Thursday, November 27, 2008

Spoon Nose



In honor of Thanksgiving, I feel like I should post a recipe, offer some helpful advice, maybe pass along a few of my savvy hostess tips. Lucky for you I am working on impulse control.

I have been asked not to cook today; apparently, certain members of my family are apprehensive about having Typhoid Mary at the helm of the turkey day ship (wussies). Instead, I will be reclining in my Barcalounger at the new digs with the top button of my jeans unfastened, intermittently snoring and scratching in front of the TV.

I hope your day is swell. If you are still stuck at the kids table—better luck next year!

Out-T.

P.S.—In case family tradition requires you to balance a spoon on the end of your nose while humming your favorite Elvis tune in order to have first dibs on the wishbone. Fog it up first. Trust me.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

I Think I Ate a Goat


I think I ate a goat, or maybe it was a squirrel. I am not sure.
Now I have rabies, or maybe it is the flu. I am not sure.

In either case, I am convinced that I may be dead by Thursday, so…

Happy Thanksgiving.

The End


Out-T.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Have It Your Way



Dear Burger King,

It has come to my attention that you have added a new item to your menu, namely the “Shroom and Swiss Burger.” This revelation leads me to wonder if you have recently recruited Cheech and Chong to head up your marketing department. Without revealing too much about the exact number of years I have been alive on this planet (I am in the market for a rich husband after all), or the long list of prosecutable offenses that I may or may not have committed in my not THAT distant past, allow me to point out that there is a distinct difference between mushrooms and “shrooms

Mushrooms are innocuous little fungi grown in the dark that often play a minor role in fairy tales. Mushrooms are available on the produce aisle of your local grocery store; they are tasty and harmless and enhance the flavor of pizza, salads and presumably hamburgers. Mushrooms should not be confused with toadstools, because if you eat them, toadstools can kill you. Definitely not a good addition to a hamburger.

Shrooms, on the other hand, are harbingers of mind-altering chemicals grown on cow poop. Regardless of the method of consumption, they are repugnant. Shrooms make you barf, without exception. If you eat shrooms, you will barf. Some people believe that this is a small price to pay for the myriad of pleasant and colorful side effects. I happen to have been one of those people.

I am sure you can imagine how rad I thought it was when I saw your commercial featuring those bogus Simon and Garfunkle dudes extolling the virtues of the new Shroom and Swiss burger. I rushed out to procure one in hopes of recapturing the psychedelic psilocybin infused haze of my mis-spent youth.

I am bummed to report that while the burger in question did taste terrible, nothing happened. No colors, no haze, no six hours spent behind the bi-fold doors of my bedroom closet entranced by the vision of dancing Hormel sausages replete with top hats and tiny little tap shoes. No barf.
Bogus! This is false advertising. I want my money back.
What is next? Chicken Thai sticks? Chocolate mescaline shakes?
Forget it, I am on to you. Catch my drift?
(Far) Out-T.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/33mhz/47011006/

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

For Those About to Rock

Big Judes (My mom) is a rocker. Not the AC/DC--Angus Young sort of rocker, although, if you consider Neil Diamond (The king of polyester) a rocker, then Judes might qualify. Except I think that would make her more of a groupie than a rocker. Now that you mention it (Now that I mention it), the thought of Big Judes throwing her panties on stage at a Neil Diamond concert during a rousing rendition of Sweet Caroline creeps me out.

Judes is not a rocker, or a groupie.

Let me try this again. Big Judes rocks. In a chair. A rocking chair. There has always been a rocking chair in her living room, one in the bedroom and, of course, one on the porch. You never know where you will be when you need to rock. If Judes had wheels on her rocker, she could have circled the globe.

When I was a child I was rocked to sleep, then rocked awake. Skinned knees, sore throats, bruised feelings, new library books were all good reasons to rock. I rocked with Judes long past the point of comfort and practicality. We rocked even after sharp angles, pointy elbows, and bony butts had to be arranged just so to fit in the chair. When my rat faced baby brother came along (almost eight years later) I did not relinquish my seat, we scooched closer and made room. We kept rocking.

I do not remember when we stopped rocking. I wonder if Judes does. At some point I guess I got too cool, or too busy, too independent, maybe just too grown up. Judes kept rocking. Sometime later more babies came, children of the grand kind, she rocked them too.

