you he has far more of an impact on me than the reverse.

Till there was Roger, there was no coffee, no baseball and very little cheese.  Now there is an abundance of all three.  We used to take a yearly trip to St. Louis to watch the Cards…then we became too busy to go and then….the poverty troll attacked and the fun died.

Now, there is my new job which in itself is a pleasure and a blessing but yesterday yielded up free tickets to a HOG game!  Pretty exciting, huh?  And yet, I had to force him to go.  This is how you can tell your husband is in a very dark and scary place.

But, I whined and pouted and slung enough dishes that he finally gave in.  And now….he is very glad he did…except for one little, tiny little, thing.  Our amazing Karma was in great health last night and in a NOT SOLD OUT ballpark, the most annoying jackass on the face of the earth managed to sit right next to us.  To make matters even worse he was root root rooting for the other team.

I just switched off the hearing aids, turned my back on him and refused to let him ruin my night.  But he was banging on every nerve Roger had left.

And then…..Karma switched places and we sent the Gators packing back to the swamp of the eternal stench for that evening anyway.

Something tells me the crazed Chatty Cathy doll missed the subtlety of a Karmic “gotcha”.  Even now, somewhere he is busily pulling his own string, running his pie hole incessantly and wondering why everyone around him have ears that are dripping blood.

Good Morning Miss Dove

And you too – dovie!

There is a dove nesting in the weeping cherry outside my office window.  Right now I feel compelled to go hold an umbrella over her little head because it is raining torrents.  Everyday, I walk out to the tree – look at her and she looks back with her black little eyes unblinking.  I tell her good morning.  I admire her devotion and understand her dilemma.  Somewhere, the good mister is safely sheltered out of the rain while she sits on that nest.  Bless her gentle little bones – I feel quite a kinship to her.  Suddenly..it is all up to her.  Her family will succeed or fail on her devotion to her duty.

This morning I also watched the old Jennifer Jones movie “Good Morning Miss Dove.”  It made me remember, one of the first grown up books I read was this story.  I read early – largely thanks to my Grandma Sawyer who always packed my Christmas box with lots of books of the kid variety.  However, my parents had a whole bunch of Reader’s Digest condensed books and I moved on to them eventually.  The story of the little spinster school teacher was my first “adult” story.  And I hadn’t thought of it in years, but watching the movie made it all come rushing back. Sitting in the side yard under the locust tree, feeling Miss Dove’s yearnings and disappointments.  And then joyfully celebrating the achievements of students she probably agonized over.  And just as Dovie is dedicated to her job, Miss Dove proved dedicated to hers as well.  I’m fine…let’s all get back to work!

Quack….quack....quack!

    

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, chances are it is an Arkansan!

Good grief…if the rains don’t slow, we will be needing boats to navigate our streets.  I’m looking on a good deal on snorkels and swim fins for my outside dogs and would pay a pretty penny for a really good functioning French drain right now.

It seems incredible to  me that while we are drowning so many of my friends are experiencing drought of epic proportions.  I could use a day or two of dry windy Texas panhandle climate and they could sure use some of my water. 

In the meantime……my toenails are now easier to paint.

Something in Here Stinks to High Heaven!

 

Aside from all the truly sobering, sad, reflective and ultimately victorious meanings of Easter that make it such a wonderful holiday – especially for Christians – there are man made traditions that make it simply fun.

Kids get all excited about the Easter Bunny, dyeing colorful eggs and seeking them out in the hidden places said bunny has deposited them.  One of my favorite memories of childhood was the annual Easter egg hunt at Pringle Elementary School.  All the moms came to hide eggs and then the doors were thrown open and we ran like crazed things in search of hard boiled eggs.

One of my faults (or maybe it is a strength) is that in some things I am a purist.  I like real eggs instead of plastic; I like real grass in a basket and not that fake crinkly colored stuff.  ** ahem – part of the reason for this is that fake crinkly stuff kind of scares me but that’s a blog for a different day**

And….I believe in letting your children hide and re-hunt their eggs until the shells are nothing but fragile bits of brokeness having difficulty maintaining their shape.

Even children eventually tire of the hide and hunt and move on to other games and diversions.  But what about the poor eggs?

Make sure you don’t have the experience I had when my darling daughter was but a tot.  Once the game has lost its’ WOW factor – toss those eggs!  Otherwise in July you might notice a slightly nasty aroma wafting from a closet and discover a whole basket of Easter eggs whose nature has taken on a whole different flavor.  Peeyew – those eggs be stankin’!