I am not home often, but I expect she is still rocking, covered up in kids trying to make room for all of the pointy parts. There are days like today, times like now, that I wonder if we both could still fit in Big Judes’ rocking chair.

For those about to rock,
I salute you.

Out-T.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Poof

I had a post today.
Swear.
Then it disappeared-- Poof!
Gone.

I did not love it,
But I liked it just fine.
This sucks.

I am going off now
To pout.
Alternatively, whine
Or stomp.

If I find it, I will be back.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Up The Country





Sometimes, what a girl needs is wind in her hair, and bugs in her teeth.

Have a great weekend.

Out- T.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Stutter


I have started to stutter. Seriously. ME! Stutter. Good God, I am the girl (Shut up, I am a girl! Sort of.) who plys her trade with words. I spend my days encouraging, persuading, convincing, cajoling. When provoked I can slice and dice you with verbal Ginsu knives, flip pieces of your dissected carcass into the air and catch them in my hat. TAA-DAA! Do not fuck with me!

I am Teflon. I am unshakable, I may not walk the walk but I can talk the talk. I could then, anyway, but that was then. This is now. Now I stutter. The words? My weapons? Stuck. Aaaa..ummm…welll…

Then there is the twitch. Did I mention the twitch? No? Well, it is new. My left eye it twitches. Are you getting the picture? Stuttering, twitching, 120 lbs. of vibrating rage…Charming, do you not agree?

The hair-- it frizzes, the jowls-- they sag, the bags? Oh, the bags of it all. Five pounds of worry and stress strategically positioned under each twitching eye. They are the size of steamer trunks these bags, stuffed to overflowing in preparation for a transcontinental cruise to the fourth circle of hell. I am ugly. Horrid. Inside and out.

I could not even get a blind date right now. If I was looking for a date, that is. Which I am not. But if I were, and if I knew any blind guys, (which I do not), they would sooner set their seeing eye dogs loose to eviscerate me than spend any time in my company, and I would not blame them. And I do not blame you for getting the hell out of here as fast as your back button can take you. Because, really? This is fixing to be what my old granny would call a wall-eyed hissy fit. I have tried to avoid it for over a week. No luck.

So, here goes…

When last I was here at this dusty blog of mine it was Election Day. We were all set to make history. That is precisely what we did. We made history. Then, because we are the self-centered hypocritical bastards that we are, we celebrated. We slapped each other on the back, high fived and sang fucking kumbaya while we pointed out to each other what open minded, color blind, righteous people we are for electing a black man to be president of the United States Of America. Hooray for us! We did it for the children! We did it for change!

Might I suggest that if we were SO open minded and color blind we would not have had to point out the fact that the person we elected was black…Every thirty seconds…For almost two years?… How proud of ourselves should we really be? Shouldn’t it be enough to say that we elected the best person for the job, and acknowledge that is about damn time we did. Perhaps if we had noticed that the pool of white middle-aged competent male politicians was somewhat shallow eight years ago, we would be in better shape now.

When the intoxication wears off is anyone going to notice that we have made it virtually impossible for the man that we so love and admire to succeed? While we were all punch drunk, the current administration lit the fuse on a 700 billion dollar time bomb and tossed it through the window of the oval office. The current occupant checked out months ago, so the WMD sits ticking, ready to explode on or about the 20Th of January. As if that were not enough, there are the wars, not one, but two. Let us not even speak of inflation, unemployment or health care. Bring on the change! Hell yes! Nothing short of Camelot will satisfy us. We want change and we want it now, delivered post haste, as promised, along with free stuff. We like free stuff. Mortgages, insurance, cheap gas? Yes, please. We deserve it. If he fails to deliver--God help him.

What about the children? Look what we did for the kids! We are fucking brilliant. We should be proud of ourselves. We elected this president because we love our children. Well, we love most of them anyway, except the gay ones. We do not love the gay ones so much. We definitely do not want the gay ones to love each other. Let them get married, adopt children, provide safe harbor for foster kids? Good lord no! We are not THAT open minded. This is shameful, for what it is worth, I am sorry.

This post makes me sorry too. Please forgive all the ugly. I am working on it, I swear…Tomorrow ugly will be the new pretty. I will be back with a joke, or a rope trick, or at the very least I will keep my mouth shut if I do not have anything nice to say. (Big Judes will be proud).

Have you heard the one about the Rabbi and the blogger that walk into a bar?

Out T.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

They Say That Time Changes Things

They say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself. -Andy warhol