Anyone Here Seen My Old Friend Thomas?

 

Doubting Thomas that is.  “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.”

It would seem old Thomas and I have a few things in common.  I kind of like to have proof too.  And then, when I get it, I am amazed by my continual small faith.  And by God’s incredible patience with me when I exhibit that small faith.

So, just as Thomas received his proof, so have I.  Proof that prayers DO work sometimes a little slower than we might like.  But God does know the need and answers indeed.  And, as for me, I am going to try very very hard to be sitting on and squashing down my inner Doubting Thomas in the future.

Needed – One Duck Makeover

So…..we’ve all heard the story about the Ugly  Duckling who eventually turned into a swan.  **Sigh** such an uplifting story about the possibilities of growing into your shortcomings.

Well, now I wonder what happens when the Swan turns into the Ugly Duckling and is forced to try to make it in a world of swans.  What help OR hope is out there for poor Ugly?

Dis - Appointment

 

Well, yesterday I learned that the degree of disappointment you feel over something not working out is exponentially greater given the degree of NEED attached.

When you really need something to work out; you’ve given it everything you have including money you didn’t have to try to tilt the outcome in your favor and it goes south on you anyway – you are disappointed.

And……guess what…..I think you are entitled to your moment of disappointment.  There are no amount of platitudes that make you feel better.  It is one of those human emotions that has to be felt, expressed, healed from and moved away from.

But no one can tell you what that time frame is because it is different for everyone.  And the time involved ALSO has to do with the NEED factor.  People who really are in need seem to not have the necessary reserves of energy, commitment and self assuredness needed to jump right back up and prepare for the next knock out punch.

So…..I am disappointed.  And I will be for a while.  I’m sorry if that makes me a bad person – but if you want to know my  mind and heart – try knowing what it feels like to walk around in my moccasins for a while.

Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot….

 

The theme song from Jeopardy – forever stuck in our heads as the ultimate “the clock is ticking and YOU are running out of time” warning.

I am awful at waiting.  I don’t like to wait for anyone (I think late people are rude), I don’t like waiting on people to make decisions because it postpones me moving on and heading in a different direction.

I might pray for patience but I’m afraid I would get it and then I would be stuck in a holding pattern forever.

So….right now….I need answers, I need resolution and dang it….I need it now!

Pretty, pretty, pretty

 

Today I had a job interview and after the interview I proceeded on to the only steady employment I have at the moment………subbing.  I did not stop at home to change nor did I pass go on the Monopoly board of life.

This afternoon…..a little junior high girl came in to the office to use the phone and as she was waiting, looked at me and said “Oh, your makeup looks sooooo pretty!”

She is destined to be my very own personal affirmation builder!  Wonder what she will charge to lie to me every day?

Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister -

And Lord help the sister who comes between me and my man.

I didn’t grow up with a sister dang it!  I think it would have been so much fun to have someone to play dolls with.  To whisper to in bed at night.  To share my secrets with.  And more importantly, to have later in life to share encouragements, happy times and sad.

By now, G does not remember a time when A wasn’t around being her sister and A has known she had a sister her whole life.  They are close in age, different in personalities.  Similar and yet uniquely individual.  They argue, they hurt each other, they fight.  And something tells me if anyone ever crosses one of them they will have the wrath of the other to deal with.

I’m pretty sure these two don’t really appreciate each other right now, but surely as they grow they each will develop a deep and abiding understanding of that individual they call sister.

It has been fun watching them develop to this stage – I can’t wait for the rest of the ride!

Baby Gag Gag

 

I wonder daily if I’m the only one who stumbles upon the strange and unusual?  Do other people encounter this stuff or am I just a magnet to the weird?

Take this item for instance.  Were you aware there is an ice cream shop in London, England that has come up with what could possibly be the strangest item for sale ever?

They are offering vanilla and lemon infused ice cream made from human breast milk.  It is a pricey little treat at $22.50 a serving.  The name of this frozen delicacy?  Baby Gaga.   Yes, they are also trying to cash in on Lady Gaga’s current popularity (which I have to say I don’t understand either, but each to their own.)

The Lady in question is threatening to sue for trademark infringement and the shop owner reports he is prepared to fight.

It is hard for me to pick a side in this one – the gag factor has me totally undone.